jikookncity

[jikookncity]

Criminal Haechan x Reader (Smut)

Y/n has the best most filthy hookup of her life with a mysteriously hot guy, only realizing he's a criminal weeks later when she hears his voice on the news...too bad he comes back for more...

WC: pt 1 is 2.9k, unprotected sex, dirty talk, degradation, pt 2. includes oral sex (semi-public)

The bar was alive in that kind of way it only got on weekends—dim lighting, low bass thrumming through the floorboards, bodies pressed together in slow, lazy movements on the dance floor. Y/N sat at the counter, one leg crossed over the other, nursing a drink she didn’t even like. The ice clinked softly every time she swirled the glass, her eyes lazily scanning the crowd, pretending she wasn’t bored out of her mind.

She didn’t notice him at first. Not until the air seemed to shift—subtle, but undeniable—like someone had just entered the room and taken up more than their fair share of it. Her gaze flicked toward the door, and that’s when she saw him.

He didn’t move like the others. Didn’t shove his way through the crowd, didn’t glance around to see who was watching. He knew people were watching. He was tall, lean, dressed in all black—dark jacket over a fitted shirt that did nothing to hide the cut of his frame. His hair was dark, messy in a way that looked intentional, and his eyes… sharp, unreadable, scanning the room until they landed right on her.

It was like being hit with a jolt of static.

She looked away first. She didn’t know why. But a few moments later, she felt the empty barstool beside her shift.

“You always look this bored,” he asked, voice low and smooth, “or is tonight special?”

She turned her head, finding him much closer than she expected, his arm resting casually on the counter, his eyes locked on hers like he already knew her answer.

“Depends on who’s asking,” she said, matching his tone.

His mouth curved into something between a smirk and a dare. “Haechan.”

He didn’t offer a hand. Just a name, like it was enough.

The bartender appeared, and without looking away from her, Haechan ordered something—something expensive, judging by the slight raise of the bartender’s brow. Then he turned the glass toward her instead of himself.

“You strike me as someone who could use something stronger than… whatever that is,” he said, nodding at her drink.

Normally, she would have bristled. But there was something about him that made her lean into it instead of away.

One drink became two. Two became three. By the time they were leaning in close, shoulders brushing, his hand resting dangerously near her thigh, she’d stopped wondering why her pulse wouldn’t slow down.

When he finally said, “Wanna get out of here?” it wasn’t even a question.

They didn’t speak much on the walk to the hotel. The silence wasn’t awkward—if anything, it was charged. Y/N’s heels clicked against the pavement in quick rhythm, but Haechan’s steps were slower, confident, like he knew exactly where this night was going and didn’t need to rush.

By the time the elevator doors slid shut, his hand was already at her waist, pulling her in until her back met the mirrored wall. His breath was warm against her ear when he spoke.

“You’ve been looking at me like you want me to ruin you all night,” he murmured, his tone low, dangerous.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t get the chance to answer—his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry. His hands roamed like he had every right to touch her, sliding over her hips, gripping the curve of her ass through her dress. She gasped into the kiss when he squeezed, and he used the opening to lick into her mouth, deep and claiming.

When the elevator dinged, he pulled back just enough to smirk at her swollen lips. “Room 804. Move.”

She barely remembered the walk down the hall before they were inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

Haechan was on her instantly, spinning her so her back hit the door, his hands braced on either side of her head. “You like giving control away, sweetheart?”

Her pulse jumped. “Maybe.”

“That’s not an answer.” His hand slid up her thigh, dragging the hem of her dress with it. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” she breathed, and his grin widened like he’d been waiting for it.

The dress was gone before she could think about modesty, pooling at her feet while he drank in the sight of her. He didn’t bother hiding the hunger in his eyes as he pressed her against the door again, his thumb grazing her already-damp panties.

“Look at you,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “So wet for me already. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” she said again, her voice breaking slightly.

“Not good enough.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. “Say it like you meanit.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

That earned her a kiss so deep it stole the air from her lungs. He pulled her toward the bed, stripping off his own jacket and shirt on the way. His body was lean, toned, and every movement screamed cocky self-assurance.

When she reached for his belt, he caught her wrists, pushing her down onto the mattress. “Uh-uh. You don’t touch unless I say you can.”

He knelt between her thighs, dragging her panties down slowly, like he wanted her to squirm. When he tossed them aside, he spread her knees wide, his gaze dark and heavy as it roamed over her.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

The words made heat pool low in her belly. She obeyed, and he smirked like she’d just handed him the win. His fingers were on her first—slow at the start, teasing—then rougher, curling deep until her back arched off the bed.

“Such a good little thing,” he murmured, watching her writhe. “You take my fingers so well. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock.”

When she was a mess beneath him, he finally freed himself, the sight of him making her mouth go dry. He didn’t rush, just stroked himself lazily while looking her over like she was something he owned already.

Then he was over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. “This is going to ruin you for anyone else.”

And he was right. The thrust was deep, hard, making her cry out. He fucked her like he had something to prove, his hips snapping against hers, each thrust punctuated by filthy praise and taunts—telling her how tight she was, how perfect she felt, how she was made for him to use.

When she clawed at his back, he caught her wrists again, pinning them above her head. “Stay still. Take it. That’s all you have to do.”

Her moans filled the room, mixing with the slap of skin and his ragged breathing. He bent down to bite her neck, licking over the mark after. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes—oh god—”

“Do it. I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

When she did, it was intense, shattering, her body tightening around him in pulsing waves. He fucked her through it, groaning when he spilled inside her, his thrusts finally slowing.

He kissed her once more—slow this time—before pulling back, that smirk returning. “Told you. Ruined.”

Y/N woke to an empty bed.

For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the dent in the pillow where his head had been. The sheets smelled like him—clean soap, faint cologne, and something darker she couldn’t quite place. The memories from last night flashed back in sharp, heated fragments: the elevator, his hands, his voice in her ear telling her exactly what to do.

Her thighs ached in the best way.

Rolling onto her back, she caught sight of the clock. Late. She groaned, dragging herself up and finding her dress crumpled on the floor. There was no note. No phone number. Just the echo of his smirk burned into her brain.

By the time she slid into a booth at the little café near her apartment, her best friend, Mina, was already there—iced coffee in hand and a knowing grin on her face.

“You’re late,” Mina said, eyes dropping to Y/N’s oversized hoodie and messy hair. “And… you look like you just rolled out of bed. From someone else’s bed.”

Y/N bit her lip, sliding into the seat. “Okay, so… I might have had a night.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N leaned in, lowering her voice even though the café wasn’t crowded. “Met him at the bar. Tall, hot, this stupid cocky smirk that should have been illegal. He bought me a drink and—” She stopped, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Mina, it was… the best sex of my life.”

“Oh my god.” Mina covered her mouth, then dropped her hand. “Details. Now.”

Y/N looked around once more before continuing. “He was… rough. But perfect. Said all the right things, like he could read my mind. At one point—” She paused, shivering at the memory. “At one point he looked at me and said ‘open up for me, sweetheart’. And I did. Like instantly. I didn’t even think.”

Mina fanned herself dramatically. “Okay, keep going.”

“He wouldn’t let me touch him unless he said so,” Y/N admitted, smirking a little. “And when I came, he—god—he told me he wanted to feel me fall apart around him. It was filthy. I loved every second of it.”

Mina shook her head, grinning. “So when’s round two?”

Y/N’s smirk faded just a little. “That’s the thing… when I woke up, he was gone. No note. No number. Nothing.”

Mina raised a brow. “Mysterious. Maybe he’ll pop up again.”

Y/N stirred her coffee, trying to hide how much she hoped so. “Yeah… maybe.”

But even as they switched topics, she knew she’d recognize that smirk anywhere—and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find him, or if she should run the other way if she did.

-----------

The sizzle of garlic in the pan filled her small kitchen, the scent curling warm and familiar through the air. Y/N moved lazily between the counter and the stove, wooden spoon in hand, humming faintly to herself. The TV was on in the living room, volume low—background noise she barely paid attention to most nights.

“…in other news, police are still investigating the underground street racing gang suspected in a string of high-end car thefts across the city…”

She half-listened, tossing the pasta into the pot, steam clouding up in front of her.

“…the group is believed to be highly organized, with members able to bypass advanced security systems in minutes. Authorities have yet to identify any suspects, but earlier this week, surveillance audio captured what they believe to be the gang’s leader…”

Her hand froze on the spoon.

“…the voice was recorded whispering something to himself while working to unlock a car. Investigators say it could be a personal quirk—possibly a code phrase. We warn viewers, the clip is faint but clear.”

She turned toward the living room without meaning to, her brows knitting together as the reporter continued.

And then—

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t grainy enough to hide the tone. That deep, low rumble. The way the word sweetheart curled at the edges, dripping with command.

Y/N’s whole body went rigid, the steam from the stove curling around her as her mind stuttered.

No. No, it couldn’t be—

But the moment it hit her ears, her body remembered. The weight of him above her. The heat of his breath against her ear. That exact same line, whispered while she lay beneath him, trembling, her back arching into his touch.

Her knees felt unsteady.

The anchor kept speaking, explaining how police hoped the clip might lead to tips from the public, but she barely heard a word. Her heart thudded in her chest as they played it again.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

She stumbled toward the couch, grabbing the remote with shaky fingers, rewinding. Playing it again. And again. Every repetition sent a sharp shiver down her spine.

It was him. It was Haechan.

She sank onto the couch, her dinner forgotten in the kitchen, the only thing she could hear was his voice filling the quiet apartment—over and over—until it was impossible to deny the truth.

The man who’d given her the best night of her life was the leader of a gang the police couldn’t catch.

And she knew that voice better than anyone.

-----------

The garage smelled like motor oil and adrenaline. The hum of a stripped-down Nissan idled low in the background, the hood up, exposed wiring glinting under the harsh white lights. Haechan was crouched beside it, a smudge of grease on his forearm, his focus razor-sharp on the delicate lock bypass he’d been perfecting.

The metallic click of the door opening announced Mark before his voice did.

“They got your voice on tape,” Mark said flatly, stepping inside.

Haechan didn’t look up right away, just kept working, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Cops get lots of things on tape. Doesn’t mean they know what they’re listening to.”

Mark leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. “This time, they’re playing it on the damn news.”

That made Haechan pause. Slowly, he straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let me hear it.”

Mark pulled out his phone, scrolling, then hit play.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.”

The voice—his voice—rolled out into the garage, low and intimate even in the grainy recording.

And Haechan froze.

Because he remembered saying it. Not here. Not to himself over a lock. But to her. Weeks ago, her knees open under his hands, her eyes glassy with need, the little breathless yes she’d given him right after.

Heat flared low in his gut, memory slamming into him so hard it stole his breath.

Her soft gasps as he slid into her. The way she squeezed around him, so fucking tight it had him gritting his teeth. The sight of her arching under him, mouth falling open as she obeyed every filthy word he gave her.

He hadn’t been able to hook up with anyone since. Not for lack of trying—he’d had offers. But every time he touched someone else, it felt wrong. They weren’t her. They didn’t make his control slip the way she did.

He tossed the rag onto the bench and grabbed his jacket.

Mark blinked. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Out,” Haechan said, already heading for the door.

“That’s it? You’re not even gonna—”

“Lock up the garage when you’re done,” he cut in, not slowing.

Mark’s voice followed him out. “You’re not telling me something.”

Haechan didn’t bother answering. He was already in the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life. His mind wasn’t on the job, or the risk, or the cops—it was on Y/N. On the way she’d looked up at him that night. On the sound she’d made when he told her to open up for him.

And if she’d seen that news clip…

He pressed harder on the gas. He needed to see her.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came.

Y/N froze halfway through brushing her teeth, the sound echoing through her quiet apartment. No one came by this late. No one except—

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t need to look through the peephole. There was only one person who would knock like that—three firm raps, a pause, then two more.

She pulled on her robe, tying the belt tighter as she stepped into the hall. And there he was.

Haechan stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, hood up, shadows hiding half his face. But his eyes… she’d know them anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low but steady.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You know why I’m here.”

She crossed her arms, the robe tugging tighter across her chest. “Do I?”

His gaze sharpened. “I know you know it’s me. It’s all over the news.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but she didn’t look away. “The second I heard it… I knew.” She swallowed, fingers tightening on the robe belt. “It was you.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“But I’m not going to tell anyone,” she continued. “I don’t care what you’ve done… it’s not my business. But it means we can’t—” She hesitated, the words catching. “We can’t see each other anymore.”

Something flickered in his expression—amusement, maybe, or defiance. Then he stepped closer, close enough for her to smell the faint trace of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body.

“You really think I’m going to walk away that easy?” he murmured.

Before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was hot, demanding, pulling a sharp gasp from her before she melted against him. Her hands were at his chest, meaning to push him back—but instead, they curled into his jacket as his tongue slid against hers, his body crowding hers into the doorframe.

She kissed him back. Hard. Like she’d been starving for it.

When she finally broke away, breathless, her hand pressed lightly to his chest—not shoving, but holding him there. “You have to stop coming here.”

He didn’t move for a beat, eyes locked on hers, lips curved in that infuriating smirk. But when she stepped back, he let her go.

She turned, retreating inside without looking back, the door clicking shut between them.

In the dark of her bedroom, she lay staring at the ceiling, heart still pounding.

What the hell was going on in her life?

--------------

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[jikookncity]

Jaehyun x Reader (angst)

The one where Jaehyun breaks up with y/n before his military service and fate reunites them years later.

He doesn’t say it until the very end of the night.

They’ve just finished dinner — her favorite, made by him — and they’re sitting on her couch, legs tangled, his hand on her thigh, her head tucked beneath his chin. The room is warm, safe. She’s laughing at something dumb he said. But something feels off.

The whole night Jae has been a bit shifty, y/n about to ask if he's alright but he speaks first.

And then, softly, almost casually, he says, “I think we should break up.”

She freezes.

At first she thinks she misheard. That maybe he said something else — something ridiculous or teasing or meaningless — because surely the boy who made her laugh five seconds ago isn’t the one breaking her heart now.

“What?” she says, slowly sitting up.

He won’t meet her eyes. “I leave in four days. I can't hold you back.”

“Jaehyun,” she says carefully, already feeling the panic crawl up her throat, “what are you talking about?”

“This is the right thing to do,” he says too quickly. “You shouldn’t have to wait for me. You should live your life. Be free.”

“Free from what?” Her voice rises. “You?”

He sighs like he’s already exhausted by this conversation, and that’s when the anger hits her — hot and dizzying.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“You’re breaking up with me because you're leaving for the military?”

He nods. “It’s better this way.”

She stares at him, heart hammering. “Better for who?”

“Y/N—”

“No, answer me. Better for who, Jaehyun? Because it’s not better for me. I would’ve waited for you. I wanted to.”

“That’s the problem,” he mutters, finally looking at her, and he looks so pained she could scream. “You shouldn’t have to. I don’t want to be the reason you stop living your life for the next two years.”

Her voice cracks. “So instead, you’d rather rip everything away from me four days before you leave?”

He flinches. “Please don’t cry—”

“Then don’t do this!” she begs. “I don’t care how long you’re gone, Jaehyun. I don’t care about time or distance or any of it. You don’t get to decide what I want for myself.”

“I’m trying to make it easier—”

“Then why does it feel like you’re gutting me?”

Silence.

Her tears fall fast, breath hitching in her chest, and he doesn’t know what to do. He just sits there, fists clenched on his knees, watching her fall apart like it’s killing him too. But he doesn’t stop it.

He doesn’t pull her in. Doesn’t take it back.

He just lets her cry.

And after a long, awful minute, she stands.

“I hope it was worth it,” she whispers. “Tearing us apart just to feel like a good guy.”

He calls her name, once. Softly.

But she’s already in the hallway, already closing the door behind her.

No one hears from her for days.

The news spreads through the group quickly — Jaehyun’s leaving in a few days, and he and Y/N broke up out of nowhere. Mark texts her immediately. So does Johnny. Doyoung leaves a voicemail. Yuta sends a playlist. Taeyong shows up at her apartment, knocks for ten minutes, leaves a coffee and a note.

But she doesn’t answer.

Not the door, not the phone, not the world.

She disappears, and the silence that follows is deafening.

----------

4 days later

The air feels heavier that morning.

Jaehyun doesn’t cry when he wakes up. Doesn’t cry when he pulls on the plain uniform, his name printed neatly above his heart. He doesn’t cry when he ties his boots, eats breakfast with his family, or when his mother hugs him just a little too tightly.

But when the car pulls up, when it’s time to go, he glances toward the back of the crowd—toward the space where he keeps hoping she’ll be—and feels the first crack.

She’s not there.

And maybe he didn’t expect her to be. Maybe it would’ve been unfair to hope. But part of him did anyway. A part of him believed, stupidly, that she’d show up at the last second and give him a reason not to feel like he’s lost everything.

But she doesn’t come.

The others are there. Mark, Johnny, Taeyong, Doyoung, Yuta. They clap him on the back, hug him, make dumb jokes to keep it light.

“You’ll be fine, man,” Johnny says, grinning. “Just don’t forget how to talk when you get back.”

“Don’t forget how to flirt,” Yuta adds.

“You don’t even know how to flirt,” Mark snorts.

They all laugh. Jaehyun smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes.

He nods along, plays the part, says his thank-yous and I’ll-miss-yous. But his eyes keep darting around, scanning every face that passes. Every quiet girl in a hoodie. Every shape that could be her.

She’s nowhere.

He tries not to let it show. Tries to stand tall, steady, composed.

But his chest is hollow, and the weight of her absence feels louder than any goodbye.

Because even surrounded by the people who love him most, Jaehyun only wants one thing:

For her to forgive him.

But she never comes.

Two Months Later

His first break comes faster than he expected.

The days had blurred together—training, routine, repetition. He didn’t have time to think, not really. That was the point.

But the moment he’s given his phone back and steps off base in civilian clothes, it all rushes back.

Her face. Her voice. That last night. The way she looked at him like he was a stranger.

He meets the guys at a restaurant downtown. It’s loud and bright and crowded, and for a while, it feels normal.

Taeyong’s already waving from the booth. “Look who didn’t disappear completely.”

“Hyung,” Jaehyun laughs, sliding into the seat beside him. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“You look good,” Doyoung says. “Healthier. Bulkier.”

“He’s glowing,” Johnny grins. “I should enlist.”

“Don’t joke,” Mark groans. “We need one civilian left.”

Jaehyun laughs with them, orders food, answers questions, tells half-stories from camp. It’s easy, like muscle memory.

But eventually, the quiet creeps in.

He stirs his drink and casually asks, “So... how’s Y/N?”

The table stills.

He doesn’t notice at first—too focused on the straw, the ice melting in his glass—until the silence starts to stretch.

He looks up.

Everyone is staring.

“What?” he asks.

No one answers.

Jaehyun’s stomach twists. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Johnny speaks first. “You haven’t heard from her?”

“No,” Jaehyun says slowly. “Why would I? I figured she was... I don’t know. Doing her own thing. Busy. Why?”

Taeyong leans forward. “You really don’t know?”

Jaehyun goes cold. “Know what?”

“She disappeared,” Doyoung says quietly. “After the breakup. Stopped replying to anyone. Wouldn’t answer the door. We haven’t heard a single word since.”

Mark nods. “She didn’t just go quiet. She vanished, hyung.”

The blood drains from Jaehyun’s face.

He’s already standing.

He barely remembers the ride.

He doesn’t even take the time to text—just grabs a cab, mutters an address, and stares out the window like it might change what he just heard.

It can’t be true.

She can’t have vanished. Not because of him. Not because of a choice he made thinking he was protecting her.

He races up the familiar front steps, heart pounding in his ears, and bangs on the door.

“Y/N?” His voice is raw. “Y/N, please—open up. It’s me.”

He knocks again. Harder. “Y/N—!”

A door creaks open across the hall.

An elderly neighbor peeks out, squinting. “You looking for the girl who used to live there?”

Jaehyun turns, desperate. “Yes—do you know where she is?”

The woman frowns, stepping out in her slippers. “She moved out. About a month ago.”

His stomach sinks. “What?”

“Took everything. Didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

The hallway feels like it’s closing in.

The neighbor eyes him with sympathy. “You must be the boy she cried about.”

He blinks. “Sorry?”

“She cried every night for a week. Then she was gone.”

The door closes softly behind her.

And Jaehyun is left standing in the hallway, fists trembling at his sides, staring at the door that used to lead to her world.

And now leads to nothing.

Jaehyun stands frozen in the hallway, staring at the door that no longer leads to her.

The neighbor’s words echo in his head: She cried every night. Then she was gone.

He knocks again, harder this time, even though he knows it’s useless. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

But the apartment is empty. Hollow. She’s gone.

He stumbles back, heart racing, then pulls out his phone. He tries her number even though he hasn’t in months, not since the night she walked away from him with tears in her eyes and finality in her voice.

It rings. Once. Twice.

Voicemail.

He calls again.

And again.

By the third time he hears her recorded voice, something in him unravels.

He scrolls to Johnny’s name, taps call with shaking hands.

No answer.

Mark. No answer.

Doyoung. Taeyong. Yuta.

All the people who love them, who knew them as a pair, who might have any clue where she went—none of them pick up. Or worse, they don’t know either.

He sends out texts in a blur:

Where is she? Please, someone tell me. This isn’t funny. I’m serious. She’s not at her apartment. Her neighbor said she moved. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

He even tries her old work number, praying it still connects, but the line’s been disconnected.

She’s not just gone—she’s unreachable.

Untouchable.

Like she never existed at all.

And Jaehyun suddenly feels like he’s suffocating.

He gets back in the car, starts driving aimlessly. Streets blur. Buildings pass in smudges. His hands shake so badly he nearly misses a red light. He grips the wheel tighter, chest tightening with every beat.

What has he done?

He thought he was doing the right thing. Letting her go so she could live, breathe, be free of the weight of waiting.

But she didn’t feel free.

She felt abandoned.

And now, he realizes—too late—he didn’t save her. He destroyed her. Destroyed them.

A sob tears out of his throat before he can stop it. One broken sound becomes another. Then another. Until he’s full-on sobbing, parked at the side of a quiet road, face pressed into the crook of his elbow, hand fisting his hoodie like he can hold himself together that way.

He can’t.

He sobs like his chest is collapsing in on itself, the pain guttural, raw. No cameras. No one watching. Just him and the realization that he lost the love of his life to a decision that was never noble—just cowardly.

He thought he was being selfless.

But really, he just didn’t want to watch her suffer while he was gone. So he cut her out before she could decide for herself.

And now she’s disappeared, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Fingers trembling, he finally calls the only person he can think of.

“Taeyong,” he chokes when the line picks up.

“Jaehyun?” There’s rustling on the other end. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not okay,” he sobs, the words barely making it through. “I can’t—I can’t drive—I don’t know where she is—I fucked everything up—please, hyung—can you come get me—”

“Send me your location,” Taeyong says immediately, his voice steady but tight. “Don’t move. I’m coming.”

Jaehyun doesn’t hang up. Doesn’t speak again.

He just sits there, phone to his ear, listening to Taeyong’s soft breathing on the other end.

Because it’s the only thing anchoring him to this earth right now.

------------

The silence in the car is thick.

Taeyong doesn’t press him, not yet. He just drives, glancing over every few minutes to make sure Jaehyun’s still breathing.

They’re parked outside Taeyong’s place when he finally speaks.

“You should try calling her family,” he says gently. “If anyone knows where she is… it’s them.”

Jaehyun leans his head against the window, eyes red, voice hollow. “I can’t ask them that.”

“You loved her,” Taeyong says. “They know that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the reason she disappeared.”

Taeyong doesn’t argue. He just holds out the phone.

Jaehyun stares at it. His hand shakes as he takes it.

He scrolls slowly, heart pounding, until he lands on her mom’s name. She used to call him her “second son.” Used to hug him at holidays, invite him over for dinners even when Y/N wasn’t there.

He presses call.

It rings once. Then twice.

And then—she answers.

“Hello?”

He freezes. Her voice is the same. Warm. Gentle. And for a second, he almost forgets why he’s calling.

“…Hi,” he says, barely above a whisper. “It’s Jaehyun.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh.” Her voice softens, but it loses its warmth. “Jaehyun.”

“I’m sorry for calling. I—I wouldn’t, but I just… I need to know if she’s okay. Please.”

Another pause. This one longer.

“She’s fine,” her mother says at last. “She’s safe.”

His eyes squeeze shut, a breath of relief escaping.

“Can I… can you tell me where she is? I just want to talk to her. I need to explain—”

“I’m sorry, Jaehyun,” she interrupts gently, but firmly. “She asked us not to tell anyone. Especially you.”

He swallows hard. “Please… I never meant to hurt her. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“I know you did,” she says softly. “But that didn’t stop it from hurting.”

His throat tightens.

“She doesn’t hate you,” she adds after a moment. “But she needs space. And peace. You calling her… it won’t help.”

“So that’s it?” His voice cracks. “I just… lose her like this?”

“She’s doing what she needs to survive,” her mother says. “If you care about her at all, you’ll stop calling.”

The line goes quiet before he can respond.

And then she hangs up.

He sits in Taeyong’s car long after the call ends, phone in his lap, staring at the dash like it might rewind time.

“Did she answer?” Taeyong asks quietly.

Jaehyun nods once.

“And?”

“She said to stop calling.”

Taeyong doesn’t say anything. He just reaches over and puts a hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder, squeezing once.

Jaehyun doesn’t sleep that night.

The morning his break ends, he doesn’t speak on the ride back to the base.

His hands shake as he puts his uniform back on.

He keeps seeing her in flashes—in their kitchen, her smile bright and teasing; in bed, curled into him like she belonged there; on the couch, begging him not to leave her.

He keeps hearing her mother’s voice.

She’s fine. She asked us not to tell you. Especially you.

The uniform feels heavier than before. Not just because of duty, but because of everything he left behind to wear it.

He steps onto base with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, nodding at the other guys, slipping back into routine.

But inside, he’s unraveling.

He made the biggest mistake of his life in the name of protecting her.

And now, the woman he loves is out there—somewhere he can’t reach, a ghost he can’t chase—and he has no idea if he’ll ever get the chance to make it right.

The world didn’t end when Jaehyun lost her.

It just dulled.

Days moved on, the sun rose, and he did what he had to—finished his service, trained hard, kept his head down. For a while, the structure helped. The numbness was easier to manage when everything else was stripped away.

But then came discharge.

Six months ago, he came home to a life that had changed without him, 2 and a half years since the breakup. His apartment was still there, but emptier. The gang welcomed him back with open arms. They toasted his return, got him drunk, teased him about growing up.

He laughed with them.

He was good at that now—smiling with his mouth while the rest of him felt hollow.

And in all that time, he never so much as looked at another girl.

Not really.

Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way he used to look at her—with soft eyes and quiet awe and the ache of knowing he was stupidly, deeply in love.

Because Y/N was it.

And he let her go.

He lives with that weight every day.

He still goes on walks hoping he might pass her by. He still flinches when he hears her name in a crowd. He still dreams about the look on her face the night she walked out of his life.

Sometimes, he thinks if he saw her again, he’d fall apart all over again.

But she hasn’t reappeared.

Not yet.

------------

Y/N stands in the break room of her new office, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, and smiles politely at a coworker walking by.

She’s gotten good at pretending, too.

It’s been a long road back.

After disappearing, she moved home for six months—cutting off everyone, even herself. Her parents gave her space to fall apart, and she did. Quietly. Painfully. She slept a lot. Read old books. Took long showers and cried in all of them.

Then, one day, she applied for grad school.

She needed something to focus on, to prove to herself that she could still want something—even if it wasn’t him.

The past two years had been busy. Late nights, lectures, thesis deadlines. She threw herself into it all with sharp determination, slowly stitching herself back together.

And she met someone.

His name is Minjae. He’s kind. Patient. Steady. He loves her in a quiet, uncomplicated way.

They’ve been dating for a year now.

She likes him. More than likes, even. He makes her laugh, he brings her tea when she forgets to eat, he kisses her like she’s precious.

But he doesn’t know the way she still sometimes closes her eyes in the shower and sees another face.

He doesn’t know about the box hidden in the back of her closet, full of photos and little things from a life she doesn’t talk about anymore.

He doesn’t know that once in a while, she wakes up from a dream with Jaehyun’s name on her lips and tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

Because even after all this time…

Even after healing, growing, and building a new life…

She still misses him.

She doesn’t talk about it.

She doesn’t let herself feel it often.

But it lives inside her, somewhere deep—an ache she carries quietly, like a bruise on a bone that never healed quite right.

They’re in the same city again.

They don’t know it yet.

But fate is beginning to stir.

And neither of them is as over the other as they pretend to be.

Y/N wasn’t expecting to see anyone that morning.

She was just running errands, her phone in one hand, earbuds in, half-listening to a podcast and half-scanning the bakery’s display case. The tiny café on the corner was a new favorite—quiet, charming, and usually free of any ghosts from her past.

But when she turned around, croissant in hand, she froze.

“Y/N?”

She blinked.

Johnny stood there, just as stunned as she was.

He looked older. Not in a bad way—more settled. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, still with that warm, open expression that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

“Johnny?” she whispered, heart stuttering in her chest.

And then he moved.

In two long strides, he was wrapping her in a hug so tight it knocked the wind out of her.

She laughed. Actually laughed—startled and giddy, like her heart had missed this exact kind of comfort. She squeezed him back, face buried in his shoulder.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“I thought I was seeing things,” he pulled back slightly to look at her, grinning. “You look amazing.”

“So do you,” she smiled, a little shy, a little overwhelmed. “I missed you.”

“You better have,” he teased, bumping her shoulder before nodding toward the tables. “Sit with me?”

They found a table outside in the sun, drinks in hand, and it didn’t take long before the conversation turned more serious.

“I owe you an apology,” Y/N said quietly, eyes on the rim of her coffee cup. “For disappearing. For cutting everyone off.”

Johnny shook his head, gentle. “Y/N…”

“I had to,” she went on. “Everything reminded me of him. Of what we were. Of what I lost. Being around you guys hurt too much. I couldn’t breathe.”

Johnny was quiet.

“I didn’t just lose him, Johnny,” her voice cracked slightly. “I lost all of you. And I hated myself for it. But I had to let it go. I had to find a way to… survive it.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “I get it,” he said softly. “You don’t owe me anything. But… I’m really glad you’re back.”

She smiled, eyes misty. “Thanks.”

He squeezed her fingers. “So tell me everything. Where’d you go? What’ve you been doing?”

She told him. About going home. Healing. Grad school. The job. Even the boyfriend—though she didn’t linger on that part.

Johnny just nodded, listening, smiling at all the right parts.

“Taeyong’s throwing a barbecue next weekend,” he said when they stood to leave. “You should come.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You guys still do those?”

“Religiously,” he grinned. “Everyone’s dying to see you.”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to stay long,” he offered gently. “Just come say hi. You’re missed, Y/N. A lot more than you think.”

She looked down at her shoes, debating.

“…I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

Johnny smiled like he already knew the answer. “That’s all I ask.”

And as she walked away, she realized something was already shifting in her chest. Something warm. Something she hadn’t let herself feel in years.

Maybe… she wasn’t done here after all.

------------

The barbecue was already in full swing when Y/N arrived.

Laughter echoed through Taeyong’s backyard, the smell of grilled meat and charcoal drifting through the air. She hesitated by the gate, hands twisting nervously around the strap of her purse. But before she could turn around and run back to her car, the sliding door opened.

“Y/N?”

It was Doyoung.

He blinked like he was seeing a ghost. Then his eyes widened, and without hesitation, he darted over and wrapped her in a hug so tight it made her eyes burn.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’re really here.”

She laughed softly, overwhelmed, the noise of the party blurring into static for a second as more heads began to turn. One by one, the others noticed—Mark, Yuta, Taeyong, Haechan, Jaemin. Shock, joy, relief. All of it hit her at once.

She barely got five feet into the yard before she was being passed around like a long-lost sister, everyone wrapping her up in hugs and stories and wide-eyed smiles.

“You look so good—what the hell?”

“Where did you go, woman?”

“We thought you were on another continent!”

Y/N laughed, waving them off, heart pounding from the warmth of it all. “I needed time. That’s all. Time and space.”

No one asked about Jaehyun.

No one asked why she left so suddenly.

They just told her how much they missed her. How weird it was without her. How right it felt to see her now.

Johnny caught her eye across the yard. He gave her a quiet, knowing smile and a nod—silent encouragement. He hadn’t told them she was back. He’d kept her secret until she was ready. She mouthed a thank you.

She stayed for an hour or so. Long enough to catch up, to laugh, to feel like she hadn’t lost everything. And then, gently, she slipped away.

Jaehyun arrived fifteen minutes later.

He looked good. Stronger, more grounded—but there was still something hollow in his eyes. He hugged the guys, fist-bumped Haechan, threw an arm over Mark’s shoulder and reached for a drink like everything was normal.

But something shifted.

Doyoung was the first to speak. “Hey, man… you won’t believe who was just here.”

Jaehyun’s hand paused mid-reach.

Johnny saw the way his fingers tightened around the beer can. The quiet drop of his shoulders as he turned slowly toward the group.

Taeyong hesitated. “Y/N.”

Jaehyun’s face went blank.

No smile. No surprise. Just a long, unreadable silence. Like the words hadn’t registered yet. And then—

“She was here?” His voice cracked. Barely audible.

“Yeah,” Mark said gently. “She looked good. Really good. She’s been doing her master’s, working again. Seems… happy.”

Jaehyun nodded. Once. Twice. His eyes unfocused, somewhere far away. There was a flicker of something behind them—hope, maybe. Grief. Longing. Regret.

Johnny stepped forward, placing a steady hand on his shoulder and guiding him toward the fence, away from the others.

They stood in silence for a beat.

Then Johnny said softly, “She has a boyfriend.”

Jaehyun blinked slowly.

“Oh.”

“I think she really likes him,” Johnny added, careful. “She didn’t talk about him, but… it’s been a year. She seems happy.”

Jaehyun let out a slow breath, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

He nodded again. But this time it was heavier. Final.

“Okay,” he whispered. His jaw clenched. “Okay.”

But Johnny could see it—the way his fingers curled into fists, how his throat bobbed like he was swallowing glass.

Because Jaehyun had just realized what he already knew:

She hadn’t waited for him.

And it was nobody’s fault but his.

----------------

The second time she showed up, she didn’t come alone.

Y/N walked into Taeyong’s apartment with her hand tucked into someone else’s. Her boyfriend was tall, clean-cut, polite—offering smiles and handshakes as she introduced him around the room.

Jaehyun was by the kitchen counter when it happened.

He looked up at the sound of her laugh—soft and warm, the same one that used to curl against his neck in the mornings. For a second, the crowd parted, and their eyes locked.

Y/N froze. Just for a beat.

But then she smiled.

A real one—genuine, if a little sad. She raised her hand and waved.

Jaehyun exhaled. Tension bled from his shoulders like he’d been holding his breath for two years. She didn’t hate him. She wasn’t angry. He didn’t know what that meant, but it was enough to steady him.

He lifted his hand and waved back.

Moments later, she made her way toward him, her boyfriend following closely behind. When they reached him, Y/N gently nudged the man forward with a proud smile.

“Jaehyun, this is Minjae. My boyfriend. Minjae, this is Jaehyun.”

Minjae stuck out a hand. “Hey, man. Good to meet you.”

Jaehyun shook it, heart clenching. “Yeah. You too.”

Minjae turned to grab a drink from the cooler nearby, and Jaehyun watched him go—watched the hand that used to be in his now loosely draped around someone else.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure I would,” Y/N replied. Her voice was calm, not cold. “But Johnny asked again, and I figured it was time.”

He nodded. “You look good.”

“So do you.” She glanced around the party. “You seem… better.”

“I am,” he admitted, then paused. “Not completely. But getting there.”

She looked at him for a long moment, eyes soft. “I’m glad.”

He hesitated. The apology sat heavy on his tongue. “Y/N, I—”

She cut him off gently. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” he insisted, eyes pleading. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t realize it was the worst decision I’d ever make until it was too late.”

Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but her throat bobbed like she’d swallowed something sharp. She took a slow breath, then shook her head.

“It’s in the past, Jaehyun. We can’t change it.”

Her voice was firm. Kind, but final.

He nodded again, this time slower. “You’re right.”

A long silence stretched between them. Not awkward—but charged. Familiar in a way that tugged painfully at the chest.

She glanced over her shoulder at Minjae and then turned back to him.

“I should go,” she said. “He doesn’t know who you are. I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” Jaehyun replied quickly. “It’s okay.”

Y/N offered him one last smile. “Take care of yourself, Jae.”

And then she turned, walking back toward her boyfriend, who greeted her with a hand on the small of her back and a soft kiss on the temple.

Jaehyun stood there long after she left his side, still holding onto the echo of her voice, the warmth of her eyes. He’d told himself it wouldn’t hurt to see her again.

He’d been wrong.

Y/N shut the door behind her and pressed her back against it, eyes fluttering closed.

Her hands were shaking.

She looked down at her fingers as if they weren’t hers, trying to make sense of it—of why one glance from Jaehyun could still leave her so breathless.

Minjae was sweet, smart, and steady. He held her hand when she was tired, kissed her forehead when she was stressed. He said he wanted a future with her.

And she liked him. She did.

But she’d never felt like this with him.

Not like she did when Jaehyun’s eyes met hers across the room. When his voice said her name like a secret. When his smile—tentative, apologetic, familiar—unraveled something deep in her chest.

She exhaled hard, like she could push the feelings out with her breath. “It’s just memories,” she whispered, a hand pressed to her sternum. “That’s all.”

But she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

—

The next time they saw each other, it was daylight. Familiar. Easier.

She met Jaehyun and Johnny at a quiet café near the studio they used to rehearse at. There was laughter, old jokes, stories of rehearsals gone wrong and producers who finally came around.

“Your tour’s gonna be insane,” she grinned, sipping her iced latte. “I’m so proud of you guys. Seriously.”

Johnny smiled warmly, nudging her foot under the table. “We missed having our biggest fan around.”

Her smile dimmed slightly, but she didn’t answer that.

Johnny glanced at his phone and stood. “I gotta run, rehearsal in twenty. You two stay and catch up.”

He shot Jaehyun a quick look before heading out—something unreadable but intentional.

Jaehyun sat back, watching Y/N across the table.

She looked so composed. A little older, a little wiser. Still luminous in a way that made his chest ache.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

She glanced up. “Of course.”

“Do you think we could be friends?”

There was a pause. Her expression didn’t change much—just a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

Then she smiled. Gently. “Sure, Jae. I think we can be.”

Something broke and healed in him all at once.

Because even now—after the pain he caused, after walking away, after making the worst mistake of his life—she was still kind. Still sincere. Still warm.

How had he ever let her go?

The question followed him home, clinging to his steps like a shadow.

By the time he was in his apartment, the weight of it had grown unbearable.

He called the one person who had seen the worst of it.

“Hello?” Taeyong’s voice was groggy—probably napping.

Jaehyun didn’t even greet him. Just said the words like they’d been boiling in his chest for years.

“I’m still in love with her.”

There was silence. Then the creak of Taeyong sitting up.

“I never stopped,” Jaehyun added, quieter now. “Even after everything. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I lost her. And now she’s back. And I don’t know what the hell to do.”

Taeyong sighed. “Then figure it out, Jae. Before it’s too late again.”

-------------

Y/N hadn’t stopped thinking about what Jaehyun had asked her.

Can we be friends?

It seemed like the right thing. The mature thing. After all, they’d loved each other deeply once, and now that part of their story was over. Or it was supposed to be.

She’d spent so long being angry. So long aching. So long remembering every kiss, every late-night promise, every quiet laugh in the dark.

And then she’d spent even longer trying to forget.

Now she just wanted peace. She wanted to move forward, for real this time. If that meant being friends, she’d do it. She could do it.

She told herself that again as she walked up the steps to Taeyong’s house for another weekend hangout.

She didn’t expect her heel to slip on the second stair. Her ankle twisted, pain jolting up her leg like lightning. She winced and hissed, clutching the railing.

“Shit,” Johnny cursed behind her, immediately catching her before she could fall further. “You okay?”

She nodded too quickly, her face pale. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine—just twisted it.”

Johnny didn’t believe her for a second.

He lifted her into his arms without argument, carrying her inside while the others stared in confusion. “She took a bad step,” he explained quickly. “Gonna patch her up.”

He brought her to the downstairs bathroom and set her on the closed toilet lid, crouching in front of her.

“I’m getting Jaehyun.”

“Johnny—”

“He’s trained for this kind of stuff. You know he is.”

Before she could argue, Jaehyun was walking in, eyes wide, his expression pinched with concern. “What happened?”

“She fell,” Johnny said, stepping aside. “It’s her ankle. I’ll give you guys some space.”

Jaehyun knelt where Johnny had been, quiet and focused. He didn’t ask many questions. Just gently took her shoe off and examined the swelling with practiced hands.

“It’s not broken,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Sprained. You’re lucky.”

She was silent.

He reached into the first-aid kit Johnny handed him, wrapping her ankle carefully, anchoring the gauze with clean tape.

“You need to keep it elevated for a few days. Don’t put pressure on it.”

Still, she said nothing. Just stared at him.

His brows furrowed as he tied off the wrap. “Y/N?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

He looked up then, eyes meeting hers, and for one suspended moment the air between them changed. Warmer. Sadder. Like something that had once lived between them was still flickering faintly, trying to survive.

She stood abruptly, limping toward the door. “I have to go.”

“Wait, let me help—”

“I’m fine,” she said too fast, too firmly, not looking back.

She called a cab from the curb and cried the entire ride home, one hand pressed over her mouth, as if she could stop the truth from spilling out:

She wasn’t over him. Not even close.

And the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with was so close… yet so far.

------------

Jaehyun wasn’t expecting the knock.

He was home alone, pacing restlessly after that day at Taeyong’s. The image of Y/N’s face—so quiet, so unreadable as he wrapped her ankle—had haunted him all night. The way she whispered thank you, the way she left without looking back.

He opened the door and froze.

Y/N stood on his porch, arms crossed tightly, her hair damp from the rain, breath uneven like she’d run the entire way.

“Y/N?”

She didn’t wait. She shoved past him, stepping into the house like she belonged there—which, once, she had. She stood in the middle of his living room, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes glossy and burning.

“I can’t do this,” she said, voice trembling.

He turned slowly, shutting the door behind them. “Do what?”

“This. Us.”

He blinked. “We’re not—”

“Exactly!” she snapped. “We’re not anything. We’re strangers who used to be everything to each other and now pretend we’re fine. I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Y/N…”

“You ruined us, Jaehyun.” Her voice cracked. “You ruined us for no reason. I didn’t want to let go. You made that choice alone.”

He stepped closer, eyes wide, his throat bobbing.

“I loved you so much,” she whispered, fists clenched at her sides. “And you left. You said you didn’t want to hold me back but you didn’t even ask me. You just—left. You told me you were doing it for me, like that was supposed to make it easier.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Jaehyun said softly, the first of many tears slipping down his face.

She laughed bitterly. “Right for who? Not me. I felt like I was going to die after we broke up. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t talk to anyone. And you know the worst part? I understood why you did it. And I hated that I understood. Because it meant I couldn’t even be mad. I just had to grieve.”

He reached for her, but she stepped back.

“I met someone. He’s sweet. He treats me well. He loves me.” She sniffled, staring past Jaehyun’s shoulder. “But he’s not you.”

Silence.

Her lips quivered. “And the sickest part is, I wish he was.”

“Y/N—”

“We can’t be friends, Jae. I thought I could do it. I thought enough time had passed.” She looked up at him, eyes glossy, heart laid bare. “But I’m still in love with you. God, I’m still in love with you and it’s pathetic.”

His heart shattered all over again.

She let out a shuddering breath, brushing her wet hair off her forehead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I just—I needed to say it. I needed to stop pretending.”

She turned to leave, wiping at her cheeks as she reached the door. “Goodbye, Jaehyun.”

And just like that, she was gone again.

Jaehyun stood frozen in place, her words echoing around the walls he used to share with her. He sank to the floor where she’d stood, chest shaking, and sobbed into his hands.

After a few minutes he picked up his phone and sent her something she always found comfort in, a voice mail.

-------------

“Hey…”

“I used to leave you voicemails all the time, didn’t I? Every time you were sad or stressed or couldn’t sleep. And now here I am… trying to find the right words again.”

“Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake of my life. And I mean that—I mean it with everything I have. Since the day you walked out of my life, I’ve looked beside me every damn day hoping to see you there. But you never are. And God, Y/N, it hurts. It still hurts.”

“I haven’t looked at another girl. Not once. Not even for a second. Because how could I? You’re it. You’re my person. You always were.”

“When you walked in that day… when I saw you again, I couldn’t breathe. You were right there but it felt like I was dreaming. All the air just… disappeared. And I thought, there she is. The love of my life.”

“When I found out you were gone… that you’d really left town… I thought, oh. So this is it. This is that heartbreak they talk about in movies and books. The kind that actually takes pieces of you with it. And I swear, for a moment… I thought I might die from how bad my chest hurt. It’s never really gone away.”

“I’ve done a lot since then. Finished my service, got back on my feet, tried to move forward. But not a single moment has felt like living without you in it. I haven’t been truly happy since you left, because how could I be?”

“I’m not asking for anything. I know you have a life. And someone who treats you well, which you deserve. But I need you to know this—I’ll always want you. Always. And if there ever comes a day you’re ready… you can come back to me. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“…Goodnight, Y/N.”

---------------

Y/n has dreamt of hearing those words from Jaehyun from the night they broke up. Always longing for his love and attention.

Y/N sits across from her boyfriend at their usual café, her fingers wrapped tightly around a warm mug she hasn’t taken a sip from. Her heart pounds, not from nerves—but from clarity. From knowing what she’s about to do is the right thing.

He watches her for a moment before gently setting his cup down.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, eyes kind. As always.

She swallows hard. “I need to be honest with you.”

He nods slowly, giving her space.

“You’ve been incredible to me. Kind, steady, everything I thought I needed after—after what I went through. But…” her voice catches. “I’m still in love with someone else.”

Silence.

He doesn’t flinch. Just exhales deeply, then tilts his head.

“It’s the guy from the party, isn’t it?”

Y/N’s eyes widen in shock. “Wait—what? How… how did you know?”

He smiles, sad but gentle. “The way you looked at him, Y/N… I’ve never seen anyone look at someone like that before. And you’ve never looked at me like that.”

She blinks fast, tears starting to gather. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he cuts in softly. “It’s not something you try to do. It’s just there. Real love… doesn’t hide.”

He rubs the back of his neck and leans back. “I asked Doyoung about him. He told me Jaehyun’s your ex. And then it all made sense. That wasn’t just some fling you haven’t gotten over. That was your great love.”

Her tears spill over. “I’m so sorry.”

He gives a small laugh and reaches for her hand. “Don’t be. If I ever had what you two had, I’d go after it too. I want you to be happy. Really happy.”

She covers her face with her hands, crying quietly, overwhelmed by his grace. He stands and leans down, wrapping her in a hug that says goodbye and thank you all at once.

“I hope he’s smart enough to never let you go again,” he whispers.

And just like that, the chapter ends. With kindness. With understanding.

And Y/N steps out of that café with trembling hands and a heart wide open—ready to go back to the one she never stopped loving.

-----------

Y/N’s heels click softly against the pavement as she walks up the steps to her building, heart still fluttering from everything that happened. Her eyes sting from crying, but for once, they aren’t tears of guilt or confusion—they’re from letting go. From finding clarity.

But the moment she turns the corner, her breath catches.

Jaehyun is standing in front of her door.

Hands shoved in his pockets, hair messy like he’s run his fingers through it too many times. His eyes lift when he hears her, and for a moment, they just stare at each other.

She drops her bag. And runs.

He catches her mid-step, arms wrapping around her so tightly like he’s afraid she might disappear again. She buries her face in his neck, and he exhales shakily into her hair.

“I thought you’d never come back to me,” he whispers.

“I thought you stopped waiting,” she chokes out, clinging to him.

“I never stopped,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at her.

Their eyes lock. They lean in slowly, breath mingling, and when their lips finally meet—it’s soft, reverent, full of all the words neither of them could say before. A kiss that says home, forgive me, I love you, and you’re mine all at once.

When they part, foreheads resting together, both of them are smiling.

No more pain.

No more wondering.

Just them—finally back where they belong. Hearts healed. Future wide open.

They’re all gathered around a firepit in Taeyong’s backyard, drinks in hand, laughter spilling into the warm night air. Y/N sits beside Jaehyun, her fingers intertwined with his under the table, hidden but sure.

“Okay,” Johnny says, raising an eyebrow as he watches the two of them with amused suspicion. “Why do you two look like you’ve got the biggest secret in the world?”

Y/N bites her lip. Jaehyun just grins.

He laces their fingers on top of the table this time, letting everyone see.

There’s a beat of silence—and then chaos.

Screams, gasps, laughter. Doyoung drops his drink. Taeyong grabs Jaehyun in a headlock. Yuta stands up and shouts, “I KNEW IT!”

The whole night turns into an impromptu celebration. Everyone’s hugging her, patting Jaehyun on the back, pretending to cry dramatically while actually getting choked up. Because they know—this isn’t just a rekindled relationship.

This is the love story.

---------------

It’s simple.

Jaehyun stands with her on the rooftop where they first kissed years ago, the city lights glittering beneath them. He holds her hand, heart pounding, and she thinks they’re just watching the view.

Until he turns to her and drops to one knee.

Y/N gasps, hands flying to her mouth.

“I let you go once,” Jaehyun says, voice thick, eyes glassy. “But I swear to God, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never question how much I love you again.”

He opens the box—an elegant, delicate ring that somehow feels just like her.

“Marry me,” he whispers. “Be my always.”

Tears stream down her face as she nods.

“Yes,” she breathes. “A thousand times, yes.”

-----------------

It’s sunset. Warm, golden light floods the garden where their ceremony is held, flowers swaying in the breeze as soft music plays.

Y/N walks down the aisle, a vision in white. Jaehyun stands at the altar, eyes already red, unable to stop smiling.

The gang stands behind him—Taeyong as best man, Johnny, Doyoung, Yuta, and the rest as groomsmen. Each one trying not to cry and failing miserably.

When Jaehyun takes her hands, it’s like the whole world goes quiet.

“You’re it for me,” he whispers. “You’ve always been it.”

They exchange vows, promises laced with the pain and the beauty of their story—what they lost, what they fought for, and what they’ll never take for granted again.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

Jaehyun pulls her close, and when they kiss, it feels like the rest of their lives begin in that single breath.

The crowd cheers, petals float through the air, and their friends shout over each other in joy.

They’re finally, irrevocably, united as one.

Forever starts here.

——————-

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[jikookncity]

Fuckboy Mark x Innocent Best Friend Reader (smut)

WC: 2.6k, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, second part includes ROUGH sex and MEAN MARK!!!

---------------

Y/N’s apartment smelled like vanilla and textbooks.

The small living room was cluttered with half-empty mugs, loose highlighters, and the glow of warm lamplight. She was curled up beside him on the floor, skin bare from mid-thigh down in one of his old sweatshirts she’d never given back. She had a pink pen tucked behind one ear, her lips pursed in concentration, and every so often she’d nudge him gently with her knee to keep him focused.

Mark couldn’t focus.

He was too busy pretending her soft thigh wasn’t brushing against his. That he wasn’t imagining how warm she’d be underneath that sweatshirt. That her laugh didn’t make his whole body feel like it was overheating from the inside out.

“Okay, quiz time,” she said brightly. “Name all the cranial nerves. Go.”

Mark dragged a hand over his face. “God, why are there twelve?”

She giggled, falling sideways until her head rested on his shoulder. “Because anatomy hates you.”

He didn’t dare move.

If he looked down, her hair would be right there. If he inhaled, he’d smell the faintest trace of her shampoo. If he let himself think, he’d remember that she’d never sat this close to anyone else—not with the ease she had with him. She’d always been touchy, always sweet, always his—but in the most innocent, unknowing way.

She had no idea.

No idea that he’d go home aching. That her bare legs and playful tone would haunt him for hours. That he couldn’t sleep most nights because his cock stayed hard at the thought of her being this close and still out of reach.

He cleared his throat and shifted away slightly, trying to focus.

She blinked up at him, head tilted. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling weakly. “Just tired.”

“Let’s stop then,” she offered, already stretching her arms above her head in a lazy yawn. The movement made her sweatshirt ride up just an inch higher, and Mark’s eyes snapped to the ceiling like it had personally offended him. “We did good tonight. I’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”

He nodded, gathering his things as she started putting away flashcards.

“Are you heading home?” she asked sweetly, padding barefoot to the door behind him.

“Not yet,” Mark said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Might meet some of the guys. Grab a drink.”

“Oh,” she said, pausing. “Have fun, then. Be safe.”

He smiled. “Always.”

She leaned against the doorway, all sleepy eyes and soft skin and zero idea that he was seconds away from either kissing her or going insane. Instead, he just gave her a quick wave and turned down the hall.

The second the door shut behind him, his smile dropped.

Across Town – Two Hours Later

The bass thumped hard through the floor. The lights were dim. People were pressed too close, laughing, grinding, slipping out back doors with strangers.

Mark didn’t even remember the girl’s name.

She was pretty enough. Bold. Said she’d seen him around campus. He let her pull him toward the bar, let her lips brush his neck. He let her lead, because it was easier that way—if he didn’t try, he wouldn’t be disappointed when it didn’t feel like anything.

She kissed him in the corner of the club, her hands already wandering.

And Mark kissed her back.

Hard. Deep. Desperate.

Pretending it was someone else.

Meanwhile

Y/N stood in her bathroom, humming to herself as she patted moisturizer into her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a silk scrunchie, her face glowing under the soft vanity light. She dabbed lip balm on last, then turned to the mirror, studying herself.

She touched the hem of Mark’s sweatshirt and smiled faintly.

It still smelled a little like his laundry detergent.

She padded to bed, curling into the sheets, her phone lighting up once with a text from him.

Mark 🧢: got home safe. see u tomorrow

She sent back a heart. Fell asleep without another thought.

Back at the Club

Mark left before things went too far.

He always did.

Every time he tried to let someone else in, it felt wrong. Pointless. Like trying to fill a Y/N-shaped hole with someone who didn’t even speak the same language.

He sat in his parked car, staring at the steering wheel, jaw clenched. His skin still smelled like perfume that wasn’t hers.

His stomach twisted.

His pants were tight, his body still wired, and all he could think about was her—the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the innocent way she curled up beside him like she didn’t even know what it did to him.

He could’ve had sex tonight. Rough, hot, messy sex with someone who wanted him.

But all he wanted was her.

Her skin. Her soft sounds. Her nervous little laugh when he’d push her down and tell her she was his. Her voice begging him to go slower, to teach her, to ruin her gently.

Mark let out a sharp breath and banged his head lightly against the seat.

He was so fucked.

---------------

“Mark,” Y/N said sweetly, tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie, “come to yoga with me.”

He blinked, mouth full of protein bar. “What?”

“I signed us up for the beginner’s class at the rec center,” she said brightly. “You said you’d come if I ever found one with room.”

“That was months ago,” he said through a half-laugh.

She gave him a look. “Are you bailing on me?”

Mark sighed. She had that look—the one that made his stomach flutter and his brain forget how to say no.

“Of course not,” he muttered, tossing his wrapper in the trash. “Let’s go.”

He regretted everything the moment she stepped out of the locker room.

Mark had never seen her in leggings before. Or a sports bra. Or anything that clung like a second skin and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It wasn’t that she was trying to be sexy—Y/N never tried. That was the problem. She just was.

Hair up. Skin dewy. That damn shy smile aimed straight at him as she adjusted her yoga mat beside his.

“You look like you want to die,” she teased, settling into a stretch.

“I feel like I might,” Mark muttered under his breath.

She didn’t hear him.

But his dick did.

The instructor turned on some calming music, and the class began. Mark tried to focus. He really did. Breathing in, breathing out, counting slow and steady. But then she bent forward into a stretch and her ass tipped into the air—right in front of him. Tight. Perfect. Covered only by thin black fabric he was sure cost nothing and ruined his life.

He shifted.

His sweats weren’t exactly hiding much.

“Now into downward dog,” the instructor said gently.

Mark swore under his breath.

Y/N giggled beside him as she adjusted into the pose, her back arching, her hips up. Her shirt lifted, revealing just a sliver of smooth skin along her waist.

Mark’s throat went dry.

He couldn’t stop staring. Every line of her body, every soft curve, every subtle breath—it was too much. Her legs were strong and supple, and she kept glancing over at him like she didn’t even realize she was slowly killing him.

He shifted again, subtly this time, praying no one noticed the strain in his pants.

“You’re doing good,” she whispered with a grin, breathless and flushed from the heat of the room.

Mark gave her a tight nod and stood frozen for a second too long in his warrior pose.

“Bathroom,” he muttered, stepping off his mat quickly and ducking out of the room.

Inside the bathroom, Mark locked the stall and leaned his forehead against the cool metal.

“Jesus Christ.”

His cock was painfully hard now, twitching in his briefs with every memory of her soft body moving beside him. His hands trembled as he exhaled, trying to breathe through it, trying not to imagine what she’d sound like moaning under him instead of giggling beside him on a yoga mat.

She had no clue.

She was on the other side of the wall, probably sipping water and tying her hair back, and meanwhile he was in here like a fucking teenager trying not to lose it.

He bit his lip hard and squeezed his eyes shut.

This wasn’t just a crush. Wasn’t just lust.

It was need—bone-deep, maddening, aching need—for someone he knew he couldn’t touch.

At least… not yet.

The walk back to her apartment was full of laughter and light teasing.

Y/N was glowing from the workout, hair tied up in a messy knot, cheeks flushed with effort. Mark carried both their mats over one shoulder, watching the way she kept rolling her neck, stretching her arms as they climbed the stairs.

“God, I’m sore,” she groaned, fumbling with her keys. “How do people do yoga every week without dying?”

“You weren’t even bad,” he said, forcing his tone casual. “You actually killed it.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna be dead tomorrow,” she said, finally unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Come in for a sec? I want to grab those notes from the last lecture.”

He followed her in, trying not to think about how she always made it feel like home. Her apartment was small, cozy, scented faintly with lavender and soft detergent. Her shoes kicked off by the door, sweatshirt draped over the back of a chair, a little lip gloss tube forgotten on the coffee table.

She collapsed face-first into the couch.

“Ugh. I’m never moving again.”

Mark chuckled, dropping their yoga mats and standing awkwardly near her feet. “You good?”

“No,” she mumbled into the cushion. “My shoulders are crying.”

He hesitated. “Want me to—uh—massage them?”

Her head popped up, eyes hopeful. “Would you?”

Fuck.

“Yeah,” he said, already kneeling behind her on the couch, heart pounding as he rested his hands gently on her shoulders. Her skin was warm through the thin fabric of her sports bra, muscles tight under his fingers.

She let out a soft sigh as he began to knead the tension away. “That feels so good…”

Mark swallowed hard, trying not to stare at the curve of her neck, the way her lips parted in relief, the little noises she made without even realizing. She was blissfully unaware of the effect she had on him—how every soft sound and relaxed breath just made him harder.

He dug his thumbs gently into the space between her shoulder blades, careful not to linger too long.

“You’re seriously the best,” she said after a while, tilting her head back to smile at him, eyes shining.

And then she kissed his cheek.

Quick. Innocent.

But it lit him up like a live wire.

“Thank you,” she whispered, unaware of the way his whole body stiffened beneath her touch. “You always take care of me.”

Mark nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Always.”

She smiled and rolled onto her side, eyes fluttering closed, totally content.

Mark stood, grabbed his stuff, and forced a laugh. “I should head out. Let you crash.”

“You sure?” she asked sleepily, still curled into the couch.

He nodded. “Text you when I get home.”

Later That Night

Mark lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

Still hard.

Still aching.

Still losing his goddamn mind.

The ghost of her lips on his cheek burned hotter than any kiss he’d ever had. The way she looked up at him like he was her favorite person in the world—so sweet, so close, so damn trusting—was driving him crazy.

She had no idea he’d been rock hard the whole time. No idea he’d gone to the bathroom to keep from blowing in his sweatpants like some perv in a yoga class. No idea that when she kissed his cheek, it felt more intimate than the dozens of mouths he’d kissed in the dark.

With a sharp breath, he reached for his phone and opened his messages.

Mark 🧢: u up?

A reply came in seconds.

Jenna: always. your place?

He stared at the screen for a long time before replying.

Mark 🧢: yeah. come over.

It wouldn’t help. It never did.

But it was better than laying in bed thinking about how Y/N moaned under his hands. About how close she was to folding herself into his lap and never realizing what she was doing.

Maybe if he fucked someone else hard enough, her name wouldn’t be on his lips by the end of it.

Maybe.

--------------------

Movie night had always been their thing.

Every Thursday since freshman year. Same couch. Same snacks. Same stupid banter and sleepy limbs tangled under blankets by the end of it.

But tonight, Mark could feel something different hanging in the air.

Y/N was curled beside him, knee brushing his thigh, her skin warm and soft as always. She wore one of her oversized shirts with little shorts that peeked out whenever she shifted, and her head rested against his shoulder like it belonged there.

He should’ve been relaxed.

But then she said it.

“I have a date tomorrow.”

Mark blinked, eyes still glued to the screen. “With who?”

She gave a little shrug. “This guy from psych. He’s cute. Nice.”

His stomach tightened. “Nice,” he repeated, voice flat.

“Mm-hm.” She popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth, completely casual. “I think I might… you know. Go all the way.”

Silence.

Mark turned his head slowly. “What?”

She flushed, eyes staying on the TV like she hadn’t just shattered his entire world. “It feels like time, right? I mean, I trust him. And I’m tired of being the last one who hasn’t.”

Mark sat rigid. His blood roared in his ears.

She trusted him?

Some random campus guy she barely knew?

Not the man who held her through panic attacks. Not the one who rubbed her shoulders after yoga and remembered her exact coffee order and spent every night for the last seven years loving her in silence.

“You’re really gonna let him be your first?” Mark said, trying to keep his voice steady.

She blinked up at him, confused. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird. I’m being honest.”

“You’re mad,” she said, sitting up now.

Mark stared at her. And then something cracked.

He dropped the blanket and stood, pacing the room once before turning back to her, breathing hard. “Do you have anyidea what you’re saying right now?”

She frowned. “It’s just sex, Mark.”

His hands balled into fists. “It’s not just sex. Not your first. Not with him.”

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, clearly getting flustered.

“Because it should’ve been me,” Mark snapped. “God, Y/N—it’s always been you.”

Her breath hitched.

“I’ve wanted you since we were kids. I’ve touched other people and thought of you. I’ve listened to you talk about dating and sat through it like it didn’t kill me every damn time. And now you’re telling me you’re just gonna—give yourself to some guy who doesn’t even know you?”

“Mark—”

“No,” he said, crossing the room. “You don’t get it. I’ve spent years holding back. Being your friend. Watching you prance around in my clothes, stretching in front of me, kissing my cheek like it means nothing—”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

He stopped in front of her. Chest heaving. “I know. And that’s the worst part.”

For a second, it was silent.

Then, barely audible: “Would you… show me?”

His eyes met hers.

“I trust you,” she said softly. “If it should’ve been you… then show me.”

Mark’s jaw clenched.

And then his mouth was on hers.

He kissed her like he was starving—like everything he’d ever wanted was finally his. But his hands were gentle as they slid beneath her thighs, lifting her into his lap on the couch. She gasped into his mouth, her legs straddling him as he pulled her closer.

“You sure?” he murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m sure,” she whispered. “Mark. Please.”

His hands slid under her shirt, up her sides. “I’ll take care of you. You know that, right?”

She nodded, breathless.

Mark kissed her again—slower now. Reverent. His lips traced the corners of her mouth, her jaw, her throat. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, tugging her shirt off gently and tossing it aside. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

She squirmed in his lap, his hoodie soft under her knees, her chest rising and falling in time with his hands.

He leaned down and kissed her collarbone, one hand undoing the clasp of her bra with surprising ease.

“You’ve practiced this,” she teased shyly.

He smiled against her skin. “Only ever wanted to practice on you.”

She melted at that.

Mark kissed his way lower, murmuring soft praise as he laid her back across the couch. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he said as he slid her shorts down slowly, reverently, like she was a gift he’d waited his whole life to unwrap. “I’ll stop whenever you want.”

She nodded, eyes wide and shining, completely trusting him.

And Mark lost his mind a little.

He worshipped her. Touched her like she was sacred—fingers slow, kisses everywhere. He mapped every inch of her with his mouth and hands, murmuring mine under his breath more than once.

When he finally sank into her, it was with a soft groan into her neck and a whispered, “You’re perfect. You’re so perfect, baby.”

She clung to him, letting out a shaky breath as he moved slowly, carefully. Every thrust was deep and gentle, and his voice stayed in her ear, telling her how good she was, how tight she felt, how he’d dreamed about this every night since they were seventeen.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispered, holding her hips steady. “Look at you. Taking me so well… fuck, I’ve got you.”

He kissed the tears that spilled from her cheeks—overwhelmed and trembling, but never scared. She was safe with him. She knew she was.

Mark moved with care, moaning softly every time she gasped his name, trying not to lose control.

But the way she whispered I want you, the way she touched his face like he was the only boy in the world, nearly wrecked him.

When she came around him with a gasp and a cry, Mark buried himself deep, groaning as he finally gave in and followed her over the edge.

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled and trembling, his body curved around hers like a shield.

She touched his hair softly. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and kissed her temple.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not giving you back.”

------------

Mark wasn’t the jealous type.

Or at least, he used to believe that.

Until he saw her.

Standing under a tree near campus. Smiling. Laughing. Her hand brushing the guy’s arm like it meant nothing.

The guy — the one she’d planned to give everything to.

The same one Mark had spent all night erasing from her memory. With his hands, his mouth, his cock.

Mark clenched his jaw and kept walking. Fast. He didn’t say a word to her.

Didn’t trust himself to.

She showed up at his apartment that evening in one of his hoodies, sleeves swallowed past her hands, eyes bright like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just reopened every wound in his chest.

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Why’d you leave without saying hi earlier?”

He stared at her. “You looked busy.”

Her brows knit. “Mark—”

“Get inside.”

She blinked. “Wha—”

“Now.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and before she could speak again, his mouth was on hers—hot, rough, claiming. He walked her backward until her knees hit the bed.

“I fucked you last night,” he growled, dragging her hoodie off in one smooth motion, “and today you’re smiling at him?”

Her breath hitched, eyes wide. “I—he just said hi—”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” His hand slid to her throat, just enough pressure to make her still. “You really wanna play with me like that?”

Her lips parted, a shaky inhale leaving her. “N-no. I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up.”

She'd never seen him like his, always so sweet to her, not a mean bone in his body. But god she loves this new rough side of him.

He kissed her again—rougher this time, tongue deep, hand fisting her hair to tilt her head back.

“You don’t get to walk around looking like that and smile at other men,” he whispered against her jaw. “You let me take your virginity, baby. That means you belong to me now.”

She whimpered.

“Say it.”

“I… belong to you.”

“Louder.”

“I belong to you, Mark.”

“Good girl.”

He shoved her onto the bed, peeling off her shorts and underwear in one move, then yanked off his own shirt, his eyes dark and wild with need.

“No more pretending I’m some sweet, harmless best friend,” he muttered as he dragged her legs apart. “You started something, and now you’re gonna finish it.”

-------------------

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[jikookncity]

Fire Prince Jaehyun x Water Princess Reader (smut)

They're supposed to be sworn enemies, polar opposites, their countries have a shared history of violence, loss and pain. but life always has a way of making the most unexpected people form a bond...

WC: 10k (pt 1), loss of virginity, dirty talk, tension build up, purity ring, unprotected sex (in pt 2)

-----------------

Prince Jaehyun of the Fire Nation descends from his private jet in dark crimson wool, gold embroidery tracing the edge of his coat like flames licking upward. His skin is warm under the late morning sun, even here where the cold bites. Golden eyes, molten and intense, scan the mountain campus without a hint of awe—he's used to luxury, but not rules. Not tradition he didn’t write.

He doesn't smile. Not because he’s unfriendly, but because he knows the effect his silence has. Cameras click. A student aide fumbles a clipboard when he passes, cheeks redder than the alpine breeze could cause.

He’s the walking embodiment of charisma and danger:

Don’t look too long, you’ll burn.

He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to graduate, play the game, then return home to command fire and steel.

But for now, he enters his assigned private suite at the top of the East Tower, tossing his bag onto a leather chair without care. His phone buzzes—another fan edit of him trending, a picture of him shirtless at a beach last summer.

He smirks.

They love him. Even if they don’t know him.

-------------------

Y/N

Y/N, daughter of the Northern Water Tribe’s High Chief, arrives quietly. Her travel coat is a pearly, icy blue that blends with the snowy backdrop, fur lining soft around her cheeks. Her beauty is subtle, soft but sharp when you look too long. Clear skin, frost-kissed lips, and eyes like stormy seas—still, until they’re not.

She doesn’t need a grand entrance. Her people believe in grace, not spectacle.

She’s escorted by two royal guards but walks slightly ahead of them, posture perfect, spine straight like she’s been balancing a crown since birth. Her phone dings in her pocket—texts from her cousins, memes from her best friend back home, an article someone sent:

“Prince of Fire Arrives—Again Shirtless?”

She rolls her eyes. She’s heard of Jaehyun. Of course she has. Everyone has.

Arrogant. Spoiled. The fire prince who thinks he can charm anything with a heartbeat.

She walks through the grand arches of the West Tower, where the water tribes and diplomatic majors reside, a wall of ancient glacier stone shimmering faintly under LED lights. Her suite is smaller, decorated with handwoven tapestries from home and soft, flowing fabrics. Her room is cold by choice—she sleeps best in icy air.

She lays her palms on a bowl of still water on her nightstand. A family tradition. Her mother used to say that water remembers. She closes her eyes and breathes.

She doesn’t want to hate him. But she will if she has to.

--------------

The school is divided into towers by regions and affinities. The Fire Nation and Water Tribes have never shared classes—until this year.

A new curriculum, a political strategy by the heads of state, hoping the next generation will forget old scars. Hoping proximity will ease the generational distrust.

They’re all supposed to play nice now.

But traditions don’t melt that easily.

And when fire meets water… there’s always steam.

------------

It was quiet in the mountains before the sun rose—quiet in a way that made even royalty feel small. Snow clung to the trees like lace, and the stone corridors of the academy were still, bathed in the faint blue light of early dawn.

Most students were still asleep.

But not them.

Y/N walked silently through the empty hall outside her tower. Her fur-lined robe fluttered slightly around her ankles, and the tiny aquamarine jewels woven into her braids glinted faintly beneath the pale light. She carried herself like someone used to walking ahead of guards, someone who never had to introduce herself because her bloodline spoke first.

But here, no one knew what she looked like.

Her tribe had protected her identity with sacred fervor. No press. No public appearances. Not a single official photo released since she was a child. It was tradition. She was the only daughter of the Northern Water Tribe’s High Chief—the final heir. Their most precious gem.

Only now, finally of age, had she been allowed to make a social media account, which she hadn’t even posted on yet.

“Let them meet me on my terms,” she had told her advisors.

She crossed the wide hallway of the East Wing—the “neutral” hall between towers—drawn to the massive window overlooking the southern peak. She sat in front of it, legs crossed, back straight, hands on her knees. Her breath fogged lightly in the air. The early cold didn’t bother her.

She began to meditate, letting her thoughts settle like snow on still water.

Until—

THUD.

Someone turned the corner too fast.

And ran straight into her.

“Shit—sorry,” came a low, warm voice.

Large hands gripped her arms gently, helping her upright. She gasped at the heat that surged through her skin at the contact—it was like grabbing metal left out in the sun.

Her eyes flew open.

Him.

Golden eyes. Shirtless. Hair still damp from the sink or maybe sweat from a pre-run stretch. He wore only fire-red joggers slung low on his hips and a sharp look of confusion as he stared at her.

Prince Jaehyun.

She’d seen him in a hundred photos. The Fire Nation’s golden boy. All cocky smirks and smolder. Girls across the nations posted thirst edits of him like it was a sport. He was strong, fast, reckless—hot in every definition of the word.

And now he was holding her.

Jaehyun blinked once, slow. His gaze traveled down the fine, icy blue detail of her robe, the royal crest pinned on her shoulder, the way the morning light hit her glass-like jewels and cast ripples across the floor.

Oh. This had to be her.

The Princess of the Water Tribe.

He smirked, letting go of her a little too fast.

“Well,” he said, stepping back, “you should really watch where you’re going.”

Her brows shot up, breath fogging slightly as her expression shifted from surprised to amused—and irritated.

“Me?” she said coolly, rising to full height. “You turned the corner like you were on fire.”

His jaw ticked. “Maybe don’t sit in the middle of the hall like it’s your private glacier.”

They locked eyes. Silence. Snow outside the window, the sun just beginning to rise.

Tension snapped between them like dry kindling.

Without another word, Y/N turned on her heel and walked away, robe trailing behind her like ice across marble.

Jaehyun stared after her for a second longer than he should have.

What the hell was that?

Who walks around looking like that at sunrise? ...And why the fuck was her voice kind of hot?

Y/N stepped into the common lounge of the Water Tower for the orientation breakfast. It was warm with the sound of chatter and fire-crackling hearths, and students milled about in their tribe’s traditional attire.

Two girls turned at the sound of her entrance.

“Wait—wait,” Amara whispered, elbowing Valkyrie. “Is that…?”

Valkyrie gasped. “It is. That has to be her.”

They rushed over, both waterbenders, daughters of minor dignitaries—warm, excited, and equally curious.

“Oh my god, no one told us you were this gorgeous,” Valkyrie breathed, wide-eyed. “You don’t even have a profile photo yet!”

“Yeah,” Amara grinned. “They kept you locked away like an ice sculpture. For what?! You look like a goddess.”

Y/N laughed softly, flustered but pleased. “My father’s rules. And the council. I wasn’t even allowed to take selfies until last week.”

The girls swooned dramatically.

“We’re obsessed already,” Amara declared.

“Come sit with us,” Valkyrie insisted, pulling her toward their table. “You have to tell us everything. What was it like growing up in the palace? Wait—have you met the Fire Prince yet?”

Y/N froze for a half-second, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with a cool, unreadable smile.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

-------------

Jaehyun sat in the high-ceilinged breakfast hall, a carved wooden spoon twirling idly in his hand as Johnny and Taeyong chatted beside him over hot eggs and spiced rice.

But he wasn’t listening.

His mind was stuck on her.

The girl from this morning. The Water Tribe princess. Y/N.

The sharpness in her eyes. The softness in her voice. The way she’d looked at him like she saw him—not the prince, not the firebender, just... him. And didn’t care.

“Yo,” Johnny nudged him, smirking as he caught Jaehyun zoning out again. “You good?”

“You haven’t looked at your phone in like… ten minutes,” Taeyong teased. “That’s got to be some kind of Fire Nation emergency.”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes and stabbed a piece of sausage. “I’m fine.”

Johnny leaned forward, grin widening. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the rumored Water Princess finally showing her face today, would it?”

Jaehyun didn't answer.

But his silence said enough.

---------------

All first-years were herded out of the castle-like university and toward the trail winding up into the nearby mountains—a “team-building hike,” they called it.

Y/N walked with Amara and Valkyrie, wrapped in a lighter travel cloak with her braids tucked into a soft knit beanie. The air was bright and thin, sunlight bouncing off every snowy surface. Despite being used to cold, she wasn’t used to this—the altitude, the glare, the way the sun felt like it was trying to steal her breath and her strength.

The water inside her felt sluggish, sun-warmed and heavy.

Her body ached in a way it never did under the moon.

About halfway up the slope, her pace began to slow. Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred for half a second.

“Y/N?” Valkyrie turned. “You okay?”

She nodded weakly, managing a smile. “Yeah. Just... too much sun. You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Amara frowned but didn’t argue. “Alright. Just shout if you need us.”

The others moved on, disappearing slowly up the slope with the rest of the first-years, laughter and boots crunching in the distance.

Y/N sat down on a snow-covered boulder, tugging her coat tighter and closing her eyes. She missed the stillness of the moon already. Her body craved darkness, reflection, water.

She felt so far from it all.

And then—

“Hey.” A gentle voice. Calm, steady.

She opened her eyes to find a tall boy crouching in front of her, wrapped in a charcoal hiking jacket with a Fire Nation patch stitched on the sleeve. Soft brown eyes. Faint scars on his knuckles.

“Taeyong?” she said, surprised. “Aren’t you a group leader? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

“I am,” he nodded with a soft smile. “But I’m also responsible for making sure everyone’s safe. You didn’t look okay.”

Y/N blinked at him, lips parting in disbelief.

“You... don’t hate me?” she asked before she could stop herself.

His smile faded just slightly, replaced by something more serious.

“I don’t hate people just because history says I should.” He paused. “I know what they say about our nations. But you’re not your government, and I’m not mine.”

She stared at him for a long second, stunned by how… kind he was. No hidden smirk. No sarcasm. Just warmth—like fire without burn.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He stood and offered his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk with you the rest of the way.”

She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His warmth was more bearable than Jaehyun’s—it didn’t sting. It just felt… grounding.

They started walking again, slowly, together.

Further up the slope, Johnny and Jaehyun paused at a lookout post under a cluster of frost-covered pines.

Johnny squinted down the trail. “That’s Taeyong, right?”

Jaehyun followed his gaze.

His eyes narrowed when they landed on her.

Y/N. Moving slowly, cheeks flushed with effort. And Taeyong beside her, guiding her with gentle words and hands that hovered close but never touched.

His jaw tightened.

“She doesn’t look well,” Johnny said, tilting his head. “Think she’s sick?”

“It’s the sun,” Jaehyun muttered, sharper than he intended. “Water tribes draw strength from the moon. She’s probably not used to this much direct exposure.”

Johnny raised a brow. “Since when are you an expert on her biology?”

Jaehyun didn’t answer.

His fists were already clenched.

Not from anger. Just... heat.

And he didn’t like that either.

-----------------

The restaurant was tucked into the edge of a mountainside town—a Michelin-starred, glass-walled jewel perched above the icy trees. Inside, golden chandeliers hung from carved cedar beams, casting a warm glow over polished silverware and ivory table linens. The waitstaff wore silk gloves. The wine list had its own zip code.

Students filed in, dressed in formal attire required for the night: tailored coats, evening dresses, polished boots. It was a diplomatic tradition—the first formal dinner of the year, meant to encourage “intercultural communication.”

The universe, however, had different plans.

Y/N slid into her assigned seat at the long banquet table, elegant in a midnight-blue gown embroidered with silver thread. Her braids were gathered to one side, aquamarine jewels glittering softly in the candlelight. She smoothed her napkin onto her lap—and froze.

Across from her, none other than Jaehyun dropped into his seat, manspreading slightly in his sleek black formal suit like the chair owed him rent.

Of course.

His hair was pushed back, jaw sharp, golden eyes scanning the room until they landed squarely on her.

He smirked.

“Let me guess,” he said, reaching for his water. “You’re seated alphabetically. I pity the poor soul with a last name starting with Z.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “If I had known the Fire Nation trained in alphabet jokes, I’d have lowered my expectations even further.”

He chuckled, low and smooth. “Relax, princess. I’m just making conversation. Or are you afraid I’ll melt your composure with my oversized ego?”

“I’m afraid it might eclipse the moon,” she replied coolly, sipping her now-frosted water.

He glanced at her glass, then down at his own plate. With an easy breath, he exhaled over his fried rice, warming it just enough to let off steam—literally.

She narrowed her eyes.

“You know, some of us use utensils.”

“And some of us are just efficient.”

Around them, the room buzzed with soft conversation, the clink of glasses, and flirtatious laughter. A pair of girls at the far end of the table kept glancing at Jaehyun, giggling behind their menus. He didn’t acknowledge them, but the slight raise of his chin told Y/N he’d noticed.

Across the room, she didn’t miss the way a few first-year boys were eyeing her like they were planning how to flirt with royalty without dying of embarrassment.

Jaehyun followed her gaze, then raised a brow. “You’ve got fans already.”

“I don’t blame them,” she said sweetly. “They haven’t heard me speak yet.”

His smirk twitched. “Your modesty is overwhelming.”

“Coming from someone who warms rice with his mouth, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They glared, the corners of their lips betraying the fight to stay serious. If either of them looked too closely, they'd see it wasn't quite hate. It was friction. Hot and sharp and electric.

-------------

After dinner, the students gathered outside, the snow crunching beneath their polished shoes as they waited for the sleek black cars that would ferry them back to the university. Breath turned to clouds in the cold night air.

Jaehyun stood off to the side with Johnny and Taeyong, hands in his coat pockets, eyes trained on nothing in particular.

Until—

He saw her.

Y/N stood apart from the crowd, just a few paces away, her back turned, head tilted to the sky. Her eyes were closed, arms relaxed at her sides as she faced the full moon hanging heavy and glowing above them. The icy blue of her dress shimmered faintly under the moonlight. She looked... different like this.

Calm. Still. Powerful.

The air around her almost pulsed—gentle, cool, reverent. As if the night itself bowed for her.

Jaehyun’s breath caught.

He knew what this was. He'd read about the moon’s connection to water tribe bending in one of his statecraft briefings. But seeing it? Feeling it?

It was intimate. Sacred.

And she was beautiful.

Moonlit skin, lashes fluttering softly, lips parted just slightly as if she were absorbing strength straight from the sky.

He forced himself to look away. Clenched his jaw.

Johnny glanced at him. “You okay?”

Jaehyun didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

He felt like he’d intruded on something private, something not meant for anyone else. And worse… He couldn’t stop wanting to watch.

-------------

The cars purred softly as they dropped students off one by one back at the academy’s stone steps. The wind was gentler now, the moon still heavy overhead.

Jaehyun climbed the stairs behind a small group of students, jacket slung over one shoulder, his golden gaze flicking lazily forward—until he caught sight of her again.

Y/N.

She was a few steps ahead, walking carefully, her long embroidered skirt and cloak catching on the wind. The icy-blue fabric looked heavy with the weight of tradition, trailing just slightly as she struggled to keep her footing on the slick stone steps.

A hand extended from the crowd.

Minho—broad-shouldered, soft-spoken, Earth Kingdom native with a kind smile—offered it to her shyly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle.

Y/N blinked, then smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she said, taking his hand with delicate fingers. “That’s very kind of you.”

Minho flushed a little as he helped her up the last step, his ears turning red under the lamplight.

Behind them, Jaehyun scoffed quietly.

Johnny caught it and leaned over, smirking. “Jealous?”

“He looked like he was gonna propose just from touching her hand,” Jaehyun muttered.

Johnny laughed. “Careful. That fire under your collar’s showing.”

Jaehyun didn’t answer, just shoved his hands in his pockets and walked a little faster.

Scene Two: Early Morning, Part II

The second day of orientation began with the same silence as the first.

And again, before the sun crested the peaks, Y/N was already in the hall outside her tower, meditating.

This time, though, she wasn’t quite as wrapped in tradition.

She wore loose training pants in icy grey and a sleeveless, high-neck top in soft blue. Her arms were bare, toned and elegant, her back visible where the fabric dipped slightly with her posture. Her skin practically shimmered in the blue morning light, moon-kissed even before the stars faded.

Eyes closed. Breathing even. Calm.

But she could feel it.

Heat. Buzzing, magnetic, stubbornly male heat.

She didn’t open her eyes.

“Take a picture,” she murmured, voice slow and cool. “It’ll last longer.”

Jaehyun stood a few paces away, breathing a little harder than before. His morning jog had screeched to a halt the moment he turned the corner and saw her.

“Didn’t realize this was a public exhibit,” he said, trying to force a smirk onto his face, voice thicker than usual.

“It’s not,” she replied, still not looking at him. “But unfortunately, I don’t control the wildlife.”

He snorted, shook his head, and tore his eyes away. “You’re insufferable.”

“Glad you’re keeping up.”

And with that, Jaehyun jogged off—faster, harder, more focused. As if he could outrun the image of her in that outfit, bathed in blue light like a goddess with her own gravity.

He couldn’t.

Later that morning, Jaehyun sat at a sleek, glass-top café table in the university’s sky lounge with Celina—a girl he’d met during orientation. Blonde, flirty, glitter on her cheekbones and three designer bags on her chair.

“So what was it like growing up in a fire palace?” she asked, leaning forward. “Did they teach you sword fighting? Or like, diplomacy or whatever?”

Jaehyun gave a practiced smile. “Both.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, tilting her head. “And your eyes—do all Fire Princes have gold eyes or is that just a you thing?”

He blinked. “It’s... just a me thing.”

She giggled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

He looked down at his espresso, fingers tapping against the cup. She hadn’t asked him a single real question. Nothing about his thoughts, his interests, his beliefs. Just status, background, power.

He suddenly missed the sharp edge in Y/N’s voice. Missed being challenged.

He set his cup down and gave Celina a polite nod.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said.

She blinked, surprised. “Oh! Yeah—of course. Are we—?”

“I’m not interested,” he said bluntly. Not cruel, just honest.

She blinked again. “Oh. Uh... okay.”

He stood, nodded once, and walked out—ignoring the flashes of confusion and rejection behind him. He didn’t have time for empty flattery.

Especially not when there was someone else who wasn’t impressed with him—and for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

-----------

The third day of orientation brought a surprise—a student outing to one of the most exclusive alpine horse tracks in Europe. The snowy valley beneath the university was carved with crystal-clear lanes, the horses bred from royal stables across the globe. The crowd was dotted with diplomats, nobles, and faculty, sipping hot drinks from porcelain cups while wearing coats worth small fortunes.

The students filled the private terrace seating, bundled in school-issue winter cloaks with their house emblems stitched over their hearts.

Jaehyun arrived fashionably late, sipping black coffee, his hair tucked into a wool beanie that couldn’t hide the sharpness of his jawline or the smug set of his shoulders. Girls shifted when he walked past. Some fixed their scarves. One actually gasped.

He didn’t look for her. He wasn’t looking for her.

But he found her anyway.

Y/N was seated already in the front row of the terrace, cheeks dusted pink from the cold, lips wrapped around a warm flask of tea. Her cloak was pale silver today, lined with soft navy fur that made her look even more regal. She laughed at something Amara said beside her, then looked toward the track, sharp eyes scanning the horses.

Jaehyun exhaled slowly, like her mere existence was smoke in his lungs.

He took the empty seat next to her, dropping down without a word.

She turned her head, looked at him once, and returned her gaze to the field.

“Can’t seem to get rid of you,” she murmured.

“Tell me about it,” he replied.

---------------

The starting bells rang.

The horses lined up at the gate, steaming breath rising into the sky.

Students leaned forward eagerly, many of them whispering to one another.

“Leftmost one’s Firebred,” Johnny noted from behind them. “Bred in Jaehyun’s territory. Fastest on record.”

“He’s not winning,” Y/N said with cool confidence.

Jaehyun tilted his head. “You’re betting against my horse?”

“I’m betting against your arrogance,” she said, eyes still on the track.

Jaehyun smirked. “What happens if you’re wrong?”

“I won’t be.”

“But if you were?”

She finally turned her head to meet his eyes.

“If I lose,” she said calmly, “I’ll owe you a favor.”

Jaehyun raised a brow, intrigued. “And if I lose?”

“I’ll collect a favor. When I choose.”

His heart gave an involuntary thump. Not just from the words, but from the way she said them—controlled, steady, almost teasing. Like she knew she’d win.

“Deal,” he said, offering his gloved hand.

She placed hers in his. The cold of her fingers clashed with the heat of his palm. The handshake lasted one second too long.

Then—

The gates opened.

The horses tore across the snow-packed field, thunderous and wild.

Students shouted, cheered, scrambled for a better view. Jaehyun and Y/N leaned forward instinctively, breath held.

And just as the final stretch loomed...

A white-coated mare from the Northern Water territories surged forward, passing the Firebred in the final ten seconds.

The bell rang. The crowd erupted.

Jaehyun sat back slowly, jaw tightening.

Y/N turned to him with a victorious smile—not smug, just satisfied.

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to collect,” she said sweetly.

He shook his head, trying to fight a smile. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

“So am I.”

The students filed out of the terrace in buzzing groups, still riding high from the race.

Jaehyun stayed behind a few moments, watching Y/N disappear into the crowd with her friends—laughing, graceful, offering a polite smile to the steward who opened the door for her.

He hated to admit it, but she moved through the world like she’d been born to rule it.

Not like him.

Jaehyun knew he was hot. He knew people liked him—wanted him. He had confidence, charisma, a name that made headlines and a face that broke hearts.

But Y/N? She didn’t try. She just was.

Poised. Natural. Effortless. Kind to everyone—except him.

He’d never met anyone who made him feel simultaneously this annoyed and this off-balance.

She’s the moon, he thought. Untouchable. Cold. But she pulls the tide anyway.

He exhaled hard and stood up.

He was going to need a hell of a lot more wins if he was going to keep up with her.

----------------

The mountain air was brisk as usual—sharp, cold, and biting just enough to remind Jaehyun he was alive.

He jogged through the same corridor as always, hoodie pulled low over his brow, music pumping through his earbuds, pace even and strong. He passed a few students on the way, nodded to a few others, but didn’t stop.

Not until her.

Same spot. Same time. Princess Y/N.

Seated on the mat just off the corridor window again, hands resting on her thighs, eyes closed, lips slightly parted in stillness.

This time, she wore a loose, snowy blue top that slid slightly down her shoulder, revealing the smooth line of her collarbone. Her legs were folded elegantly, the morning light pooling across her skin like it belonged there. And on her hand—resting atop one knee—was a delicate silver ring, carved with the moon cycle.

Jaehyun’s steps faltered. He kept going—barely—but something about that ring...

His eyes narrowed.

By the time he reached the other end of the hall, he was already pulling out his phone, opening a search tab with quick, frantic fingers.

"Northern Water Tribe moon ring symbolism" "Silver purity ring Water Princess" "Tribe virginity ring customs"

And then it hit.

The results came flooding in, exactly what he feared—no, hoped—he’d find.

It was a purity ring.

One only worn by virgins in the Water Tribe—usually those in the royal family, signifying personal vows of restraint, tradition, and spiritual clarity until they chose a partner to share it with.

Jaehyun stared at the screen.

And then...

“Fuck.”

He was half-hard already, pulse slamming in his throat. His jog forgotten. His thoughts suddenly very impure.

He ducked into a shadowed alcove, heart pounding, pressing his back to the wall. One hand still gripping his phone, the other dragging down his face before briefly—desperately—palming himself through his sweats.

Of course she’s untouched. Of course she’s forbidden. Of course she’s driving him insane.

Her calm. Her mouth. Her legs folded so perfectly. That fucking ring.

He cursed again under his breath, fingers tightening.

And then turned abruptly down the hall toward the nearest gym shower room.

The coldest water he could find.

Later that morning, Jaehyun sat stiffly at a private corner table in the library café. Across from him was Saejin, another Fire Nation royal—the daughter of a war advisor, all sleek hair and perfect etiquette.

She smiled, flawless and polished, speaking like she was reading from a court-approved script.

“I just think it’s so refreshing to finally be around our own kind, you know?” she said sweetly, stirring her imported tea. “The Fire Nation doesn’t get enough credit for our superiority.”

Jaehyun blinked once.

Saejin laughed lightly. “Not to be rude. I just mean… we’re trained better. Smarter. I’m sure the others try their best but—well, the Water Tribe is all superstition and snow.”

He leaned back slowly.

Golden eyes unreadable. Sharp.

She kept going, unaware of the crack in her façade. “Don’t you agree?”

“No,” Jaehyun said flatly.

She stopped stirring. “Pardon?”

“I don’t agree,” he repeated. “You’re talking about entire cultures like they’re beneath you. I don’t think I’m better than anyone just because I was born where I was.”

Saejin flushed, eyes wide. “Oh—I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, obviously, I respect diversity—”

Jaehyun stood up. Quiet. Steady. Done.

“Thanks for the tea.”

“Jaehyun—”

But he was already gone, leaving her red-faced and speechless in the middle of the café.

Outside, Jaehyun let the wind hit his face as he leaned against a stone railing, overlooking the snow-covered campus.

I need to stop going on these dates.

They were all the same. Same expectations. Same hollow words. Same attempt to fit into a mold he’d never even shaped himself.

But with her—Y/N—it wasn’t like that.

She didn’t care about who he was. Or what people thought. She challenged him, pushed him, made him feel beneath her in a way that didn’t bruise his ego—it ignited it.

And now that he knew she was untouched, pure, off-limits?

It made it worse.

It made it better.

Jaehyun stared at the horizon, biting his lip, jaw tense.

Maybe dating wasn’t the right move.

Not until he figured out what the hell he was going to do about the girl who didn’t even know the hold she had on him.

Y/N lay in bed, the curtains drawn, the moonlight casting soft shadows across her blanket. Her window was cracked open, letting the chill in—a comfort more than a disturbance.

She should’ve been asleep. She had orientation events early tomorrow.

Instead… she was deep in a stalking spiral.

Her thumb hovered over the search bar again.

"Just one more look,” she muttered under her breath, already typing: @jeongjae.fire

His page loaded quickly.

And of course—it was exactly what she expected. And exactly what irritated her.

Not a single selfie. Just candids—clearly taken by someone else, likely friends, staff, maybe even admirers. Photos from exotic places: volcano ridges, black sand beaches, underground raves lit by lava, firelight warming his smug face.

There were shirtless ones too. Obviously. One at a coastal cliff, him half-drenched from the sea, abs glistening like he knew what he was doing. Another one lounging in a hot spring, steam curling around his collarbones, eyes half-lidded and dangerously flirty.

Y/N scoffed and tossed her phone down, only to pick it back up 2 seconds later.

"Show-off," she muttered, face hot.

She clicked off his profile and opened her camera roll instead.

There was a pause. Then a breath. Then… a decision.

She tapped the little plus sign, selected a recent picture—one snapped just a few days before she left for school.

It was her and her older brother, standing at the palace gate. She had her arm looped through his, both of them laughing, crowns tipped askew from a snowball fight they'd gotten into minutes before. His robes were pristine despite the cold. Her cheeks were pink from the frost and joy.

The caption was simple.

“My favorite person.” ❄️👑

She hit post.

And within minutes, the notifications started pouring in.

💬 “Omg princess reveal?? You’re so pretty!!” 💬 “Royal siblings supremacy 🩵” 💬 “Cold beauty, no wonder the Fire Nation’s threatened” 💬 “Can she freeze me next pls?” 💬 “Protect her at all costs.”

Y/N turned her phone face down and smiled to herself. Just a little. Just once.

Johnny was the first to see it. He nearly choked on his tea.

“Hey, uh,” he said, scrolling, “Y/N just posted.”

Taeyong glanced over. “Really?”

Johnny turned his phone. “Yeah. First one ever.”

The three of them were seated in the common area, students scattered all around, winding down from another long day.

Taeyong smiled. “She looks really happy there.”

Jaehyun didn’t even glance up. He was leaned back on the couch, arms folded, pretending to nap.

Johnny grinned. “You’re not even a little curious, Jae?”

Jaehyun scoffed. “She’s not that interesting.”

“Mhm,” Johnny drawled, unconvinced. “Totally. That’s why your whole jaw just clenched.”

“I don’t care what she posts.” But even he didn’t believe his voice when he said it.

Jaehyun made it exactly three minutes before giving up the act.

Back in his dorm, door locked, lights dimmed, he opened his phone and typed in her handle.

@yn.wtr

Her profile was quiet. Elegant. No posts before today. The display name simply: Princess Y/N of the Northern Water Tribe.

And the photo…

There she was. In full color. Radiant in a way he hadn’t expected. Not posed. Not calculated. Not seductive. Just… warm.

The way she clung to her brother. The genuine laugh. The wind teasing her hair. The grace in her smile. The cold in her cheeks. Her eyes, so deep they looked like they held the whole sea.

And she was calling him her favorite person.

Jaehyun’s thumb hovered over the like button. He didn’t press it.

He stared at the photo longer than he meant to.

This is just research, he told himself. She’s an enemy nation’s heir. I should know more. It’s strategic curiosity.

But his heart thudded louder in his chest.

And the only thing burning inside him… was the truth.

--------------

The sun was high as the students walked the gardens of the Academy, gravel paths winding through meticulously arranged flora from every elemental nation. Minho had chosen the Earth Pavilion as their resting spot, lush with mossy stone benches and shaded by towering trees with twisting trunks.

Y/N sat gracefully beneath the largest tree, sipping warm tea despite the summer heat. Her posture was perfect. Regal, without effort. Around her, a few students chatted quietly, but Minho leaned in, clearly curious.

“Can I ask you something?” he said gently, eyes kind and cautious.

Y/N tilted her head. “Of course.”

“How do you feel… about the Fire Nation?”

The question made a few heads turn. The group hushed just slightly, enough to feel the weight of silence. Even Jaehyun, who had been walking past behind a hedge of flame lilies, froze in place—unseen but very much listening.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

She took a breath, let the breeze comb through her white-blonde hair, and looked Minho straight in the eyes.

“I think history is important,” she said. “It should never be forgotten—what happened between our nations. The war was horrific. My great-grandparents lost their lives in it.”

Minho nodded solemnly. So did several others.

“But,” she continued, “I also think hatred is a poison. One that gets passed down if we’re not careful.”

Jaehyun’s brows lifted, his chest going still.

Y/N pressed her cup into the grass beside her, voice calm but sincere.

“The war ended long before we were born. Generations have passed. And honestly? I’m tired of the narrative. I don't want to spend my life hating people I’ve never met based on things they didn’t do. That helps no one.”

A few students looked at each other, thoughtful. Minho seemed visibly moved.

“I believe both our nations have a lot to offer each other,” Y/N added. “The Fire Nation’s innovation, drive, and strength—combined with the Water Tribe’s patience, healing, and connection to nature… we could be powerful together.”

A beat.

“And I know not everyone feels the same. But… I don’t want to keep telling the same story of hate. I want to write a new one.”

From behind the hedges, Jaehyun stared at the ground.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, his heart caught somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much—why hearing her say it made something twist in his chest like a flame curling inward.

Maybe because… he agreed. Deep down, he always had.

But growing up in the Fire Nation, you weren’t allowed to say that out loud.

He’d learned about the war in school like it was a legacy. He'd heard whispers at home about what the Water Tribe tookfrom them. Was taught that peace was a fragile tolerance, not a genuine future.

But now…

Here was the princess of that tribe. His supposed enemy. Saying everything he’d always secretly hoped.

And it didn’t make him angry.

It made him… ache.

Later that afternoon, during weapons demonstrations in the training field, Y/N was standing alone, tying her hair up into a high knot. The wind swept past her face, pulling stray strands from her braid, sunlight catching the delicate blue shimmer of her robe.

Jaehyun approached from the opposite side, not planning to talk to her—but his eyes flicked up on instinct.

She looked at him briefly. Not with challenge. Not with disdain. Just… acknowledgment.

Jaehyun, usually armed with a smirk, had nothing.

No comeback.

No insult.

He simply gave a nod.

A small one.

And Y/N, after a pause, returned it.

Like maybe… just maybe… they could be on the same side of history someday.

-------------

The halls of the Academy were still half asleep—bathed in pale morning light, with shadows stretched long across the polished floors. Most students wouldn’t rise for another hour. But Jaehyun was already out, muscles aching from his morning lift, hair dripping sweat as he jogged shirtless through the west corridor, earbuds in but music long since paused.

It wasn’t like he meant to look for her.

But when he passed the meditation garden and saw the empty stone bench—her bench—he slowed. Eyes scanning the spot as if her absence disrupted some delicate balance in his morning. A frown tugged at his brow.

Weird.

Y/N was never late. She moved like clockwork.

He kept jogging, rounding a quiet corner—only to stop short when he spotted her. Pacing frantically down the hall in a soft robe, eyes wide and filled with panic, hair loose around her shoulders.

Even breathless and flushed, she looked like royalty.

“Lost something?” he called, trying to sound casual, but his heart kicked a little harder when she startled and looked up at him.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah—I… I lost my ring.”

Jaehyun blinked. “Your… ring?”

She nodded, clearly distressed. “I took it off for meditation last night, and now I can’t find it. It was a gift. A really important one.”

Jaehyun’s jaw tightened.

There was only one ring he’d seen on her finger lately—thin, silver, engraved delicately. The one he’d Googled two nights ago while still hard and spiraling. A purity ring.

He forced a shrug. “Tough break,” he said, then jogged past her without another word.

But his chest was tight.

And when he turned the next hallway and caught a glint of silver against the floor by a water fountain, he paused.

The ring sat in a pool of light, small and innocent—mocking him with everything it symbolized.

She really meant it, he thought, scooping it up. She’s untouched.

Jaehyun let out a frustrated breath, closing his hand around the metal. He stood there for a long second, debating if he should just leave it on a ledge or pretend he hadn’t seen it at all.

Instead… he turned back.

Y/N was still searching the base of a wall when Jaehyun returned, quiet footsteps padding behind her. She straightened when she noticed him, eyes narrowing.

“You come back to mock me?” she muttered.

“Relax, your highness,” he said dryly. “I found it.”

He extended his hand and dropped the ring into her palm, watching the immediate relief wash over her face.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Thank you. Seriously, I—thank you.”

Her fingers curled around it like it was sacred.

But as she looked up to thank him again, her breath caught.

Jaehyun was close. Too close. His chest bare and sweat-slicked, his necklace bouncing lightly against his sternum. His hair dark and damp, falling over his forehead. And now that she was really looking—really looking—she realized how tall he was compared to her. How… broad.

Jaehyun didn’t miss the flicker in her eyes.

He tilted his head, lips curving slow. “You okay, princess?”

She blinked fast, like she’d caught herself staring. “Fine,” she said quickly. “Totally fine.”

His smirk widened.

“What’s this ring about anyway?” he asked, glancing pointedly at her fist. “Some kind of magical protection spell?”

Her cheeks flushed. “It’s… none of your business.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, leaning down slightly—his breath hot against her ear. “You can trust me with a dirty little secret.”

Y/N gasped and shoved at his chest, eyes wide. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m honest.”

She spun on her heel, walking away fast, flustered. Jaehyun watched her go, grinning like a devil.

Finally. She’s not made of ice after all.

Far down the hall, Y/N slowed, heart pounding. The ring was cold in her hand, but her skin? Her skin was burning.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her neck where heat lingered, trailing all the way down her spine to—

She didn’t even want to think about it.

Jaehyun couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t even stress.

It was her.

The image of her flushed face, the way her hand had closed around that damned ring, how she’d looked up at him—small, breathless, affected—kept replaying in his head like a loop designed to torment him.

He hated how much power that moment had over him. How her wide eyes had stayed with him long after she’d stormed off. He told himself it was just curiosity. Biological. Hormonal.

Not attraction.

Definitely not that.

But as he lay awake, the darkness of his dorm room wrapping around him, Jaehyun’s thoughts turned filthy in ways he didn’t know he was capable of when it came to her.

The bratty little princess.

So perfect. So untouchable. So damn righteous.

He wondered how long she could keep that attitude if he had her underneath him, hands pinning hers, his mouth finally shutting her up. Would she keep talking back if he pushed her to the edge again and again? If he found that sweet, untouched spot between her thighs and -

Jaehyun sat up and cursed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He needed a distraction. Fast.

----------------

The Academy held mandatory cultural nights once a week, where students from all four nations were expected to attend a viewing or lecture that explored different facets of the post-war alliance.

Tonight was a historical dramatization.

A war-era film between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribe, one that depicted the gruesome realities of the past—and eventually, the fragile peace born between a prince and a captured healer. It was tense, political, and deeply romantic.

And then... the sex scene happened.

Not crude or explicit, but sensual enough to draw awkward coughs and shuffles from the younger students. On-screen, the prince pressed kisses along the healer’s neck, whispering confessions against her skin, fingers trembling as they undressed one another in soft candlelight.

Jaehyun didn’t react.

At least—not outwardly.

But the moment he turned his head slightly and saw her, everything changed.

Y/N sat a few seats over, eyes fixed downward at her lap. She wasn’t watching. Her jaw was tight, ring spinning nervously on her finger, her cheeks visibly red even in the dim light of the auditorium.

She looked like she wanted to disappear.

And Jaehyun? He could barely look away.

Oh, princess. You’ve never even been touched, have you?

His thoughts took a dark turn—sinking lower, hotter.

He wondered how long it would take for her to start panting under him. If she’d sob from being overwhelmed or try to act composed even when her body betrayed her. What sounds she’d make if he kissed down her stomach and told her to open her legs.

Would she be shy?

Or would the brat in her fight it—make him earn every reaction until he completely ruined her for anyone else?

Jaehyun clenched his fists in his lap, nails digging into his palm.

Get it together. he hissed internally. She’s not yours. She’s not even someone you like.

But it didn’t stop the ache.

Or the jealousy that crept in, uninvited.

Because someday… she would marry. Someone her rank. Someone clean and regal, with boring, practiced hands and a pristine family tree. Someone worthy of royal heirs.

And that man—whoever he was—would get to see her. All of her. Would get to pull off those long layers of silk and find out what was underneath.

Jaehyun swallowed hard and looked back at the screen.

But his mind was no longer on the war.

-----------

The thing about your enemies is that you know them better than your friends.

You study them. Watch them. Understand their patterns. Their tells. Their habits.

Jaehyun knew Y/N.

He knew that she tied her hair differently depending on how much sleep she got. That she added exactly two drops of honey to her tea, even when no one else was looking. That her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve seam of her robe when she was nervous. And that—despite her poise—she hated being the center of attention.

So when lunchtime arrived, and he heard her ask for the fish, Jaehyun didn’t expect her reaction when the kitchen worker gave her an apologetic smile.

“We’re all out of fish, Princess. Only the beef remains.”

She blinked once, then smiled politely. “No worries. Beef is perfectly fine.”

Except it wasn’t.

He watched her carry her tray like it weighed a hundred pounds. Watched her sit down three tables away, smile at Minho who said something, and take her first bite of vegetables with the same grace she did everything else.

But she didn’t touch the meat.

Not once.

Jaehyun stared at his own plate—the flakey grilled fish, seasoned perfectly, steaming gently beside his rice. He wasn’t even that hungry.

He glanced at her again. Her fork glided around the meat like it wasn’t even there, never once piercing the beef.

If he remembered correctly from his cultural studies as a kid, the Water Tribe’s traditional diet didn’t include red meat. Not because they were opposed to it, but because they simply lived off the sea.

Fish. Shellfish. Seaweed. Broth.

His jaw clenched.

Just eat, he told himself, stabbing the fish without looking at it.

But he couldn’t.

His stomach turned. His fork stayed still.

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asked, nudging him gently. “You’ve barely touched your lunch.”

“I’m fine,” Jaehyun muttered.

Taeyong followed his gaze and immediately picked up on it. Without a word, he stood up, walking calmly across the cafeteria.

“Princess Y/N,” he said with a gentle bow. “Would you allow me to trade meals with you?”

Y/N looked up, caught off guard. “What? Oh—no, that’s really not necessary. I don’t mind at all.”

“But I do,” Taeyong said kindly. “You’re not eating. Please. Take the fish.”

She blinked, then softened. “Well… thank you. That’s very kind.”

They switched plates.

She smiled, quietly grateful, and Taeyong returned to the table with the beef.

Jaehyun stabbed a piece of rice and shoved it in his mouth like it had personally offended him.

“You could’ve just offered,” Taeyong said, not unkindly, as he sat down.

“I didn’t notice,” Jaehyun lied.

Taeyong gave him a look like you’re full of shit, but said nothing else.

Across the room, Y/N’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She took a bite of the fish and closed her eyes for a brief second—just enough to let Jaehyun know it mattered. That she really wanted it. That she’d almost endured a whole meal pretending she didn’t.

He looked down at his plate again.

Why did it bother him so much?

Not just that she hadn’t eaten.

But that he’d known—really known—and hadn’t done a damn thing about it.

He told himself it wasn’t about her. That it didn’t mean anything.

But somewhere deep in his chest, a little voice whispered:

You want to be the one who notices her. Before anyone else.

And that scared the hell out of him.

---------

The dorm room was dim, curtains drawn, the only sound the dull ticking of the clock on the wall. Jaehyun sat at the edge of his bed, hands cradling his face, elbows on his knees, breath slow and heavy. His chest ached—not with pain, but with pressure. The kind that built from years of expectations. Years of pretending.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Jae?” Johnny’s voice was quiet, careful. “You okay, man?”

Jaehyun didn’t look up.

A beat passed before Johnny walked in fully, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and leaned against the wall, arms folded, studying his best friend with a furrowed brow.

“What happened?”

Another long pause.

Then Jaehyun exhaled and dropped his hands, finally raising his head. His eyes were tired.

“…What do you think of the Water Tribe?” he asked.

Johnny tilted his head. “That’s out of nowhere.”

Jaehyun didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile.

“I’m serious.”

Johnny’s face softened. “Honestly? I think the war was a tragedy. But it’s history. We should move forward.”

Jaehyun nodded slowly, staring at the floor. “But I’m not just anyone, Johnny. I’m the prince. Everything I say or feel… means something. It represents something.”

Johnny stepped closer. “Maybe. But it also means you have the power to change things.”

Jaehyun didn’t reply.

Johnny sat beside him on the bed, letting the silence sit for a moment.

“…This isn’t really about the Water Tribe, is it?” Johnny asked gently.

Jaehyun’s jaw tensed. He didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

Johnny smiled faintly. “It’s okay to not feel hatred, Jae. Even if you were taught to. Even if it’s what your father expects.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I know. But you’re not your father.” Johnny leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “He might be king now. But one day… you’ll be the one on that throne.”

Jaehyun swallowed hard.

“And when that day comes,” Johnny continued, “you’ll have to make choices for your people, not his ghosts. Not his grudges. You think the weight of that makes you less human, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes your feelings more important.”

Jaehyun sat back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I don’t want to hate her,” he admitted quietly. “But it feels wrong not to.”

Johnny looked at him. “Y/N?”

Jaehyun nodded once.

“She’s smart. Honest. Kind to people who don’t deserve it. She drives me insane,” he added, almost bitterly. “And I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Johnny grinned softly. “Sounds like trouble.”

Jaehyun laughed under his breath, finally.

“She’s not what I thought she’d be,” he said. “None of this is.”

Johnny nudged his shoulder. “Then maybe… you’re not what you thought you’d be either.”

Jaehyun looked over at him, blinking.

“It’s okay to be curious, Jae,” Johnny said. “It’s okay to be wrong. To change. To feel something that doesn’t fit into a speech your father would’ve approved.”

Jaehyun let out a long breath.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Anytime,” Johnny said, standing up. “Also—if you do end up falling for her? At least make it interesting. Keep the drama level royal.”

Jaehyun groaned, tossing a pillow at him as Johnny laughed and ducked out of the room.

But long after he was gone, Jaehyun stayed where he was.

Staring at the ceiling.

Wondering if the future he’d been raised for could somehow make room for the girl he wasn’t supposed to want.

---------------

The forest air was crisp, the canopy above casting golden dappled light onto the trail. Laughter echoed through the trees—Y/N and Taeyong walking ahead, chatting easily, their steps light over the uneven ground. Behind them, Jaehyun and Johnny followed at a more relaxed pace, the latter sipping from a water bottle while Jaehyun stayed mostly quiet, his eyes trailing up ahead.

He wasn’t eavesdropping.

He was watching.

Not that it mattered.

The conversation was harmless—Taeyong cracking jokes, Y/N grinning, her eyes shining. Still, something gnawed at Jaehyun’s stomach like a dull burn.

Then he saw it—Y/N’s foot catching on an exposed root, her balance tipping precariously. Before he could think, his body moved.

“Careful—” Jaehyun muttered, stepping forward and grabbing her by the arm.

His hand caught her just in time, steadying her before she could fall. But in doing so, the back of his knuckles scraped harshly against a rough strip of bark on a nearby tree.

“Ah—damn,” he hissed softly, retracting his hand.

Y/N turned quickly. “Oh—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, more brusquely than intended.

Still, her hand lingered on his arm for a second longer before she gently pulled away, murmuring, “Thanks.”

Back at the academy grounds, the sun had dipped lower, golden hour stretching long shadows across the marble courtyards. Students filtered indoors for dinner or study, but Jaehyun sat alone on the low stone wall near the meditation garden—her spot. His legs were stretched out lazily, one hand scrolling on his phone, the other resting palm-up, scraped and reddened.

He didn’t notice her until she was standing in front of him.

Y/N.

Arms folded. Unreadable expression.

He blinked up at her.

“What?” he asked, setting his phone down.

“I was going to walk by,” she said, “but then I remembered you saved me from face-planting into the forest floor.”

Jaehyun smirked. “That would’ve been entertaining.”

She rolled her eyes, but her gaze dropped to his injured hand.

“Let me see it.”

He hesitated, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m being nice, and you’re making it really hard.”

Jaehyun scoffed, but slowly offered her his hand, watching as she knelt beside the fountain. With a wave of her fingers, water lifted gracefully into the air, suspended in a rippling orb. Her other hand took his—cool and light—and gently wrapped around his fingers.

Jaehyun’s usual snark froze on his tongue.

Her hands were warm. Steady. Confident.

The water shimmered between their palms, glowing faintly as it touched his scraped knuckles. It tingled—not painful, but soothing, like warm sun after a chill.

And then—

It was gone.

The sting. The cut. The blood.

Completely healed.

Jaehyun stared down at his now perfect skin, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“I thought that kind of healing was a myth,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to her.

Y/N stood, brushing off her skirt, a small satisfied smile on her lips. “My grandmother was a master healer. I was taught by the best.”

She turned on her heel.

Jaehyun stared after her, completely thrown off his usual axis.

“Wait—” he called, suddenly.

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “Hm?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“…Thanks.”

Her smile deepened. “Don’t mention it, Your Highness.”

And then she disappeared down the path, her presence leaving behind the faint scent of water lilies and peppermint.

Jaehyun looked down at his hand again, still half-expecting the cuts to return.

But they didn’t.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.

“…She’s going to be the end of me.”

Y/N shut the door to her dorm room quietly, the click of the latch echoing in the stillness. The light from the hallway slipped away, leaving only the soft glow of the moon filtering in through the gauzy curtains. She leaned against the wood, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling a little too fast.

She couldn't stop seeing him.

That moment by the fountain, the way his skin warmed under her hands. The way he looked at her—really looked at her—as if he’d never been touched like that before. His expression had been somewhere between awe and curiosity… and something darker. Something she shouldn't be thinking about.

But gods, was he beautiful.

Y/N exhaled shakily and crossed to her bed, slipping out of her outer robes, folding them neatly even as her mind wandered.

His eyes—sharp and cutting but deep, always watching her like he was trying to figure her out. The tension in his jaw when he was annoyed, the smirk when he teased her. The muscles in his arms, the ink-black hair damp and curling against his forehead after training. The sheer height of him towering over her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest.

She never used to notice things like that. She was supposed to be composed. Dignified. Pure.

And yet…

As she curled up beneath the covers, her fingers drifted down her stomach on their own. Hesitating. Remembering the exact sound of his voice when he’d leaned down and whispered—

“You can trust me with a dirty secret.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t supposed to think of him like this. Wasn’t supposed to feel this ache in her belly, this restless longing that settled deep between her thighs. But when her fingers brushed lightly against her clothed center, she gasped, her body arching just slightly off the bed.

Her other hand pressed to her lips, silencing her moan.

It’s just me, she told herself. Just relieving pressure. Just a release. Not about him.

But her body knew better.

She imagined the weight of Jaehyun’s body above her, his voice low and rough in her ear. His hands sliding down her hips, those perfect lips on her throat, the scent of sweat and cedarwood thick in the air. His voice in her mind—so bratty today, Princess. Maybe I should shut you up.

Y/N whimpered, her fingers moving slowly now, teasing herself the way she imagined he might. Rough at first, then gentle. Her body trembled under her touch, thighs tightening as the pleasure built, as heat twisted tighter and tighter through her limbs. She was close—too close—and her breath grew ragged.

“Jaehyun…” she whispered before she could stop it.

She came with a soft cry, legs shaking, chest heaving.

And then—

Silence.

Shame bloomed quickly. She rolled over, pulling the covers up to her chin, heart still racing.

What the hell was happening to her?

Why was it him she thought of, when she shouldn’t even like him?

Y/N closed her eyes tightly.

He’s the fire nation prince. Your supposed enemy. A cocky, annoying, arrogant menace.

But even that couldn’t stop the traitorous smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Because Jaehyun had also been gentle.

Thoughtful.

And worst of all—he made her feel something.

------------

Jaehyun stared at his communicator for a long time before finally pressing the call button.

It was late—too late for most students to be awake—but his father would be expecting one of his check-ins. This time, it wasn’t about grades or how well he was fitting in at the academy.

When his father’s face appeared, regal in his robes, framed by the golden lighting of the palace, Jaehyun straightened unconsciously.

“Father,” he said, voice a bit tight.

“Jaehyun,” the king replied. “You’re calling late. Is something wrong?”

Jaehyun hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about. Something that’s… been bothering me.”

A beat of silence passed.

“I’ve been taught my whole life to hate the Water Tribe,” Jaehyun continued, keeping his gaze steady. “To see them as lesser. As enemies. But ever since I came to this school… it’s not like that. The students here, they’re not my enemies. Most of them don’t even care about what happened generations ago.”

His father’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not with anger. More like calculation. “Go on.”

Jaehyun swallowed. “I don’t think I believe what I was taught anymore. I mean… how can I hate people I don’t even know? People who haven’t done anything wrong? The war ended decades ago.”

The king let out a low sigh, leaning back in his chair. “You sound like your mother.”

Jaehyun blinked.

His father looked away for a moment. “I didn’t always hate the Water Tribe either. But my father—your grandfather—he was filled with rage. He watched friends die in the war. He lost his brother. So I was raised on that anger. I inherited it without ever questioning if it was truly mine.”

Jaehyun’s brows furrowed. “So you don’t hate them?”

“I suppose I don’t,” the king admitted reluctantly. “Not personally. But you must understand, diplomacy is complicated. The Water Tribe may seem friendly now, but politics change in an instant. Trust the wrong person and it could cost your nation dearly.”

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched. He knew what his father was really warning him about.

“The people might not like it,” the king went on. “If you’re seen growing close to someone from that side—especially someone of status—there’ll be whispers. Some might even call you a traitor.”

Jaehyun looked down for a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the communicator. Y/N would never use me. He didn’t say it aloud. Not yet.

“I just think… maybe people have moved on more than we give them credit for,” Jaehyun said instead. “And maybe the problem isn’t them. Maybe it’s us. If we don’t show forgiveness, how can we expect them to?”

His father’s expression shifted—tired, worn. “You’re still young. Idealistic.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

The king didn’t answer for a moment. Then he sighed again and said, “For now, just focus on school. Learn what you need. Make allies. The world outside will be waiting when you’re ready.”

Jaehyun nodded, but in his heart, something had already shifted. His father’s words were permission, in their own quiet, reserved way.

When the call ended, Jaehyun leaned back on his bed, arms folded behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of Y/N’s smile, the warmth of her hands wrapped around his, the conviction in her voice when she spoke of peace.

He wasn’t just imagining it anymore.

And now that he had a sliver of his father’s blessing—however cautious—it felt even harder to resist where his heart was leading him.

-------------------

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sneak peak:

“I know how to fix this,” he said lowly. “All of it.”

She blinked, breath catching. “How?”

“One night.” His eyes burned. “One wild, filthy, unhinged night. We get it out of our systems. Every stolen look, every thought we’ve tried to bury. Just… one night. You and me. No crowns. No tribes. Just primal fucking instinct.”

“Jaehyun,” she whispered, stunned.

His mouth was near hers now, not quite kissing, just hovering—close enough that their lips brushed every time one of them exhaled.

“You want it too,” he murmured. “I see it. Every time you look at me like you want to devour me. Every time you gasp over nothing when I’m near.”

Y/N whimpered softly, eyelids fluttering shut. His hand curled gently around her waist, guiding her until her back pressed into the cool stone wall.

“Say yes,” he whispered, lips ghosting her cheek. “Just one night. I swear I’ll ruin you so sweetly, you’ll never think of another man again.”

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[jikookncity]

Pirate Johnny x Siren Reader (smutty)

Pirate Johnny Suh strikes up a deal with Siren Y/n, he'll lead the Royal Navy coming after him into her waters and she gets to sink them, satisfying her hunger and Johnny's ship and crew remain unharmed. But business and pleasure mix too well...

WC: 12.2k, PLOT TWIST AT THE END, unprotected sex, jealous sex, dirty talk, table sex, lip biting with fangs, mentions of blood, violence and death (no main characters)

The ocean was still. Eerily so.

Y/N floated effortlessly in the blackened water, moonlight painting silver streaks across her bare shoulders. Her hair drifted like ink behind her, a crown of kelp and sea-glass resting atop her head. This stretch of the sea—her sea—hadn’t seen blood in days, and she was beginning to grow hungry. Restless.

The faint tremble beneath her sent a thrill through her spine. Wood against waves. Canvas catching wind. A ship was coming.

She smiled.

Her voice would do the rest.

Y/N sank beneath the surface, her body gliding silently as she positioned herself ahead of the ship’s trajectory. It was a massive silhouette against the moon, bigger than most merchant ships. She narrowed her eyes.

This wasn’t a trade vessel.

Then came the voice.

Low. Commanding.

“Come out, sea witch.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a smirk as she pulled herself up onto a nearby rock, sitting with one leg drawn up, her wet skin shimmering like pearls under the moon. “Most captains are screaming for their gods by now.”

“I’m not most captains.”

The man standing at the bow was tall, shirt open to reveal a broad chest inked in black, hair tousled and eyes burning like whiskey in lantern-light. He was laughing.

And not under her spell.

Her eyes narrowed. “You should be on your knees.”

“I prefer you on yours.”

The words rolled off his tongue like smoke, and Y/N’s smirk returned, sharper this time.

“So, you’ve heard of me,” she said, voice like velvet.

“Aye.” He leaned lazily against the railing, unbothered by the danger. “You sing men to their deaths. Tear apart hulls with a flick of your wrist. Sink entire fleets for fun.”

“And yet here you are.”

“I figured it was time we saw each other. Pirate to predator.”

The way he said it—pirate—wasn’t boastful. It was fact. Like the ocean acknowledged him. And maybe it did.

“Johnny Suh you've made quite the name for yourself” she said aloud, almost laughing. “The infamous one. The ghost of the Caribbean.”

He gave a mock bow. “At your service.”

She tilted her head. “Come to kill me?”

“No.” He descended the side rigging with graceful ease, hopping down onto the smaller rock outcrop near hers, now face to face. “I came to make you an offer.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Go on.”

“I’ve got the Royal Navy on my tail,” he said, licking his bottom lip as he glanced her over—shameless. “They’ve sent their best after me. Skilled, persistent. Honestly, it’s becoming a pain in my ass.”

She grinned. “You want me to eat them for you?”

He stepped closer, boots steady despite the wet stone. “You sink the ships that follow me, I keep sending them into your waters. You get your fill, I get to keep my record clean.”

Her smile faded into something more dangerous. “And what do you get if I decide to drag you under instead?”

His eyes glinted. “A very wet, very satisfying death.”

Her laugh echoed through the sea like a spell. “You’re either bold or stupid, pirate.”

“Bit of both,” he said, already leaning in.

----------

The moment she stepped onto the deck of The Serpent’s Kiss, the entire crew went still.

Boots thudded and swords tensed in scabbards as every pirate turned toward the woman who dripped seawater onto their immaculate wooden boards, as if the sea had birthed her herself.

Johnny stood at the helm, watching her like a man who’d seen something rare and dangerous—and was eager to play with it.

“Well, well,” he drawled, descending the stairs with leisurely confidence. “She rises from the deep and graces my ship.”

Y/N tilted her head, dripping wet and barefoot, seafoam clinging to her skin. “I was promised a wreck.”

He grinned. “You’re early.”

“You’re cocky.”

He stopped in front of her, close enough that the scent of salt and smoke from his clothes brushed her skin. “You can come aboard,” he murmured, eyes flicking to her mouth, “if you promise to eat me alive.”

A wicked smile curved her lips. “Don’t you mean as long as I don’t eat you alive?”

He winked. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

She didn’t smile back.

But she followed him anyway.

—

His captain’s quarters were far more lavish than she expected. Rich mahogany walls lined with stolen maps and gold-plated weapons, the desk wide and ornate, littered with scrolls, trinkets, and a half-empty bottle of rum. The scent of tobacco, leather, and something inherently masculine clung to every inch of the space.

Johnny kicked the door shut behind them.

“Here,” he said, striding to the desk. “Navy’s been crawling all over the eastern reef. Sent three ships after me just this week. Fast ones.”

Y/N didn’t answer, watching the way his shirt clung to his back as he leaned over the desk and unfurled a large map, edges curled from use.

“How many men?” she asked coolly.

“Too many to keep dodging.” He tapped a marked route. “But if I lead them here—into your waters—”

“I’ll handle the rest,” she finished for him.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Exactly.”

She didn’t move. Just stood there, dripping saltwater on his fine carpet, eyes pinned to his strong shoulders and the way tension rippled beneath his sun-kissed skin.

He was a pirate. A thief. A killer.

But so was she.

“Something wrong?” he asked, brows lifted.

She stepped forward slowly, eyes half-lidded. “You think this is going to be easy?”

“No,” he said. “But I think it’s going to be fun.”

In the next second, her fingers curled into the open collar of his shirt and yanked him toward her.

His breath caught—and then he was crashing into her, her mouth barely a breath away.

They stared at each other, a second too long, the storm between them crackling in the stillness.

Then they collided.

Mouths crashing, teeth scraping, no grace—just heat. Raw and ravenous. Johnny groaned as her hands tangled in his damp hair, dragging him deeper, his own palms gripping her waist hard enough to bruise.

She pushed him back until his thighs hit the desk. He didn’t hesitate—sweeping an arm across it, the maps, coins, and compass scattering to the floor before lifting her onto the polished wood.

Her legs wrapped around him as his mouth trailed down her neck, hot and wet, his hands skimming over every slick inch of skin. “God, you’re unreal,” he muttered against her throat, his fingers catching on her soaked sea-glass top, tugging it aside.

“You talk too much,” she growled, dragging his shirt off his shoulders, fingers scraping down the inked skin of his chest.

“I’m better with my mouth,” he smirked—before she grabbed his jaw and kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue demanding everything he had.

And Johnny—confident, arrogant Johnny—gave it.

Because when a siren takes what she wants?

She always gets it.

Their mouths barely parted as Y/N pulled his shirt down his arms, her hands roaming over the firm lines of his chest, dragging her nails over the black ink that curled across his ribs. He growled against her mouth, panting as he tugged her tighter against him.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Johnny murmured, his lips brushing her jaw, throat, collarbone.

She bit back a moan, tilting her head as he sucked a bruise just beneath her ear. “You know what I want.”

“Tell me anyway,” he rasped, gripping her bare hips. “So I don’t get it wrong.”

Her only adornment was a single gold chain slung around her neck, glinting with salt and moonlight. Johnny let his fingers trail along it slowly, deliberately, before giving it a soft tug, making her exhale sharply.

“Royal Navy ships,” she breathed, licking into his mouth. “You keep feeding them to me.”

“And you sink them,” he muttered, undoing the ties on his pants with shaking fingers. “Drag every last one of those bastards under.”

She moaned as he shoved between her legs again, the head of his cock sliding slick against her soaked entrance. “And you don’t lie to me.”

Johnny froze, looking her in the eyes. “I don’t lie to allies.”

Her lips ghosted against his. “We’re not allies. We’re monsters.”

A flash of something feral passed through his gaze—dark and hot and hungry.

“Then let’s be monsters,” he growled, catching her mouth again. His voice was hoarse, ragged. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her hand tangled in his hair again, dragging him closer. “Then shut up—” her hips rolled against him, wet and aching, “—and get in me.”

That was all it took.

Johnny slammed into her in one brutal thrust, making her gasp and cry out as her body arched beneath him. His hand came up to wrap around her throat—not choking, but holding her flat against the table as he thrust again, harder.

“Fuck,” he hissed, watching her writhe, her chain glinting against her heaving chest. “Tight little siren—so fucking wet for me already—”

Her legs locked around his waist, nails digging into his back as he moved, every stroke deep and punishing. He dipped his head, dragging his tongue over her nipple before biting down, sucking hard. Her moan was music, spine arching, hands fisting in his hair.

“You’re mine now,” he growled, teeth scraping her neck, “say it.”

She bared her throat for him, breathless and wrecked, and he took the invitation—biting down hard enough to bruise. “Say it.”

Her voice was a gasp. “Yours.”

His rhythm faltered for a second, hips snapping faster. “Again.”

“Yours,” she repeated, louder now, voice breaking, head thrown back.

Johnny grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together against the desk as he drove into her over and over, groaning with every thrust. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open, still wild, still burning. “Good.”

And he came undone.

—

When it was over, the room was a wreck—maps scattered, ink spilled, blood on his lips and bruises on her thighs. Y/N lay back on the desk, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded as she watched him pull back, breathless and sweat-slick.

Johnny ran a hand through his hair, still staring down at her like he’d just caught something sacred. Or cursed.

“You’re going to get me killed,” he said softly.

She smirked, tugging him by the chain still around her neck until he leaned back over her.

“You’re not that lucky.”

----------

The creak of the door opening drew every eye on deck.

Johnny emerged first, shirtless, hair a mess, a fresh bruise blooming just under his jaw. Y/N followed at his heels, calm as ever, Johnny's oversized top on her and a gold chain she stole from a poor sailor years ago at her throat, dripping seawater across the polished deck like she belonged there.

Which, as far as Johnny was concerned—she did now.

The crew shifted uneasily. Half of them clutched weapons. A few made the sign to ward off evil. One muttered something about “cursed temptresses” under his breath.

It wasn’t until Darius, his first mate, stepped forward with a grim look that anyone spoke up.

“You sure about this, Captain?” he asked, arms folded. “You want to let a siren walk free on this ship?”

“She ain’t walking,” muttered someone else. “She’s floating like death itself.”

Y/N only smiled sweetly, tilting her head like she might start singing—and sink the whole crew if she felt like it.

“She’s one of them,” Darius added, glancing at Johnny. “No offense, Cap, but sirens aren’t exactly known for their loyalty. They’re killers. Cunning. Evil.”

“So are we,” Johnny replied smoothly, resting a hand on the railing. His voice carried effortlessly across the deck. “You think I built this crew by playing fair?”

The men exchanged glances.

“She’s the reason the Royal Navy won’t catch us,” Johnny went on, turning to face them fully. “She’s gonna keep their ships buried at the bottom of the sea, and we’ll sail free, rich, and untouched.”

Someone near the helm muttered, “How can we trust her?”

“You don’t have to,” Johnny said, stepping closer, gaze sharp. “You trust me.”

Silence followed, thick as the ocean air.

“I’ve led you through storms. Through blockades. Through traps. I’ve slit throats in the dark so you lot could sleep on gold. I’m still the best pirate on these seas.” He glanced over his shoulder, where Y/N stood—completely unbothered, eyes glinting like a predator at rest. “And I say she’s part of this crew now.”

Darius gave a short nod. “Then that’s that.”

The others slowly followed suit—lowering weapons, relaxing shoulders, some with murmured oaths of allegiance.

Y/N padded forward slowly, stopping beside Johnny. “I won’t hurt any of you,” she said lightly, “unless you give me a reason.”

They stiffened again, but Johnny grinned.

“Chin up, boys,” he called. “We just bought ourselves a sea monster.”

A beat of silence passed. Then—

A few smirks.

Then laughter.

Tension broke like a wave against the bow.

They still didn’t trust her. Not really.

But they trusted him.

And that was enough.

---------

Later that night, when most of the crew had returned to their duties and the scent of brine and sweat hung heavy in the air, Taeyong found Johnny alone at the stern, a bottle of rum in one hand, the ocean dark and endless ahead of him.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was familiar. Long-earned. They’d bled beside each other more times than they could count.

But tonight, it was heavy.

“She’s dangerous,” Taeyong said quietly, stepping up beside him. No judgment in his voice—just concern.

Johnny didn’t look at him, eyes still on the horizon. “So are we.”

Taeyong took the bottle from his hand, took a swig. “You sleeping with her?”

Johnny smirked faintly. “Would it matter if I was?”

Taeyong didn’t answer. Just passed the bottle back.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Johnny finally said, turning to lean his back against the railing. “That I’ve let her get in my head. That my dick’s making calls my brain should be.”

Taeyong raised a brow but didn’t deny it.

Johnny’s voice dropped, quieter now. “But you know me better than that.”

Taeyong folded his arms, his tone careful. “I do. Which is why I’m saying this now, while it’s just us. You’ve got a crew that’d die for you. They believe in you. I do too. But I’ve seen what sirens do to men—good men. They make you forget who you are.”

Johnny’s jaw flexed.

Taeyong stepped closer. “So I gotta ask: are you still you?”

Johnny met his gaze without hesitation. “I’m me, Tae. I’d never make a deal with something I didn’t believe could keep their end of it. She doesn’t want us. She wants the Navy. And I’m handing them to her.”

Taeyong studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You think she’ll keep her word?”

“I know she will,” Johnny said. “And when the Navy’s gone? When we’ve sunk their best battalions and burned their flags? We’ll be kings out here. No more hiding. No more chasing shadows. Just open sea and all the gold we can carry.”

Taeyong looked out at the black water for a moment, the stars glittering like promises overhead.

“It’d be nice,” he murmured. “To finally breathe without them on our necks.”

Johnny clinked the bottle against Taeyong’s. “Then let’s make it happen.”

Taeyong took another drink. “Just don’t fall in love with her.”

Johnny chuckled, turning back to the waves. “Too late.”

-------------

The water was quiet—too quiet.

Y/N waited just beneath the surface, suspended in the deep like a predator beneath a calm sky. Her eyes flicked upward, catching the first glimpse of dark sails slicing through the moonlight.

Johnny.

She recognized The Serpent’s Kiss instantly, gliding fast and low across her waters, its black hull practically vibrating with urgency. It wasn’t until she spotted the ships behind it that her pulse quickened.

Two.

Royal Navy.

Bigger than usual. Armed to the teeth. And slow—slower than Johnny, but close enough to strike.

Her smile curved like a blade.

Perfect.

She let herself sink a little deeper into the dark, hair trailing like ink behind her, lips parting as she began to hum—softly at first, so the waves carried the sound like a whisper.

Above the surface, on the Navy ships, voices rose in panic.

“—sirens—!”

“TURN THE SHIP AROUND—!”

“She’s here! SHE’S HERE—!”

But it was already too late.

Y/N’s song swelled into a full melody, rich and sultry and lethal. The skies grew darker, clouds swirling, wind turning violent. The sea responded to her like it was in love with her rage.

Men on deck dropped their weapons.

One by one, they turned toward the sound—eyes wide, glazed, mouths slack. Some wept. Some whispered prayers. Most just… moved.

Moved toward the railings.

Toward the water.

Toward her.

Sailors began flinging themselves into the waves, drawn by the impossible pull of her voice, limbs breaking the surface like desperate offerings. Swords clattered, screams echoed, and still she sang—serene in the middle of the growing storm.

She breached the surface now, rising with the tempest, long hair slick against her back, eyes glowing like fire beneath the clouds. The wind whipped around her, waves crashing like fists against the Navy ships, tossing them violently side to side.

And when she lifted her arms, the sea obeyed.

A massive wave crested behind her—towering, black, angry—and crashed down on the first ship with the fury of the gods.

The second followed within minutes.

Smashed. Splintered. Gone.

Silence settled again, broken only by the crackle of lightning in the distance and the whisper of water reclaiming its dead.

Y/N stood alone now, waist-deep, hair clinging to her glowing skin, a satisfied smile on her face. Power hummed through her veins.

Another successful kill.

She didn’t know she was being watched.

Not from the wreckage. But from land.

Johnny stood on a small, craggy plot of rock just a mile away, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, breath held.

He had docked briefly to throw off the Navy's course, expecting to double back and help distract—but he hadn’t needed to.

He had known she was dangerous.

He just hadn’t realized how dangerous.

He’d seen storms. Battles. Massacres.

But nothing like her.

She was destruction wrapped in silk. A myth come to life. And watching her, drenched in moonlight and bloodlust, victorious in the eye of the storm?

Johnny felt it in his bones.

Not fear.

Not caution.

Desire.

The kind that made a man forget rules, gods, loyalty. The kind that made him want to fall, just to see if she’d catch him or let him drown.

He swallowed hard, eyes never leaving her.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, almost reverent.

And somehow, deep in his gut, he already knew—

He was in too deep.

---------------

A week later, Johnny arrived again.

This time, he wasn’t running.

The small Navy ship that trailed The Serpent’s Kiss was barely worth worrying over—smaller crew, poor speed, laughably underarmed. It limped behind them like a sacrificial lamb.

Johnny stood at the helm, smirking like a man with the whole ocean in his hands. “Poor bastards don’t even know they’re about to drown,” he muttered.

As always, Y/N was waiting below the surface.

It didn’t take long.

She sang.

The sailors screamed.

And then—silence.

The ship cracked and groaned before splitting in two, the sea swallowing it whole with one long breath. When it was over, Y/N broke the surface with a flip of her hair, swimming toward the ship with little urgency.

Johnny grinned as she neared, leaning casually over the railing. “You’re welcome.”

She rolled her eyes, hauling herself up the side with ease. The crew wisely gave her space now, stepping back like she was made of blades.

Johnny held a hand out as she climbed aboard.

“You really think you’re clever, don’t you?” she said, brushing past him.

“I think I’m efficient.” He followed, steps lazy. “One Navy ship. One siren. Zero problems.”

She stopped walking, slowly turning to look at him with a dry, unimpressed stare. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

The grin faded slightly. “Fell for what?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept walking toward his quarters.

Johnny frowned and followed, closing the door behind them with a thud once they were alone.

“What do you mean fell for it?” he asked.

Y/N crossed her arms, damp skin glistening in the lanternlight. “Did you notice anything strange when you were being chased?”

“Like what?”

“Like how at first… multiple ships were following you?”

Johnny’s brows pinched. “Yeah… but only one could keep up.”

Y/N huffed and ran a hand through her wet hair. “Exactly. They peeled off. Intentionally.”

He blinked. “So?”

“So,” she snapped, stepping closer, “they knew two of their ships sank in that same stretch of sea before. So they sent onethis time—a test. They wanted to see if it would happen again. And guess what?”

“It did,” Johnny muttered, realization dawning.

“They’re not going to follow you there anymore,” she finished. “They’re not that stupid.”

He cursed under his breath, jaw clenching. “You could’ve spared the ship, then.”

Her grin slowly curled—sharp and wicked.

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “If you knew it was a setup—why didn’t you let them go?”

She stepped close, voice dropping into something dark and seductive. “Because I was hungry.”

And before he could speak, she grabbed his collar and yanked him down, fangs flashing as she sank her teeth into his bottom lip. Hard.

Johnny hissed, gripping her hips as she bit until blood welled up between their mouths. Her tongue flicked out—slow, deliberate—and licked the red from his skin.

His breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered, dazed.

She leaned in, licking again, softer this time, almost like a kiss. “Next time,” she whispered, lips brushing his, “try using your brain, Captain.”

He stared at her, lip bleeding, heart pounding, his cock already hard beneath his belt.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You are going to ruin me.”

Y/N only smirked, tilting her head as she wiped his blood from her mouth with two fingers. “Then stop getting in my way and let me.”

Johnny didn’t even wait.

The second her tongue dragged across his bleeding lip again, he snapped.

With a growl, he shoved her back against the door—hard enough to rattle the wood on its hinges. His hands were all over her, grabbing her thighs, her ass, her waist—lifting her like she weighed nothing as he pressed his hips between her legs.

“You want to play games,” he panted, “you better be ready to lose.”

Y/N laughed darkly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I never lose.”

He kissed her then—messy, rough, brutal—like he was trying to wipe that smirk off her face with his mouth alone. Her thighs tightened around his waist as he grinded against her, hard and aching, rutting into her soaked cunt until she moaned into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he groaned, reaching between them to guide himself to her entrance. “Is this for me?”

“No,” she gasped, nails digging into his back, “it’s for whoever else I bit this week—yes, it’s for you, you bastard.”

He laughed—breathless, cracked—and thrust into her in one smooth, brutal motion.

Y/N’s head hit the door with a soft thud, eyes fluttering shut as he buried himself inside her over and over, each thrust harder, deeper, more desperate. He was fucking her like he wanted to own her—hands gripping her thighs so tight she knew he’d leave bruises.

“God, you feel like sin,” he rasped against her throat, biting her shoulder, his sweat dripping down onto her skin.

“You are sin,” she moaned, mouth dragging over his jaw. “That’s why I let you in.”

He groaned low in his chest, slamming into her one last time before coming hard inside her, holding her up as she clenched around him, panting in his ear.

They stood there like that for a long moment—pressed against the door, breath tangled, bodies slick and shaking.

Finally, Johnny let her slide slowly down his body, both of them still catching their breath.

“Stay,” he muttered, still flushed. “At least until I find a new set of waters to lead them into. Somewhere the Navy won’t suspect.”

Y/N raised a brow, wiping sweat from his chest with the back of her hand. “I’ll need the finest food.”

“Obviously.”

“And I’m staying in your quarters,” she added casually, turning to walk toward the bed with a sway in her hips. “You can sleep with the crew. They’ll love it.”

Johnny barked a breathless laugh, leaning back against the door like it was the only thing holding him up. “You are out of your mind.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Deal?”

He shook his head, laughing again. “Deal.”

Y/N grinned, settling herself on his bed like a queen—naked, glowing, wild.

Johnny crossed the room slowly, dropping to his knees beside her. He leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers in a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss—no teasing now, just heat and softness and a promise he didn’t quite understand yet.

She kissed him back with that same sharp smile against his lips.

And Johnny knew—he was hers now.

Whether she wanted to keep him or kill him?

Only time would tell.

------------

The sea was calm that evening.

The Serpent’s Kiss glided gently across the water, the kind of rare, quiet moment that made the ocean seem peaceful instead of bloodthirsty.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the upper deck rail, eyes fixed on the fading orange horizon. Her hair was wind-swept, her skin glowing in the dying light. For once, she wasn’t singing or plotting.

She was simply watching.

Taeyong approached, cautious but not afraid. He had a mug in each hand—one of hot rum, one of something stronger. He held out the former to her.

“Didn’t think sirens got cold,” he said.

Y/N smirked, taking it. “We don’t. But I like the taste.”

He nodded, settling on the crate beside her. For a long moment, they sat in silence, watching the horizon stretch and ripple.

Finally, Y/N spoke. “How’d you meet him?”

Taeyong glanced at her. “Johnny?”

She nodded.

He exhaled through his nose, a small smile curling on his lips. “I was with a different crew once. Years ago. Bad captain. Worse crew. They’d raid coastal towns, steal everything that moved. Women, too. One day we hit a port where Johnny happened to be docked—just refueling. He saw the smoke. Saw what my crew was doing. And instead of leaving like any smart pirate would’ve, he turned back.”

Y/N studied him quietly, the cup resting against her bottom lip.

“He boarded our ship alone,” Taeyong went on. “Killed the captain in front of everyone. Told the rest of the crew they could join him or rot. I joined him.”

There was something reverent in his voice now.

“Ever since then, I’ve been with him. He gave me a real crew. A real life. Never once asked for anything back. I figure the universe owes him a favor for what he did that day.”

Y/N tilted her head, running a finger around the rim of her cup. “You’re loyal to him.”

“To the end.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s rare.”

Taeyong gave her a look. “So is his trust.”

She blinked, then smiled again—sharp this time, all teeth and trouble. “Getting protective, first mate?”

“I’m being honest,” he said. “He doesn’t let people in easy. Not even his crew. Not really. But you? He trusts you. Like instantly.”

Y/N took a long, slow sip of her drink. “And that worries you.”

Taeyong didn’t deny it. “Just making sure there’s no… influence. No siren magic in his head.”

That made her laugh—low and throaty and genuinely amused.

“Oh, darling,” she purred, hopping off the rail to land in front of him, eyes gleaming, “if I was using magic, he’d be dead or married.”

Taeyong blinked.

Y/N leaned in, close enough to smell the salt in his drink. “I don’t need spells. He’s just wrapped around my finger like everyone else.”

Taeyong studied her, uncertain whether to laugh or be afraid.

She smiled wider. “Relax. I like him. If I didn’t, this ship would’ve been at the bottom of the sea weeks ago.”

She turned and walked away, hips swaying, hair whipping in the wind.

Taeyong watched her go, unsettled but intrigued.

Because the most dangerous thing about her wasn’t the song.

It was that he believed her.

----------

For once, she stayed out of his way.

Y/N leaned against the railing of The Serpent’s Kiss, her arms folded as she watched the deck move like clockwork—pirates rushing to stations, sails shifting, canons covered and hidden to mimic a trade ship.

And at the center of it all: Johnny.

The infamous pirate captain stood with legs braced and arms crossed, sharp eyes locked on the royal fleet in the distance. His usual cocky grin was gone, replaced by something sharper. Focused. Ruthless.

He barked orders with ease—quiet, controlled, and strategic.

Y/N tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips.

So this was what he looked like when he wasn’t busy kissing her breathless or teasing her with lazy, suggestive grins. He was magnetic in battle, commanding every man on deck like he’d written the sea’s rules himself.

No charm. No distractions. Just brilliance.

And damn it, it made her want him even more.

Minutes later, the royal fleet turned off course—exactly as Johnny predicted.

Y/N watched in stunned silence as the ships disappeared toward the eastern reef where the false distress beacons had been lit earlier that morning. A trap. A perfectly executed decoy.

The crew erupted into loud cheers. Pirates slapped each other’s backs, laughing and howling with relief. They were free to roam again—at least for now.

Johnny turned from the helm and made his way to her.

“Didn’t even need your fangs for that one,” he said, eyes dancing.

Y/N gave him a slow, impressed smile. “No, you didn’t.”

He arched a brow. “What? No snarky comment about how you’re the one who usually saves us?”

She stepped closer, slipping two fingers into the hem of his belt. “I’m impressed,” she said softly. “You’re even smarter when you’re not thinking about fucking me.”

Johnny grinned, shameless. “Dangerous compliment, sweetheart. I’m already full of it.”

She smirked, then stepped back as he tugged her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re docking on the mainland tonight. Tavern’s got the best rum this side of the map. It’s time to celebrate.”

Y/N blinked. “Mainland?”

Johnny nodded. “You’ve never stepped foot on land, have you?”

She stared at him, eyes widening just a little. “Not in… not since I was changed. Since I became this.”

“Well,” he said, voice softer now, “we’ll keep near the water. Just long enough for a drink. You’ve earned it.”

A flush bloomed under her skin that had nothing to do with the sun.

She looked at her bare feet, then back at the distant coastline drawing closer.

Land.

The thought of it made her heart race.

“I’ll need boots,” she muttered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Johnny laughed. “You can have mine. I’ll carry you back.”

-----------

Y/N pulled the oversized coat tighter around her body, the fabric thick and worn and smelling like sea salt and leather and him.

She walked beside Johnny, bare feet brushing against cobblestone as the bustle of the port town swirled around them—street vendors calling, ships docking, gulls screeching overhead. Every sound made her flinch slightly. She was used to the gentle echo of ocean waves, not this… chaos.

Johnny didn’t let go of her hand once.

He didn’t need to guide her. She could protect herself just fine. But something about her—draped in his shirt and coat, wide-eyed and in giant boots (his)—made him grip her hand tighter as if the crowd might swallow her whole if he didn’t.

“You alright?” he asked softly, leaning close as they passed a butcher yelling about fresh meat.

“I’ve never heard so much shouting,” she murmured. “How do humans live like this?”

He chuckled. “Loudly.”

She gave him a narrow look, but her lips twitched in amusement.

Johnny tugged her down a quieter street lined with colorful fabrics and silk hangings, stopping in front of a stall overflowing with clothes.

“Pick something,” he said, nodding to the dresses and corsets, skirts and boots. “Anything you want. No one here knows what you are. They’ll just think I’ve got a pretty new bride.”

She raised a brow. “Is that the lie we’re going with?”

“Unless you’d rather I call you my mistress?”

Y/N snorted. “Keep talking and I’ll gut you in your sleep.”

“Romantic,” he grinned.

She scanned the fabrics with cautious fingers, brushing over lace and velvet until she found a deep green corset and skirt that shimmered in the sunlight, reminding her of deep kelp and precious stones sunk to the sea floor.

She stepped behind a curtain and returned moments later, barefoot still, but regal—bare shoulders glowing under the afternoon sun, hips swaying like the tide itself.

Johnny stared. “You want to ruin men? That’s the outfit to do it.”

She smirked. “You already look ruined, captain.”

He muttered a curse under his breath and reached for her again, but she batted his hand away, amused. “Where to next?”

Johnny took her to a narrow jewelry shop lined with iron lanterns and guarded by a grumpy-looking old woman. The moment Y/N stepped inside, her eyes widened. Diamonds. Rubies. Sapphires. Emeralds. All stolen from some kingdom, some dead noble, displayed here like treasures for her to devour.

Her gaze locked on a gold bracelet in the corner—thick and twisting like sea vines, encrusted with emeralds that shimmered like her waters. Perfect to match her golden necklace she always wore, stolen from a sailor who got too close to her when she was young.

She stepped forward, lips parted, hand hovering just above it.

Johnny watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, expression soft.

“You want it?” he asked.

She hesitated. “No. I… I just like looking.”

“You deserve things,” he said quietly. “Not just to take them. To have them.”

Her throat bobbed. She said nothing.

They left empty-handed, but his hand slid back into hers the second they stepped into the crowd again. He couldn’t stop himself.

She looked smaller here. Smaller and far too mesmerizing.

They turned a corner and a tug at her skirt made Y/N freeze.

She looked down.

A little girl stood at her side, no more than five, cheeks flushed and hair in messy braids. Her eyes were wide, full of innocent wonder.

“Can I touch your hair?” the girl whispered. “It’s so shiny.”

Y/N blinked, tense. Siren's are known to have gorgeous long silky hair that float beautifully in the seas, not that anyone on land could tell what she was unless she let her fangs drop.

Her instincts screamed to back away, to vanish into the sea where no one could touch her. But the child’s aura was so… quiet. So pure. No shadows. No darkness. No hint of deceit.

“She’s harmless,” Johnny murmured beside her, gentle for once. “Just curious.”

Y/N slowly crouched, letting the girl touch a strand of her hair. Tiny fingers twirled the silk between them. After a moment, the girl giggled and ran off, her parents calling for her in the distance.

Y/N stood, dazed.

“There was… nothing bad in her,” she said softly. “No filth. No greed. Nothing I’m used to sensing.”

Johnny nodded. “She hasn’t been taught the ugly parts yet. Still sees the world with soft eyes.”

Y/N turned to him, brows pulled tight. “Were you like that? Ever?”

He looked away for a moment, jaw tight.

“No,” he said. “I never had the luxury.”

She stared at him, something soft blooming behind her ribs.

“Come on,” Johnny said, flicking her chin and forcing a crooked smile. “Let’s find the crew before they burn the tavern down.”

The tavern was rowdy with laughter and overflowing mugs, pirate songs echoing off the wooden walls. The crew was already several drinks deep, shouting stories and clinking glasses, the scent of roasted meat and spiced rum thick in the air.

Y/N sat beside Johnny, close enough to feel the heat of his thigh against hers. Her fingers toyed lazily with the mug in front of her, though she didn’t drink. The noises were strange, but the energy of the place made her feel—alive.

Then she walked in.

A flash of curls. A familiar, confident stride. And a voice like smoke.

“Johnny?”

Y/N’s head turned before she could stop herself.

The woman beamed, rushing over and throwing her arms around him like they hadn’t just lived separate lives for years. “Gods, it’s been ages—how long’s it been? Seven years?”

Johnny smiled—polite, nothing more—and stood to hug her briefly. “About that.”

Y/N’s claws itched.

The woman kept talking—leaning into Johnny’s space, laughing too loudly at things he barely said, her fingers brushing his arm like it was habit.

Y/N turned to Taeyong.

“Who is that?” she asked through clenched teeth.

Taeyong blinked, lips quirking like he’d expected this. “An old flame. From when Johnny was barely eighteen. It’s ancient history, don’t worry.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. Her throat felt dry. Something sharp twisted in her gut.

Johnny smiled at her.

She didn’t wait.

She rose from the table with the grace of a queen and strode up to him, jaw tight, eyes flashing.

“Take me back to the ship,” she said, calm but cold. “I’m not feeling well.”

Johnny raised a brow, seeing right through her. “Taeyong can take you.”

She stepped closer, smiling sweetly—and dropped her fangs.

“I said you take me,” she hissed, voice low and lethal. “Unless you want to watch your precious ship sink while you flirt with corpses.”

The woman flinched, backing away with wide eyes, mumbling something about needing air before rushing out of the tavern.

Johnny chuckled, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re absolutely unhinged.”

“Still here though,” Y/N replied smugly.

He stood, letting her lead the way.

—

Y/N shoved him back the moment they stepped into his quarters, slamming the door shut behind them. The wood rattled with the force. Johnny opened his mouth, but she was already on him, pushing him down onto the bed.

“You’re really—” he started, grinning up at her.

“Shut up,” she snapped, yanking his shirt open, buttons scattering. “Don’t speak.”

She climbed on top of him, straddling his lap like she was born to sit there, her nails digging into his shoulders for balance. Her weight pressed him down, and for once Johnny didn’t fight it—didn’t smirk or joke—just let her do exactly what she wanted.

And gods, she wanted.

She reached between them, wrapped her hand around his cock, hard and waiting for her, dragging the head slowly through her slick folds before sinking down all at once.

Johnny groaned — deep and guttural — throwing his head back into the mattress as she seated herself fully on him.

“Fuck—”

She didn’t give him a second to breathe. Her hips began to roll, fast and rough, skin slapping against skin in sharp, angry rhythm. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them down above his head, nails biting into his skin, her chest bouncing with every hard thrust.

“Jealous little siren,” he rasped, but she leaned down and bit his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss — then sucked it into her mouth, licking at the blood she drew.

“Mine,” she whispered against his mouth. “Say it.”

He grunted, trying to thrust up into her, but she kept control, grinding down so perfectly it made his back arch. “Yours—shit—yours, alright—”

Her pace got even rougher, slamming down over and over until the bed rocked under them, until he was panting beneath her, eyes glazed, mouth falling open as he struggled to keep up. She moaned into his mouth, biting his tongue this time and sucking it deep into hers, tasting him, owning him.

He’d never been taken like this before. Never seen her so wild, so raw, so completely in command.

And gods, he loved it.

She rode him until he was nearly trembling under her, whispering his name like a prayer and a curse, until his hands broke free just to clutch her hips and hold on as he came, deep inside her, his voice hoarse in her ear.

But she didn’t stop.

She kept moving — slower now, grinding in tight, teasing circles, keeping him hard, keeping him buried inside her. She licked the sweat from his throat, the blood from his chest, and smiled with her fangs out like a predator who’d fed and still wasn’t full.

“Still think I overreacted?” she murmured.

Johnny, dazed and breathless, licked his lips and grinned faintly. “Starting to think I should flirt with my exes more often.”

She growled — and thrust down hard enough to make him curse again.

They collapsed together moments later, tangled in sweat and heat and sea salt, her body draped over his, chest rising and falling like she’d just come from battle.

Because she had.

And she’d won.

-------------

The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow across the deck of the ship. Below, Y/N was sprawled across Johnny’s bed like a goddess in the aftermath of chaos—hair tousled, skin glistening with leftover sweat, his marks scattered all over her body like a pirate’s claim.

Johnny dressed quietly, still sore in the best way, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. His chest and neck were painted with angry red scratches and deep bite marks. His collarbone was smudged purple and his jaw had a bruise from where she’d sucked too hard.

He smirked at the memory.

“Fuckin’ hell,” one of the crew muttered when Johnny joined them on deck, eyes catching the marks. “Looks like you survived a kraken attack.”

Johnny just laughed. “Worse,” he muttered. “She bites harder.”

They rowed to the mainland with a short list of supplies to gather before they changed course. Johnny made his way through the crowded streets, pulling his hood up only halfway. He didn’t exactly blend in, tall and broad and cocky as ever, sauntering through the market with a pirate’s swagger.

That’s when he saw her.

His old flame they bumped into last night walking toward him with a basket of fresh bread in hand, her eyes widening the second she spotted him.

“Johnny?” she said, breath catching.

He turned, giving her that lazy grin she used to fall for, but her eyes dropped to his exposed chest, where his shirt gaped open just enough to reveal the aftermath of last night’s war. Scratches. Hickeys. Teeth marks.

She looked like she’d been slapped.

“Gods,” she said, lips parting. “Are you alright? What the hell happened to you?”

Johnny rubbed the side of his neck, looking down as if noticing it all for the first time. Then he smiled again—slow and smug. “I've never been better., don't worry about me”

Elira's mouth closed. She looked down at her basket, suddenly unsure of herself. “You’ve…moved on.”

“Wasn’t planning to. But she didn’t give me much of a choice,” he said, fondness sneaking into his voice without him meaning to. “Tore through me like I belonged to her.”

She flinched, even if she tried to hide it. “Just be careful, Johnny. I heard from a Navy trader — the royal family’s been pouring more gold into their fleets lately. They want pirates off their waters. For good.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Thanks for the tip.”

She gave him a small, sad smile and turned to go. “Goodbye, Johnny.”

He watched her walk away without a flicker of regret.

By the time he returned to the ship, the morning sun was higher in the sky and the sea breeze had picked up. He slipped back into his quarters and found Y/N still curled in his bed, the sheets tangled around her bare legs.

He leaned over, brushing his knuckles gently down her cheek.

“Rise and shine, siren,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her jaw, her cheek and lips. “We’ve got work to do.”

She stirred, eyelids fluttering open, pupils still dark with sleep, throwing her arms around his neck. “What kind of work?”

Johnny grinned, nipping at her lower lip. “The kind that might get us killed.”

She smirked lazily. “My favourite kind.” Pulling him down for another kiss.

----------

The day had started smooth—too smooth.

Johnny stood at the helm, wind slicing through his coat, eyes fixed on the horizon as they glided toward new waters Y/N had scouted. She’d left just before dawn, vanishing into the sea like a shadow to clear the way ahead.

He hadn’t seen any flags for hours, just endless blue stretching in every direction. That should’ve comforted him. But his gut twisted.

“We’re being followed,” Taeyong murmured beside him, brows furrowed. “Starboard side. Six ships. Royal Navy colors.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched.

“I thought Y/N took care of—”

“She did. They weren’t there before.” He cursed under his breath. “They’re hiding their movement. Smarter. Quieter.”

They watched as the fleet crept closer. Johnny gave the signal.

Y/N emerged minutes later, her glowing eyes visible even from a distance, the sea parting beneath her as she began her song.

The melody that spilled from her lips was slow, dangerous—like honey laced with venom. One by one, the navy ships began to falter. Cannons stopped firing. Orders stopped being shouted. Sailors dropped their weapons, leaning overboard, dazed, enchanted.

And then, just as Johnny relaxed his shoulders, something clicked.

Taeyong turned too late. A much smaller vessel had approached from the opposite direction—low, fast, and hidden against the sun.

Ropes lashed onto the side of Johnny’s ship. Three figures climbed aboard, masked and armed, pistols cocked and aimed directly at Johnny and Taeyong.

“Drop your weapons,” one of them ordered, voice calm but deadly. “Captain Suh and First Mate Lee, by order of the Crown, you’re under arrest.”

Taeyong reached for his sword, but Johnny raised a hand, stopping him.

The lead soldier stepped forward, pressing the barrel of his pistol to Johnny’s chest. “Cooperate, or your crew will pay the price. You think we didn’t know about the siren? She’s occupied. We came prepared.”

Johnny’s fingers curled into fists. He could fight. But they’d shoot first. And he wouldn’t risk his crew—he couldn’t.

He was just about to speak—to give in—when the air changed.

Soft at first. Almost inaudible.

Then louder. Clear. Like silk wrapping around the spine.

That voice.

The soldiers froze, faces twisting. “No,” one whispered. “She’s supposed to be distracted—”

But it was too late.

Their arms lowered, eyes glossed over, mouths falling open in awe. One by one, they staggered toward the edge of the ship like they were being summoned.

And they were.

Johnny turned, rushing to the side. He leaned over, his heart thudding in relief.

There she was.

Y/N.

Only her eyes visible above the water, silver and glowing under the sun. Her song still humming low in her throat. A quiet weapon.

She stared straight at him, the hint of mischief dancing behind her gaze. She didn’t need to smile—he saw it anyway.

Johnny exhaled, his lips twitching.

The last soldier hit the water with a splash.

And Y/N finally blinked.

Johnny grinned down at her. “Show-off.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t stop singing until the current had dragged every soldier far from the ship’s reach.

When the last ripple vanished, Johnny stood tall, turning to his stunned crew. “Well, boys,” he called, clapping Taeyong on the back, “looks like she’s still got our backs.”

Taeyong grumbled, still catching his breath. “She nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Johnny smirked, eyes flicking back to the waves. “Yeah. And I think she enjoyed it.”

--------

The crew worked quietly, adrenaline still wearing off after the surprise attack. The sun hung low in the sky now, casting gold streaks across the waves as the ship sliced through calm waters. Johnny stood near the helm, one hand resting on the railing, the other clutching a flask he hadn’t touched.

Y/N joined him, her damp hair curling around her face, eyes scanning the horizon. She didn’t speak right away. Neither did he.

Finally, Johnny broke the silence.

“Three more,” he said quietly, eyes narrowed. “Three more ships left in the battalion that’s been chasing me for years. Once they’re gone…” He trailed off, not needing to finish.

They both knew what that meant. Freedom. Safety—for him, for the crew. For her, maybe.

But then his shoulders tensed again.

He looked at her, serious now, voice low. “They know about you, Y/N. The Navy. The Crown. They’re not just hunting pirates anymore—they’re hunting you. You need to be careful.”

She smiled slowly, the expression rich and knowing.

“I’m not the naive little siren I once was Johnny."

He blinked, his gaze sharpening.

Y/N stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear. “I’ve drowned admirals. Crushed fleets. I’ve lured hunters into whirlpools they didn’t know existed. Whatever the Navy thinks they know about me, it’s already too late.”

Johnny stared at her—genuinely, for a long beat.

Then something softened behind his eyes, a quiet pride curling into his smirk. “Didn’t say I wasn’t impressed. Just… don’t let them get lucky. Promise me.”

She tilted her head. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll burn their kingdom to the ground myself.”

That made her laugh.

“Now that,” she murmured, “is something I’d like to see.”

She leaned into his side, his arm slipping around her waist without needing to be asked. Together, they watched the sea stretch out ahead—danger still looming, but for once, in no rush.

They hadn’t been on land for more than fifteen minutes when Johnny’s shoulders started tightening. Every glance from a vendor, every passing look from a stranger made his jaw clench. His hand stayed firmly on Y/N’s lower back as they moved through the market square, grabbing sacks of rice, fruit, dried meats, everything they needed.

Y/N leaned toward a crate of oranges, fingers brushing the vibrant skins when Johnny caught her wrist. “That’s enough,” he muttered. “We’re going back.”

She blinked up at him. “What? We’re barely halfway—”

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.”

She pulled her arm back, voice rising slightly. “They’re not looking at me, Johnny. They’re just looking. I look human. I am human here.”

“Not to them,” Johnny hissed under his breath, tugging her away. “If one person suspects, if even one whisper reaches the wrong ears, they’ll report you. And if they do—”

“I can handle myself,” she snapped, pulling away again.

Johnny stopped in his tracks. “This isn’t the sea. This is their home, their rules. You don’t get to sing your way out of this if they put chains on you. I’m an expert in water. Not here. I can’t protect you the same way.”

She froze, lips parting slightly, hurt flickering across her features.

Then came her laugh—empty, hollow. The kind that echoed from something much deeper than irritation.

“Oh, so now you care about how cruel humans can be?” Her voice was low. Bitter. “You think I don’t know how hollow they are? How monstrous?”

She turned sharply, storming off down the dock without another word. Johnny called after her once—but her pace didn’t slow.

By the time he got back to the ship, she had locked herself in his quarters.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his forehead resting against the door. “Open up.”

Silence.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I’m just—” He sighed, his voice cracking just a little. “I’m scared. I know what they’d do to you if they found out. And I’d never forgive myself.”

More silence.

Then: click.

The door creaked open just enough for him to see her curled on the edge of the bed, still in his clothes, arms hugging her knees. She didn’t look at him when he stepped in and quietly closed the door.

He approached slowly, then sat beside her.

“I wasn’t trying to control you,” he said quietly. “I just… can’t stand the thought of something happening to you. Not after everything.”

She finally turned her face toward him, her voice barely above a whisper. “And how do you think I feel about you?”

That did him in.

Johnny leaned in without hesitation, brushing her hair behind her ear, his lips ghosting over hers in the softest way they’d ever touched—no heat, no bite. Just an aching need for closeness.

She melted into him. Hands curling around his shoulders, mouth molding into his like it belonged there. The kiss deepened just enough to be lingering, lips parting, breaths mingling, but neither of them was in a rush.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his.

Johnny’s hand cupped her cheek. “Just… stay close, okay?”

“I always do,” she whispered.

And for now, that was enough.

----------

The sky was painted in a bruised blue as the sun dipped low, casting golden light across the rippling sea. Most of the crew were below deck or resting before nightfall, the lull before the storm.

Johnny leaned against the rail, watching the horizon with narrowed eyes. He didn’t turn when he heard footsteps behind him—he didn’t need to. He knew that walk.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Taeyong said, stepping beside him. “You always get like this before something big.”

Johnny stayed quiet for a moment, jaw flexing as the wind stirred his hair.

Taeyong folded his arms, glancing at his captain. “You’ve got that look in your eye again. Like the one you had when you saved me all those years ago. Like you’ve already decided what you’re willing to sacrifice.”

Johnny exhaled through his nose, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s just the mission. Three ships left. We finish this, and we’re finally free.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Taeyong’s voice was soft but steady. “You’ve clearly fallen for her. Anyone with eyes can see it. But you know she’s not meant to stay. She belongs to the sea, Johnny. Not to you. Not to any of us.”

That struck something in him.

“She’s more than a siren,” Johnny muttered, finally turning toward him. “She’s smart, fierce, funny. She keeps up with us, sometimes leads better than I do. And she saved us, more than once. She’s not just some creature of the water.”

“I know that,” Taeyong said quietly. “I like her, Johnny. That’s why I’m saying this. The ship is our home. The sea is hers. Sooner or later, the tides pull us in different directions.”

Johnny looked away, voice low. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Taeyong gave him a long, searching look. “How?”

Johnny didn’t answer right away. His fingers tapped restlessly against the railing, the ocean breeze tousling his hair.

“We just finish the job first,” he finally said. “Three more ships. That’s all. One mission at a time.”

Taeyong nodded, though the weight of everything unspoken hung between them like storm clouds just out of reach.

He clapped Johnny on the back once, then walked away, leaving the captain alone with the sea—and the uncertainty of what would come when the battle was over.

-----------

The flickering lanterns swayed gently with the ship, casting golden shadows across the deck as the crew settled down for the night. The scent of salted air and fire-cooked food still lingered in the breeze.

Johnny was on his way back from the helm when he paused just beyond the galley entrance. He heard voices—familiar ones—and stopped in his tracks.

“…so, do sirens have anything like marriage?” Taeyong asked curiously, his tone casual but thoughtful.

There was a short pause before Y/N responded. “Not exactly,” she said. “We don’t have the same customs, but we can form a lifelong union based on love and trust. It’s rare, but… it happens.”

“Do some have families?”

Y/N gave a quiet laugh. “Some. I have a few I consider sisters. We grew up together, downing ships for fun, stealing things we didn’t need just to see who could charm the most sailors.”

Taeyong chuckled softly. “You make it sound almost… domestic.”

Y/N tilted her head. “It’s not all seduction and storms, you know. Sirens live. We fight, we love, we grieve. We’re not so different from you.”

Taeyong grew quiet for a moment, then said, “I guess I was just wondering… if sirens feel love as deeply as humans do.”

Johnny leaned closer without meaning to, his body tensed.

“I wouldn’t know how a human feels,” Y/N said gently. “But I assume it’s more or less the same. When we care… we care.” There was something raw in her voice, something quiet but certain. “It changes us.”

Neither spoke for a moment.

Then Y/N cleared her throat and straightened up. “Anyway… it’s time to focus on the mission. We’re nearly there.”

Taeyong nodded. “Right. One last stretch.”

Their footsteps moved off in the other direction, leaving Johnny alone in the shadows—jaw clenched, heart beating a little faster than before. He stared out at the night sky, her words echoing in his head.

When we care… we care. It changes us.

------------

THE PAST

Laughter echoed beneath the waves. A group of young sirens darted through coral arches, chasing one another with effortless grace. Fish scattered in their wake, and the seabed glowed with moon-kissed bioluminescence.

One of them—a girl with wide, curious eyes and a silver streak in her hair—surfaced for air, laughing as she flicked water at her friends.

“Bet I can steal a compass before any of you!” she teased, her voice sweet and sharp.

They giggled, cheering her on as she moved closer to a docked ship nearby.

She wasn’t scared. Not yet.

She crept aboard through the shadows, sleek and silent. But the moment her hand brushed the side of a crate—SNAP. A glowing net, woven with iron and enchanted thorns, coiled around her.

Her scream was barely heard underwater.

“No—NO!”

“Get her out!”

Her sisters tried—pulling, biting, slashing at the net. But the surface began to rise around her and she was dragged up, arms caught in the weave, mouth open in horror.

Above the waterline, shouts erupted from sailors.

“Holy hell—it’s a siren!”

“Grab her before she sings!”

Rough hands yanked her over the side, shackles clamping her wrists. A thick cloth was shoved into her mouth, muffling the terrified cries, and someone tied it tight behind her head. She thrashed wildly, eyes wide, until they shoved her into a rusted iron cage. Cold. Cramped.

One sailor stared at her like she was both treasure and monster. “Never thought I’d see one alive.”

The cage door slammed shut. The other sirens young and scared, swimming away to get help and before they could be caught themselves.

PRESENT

Y/N stood alone on the deck, wind lifting strands of her hair as she stared into the endless stretch of sea.

The sunset painted the ocean in blood-red and gold, and her expression remained unreadable, carved from silence.

But deep in her eyes, the memory still burned.

The betrayal. The helplessness. The gag.

She gripped the railing tighter, her jaw hardening.

Never again, she thought.

Never again would she be powerless. Never again would anyone take her voice.

----------

The ship rocked gently beneath them, the moon high and the ocean calm for once. In Johnny’s quarters, a single lantern flickered on the wall, casting long shadows across the wooden floor.

Y/N sat curled at the edge of his bed, one of his white dress shirts hanging loosely off one shoulder, the hem brushing the tops of her bare thighs. She didn’t turn around when the door opened.

“You’re not just here to grab something,” she said quietly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Johnny paused in the doorway, then closed it behind him.

“Busted,” he said with a soft chuckle, crossing the room. “Guess I missed you.”

She turned slightly to face him, her expression warm but tinged with something heavier. “Tomorrow’s the big one.”

He nodded, watching her closely. “You nervous?”

She shrugged. “Not about the fight.”

He stepped closer, tilting her chin up with two fingers. “Be careful, Y/N.”

“I should say the same to you.”

They held each other’s eyes for a moment—words unsaid hanging between them like thick fog—and then she rose, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck, the shirt slipping further down her shoulder.

Johnny exhaled through his nose, one hand coming to her waist, the other brushing her hair back. “You look better in my shirt than I ever did.”

She smiled. “I know.”

Their lips met in a slow kiss—no teasing this time, no rush. Just a steady warmth blooming in their chests. Johnny walked her backward until her knees hit the bed, then gently lowered her down with him, never breaking the kiss.

His hands explored her body like he was trying to memorize it. Y/N arched into him, letting out a quiet gasp when he kissed down her throat, fingertips brushing over the curve of her waist, along the inside of her thigh.

Their hands linked above her head, fingers laced tight as he slowly pushed into her. Both of them let out soft, breathy moans—this wasn’t about lust or dominance. This was grounding, claiming, keeping.

Their bodies moved in sync, a slow, aching rhythm that made every breath feel like a promise.

He kissed her again and again—her lips, her cheeks, her collarbone—whispering her name like a prayer. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling gently whenever a wave of pleasure hit too deep.

By the time the sun began to rise, casting golden light through the small round window, they were still tangled together—sweaty, breathless, but quiet. Neither wanting to let go yet.

Johnny brushed a thumb over her cheek. “Whatever happens today…”

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”

------------

The air was heavy with anticipation. The kind that settles deep in the bones before a storm. Moonlight filtered through the ship’s porthole, painting silver onto the wooden floorboards of Johnny’s cabin.

Y/N sat on his bed, one of Johnny’s crisp white dress shirts hanging loosely off her shoulders, barely buttoned. Her bare legs were folded beneath her, the soft fabric brushing along her thighs, his scent wrapping around her like a second skin.

When Johnny entered the room, she didn’t need to look up. She felt him.

“You’re not just here to grab something,” she said quietly, voice soft, teasing.

Johnny didn’t answer right away. He closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a second. Just watching her.

“You looked too good for me to pretend I was,” he admitted, voice low, laced with something far more vulnerable than usual.

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes finding his in the dim glow of the lantern on the wall. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Which is exactly why I’m here now,” he said, crossing the room with that familiar slow stride. “I wanted to see you. Not just as my siren. Not as part of the crew. Just… you.”

She stood, letting the shirt slip off one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her skin. Her bare feet padded toward him until she was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his chest.

Her fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “Then see me.”

And he did.

He cupped her face and kissed her—soft, deep, reverent. Nothing hurried. No teasing games. Just the kind of kiss that said stay with me and I need you all at once.

His hands slid down her back, palms splaying against the small of her waist before gripping beneath her thighs and lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around his hips, their mouths still locked together as he carried her to the bed and laid her gently down.

Johnny knelt over her, undoing the buttons of the shirt one by one, kissing each patch of skin as it was revealed. Her breath hitched as he took his time, lips moving slowly over her chest, her sternum, the valley between her breasts.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging gently as his kisses grew deeper, his hands more possessive.

When he finally entered her, it was with a low groan, his forehead pressed to hers, eyes locked on hers. The stretch was slow, satisfying, her breath stuttering at how full he made her feel.

He moved inside her with measured, deliberate thrusts, letting every slide, every grind of their hips speak the things they couldn’t say out loud. Her name fell from his lips in a whisper, again and again, like it grounded him.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his back, her legs still tight around his waist. She met each of his thrusts with her own, every motion bringing them closer, deeper.

Their hands clasped between their bodies, fingers laced together tightly like they never wanted to let go. He kissed her mouth slowly, messily, groaning into her lips every time she clenched around him.

“You feel like home,” he breathed against her mouth.

Y/N whimpered softly, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping his hand tighter. “Then stay with me. For as long as we can.”

He kissed her hard at that, thrusting deeper, slower, dragging it out until both of them were trembling.

Their release came quietly—no shouting, no desperation. Just quiet, gasping breaths, his forehead pressed to hers, her nails raking gently down his back as he shuddered above her.

Even after, Johnny didn’t pull away. He stayed inside her, buried deep, his arms wrapping around her waist, pressing kisses along her shoulder, her collarbone, her jaw.

They lay tangled in the sheets as the first light of morning touched the edge of the sea outside. The world was about to shift—but for now, there was only this.

Only them.

-----------------

The final confrontation had begun at dawn.

Johnny stood at the helm, tension carved into every line of his body. The plan was set—lure the remaining three Royal Navy ships into a trap and destroy them, once and for all. Y/N had slipped into the water just before sunrise, her touch still warm on his chest, her whispered “be careful” echoing in his mind.

But almost immediately, something went wrong.

One of the Navy ships turned unexpectedly—not toward Johnny’s vessel, but toward the sea. Then a second did the same, ignoring the chaos of cannon fire and smoke to follow the dark, slinking shadow just beneath the surface.

“They’re going after her,” Taeyong shouted from the quarterdeck. “They’re ignoring us—they know she’s here!”

Johnny’s stomach dropped. “No, no—”

They’d figured it out. The Navy had realized she was the real threat. And worse—they weren’t trying to kill her. They were trying to capture her.

“Full port!” Johnny shouted. “Cut them off! NOW!”

But it was too late. One of the ships dropped weighted nets into the water, massive iron chains clanking as they were dragged below the surface. The second began tossing something foul into the sea—an oily substance Johnny recognized instantly.

Binding pitch.

He gritted his teeth. They wanted to coat her gills, disable her voice. Trap her like an animal.

Johnny’s ship veered hard, trying to draw their attention, but the enemy didn’t take the bait. The third Navy ship remained engaged with Johnny’s crew, keeping them boxed in while the others continued the hunt.

And for a moment—just a moment—there was only silence beneath the chaos.

Then the water split.

Not from cannon fire.

Not from debris.

From the sea itself.

Figures erupted from the waves, otherworldly and furious—siren sisters. At least four of them, hair flowing like ink in the water, eyes glowing with the rage of the deep. Their song began—not seductive this time, but sharp and disorienting, like the scream of a storm itself.

The men on the Navy ships fell one by one—some clutching their ears, others falling into trances, staggering overboard as if in a dream. The sirens moved swiftly, sinking ships from below, dragging sailors down with them. The sea boiled with movement, and within minutes, both vessels were torn apart and dragged into the depths.

Johnny stood frozen at the helm, watching the chaos dissolve into stillness.

Only the one ship remained—the one he and his crew had fought, now drifting with torn sails and no one left aboard.

“Captain!” Taeyong called out, panting. “Look!”

There she was.

Y/N.

Her shoulders broke the surface first, then the rest of her, slick and gleaming in the early sun. She hovered in the water, breathless but alive, salt crusted along her skin, her eyes already searching for him.

Johnny felt a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding finally escape.

“Thank god…” he whispered, stepping closer to the edge of the ship.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She just gave him a single nod—confirmation that she was whole—and glanced toward her sisters. They were already disappearing back into the sea, their job done.

Y/N looked back at Johnny one last time, her gaze lingering.

And then she dove under.

Gone with the tide.

Johnny stood there, lips parting, his voice low and sincere as he said to the open water, “Thank you.”

He knew she heard it.

He always knew when she did.

“Get the sails up!” he barked, turning to the crew, voice sharper now. “We’re done here.”

And as the battered but victorious ship turned away from the wreckage, Johnny kept his eyes on the horizon—where the sea kissed the sky—and imagined her swimming just beneath it, free, wild, and watching.

------------

The ocean was quiet again.

Y/N floated lazily near a jagged outcrop of stone, watching the water ripple around her. The sun had barely risen, streaks of gold spilling across the endless blue. Her sisters had already disappeared back to the deep after the battle weeks ago, but not before she thanked them properly.

They'd met in a hidden cove, waves lapping at the shore, breath still heavy from the fight.

“You didn’t have to come,” Y/N had said, brushing salt from her hair.

One of them, a tall siren with eyes like storm clouds, had smiled. “We owed you. After what happened all those years ago… when you got trapped and we couldn’t save you…”

“You tried,” Y/N said gently. “That’s what matters.”

Another siren shook her head, voice tight. “You shouldn’t have had to escape alone.”

Y/N had smiled at them then, soft but sure. “I didn't escape alone. And I found my way back. That’s what matters now.”

Now, weeks later, she felt the familiar pull again.

Not the sirens’ call—something quieter. Warmer.

She sensed his presence before she saw the boat.

It was small, nothing like the vessel she knew as Johnny’s—no towering sails or crew bustling across the deck. Just a modest wooden boat, drifting slowly toward her with practiced control.

And there he was.

Johnny.

One hand on the wheel, the other shielding his eyes from the sun as he scanned the waves. The moment he saw her, his shoulders relaxed.

He didn’t call out. He just let the boat drift until it reached her, then sat back, eyes soft, face marked with sun and salt and something far more vulnerable.

“I didn’t want to wait,” he said, voice low. “The crew’s not far behind, the ship’s just around the cove. But I wanted to come first. Myself.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly in the water, brow raised. “Why?”

He smiled a little. “To thank you. For saving me. And my crew. Again.”

She swam closer, reaching the edge of the boat and placing her hands on the worn wood. “You’ve already thanked me.”

Johnny takes out a golden bracelet, the same one they saw in the marketplace weeks ago, shimmering with the emerald stones. He gently puts it on her hand.

“Not properly. Here, this bracelet will match your gold necklace you're always wearing.” He leaned over, brushing her wet hair from her face. 

“Y/N, I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. Back then… when I found you half-dead in that cage. I didn’t even know who—or what—you were. I just knew I had to keep you safe. And now…”

His throat tightened.

“You saved all of us. Even when they were hunting you. You still chose us.”

Y/N’s lips parted, then curved into a small, glowing smile. She raised a hand and cupped his face gently, thumb stroking his cheekbone.

“You saved me first, Johnny,” she said softly. “All those years ago. You saw me as something worth saving… before I even knew it myself.”

-------

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Sneak peak of how they met:

She jerked, eyes flashing. Someone was coming.

A young man appeared, barely more than a boy. No more than seventeen, with dark hair curling behind his ears and trembling fingers holding a dull blade.

She hissed.

Back pressed to the cage, heart pounding, ready to fight, to scream, to—

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the boy whispered urgently. “I swear—I swear it.”

[jikookncity]

Brother’s Best Friend Jaehyun x Reader (Smut)

WC: 4k, smut, dirty talk, oral sex, unprotected sex, shower sex, etc.

Jaehyun hasn't seen his best friend's little sister in 2 years and a lot has changed.

It started the day Jaehyun walked back into her life.

Two years away. Two years without his lazy smirks, his low voice, his teasing comments that always seemed to toe the line between playful and absolutely filthy. But when he strolled into his and Johnny’s kitchen—sun-kissed, hair blond and messy, tattoo just barely peeking from under his sleeve—Y/N swore her knees nearly gave out.

And Jaehyun noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“Look who grew up,” he murmured, eyeing her up and down shamelessly. “You always this pretty, or is it just fucking with my head today?”

Y/N flushed scarlet. She hadn’t her brothers best friend in two years and that’s the first thing out of his mouth? Moving back in with her brother and Jae was gonna be tough.

“You’re one to talk,” she mumbled, trying to look away.

But he stepped closer, eyes locked on hers, smirk playing on his lips. “Say that again, angel. I liked how that sounded.”

She scurried off, cheeks burning.

It only got worse after that.

Every time they crossed paths—Jaehyun alone in the hallway, shirtless in the kitchen, sprawled on the couch with that stupid smug smile—he’d say something.

“You know your skirt’s riding up, right?”

“Careful looking at me like that, baby. Someone might think you want something.”

“You keep biting your lip like that and I’m gonna start wondering what else that mouth’s good for.”

Each time, her throat dried, her heart raced, and her body responded way too fast.

But Jaehyun never touched her. Never crossed the line. He'd crowd her into a wall, whisper things into her ear, and back off with a lazy wink—just enough to ruin her for the rest of the day.

And she kept letting him. Kept loving it.

The Party

She wasn’t even supposed to be going. Johnny had said it was mostly older friends, college guys, exes—“boring,” he’d told her.

But when she heard Jaehyun would be there, Y/N made a choice.

A tight black dress. Strapless. Short. Paired with heels and gloss and a teasing perfume she hoped he’d notice. The moment she walked into the apartment, she saw the way heads turned—and more importantly, she felt his eyes on her.

Jaehyun was leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, laughing with someone. But the second he saw her, his jaw went slack. His gaze dragged over her—slow, dark, deliberate.

And he didn’t look away.

He didn’t approach her all night. He didn’t say anything. But she felt him everywhere—watching, pacing like a predator, drinking her in from across the room.

And finally, when she slipped into the kitchen for air, he followed.

“You wore that dress for me.”

Y/N spun around. Jaehyun stood in the doorway, shirt open at the collar, hair wild like he’d run his hand through it too many times. His voice was low, rough, already half-wrecked with frustration.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she whispered, clutching her cup.

He stalked closer. “You knew I’d be here. You knew what that dress would do to me.”

“I didn’t think you’d even notice.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes dragged down her body again. “You wanted me to notice. You want me to look at you and forget all the reasons I shouldn’t bend you over this counter right now.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “We’re not doing this.”

His jaw ticked. “You think I want to want you?” He stepped closer. “You think this is easy for me? Knowing every inch of you is off-limits? Knowing I can’t fucking touch you because your brother would bury me alive?”

Y/N gasped as his hand flattened on the counter beside her hip, boxing her in without touching.

“You walk around like you don’t know what you’re doing,” Jaehyun growled. “Like you don’t see how I stare at your legs. Your lips. How I can’t stop thinking about the sounds you’d make if I had my mouth between your thighs.”

“Stop,” she whispered.

“Why?” His face was inches from hers now, voice ragged. “Because if I say one more filthy thing, you’re gonna let me pull that dress up and show you exactly how long I’ve been waiting to fuck you?”

“Jaehyun—”

“You want me to stop?” he asked, chest rising and falling fast. “Say it. Say you don’t think about it too. Say you haven’t imagined me fucking you so hard you forget your own name.”

She couldn’t speak. Her body was shaking.

But then she whispered, “We can’t…”

His forehead touched hers for a second, hot and desperate.

“I know we can’t,” he breathed. “But don’t lie to me, baby. Don’t lie to yourself.”

A pause. Their lips almost brushed. So close it hurt.

“I want you,” she admitted, barely audible. “So fucking bad.”

He let out a rough, broken sound—half a groan, half a curse—and stepped back like it physically hurt to leave her.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.”

Another beat of silence. Then he looked her over one last time, hunger still sharp in his eyes.

“This tension’s gonna kill us.”

She nodded. “I know.”

They didn’t kiss. They didn’t touch.

They just stood there, burning alive, trying not to destroy everything.

Later that night...

Jaehyun hadn’t moved in twenty minutes.

He leaned back in a chair on the balcony, nursing the same drink while the rest of the guys hollered over some drinking game inside. His jaw was tight. His eyes tracked every shadow that passed near the kitchen—her. He hadn’t seen Y/N since she slipped out, cheeks flushed and lips parted like she wanted him to ruin her right there.

And fuck, he wanted to.

But he couldn’t.

“Bro,” one of the guys nudged him. “You good?”

“Hm?” Jaehyun looked up.

“You haven’t flirted with anyone all night. Usually by now you’re halfway into someone’s pants.”

Jaehyun gave a lazy smirk. “Guess I’m just not in the mood.”

But his voice lacked its usual cocky bite. His mind was still in that kitchen—her body inches from his, breath catching when he told her how much he wanted her.

“Not like you,” the guy muttered, squinting at him. “You’re not sulking over a girl, are you?”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “Relax.”

But the guy didn’t drop it. “Wait... are you—”

A sudden commotion cut him off.

Shouting. From the front lawn.

Voices raised, sharp. A girl’s voice.

Jaehyun was already standing before the others processed what was happening. He recognized it immediately—her voice. Her angry voice.

By the time he pushed through the door and onto the porch, a small crowd had already formed near the edge of the lawn.

There she was—Y/N, flushed and furious, backing away from some drunk asshole with slick hair and a cocky stance.

“I said no,” she snapped, voice shaking. “Don’t touch me.”

“Come on,” the guy slurred. “You’ve been giving me looks all night.”

Jaehyun didn’t hesitate.

He was down the steps in two strides, pushing through the crowd, voice sharp and deadly.

“She said no. Back the fuck off.”

The guy blinked at him, confused. “Who the hell are you?”

Jaehyun stepped between them, towering over him now. “The last person you want to piss off tonight.”

The guy scoffed, tried to square up—drunk and dumb.

And Jaehyun didn’t give him the chance.

He punched him—clean, hard, right in the face.

The guy hit the ground like a sack of bricks, groaning, hands clutching his nose.

The crowd gasped. Someone laughed. Someone cheered. And Jaehyun just stood there, chest heaving, teeth clenched, fists still curled like he wanted to throw another.

Y/N stared at him, breathless. Eyes wide. Lips parted. She grabbed his hand and he unclenched his fists and gave her a soft look.

Johnny came out seconds later, saw the scene, and rushed over, both of them quickly letting go.

“What the hell happened?”

Jaehyun didn’t even look at him. “Your sister was dealing with some creep who didn’t know what no meant.”

Johnny looked between the guy on the ground and Y/N—who was visibly shaken—and then back at Jaehyun.

His expression softened.

“Thanks for stepping in, man,” Johnny said, clapping a hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Seriously.”

Jaehyun nodded once, barely. “Anytime.”

But he wasn’t thinking about the fight anymore.

He was thinking about the way Y/N looked at him just now—like she wanted to fall into his arms and never come out.

Later That Night – Jaehyun’s Room

It was quiet.

The party had died down. Most people had left. Johnny was still out back finishing drinks with a few stragglers.

Jaehyun lay on his bed, shirt off, muscles tense, replaying that moment over and over. Her voice. The way her eyes had found his. The heat still thrumming in his chest.

Then a soft knock.

He sat up fast. “Yeah?”

The door cracked open. Y/N slipped in.

Short shorts. A thin tank top. No bra. Hair down. Barefoot.

Every nerve in Jaehyun’s body snapped awake.

“I… just wanted to thank you,” she whispered, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “For earlier.”

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his eyes on hers. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

“I was handling it,” she said, a smile playing on her lips.

“Not fast enough.”

They both laughed softly. The air between them buzzed.

Then she walked closer.

So close.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and she stopped in front of him. Her fingers brushed his knuckles—light, unsure. Then her other hand cupped his cheek, gently, tenderly.

Her lips pressed against his cheek. A soft kiss. A thank-you.

But then she lingered. Just a second too long.

And when she pulled back, their lips brushed.

Soft. Barely-there. But real.

Jaehyun didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Her breath trembled. “Jae…”

Then—

SLAM.

The front door opened. Johnny’s voice echoed through the house.

“Yo! Anyone still awake?”

They froze.

Y/N stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

Jaehyun stood too, tension radiating off him in waves.

“We shouldn’t…”

“No,” he agreed, voice tight. “We shouldn’t.”

But their eyes said everything else.

She slipped out of the room a second later, heartbeat still in her throat.

And Jaehyun sat back down, fists clenched in his lap, jaw tight, cursing every goddamn reason he couldn’t have her.

The Next Day

The backyard smelled like grilled meat, sunscreen, and summer sweat. The gang was loud—music playing, beers clinking, people laughing too hard at nothing. Y/N sat on a bench under the umbrella, trying to pretend she was listening to Johnny talk about some dumb lawn game.

But she couldn’t focus. Not with him there.

Jaehyun.

Laid back in a white tank top that clung to his chest, golden skin glowing under the sun, hair pushed back lazily as he nursed a beer. He looked like sin in human form. And every time he glanced at her—every slow drag of his eyes—her thighs pressed tighter together under the table.

He hadn’t said a word to her all afternoon.

Not a single filthy whisper. Not a single cocky smirk.

Which made her want it more.

And he knew it.

Later, she slipped inside to grab napkins from the kitchen—and the second the screen door shut behind her, she felt it.

His presence.

She turned, startled, just as Jaehyun’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down the hallway.

“Jae—what are you—”

“Shhh,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. No one noticed.

And then they were in the narrow hallway, alone, hidden from the windows.

He backed her into the wall—crowding her in. One hand on the wall beside her head, the other gripping her chin, thumb grazing her lower lip.

“Wearing those little shorts again,” he murmured, voice low and deadly. “Trying to make me lose my mind in front of all our friends?”

Y/N couldn’t breathe.

“You haven’t even looked at me all day,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Because if I looked at you too long, I’d drag you inside and make you scream my name.”

Her knees buckled.

“You want that, don’t you?” he murmured, leaning closer—his breath hot on her ear. “You want me to take you right here. Up against this wall. My hand over your mouth so they don’t hear you moan.”

Y/N whimpered.

Jaehyun groaned, deep in his throat. “You’d be so fucking loud for me.”

Before she could stop herself, her hands slid up his chest. Her thighs pressed together. And then she ground herself on his leg—slow, needy, shameless.

“Fuck, baby…” he hissed, thigh flexing under her. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?”

Her fingers gripped his shirt. Her hips kept moving, grinding up the length of his thigh like she couldn’t help herself.

His forehead touched hers. Their lips brushed.

Barely.

She let out a breathy, desperate moan straight into his mouth.

And Jaehyun snapped.

Not all the way.

But enough to shove his hand over her mouth, breathing hard as he held her there, both of them trembling.

“Stop,” he panted. “Y/N, stop—fuck—”

She slowed.

But she didn’t back away. Her eyes were glassy. Her cheeks flushed. Her body buzzed with the tension still thick between them.

He leaned in, whispering against her ear again, voice wrecked. “You do that again and I won’t stop next time.”

A beat passed. Her thighs clenched.

Then—voices.

“Where’s Y/N?” “Didn’t she go inside?” “Yo, Jae! You seen her?”

They froze.

Jaehyun exhaled sharply, composed himself. Dropped his hand from her mouth. Straightened his shirt. Ran a hand through his hair.

Y/N looked equally wrecked.

They took a breath.

And then they walked out together—calm, casual, like nothing had happened.

“Oh,” Jaehyun said easily, slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “She spilled juice in the kitchen. We were cleaning it up.”

Johnny blinked. “You cleaned a spill?”

Jaehyun smiled lazily. “What can I say? I’m helpful.”

Y/N laughed—too high-pitched. “So helpful.”

And no one questioned it.

But under the table, Jaehyun’s hand brushed her thigh. Just once.

A silent promise.

When they had a moment alone later Jaehyun thought it over. They can't keep going like this. He was too attracted to her and it wouldn't end well. Even a little bit isn't enough. He had to cut her off.

"We can't be friends." Jae said guiltily when they were alone.

"What?" Y/n looked in shock.

"I can't be your friend. Because I'll never think of you or see you as my friend. And every time we have a normal interaction I'm just thinking about everything I wanna do to you and how your brother would kill me if he found out."

Y/n scoffed offended. "You don't even wanna be friends? That's a lame excuse Jae, even from you. But fine. You got it, we're no longer friends."

Over the next few days tensions grew with their constant bickering and y/n wearing more revealing clothing around the house.

It started with another fight.

Jaehyun had been moody all day—gruff responses, tense jaw, barely speaking to anyone. Y/N finally snapped after he gave her yet another cold stare when she passed him in the hallway.

“What the hell is your problem?” she hissed, arms crossed tight.

“You,” he bit out. “You’re my fucking problem.”

Her heart stuttered.

“You don’t want me. You don’t want to be friends. So what do you want from me, Jaehyun? We both live in this house so suck it up.”

“I want to stop thinking about you every time you breathe in the same damn room!” His voice cracked. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t pretend this is normal. I can’t act like I’m not dying to touch you every second.”

Y/N stared at him, chest heaving. Her cheeks burned with anger and something else. “Fine,” she snapped, voice cold. “You don’t want to deal with me? Then don’t.”

That night, she went on a date with someone else.

Later That Night

The restaurant was awful. The guy was worse. He talked over her, laughed at nothing, stared at her chest the entire time.

And when he leaned in, trying to kiss her outside by her Uber, she shoved him away and ran.

Tears burned in her eyes as she called the only person she knew would come.

“Jae…” she whispered when he answered. “Can you… can you pick me up?”

He didn’t hesitate. He picked her up and drove her back to their place, the car ride thick with silence. 

It was pouring.

The sky cracked open above them, rain spilling like it had been waiting for this moment—just like them.

Y/N got out of the car and stood at the edge of the driveway, soaked and seething, arms crossed under her chest as thunder rolled in the distance. Her white tank clung to her breasts like second skin, completely see-through, nipples clearly visible. Her tiny denim skirt was soaked and hitched up high, the hot pink waistband of her panties teasing just above the fabric.

And Jaehyun—black shirt plastered to his chest, cargo pants hugging his hips, tattoos glistening in the storm—stood there with his jaw clenched, looking like he was on the verge of tearing something apart.

He was.

“What the hell are you doing calling me?” he snapped, stepping into the rain. “Didn’t you run off to your perfect little date?”

She spun around, drenched hair whipping over her shoulder. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t fucking start?” His laugh was humorless. “You go out, dressed like that, trying to pretend I don’t exist, then cry for me to come save you like I’m still the good guy?”

“I called you because it's your fucking fault I went on that date in the first place. I didn’t know who else to—!”

“No,” he growled, stepping closer, “you called me because even when you’re pissed at me, you still want me.”

Her breath caught.

Jaehyun's eyes dragged down her body, tongue darting out over his bottom lip. “You really think I didn’t notice that tiny little skirt, that wet tank, those bright fucking panties begging to be pulled down?”

Her eyes widened, but he wasn’t done.

“You walk around dripping wet, tits out, skirt barely covering your ass—and I’m supposed to keep pretending I don’t want to bend you over every surface I see?”

Y/N’s lips parted in shock.

“You think I haven’t pictured it?” he hissed. “Your legs spread in my backseat, you wrapped around me while my tongue is down your throat? Or your mouth gagged on my cock, crying while I throat fuck every thought of every other guy out of your head?”

Her knees buckled slightly. He saw it—and grinned. Dark. Filthy.

She shoved at his chest. “You're such a—”

But he grabbed her.

Fisted her skirt and panties, yanking her flush against him. Her gasp was swallowed by the sound of rain, her breath catching when she felt how hard he was through his pants.

“I’ve had enough of pretending,” he rasped. His lips brushed hers. “I’m fucking done.”

Then his voice dropped, hot and filthy against her mouth:

“Fuck it.”

And then he took her mouth.

It was wild. Open. Tongues colliding. His lips crushed hers, tongue shoving into her mouth like he was claiming it—like he’d been waiting years to taste her. His hand stayed tight on her panties, holding her body against his while he devoured her, spit and rain mixing between them.

Y/N moaned into it—helplessly—gripping his shirt like she needed something to hang on to.

Jaehyun groaned, deep and rough, sucking on her tongue before biting her bottom lip just to hear her whimper.

“You feel that?” he growled between kisses, grinding into her soaked skirt. “That’s what you fucking do to me.”

She was panting, dazed, lips swollen.

And he wasn’t done.

“I swear to god, if Johnny wasn’t your brother—” he shoved her back against the wall of the house, kissing her again, even harder this time— “I’d have fucked you right here. In the rain. With your panties still on.”

When they finally broke apart, both wrecked and breathless, her voice trembled.

“I want you.”

He wiped the rain from her cheek, staring at her like she was his breaking point and salvation at once.

“You’ve got me,” he whispered. “Now I’m done hiding it.”

The kiss didn’t stop.

Even as Jaehyun dragged her back into the house, their mouths stayed fused—wet, frantic, tongues tangling while their soaked bodies bumped into walls and doorframes. His hand stayed tight on her waist, the other sliding up under her clingy, dripping tank, fingers kneading over bare, slick skin.

He kicked his bedroom door shut and slammed her against it, lips pressing into her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. He groaned when he felt the heat of her body through the thin fabric, both of them soaked to the bone and breathless.

“Clothes,” he growled against her mouth, tugging hard at the hem of her top. “Off. Now.”

She whimpered as he peeled the wet fabric off her—tank top first, tossed somewhere on the floor. Her skirt followed with a harsh tug, panties bunched with it. His black shirt clung to his abs, tattoos snaking over soaked muscle as he pulled it off over his head.

She barely had a second to breathe before his lips were on her again—hot, hungry, starved—pushing her backward until her thighs hit the edge of his shower.

Jaehyun spun the handle.

Steam rushed out as hot water poured down from above.

He walked her straight into it, fully naked, his mouth still locked on hers. Their bodies collided under the stream, her back hitting the tile wall with a wet slap.

He didn’t let up.

His hands roamed—fisting her ass, dragging her against his thick length, sliding over her hips and ribs and chest, palms rough and greedy. His mouth dipped to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, biting just below her jaw before kissing her again—deep and messy, with his tongue shoved so far into her mouth she could barely breathe.

“You feel that?” he growled, grinding into her under the water. “That’s what I’ve been hiding. Every night. Every time you walked past me looking like a fucking dream.”

“Jae—” she gasped, nails digging into his back.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he snarled, grabbing her thighs. “But I’m about to show you.”

Then he lifted her.

Y/N yelped, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pinned her back to the wall, her legs hooked around his waist. His cock pressed hot and hard between them, and then—with one deep thrust—he was inside her.

She cried out, head snapping back.

Jaehyun moaned—a filthy, guttural sound—his forehead resting against hers as he started to move, slow at first, then harder, faster, relentless.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, biting her bottom lip. “So fucking perfect. You were made for this. For me.”

Water rushed around them. Their skin slapped wetly with every thrust. She clung to him, moaning into his mouth, and he kissed her through all of it—tongue tangled with hers, hand gripping her ass as he pounded into her.

“You wanted this too,” he panted against her lips. “You’ve been teasing me, dressing like that, looking at me like you needed me to ruin you.”

And god, he was ruining her—completely.

When they came, they came together—loud, messy, full-body shudders against the tile wall, mouths fused as they moaned into each other’s throats.

But Jaehyun wasn’t done.

Still breathing heavy, he set her down gently, kissing her temple as her legs shook. She barely had time to process the comedown before he dropped to his knees.

“Jae—” she gasped, wide-eyed.

“Don’t stop me,” he said darkly, voice hoarse with want. “You think I’m done tasting you?”

Then he spread her thighs, still trembling, and buried his face between them.

Y/N nearly screamed—clamping her own hand over her mouth just in time.

His tongue was ruthless. Flicking, sucking, dragging through her slick folds like he couldn’t get enough. The water poured down around them, hot and pounding, but all she could feel was his mouth—his filthy, expert mouth—and the way he groaned like he was addicted to the taste of her.

“Keep that hand there,” he muttered against her, tongue dragging up again. “You don’t want Johnny hearing how much you love this.”

And she couldn’t even reply.

Because her body was already shaking again—under the water, on the wall, around Jaehyun’s mouth.

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Sneak peak below of what comes next:

Johnny wandered in, sipping coffee, squinting at him.

Jaehyun raised a brow. “What?”

Johnny gestured at his chest. “You’ve got scratches. Everywhere.”

Jae froze mid-bite. “Huh?”

“And hickeys,” Johnny added casually. “Neck. Collarbone. Even your ribs, bro. Who the hell were you with last night?”

Jaehyun choked—literally—on the toast.

Coughing violently, he reached for his water. “I—uh—just… a girl. From the party. I don’t… remember her name.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “Huh. Funny.”

[jikookncity]

Pirate!Haechan x Siren!Reader (Smut)

14k, unprotected sex, reader humps donghyuck in his sleep but he's super into it, riding, floor sex, dirty talk, masterbation, degradation, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault (not in detail, very quick and nothing actually happens), reader is a SIREN

The sea was glass that night—too calm for any mortal comfort. Even the stars hung back, wary of what stirred beneath the surface.

Captain Donghyuck stood at the bow of The Maiden’s Mercy, eyes locked on the black horizon. His jaw clenched, fingers flexing over the hilt of his cutlass. Weeks he’d been chasing whispers. Months of bribing drunk sailors in dark taverns, collecting fragmented lore and forbidden charts. All leading to this: the rumored trail to the ancient, cursed treasure said to grant a man power and riches beyond belief.

But only a siren could guide him there.

And tonight, he'd baited one.

The trap was brutal—crude magic mixed with silver nets soaked in sacred oil. The crew had gone silent hours ago, tension thick in the air. Then came the song, faint and honeyed, curling over the water like smoke. Men began to drift toward the sound, glazed-eyed, mesmerized. Donghyuck had clamped wax in his ears. Waited.

When she breached the surface—hair like sea silk, eyes glowing like deep emeralds—he acted.

Now, the ship creaked under moonlight as his men dragged her onto the deck, slippery and snarling, tangled in the glimmering net. Her voice was already rising, low and hypnotic, a sound that made their blood slow in their veins.

“Shut her up,” Donghyuck snapped.

Before she could release her full song, he knelt, grabbed a length of cloth, and shoved it into her mouth, gagging her roughly. She screamed behind it, thrashing in fury. Even silenced, her voice was dangerous—like desire made sound.

Her skin shimmered faintly as they hauled her upright. She was wet, furious, and wickedly stunning. Water clung to the swell of her breasts, to the curve of her hips and thighs, her tail already beginning to split as it dried, scales peeling back to reveal smooth legs beneath. Her transformation was slow but mesmerizing, her magic receding with every drop of water that left her body.

Donghyuck couldn’t look away.

His eyes roamed shamelessly over her body, sharp and intense. The slick arch of her spine. The way she stood tall, even bound and gagged, defiance sparking in her eyes. She met his gaze like she wanted to bite his throat out.

“Beautiful thing,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “You’re going to take me to the gold.”

She hissed behind the gag.

“Lock her up,” he said, voice dark with amusement and something more primal. “Don’t let her near water. And keep her dry.”

Two crewmen dragged her down into the belly of the ship. The brig was cold, iron-barred, with a single oil lamp flickering overhead. They tossed her inside like she weighed nothing, the cell door slamming behind her.

Donghyuck followed, boots echoing on the wood floor.

He stepped up to the bars, watching as she slowly adjusted, tail now nearly gone, legs fully formed. Her hands were bound behind her back, her chest rising and falling with rage.

“You’re mine now, siren,” he said softly. “You’re going to be very useful to me.”

She met his eyes. The heat in her stare was enough to make any man flinch.

But Donghyuck only smiled.

He was used to dangerous creatures.

And he’d never wanted one more.

The ship groaned gently with the ocean's lull, but inside the brig, time stood still.

Donghyuck leaned against the iron bars, fingers toying with the keys hooked at his hip. He watched her silently for a long moment. She sat in the far corner, back pressed to the wooden wall, hair still damp and curling over her shoulders, clinging to the exposed skin of her chest. Her arms were still tied behind her, her legs curled beneath her in a posture that looked almost relaxed—until you noticed the tension in her jaw. The burning in her eyes.

He slid the cell door open with an easy hand.

She didn’t flinch. Just lifted her chin.

Donghyuck stepped inside, slow and sure, kneeling in front of her like she was something rare and volatile. He pulled the gag loose from her mouth, fingers brushing the curve of her cheek as he did.

"There," he said smoothly. “Better, isn’t it?”

Silence.

She held his gaze, lips red and parted, but said nothing.

Not a sound.

He smiled, cocking his head. “Still not speaking, huh?”

Nothing.

Donghyuck chuckled lowly and leaned in, just enough to breathe the same air as her. His eyes dropped to her lips.

“You know, there’s a rumor,” he said softly. “That if a human kisses a siren… he can breathe underwater.” He gave her a long, lingering look. “Tempting, isn’t it?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But her jaw tightened, and—

Her teeth shifted.

In the low light, her lips curled back just enough to show the beginning of fangs. Sharp. Gleaming.

Dangerous.

Donghyuck only grinned.

“Feisty,” he murmured, unbothered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be begging me for a kiss later.”

Still, she said nothing.

But her heart was pounding too hard now, the blood in her veins rushing with heat she hadn’t felt before. Not for any sailor. Not for any prince. She'd lured kings to their deaths, sung admirals into the sea. But this man—this pirate captain with maddening confidence and too-sharp eyes—he unsettled her.

She hated how aware she was of his warmth, how close he was, how his scent smelled like salt and smoke and danger. How he looked at her like he already owned her. It made her want to bite him.

And… something else.

Donghyuck watched her closely. He felt the tension in the air, heavy like a storm about to break.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You stay down here until you’re ready to talk. No water. No sunlight. But—” he held up a finger, “—if you decide to be a good girl and use that mouth for something other than hissing, I’ll move you upstairs. A real bed. Food. Clothes. I might even let you sit next to me at dinner.”

She bared her teeth at him again, eyes narrowed to slits.

Donghyuck smiled like she’d kissed him.

“Prison hold it is.”

He stood, and before she could react, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder with ease. She let out a muffled, furious grunt, fists pounding his back uselessly.

“Careful,” he teased, “or I might think you like being carried.”

He marched back through the brig, kicking the door open with his boot before tossing her back onto the cell’s cot like she weighed nothing. She landed with a thud, glaring murder up at him.

Donghyuck only laughed.

“You’re going to make this so much fun.”

The cell clanged shut. The keys jangled.

And the siren, still stubborn and silent, was left wondering how this man had made her body burn hotter than anything she’d felt in her immortal life.

--------------

The brig was silent except for the creak of the ship and the faint hum of the sea beneath.

Y/N sat with her back to the wall, wrists still bound behind her, gagged again after yet another failed attempt to tempt her into speech. Her sharp eyes were half-lidded, watching, waiting. Every moment on this wretched dry ship made her feel weaker, and angrier. And worse than all of it… hotter. Her body kept reacting to him—to Donghyuck—and she loathed it.

So she was all venom and stillness when the cell door creaked open without warning.

Two sailors stepped into the dim brig, lanterns swinging in their hands. They were younger. Nervous. Curious. Their eyes gleamed with something darker than fascination.

“Well, would you look at that,” one muttered, stepping closer to the bars. “They weren’t lying… she’s real.”

The second one whistled. “A real siren. I heard they can turn your brain to mush with a song… but they’ve got to be wetto do it, right? She’s harmless like this.”

They laughed under their breath, the kind of laugh that made her blood run cold with rage.

“Captain’ll kill us if he finds us down here,” one whispered, even as he pulled the key off the wall hook. “Just a look.”

“Maybe a kiss,” the other one snickered. “They say if you kiss a siren, you can breathe underwater. Could be useful.”

Y/N snarled into her gag, straining against the ropes.

“Oh, hush,” the first one said, stepping into the cell. “Let’s see if it’s true.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. She waited.

The man crouched beside her and reached forward, tugging the gag from her mouth with a grin. “Pretty lips,” he muttered.

The second his hand moved toward her face again—

She struck.

Her mouth snapped open and her fangs sank deep into the meat of his palm. He screamed, a piercing, ragged sound as blood gushed from the wound. He stumbled backward, crashing into the floor, shrieking.

“You bitch!” the second sailor shouted, lunging forward. He tried to grab her, wrestling her down with his arms, trying to force her flat.

Y/N screamed, voice hoarse but full of fury, thrashing against his weight.

Then—

BANG.

The second sailor’s body stiffened.

Blood bloomed from his chest like spilled wine.

He crumpled beside her with a heavy thud, eyes wide, dead before he hit the ground.

Y/N froze.

The remaining man was still groaning on the floor, clutching his hand.

And behind him, standing in the doorway, was Donghyuck.

Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Gun still smoking.

His gaze swept over the scene. The blood. Her body. Her ragged breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

Y/N stared at him.

And then bared her teeth.

She hissed, chest rising and falling, fangs still stained red.

Donghyuck exhaled sharply and stepped into the cell, grabbing the gag from the floor and slipping it gently back between her lips. She growled, biting the cloth this time as if it offended her more than anything else.

“I never meant to put you in danger,” he muttered, voice tight with something like guilt. “You’re here for one reason—your knowledge of the treasure. That’s it. Once we find it, we part ways. Simple.”

He looked down at the dead man. Then at her.

“I can’t risk this happening again.”

He turned, barking to the crew outside, “Bring chains. And clean this mess up.”

Then to her, he added under his breath, “You’re staying in my quarters from now on. No one touches you. No one looks at you. That’s an order.”

She hissed again, but something in her chest shifted. Something unfamiliar. Heat mixed with… something that almost felt like safety.

Later that night, still gagged and still seething, Y/N sat in the corner of Donghyuck’s captain’s quarters—lavish, dark wood, lanterns swaying softly with the tide. She watched him from across the room as he scrubbed blood from his hands at the basin, back tense.

She didn’t speak, but she listened.

He stormed out to the deck minutes later.

And from the shadows, she heard his voice boom out across the crew:

“If anyone so much as thinks about stepping foot near her again without my permission,” Donghyuck shouted, voice like fire, “they’ll meet the same fate. I don’t care if it’s my first mate or my brother—death. No warnings.”

Silence.

Only the ocean dared to move after that.

And back in his cabin, Y/N closed her eyes, her heart beating too loud in her ears. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself—but for the first time since being dragged onto this cursed ship…

She wasn’t afraid.

The cabin swayed gently with the sea, wood groaning as if sighing under the tension inside.

Donghyuck had stripped his jacket first. Then his boots. Now, shirt half-unbuttoned, he stood in front of the small mirror, running a hand through his damp hair. The heat from the lanterns clung to the room like breath on skin, and he didn’t hide what he was doing—undressing, towel slung around his neck, muscles flexing as he dried his arms.

Y/N sat in the corner chair, chains loose enough now to allow movement, gag removed for dinner.

She didn’t eat.

She watched.

Unblinking.

Her green eyes raked over his torso, his hips, the patch of bare skin revealed with every shift of his shirt. She showed no shame, no embarrassment. Naked herself, her legs now fully formed, knees pulled loosely to her chest. There was no modesty in the way she sat. Sirens didn’t understand modesty.

Donghyuck noticed, of course. Every glance. Every breath.

He set down the towel and turned toward her with a cocky smirk.

“You just going to stare all night, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head slowly, voice low, rough from disuse.

“Why do humans wear clothes?”

Donghyuck froze.

He turned, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You just spoke.”

She didn’t react to his surprise. Just stared. “Answer me.”

He leaned back against the table, arms crossed. “Well,” he drawled, “humans wear clothes for privacy. Modesty. Protection. Shame, maybe. Though…” he smirked again, eyes dragging down her body, “not all of us care much for any of those things.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly. “I don’t understand. What is there to be ashamed of?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if you’re brave, clueless, or both.”

He took a step toward her. Then another.

Close enough to make the air shift between them.

“Do sirens have sex?” he asked casually, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N’s eyes widened. Her breath caught. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped, voice raspier now, cheeks flushing.

“Oh,” he said, leaning in, just enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “You’re shy now?” He tilted his head. “So maybe you do understand shame.”

She didn’t move. But her eyes flicked away for the first time, lips slightly parted, breath unsteady. The strange ache between her legs was growing again. Sharp and hot. Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore. The tail she once had had never throbbed like this.

Donghyuck smiled darkly, voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“You’re missing out,” he murmured. “Nothing feels better than being stretched out… by the right man.”

Y/N gasped.

The heat pulsed between her thighs, involuntary and unbearable. She clenched her legs together, swallowing hard.

He backed up with a smirk, hands raised.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said lightly. “I’m not touching you.”

He turned his back, walking toward the washbasin.

“But I need a cold shower.”

--------------

The captain’s quarters were dark, save for the soft sway of the oil lantern hanging above the bed. The ship rocked gently beneath them, a lullaby for the damned.

Y/N lay beside Donghyuck, her wrists still chained loosely to the bedframe. Her gag remained—softened now, cloth instead of rope—but still firm in its purpose. Her sharp fangs had proven too dangerous to trust, even when she slept.

She wore one of his shirts, oversized and hanging off her body in soft folds. He’d pulled it over her head hours ago with grumbled concern—“can’t have you freezing and dying before you tell me where the damn treasure is.” But now…

Now she was writhing in the sheets.

Donghyuck blinked awake, breath catching when he realized what he was seeing.

Y/N’s back arched gently, body twisting, her thighs clenching and shifting under the covers. Her chest rose and fell fast, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric of his shirt. Sweat gleamed on her skin like ocean mist, lips parted around the gag as low, sweet moans slipped from her throat—soft, needy, unaware.

She was dreaming.

And it was filthy.

Donghyuck stayed frozen for a beat, then slowly turned onto his side, watching.

Watching as she arched again, helpless to the sensations wracking her body.

A lazy, smug smile spread across his face. He tucked a hand under his head, just enjoying the show.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Her eyes fluttered open with a soft gasp, brows pinched in confusion, body still shivering.

Donghyuck leaned over her, eyes locked on hers. He cupped her jaw roughly, tilting her face toward him.

“Did you have a good dream?” he asked, voice low and rough, taunting. “Huh, sweetheart? Was it me you were dreaming about?”

She whimpered behind the gag, stunned by the intensity of what she felt—her thighs slick, her core throbbing. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Not in the sea. Not in her tail.

Donghyuck’s nose grazed her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent was sweeter than before—ripe with heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, yanking himself back suddenly like he’d been burned. “You’re dangerous.”

He threw himself onto his back, arm over his eyes, breathing heavy.

Beside him, Y/N let out a frustrated, muffled shriek. Her body was a wildfire she couldn’t douse, and he was the match that lit it. She glared at him, then at herself, furious with the aching between her legs, the wetness, the longing. She’d never wanted anyone—certainly not a human. But Donghyuck was ruining her. And she hated how good it felt.

-------------

Donghyuck sat her beside him at the long dining table on deck, the chains still discreetly hidden under the tablecloth. She wore a second shirt now—tighter, cleaner, less oversized—but the gag was finally gone.

Her eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the gathered crew like a cornered animal.

She didn’t touch the food in front of her.

The rest of the crew avoided looking at her directly, except for the occasional sidelong glance or whispered mutter. The woman who had killed one of their own and left another maimed—what kind of creature had they let onto the ship?

Then a voice cut through the tension, warm and gentle.

“It’s alright.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up.

Across the table sat a young man—freckles, tousled hair, a soft smile. His posture was relaxed but confident.

“I’m Mark,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to hurt you. Once all this treasure nonsense is sorted, you’ll be free. I promise.”

Donghyuck glanced at him but said nothing, letting the moment breathe.

Y/N didn’t respond. Not with words. But her gaze lingered. Just for a second.

And then, quietly, without looking away from Mark—

She picked up a piece of fruit and bit into it.

Donghyuck didn’t smile.

But he saw it.

And he didn’t miss the flare of jealousy tightening in his gut.

The captain’s quarters were quiet again. The sound of the ocean just outside the hull, wind brushing over the sails. Lanternlight flickered across polished wood and tattered maps, bathing the room in a soft gold.

Y/N sat on the edge of the captain’s bed, legs crossed, chains still looped gently around her ankles and one wrist. She could move freely within the space, but not far enough to escape. Not yet.

Donghyuck stood across the room, cleaning his pistol, back turned.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, voice smooth but sharp. “Even if I lead you to the treasure… you won’t survive it.”

He paused, the soft click of metal stopping mid-motion.

“There are traps,” she continued. “Ancient ones. Ones meant to tear men like you apart.”

He glanced over his shoulder, brow quirked, smirking. “Men like me?”

“Greedy. Arrogant. Mortal.”

He turned to face her fully, arms folding across his chest. “I appreciate the concern,” he drawled, “but don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ve survived worse than a few booby traps.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes—and then, without warning, reached for the hem of the shirt he’d given her. She tugged it over her head and dropped it carelessly onto the bed beside her.

Nude. Unbothered.

Like the sea had never taught her modesty.

“This thing is restricting,” she said simply. “Annoying in the heat.”

Donghyuck froze.

His gaze raked over her—bare legs, full breasts, soft stomach, smooth skin shimmering slightly from the heat of the room. His jaw flexed. He turned his head and dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly like trying to anchor himself.

Y/N noticed.

Her voice came low and amused. “Why do you always get so fidgety when I take my clothes off?”

Donghyuck dragged his eyes back to hers. There was no smirk now—just something darker.

“Because you’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “And I’m trying very hard not to ruin you before you beg me to.”

Her lips parted.

Then she scowled.

“You’re filthy,” she snapped. “That’ll never happen.”

He grinned lazily, stepping closer, unbothered. “We’ll see.”

The silence that followed was thick. It throbbed.

Then he cleared his throat and turned toward the table, grabbing the covered tray he’d brought earlier. He set it down beside her on the bed and lifted the lid.

“Dinner.”

She eyed the food, then her wrists.

“My chains hurt,” she said. “Feed me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You bite me, I shoot you.”

She tilted her chin defiantly. “You won't. You like me too much.”

His jaw ticked.

But he reached for a fork.

Y/N sat up straighter, letting her thighs spread a little wider, back arching just enough to make it clear she wasn’t shy. She opened her mouth slightly, waiting.

Donghyuck brought the fork to her lips.

The moment was too quiet. Too hot. She leaned forward and took the bite slowly, lips brushing the metal, eyes locked on his the entire time. He could feel her breath on his fingers.

He swallowed hard.

“Fuck, you’re dangerous,” he muttered.

She smiled wickedly, licking her lips. “You said that already.”

He fed her again, and again. Closer. Slower. Each bite a challenge, each glance a test of will.

She could feel his thigh just inches from hers, the warmth of his skin, the tight control in every motion. Her body pulsed with the same restless, aching heat as the night before. She didn’t understand it—but she knew it was his fault. He was the reason her new legs trembled and her core clenched and her skin felt too hot to touch.

And yet…

She opened her mouth again.

And Donghyuck, lips parted, breathing harder now, gave her one more bite.

Then another.

Until he was very sure he needed to leave before he forgot all his rules.

--------------

The captain’s quarters were too warm again.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the side, the remains of dinner pushed aside. Her skin still glistened slightly with heat, her breath just a touch too shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the loose shirt she’d reluctantly thrown on after their intimate feeding.

Donghyuck leaned against the far wall, arms folded, shirt untucked now, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He watched her. Always watching her.

She shifted, tugging at the collar of the shirt. “Why does my body… feel like this?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Hot. Tight. Weak.” She scowled at her own thighs. “It’s like something’s pulling at me. Inside.”

Donghyuck bit back a groan. He walked slowly toward the bed, crouched down in front of her, hands braced on his knees.

“That’s called arousal, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and smug. “It means your body wants something.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That can’t be it.”

He leaned in. Close. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. “Oh, it’s it. Trust me.”

Y/N’s legs twitched. Her breath caught. Her mouth opened like she might ask something else—but then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sound of a fist pounding the captain’s door.

Donghyuck groaned in frustration, standing.

“What?” he barked.

“Storm’s rolling in fast,” a voice called from outside. “Wind’s shifting hard. Could get ugly.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Then turned to Y/N with a sigh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the timing.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Always when it’s getting good.”

He crossed the room, unlocked the door, and opened it—revealing Mark standing at attention.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “She doesn’t leave. No one goes in or out unless it’s me.”

Mark nodded quickly. “Aye, Captain.”

Donghyuck turned back to her once more, smirking. “Be good, sweetheart. We’ll finish this talk later.”

Then he was gone, boots thudding down the stairs as the storm began to howl outside.

Mark stood awkwardly in the corner, eyes on the floor.

Y/N sat still for a while, silent.

“You can sit,” she said after a long pause. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Mark laughed nervously, pulling over a chair. “Sorry. I just— I’ve never seen another siren before or been this close to one.”

“I figured.”

“You… look more human than I thought you would.”

She smirked. “Is that disappointing?”

He looked flustered. “No! No, not at all. You’re, uh… beautiful. I mean. You know. For a creature that eats sailors.”

Y/N’s laughter was soft, surprising even herself. “You’re not like the others.”

Mark’s cheeks flushed. “I just think… it’s wrong to treat you like a prisoner when you haven’t even done anything to us yet. At least not something anyone didn't deserve”

She tilted her head. “So innocent,” she muttered under her breath.

Mark cleared his throat and tried not to look at her too long—but his eyes flickered down her body again before jerking away. “You, um… don’t like wearing clothes, do you?”

“No.” She stood slowly, letting the shirt she’d taken off earlier slip through her fingers. “They don’t make sense.”

Mark turned bright red, eyes immediately snapping to the ceiling. “Could you— maybe just put it back on? Please?”

She grinned, amused. “You’re no fun.”

But she slipped the shirt back on anyway.

Not for modesty.

For him.

An hour later, the door creaked open again.

Donghyuck returned soaked to the bone, hair dripping, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He looked wild, wind-whipped, and irritated—but his eyes landed on Y/N immediately, scanning for any signs of disobedience. Then flicked briefly to Mark.

“She behave?” he asked.

Mark nodded. “Yes, Captain. Quiet as a tidepool.”

“Good.” Donghyuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re dismissed. Go help the others prep for the storm. Tie everything down.”

Mark hesitated just a second, glanced back at Y/N, then nodded again and slipped out.

Donghyuck turned toward her slowly, eyes darker now, tension rolling off him in waves.

“It’s gonna be a busy night,” he said, voice quiet. “Don’t try anything.”

She lifted her chin. “I won’t.”

“Good. Because even if you did…” he stepped forward, close enough to make her breath catch, “we’re too far from your precious waters. Weeks away. That’s assuming you even know how to find your way home.”

She didn’t reply—but she felt the reminder sink into her stomach like a stone.

He stepped back, peeling off his wet shirt, muscles flexing in the low light.

Y/N’s thighs pressed together without her meaning to.

And Donghyuck—smirking now, towel in hand—noticed.

------------

The storm battered the ship from all sides, waves crashing like thunder, the hull creaking under nature’s weight. But inside the captain’s quarters, the real chaos was simmering under skin.

Y/N couldn’t sit still.

Her legs pressed together, thighs clenching and rubbing in search of friction. Her breaths were shallow, desperate. She paced, then sat, then squirmed in the chair near the bed, her chains clinking softly with every twitch.

“I feel like I’m going to explode,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Like I’m being punished.”

Across the room, Donghyuck leaned back in his chair with maddening calm, sweat on his brow despite the cool sea air. He gave her a lazy smirk, eyes dragging down her bare legs, her parted lips, the clear desperation in every movement of her hips.

“I could fix that,” he said casually, voice low and obscene. “One good fuck, and you’d stop whining. You’d forget your name. Forget the treasure. Forget your tail ever existed.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, screeching, pushing off the wall.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

“I’d fuck you right here,” he murmured. “Bent over this chair, your ass high, screaming my name while I ruin your tight, virgin—”

She shoved him, furious, her entire body burning.

But the anger wasn’t enough to stop the heat pulsing between her legs, slick and aching and starved. Her breaths came faster now. Her body moved on its own.

She fell back into the chair and finally—finally—spread her legs wide.

Right in front of him.

And slid her hand between them.

Donghyuck’s mouth went dry.

Y/N moaned softly, fingers brushing her soaked slit, back arching, hair sticking to her sweat-damp neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, biting her lip, grinding down against her own hand like she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck—” Donghyuck stood up fast, storming toward her. “No.”

Before she could get any relief, he grabbed her wrist and yanked it away. “You don’t get to touch yourself like that in mychair.”

She growled, struggling. “You’re the reason I feel like this! You—you did something to me!”

Donghyuck tightened the chains at her wrists, locking her arms behind the chairpost this time, more secure. “Damn right I did.”

“I hate you,” she hissed, grinding herself down against the edge of the chair instead, desperate now, wild. “I hate this—!”

Her shirt rode up, bare heat pressing into the wood, her hips working back and forth in quick, helpless bursts. She moaned through gritted teeth, unable to stop.

Donghyuck stood frozen for a second, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his temple. He was rock hard now, and furious about it.

Then he snapped.

In one motion, he grabbed her and hauled her up—slamming her back against the wall, her wrists still pinned, her body flush to his front.

“You need to fucking stop,” he growled, voice shredded and desperate, his breath hot against her neck. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips were pressed into her ass, his hardness impossible to ignore. His hand braced next to her head, the other gripping the chain at her wrists.

She squirmed in his hold, panting, not even trying to deny how wet she was now, how badly her body was begging for him.

Donghyuck’s mouth hovered at her ear. His voice was broken and raw.

“If you don’t stop grinding that sweet little cunt on my wall, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Y/N whimpered, biting her lip, her thighs trembling.

He pulled away with effort, pacing back like a caged animal.

“Cold shower,” he muttered, half to himself. “I need—another fucking—cold shower.”

The door slammed behind him as he left.

Y/N slid down the wall, still breathing like she’d run a mile, her body wrecked and unsatisfied, trembling with need.

And for the first time, she whispered into the empty room,

“…please.”

--------------

The storm howled like a living beast.

Waves slammed against the ship, wood groaning, sails snapping in the wind. Y/N sat in the captain’s quarters, arms still chained, legs twitching with every crash of thunder. She could hear yelling. Panic. Footsteps pounding on soaked wood.

She smirked to herself, lips curling.

Serves them right, she thought. Kidnapping a siren… the sea always takes what it’s owed.

Then came the scream.

A different kind of scream.

“Man overboard!”

And then Donghyuck’s voice, raw and broken, cutting through the chaos.

“MARK!”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

She didn’t know why. Didn’t want to know. But her body moved before her mind could stop it.

She yanked against the chains. The wood creaked. Her pulse thundered louder than the storm.

The door was locked.

But not for long.

She hurled herself against it, over and over, rage and panic giving her unnatural strength. Finally, with a splintering crack, it burst open—her bare feet hitting the wet deck, hair whipping around her face as rain poured down like knives.

The crew turned, shocked by the sight of her. One flash of glowing green eyes, bare legs morphing mid-sprint into her glittering tail, and then—

She dove.

Smooth and silent.

The sea swallowed her whole.

Donghyuck stood at the railing, rain blinding him, chest heaving. His heart sank. She’s gone. She escaped. Mark’s dead. He lost them both.

Then—

“Captain!”

A cry from the lookout.

He turned—

And saw her.

Y/N broke the surface a few feet away, struggling against the current but slicing through the waves with practiced ease. In her arms was Mark, limp but breathing, blood running from his temple.

She swam toward the rope ladder with all the strength she had left.

Hands reached down to help them up—crew pulling Mark up first, shouting orders, pressing on his chest.

Donghyuck dropped to his knees beside him.

“Breathe, Mark—breathe, damn it—”

Mark choked suddenly, coughing up water. His eyes opened, wide and dazed.

The crew let out a collective cry of relief.

Donghyuck exhaled like he’d been underwater himself.

Then slowly, his eyes rose—

And locked on her.

Y/N, still soaked, her long tail glittering beneath her, skin pale and trembling. She clung to the side of the ship, arms shaking as she tried to haul herself further onboard, struggling between tail and legs, caught in the in-between.

She was free.

She had water. She had her voice.

She could’ve sung them all to the bottom of the ocean.

But she didn’t.

She just… stared at him.

Her green eyes blazing. Her face unreadable. The siren in her was alive—but so was something else. Something cracked wide open in her chest.

Donghyuck stood, staring back, drenched and stunned.

She hissed softly when she slipped, tail thudding against the slick deck. She couldn’t stand—not with her legs gone again.

He didn’t say a word.

He just walked over, slid his arms beneath her, and lifted her easily against his chest.

Her head rested against his shoulder, but she didn’t speak.

He didn’t look at her again.

Just turned and carried her silently back into the captain’s quarters, sea-soaked and glowing and heavier than anything he’d ever held.

He set her down gently on the bed.

And walked back out, closing the door behind him, jaw clenched as he went to check on Mark.

----------

The noon sun pierced through a blanket of gray clouds, casting the deck in a soft, golden light. The worst of the storm had passed. The crew moved slower today—tired, hungover on fear—but when Y/N stepped out from below deck, every head turned.

This time, no one whispered.

They stood still. Silent. And then—

A chorus of nods.

Some gave awkward bows. Others mumbled their thanks.

One even left a piece of fruit at her seat before scurrying off.

Y/N blinked, suspicious.

“What is this?”

Donghyuck, seated beside her at the long wooden table, didn’t look up.

“They’re grateful,” he muttered. “You saved Mark. They thought you’d let him drown.”

Y/N scoffed. “I thought about it.”

The crew laughed nervously.

Then Mark appeared.

Hair still damp, temple bandaged, eyes soft.

He came to her side, his steps slow but sure.

“I owe you my life,” he said quietly.

Y/N stared at him for a long time, then picked up a piece of bread, tearing it in half.

“You saved me first,” she said. “You treated me like a person.”

Mark smiled, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

Y/N finally ate. Cleaned her plate in silence. The rest of the crew subtly relaxed, the atmosphere growing warmer as the waves calmed.

She stood up abruptly.

“I want to go back to my room.”

Donghyuck raised a brow but didn’t argue. “It’s actually my room.”

She shot him a glare. “Not anymore.”

He stood, motioning for her to follow, still oddly quiet since last night.

The door shut with a soft click. Y/N padded across the floor, tail now gone, legs beneath her again. She sat on the edge of the bed, folding one leg beneath her, eyes on him.

Donghyuck remained standing.

Silent.

Brooding.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her.

“You’ve barely looked at me all day,” she said. “I saved your crew. I saved Mark. You’d think you’d be a little more charming again.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, ragged breath.

“You did,” he said. “You did save him. And I… have no fucking clue what to do with that.”

He finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

“All I’ve done is kidnap you. Chain you up. Threaten you. And you still—” his jaw tightened. “You still dove into a storm and brought back the one person I can’t live without.”

Y/N’s gaze didn’t soften. But something in her expression shifted—like the weight of what they were finally naming was too heavy to ignore.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“I know.”

Silence.

Then—

“I’ll tell you where the gold is.”

Donghyuck blinked.

She stood, moving closer, stopping just in front of him.

“But once we find it,” she said quietly, “you let me go. We both know I could've sunk your entire crew and ship last night, but I didn't. I have no idea where we are and when I'm free, I want to go. I get you to your gold, you get me home. Deal?”

He swallowed. Hard.

“It’s a deal,” he said. “And I’ll give you anything else you want.”

Y/N laughed. Low. Bitter.

“There’s nothing you can give me.”

And she walked away.

Leaving Donghyuck staring after her, pulse racing, knowing damn well—

That wasn’t true.

------------

The village was small, nestled between jagged cliffs and churning sea. It was the first time Y/N had stepped on land since being dragged aboard Donghyuck’s ship, and the feeling was strange. Every texture beneath her bare feet, every new smell and sound made her pause with wide eyes and tilted head.

“Stay close,” Donghyuck muttered, his hand wrapping around hers. “There are more people here than fish.”

Y/N’s fingers twitched in his grasp. Her skin prickled at the contact — his palm warm and calloused, grounding her — and yet charged, like lightning might crackle from it at any moment. She didn’t pull away.

He didn’t either.

They walked through the narrow, cobbled streets, Donghyuck’s oversized shirt hanging off her shoulders, the belt tied too tight around her waist to keep it from slipping. She looked half wild, half regal — a siren in borrowed skin.

Heads turned. Men stared.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened.

When they entered the tailor’s shop, the bell chimed overhead.

A petite woman with silver rings on every finger looked up and beamed. “Ah! Finally, someone with taste. And—” her eyes drifted to Y/N, widening in delight. “Oh my stars. She’s beautiful.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re… more gorgeous.”

The woman laughed brightly. “What a charmer.”

Donghyuck watched in stunned silence as Y/N let herself be measured, lifted her arms, turned around, touched all the fabrics with reverence. The tailor cooed and fussed over her, telling her what colors would make her glow (as if she didn’t already), calling her skin luminous, her body perfect.

“She’s shy,” Donghyuck said offhandedly.

“I am not,” Y/N said immediately.

The tailor grinned. “You two make a cute couple.”

Both Y/N and Donghyuck froze.

“No - were not - I would never...,” they said at once, speaking over each other.

But their eyes met — and held — for a second too long.

Neither of them looked away first.

----------

Y/N gasped as they passed a group of giggling children chasing a dog through the square.

“What are those?” she whispered urgently.

Donghyuck blinked. “Kids.”

She crouched, watching them with wide, fascinated eyes. “Why are those humans so small and… cute? Are they a different breed?”

He laughed, actually laughed, and the sound made her stomach twist.

“They’re just younger,” he said. “You grow into one of me eventually.”

“Gross,” she muttered.

-----------

The tavern was loud, packed, lit with flickering torches. Music played in one corner, boots stomping on wood, laughter echoing through beer-frothed air.

Donghyuck sat at the bar with Y/N beside him, her new fitted dress snug on her hips, sleeves slipping off her shoulders. She drew attention wherever she went — but she didn’t notice. She was too busy studying how beer foamed or how humans laughed with their teeth.

Then she approached.

Tall. Stunning. Curved like the ocean. A woman in red leaned over Donghyuck’s shoulder with a coy smile, her voice honey-slick.

“Well well. Captain, you’re a long way from your usual ports.”

Donghyuck smirked. “You know me?”

“I never forget a handsome face.”

Y/N didn’t understand what was happening at first. Just that something in her belly twisted watching the woman touch his chest.

Then the woman leaned in closer — too close — and Donghyuck didn’t push her away.

Y/N’s lip curled.

She stepped forward.

Her fangs slid out like silver and she let out a powerful hiss, her eyes glowing green.

The woman screamed and stumbled back, heels catching on the floor before she bolted out of the tavern, her drink crashing to the ground behind her.

Silence fell for a beat. Then people laughed.

Donghyuck turned to her, stunned. “What the hell was that?”

Y/N shrugged, licking her teeth and smiling, unbothered. “She was annoying me.”

Donghyuck narrowed his eyes, biting back a smile. “You jealous, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, that same smug grin on her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But she didn’t move from his side.

And when he threw an arm over the back of her chair — casually, lazily, like he was just stretching — she didn’t move away either.

-------------

The tavern was starting to fill with the night crowd — sailors, locals, girls in bright dresses, and men already leaning too close to too many glasses. The buzz of music and clinking tankards grew louder by the minute.

Y/N sat at their table beside Donghyuck, brows furrowed as he drained the last of his drink and stood up with a sigh.

“Go back to the ship,” he muttered, waving Mark over with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Take her with you. We leave first thing in the morning.”

Y/N blinked. “No.”

Donghyuck raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You’re not,” he said firmly, already stepping away from the table. “It’s not safe for you out here at night. I want to drink. I can’t protect you when I’m drunk.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she snapped, standing too. “Not from men. Not from you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking tired. “Y/N—”

“Why?” she demanded. “So you can find some random woman to drag into bed?”

He let out a hollow laugh. A short, humorless thing.

Then he turned on her—suddenly, sharply—and shoved her back against the wooden wall of the bar. The impact made the entire tavern blur for a moment, air knocked from her lungs as his hand grabbed her jaw, holding her face.

His body was flush with hers.

His voice was low and dangerous.

“I can sleep with whoever I want.”

Y/N’s mouth parted, eyes narrowed—but she didn’t speak.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened slightly, breath warm on her cheek.

“But I won’t,” he growled. “Because it turns out, my body only fucking responds to you. So no, sweetheart. No one else is touching me tonight.”

His gaze dragged over her face, lingering on her lips, his jaw flexing like he hated the truth coming out of his own mouth.

“I just need some damn space.”

Y/N smiled then.

Sweet.

Mocking.

With fire in her eyes.

“Well,” she said coolly, “have all the damn space you want.”

She shoved him back with both hands — hard — and without looking at him again, turned and stormed across the tavern, grabbing Mark by the arm.

“Take me to the ship.”

Mark glanced between them, wide-eyed, but nodded. “Yes. Yeah—okay.”

They disappeared into the night.

Donghyuck watched her go, fists clenched at his sides, chest tight and head swimming with regret.

But he didn’t follow.

Not yet.

The tavern was almost empty when Donghyuck stumbled back into the captain’s quarters.

He’d sobered up halfway on the walk.

Partially from the night air.

Mostly from the regret.

The room was dim, lantern burning low.

Y/N was already asleep — curled on the far edge of the bed, facing the wall, arms crossed, the sheets pulled all the way around her like a cocoon. She was hogging every single blanket on the mattress, leaving none for him.

Donghyuck stood there in silence.

And just… stared.

At the stubborn set of her back. The way her hair tangled against the pillow. The rise and fall of her breath.

The space between them had never felt so suffocating.

He dropped into the bed beside her, careful not to touch her.

But his eyes stayed on her for a long, long time.

---------

The journey toward the lost treasure had begun.

The ocean was calm. The crew worked with quiet determination. And Y/N…

Y/N didn’t speak a single word to Donghyuck.

She laughed with the crew. Teased Mark. Even offered to help scrub decks just to learn how humans used “buckets.” But whenever Donghyuck walked past her, whenever he entered a room or tried to catch her eye—

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t speak.

She was the picture of peace.

And it drove him insane.

“Can you pass me that rope?” she asked Mark sweetly.

“Y-yeah, of course,” he stammered, handing it over with shaking fingers.

They stood near the helm, the sea stretching wide and endless around them, the sun beating down on their shoulders.

Donghyuck stood just behind them, arms crossed, eyes burning into Y/N’s back.

“So…” Y/N said casually, tying the rope. “When you have sex… does it hurt at first?”

Mark went beet red.

“I—uh—that’s not—” He choked. “I mean, it depends! I—I wouldn’t know exactly from your perspective but I’ve read that—uh—some people—”

Donghyuck stepped in sharply. “Don’t ask him that.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, unbothered. “Why not?”

“If you want to talk about sex, you talk to me. No one else.”

She stared at him, gaze cool and sharp like sea glass.

“I’ll talk about whatever I want,” she said. “With whoever I want.”

Mark swallowed. “I’m just gonna… check the rigging. Over there. Far away. Yup.”

And he was gone.

Silence fell between them.

The wind tugged at her hair. Her jaw clenched.

“Why can’t you ever just listen to me?” Donghyuck asked, exasperated.

“Why the hell would I listen to my kidnapper?” she snapped.

He stepped closer.

Tension sparked between them instantly.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Fine,” she said, sharp and defiant. “Answer my question. When does the feeling go away? The heat. The ache. It’s constant.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitched. Then his smile — slow and dark — curled across his lips like oil spreading on water.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, circling her, voice low enough that only she could hear. “It doesn’t just go away. You have to work it out of your system.”

She inhaled sharply.

His hand ghosted along the edge of the railing beside her, not touching, but close enough to make her skin prickle.

“It starts with the stretch,” he said. “At first, you’ll think it’s too much. You’ll grip the sheets, maybe my arms, try to close your legs—but I’ll keep pushing. Keep rocking deeper until I hit that perfect little spot inside of you.”

Her throat bobbed with a gasp. Her eyes widened.

“And when I find it?” He smiled. “You’ll scream.”

His hand rested on the railing now, brushing hers.

“You’ll beg—maybe for me to stop, maybe for more. But I won’t stop. Not until I feel you clench around me. Until you come so hard you forget you ever had a tail.”

Y/N’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts.

Her lips parted, face flushed, thighs pressed together like she could trap the heat and hide it.

Donghyuck leaned closer, his mouth inches from hers.

“Then,” he whispered, “and only then, you’ll finally feel relief.”

She gasped again, trembling now, breath hot and uneven against his mouth.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Didn’t touch her.

He stepped back slowly, eyes blazing.

“It’s maddening being near you,” he said roughly. “I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe.”

Y/N stared at him, frozen.

Every nerve in her body alive. Her heart hammering like the sea in a storm.

And Donghyuck turned away—

Before he did something they couldn’t undo.

--------

The fight still lingered in the air — sharp and heavy, like salt in a wound. Neither had spoken in hours. Not a word when the cabin door slammed. Not when they stripped down. Not when they climbed into bed.

Y/N faced the wall.

Donghyuck lay behind her, stiff and silent. His breathing was slow now, deep — finally asleep.

She wasn’t.

Not with her thighs clenched, her heart pounding, her pride bruised and burning. They hadn’t touched in days. Not since the last argument. And tonight’s silence was unbearable.

Still, she refused to turn around. Refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly she needed him.

But gods — she did.

Just once, she told herself. If she could just feel him once, maybe she’d sleep again.

So she moved.

Carefully.

Slowly, she turned, crawling over to him, straddling his waist beneath the thin blanket. He didn’t stir. His brows were relaxed in the dim light, lips parted slightly. Moonlight spilled across his cheekbones, softening the edges of a face she couldn’t stop dreaming about.

“Fuck,” she whispered, breath hitching. “You’re so handsome it hurts.”

She pulled his shirt — hers, really — off her shoulders, too hot to breathe, her skin prickling with nerves. Naked now, she placed her palms on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her fingertips. Her hips moved on instinct, rolling slowly, gasping softly at the friction of her bare pussy dragging against the thick fabric of his underclothes.

He groaned — in his sleep.

Her eyes widened.

Then he bucked his hips up, unconscious but needy, grinding into her with a hardness that was growing fast beneath her.

Her jaw dropped in a silent moan, heat surging through her entire body. She couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. Her hips moved again, and again — smoother now, bolder.

Then—

Donghyuck’s eyes snapped open.

And in one fluid, furious motion, he flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress with his hand around her throat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N arched into him, no shame, just need. “Please,” she whispered, eyes glassy with desire. “Just this once. I need you inside me.”

His grip didn’t tighten, but it stayed firm, keeping her still. His hips settled between her thighs, the outline of his cock pressing right where she wanted it.

“This what it took?” he sneered. “Had to crawl on top of me in the dark like a needy little slut to finally admit you wanted it?”

She whimpered, eyes fluttering, nodding slightly.

He exhaled a long breath — then let go of her throat, only to slide his hand up to cup her jaw. Not tender — just taking control.

“I knew you’d fold,” he murmured, his mouth finding the soft skin of her neck. “Knew you’d come begging eventually.”

He kissed down, never touching her lips, just her throat, her collarbone, lower. When his mouth found her breast, he groaned like it had been haunting him.

“Been dreaming about these,” he muttered against her skin before biting her, tongue soothing the sting right after. His hands kneaded her breasts like he owned them, thumbs circling her nipples until she writhed under him.

Then — finally — he shoved his underclothes down just enough, lined himself up, and without warning, slowly thrust all the way in.

They both moaned — loud, raw, relieved.

“Fuck,” he gasped, burying himself in her warmth. “So tight. So fucking wet. You were ready for me, weren’t you?”

Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, her head tipping back, mouth open in a silent cry. She didn’t answer — didn’t need to. Her body answered for her, clenching around him like it never wanted to let go. She had never known such pleasure was possible.

He held still for a moment, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to hers.

Then he pulled back, and started to move.

Rough and deep, every thrust angled with purpose until she gasped — a sharp sound, body jerking beneath him.

Donghyuck froze. Smiled darkly.

“There it is,” he murmured, grinding into that perfect spot. “That’s the one, huh? That’s where you break.”

She was close. Already unraveling, her hands fumbling for something to hold on to — and he gave her his. Their fingers locked tight, tangled, as he thrust into her again and again, chasing the high he knew would tear her apart.

“Come for me,” he grunted, voice hoarse. “Clench around this cock. Show me how much you needed this.”

Y/N came hard, gasping his name, eyes rolled back as her body shook around him.

He followed right after, moaning into her neck, hips stuttering as he came deep inside her, still pulsing from the strength of it.

Neither of them moved right away. He stayed inside her. She kept clenching around him. His hand in hers. Their bodies still rocking from the aftershocks.

Their lips brushed once.

Almost.

But she turned her head.

And instead, he buried his face in her neck, kissing and biting the skin there like he was claiming it, like that was enough.

----------

The ship set sail at dawn.

The crew moved with purpose, laughter louder than usual, the wind kinder, the ocean calm. It felt like the tide itself was carrying them toward something great. Toward gold.

But there was something else in the air too.

A tension broken. A pressure relieved.

And Mark noticed it the moment he stepped onto the deck.

Y/N walked past him, her skin brighter somehow, the breeze playing through her hair as she gave a quiet, unreadable smile to no one in particular. Not hostile. Not annoyed. Just… content.

Glowing.

And behind her?

Donghyuck.

Looking like the smuggest bastard alive.

Mark stared at the two of them. Back and forth. Then grabbed Donghyuck’s arm as he passed and yanked him toward the stairs.

“What?” Donghyuck said, clearly amused.

Mark didn’t even lower his voice. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck just smirked.

“You did!” Mark hissed. “Are you out of your mind?”

Donghyuck shrugged, leaning lazily against the railing. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Wait… kiss? Did you actually kiss her?”

“No,” Donghyuck said, gaze flicking out over the water. “Didn’t want to risk it. If the rumour’s true and kissing a siren lets you breathe underwater… it should be her move, don’t you think?”

Mark blinked. “So you did… everything else?”

Donghyuck didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Mark rubbed his face like he was trying to erase the mental image. “Hyuck… what are you doing? You promised to let her go after the treasure. That was the deal.”

“And nothing’s changed,” Donghyuck said easily. “She told me herself last night. Once the gold’s found, she’s gone. I’m not holding her here.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re thinking clearly,” Mark muttered. “Neither of you are.”

He turned and walked off before Donghyuck could reply.

Donghyuck stayed there, arms crossed, staring out at the horizon.

They were getting close — he could feel it. Every gust of wind in the sails, every shift of the sea whispered it. The map pieces were aligning. The route Y/N had given him made sense now. It was all falling into place.

The treasure he’d spent years chasing was within reach.

But for some reason…

He wasn’t as excited as he thought he’d be.

---------------

They docked at a small island just after midday — a quiet, hidden place off the usual routes, with thick palms, soft sand, and deep lagoons. The crew was eager to stretch their legs, get drunk, and forget, for a few hours at least, the long sea ahead.

But Donghyuck had something else in mind.

"Come on," he muttered to Y/N, not waiting for her to follow. She did anyway, silent as ever, her eyes narrowed.

They hiked through thick brush and winding paths until they reached it — a clear blue oasis tucked between rocks and vines. A hidden pool, glowing in the dappled sunlight. The air was humid. Quiet.

"You can swim here," he said simply, sitting down at the edge of the stone. “Figured you’d want the water more than the crew.”

Y/N stared at him a moment, then stepped into the pool. Her tail unfurled beneath the surface, glinting like cut glass. She sank under, disappearing completely.

Donghyuck exhaled.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think about the curve of her back, the way her skin had shimmered just before she slipped beneath the surface. He tried not to feel guilty for still being angry, and still wanting her at the same time.

The water stayed still for several seconds.

Then—

She surfaced.

Only her eyes visible.

Glowing, inhuman, shimmering beneath long wet lashes.

He felt his breath catch.

Slowly, Y/N swam toward him — silent, smooth, her glowing siren eyes fixed on his. The closer she came, the harder it was for Donghyuck to look away. His spine straightened. His muscles tensed.

Then she began to hum.

Low and haunting.

He blinked fast, eyes flickering. His fingers curled into fists.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

But it was already working.

His chest began to rise faster. His heartbeat picked up. His fingers dug into the stone beside him.

Her voice wasn’t even a full melody yet — just the start of a siren’s song, but he felt it — deep, humming in his bones, crawling beneath his skin.

Still underwater, Y/N swam toward him slowly. Gracefully. Like she had all the time in the world.

And he couldn’t move.

The hum wrapped around him like warm silk, coaxing his body forward while his mind screamed to pull back.

His jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body was locked in resistance.

Still, she came.

Rising up from the water, her hands pressed against the stone edge. Her tail glistened as she lifted herself onto the rock beside him. Her body was dripping wet, slick and glowing. His shirt was clinging to her torso — though nearly see-through now — but it was her eyes that held him.

Still glowing. Still singing.

She slid closer. Her palms pressed to his chest.

Haechan’s whole body shuddered.

She stroked along the line of his collarbone, up his throat, over the edge of his jaw.

“You’re shaking,” she said softly, a whisper wrapped in amusement.

His breath was ragged. “You���re doing it again.”

She tilted her head. “You locked me up. Shoved me in chains. What did you think I was going to do? Forgive you?”

“I thought…” His voice wavered. “I thought you might not want to hurt me.”

“I don’t,” she said, voice still light.

Then she leaned in, her lips nearly brushing his jaw.

“But I do want to remind you who I am.”

The humming stopped.

The power dropped like a stone in the water. Haechan let out a shaky breath, blinking fast, like snapping out of a dream. The air around them shifted back to normal.

She looked at him with that same quiet, smug calm—

Then dove into the water again with a twist of her tail, a splash soaking the front of his shirt.

“Hey—!” he sputtered, standing up, blinking through the droplets.

She surfaced several feet away, floating on her back now, looking up at the sky like nothing happened.

He wiped his face and swore under his breath.

She had him completely undone… and she knew it.

Then dove back into the water with a flick of her tail — splashing him hard enough to soak his clothes.

She surfaced once more near the edge of the lagoon, floating on her back like nothing happened, humming a different, sweeter tune this time. His shirt clung to his chest. His heart still hadn’t slowed.

She was playing with him.

And it was working.

The sun had dipped low over the island, casting the oasis in golden light. Haechan sat at the edge again, still wringing seawater from his shirt after her last surprise splash.

Then he felt a sharp tug at his ankle.

Before he could react, Y/N dragged him under.

He gasped—just before the water swallowed him whole.

Everything was blue and silent beneath the surface. Haechan’s eyes opened wide, panic briefly flaring in his chest, but then he saw her — Y/N gliding through the water like a dream, or a warning. Her tail flashed like a blade. Her arms outstretched toward him, eyes glowing, hair floating like ink.

He’d never seen her like this.

Powerful. In her element.

He reached for her, clumsy and human, but she twirled away from him effortlessly, circling him with ease.

She wanted him to see.

She wanted him to know this world wasn’t his.

That it belonged to her.

Haechan lasted maybe a minute.

Then the burn in his lungs became unbearable. He kicked toward the surface, breaking through the water with a sharp gasp, air flooding back into his chest.

He floated there, panting, blinking up at the sky.

Then—ripples.

Y/N surfaced too, silent.

Only her eyes visible again — glowing just above the surface, watching him.

Haechan flinched slightly. “You look terrifying when you do that,” he muttered between breaths.

Her voice cut through the air. Clear. Cool. Confident.

“I know,” she said. “That’s the point.”

It was the first thing she’d said to him in days.

He blinked at her, water dripping down his face. “What you did earlier… with your song. That wasn’t okay.”

Y/N gave a cold little laugh, tilting her head. “Neither was kidnapping me.”

Touché.

The water lapped between them, neither moving closer. But something had shifted — their anger softened by salt and breathlessness, their stubborn pride eroded by the current.

Then, quietly, she asked, “Why is the treasure so important to you anyway?”

She floated closer now, arms crossed over a slick rock, eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You have everything you need already. A ship. A crew that respects you. Power. Freedom.”

Haechan looked away.

He wiped the water from his face and leaned back, resting his elbows on the stone behind him, throat working.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—he sighed.

“You ever want to stop running?”

Y/N blinked, thrown by the softness in his voice.

“My father was a sailor,” he said. “Honest. Poor. We lived in a shack near the docks. He used to say gold doesn’t matter unless you can rest on it. Unless it lets you stop living with one foot always ready to run.”

Y/N said nothing.

“So yeah,” Haechan muttered. “I want the treasure. I want to stop. I want to buy a patch of land so big no one can find me. Grow fruit, drink rum, sleep in. Not owe a thing to the sea. Or to anyone.”

His voice was quieter now.

“Is that so greedy?”

Y/N stared at him for a long time.

No tricks in her eyes now. No siren glow. Just… curiosity.

And maybe a hint of something softer.

“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

Haechan met her gaze.

The silence between them was different now — deeper.

Then she sank beneath the surface again, leaving only ripples.

But this time, she didn’t disappear.

She circled him once, brushed her fingers lightly along his arm underwater… then surfaced beside him, hip-to-hip, resting her chin on his shoulder with a hum.

Not a spell.

Just a sound.

Just her.

----------

Donghyuck leaned back on his elbows, sweat already glistening along his collarbones, shirt soaked from yn dragging him in earlier, watching Y/N cut through the water like sin given form. She twirled and dipped, sleek and hypnotic, her tail flashing under the surface like temptation itself.

She wasn’t just swimming.

She was performing.

And she wanted him to watch.

His cock had been hard for five minutes straight.

When she finally emerged, she didn’t say a word. Just swam to the shallows and rose — tail shifting mid-step, morphing into long, wet, bare legs. Her nipples were tight from the cool water, and her skin glistened as she sauntered toward him, dripping, powerful, devastating.

She straddled him slowly, pressing her soaked body to his fully clothed one, her heat grinding right onto his cock.

“You’re so obvious,” she whispered against his jaw. “Bringing me out here like this. Just the two of us. All alone. You wanted me loud, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck’s hands gripped her thighs, groaning under his breath. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh?” She rolled her hips, rubbing her slick pussy directly over the thick bulge in his pants. “So it’s just coincidence this place is so damn secluded? Where I can scream your name and no one will hear me?”

She ground down again — harder. “Deny it, Captain. Go on. Dare you.”

He laughed — dark and low.

“You think I brought you here for peace and quiet?” he rasped, grabbing a fistful of her ass, pulling her flush against him. “I brought you here so I could fuck you into the dirt and you wouldn’t have to hold back a single fucking sound.”

Y/N moaned, fingers already tugging his pants down, freeing his cock. She hovered over him, rubbing herself on the tip, teasing them both. “You want to hear me beg?” she whispered.

“No,” Donghyuck growled. “I want to hear you scream.”

She sank down on him in one slow, aching motion, and they both moaned — loud, unashamed.

Her head tipped back as she took every inch, hips settling in his lap. “Gods,” she gasped, rotating her hips. “You stretch me so good—”

“You were fucking made for me,” he snarled, thrusting up hard, making her cry out. “You walk around dripping, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You act like I’m the monster, but look at you—riding me in the goddamn dirt like a bitch in heat.”

Y/N braced herself on his chest, bouncing now, hair clinging to her face, breath hot and broken.

“It’s only ever been you,” she panted. “I need you.”

Donghyuck’s hands slid to her waist, watching her move like it was a vision meant for him alone. The filth of it — her slick thighs, his cock disappearing into her over and over, their mixed sounds echoing through the canyon — it drove him wild.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, eyes fluttering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not yet,” she whispered, tightening around him and riding him harder. “Not until you come inside me.”

He flipped her over without warning, slamming into her from above now, pinning her arms down.

“You want it? Then take it. But don’t you dare pretend you’re in control.”

Their bodies moved in sync — hot, sticky, brutal. They were grunting, gasping, so close to the edge it hurt.

Donghyuck found her spot again and didn’t stop, drilling into her with filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“It’s yours—fuck—it’s yours—”

Their hands locked tight.

They moaned together — raw, guttural — as they came in sync, her legs shaking, his cock pulsing deep inside her.

And when it was over, when their breathing slowed and their bodies calmed, their lips hovered.

So close.

She turned her head.

And Donghyuck pressed his face into her neck, licking the sweat from her skin like he couldn’t get enough of her taste.

But she wasn’t done.

She leaned in — so close their noses brushed — and let her fangs descend.

Donghyuck’s breath hitched, eyes darkening.

She bit his bottom lip. Not too deep — just enough. A single bead of blood welled up.

Then she licked it — slow, deliberate — her tongue dragging across his lip like a promise.

Still no kiss.

Donghyuck licked his own lips after, tasting her saliva mixed with blood groaning. 

"If I died right now I'd be the happiest man alive."

----------------

The sky was soft that evening back on the ship — all pink streaks and gold-dipped clouds, the sea glassy and still.

The crew was buzzing with quiet anticipation. They were close now to the treasure they had been looking for. Everyone could feel it.

Y/N stood by the railing, wind tugging at her hair as she stared at the horizon. Mark approached slowly, cautious but warm, holding two tin mugs of lukewarm tea.

"Don’t worry,” he said, offering her one. “No rum in it.”

She took it with a quiet smile.

They stood in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t feel awkward — just thoughtful.

Then she spoke, her voice low. “I’ve met a lot of bad men in my life.”

Mark glanced at her, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes on the ocean.

“Sailors. Soldiers. Hunters. Men who saw me as a prize or a monster.” She sipped her tea. “But you, Mark… you’re the most pure-hearted, kindest man I’ve ever met.”

Mark went still.

“You’re not naive,” she added quickly. “You’re good. That’s different. And I hope you never change. I hope this world doesn’t corrupt you.”

He swallowed hard. “I… thanks. That means a lot. You’re… you’re not what I expected either.”

She smiled faintly. “I know.”

Then she looked past him, toward the captain’s quarters, where Donghyuck had just stepped out, leaning against the post to watch them.

“I hope he gets everything he wanted,” Y/N said quietly, her voice dipping into something sadder, heavier. “Once he finds the treasure. I really do.”

Mark followed her gaze, then gave her a soft pat on the shoulder and left her alone.

Donghyuck didn’t say anything for a moment. Just approached, hands in his pockets, watching the sky with her.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “For kidnapping you. For everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

He gave a short laugh, dry and tired. “You’ll be free soon. And then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. But her silence was louder than any rejection.

Because neither of them looked happy about it.

Then—

“There,” she whispered, pointing to a shape in the distance. Faint, but unmistakable. An island rising out of the mist.

“That’s the one.”

Donghyuck’s breath caught.

He’d waited years for this.

But now, with her beside him, the weight in his chest was something else entirely.

He nodded once, quietly.

“Then let’s go.”

The island was quiet when they landed.

Too quiet.

Thick jungle framed the white sand beach like teeth, the air damp and heavy with the scent of moss and secrets. Birds didn't chirp. The wind didn't move.

Donghyuck stood at the head of the crew, compass in one hand, cutlass in the other. Beside him, Y/N watched the tree line with narrowed eyes, barefoot in the soft sand, her posture coiled and alert.

"This is it," she confirmed softly. "The map ends here."

The crew was already fanning out, eager and restless. The promise of gold was louder than caution.

“Spread out in twos,” Donghyuck ordered. “Follow the ravine north. Mark, stay close to me. Y/N—” He hesitated. “You lead.”

Y/N gave him a sharp glance, then nodded, stepping forward through the brush with eerie grace, tail gone, legs long and bare beneath the shirt and belts wrapped around her waist. The jungle swallowed them whole.

They walked for hours.

Past broken statues covered in vines. Cracked tiles with worn symbols. Booby traps long-dead — and some still very much alive. At one point, a pressure plate set off a spear that missed Mark’s head by inches.

“Stay sharp!” Donghyuck barked. “One wrong move and we’re all dead.”

Eventually, they reached a clearing — and the mouth of a temple.

Carved into the cliffside, ancient and crumbling, its pillars still standing, stone doors sealed shut.

It was there. It had to be.

The crew erupted into celebration — cheering, hugging, patting each other on the back.

And through it all, Y/N stood silent.

Until the noise died down and she stepped into the center of the clearing.

“This is where you should stop,” she said plainly. “You’ve made it. You can still turn back.”

The crew blinked at her.

Donghyuck frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Y/N looked around at all of them — her voice calm, but her words cutting.

“Everyone’s heard of the lost treasure of Elarion,” she said. “They know it’s real. But they never ask why it’s never been taken. Why no one’s claimed it.”

“Because they failed,” one sailor muttered.

Y/N shook her head slowly. “Because it’s cursed.”

The crew stilled.

“You’ll find it,” she said. “You’ll be happy. You’ll spend your wealth, buy ships, estates, women. You’ll drink the finest wine. Live like kings.”

“But it won’t last.”

Her eyes flicked to Donghyuck.

“Soon, you’ll feel it. That hollow pit in your chest. That ache that doesn’t go away. Because money doesn’t buy joy — and once you lose your hunger, you lose yourself. You won’t even realize it’s happening. Until one day, you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the man staring back.”

A long silence followed.

Mark looked visibly shaken.

One of the older crew members crossed himself.

Donghyuck held her gaze, jaw tight.

“That’s just a rumour,” he said finally. “A sailor’s tale. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Y/N shrugged, her tone almost playful now.

“Suit yourself, Captain.”

And then she turned and walked toward the temple steps.

They stood in front of the sealed temple doors, the stone surface carved with symbols older than any kingdom Donghyuck had ever plundered.

While the crew gathered torches and ropes behind them, Donghyuck stayed close to Y/N’s side, eyes flicking from the doors to her face.

“You really believe that curse story?” he asked under his breath.

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the stone like it was watching her back.

Donghyuck took a step closer. “If it were your treasure… what would you do with it?”

She glanced at him, expression unreadable. “Sirens don’t care about material things. We don’t even have a concept of wealth like you do. I am the sea. It’s always given me what I need.”

“So there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted?” he asked. “No dream? No secret longing?”

She was quiet again. Then, softly, she said:

“Maybe… companionship.”

That made him pause.

Y/N kept her gaze fixed on the temple, voice low and distant.

“It can be boring, you know. Lonely. Sirens sing for fun, for instinct. But it’s always the same ending. A man falls under, drowns, screams… dies. It’s hard to crave anything different when you’re built to destroy.”

Her eyes glinted. “But sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To swim beside someone. To talk. To not have to lie. To not be feared.”

Donghyuck stared at her, something cracking in his chest. But he didn’t push her.

Instead, he reached forward — and pressed his palm to the door.

It groaned, stone mechanisms shifting and grinding.

And slowly… it opened.

Inside the temple, it was dark and warm. The air was thick with age, and the walls were carved with puzzles, riddles, strange symbols they worked through as a team — matching constellations, avoiding collapsing tiles, dodging blades that swung from the walls like silent pendulums.

It felt like the treasure didn’t want to be found.

But they pressed on.

Y/N remained silent through most of it, her expression stoic, though her eyes scanned everything — calculating, remembering, guiding.

And finally, they reached the final chamber.

The deepest cavern. The end of the path.

They stepped inside— And found nothing.

Just stone.

Cold. Empty. Dusty.

The crew froze.

Whispers filled the space.

“That’s it?” “There’s nothing here?” “We were lied to.” “We’ve wasted years.”

Mark looked at Donghyuck, who stood stock-still, face unreadable.

Y/N stepped forward slowly. Her bare feet echoed softly as she moved into the center of the room.

And then— She began to sing.

Not loudly. Not like a weapon.

Soft. Sweet. Like the lull of the waves.

The walls began to hum. Vibrate. And then… glow.

Faint gold light bloomed from the far side of the cave, spreading like sunlight over the stone.

A murmur went through the crew — and suddenly, they ran, boots pounding, shouting in disbelief.

Donghyuck was the first to reach it.

And there it was.

Endless.

Gold stacked higher than any man. Coins, crowns, goblets, swords encrusted with jewels, chests spilling open with rubies and sapphires. Ancient weapons. Royal heirlooms. Riches long lost to legend.

He stepped into the gold, his boots sinking into coins, his breath catching.

He had found it.

The treasure he’d chased his whole life.

And yet… somewhere behind him, Y/N stood quietly at the entrance of the chamber, her face calm but her eyes distant — already knowing how this story ends.

--------------

The room erupted in chaos.

Shouts of joy echoed off the golden walls. Coins clattered, chests were pried open, and men fell to their knees laughing as they let gold pour through their fingers like water. They stuffed bags, hats, even their shirts, giddy and frenzied.

One man tried to climb a mountain of coins and slipped, disappearing in an avalanche of riches. Another hugged a jewel-encrusted helmet like it was a long-lost lover. It was madness. Beautiful, sparkling madness.

But Y/N was already turning around.

Her expression unreadable as she took one last look over her shoulder.

Donghyuck stood at the center of it all, surrounded by everything he had ever wanted.

And he wasn’t moving.

Just staring.

Eyes wide, chest still. Not reaching. Not touching.

Y/N lingered for a beat longer, watching him.

He looked like a man who had just realized he was standing in the middle of his dream… and feeling absolutely nothing.

Her heart twisted.

She wondered—just for a second—what it would’ve been like if he were a siren. Or if she had been born human. If they hadn’t started as enemies. If he hadn’t caged her. If she hadn’t tried to drown him with her song.

She wondered what could’ve been.

Mark caught her gaze and saw the softness in her expression before she turned sharply and began to walk away.

He made a move to speak to Donghyuck, but Y/N raised a single finger to her lips and shook her head.

Don’t tell him.

Mark froze, dazed. Unsure if she was using her voice to compel him or if he was simply caught in her gravity.

Either way, he nodded.

And let her go.

The air outside was cooler.

The ship looked just as she left it, bobbing gently in the shallow cove where they’d anchored. The jungle was still. The water was calm.

Y/N sat at the edge of the dock, legs in the water, waiting.

She didn’t look back.

Not even when the sound of someone running behind her broke through the trees.

“Y/N!”

Donghyuck’s voice cracked, desperate.

“Y/N!”

He stumbled out of the jungle, hair wild, chest heaving, eyes wide with panic as they landed on her.

He looked like he’d just fought through hell to find her.

And he had.

She turned her head slightly as he skidded to a stop beside her.

"You promised you'd take me back home," she said quietly.

Donghyuck nodded, so breathless, so relieved it almost hurt.

"I thought—I thought you left—"

“You were busy,” she said simply.

He didn’t reply. He just stared at her, then slowly dropped to his knees beside her like he still didn’t quite believe she was real.

Mark and the rest of the crew appeared behind them, dragging sacks of loot with greedy smiles and dazed expressions.

Mark approached and handed Donghyuck a bag.

“Figured you’d want something. You didn’t take anything.”

Donghyuck didn’t even look at it.

He just dropped the bag at his feet.

And kept staring at her.

The crew laughed, already talking about where they’d go next, what they’d buy, who they’d become.

But Donghyuck didn’t join them.

Because his treasure was already here.

And she was still deciding whether or not she’d let him keep it.

-------------

The water was calmer than it had been in weeks — still and deep, a silken blue stretching endlessly in every direction. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting the ship and its weary crew in a molten glow.

They had arrived.

Her waters.

Home.

Y/N stood at the edge of the deck, the wind in her hair, the salt thick in her lungs. She could feel it in her bones — the ocean humming with welcome. It had missed her.

Behind her, Donghyuck stood with his arms crossed, eyes unreadable. He hadn’t said much on the journey back. Not since they left the island. Not since she chose to sit alone, staring at the sea instead of at him.

Now he came closer, steps slow, uncertain.

“This is it,” he said softly.

Y/N didn’t look at him, just nodded. “It is.”

A beat.

Then she turned.

“I hope you’re happy, Donghyuck,” she said sincerely. “Really. You found what you were looking for. You got your gold. You completed your quest.”

He winced.

She saw it.

The way her words hit something raw.

Like they tasted bitter coming from her.

“I’m not proud of how this started,” he said. “But I am sorry. For everything.”

She nodded again, slower this time, letting the silence hang between them like mist.

Then she turned to the rest of the crew, offering them a quiet smile.

“Goodbye,” she said, and then, surprising even herself— “Thank you.”

She stepped forward and hugged Mark — arms around his shoulders, a warm squeeze. He blinked in stunned silence, then hugged her back fiercely.

The first human she had ever touched with affection.

The only one she hadn’t tried to drown.

Then she turned to Donghyuck once more.

Their eyes met.

Nothing was said.

But everything was felt.

------------------

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[jikookncity]

Ex Boyfriend Haechan x Reader (smut)

WC: 10.2k, unprotected sex, shower sex, rough sex, dirty talk

Haechan and Y/n broke up months ago but pretend to be together for their best friend Mark's wedding to not cause any drama or stress for Mark.

-------------------

The coffee shop is warm and annoyingly loud—too cozy for how icy Y/N feels when she spots him.

Haechan’s already at the table, hoodie half-zipped, one hand cradling a mug of something steaming. His eyes lift the second she walks in. Brown. Familiar. Still frustratingly pretty.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he says.

She doesn’t sit. “This is stupid.”

“Probably,” he admits, voice calm. “But we don’t really have a choice.”

She rolls her eyes and finally slides into the chair opposite him. “You walked away from me, Haechan.”

“That was two months ago.”

“It’s still fresh.”

He pauses, licking his lips like he’s holding something back. “I know. But Mark’s wedding is in a month. He’s our best friend, Y/N. He’s counting on us—me as best man, you as a guest. You think he’s not gonna notice something’s off?”

She leans back, arms crossed. “He should notice. It is off.”

“I’m not asking you to get back together,” he says, tone suddenly sharper. “I’m asking you to act like it. Just until the wedding. Just so Mark doesn’t spend his happiest week stressed about his two best friends falling apart.”

Y/N stares at him. Hates that he’s right. Hates the memories threatening to flood back: the nights she fell asleep on his chest, the fights that kept escalating until one day—he walked out.

“…What does this fake relationship even involve?”

His eyes flick up. “Nothing until the resort. Wedding week is when we’ll be expected to share a room, hold hands, laugh at each other’s jokes—basic couple shit. Until then, we just need to keep up appearances. If people ask what we’ve been up to, we need our stories straight. That means checking in, texting. Occasionally hanging out. Just enough to sell it.”

She snorts. “You want us to hang out?”

“Not like that,” he mutters. “I mean—text me if you go out of town. Let me know if you change your hair. We need to be believable, Y/N. That’s all I’m saying.”

“And then after the wedding?”

“We go back to not talking,” he says simply.

There’s a beat of silence.

“You really think you can pretend to love me again?” she asks.

His gaze flickers.

Then softly, like it hurts, “Again?”

Her heart stutters.

She looks away, jaw clenching. She should say no. She wants to say no.

But she thinks of Mark. Of the seven years of friendship. Of the speeches, the bridal parties, the endless toasts. There’s no avoiding Haechan. Not unless she wants to destroy Mark’s perfect week.

“Fine,” she says. “But I’m not kissing you.”

A slow, smug smile spreads across his face. “Not even a little?”

She narrows her eyes. “I swear to god—”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, hands up in surrender. “No kissing unless absolutely necessary.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he says. “But we’re in love, remember?”

--------------

Mark takes a long sip from his beer, sneakers kicked up on the balcony railing of his apartment. The city below hums quietly beneath them, but up here, it feels like another world—like a bubble where they’re still just two boys who used to skip class and dream too big.

“I’m nervous,” Mark admits, voice low and raw with honesty. “I keep thinking something’s gonna go wrong.”

Haechan glances over at him, arms crossed. “It won’t.”

Mark smiles, but it’s tight. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re marrying the love of your life. That’s the opposite of wrong.”

Mark looks at him. “And I’m so glad you and Y/N will be there. Having you two around makes everything feel…safe. Like no matter what happens, I’ve got my people.”

Haechan’s throat closes.

Mark chuckles, leaning his head back against the chair. “You guys are next, you know.”

Haechan coughs, caught off guard. “What?”

Mark grins at him. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been with her forever. You two are solid. I’m just saying…when it’s your turn, I’ll be there. Front row. Crying like a baby.”

Haechan exhales sharply, his grip tightening around the beer bottle. “Yeah… uh. Thanks. That means a lot.”

Mark turns toward him, voice soft. “So… when are you gonna propose?”

There’s a pause.

Haechan forces a smile, shrugs too casually. “Soon.”

Mark studies him for a second. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but he lets it go.

“Why didn’t Y/N come today?”

“She’s… working late. Overtime,” Haechan answers quickly, avoiding eye contact.

Mark hums but doesn’t press. He just nods, takes another sip, and lets the silence stretch.

The truth sits heavy between them.

Haechan hates how easily the lie slips out now. Hates how guilty he feels watching Mark be so sure of something that ended in flames weeks ago. But he can’t undo it—not now. Not when the tickets are booked, the rooms are assigned, and Mark is smiling like the world’s finally perfect.

“I’ll see you at the airport,” Mark says eventually, patting his shoulder as he stands.

“Yeah. See you.”

Haechan watches him go, the weight of the lie crushing his chest as the door shuts behind him.

------------------

Y/N’s wheeled suitcase clips her ankle for the third time as she speed-walks through the terminal, eyes narrowing at the man beside her.

“I told you the flight was at eleven, not eleven-fifteen.”

“And I told you that I set four alarms,” Haechan replies, unbothered, sipping his iced coffee. “Not my fault my bed was warmer than you’ve ever been.”

She whips her head toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Haechan, I swear—”

“Hi!” Mark’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

They both freeze.

Mark appears with his fiancée on his arm, beaming like he’s never seen two people more in love. Y/N straightens up so fast her spine cracks. Haechan is smoother—his hand snakes between them like it’s nothing, fingers lacing into hers.

Y/N stiffens.

He doesn’t even glance at her as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her temple. “There you are, babe,” he says with a warm smile. “We were just arguing about who loves the other more.”

Mark laughs, completely buying it. “God, you guys are gross.”

“Get used to it,” Haechan quips.

Y/N forces a smile, squeezing his hand like a warning. He squeezes back. Harder.

They head toward the gate together, fingers still linked, and it feels wrong. Not because it’s unfamiliar—but because it used to be so natural.

Their seats on the plane are beside each other. Of course they are. 14A and 14B.

Y/N slides into the window seat without speaking. Haechan drops into the aisle seat with a sigh, tossing their shared backpack under the seat ahead.

“You’re not still mad about the coffee comment, are you?”

“No,” she replies flatly.

He smirks. “Liar.”

The air hostess walks by, glancing at them with a cheerful grin. “You two are adorable. How long have you been together?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but Haechan beats her to it.

“Five years.”

She turns slowly, giving him a look. He just smiles, teeth and all, like nothing’s wrong.

“Wow,” the hostess says. “Still sitting beside each other on planes? That’s real love.”

Y/N manages a tight laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She doesn’t mean to fidget. Doesn’t mean to grip the armrest like it might save her soul. But the second the plane starts rolling, her throat tightens.

Haechan notices.

Of course he does.

“You still hate flying, huh?” he murmurs.

She doesn’t answer, just stares out the window, knuckles white.

His voice drops—calm, soft. “It’s just takeoff. Statistically the safest part of the flight.”

“I don’t care about statistics,” she mutters.

“You never did.”

The plane lifts.

Her chest tightens.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Breathe in with me.”

She doesn’t move.

“Come on. In…”

She glares at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Fake girlfriend or not, I’m not letting you pass out from anxiety in seat 14A.”

Reluctantly, she breathes in.

“Now out.”

She exhales.

“Again.”

They do it three more times. Slowly. Quietly. And she hates that it helps.

When she finally unclenches her fists, she feels his fingers brush hers on the armrest. Not a hold. Just a quiet touch. A reminder.

Not real. Not anymore.

But it lingers.

-------------------

The heat hits them the moment they step out of the car. The resort is stunning—white sand, turquoise water, palm trees swaying like it’s a movie set. Laughter and wedding prep buzz all around, but Y/N barely hears it.

Not when the front desk receptionist is saying, “Room 207. King suite. Welcome, Mr. and Mrs.—”

“Wait,” Y/N cuts in, blinking. “King?”

Haechan takes the keycards without missing a beat. “Perfect. Thanks so much.”

Y/N whirls on him as they step aside. “A king bed?”

He shrugs, dragging his suitcase behind him. “Did you think we’d be in bunks like a summer camp?”

“I didn’t think about it at all,” she hisses, eyes darting around to make sure Mark or his fiancée isn’t nearby. “We’re broken up, Haechan.”

“And yet,” he says cheerfully, “we’re a fake couple for the week. So get comfortable, sweetheart.”

She waits until dinner is in full swing, music playing by the pool and everyone distracted, before sneaking up to the front desk.

The receptionist looks apologetic from the second she asks. “Unfortunately, ma’am, we’re fully booked for the entire week. Every guest room is spoken for.”

Y/N nods, trying to swallow her disappointment. “Right. Okay. Thanks anyway.”

She doesn’t know he heard.

But Haechan’s been standing around the corner, half-shielded by a decorative plant, drink in hand and expression unreadable.

--------------

“Didn’t take you long to try and ditch me.”

Y/N freezes mid-unzipping her toiletries bag. “What?”

He closes the door behind him, dropping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “The desk. You trying to score your own room. That’s cute.”

“I just… I didn’t remember it was a one-bed situation. I thought I called and changed it.”

He snorts. “Right. Total accident. Silly you.”

She turns, frustration simmering. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t.” He stretches out on the bed like he owns it, hands behind his head. “It’s just funny. You can sleep in the tub if you want.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Better than a coward.”

That one hits.

The room goes quiet.

He doesn’t mean to say it. Not really. But it’s out there now, and he won’t take it back. He never does.

Three Years Ago

Haechan spots her from across the deck. He’s mid-sip of his drink, but his gaze doesn’t leave her. Not once.

Mark catches him staring. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Who is that?” Haechan asks, eyes gleaming.

“My friend from uni. Off-limits.”

“Off-limits makes it sound like a challenge.”

Mark groans. “Haechan—”

But he’s already moving.

He slides up beside her casually, offering a crooked smile. “Hi.”

She glances at him. “Hi?”

“You look like you belong in a painting.”

She blinks. “Wow. Is that your opener?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

She fights a smile. “That depends. Are you always this full of yourself?”

“Only when I see something I like.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And what is it you think you see?”

He leans in just slightly, his voice dropping.

“Trouble.”

She laughs—really laughs—and Haechan knows in that moment he’s completely screwed.

Back in the Present

Y/N turns away without another word, pulling her clothes from her suitcase in sharp, jerking motions. The silence between them is louder than ever.

And Haechan, lying in the bed they used to share so easily, stares at the ceiling—remembering the first time she laughed because of him.

Now he’s lucky if she doesn’t flinch when he breathes too close.

“I’m not sleeping in that bed with you.”

Y/N’s voice is firm as she yanks a blanket from the closet and marches to the small resort couch, already curling her knees beneath her. The fabric’s scratchy, the armrest digs into her shoulder blade, and the throw pillow smells faintly of sunscreen.

Haechan watches her from the bed, one arm behind his head. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No thanks,” she mutters, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

He sighs. “Come on. You act like I’m going to maul you in your sleep.”

She doesn’t respond.

He frowns, his voice edging sharp. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

Something shifts in him, but he doesn’t show it.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Suit yourself.”

He rolls over, facing the other way.

Hours Pass

He can’t sleep.

The bed is too big. Too cold. Too wrong with only him in it.

He stares at the ceiling, fists clenched under the covers, jaw tight with frustration. Not because she chose the couch—but because she didn’t even hesitate.

Because he hates that it still hurts.

Because he hates that it’s his fault.

Haechan swings his legs over the bed, standing quietly.

The blanket’s slipped off her shoulder, one foot sticking out like it always does. She’s curled tight like she’s bracing for something.

He grabs a spare pillow, walks over, and kneels down beside her. Carefully. Silently.

He scoops her into his arms, lifting her just like he used to when she fell asleep on the couch at his place. She doesn’t stir.

He lays her down gently, pulling the comforter over her, tucking it around her like muscle memory. One long breath escapes her lips, her face softening in sleep.

He turns away, returning to the couch without a word.

-----------------

Y/N stirs as the early sun peeks through the curtains.

Her limbs stretch slowly against the plush mattress, eyes fluttering open—

She’s in the bed.

Her eyes widen.

She sits up fast, blinking in confusion, only to spot Haechan, curled uncomfortably on the too-small couch, arms crossed over his chest, legs dangling off the end.

A tight pull tugs at her chest.

He carried her. In the middle of the night. Without saying a word.

He always does this—never apologizing, never explaining, but always doing. Fixing things quietly. Making space. Offering warmth in silence.

Y/N smiles a little, biting her bottom lip.

He looks so peaceful like that. Tired. Soft. Familiar.

Her gaze drifts down to his hands—those hands that used to know every inch of her. His arms. His shoulders. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

She wonders if his touch still feels the same.

She swallows thickly, immediately shaking her head, burying the thought.

No. Don’t go there.

This isn’t real. This is pretend. This is for Mark.

Still, she can’t help but whisper so quietly it doesn’t reach him—

“Thank you.”

The breakfast terrace is all sunlight and laughter. White umbrellas flutter in the ocean breeze, and the wedding party is already seated around a long table filled with fruit platters, mimosas, and way too many croissants.

Y/N walks up beside Haechan, forcing a smile as his hand instinctively finds hers.

It feels practiced now—his fingers sliding between hers, the subtle brush of his thumb across her skin. To anyone watching, it probably looks natural.

To her, it feels like a memory in the shape of a lie.

“You’re late,” Jaemin teases from across the table.

Haechan grins. “We were�� occupied.”

Y/N elbows him lightly. “We were asleep.”

The group laughs, and the topic moves on. Conversations crisscross like a net. Wedding details. Hair appointments. Boat excursions.

Through it all, Y/N plays the part. She leans toward Haechan at the right moments. She laughs when he whispers something into her ear. She even rests her head on his shoulder for a moment during coffee, his arm draped behind her chair.

But they don’t kiss.

Not once.

And Haechan doesn’t look at her the way he used to. The way he wants to.

----------------

Mark pulls him aside, catching him just outside the patio doors while the rest of the group heads off toward the pool.

“Hey.”

Haechan turns. “What’s up?”

Mark rubs the back of his neck. “You and Y/N… you guys okay?”

Haechan blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

Mark hesitates, frowning. “I don’t know. You just seem a little off.”

“We’re fine.”

Mark doesn't look convinced. “It’s just—usually you guys are, like… inseparable. She’d be in your lap by now. You’d be kissing her hand or talking her ear off while she smiles like an idiot. You’ve barely said anything to each other today.”

Haechan forces a casual shrug, hands in his pockets. “Our neighbors are loud. We didn’t sleep great. That’s all.”

Mark relaxes a little. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Haechan lies smoothly. “Probably just tired. We’ll be back to normal tomorrow hopefully.”

Mark claps his shoulder. “Cool. Good. I was just worried. You two are like the gold standard, you know?”

Haechan swallows, something sharp pressing behind his ribs. “Yeah. I know.”

What a blessing and burden to hear that from your best friend.

Mark brightens. “Anyway—group’s heading to the private pool around two. Then drinks at the bar before dinner. Should be fun.”

“Sounds good.”

Mark grins and heads off, leaving Haechan alone with the lie still burning in his mouth.

--------------

The pool is sparkling, the late afternoon sun painting everything golden. Music drifts from hidden speakers, fruity drinks flow freely, and the wedding party is scattered across lounge chairs and inflatable rafts.

Y/N walks out in a deep blue one-piece, low-cut and clinging in all the right places. Her sunglasses are perched on her nose, lips glossy, hair damp from the quick rinse she took before coming out.

Haechan is already in the water, half-submerged and lazily floating. His hair is slicked back, droplets glinting on his shoulders and collarbones. He turns just as she walks by—

And stares.

Not subtly.

She notices.

She tries not to smirk.

“You gonna keep gawking or say something?” she murmurs, sliding her cover-up off slowly and folding it over a chair.

He tilts his head, lips twitching. “Just trying to remember how I ever let that go.”

Her smile falters for a second. But she brushes it off, stepping into the water, pretending the coolness is the only thing giving her goosebumps.

“Couples photo!” someone calls.

The bridesmaid with the camera waves them over. “You two—get together! Right in the middle. You look so good.”

Y/N and Haechan glance at each other. Silent agreement.

Fine. Let’s perform.

He wades to her, hand finding her waist easily. It burns where he touches. Her palm rests against his bare chest—too familiar, too soft, too dangerous.

“Closer,” the bridesmaid says.

They move closer.

“Maybe hold her face? Yeah, like you’re about to kiss her.”

Y/N’s heart jumps. But she nods, tilts her head like it’s all for the show.

Haechan’s thumb brushes her cheekbone. His eyes flicker to her mouth. The space between them narrows.

Too close.

She turns her head at the last second.

His lips catch her cheek instead.

Click.

“Aw,” the bridesmaid sighs. “You two are unreal. These pics look like a honeymoon catalog.”

Y/N forces a laugh. Haechan just stares at her, unreadable.

They swim apart after that, but her skin still tingles.

Y/N lounges on a towel, towel draped around her waist, drink in hand. A bridesmaid sits beside her—friendly, curious.

“So,” she says, nudging her gently. “You and Haechan… seriously. You two look like the kind of couple people make movies about.”

Y/N chokes slightly on her mimosa. “God, please don’t say that.”

The bridesmaid laughs. “Sorry. But I mean it. You still have that spark. It’s rare, you know? Five years together and you’re still all over each other.”

Y/N stares into her glass.

The bridesmaid lowers her voice. “So… when’s your big day?”

Y/N lifts her eyes slowly. Smiles. It’s small and brittle and practiced.

“Soon.”

The bridesmaid squeals, and Y/N plays along. But deep down, the word echoes in her chest like a stone dropped into still water.

Soon.

As if pretending long enough might somehow make it true.

-----------

The room is dim, sun beginning to set behind gauzy curtains. Y/N is sitting at the vanity, drying her hair with lazy motions while Haechan scrolls on his phone, pacing behind her.

He stops suddenly.

“Mark’s getting suspicious.”

She looks up in the mirror.

“He pulled me aside again,” Haechan says, running a hand through his damp hair. “Said we’re not acting like ourselves. We’re being too careful.”

Y/N sighs. “What do you want me to do? Jump your bones at breakfast?”

He gives a humorless laugh. “I’m saying we need to play it up. Laugh more. Touch more. Look like we’re still in love.”

She turns the hairdryer off, silence thick between them.

“It’s already so hard,” she says quietly.

He pauses.

Y/N moves to the edge of the bed, towel around her shoulders. Her eyes are glossy, lower lip trembling.

Haechan’s whole body tenses. “Hey… hey, don’t—”

“I’m fine,” she mutters, blinking quickly. “It’s stupid.”

But the tears come anyway. She sucks in a shaky breath, and it all starts pouring out, her voice cracking around the edges.

“This is cruel, Haechan.”

He moves closer, panic bubbling under his skin. “Y/N—”

“I should’ve been married by now. I should’ve had everything planned. My life was supposed to be happy. And instead, I’m here lying to everyone I care about with a smile on my face while my heart feels like a fucking joke.”

He kneels in front of her instinctively, like his body moves without his brain.

She covers her face with her hands, crying quietly, shoulders shaking. Haechan reaches out but hesitates—his fingers hover just above her knee, too afraid to touch.

“I walk around pretending I’m okay,” she chokes out, “but I’m not. I’m not okay. This is so humiliating”

He looks wrecked.

Utterly wrecked.

He wants to say I’m sorry. Wants to say me too. Wants to hold her like he used to, like it meant something, like he still means something.

But the words don’t come. They never do.

Instead, Y/N wipes her face and straightens up, the pain shoved behind another forced smile.

“Forget it,” she says hoarsely. “We have a show to perform at dinner, right?”

She stands, moves past him toward the closet to change. Haechan stays frozen on the floor, still kneeling.

And for the first time since they started pretending, he wishes they weren’t.

Because seeing her like that—broken and brave and still trying—shatters him more than the breakup ever did.

-------------

Dinner is a hit.

Y/N is in a soft green dress that hugs her waist and floats around her knees, her makeup glowing just enough to catch the candlelight. Haechan sits beside her, wearing a button-down she once bought for him that he still can’t let go of. Their chairs are pulled close together. His hand rests comfortably on her thigh. She leans into his shoulder like it’s second nature.

It’s a performance—but it’s flawless.

They laugh on cue. Whisper into each other’s ears. She feeds him a bite of dessert with teasing eyes. He brushes a crumb off her lip with his thumb.

By the end of it, Mark claps him on the back, beaming. "I'm glad you guys are feeling better."

Haechan forces a grin. “Yeah. Better than ever.”

Y/N nods, heart cracking at the weight of it all.

-----------------

The music slows, lights dimming into soft golds and purples. A string of couples drifts toward the small dance floor. Haechan holds out a hand. Y/N hesitates—but takes it.

He pulls her close.

Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, his arms circling her waist. They sway in time to the music, the beat lazy and romantic. It should be easy.

It’s not.

Y/N can’t look at him. Her gaze flickers everywhere—over his shoulder, at the floor, at the couple beside them—anywhere but at his eyes.

“You need to relax,” Haechan murmurs, just low enough for her to hear.

“I’m trying,” she whispers, voice tight.

He watches her for a beat, and then—she stiffens.

“Mark’s watching,” she breathes.

Without another word, she moves closer, chest brushing his. Her fingers curl at the nape of his neck as she forces a soft, adoring smile.

He mirrors it perfectly.

It’s second nature, the mask they wear.

So natural that when their faces draw near, their lips brush without hesitation.

A soft kiss.

Brief.

Automatic.

But the second it happens, Y/N’s eyes widen.

Haechan’s, too.

And then, without a word, he leans in again and kisses her.

Longer this time.

Slower.

Not gentle—intentional.

Her fingers tighten in his hair.

They start moving in sync, breathing into each other like they’ve done this a thousand times. Like their mouths still remember how to fall apart together.

Someone whistles. “Get a room!”

Laughter breaks around them. Mark’s voice carries through it all. “They’re disgustingly in love.”

Haechan grins mid-kiss, not pulling away.

“Come on,” he whispers into her lips, grabbing her hand.

The door slams shut behind them.

They don’t speak.

They don’t even pause.

He pushes her back gently against the wall, mouths crashing again—hungrier this time. Her fingers are tugging at his shirt before she can think. His hands slip over her waist, her back, anywhere they can touch.

It’s not pretend now.

It’s not even close.

Her lips part, and his tongue meets hers with a groan. She moans into his mouth, pulling him closer like she needs him to fill the hollow ache inside her chest.

He kisses her like he misses her.

She kisses him like she never stopped.

And as they stumble toward the bed, breathless and aching and wide open, neither of them dares to say it out loud—

But both of them feel it:

This was never over.

The second the hotel room door clicks shut behind them, Haechan has Y/N pinned against it.

His mouth crashes into hers like he’s been starved for years, hands gripping her thighs and hiking her up so she wraps around his waist.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he pants against her lips, grinding into her, already hard.

She moans, clutching at his shoulders, her dress hitched up, the lace of her underwear soaked through. “Haechan—”

“Yeah, baby?” he huffs, biting at her neck. “Finally gonna stop pretending you don’t want me?”

She whines when his hand sneaks between her thighs, pressing against her. “Been walking around all week in that tiny dress, no bra—knew you wanted me to see.”

She gasps, body jerking when he pushes the lace aside and sinks two fingers inside her.

“God,” she breathes. “You’re such a fucking—”

“Say it,” he growls, curling his fingers, his mouth hot on her jaw. “Come on, you wanna act like you hate me? Let’s hear it.”

She bites back a moan. “You’re cocky, arrogant—”

“Yeah?” He drops her onto the bed, pulling her dress over her head in one motion. “That why you’re dripping for me right now?”

He’s on top of her again, mouth all over her chest, sucking bruises into her skin, tugging her panties down with his teeth.

“You should see how fucking pretty your pussy looks right now,” he mutters. “Bet it missed me.”

She arches, already desperate. “Need you—”

“Yeah?” His voice is low, dirty. “You want me to fuck you stupid like I used to?”

“Yes—”

He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Use your words.”

“Please, Haechan. Just—fuck me.”

He groans, yanking his belt open and pushing his pants down. He doesn’t even get them all the way off before he’s kneeling between her legs, stroking himself as he looks at her laid out for him, flushed and trembling.

“God, I missed this.”

Then he’s pushing in—deep, fast, no warning.

She gasps, nails clawing at his back.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Still so tight for me.”

He sets a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into hers, one hand wrapped around her throat just enough to make her shiver. He watches her come undone, dragging filthy praise out between each thrust.

“Just like that, baby. Look at you—taking it so fucking good.”

“God, you feel so good, I—”

He grabs her leg, hiking it over his shoulder, pushing deeper. “Yeah? You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

“Yes—yes—Haechan—!”

She comes hard, clenching around him, body shaking. He fucks her through it, chasing his own release until he spills inside her with a rough grunt, face buried in her neck.

But he doesn’t pull out.

Instead, he kisses her.

Slowly.

Softly.

Like he forgot they weren’t supposed to feel anything anymore.

------------

Later, after they’ve both calmed, they lie tangled in the sheets, her hand absentmindedly tracing lines down his chest.

Neither speaks.

Not yet.

Then he shifts above her, cups her jaw, and leans in again. This kiss is different. No heat. No urgency. Just… longing.

When he enters her again, it’s slow.

Purposeful.

Their eyes stay locked.

He moves deeper, grinding gently, his forehead resting against hers.

“You still feel like home,” he whispers, almost to himself.

She doesn’t answer—but the way her arms wrap around his neck says enough.

There’s no filth this time.

Only murmured names and stuttered breaths.

His mouth finds her shoulder. Her fingers stroke through his hair.

Every thrust is tender, like he’s trying to remind her of something.

Like he’s saying everything he can’t admit out loud.

She whimpers when she comes again, face buried in his neck. And when he finishes with a soft gasp of her name, he stays inside her for a long time.

No one moves.

Eventually, he brushes a strand of hair from her face and kisses her temple.

Neither of them says what this means.

But both of them know—

This wasn’t part of the act.

-------------

The morning air was warm and gentle.

But nothing about the weight in Y/N’s chest feels light.

She stirs first—Haechan still fast asleep beside her, one arm slung across her waist, their legs tangled, bodies flushed with last night’s heat. His lips are parted slightly, lashes soft against his cheek. Peaceful. Like nothing's wrong.

But everything is wrong.

She stares at the ceiling for a beat too long before carefully peeling his arm off and sitting up, the blanket falling from her bare chest. She groans under her breath, dragging a hand through her hair.

"This never should’ve happened," she mumbles.

Before she can retreat to the bathroom, there’s a loud knock.

“Room service!” a voice teases on the other side of the door.

They freeze.

Another knock. “Oh my God, are you two seriously still in bed? Breakfast was an hour ago!”

It’s one of the bridesmaids—Minji, too nosy for her own good.

Y/N curses, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her body just as the door cracks open.

Minji pops her head in—freezes.

Her eyes go wide, her mouth already forming a smirk as she sees them both disheveled, clearly just out of bed. Haechan’s still shirtless under the covers, hair a mess, a faint bite mark peeking out from his collarbone.

“Oooh,” Minji grins. “Well, someone had a good night.”

Y/N groans again, burying her face in her hands. “Minji, go away.”

Minji laughs, already backing out. “I knew you two were still crazy about each other. You can’t fake that chemistry. Don’t worry—I’ll tell everyone to give you some alone time.”

Door shuts.

Silence.

Y/N lets out a long, exhausted sigh, standing and padding to the bathroom without another word. The blanket drops from her shoulders right before she slams the door, and a second later, the sound of the shower starting echoes through the room.

Haechan stays exactly where he is, staring at the ceiling now. His chest rises and falls in a slow, heavy rhythm.

Last night flashes in his mind in fragments.

Her moaning his name. The way she clung to him like she’d break if he let go. That second kiss when they were dancing—not for the show. Just for them.

He runs a hand over his face, jaw tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

How did something so perfect—so easy and right—end up like this?

He should get dressed. He should get up and fix this.

Instead, he lies back down, eyes still on the ceiling, listening to the water run and wondering when pretending stopped being enough.

-------------

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Haechan sat on the couch, scrolling through something on his phone, one leg lazily bouncing over the other. He didn’t even look up when Y/N came out of the bedroom, her expression tight, arms crossed like she was holding herself together.

She stood there for a moment, waiting—maybe hoping he'd notice. Say something. Ask what was wrong.

He didn’t.

So she spoke first.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

That got his attention. He looked up, blinking, confusion flickering in his eyes before settling into something unreadable. “What?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She swallowed. Her throat was dry.

“You’re always busy. I’m always second-guessing. It feels like we’re just…” she sighed, voice cracking a little. “Like we’re just passing time.”

He stared at her for a long time. Too long.

And then—he nodded.

No fight. No denial. No please don’t do this.

Just a quiet, “Okay.”

Something in her chest broke.

She blinked quickly, trying not to cry in front of him, not wanting to seem weak or desperate. She thought he’d at least argue. Tell her she was wrong. Tell her he loved her.

But he didn’t.

She tried to keep her voice steady. “We’re not even trying anymore, Haechan.”

“Maybe we stopped trying a while ago,” he said, voice low, unreadable. “Maybe this was coming.”

She stared at him, heart thudding in her ears. “That easy, huh?”

He hesitated—just a second—but it was enough to confirm it. “I don’t want us to end badly.”

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Because it was so calm. So final.

She gave a small, bitter laugh, looking away. “Guess there’s nothing else to say then.”

She walked over to the door, grabbing her coat with trembling fingers.

And still—he didn’t stop her.

Didn’t ask her to stay.

Didn’t say he loved her.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob, back to him, holding in every word she wanted to say.

And then she left.

Back in the present, her hand grips the edge of the bathroom sink.

Steam curls around her as she stares into the mirror, heart pounding.

She touches her lips, remembering how it felt last night. How it always felt. Like home.

But he let her walk away once. Without a word. Without a fight.

So she’d be damned if she let herself believe that kiss meant anything more than a mistake.

Even if it still hurt like hell.

-------------

The sun is already high when they meet the others for the day’s excursions—brunch, followed by some kind of boat tour. Haechan’s dragging his feet a little, tired but content, lips tingling from the memory of her kisses, her moans still echoing faintly in his head.

But when Y/N arrives, sunglasses perched on her nose and a light breeze tugging at her sundress, he stops breathing altogether.

She greets him with a smile that nearly knocks the air out of him. “There you are, baby,” she coos sweetly, sliding her arms around his waist.

He stumbles slightly, blinking. “Y/N—”

She silences him with a kiss. Quick. Sweet. Confident.

“Sleep well?” she asks, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

He nods dumbly. His chest tightens at how soft she’s being.

During brunch, she leans into him, tracing shapes on his knee under the table. She feeds him bites off her plate, laughing at everything he says, stealing sips from his drink, wiping a bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth and sucking it off her finger like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Even he forgets for a moment that it’s all fake.

“God, you guys are gross,” Mark says with a fond roll of his eyes. “Can you save some PDA for the honeymoon?”

“Sorry,” Y/N says, flashing a smile that could melt glaciers. “Can’t help it.”

She kisses Haechan’s cheek, her lips lingering. “You’re just too cute.”

And he swears, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she meant it.

But the second they’re walking ahead of the group, falling behind in the hallway as the rest head toward the docks, her hand slips from his. The smile fades. And when he tries to talk—

“Hey,” he says, reaching for her wrist. “That was…”

“Don’t.” Her voice is flat, cold.

His stomach twists. “Y/N, come on. What was that this morning—last night—?”

She keeps walking. “Nothing. We have a role to play, remember? Let’s not screw it up.”

“But you kissed me—”

“Yeah,” she says sharply, stopping to face him. “Because Mark was watching.”

Something in her eyes is dark, unreadable. She adjusts her sunglasses and walks away like he’s nothing.

And for the rest of the day, it’s a knife to the chest.

Because she keeps doing it. Touching him, whispering sweet things in front of the others, stealing kisses, hugging him like she can’t bear to be apart.

But the second they’re alone—on the boat deck, in the corridor, at the edge of the group—she shuts down completely.

Dry. Distant. Unreachable.

It’s like whiplash. Her sweetness feels like a trap now, and Haechan realizes with a sick twist in his stomach—

She’s punishing him.

And he doesn’t even blame her.

Because he let her go once without a fight. And now she’s showing him exactly what that felt like.

------------

The air is cool, laced with the sound of ocean waves and music drifting from inside the reception room. Fairy lights glow warmly above, laughter echoing from the tables. Y/N is dazzling as always, leaning against Haechan’s arm as someone snaps a photo. Her hand is on his chest again. Her laugh is practiced. Her lips brush his jaw in a lingering kiss that makes his heart ache.

But the second no one is looking, she lets go of him like he burns.

She walks ahead, socializing with the others effortlessly, never looking back.

Haechan barely has time to process the hollow in his chest when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder.

Mark.

“Hey,” Mark says quietly, pulling him toward the side of the balcony. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Haechan blinks. “Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”

Mark smiles. “Yeah, just… I’ve been thinking. Y/N’s been super lovey-dovey lately. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see it—I was worried there for a bit—but…” He shrugs. “You ever think about proposing?”

The question hits Haechan square in the chest. He stares at Mark, throat tightening.

Mark laughs. “I’m serious, man. She clearly loves you. You two have been together forever. Maybe all this wedding stuff is getting to her. You should go for it.”

There’s a long beat of silence before Haechan reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his worn leather wallet.

Mark watches, confused—until Haechan slips a small velvet box from the hidden pocket inside.

“…What the hell?” Mark’s eyes widen.

“I bought this a year ago,” Haechan says quietly. “I was going to do it last spring. Had everything planned.”

Mark stares at the box, stunned. “Then why didn’t you?”

“You proposed,” Haechan replies simply, flicking the box open to reveal a delicate ring, the kind Y/N always said she wanted—thin band, oval diamond, nothing too flashy. “I didn’t want to take the spotlight. Figured I’d wait a while.”

Mark lets out a breath. “Dude. That’s…”

“I was just waiting for the perfect time,” Haechan continues softly, looking down at the ring. “But it never came.”

Mark wraps him in a tight hug. “Man, I’m so damn happy for you. I mean that. You’re gonna make her so happy.”

Haechan forces a smile, patting his best friend on the back. “Yeah. Thanks.”

But when Mark walks away, humming to himself, Haechan doesn’t move. Just stands there, staring at the ring in his hand.

He swallows hard, the bitter twist of irony cutting deeper than anything.

Because now all he can think is— “What the hell do I do with a ring when the girl I bought it for won’t even look at me anymore?”

He slips it back into his wallet, into the same pocket it’s been hidden in for over a year.

And for the first time, he wonders if it’ll ever come back out again.

---------------

Y/N is perfect.

Too perfect.

Her laughter is golden. Her hand fits neatly into Haechan’s. She’s feeding him bites of fruit from her plate, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin like he’s the center of her universe. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles at him—so lovingly, so convincingly, it almost makes him believe it.

Almost.

Because the second someone else is speaking, the second they’re not the focus of attention—she withdraws like he’s invisible.

Won’t look at him. Won’t touch him. Doesn’t say a word.

It’s driving him mad.

When the group disperses after brunch, he grabs her wrist and pulls her down the hall, into a quiet corner near the linen closets.

“Y/N,” he hisses, closing the door behind them. “What the hell are you doing?”

She blinks at him, all innocent surprise. “What do you mean?”

He exhales sharply. “You’re being cold. You act like you’re in love with me when people are watching and then you treat me like a stranger the second we’re alone.”

She just shrugs. “I’m acting like you did.”

That lands hard. He flinches.

She crosses her arms, her voice calm and cruelly steady. “You’re getting a taste of your own medicine, Haechan. You made it look so easy. All smiles in public. All distance in private. I’m just following your example.”

He stares at her, chest heaving.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that,” he says finally. “I was… scared.”

She scoffs. “Of what? Of trying?”

“No—of fighting for you and still losing you,” he says, voice cracking. “Because if I begged you to stay and you still walked away, then I’d know for sure you didn’t want me. That you didn’t love me anymore.”

He looks at her like she’s the only thing he’s ever cared about.

“And that would’ve destroyed me.”

Y/N blinks, throat bobbing. “It destroyed me anyway,” she whispers.

Silence settles between them like a fog.

“I’m sorry,” Haechan says, voice raw. “I should’ve fought harder.”

She holds his gaze for a long moment.

Then she smiles sadly. “I’ll always want you.”

And she walks away before he can say a word, heels echoing down the hall, leaving him leaning back against the wall like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

---------------

The evening sparkles with fairy lights, champagne, and the soft clinking of silverware. Everyone is dressed to the nines. But no one looks as devastating as her.

Y/N walks in like a dream—floor-length silk clinging to her curves, hair pinned perfectly, lips glossed and eyes shimmering. Haechan watches her from across the room in his black suit and navy tie, jaw flexing slightly when her eyes lock with his.

She doesn’t smile.

She just looks at him. All knowing. All heat.

And it’s enough.

The night starts with practiced poise. Toasts. Speeches. Laughter.

But the pull between them is magnetic. Electric.

Y/N perches beside him at the long table, her bare shoulder brushing his suit jacket. She leans in to whisper something to someone else, and her lips ghost past his neck. Haechan’s hand slides beneath the table, fingers brushing her thigh just once. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Until dessert is served and he lifts his fork to her lips, feeding her a bite of cake. She hums, slow and sweet.

He cuts her meat without a word.

She places her hand over his on the knife, deliberately brushing her fingers along his knuckles.

No one around them notices how his mouth finds the curve of her shoulder under the pretense of a whisper. How she turns her head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw.

They look like a couple in love.

But to them—for tonight—it almost feels like love again.

She lets him wrap his arm around the back of her chair. Her hand stays on his thigh.

She laughs with him, smiles at him, rubs her thumb along his jaw after he makes a joke.

The mask drops without effort.

It’s the most natural thing in the world. 

By the end of the night, they’re tangled around each other under the pretense of comfort and champagne, but there’s a glimmer in their eyes—haunted, warm, and wanting.

Because for the first time in forever, they aren’t pretending.

They’re just them again.

Even if it’s temporary.

The wedding is tomorrow and all she can think is 'is this it? is the last time I'll be able to touch you and see you smile?' 

Little does she know Haechan is thinking the exact same thing,

-------------

They don’t say anything when they enter the hotel room. Y/N turns the lock behind them, drops her clutch, and spins on her heel. Haechan barely gets a breath in before she’s fisting his tie and yanking him down into her mouth.

The kiss is filthy. Teeth, tongue, and months of pent-up longing.

He groans into her, stumbling forward until her back hits the wall. Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard as she kisses him like she’s starving.

He breaks away for just a second, panting against her lips. “You’re unreal,” he breathes, eyes blown wide. Y/N smirks, tugging his tie again. “Shut up and fuck me.”

They leave a trail of clothes from the bed to the bathroom, kissing and fumbling through their laughter. Her dress slips off her shoulders, pooling to the floor. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned when she grabs his belt and backs into the shower, turning on the spray as the steam instantly begins to rise.

Water pours down their bodies, hot and slick. She presses him to the tile, dropping to her knees on the wet floor. Haechan gasps when her mouth wraps around him, his hand flying to the back of her head.

“Fuck, baby—god, your mouth—always knew it’d ruin me.”

She gags and moans at once, hand stroking what she can’t fit as he throbs on her tongue. Her eyes stay locked on his, daring him to fall apart.

He nearly does.

“Get up,” he pants, pulling her back to her feet, pinning her to the foggy glass wall. “You want it rough? I’ll give it to you rough.”

He hooks her leg around his waist and thrusts in all at once, swallowing her strangled moan with his mouth. The sound of skin slapping echoes through the shower, the water cascading over them as he fucks her hard and deep, hips snapping like he means to make her feel this tomorrow.

“Missed this pussy—fuck—you’re still so tight for me,” he growls against her throat. “You missed this too, didn’t you?”

She whines as he pounds into her, head dropping back.

“Say it, baby. Say you missed me fucking you like this.”

“I missed you,” she gasps, nails digging into his back. “I missed everything.”

He kisses her fiercely, hips stuttering as she clenches around him.

“I’m gonna—shit—inside,” he groans.

“Do it,” she breathes, legs locking around him. “I want it.”

He slams into her once, twice—then groans her name against her lips, spilling inside her as the water continues pouring down their trembling bodies.

They stay like that for a while. Wrapped in each other, steam thick around them, the taste of desperation and memory still on their tongues.

But then he starts to move again—hands sliding down her back, lifting her slightly.

“You think I’m done with you?” he murmurs, voice husky and low. “Not even close.”

He kisses her slower this time—soft, deliberate—as he sets her down gently, turning her so her front presses against the glass wall.

“Let me love you properly now,” he whispers, positioning himself again.

And round two begins—slower, deeper, emotional.

The kind that makes her close her eyes and bite her lip because it’s not about lust anymore.

It’s about them.

She doesn’t know how they end up like this—bodies tangled beneath the heat of the water, her chest pressed to the fogged-up glass as he rocks into her from behind.

It’s slower now. Controlled. Like he’s savoring her.

His palm smooths up her spine before he curls his fingers into her damp hair, pulling gently to tilt her head back.

“Feel that?” he murmurs against her ear. “How perfectly you fit around me?”

Y/N chokes on a gasp as he thrusts again, long and deep. She feels every inch of him, her walls fluttering as he presses in and stays, grinding slowly.

“No one else gets you like this,” he growls, dragging his mouth along the curve of her neck. “No one else even fucking compares.”

She clenches around him at his words, a soft whimper spilling from her lips.

Haechan smiles against her skin. “Yeah… I know you missed this. You missed me. Missed the way I stretch you open—fill you up so good you forget your own damn name.”

She’s shaking, hands braced flat against the slick glass, her head hung low, biting back cries that sound too much like love.

“You were made for me, baby,” he pants. “You think I don’t know it the second I’m inside you? This pussy’s mine.”

Y/N doesn’t argue. She can’t. Not when she’s holding on so tight she feels like she might fall apart.

Not when every slow drag of his cock has her seeing stars.

Not when her heart feels like it’s being ripped in two.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he whispers, slowing down even more. His thrusts now feel like declarations. Gentle. Intentional. “Tell me you still need me.”

Her voice breaks when she finally speaks.

“I never stopped.”

His breath stutters in his chest.

“I tried to move on,” she admits, voice raw. “But no one was ever you.”

He groans softly, leaning forward to kiss her temple, her jaw, the corner of her mouth as he continues fucking her with those slow, perfect strokes that leave her gasping.

“You’re everything, Y/N,” he says, hands smoothing over her hips, her waist, her breasts. “You always have been.”

And god—she wants to believe him. Wants to believe this means something more. That when this wedding is over, they’ll figure it out. That she’s not just a last taste of something that used to be.

But tomorrow, they’ll go back to pretending. Tomorrow, someone else is getting married. Tomorrow might be the last time she ever sees him.

That fear bubbles up and makes her cling tighter to him, arms reaching back to pull him down until his chest is against her back, her hands cupping his jaw, her cheek turning just enough to kiss him blindly, messily.

“Please,” she breathes, breaking apart under him. “Don’t make this the last time.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms lock around her, the way his hips start to move faster, and the broken noise he lets out against her skin—it tells her everything she needs to know.

They fall apart like that—pressed together, soaking wet, hearts racing, holding on like the world might pull them apart at any moment.

And maybe it will.

But for now… he stays inside her, buried deep, refusing to move even after he’s spent.

Because leaving her now would be too much.

Too final.

--------------

Haechan stands in front of a hotel mirror, straightening Mark’s bowtie as the groom paces behind him like a caged animal.

"I'm sweating through my shirt," Mark mutters, wiping his palms down his slacks. “Do I look pale?”

"You always look pale," Haechan smirks, giving him a slap on the back. "You're good, hyung. Breathe."

Mark tries, chest rising and falling too fast. “You’ve got your speech, right? I didn’t dream that part?”

Haechan chuckles, adjusting his own tie now. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

He nods. “I’ve been ready.”

But when Mark turns around, distracted again by the tie he swears still looks crooked, Haechan’s smile fades. His fingers slide into his pocket, brushing over the velvet box he hasn’t taken out since yesterday.

He leaves it there.

He has a speech ready. But not the one he wrote down.

The ceremony.

The sun filters through the trees in soft golden rays, casting a warm glow over the outdoor venue. Strings swell in the background, violins playing as the guests hush and rise to their feet.

Haechan stands beside Mark, hands clasped in front of him, eyes straight ahead—until she walks in.

Y/N, in a soft blush dress that hugs her waist and flutters at her ankles as she walks down the aisle.

Her eyes meet his instantly.

And it’s like the world stills.

Her lashes are heavy with mascara, her lips painted soft pink—but it's the way she looks at him that unravels everything. Open. Raw. Like last night is still playing in her head, just like it is in his.

She takes her seat. Haechan tears his gaze away.

The bride enters, radiant and beaming.

Mark is crying.

The pastor begins to speak.

“Marriage is a promise—a vow made not just in words, but in action. It is choosing someone, again and again, through every season.”

Haechan’s jaw tightens.

His gaze flicks to Y/N. She’s already looking at him.

“Marriage is not perfect. It requires patience, forgiveness, understanding… and above all, love.”

He thinks about her laugh. Her silence. Her warmth. The way she trembled in his arms just hours ago, whispering that no one compared.

He thinks about how easily he let her go the first time. How afraid he was to lose her—and lost her anyway.

Y/N blinks slowly, her expression unreadable now.

But she’s still looking.

Still holding on.

The bride and groom exchange vows.

Cheers erupt as they kiss.

Everyone claps.

But Haechan’s hands don’t move. Neither do Y/N’s.

Because both of them are still stuck in a fantasy where it should’ve been them.

--------------

The lights are dimmed low, strung fairy lights casting a soft, romantic glow across the reception hall. Guests murmur in excitement as the clinking of glasses dies down and the DJ taps the mic.

“The best man would like to say a few words,” he announces.

Haechan steps up to the microphone in his suit and tie, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding his glass of champagne. He clears his throat, gaze sweeping the room once before settling on the newlyweds at the head table — then lingering just a second longer on Y/N.

He smiles.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Haechan. I’ve known Mark since we were eleven and I saw him get pantsed at soccer tryouts. True story.”

The room laughs. Mark groans.

“But from that moment on, we’ve pretty much done everything together. High school, heartbreak, karaoke competitions, bad hair phases—”

Another laugh.

“—and then one day, he met someone. And that was it. That annoying, all-consuming, ‘can’t stop texting her even during boys’ night’ kind of love.”

Mark blushes, squeezing his new wife’s hand. Haechan chuckles softly, his voice going a little quieter now.

“It’s funny, watching someone find their soulmate. It changes them. Softens them. You look at them and you just… know.”

He turns slightly now, his eyes locking on Y/N across the room. She’s frozen.

“And thanks to Mark, I found mine.”

A hush falls.

“I didn’t expect it. I wasn’t looking for it. But there she was. Smart, stubborn, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She makes fun of me constantly, she takes up more than half the bed, and she always steals my fries even when she said she wasn’t hungry.”

A few people laugh again. Y/N doesn’t move.

Haechan swallows.

“But she’s it for me. The one. And I love her. So much.”

Y/N’s lip trembles.

“One day… that’ll be us up there.”

She breaks.

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she abruptly stands, covering her mouth and hurrying out of the hall. Murmurs rise. Mark looks confused, concerned, but assumes she’s just overwhelmed.

Only Haechan knows better.

He hands the mic back off, not saying another word, and leaves his glass on the table. Without thinking, without explaining, he walks out after her — heart racing.

He has no idea what he’s going to say.

But he knows he can’t lose her again.

The music is still faintly playing inside, laughter and clinking glasses filtering through the walls. But out here, it’s quiet. Moonlight washes over the garden in silver. Y/N stands near the edge of the stone path, arms wrapped around herself, trembling.

Footsteps approach.

“Y/N—”

She spins, eyes glassy with tears. “That was cruel.”

Haechan stops dead.

She blinks fast. “You knew we were broken up. You knew this—this whole thing was fake. And then you go and say that? In front of everyone?” Her voice cracks. “Why would you do that to me?”

Haechan shakes his head, jaw clenched. “It wasn’t fake to me.”

She laughs bitterly, wiping under her eyes. “God, I’m such a loser. I actually went along with this whole charade. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could hurt you the way you hurt me—” Her voice breaks. “But all I did was hurt myself.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” he says quickly, stepping forward. “You’re not a loser. Don’t ever say that again.”

She sniffles and looks away.

“I meant every word,” he says. “Every single one.”

Y/N opens her mouth like she’s about to argue, but then—

Haechan reaches into his jacket pocket.

He pulls out a velvet box.

Her breath catches.

“I bought this a year ago,” he says quietly. “I was going to propose. I was just waiting for the right time.”

She stares at it. Frozen.

“But then Mark proposed, and I thought… I should wait. I didn’t want to steal his moment.”

He looks up at her, eyes burning. “And then we broke up. And I didn’t fight. Not because I didn’t care—” His voice cracks. “But because I was in denial. I kept telling myself we were just taking a break. That you’d call. That I’d show up at your place and everything would go back to normal.”

He swallows. “But it didn’t. And I lost you.”

Silence stretches between them, thick with all the words they’ve held in for too long.

“You’re it for me, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you this whole time. I never stopped. And I know you haven’t either.”

She finally looks up at him—really looks.

Her voice is barely a whisper. “You hurt me.”

He nods, pain twisting in his expression. “I know. And I hate myself for it. I made you think I didn’t care, and that’s the biggest mistake of my life.”

Her eyes fill with tears again.

“I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I do,” he says. “Every single day. In every small, stupid, tender way. You’re the love of my life, and I’m not letting you go again.”

She’s crying. Silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she presses a hand to her lips, as if trying to hold herself together.

Then, after a breathless pause—

She throws herself into his arms.

And he catches her like he’s been waiting forever.

Haechan pulls her in, hands cradling her face like she’s made of glass. Their lips meet in a kiss so full of longing, history, and love that it steals the breath from both of them. It’s messy, wet with tears, but it’s real—the kind of kiss that says I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.

Neither of them wants to let go.

A sudden noise behind them.

They break apart, just in time to see Mark stepping out of the venue, tux jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened.

“Hey,” he says gently, eyeing them with concern. “You guys okay?”

Y/N sniffs, quickly wiping under her eyes, pulling herself together. “Yeah,” she says with a small smile. “I just got a little emotional. But I’m fine.”

Mark nods, then pulls her into a warm hug. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers. “It means the world to me.”

He turns to Haechan, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And thanks for that speech, man. You crushed it.”

Haechan smiles, a little breathless still. “Anytime, bro.”

Mark grins and heads back inside, humming along to the soft music playing from the speakers.

Silence settles over the garden again, peaceful now.

Haechan turns to Y/N. “Can we start fresh?” he asks, hopeful.

She smiles softly, shaking her head. “No.”

He blinks, caught off guard.

She steps closer, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. “I don’t want to forget any part of our story. Not the good, not the bad. We made it here. That’s what matters.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Okay. I like that better.”

He takes her hands in his. “Then let me ask you this, for the first time again—will you go out with me?”

Y/N bites back a smile, pretending to think.

Then—“Yes.”

Haechan beams.

Their foreheads touch, breaths mingling.

And just like that, it begins again.

Not a fresh start—but a better one.

Together.

-----------------

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[jikookncity]

Soldier Johnny x Reader (smut)

WC: 9.4k, rough sex, spanking, manhandling, wall sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, degradation, dirty talk, riding, doggy

The mansion wasn’t made of gold, but it might as well have been.

Polished marble floors reflected the gleam of the massive chandeliers overhead. Gilded frames lined the walls, each painting more prestigious than the last. Uniformed staff moved with quiet precision, and the daughter of the diplomat—Y/N—strode through it all like she owned the place. Because in many ways, she did.

A silken robe clung to her legs as she moved through the hall, muttering curses under her breath. “I’m not a child,” she seethed. “I don’t need a babysitter just because someone’s threatening Daddy’s oil deals.”

Behind her, her assistant struggled to keep up. “Ma’am, it’s not just about your father. There was a direct threat to you.”

“I’m always getting threats. It’s part of being beautiful, rich and female in politics.”

Still, her heart pounded. Not that she’d show it.

She was halfway to the grand dining room when two sharply dressed guards stepped in her way. “Miss, you’ve been asked to remain in your wing until further notice.”

Y/N’s brow twitched. “Excuse me?”

One of the guards tapped the side of his earpiece. “Your new protection detail is en route. You’ll be briefed then.”

She scoffed. “Protection detail? You make it sound like I’m some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”

“Like you did in Paris when you ‘lost’ your security team at that underground club?” the guard said dryly.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That was one time, and I still made it back before sunrise.”

The guards didn’t budge.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But he better not be ancient like the last guy. I’m not sharing a damn car with someone who uses a flip phone.”

They didn’t respond. Just kept still like statues, until one of them finally turned his head, nodded to someone over her shoulder, and said, “He’s here.”

She turned.

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t ancient. Far from it.

He was tall, lean with broad shoulders that filled out his tan tactical gear in the most obscene way. The shirt clung to a body forged in discipline—cut abs, thick arms, short black hair and strong hands. His eyes were sharp, his jawline edged like stone, and the scar slicing across his brow only added to the danger that radiated from him in waves.

Johnny Suh.

She didn’t know him, but she felt him.

His eyes locked on hers, cold, assessing.

“This is the girl?” he asked, glancing at the guards like she wasn’t standing right there.

“I’m not a girl,” she snapped before anyone could answer. “And who the hell are you?”

He didn’t flinch. “Your new shadow.”

“You mean bodyguard.”

“I mean I go where you go. I sleep where you sleep. If someone breathes too close to you, I’m the last face they see before they drop.”

A chill ran down her spine.

She folded her arms over her chest, lifting her chin. “Cute. You practiced that line in the mirror?”

He stepped closer, towering over her. His voice dropped, slow and deliberate. “No. But I’m not here to charm you. I’m here to keep you alive. So if I say don’t move, you freeze. If I say run, you run. If I say you’re not going to that party, you’re not going.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I do now.”

Her chest heaved with restrained fury.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or climb him like a tree.

By nightfall, her bags were packed, and the mood in the estate had shifted.

She wasn’t given a chance to argue. Not this time.

Her father’s security chief came into her room just as she was applying a fresh coat of lipstick.

“You’re being extracted,” he said simply. “They hit one of the convoys. It’s real now.”

She paused. “Who?”

“We don’t know yet. Could be a splinter group. Could be political retaliation.”

“I’m not leaving—”

“Yes, you are. Johnny’s already cleared the route.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “And where exactly is he taking me? A bunker?”

“Close. A safehouse right across the border, from there he'll lead a team to deliver you safely to your primary dwelling in your homeland. Quiet. Low profile.”

“That sounds awful.”

“That’s the point.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I need my perfume, at least.”

“You need to go.”

Within ten minutes, she was being rushed out the side entrance under darkness. Johnny was waiting beside a beat-up black car that looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. He opened the back door wordlessly.

She stared at the vehicle in horror. “You expect me to ride in that?”

“You want to live or look cute?”

“I want both.”

He didn’t smile. “Pick one.”

With a scoff, she climbed in. “This is so not cute.”

He got in beside her, started the car, and didn’t say a word for the first half hour.

Silence reigned in the cabin except for the hum of the tires on asphalt.

She shifted in her seat, annoyed he wasn’t at least trying to talk to her. “So what’s your story? You always this charming, or is it just with women you’re forced to protect?”

His eyes stayed on the road. “I don’t do small talk.”

“Shocking. You’re such a delight.”

He gave her a side glance. “You really think pouting and being a brat is going to work on me?”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve read your file. The parties, the fake names, the sneaking past security with wigs. You’re not subtle, princess.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t need to. I know how to keep people alive. That’s what I care about.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smirked. “You’re welcome.”

That night, they stopped at a grimy roadside motel just before the border.

The room reeked of smoke and mildew. There was only one bed.

“One bed?” she gasped.

“Better than sleeping in the car,” he muttered, already setting his duffel down.

“I’m not sleeping next to you.”

“Then take the floor.”

She gawked at him. “I don’t sleep on floors.”

“I don’t care where you sleep as long as you don’t leave the room.”

He stripped off his jacket, revealing an undershirt that clung to his body like a second skin. The muscles in his arms flexed as he reached into his bag for a weapon to set beside the bed.

Y/N tried not to stare.

Tried.

Failed.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” he said without looking.

Her face burned. “I was not staring.”

He finally met her gaze, voice low and dangerous. “You’re not as subtle as you think, princess.”

She turned her back, cheeks flaming, heart hammering in her chest.

Maybe being stuck with Johnny Suh wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

But God help her… She was not going to survive this man.

--------------------

The next morning, the sun barely broke through the grime-streaked motel window. The walls were thin, the bed was lumpy, and the air smelled like stale smoke and something fried a decade ago.

And Johnny Suh hadn’t slept a damn second.

Between Y/N’s tossing, her sighing, and the faint scent of her expensive perfume on the pillow they unfortunately had to share, it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his mind.

Now she sat in the passenger seat of their beat-up sedan, bare legs stretched out, polished toenails resting on the dashboard—disrespecting it in a way that made his military-trained brain twitch.

“Would you relax?” she drawled, leaning back, her tank top rising just enough to flash the tiniest peek of stomach. “It’s not like this car has resale value.”

“I said feet down.”

“Or what?” she smirked. “You’ll spank me?”

His hand visibly tightened on the steering wheel.

Y/N grinned to herself.

She’d noticed it. The subtle flicker in his eyes. The slight freeze every time she let her mouth get a little too filthy. He never acknowledged it, never cracked—but she could feel the tension in him, sharp as a wire pulled taut.

Johnny Suh might’ve been trained in a hundred forms of warfare, but he was not prepared for her brand of bratty flirtation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head. “You’re not thinking dirty thoughts, are you, Sergeant Suh?”

He didn’t blink. “I’m thinking about how easy it would be to leave you on the side of the road.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You’d leave me to die?”

“Not to die. Just to shut up for five minutes.”

“You wish I would shut up.”

“I do. Every second.”

She laughed and turned to look out the window, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She might’ve been kidnapped out of her palace life, stripped of her private chef and ten-step skincare routine, but at least she had one thing going for her:

She made Johnny Suh sweat.

Hours later, they pulled up to another motel. This one even worse than the last—if that was possible.

“Are you sure this is safe?” she sniffed as they walked through the creaking hallway. “I think something just ran under the vending machine.”

Johnny didn’t look back. “Don’t care. It’s remote. No digital trace. And no one would think someone like you would stay here.”

“Oh, you mean someone clean?”

He ignored her. Unlocked the door. Tossed his bag in.

She followed him in slowly, blinking at the one (again, single) bed. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t joke.”

“Not even during sex?”

His eye twitched.

She noticed.

He turned away.

She smiled.

After a long, lukewarm shower (she cursed loudly when she found out there was no hot water), Y/N stepped back into the room in a towel and dropped her dirty clothes in a heap on the bed.

Among them: her lacy red lingerie set, still damp from the steam.

Johnny, seated on the chair cleaning his sidearm, didn’t look up—at first.

But then she dropped her towel.

Right in front of the bathroom door.

And walked to the bed in nothing but the tiniest silk shorts and a paper-thin tank top.

He froze.

Didn’t lift his head.

But she saw the tic in his jaw. The way his fingers stopped on the weapon.

Saw his throat bob as he forced himself to keep looking anywhere but her.

“Oh no,” she said, faux-innocent. “Did I leave that there?”

She bent down casually to scoop the lingerie off the bed, fully aware of how high her shorts rode up as she did.

“I swear this set always makes everyone go quiet,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

He still didn’t respond.

But he wasn’t breathing normally anymore.

“Something wrong, soldier?” she purred.

“Go to bed,” he said, voice tight, strained.

“I am in bed.”

“I mean sleep. Not whatever this is.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it,” she said, stretching, arms above her head, tank top lifting with her. “We’re sharing beds. Sharing air. You must have imagined it at least once.”

His voice was a low growl. “You don’t want to know what I’ve imagined.”

Her breath hitched.

That—that was the first time he cracked. Just a sliver. Just a flash of what was boiling under that rigid control.

He stood up suddenly, tossing his weapon on the table and turning away, his back muscles flexing beneath his shirt. “Put on some goddamn clothes.”

She smirked. “Jealous I’m more armed than you right now?”

His hand clenched into a fist.

“Last warning, Y/N.”

“Or what?” she teased, voice like silk. “You’ll put me over your lap?”

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t have to.

Because the silence that followed was electric.

And she knew then: Johnny Suh might not act on it. Might bury it under rules and orders and cold glares.

But he was thinking it. Every single filthy thing.

And that was almost better than the real thing.

-------------

The motel room was quiet—finally. The dim lamp on the nightstand flickered with every surge in the old wiring, and the only sound came from Johnny’s slow, steady breathing.

He was asleep.

Laid out on his side of the bed, one arm slung across his chest, the other resting near the loaded pistol tucked under his pillow.

Y/N had waited. Waited until his breaths evened out, until she could slip off the bed without making a sound.

She was sick of this.

Sick of the chipped paint, of the no-hot-water showers, of her so-called "protector" acting like she was a prisoner.

She wanted music. A drink. A reminder of her life before this mess.

She changed silently, sliding on a tight black top she’d stuffed deep in her duffel and a pair of dark jeans that hugged her hips. A tiny tube of lip gloss—the only makeup she managed to sneak past Johnny’s military-grade packing inspection—gleamed between her fingers as she twisted off the cap and slicked it across her mouth.

She smacked her lips once in the mirror, then moved to the door, turning the handle slowly.

But just as she pulled, the weight of a large, calloused hand clamped over hers.

She froze.

A deep voice—raspy from sleep and sharp with warning—cut through the dark: “Where do you think you’re going?”

Y/N whipped around to find Johnny towering behind her, still half-draped in the shadows, shirtless and dangerous even with his eyes half-lidded from sleep.

“I—I was just gonna step out,” she lied, yanking her hand back.

His palm stayed pressed to the door, keeping it firmly shut. “Try again.”

She lifted her chin, irritated by how her pulse quickened just looking at him. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business. Your safety is my business. Did you forget what I’m here for?”

“I didn’t ask for you to be here,” she snapped, her voice rising.

He leaned in close, eyes locked on hers, voice like gravel. “No. But your father did. Because people want you dead. And walking into some shady bar in the middle of nowhere with that lip gloss and those jeans? That’s not just stupid—it’s suicide.”

Her brows knit together, heat rushing to her cheeks. “You don’t get to control my life.”

“Actually, I do. Until this mission is over, your life is mine to control. If you hate that, take it up with the people sending death threats.”

She shoved at his chest—not that he moved. “I want a new bodyguard.”

His mouth twisted. “Too bad.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping an octave. “I’m all you’ve got. And whether you like it or not, you’re not stepping outside this room unless I say it’s safe.”

Y/N glared up at him, chest heaving. “You’re a dictator.”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

“Well, you suck at it.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he wasn’t finished.

“Change back into the clothes I gave you. Now.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, eyes dropping briefly to her skin-tight jeans before quickly returning to her face. “Tank top. Shorts. Back in bed. Or I’ll stand here and make sure you do it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He stared. Unflinching. Dead serious.

She stormed past him with a frustrated hiss, grumbling under her breath as she peeled off the outfit and yanked her night clothes back on.

By the time she emerged, he was sitting on the bed, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Happy?” she spat.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at her.

Just nodded toward the bed like she was a misbehaving child and said, “Go to sleep.”

She crawled in, back to him, seething.

And she didn’t say another word.

-------------------

Y/N was up before him.

She got dressed. Pulled her hair up. Didn’t say a thing.

When Johnny finally stirred and stretched with a groggy sigh, he looked over—only to be met with total silence.

No teasing. No sass. Not even a glare.

She ignored him as he moved around the room, didn’t respond when he asked if she was ready to hit the road. Just slipped her sunglasses on and walked past him.

“Y/N,” he called.

Nothing.

“Silent treatment now?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Still nothing.

“You’re mad because I stopped you from getting kidnapped, assaulted, or worse?”

Not even a blink.

Johnny let out a low sigh, muttering to himself as he followed her out of the motel: “Gonna be a long drive.”

The road stretched endlessly ahead of them, baking under the late afternoon sun. Dust kicked up from the tires as Johnny drove in silence, eyes steady on the road, jaw set like concrete.

Beside him, Y/N didn’t say a word.

Not a single complaint about the cheap coffee from the gas station. Not one flirtatious remark or bratty jab. Just silence.

And somehow, that was worse than all the rest.

He let it go for hours.

But the quiet started to gnaw at him.

She wasn’t just some civilian to protect anymore—she had a voice, an attitude, a personality that had wormed its way under his skin, whether he liked it or not.

He missed her noise. Her energy. Her fire.

His grip on the wheel loosened, fingers tapping restlessly against it.

Finally, he exhaled. “Look… I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

Still, nothing.

“I stand by what I said. You leaving would’ve been dangerous. But…” His voice softened. “I could’ve said it differently.”

A pause.

“I just—I need you to understand how serious this is. You matter. And people are out there, trying to hurt you. That’s not a theory. It’s real.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away.

But eventually, she gave a short, bitter laugh. “You think I don’t know that?”

Johnny glanced at her, surprised to hear her voice again.

She turned to look out the window, lips tight. “You think this is new to me? I grew up with guards outside my bathroom. Had evacuation drills instead of playdates. I’ve known danger since I could pronounce the word.”

Johnny stayed quiet.

She went on, voice colder now. “So yeah, I know sneaking out was stupid. But sometimes? I just want to feel normal for five goddamn seconds.”

The guilt hit him like a sucker punch.

He swallowed, returning his eyes to the road. “You’re right.”

“Damn right I am,” she muttered.

But she didn’t stay quiet after that.

By the time they pulled up to the next motel—a faded, neon-lit dump with water-stained walls and broken ice machines—she was back to groaning dramatically.

“Oh my god. I think something just moved under the vending machine.”

Johnny actually chuckled. “You said that at the last place.”

“Well, it’s probably the same roach. He’s just following us now. We’re his parents.”

Johnny didn’t complain.

Because she was talking again.

And he’d take bratty over silent any day.

That night, the motel room was just as grimy as the others. One bed, flickering lamp, dusty ceiling fan spinning in slow, hypnotic circles.

Johnny lay on his side, half-asleep, shirt off, trying not to focus on the soft sound of her breathing beside him.

Until—

“Wanna know why I wanted to sneak out?”

Her whisper cracked the silence like a whip.

His eyes blinked open slowly. He turned his head, raising a brow at her in the dark. “Why?”

She giggled softly. The sheets rustled as she rolled onto her side, facing away from him.

“Because I wanted to get laid.”

Johnny froze.

Her laughter was quiet and wicked as she buried her face in the pillow. “Night, soldier.”

He stared at her back.

Muscles tense. Brain short-circuiting. Every image his imagination had tried to shut down for the past two days came roaring back.

She shifted again, curling up like a cat beneath the thin blanket.

Johnny groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, eyes shut tight.

This girl was going to kill him.

And the worst part? He might let her.

--------------

The next morning, the motel’s shower squealed like it was in pain, and the towels were barely more than rough handkerchiefs, but somehow Johnny still managed to look calm and deadly as ever.

Y/N, on the other hand, pulled on a hoodie (his), sunglasses, and pouted through her yawn. “Tell me there’s at least decent coffee in this hellhole town.”

Johnny glanced up from his phone. “There’s a café a few blocks down. Locals only. Cash only. Looks like they serve real food.”

Her brows lifted. “Like, eggs that weren’t frozen and shipped in a box?”

“Yeah. Try not to act so shocked.”

The café was tiny—two booths, three tables, mismatched chairs, and a chalkboard menu smudged with fingerprints. The kind of place that smelled like syrup, grease, and comfort.

Y/N looked around, skeptical but hungry. She tugged the cap lower over her face as Johnny held the door open.

“Stay close,” he said softly.

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think I’m gonna do, flirt with a lumberjack?”

Johnny grabbed her hand.

She blinked up at him. “Uh—what—”

“If you don’t want anyone thinking bodyguard-client, then we’re a couple. Makes things easier.” He didn’t look at her as he said it. Just steered her toward the back booth, casual but firm.

Her heart stuttered. His fingers were warm, rough, steady.

They slid into the booth. His hand let go slowly. Too slowly. And then he leaned back, eyes scanning the tiny café with practiced calculation.

Y/N opened a menu, even though she wasn’t reading a damn word of it. “You really commit to the bit, huh?”

“It’s not a bit. It’s cover.”

She glanced at their hands. “Yeah. Sure.”

The waitress came and went. Orders placed. Coffee poured. And somewhere between the waffles and the bacon, Y/N started to feel... normal.

It was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of place no one would ever look for the daughter of a diplomat hiding from people who wanted her dead.

Johnny even looked relaxed—barely. His guard never dropped completely, but his shoulders weren’t quite so tight. His mouth, not so grim.

She kind of liked it.

As he got up to pay, she pulled her hoodie tighter and nibbled on her toast, only half-listening as the table beside her giggled.

A woman in her late twenties leaned toward her, smiling conspiratorially.

“Sorry,” the stranger whispered. “But is that your boyfriend?”

Y/N turned, blinking behind her sunglasses. “…Huh?”

“The tall one. Paying at the counter. He’s gorgeous. You’re so lucky.”

Y/N grinned, lip curling in a way Johnny would absolutely roll his eyes at. She leaned in, whispering right back:

“I know, right? He’s all mine.”

The woman squealed, hiding her laugh behind her coffee mug. “God, you two are hot.”

Y/N sat back, pleased, sipping her coffee with a little victorious hum.

Johnny returned a few seconds later, sliding the receipt into his jacket pocket.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly. “Just talking to my admirers.”

He arched a brow.

“I told her you’re mine,” she added, sipping again. “Didn’t want her getting any ideas.”

Johnny paused mid-step.

A slow exhale left him, and he shook his head with a barely-there smile, chuckling under his breath as he slid back into the booth.

She tilted her head. “What?”

He looked down at his coffee, then at her. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” she quipped.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Because out of everyone in the entire world… the one person I can’t be with is the one I’m assigned to protect.”

Her smile faltered just a touch.

But he didn’t give her time to ask what he meant. He grabbed his cup, stood again.

“Let’s go, princess,” he said, back in soldier-mode. “Can’t linger too long in one place.”

Y/N followed.

But she bit her lip the entire walk back.

Because for the first time… she wasn’t sure if pretending was enough anymore.

-------------------

The sky turned gray faster than either of them expected.

It started as a drizzle, tapping against the windshield while Johnny drove in silence, one hand resting on the wheel, the other near his thigh, fingers twitching with tension he wouldn’t name. Y/N had stopped asking where they were going three towns ago. Now she just watched the rain and the trees rushing by, hoodie pulled low over her head, lips silent for once.

Until the drizzle turned into a downpour.

Then into a deluge.

The road ahead blurred beneath sheets of water, the wipers barely keeping up. Johnny cursed under his breath and slowed the car down, squinting to see through the thick curtain of storm.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Road’s flooded.”

He slowed to a crawl and pulled onto a gravel shoulder near a gas station long out of business, just as a flash of lightning cracked the sky.

Rain pounded the roof like bullets.

“Guess we’re stuck,” Y/N said softly.

Johnny exhaled, resting his head briefly against the seat. “Just until it passes.”

It wasn’t long before the chill seeped into the car.

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, teeth subtly chattering despite her efforts to stay composed. The storm outside was brutal, and the heater in the piece-of-shit sedan was practically useless.

Johnny glanced over, brows furrowing.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He stripped off his tactical jacket and held it out to her.

She blinked at it, then at him. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I can handle it. Put it on.”

She didn’t argue. Just slipped her arms through the heavy sleeves and instantly sighed. It was warm, smelled like him—clean soap, leather, something faintly woodsy—and she didn’t bother hiding how good it felt.

A few minutes passed.

She shifted closer.

Then closer.

And then—head resting lightly on his arm, body curled against his side.

Johnny went still.

So still, he might’ve stopped breathing.

“What are you doing?” he asked flatly, eyes fixed on the windshield.

“Body heat,” she said, nonchalant. “Isn’t that what survival experts say?”

He didn’t answer.

She smirked against his shoulder. “Relax, Sergeant. I’m not jumping your bones. I’m freezing. And as my bodyguard, I think it’s in your job description to protect my wellbeing, not just my life.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

She chuckled, still pressed into him. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I got kidnapped.”

He looked down at her, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Debatable.”

Her voice softened after a beat. “Why did you become a soldier?”

Johnny didn’t respond right away.

Rain hammered the roof, thunder rumbling in the distance.

“Grew up with nothing,” he finally said. “Enlisted right out of high school. Needed structure. Purpose. Didn’t think I’d be good at anything else.”

She nodded quietly. “And why’d you take this job?”

His fingers tapped lightly on his thigh, like he was measuring the weight of the answer.

“I don’t usually do private protection. But your father pulled strings. Said you were in real danger. That it needed to be me.” His voice dropped lower. “Didn’t know what I was signing up for.”

She tilted her face up. “Me, you mean?”

His gaze cut sideways, expression unreadable. “Not what I expected.”

She didn’t press. But she noticed—how his throat bobbed, how his jaw tensed like he wanted to ask her something too.

But didn’t.

Instead, she sat up suddenly, peeling off his jacket and handing it back.

“Rain’s stopping.”

He blinked. “What?”

She nodded at the windshield. “See? Lighter now. We can go.”

He took the jacket slowly, eyes still on her face.

She buckled herself in and turned to face forward. “Come on, soldier. Clock’s ticking.”

Johnny started the engine again, gears grinding slightly as the car pulled away from the shoulder.

Neither of them spoke.

But the warmth of her lingered against his arm.

And for the rest of the drive, he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d fit so perfectly there.

The rain was still falling in thick sheets when they pulled into the parking lot of the next motel.

Johnny killed the engine and looked out the windshield. The “reception” building leaned to one side like it had survived a hurricane. One of the windows was boarded up. The neon sign buzzed half-lit, flickering like a dying star. 

They both walked out to take a closer look getting soaked, even though they pulled their hoodies up.

Y/N stared.

Her mouth dropped open.

“No.”

Johnny sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not sleeping there.”

“We don’t have options.”

“It looks like the set of a horror film, Johnny!”

“And yet, it’s perfect,” he said dryly, reaching for the door handle. “Low profile, no cameras, no questions. Exactly what we need right now.”

She made no move to follow him. “I’ll sleep in the car.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Watch me.”

She started walking, boots stomping through puddles. The storm hadn't let up—it was soaking her instantly—but she didn’t stop. She walked back toward the car, muttering angrily under her breath.

Johnny’s jaw tensed. Water dripped off his chin as he followed.

“Y/N.”

She didn’t turn around.

“I said get inside.”

“I said no.”

That was it.

In three long strides, he was behind her.

Before she could react, a warm, wet, solid arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her hands behind her back. She yelped as her body slammed—gently, but firmly—against the side of the car.

The rain soaked her through instantly.

“Johnny—”

He pressed in close, his chest flush to her back, his breath hot at her ear despite the cold rain.

“When I tell you to do something,” he growled, low and guttural, “you do that shit.”

Y/N gasped, breath caught in her throat. His voice was deeper. Commanding. Nothing like the usual tight-lipped, composed protector. His fingers gripped her wrists behind her, not painful, but inescapable.

“I’m not one of your palace servants,” he murmured darkly. “You don’t get to throw a tantrum with me.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as the rain continued to pour, soaking her hair, her clothes. She tried pulling free—but his grip didn’t budge.

She bit her lip hard.

Then tilted her chin, looking up at him over her shoulder.

Big eyes. Wet lashes. Full lips trembling.

“I’m cold,” she whispered.

Johnny’s jaw clenched.

“Not playing games with you tonight.”

“I’m not playing either,” she said, gaze burning into his.

A beat of silence passed between them—thick and pulsing.

Then he released her hands with a tug, grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind him.

She stumbled slightly, breathless, following.

“Johnny—”

He didn’t look back.

He dragged her through the rain and into the ratty motel lobby, the door creaking open under his boot.

The inside smelled like damp carpet and cheap pine cleaner.

The guy at the front desk barely glanced up from his TV.

Johnny didn’t speak until the key hit his palm and the door to their room slammed shut behind them.

Both of them dripping. Soaked to the bone. Breathing hard.

He tossed her a towel.

She caught it with wide eyes, heart still racing, lips parted.

Johnny didn’t look at her. He ran a hand over his wet hair again, stepping past her toward the bathroom.

“Next time,” he said without turning, “do us both a favor and get inside when I tell you to.”

He shut the door behind him.

Y/N stood frozen, towel clutched in her hands, chest heaving.

That tone.

That grip.

That voice.

She was in trouble.

And for the first time on this trip—she liked it.

-----------

The motel room was still and silent, save for the hum of rain against the window and the occasional crackle of faulty electricity in the wall.

Johnny walked out of the bathroom, jaw tight, hair damp, and irritation radiating off him like steam. He tossed his wet shirt onto a chair and flicked off the overhead light before sinking heavily onto the edge of the bed, back to Y/N, clearly still fuming.

Y/N peeked at him from where she was curled on the far side, biting back a grin.

“You need to relax,” she whispered, scooting toward him and slipping under the covers beside his broad back. “You’re way too uptight. Seriously, it can’t be healthy.”

She reached out, fingers brushing his shoulder, teasing gently. “Maybe you should relieve some of that tension—”

Johnny’s hand snapped to her wrist instantly.

She gasped.

He didn’t look at her, but his grip was firm. “Go to sleep.”

And then—suddenly, effortlessly—he manhandled her, flipping her back onto her side of the bed like she weighed nothing. She landed with a shocked little breath, the bed bouncing slightly beneath her.

“What the—Johnny—!”

“Sleep,” he said lowly, voice edged with warning.

But she wasn’t thinking about sleep.

She was thinking about how easy it had been for him to toss her. How strong his hands were. How deep that voice was. How wet she was, throbbing now under the blanket, her thighs clenching with every pulse.

She stared at the ceiling, biting her lip.

Minutes passed.

Too many.

Her body burned.

She needed—something.

Quiet as she could, she shifted. Edged closer to the side of the bed. One foot slipped out from under the sheet. Then the other.

Just as her hand reached for the floor—

Johnny’s fingers wrapped around her wrist again.

Harder this time.

She barely had time to yelp before he yanked her back into the bed with a rough pull that made her squeak. Her back hit the mattress—his body following instantly, covering hers.

His arms braced on either side of her, shadowing her completely, rain still audible in the background but fading under the rush of blood in her ears.

His hand grabbed her jaw, tilting her chin up so their faces were barely an inch apart. His eyes—dark, furious, wild—bored into hers.

“You try that again,” he said, voice like a growl against her lips, “and I swear to God, I’m tying you up.”

She let out the softest moan.

He smirked—only slightly. “And not the way you’re imagining.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Bullshit.”

She arched beneath him without thinking, heat exploding through her core. Her face flushed, shame nowhere to be found. Her breath caught. His thigh slotted between hers and she almost whimpered.

“It’s been obvious since day one, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted. He held her gaze.

Still hovering above her, he reached down, found her hand, and interlaced their fingers. Tight.

“You’re staying in bed,” he commanded. “One more word and I’ll gag you too.”

Y/N’s mouth opened. Closed.

She nodded.

Good girl.

Morning light trickled through the window.

The rain had stopped.

But nothing else had moved.

Y/N blinked slowly awake, soft and warm under the covers. Her cheek rested against Johnny’s arm. Their fingers still entwined tightly between them, like neither had let go all night.

Johnny was awake already.

Staring at the ceiling.

Still hard as a rock.

And still very, very aware of the girl curled against him.

The one he can’t have.

The one who just moaned for him the night before.

Fuck.

----------------

They’d been driving for hours.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the windows fogged slightly, and the car’s heater made everything feel too warm, too close. Y/N had kicked off her shoes, curled her legs up on the seat, and unwrapped a lollipop she bought from a gas station two towns back—because of course she’d pick the most suggestive candy possible.

Johnny was focused on the road. Or at least, pretending to be.

“Hey.”

He didn’t look at her. “What?”

She licked slowly at the candy. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

She giggled. “I’m going to anyway.”

Johnny sighed through his nose, knuckles white on the wheel.

“What made you want to be a bodyguard? You seem…too intense for anything else.”

“I am a bodyguard,” he muttered.

“Mhm.” She watched him closely. “You ever get assigned to someone like me before?”

His jaw flexed. “There’s no one like you.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” Her grin turned sly. “So… when’s the last time you had sex?”

Johnny didn’t blink. Just stared ahead, dead silent.

“I mean, it has to be a while,” she went on. “You’re so tightly wound all the time. I bet you’ve forgotten how to loosen up.”

Nothing.

“What’s your favorite position?” she asked innocently.

Still no response.

“I’m just curious. It says a lot about a man.” She sucked on the lollipop with an exaggerated moan. “Bet you like it rough. But slow. Deep. Controlling.”

The muscle in Johnny’s jaw ticked again. His eyes narrowed on the road.

She was relentless. “You got a type? Or do you just go for whoever’s desperate enough?”

Another pause. Another sly look.

“Or do you fantasize?” she whispered, leaning closer, her voice soft and dangerous. “About me?”

That was it.

Johnny let out a sharp breath and a hollow laugh. It wasn’t amused. It was bitter. Dry. Raw.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel harder. “Trapped in a car with the one girl I absolutely shouldn’t touch—who clearly wants me so fucking bad—and I have to pretend I don’t notice.”

Her smile faltered. Just for a second.

But then it returned, smug and satisfied.

“I do get on your nerves,” she whispered. “I can tell.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t glance her way.

Didn’t give her the satisfaction.

She licked her lips, giggling under her breath as she leaned back, dragging her nails down the inside of her thigh just to make sure he saw it in his peripheral.

Johnny adjusted the rearview mirror.

Said nothing.

But his grip on the wheel tightened.

And his pants? Uncomfortably tight.

The rain had stopped. The border was behind them. And for the first time in what felt like days, Johnny let himself exhale.

The safe house was remote. Quiet. Hidden. Just a single-story cabin tucked behind a thick line of trees, with a working generator, a stocked kitchen, and one single, damn bedroom.

Johnny checked every window, every lock, his movements methodical. His routine. The girl curled up on the couch was safe—for now. They’d made it. All that was left was to wait for the tactical team to extract her.

One more night. Just one. He could handle that.

Johnny headed for the bathroom, peeling his shirt over his head as he walked. The hot water hit his sore muscles, steam fogging up the mirror as he leaned forward, bracing himself on the sink.

It was almost over. She’d be gone by morning. Out of his life. Back to her palace, her security, her world of silk and servants.

So why did that feel like punishment?

He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to push the thoughts away. Focus. Just one more night.

Johnny stepped out, towel slung low on his hips—only to freeze mid-step.

Y/N was on the bed.

Lingerie. Black. Barely there.

Her legs were spread, panties pulled to the side, fingers rubbing slow circles between her thighs. Her back arched off the sheets as she gasped softly, hips rolling into her own touch.

But her eyes—God, her eyes were locked on him.

He didn't speak. Didn't move.

She moaned, her voice trembling. “Johnny…”

He snapped.

In two long strides, he was at the bed, grabbing her ankles and yanking her to the edge.

She gasped, breath catching as her fingers slipped away.

“Please…” she whispered, wide eyes full of heat and something almost like desperation. “Just once. Just one night.”

Johnny’s chest rose and fell, heavy with restraint. His hands dug into her thighs, his jaw tight.

Then—

He gripped her cheeks with one hand, forcing her lips apart.

And he kissed her.

No. He claimed her.

His tongue shoved into her mouth, deep and possessive, swallowing her moan like he’d been starving for it. Her arms flew around his shoulders, her whole body writhing against him as she opened up completely, helpless under the weight of it—under him.

Johnny pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” he growled, pressing his forehead to hers. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? The teasing. The moaning. The little outfits. Every damn look you give me.”

She whimpered, thighs trembling. “So do something about it.”

“Oh, I will.” He grinned, dark and slow, voice a low, feral promise. “But you’re not getting ‘just once.’”

Johnny didn’t give her time to respond. Didn’t give her time to breathe.

He was on her—all over her—mouth crashing into hers again, kissing her so deep her eyes fluttered shut. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, but he pulled back just enough to rip the towel off and toss it aside.

“Open your mouth,” he growled, palm tightening around her cheeks.

Y/N obeyed without thinking—gasping when he spat in her mouth, eyes rolling at the filthy shock of it.

“Swallow.”

She did. Chest rising with a shaky breath, thighs clenching.

Johnny’s hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back as he licked down her neck, biting her shoulder, her collarbone, until she was writhing, already begging.

“You wanna play dirty, sweetheart?” he muttered, dragging his teeth over the swell of her chest before sinking them into her nipple through the lace. “Giggling in the car, touching yourself like a little whore… You wanna know my favorite position?”

He grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach like she weighed nothing, yanking her panties down her thighs.

“I’ll show you.”

Y/N gasped, back arching as his hand came down on her ass, hard and sharp, the smack echoing through the room.

She moaned into the sheets.

“You asked when’s the last time I had sex?” Johnny’s voice was a dark rasp as he leaned over her, one hand pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her pinned. “Before I was assigned to you. But even then… it never felt like this.”

He shoved two fingers into her mouth from behind. “Suck.”

She moaned around them, desperate, shameless, her hips moving on their own.

He pulled his fingers free and slid them between her folds, groaning low at how wet she was.

“Fuck—you wanted this.”

She whined, nodding frantically, pressing back against his hand.

Johnny moved fast after that. Lining himself up. Dragging the thick head of his cock between her folds, slow just to tease her.

And then—one rough thrust—he buried himself so deep she saw stars.

Y/N screamed into the pillow, overwhelmed, body jerking under him. He didn’t stop. He slammed into her again, and again, one hand fisted in her hair, the other grabbing her wrists and holding them behind her back as he fucked her like he’d been holding back for a lifetime.

“You wanted to know my fantasies?” he growled against her ear. “They all end with you like this—spread out, dripping, begging me to ruin you.”

“Johnny—fuck—”

He let go of her wrists only to haul her up against his chest, hand closing around her jaw to turn her head toward him.

“Look at me.” His cock drove into her from behind, relentless, as he kissed her like he owned her—like she belonged to him. “You look so pretty when you cry for it.”

Y/N whimpered, legs shaking, so full she couldn’t take it. Her climax started to build—intense, dizzying.

“Tell me who’s making you feel like this.”

“You—fuck—it’s you—Johnny—”

“Damn right it is.” He slammed into her deeper. “Give it to me. Now.”

And she did. Screaming his name, convulsing around him as he fucked her through it, chasing his own high like a man possessed.

Y/N was trembling.

Every nerve in her body lit up, fried, fucked into total submission—yet somehow, that wasn’t enough for Johnny.

Because as soon as her high started to fade, he was flipping her onto her back again, pushing her thighs wide open with his hands, his eyes wild with hunger.

“Johnny—wait—” she panted, “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was dark and certain, and the way he stared at her soaked, wrecked cunt made her pulse throb all over again. “You’re gonna come for me again. On my tongue this time.”

She gasped when he lowered himself, spreading her folds open with his thumbs and diving in ruthlessly.

It was filthy—messy and desperate and loud. He moaned into her like she was his first meal in weeks, tongue swirling, lips sucking hard on her clit, fingers gripping her thighs so tightly she couldn’t even twitch.

“Johnny—oh my god—”

Her back arched violently as the wave slammed into her again—this time even stronger, unbearable, her body convulsing as she came, sobbing out his name.

She was still twitching when he crawled up her body, face wet with her arousal, eyes locked on hers.

He cupped her jaw, leaned in close, and whispered, “What do you say?”

Y/N blinked up at him, tears brimming, voice wrecked and ruined.

“...Thank you.”

His eyes fluttered shut for a second like that broke something in him.

He shoved his thumb between her lips—deep—watching her moan around it, sucking like she was starved for him.

“Fuck,” he growled. “I’m never getting over this. I’m never getting over you.”

Her thighs were still shaking but her hands were already sliding over his stomach, up to his chest, touching the body she’d dreamed about ever since he showed up—tight, hard, carved from discipline and control, now finally hers.

“Johnny…” she whispered, eyes pleading as she pulled him in.

He took his thumb out and kissed her—hard, open-mouthed, tongues sliding together, moaning into each other like they needed this to survive. She felt his body over hers, the heat, the strength, the way he groaned when she dragged her nails down his back.

“You still want more?” he murmured, cock twitching between them, already hard again.

She nodded without hesitation. “Yes. As much as you’ll give me.”

And God help him, he’d give her everything.

He didn’t give her time to catch her breath.

One moment they were kissing like they’d never stop—the next, Johnny hauled her up into his arms, hands locked beneath her thighs as he carried her to the nearest wall and slammed her back against it.

Y/N gasped, head dropping as her body jolted from the impact—but she barely had time to adjust before he was lining himself up and thrusting deep into her.

“Oh—fuck—Johnny—!”

Her head fell back, eyes rolling up as her legs locked around him. He was massive—thick, hard, so deep she could feel him in her stomach, splitting her open in the best possible way.

“Yeah?” he grunted in her ear, grinding deeper. “You wanted this dick so bad, didn’t you? Been teasing me for days.”

She moaned helplessly, nails digging into his back. “Y-yes, yes—”

“I know you did,” he growled, lips against her neck now, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises. “You think I didn’t notice? The little looks? The questions in the car? You wanted me to snap.”

Y/N whimpered, overwhelmed. She bit down on his bicep, tears leaking out the corners of her eyes from how good it felt—how hard he was slamming into her, how perfectly he stretched her, filling every inch like he was made for her.

Johnny grinned through the pain. “That’s right, baby. Cry for it. Fuckin’ take it.”

And then he took it even further.

Without pulling out, he gripped her hips and lifted her off the wall like she weighed nothing—just raw strength, muscles flexing, bouncing her up and down on his cock.

Y/N screamed, arms around his neck, head buried in his shoulder as her orgasm slammed into her—immediate, overwhelming, her entire body going taut as she shattered around him.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so tight—gonna cum—” Johnny cursed, thrusts erratic now, holding her so close it felt like they were fused together—

He groaned loud into her neck, hips stuttering as he spilled into her, both of them trembling, sweating, wrecked.

He finally carried her back to the bed, collapsing with her still in his arms. They were quiet for a moment, catching their breath, his hand stroking her hair while hers traced his chest.

Then he leaned in, kissed her—deep, filthy, consuming.

And even after everything, she still moaned softly against his lips, already aching for more.

The bathroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the overhead light and the occasional flicker of lightning outside. Steam curled off the water, warm and soothing, as Y/N settled with her back pressed to Johnny’s chest in the tub, his long legs framing her body.

His arms rested along the edge, tense but unmoving, fingers barely twitching as their wet, linked hands rested on her thighs. She leaned back into him, sighing, water lapping gently around them. Her lips brushed his jawline, soft and slow.

“You’re tense again,” she murmured, kissing just under his ear.

“I wonder why,” he replied, voice low and gravelly, almost amused—but his body didn’t lie. His chest rose faster with each breath. He was trying to be good. Still trying to fight it.

Y/N turned in the water slowly, straddling him. Johnny’s jaw clenched the second she moved, but his arms didn’t stop her. She eased herself into his lap, hands finding his shoulders as she sank down onto him with a gasp—slow, so slow, the water rippling around them.

Johnny let out a strangled groan, head falling back against the tub, his arms still stretched out like he was hanging on to control by a thread.

Her arms slid around his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and she kissed him—deeply, tenderly, cupping his face like she meant to memorize him.

His hands twitched.

Then finally, they rose.

They found her hips.

Gripped them.

And held her down.

“Stay right there,” he rasped, voice thick and broken, cock buried so deep inside her it felt endless. “Don’t bounce. Don’t move. Just stay.”

Y/N whimpered against his lips, body trembling from how full she felt, his cock twitching inside her, stretching her in the most perfect way. She tilted her hips slightly, grinding slowly in circles—and he cursed, head snapping forward as he grabbed her tighter, fingers digging into her skin.

“Fuck. You have no idea what you do to me,” he groaned, forehead falling to hers.

Y/N smiled, soft and sinful. “I do,” she whispered. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I saw you. That first day. In that hot uniform. You looked like a fucking fantasy.”

Johnny growled low in his throat, hands suddenly dragging her impossibly close, like he wanted to merge with her, like he couldn’t get deep enough.

They kissed again, messy, desperate.

And as Y/N rolled her hips once more, slow and needy, the water sloshing quietly around them, they both shuddered—reaching that last, slow, aching peak together.

She trembled as she came, lips open against his. Johnny groaned into her mouth, cock pulsing deep inside her, breath shuddering.

Neither of them spoke. They just held each other in the silence, water cooling around them, their bodies still joined, unwilling to let go.

------------------

The early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft golden lines across the tangled sheets and bare skin. Y/N stirred first, buried in warmth, breath fogging lightly against the firm chest she was pressed against.

Johnny’s arm tightened around her instinctively, his other hand brushing down her spine, slow and absent, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the world back in.

She blinked up at him sleepily, eyes heavy but soft. He was already awake, looking at her like she was something he’d never get used to.

They didn’t speak at first—just exchanged sleepy smiles, lips brushing, deepening into slow, lazy kisses. Their bodies stayed wrapped together, tangled under the covers, Y/N’s fingers playing at the back of his neck as he kissed her like he couldn’t stop.

Eventually, Johnny sighed, pressing his forehead to hers. “We have to get ready,” he murmured, reluctant.

“Already?”

He nodded, tracing her jaw with his thumb. “I’m leading the team that takes you home. We move in an hour.”

Y/N swallowed hard, heart sinking at the reality settling in. She nodded, brushing her nose against his. “Okay.”

The trip back went smoothly—until it didn’t.

They were moving through a checkpoint, just a few minutes from crossing into familiar territory when the convoy came to a sudden halt. Radios crackled. Voices turned urgent. Something wasn’t right.

“False alarm until confirmed,” someone barked. “Eyes sharp.”

In an instant, Johnny was moving.

He didn’t speak—just grabbed Y/N and pulled her into the nearest shelter, pressing her against the wall of the armored vehicle. His body blanketed hers, solid and tense. One strong hand cradled the back of her head, the other covering her mouth gently, urging silence.

His chest heaved against hers, heart pounding in sync. She could feel the gun holstered at his thigh, the tension in every muscle. Her fear bubbled in her throat, but she nodded, staying still beneath him, trusting him completely.

The all-clear came five minutes later.

False alarm.

The breath Johnny let out was shaky. He looked down at her, searching her face.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded again, her eyes wide and vulnerable.

He brushed his fingers down her cheek… and dropped the tiniest, softest kiss onto her lips. Not hungry. Not desperate. Just grounding.

Comfort.

“I got you,” he said, fingers curling around hers. “Almost there.”

When they reached her home country, the weight lifted slightly.

The convoy pulled up to the grand gates of her estate, the towering walls and polished brass crest a stark contrast to the past few weeks of tension and survival.

Johnny stepped out first, no longer in plain clothes. He was back in full uniform—clean, crisp, professional. The covert mission was over. His posture was rigid again, jaw set, aviators hiding his eyes as he scanned the perimeter.

“Package is secure,” one of the tactical team members called into his comms.

Y/N stood silently behind him, staring at the ornate doors of her childhood home. Familiar staff rushed forward, her usual security reassembled like nothing had ever happened. Like she hadn’t just survived weeks in hiding. Like her entire world hadn’t shifted.

The team began to disperse.

But Johnny didn’t move.

He lingered just a step behind, still watching her.

Once the last vehicle drove away, once it was only them standing in the silence of the driveway, Y/N turned.

And then she ran.

She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. He caught her immediately, hands splaying across her back, instinctual, like breathing. She cupped his face, tilting it toward her, and kissed him like she couldn’t bear to waste another second.

He didn’t hesitate. He kissed her back hard, one hand tangling in her hair, the other curling around her waist, pulling her against him like he couldn’t believe he had to let go.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, she whispered against his lips, “Thank you for keeping me safe.”

He kissed her again, softer now, his voice gravelly as he said, “You never have to thank me for that.”

She looked up at him, eyes swimming with something fragile and heavy. “What happens now?”

Johnny exhaled, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “My mission’s over. I’ll get re-assigned—new task, new team.”

Her heart clenched. She kissed him again, desperate, fingers fisting the collar of his uniform.

But this time, Johnny was the one who pulled back.

“I have to go,” he murmured, regret etched deep into every word.

Y/N’s voice cracked. “Do you… do you regret what we did?”

Johnny looked at her then. Really looked at her. His eyes, finally exposed, were unreadable at first—but they softened when they landed on her lips, her flushed cheeks, the way her hand was still clutching his chest like it hurt to let him go.

“I’ve got a lot of regrets,” he said quietly. “But last night? Wasn’t one of them.”

She blinked fast, holding back tears, lips trembling.

Neither moved.

Then Johnny leaned in again, brushing a final kiss to her forehead—tender, reverent, final.

And then he stepped away.

Back straight. Shoulders squared. The soldier again.

And Y/N just stood there in the doorway, heart pounding like gunfire, whispering after him even though he was already gone—

“Me neither.”

------------------

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[jikookncity]

Spider-Mark x Reader (fluff/smut)

friends to lovers

full credit to owner of the pic! Warnings: sex, vague mentions of violence, bruises, quick mentions of blood and wounds

-------------

The college campus cafeteria was chaos as usual—shoulder-to-shoulder students, trays clattering, the scent of reheated food and sweat hanging thick in the air. Mark sat across from Y/N at their usual table near the windows, one leg bouncing under the table, eyes half-lidded as he stabbed at a slice of pizza.

Y/N was talking about something—he wasn’t really listening, not when her lips moved like that, not when the way she sipped her drink made his fingers twitch with restraint. She laughed at her own joke, and Mark caught the sound like a punch to the ribs, something he wanted to feel again and again.

Then it happened.

A soccer player—some sophomore with more energy than coordination—tripped over a backpack near their table. His tray launched into the air, food tumbling in slow motion toward Y/N.

Before anyone could react, Mark moved.

His hand shot out, hitting the tray in a clean, sharp slap. It veered sideways, the contents smearing across the wall rather than all over her hair and hoodie.

The whole table froze. Y/N stared at the wall, then slowly looked back at Mark.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “How did you do that?”

Mark blinked, swallowing hard. “Uh. Reflexes?”

She stared at him for a second longer, then gave a small laugh and smiled—really smiled—like he’d just flown her out of a burning building. “Thanks for saving me from instant death by cafeteria slop.”

He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh. No problem.”

That’s when Haechan appeared, dropping into the seat beside Mark with a heavy sigh and a knowing glare.

“Dude,” he said.

Mark avoided eye contact.

“Dude,” Haechan repeated, voice dropping.

Mark leaned closer. “Don’t.”

“You punched a tray mid-air. Are you trying to get exposed?”

“She almost got hit in the face with lasagna. I wasn’t just gonna watch.”

“You could’ve knocked it into her. Played it off. Look clumsy, not like a ninja robot. You’re gonna get caught.”

Mark muttered under his breath, “You’re overthinking.”

Haechan gave him a look, then leaned in more. “I’m literally the only one who knows you’re Spider-Man. So maybe I should overthink it.”

Mark clenched his jaw and gave a tiny nod. “Fine. I’ll… trip or something tomorrow.”

“Good boy,” Haechan muttered, biting into a fry with satisfaction.

Y/N watched the interaction from her side of the table, curious. She’d noticed the way Mark moved—how fast, how precise—but more than that, the way he looked at her afterward, like he was genuinely afraid for her, like he would’ve caught the tray with his face if he had to.

And maybe she was imagining things, but… it looked like his hand was shaking a little.

“You okay?” she asked, soft and teasing.

Mark turned to her again. Their eyes met. The noise of the cafeteria faded into static.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling softly. “Just glad you’re not covered in marinara.”

Y/N laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming under his gaze. “Guess I owe you lunch next time.”

Mark shrugged, but his eyes flicked to her lips before he could stop them. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Haechan groaned and slid out of the seat with his tray. “Jesus Christ. Just date already.”

Mark pretended not to hear him, even as Y/N blushed and focused hard on her sandwich. Neither of them said anything, but something hung between them—heavy, slow-burning.

Neither of them knew the other was already half in love.

Neither of them knew how much longer they could pretend to be just friends.

---------------

The text came in while Mark was crouched on the edge of a rooftop in SoHo, panting through his mask, heart hammering in his chest after disarming a group of muggers. His phone buzzed inside his suit.

Y/N: hey, wanna hang? i just finished studying, i could use a break

Mark exhaled through his nose. God, of course she’d text now. She was probably curled up in her tiny dorm room two blocks from his, hoodie sleeves pushed over her hands, soft voice, softer eyes.

He wanted to go. He always wanted to go.

Instead, he wiped a smear of blood from his lip and sent back:

Mark: can’t tonight :( homework mountain

A lie. One he’d gotten good at telling.

10 minutes later

Y/N zipped up her jacket, stuffing her phone in her pocket as she exited the NYU library. The streets were mostly empty—just a few students and night-shift delivery workers riding past on electric bikes. She took her usual shortcut home, cutting through the back streets by the scaffolding-covered construction zone.

The alley echoed with quiet footsteps and the hum of machinery left idle overnight.

Then, above her—a blur.

Metal groaned.

She looked up, and her breath caught.

A red-and-blue figure shot across the sky, backlit by the moonlight, webbing trailing from his wrist as he swung from a crane with inhuman grace. Spider-Man.

She barely had time to process it when a crack rang out—followed by the screech of shifting metal.

A chunk of debris broke loose from the scaffolding overhead.

Y/N stumbled back, eyes widening as it plummeted toward her.

And then—

Arms wrapped around her. A chest against her back. She was airborne.

The world turned into wind and sky and the rush of adrenaline. She was clinging to Spider-Man’s suit—her fingers fisting red fabric, body pressed against his as he swung them out of the alley and onto the rooftop of a brownstone across the street.

He landed on one knee, holding her close, then straightened.

She didn’t open her eyes.

“…Hey,” he said, voice warm and careful. “You okay?”

She let out a breath, eyes still squeezed shut. “Yeah. Just—heights, not really my thing.”

He chuckled softly. “Fair. You’re good now. Debris didn’t touch you.”

Y/N slowly opened her eyes. She was still pressed against him, still gripping the suit like her life depended on it.

Now that she was looking at him—actually looking—he wasn’t just some vague blur across the sky. His mask was unmistakable, but under it, she could tell… he was young. Her age, maybe a little older. Lean. Broad-shouldered.

And flustered.

“Um…” She loosened her grip. “Can you maybe put me down now?”

“Right.” He stepped back, carefully lowering her to the rooftop, and then shot a web that brought them gently down to street level in a matter of seconds.

The walk to her building was quiet at first. They strolled side by side, the city lights washing the sidewalks in a warm yellow glow.

“You, uh… do this often?” she asked, glancing over at him.

“Rescue girls from scaffolding death traps?” He grinned under the mask. “Only the pretty ones.”

She snorted. “Wow. Spidey’s got lines.”

“Not good ones,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. That was dumb.”

“No,” she laughed, brushing hair behind her ear. “It was kind of charming. You seem… around my age?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. College, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” She looked him up and down. “You single?”

He stumbled over his own feet.

“I—uh—I mean, I—” He cleared his throat, hands suddenly very busy adjusting the straps on his wrists. “I should probably get going.”

Y/N smiled, amused by his panic, her heart fluttering. “It was a joke.”

“I know. Totally. Yep. Funny joke.”

She stopped outside her building, tilting her head at him. “Thanks again. For saving me.”

His voice was softer now. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

They looked at each other for a long second.

Then he nodded and stepped back. “Goodnight.”

And with a fwip, he was gone—swinging into the sky, disappearing between the buildings like a ghost with a secret.

Y/N stood frozen on the steps for a moment, fingers curled around her keys, heart pounding in her chest.

---------------------

Y/N didn’t say a word to anyone.

Not about the scaffolding, the swing through the air, or the way Spider-Man’s chest had felt against hers. She kept it tucked close—like a secret pressed to her ribs, warm and intimate. A moment just for her.

She met Mark at their usual spot on campus, a tucked-away corner of an old brick café with velvet couches, low lights, and the smell of espresso soaked into every inch of the walls. They both had exams coming up, though the books between them remained mostly untouched.

Mark was already waiting on the couch, his laptop open in his lap, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He glanced up when she walked in.

“Hey,” he greeted with a small smile. “You look… happy today.”

Y/N sat down beside him, curling her legs underneath her. “Do I?”

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a little longer than usual. “Glowing, even.”

She laughed softly. “Well… I had an eventful walk home last night.”

Mark stiffened. “Eventful?”

She shrugged, nonchalant. “Nothing crazy. Just… one of those nights.”

She didn’t say more, and he didn’t press, but something flickered behind his eyes—like he was holding his breath.

They settled into studying, sort of. Pages turned. Highlighters squeaked. But they were sitting too close on the plush couch, knees brushing. At some point, they shifted to face each other. Y/N’s textbook sat ignored on the armrest while she tucked her legs up, her elbow brushing against his.

Their eyes kept meeting. Glances that lasted a beat too long. Fingers twitching as if tempted to touch. Every time Mark smiled, she felt it in her chest. Every time she leaned closer, he felt it in his spine.

He closed his laptop, clearly no longer pretending to study, and turned toward her fully.

“Y/N,” he said, voice lower than before.

She looked up, lips parting slightly. He was close—so close his breath warmed her cheek.

“I—” He hesitated, searching her face like he was reading a page he’d memorized a hundred times but still didn’t understand. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

BOOM.

A loud crash echoed in the distance—about two miles away, maybe closer. The kind of sound that made every bone tense.

Mark sighed, eyes closing for a moment. “So close.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, already standing up. “Just… I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

Y/N frowned as he hurried off, disappearing toward the back of the café. Her heart sank a little, the mood shattering into smoke.

Ten minutes passed.

When Mark returned, he looked… different.

His hair was tousled like he’d run through a wind tunnel. His chest rose and fell too fast. He looked pale under the café lights, one hand gripping the table a little too tightly before he sank back onto the couch beside her.

“You okay?” she asked, eyeing him carefully.

He nodded too fast. “Yep. Just… the bathroom’s way further than I thought.”

She tilted her head, unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

His voice cracked slightly.

Y/N gave a soft laugh, then—before thinking—reached up and combed her fingers through his messy hair, trying to smooth it back into place.

“You should rest,” she murmured, eyes focused on the strands between her fingers. “You look exhausted.”

Mark froze under her touch, eyes wide.

Realizing what she was doing, Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she snatched her hand back like she’d been burned. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head quickly. “It’s okay. You can. I didn’t mind.”

Silence bloomed again, thicker this time. More dangerous.

But neither of them moved away.

And somewhere in the back of Y/N’s mind, a thought whispered louder than the rest:

The timing. The bruises. The way he looked at her like he already knew what she wasn’t saying.

Could it be?

No. It couldn’t.

Right?

------------------

Mark insisted on walking her home. He always did when it was late, and she never fought him on it—especially not now. The city was buzzing as usual, cars honking, sirens faint in the distance, but with him beside her, everything felt quieter. Safer.

They reached the cracked sidewalk in front of her building, the steps leading up uneven and worn.

Y/N misjudged the second stair—her foot caught the edge, ankle twisting just slightly, body lurching forward.

But she didn’t fall.

Mark’s hands were already on her, steadying her before she could even blink. One arm wrapped tight around her waist, the other bracing her shoulder, pulling her flush against his chest like she weighed nothing.

Her hands gripped his arms instinctively—hard biceps under soft fabric, the heat of him burning through the layers. One hand slid up, fingers curling into his shoulder for balance.

They stayed like that.

Close. Too close.

Y/N could feel his breath on her face, see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. His jaw was tense, lips parted just slightly like he was about to speak but couldn’t.

Neither of them moved.

For a second, it felt like gravity had shifted—like he was the center of it now, and she’d be stupid to let go.

Then Mark blinked, startled like he’d just remembered where they were. “S-sorry—are you okay?”

Y/N didn’t move back, not just yet. “No, don’t apologize. Thanks for… saving me. Again.”

Something flickered behind Mark’s eyes—uncertainty.

Again?

His hands slipped from her waist as he stepped back, just barely. “Again?”

She smiled lightly, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “Yeah. The cafeteria. You know, reflexes-of-steel moment?”

Relief passed over his face like a breeze. “Right. Yeah. That.”

“Honestly,” she teased, shooting him a glance as she climbed the last stair, “you’ve got great timing. You should consider a side gig in hero work.”

Mark let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that in mind.”

She turned toward her door, pausing with her hand on the knob.

Mark stayed on the sidewalk, looking up at her with that same unreadable softness he always had around her. The kind that made her knees a little weak if she looked at it too long.

“Goodnight, Mark.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

She lingered at the door a beat longer than necessary, then stepped inside.

Upstairs, in the quiet of her apartment, she dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto her bed with a soft groan. But her heart wasn’t tired.

It was racing.

Her mind flashed back to Spider-Man—his arms around her, the warmth of his chest, the way he held her so protectively as they flew across the city.

Then it flashed to Mark.

Same warmth. Same strength.

Same… everything.

Her brows furrowed.

She shook her head, rolling onto her back and covering her face with a groan. Stop. You're overthinking. No way.

But even as she tried to push it aside, the thought echoed louder now:

Holding Mark… felt exactly like holding Spider-Man.

And her heart wouldn't let her forget it.

-----------------

The air was crisp, city lights flickering below like a galaxy flipped upside down. Y/N leaned against the cool brick ledge of a rooftop she had no business being on—except for the fact that he always seemed to find her.

Spider-Man landed with a soft thud behind her, the wind from his swing rustling her jacket.

“You come up here often?” he teased gently, walking toward her.

She smiled, not turning to face him yet. “Only when I want to talk to someone who knows what it feels like to be… alone in a crowd.”

There was a pause. Then a softer, “You okay?”

She turned then, fully facing him now, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Spider-Man sat beside her on the ledge, one knee drawn up, looking out at the skyline. The silence between them was easy, familiar.

Y/N glanced at him sideways, heartbeat steady but deliberate.

“So,” she said casually, “what’s your favorite study spot on campus?”

He tilted his head. “Huh?”

“You go to college, right?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Favorite spot then.”

There was a beat. “Uh… that café across from the student union. The one with the ugly green couch?”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Interesting.”

“What?”

She shook her head, biting her smile. “Nothing. You just remind me of someone I know.”

Mark’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he kept his posture still, trying to play it off. “Hopefully in a good way?”

“The best way,” she murmured, then looked down at her hands.

There was a pause, heavy and quiet. Then—

“Can I ask you something?”

He turned his masked face toward her. “Of course.”

“I…” she started, then huffed out a nervous laugh. “Okay, this is stupid, but—I have a huge crush on my friend.”

Mark blinked behind the mask.

“Oh,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “That’s… not stupid.”

“He’s… amazing. Kind. Sweet. Stupidly brave. He’s the best guy I know, and I’m terrified of screwing it up if I tell him.”

Mark’s stomach twisted.

He swallowed. “Well… I think whoever he is, he’d be lucky. You’re… incredible.”

She looked up at him then, and in the way her eyes shimmered in the city light, something unspoken passed between them. Her voice softened.

“Do you ever get lonely? Being Spider-Man?”

Mark stilled.

No one had ever asked that. Not like that. Not with a voice so gentle, so human. He wasn’t sure what to say at first.

“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But it’s worth it. If I can keep people safe—even just one person—it’s worth it.”

Y/N stepped closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her body through the suit. She reached up, hands hesitating near his jaw, then slowly cupped his masked face, thumbs brushing gently over the fabric.

He almost leaned into her touch without thinking.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

He nodded once, unable to speak. His throat felt tight.

For a second, he wondered—Could she know?

But then she dropped her hands, took a small step back, and offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I should go.”

He cleared his throat, finding his voice. “Yeah. Me too.”

She hesitated one last second. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“I’ll always be around,” he said softly.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he was gone—swinging off into the night sky.

Y/N stood alone on the rooftop, heart pounding.

The way he touched her waist.

The café comment.

The voice—kind and uncertain.

It’s him. It has to be.

But if she was wrong…

She bit her lip, heart torn in two directions—toward the man she might already love, and the mask hiding his face.

------------

The city hummed in the distance, golden lights stretching across the skyline like a heartbeat. Cars whispered across the bridge below them, and the East River reflected the stars above like ink kissed with silver.

Mark and Y/N stood at the edge of the pedestrian walkway, the iron rail pressed to their thighs, wind tugging at their jackets. He’d planned the night carefully: late dinner, a walk through DUMBO, and now this—his favorite hidden spot just off the main path where hardly anyone came after dark.

They stood close. Shoulders touching. Neither said anything for a long moment.

Mark glanced down, chewing the inside of his cheek. Now or never.

He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against hers.

Y/N stiffened—then relaxed.

He hesitated again, heart racing so loud he was sure she could hear it, then slowly slid his fingers between hers, gently lacing them together.

Y/N let out the tiniest breath and looked away, biting back a smile.

They both blushed like they were sixteen.

Mark stared out at the water, jaw tense, battling something behind his eyes.

Y/N tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”

His thumb rubbed over her knuckle once, then stopped. He sighed.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, voice low, and turned to her fully.

She blinked, startled by the intensity in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice rough, honest, shaking just a little.

Y/N gasped—not from surprise but from the thrill of hearing him say it. Then slowly, as if pulled by a string, she nodded and began to lean in.

Mark met her halfway.

Their lips brushed once, a feather-light graze that sent both of them shivering. Then again—firmer this time, mouths fitting together like they’d done it a thousand times in dreams.

And then—more.

Y/N’s hands curled around his neck, fingers tangling in his soft hair, tugging just enough to make him groan quietly against her lips. Mark’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him like he couldn’t bear to let go.

They kissed slowly, learning each other in that breathless, tentative way—like a secret passed between lips, tasting, tugging, pausing just enough to draw out the tension before diving in again.

The river, the cars, the whole city disappeared.

There was only her.

Only him.

Only this.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the night air. Y/N’s lips were kiss-swollen, eyes glazed. Mark looked completely dazed, like she’d knocked the sense right out of him.

“…Wow,” he breathed.

Y/N giggled, still catching her breath. “Yeah… wow.”

They stayed like that a moment longer, smiling, arms still wrapped around each other.

And even though neither of them said it out loud yet, in that moment, it was painfully, blindingly obvious:

They were already gone for each other.

-------------------

Mark burst into the dorm, practically glowing. He didn’t bother turning on the lights—just stumbled in, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed backward onto his bed with a deep, content sigh.

Haechan sat up from his own bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and squinting at him. “Did you get hit by a truck or are you just radiating happiness right now?”

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands covering his face. “I kissed her.”

“What?”

“I kissed her,” Mark said louder, peeling his hands away and grinning at the ceiling. “And she kissed me back.”

Haechan blinked, slowly sitting up straighter. “No way. No way. You actually did it? You finally stopped pining like a Victorian widow and did something about it?”

Mark nodded like a drunk man in love. “On the Brooklyn Bridge. We held hands. Talked. Then I asked. And she said yes. And we just… kissed. Like—really kissed.”

Haechan snorted, flopping back into his pillow. “God, you’re disgusting.”

Mark laughed again, rolling onto his side, still smiling like a fool. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can. Took you long enough.”

Mark grabbed a pillow and lightly chucked it across the room. It hit Haechan in the face.

“But,” Haechan continued, serious now, “you’ve gotta be careful.”

Mark’s smile faded slightly. “Why?”

“She’s smart, dude. Like… smart. And she notices things. I’ve seen her face when something doesn’t add up.”

Mark stayed quiet.

“I’m just saying,” Haechan added, sitting up again, voice softer now. “You’ve been lucky. But if she finds out without you telling her? That’ll hurt more than a villain with a rocket launcher.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, his buzz still lingering—but weighed down now with reality. “I’ve been thinking about telling her.”

Haechan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to lie to her,” Mark said quietly. “Not anymore. I want her to know the real me. I want to tell her everything.”

Haechan exhaled slowly. “Then you have to be ready for what that means. Because once you do, it’s not just your secret anymore—it’s hers. And she has to carry it too. Every time you don’t text back right away, every time the news says Spider-Man got hurt… she’ll know. And it won’t be easy for her.”

Mark stared at the ceiling again, chest tightening.

He knew Haechan was right.

Telling her would be like giving her the key to a room that could only hold fear, uncertainty, and danger. But not telling her… when things were finally becoming real between them… that didn’t sit right either.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, voice small.

Haechan tossed the pillow back to his bed. “Well… when you do know, I think she’ll listen. She’s already in deep with you, man. I can tell. Just don’t screw it up.”

Mark lay there in silence, thinking of her smile, the way her fingers tugged his hair, the softness of her lips, and how she’d held him like she knew him—like she already suspected something.

He didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because he was afraid of being Spider-Man.

But because for the first time… he was afraid of what it might cost him.

----------------

The study date was meant to be just that—notes, coffee, some quiet time in the library. But somewhere between teasing touches and the way Mark looked at her over the top of his textbook, everything shifted. And now here they were—laughing in whispers as they reached her front door, the sky outside dipped in navy and starlight.

Y/N hesitated with the key in the lock, biting her lip before glancing over at him.

“Do you… wanna come in? Just for a bit?”

Mark’s breath caught. He nodded.

She smiled and opened the door.

Inside, things moved slowly at first. They dropped their bags by the couch, kicked off their shoes. They sat on the edge of her bed, close, too aware of how quiet the room was. How private.

Y/N turned toward him, fingers brushing his knee. “You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to.”

Mark shook his head. “I want to.”

Her eyes searched his. A pause.

Then she leaned in.

And when their lips met again, it was hotter than before. Less hesitant.

She pushed gently on his shoulder, and he let himself be lowered with her, their bodies sliding onto the bed. Mark braced himself above her, kissing her slow and deep, his hand cradling the back of her neck. Her fingers tugged at the hem of his hoodie, sliding beneath it, palms gliding over the firm skin of his back.

“Can I—?” she asked softly, fingers curling around the hoodie.

Mark nodded, chest rising and falling hard, letting her pull it off. Her hands spread over his chest, fingertips skating over the warmth of his skin.

But then—

The tingle.

It shot through his spine like electricity.

His senses lit up all at once.

Something was happening.

Mark’s whole body froze.

Y/N blinked up at him. “Mark?”

He sat up too fast, chest heaving, eyes darting to the window.

“Shit,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair. He started pulling the hoodie back on with shaky hands.

“Wait—what’s wrong?” Y/N sat up, voice small. “Did I—did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, God, no,” he said quickly, reaching out and cupping her face. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I forgot I was supposed to do something. Something important.”

Her brows drew together, eyes scanning his like she was trying to read between the lines. She saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his body wanted to stay even while his mind was already gone.

“…You don’t want to go,” she said quietly.

Mark pulled back, blinking fast, his throat tight. “No. I really don’t.”

Y/N leaned forward, brushing her lips to his in a soft kiss, hands on his shoulders. “Then go do what you need to do,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I get it.”

He stared at her for a beat too long, eyes filled with something aching and unspoken. Then he kissed her again—firmer, deeper—like a thank you and an apology wrapped into one.

“Thank you,” he said softly, forehead pressed to hers.

Then he was gone—out the door, down the stairs, and disappearing into the night.

Y/N sat on the bed alone, heart still racing, fingertips still tingling from where they’d touched his skin.

She didn’t know what he was running off to do.

But she knew one thing for sure now:

Whatever it was, it mattered.

And maybe… it had everything to do with why Mark always seemed to disappear right when Spider-Man showed up.

---------------

There was a knock at the door. Not loud. Just one soft set of three taps.

Y/N, still in her pajamas, blinked at the clock. Almost midnight.

She opened the door cautiously—then gasped.

“Mark.”

He stood there, hoodie torn, blood drying at the edge of his lip, dirt streaking his jaw. His eyes were dazed, like he’d walked miles to get there. His knuckles were scraped raw. And under the dim hallway light, she could already see the bruising through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Without a word, she reached out, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him inside.

“What happened?” she asked, trying to stay calm, but her voice was shaking. “Mark—sit, please—God, sit down.”

He slumped onto the couch like his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Take off your hoodie,” she said gently, but firmly. “Now.”

He hesitated—then obeyed.

The hoodie fell to the floor.

“Shirt too.”

Another pause, another heavy breath—and then the shirt came off.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears.

Bruises bloomed across his chest and ribs—deep purple, angry reds. Small cuts along his stomach. One shoulder scraped and bloodied like it had met asphalt hard.

“Oh my God…” she whispered, moving instinctively. She rummaged through her drawer and came back with her first-aid kit, snapping it open on the coffee table. “This is gonna sting.”

Mark winced as she dabbed antiseptic onto his side.

“I told you—ow,” he hissed. “That hurts.”

“Yeah, well, maybe stop getting thrown off buildings,” she muttered, wiping a streak of blood from his arm. “Hold still.”

Mark didn’t complain again.

He just watched her.

Watched the way she bit her lip in concentration, how her fingers trembled at first but steadied with care. How she gently taped gauze to his ribs and held her breath when he flinched. How tears clung to her lashes but never fell.

Then, quietly—almost too quietly—

“You know, don’t you?”

Y/N stilled.

------------

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[jikookncity]

Bodyguard Johnny x Reader Teaser

Before she could react, a warm, wet, solid arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her hands behind her back. She yelped as her body slammed—gently, but firmly—against the side of the car.

The rain soaked her through instantly.

“Johnny—”

He pressed in close, his chest flush to her back, his breath hot at her ear despite the cold rain.

“When I tell you to do something,” he growled, low and guttural, “you do that shit.”

Y/N gasped, breath caught in her throat. His voice was deeper. Commanding. Nothing like the usual tight-lipped, composed protector. His fingers gripped her wrists behind her, not painful, but inescapable.

——————————

Y/N turned in the water slowly, straddling him. Johnny’s jaw clenched the second she moved, but his arms didn’t stop her. She eased herself into his lap, hands finding his shoulders as she sank down onto him with a gasp—slow, so slow, the water rippling around them.

Johnny let out a strangled groan, head falling back against the tub, his arms still stretched out like he was hanging on to control by a thread.

Her arms slid around his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and she kissed him—deeply, tenderly, cupping his face like she meant to memorize him.

His hands twitched.

Then finally, they rose.

They found her hips.

Gripped them.

And held her down.

————————

Coming soon…

[jikookncity]

I will be writing an extremely dirty mind numbingly disgusting lewd fic based on this outfit thank you

[jikookncity]

Just updated! Happy Reading

NCT Masterlist

Hi everyone, this is the masterlist for all my NCT Stories

For early access to my stories and bonus continuations of certain stories, subscribe to my patreon here or you can just buy the post or collection you want. I'm an international masters student so anything helps! If you'd like to give a lil tip, you can do that here!

🍓 - smut

🍡 - fluff

🫐 - angst

NCT

Johnny Suh

ExBoyfriendFarmer!Johnny x Model!Reader 🍓🍓🍓🍡

Johnny x Reader - Forgotten Memories (smut) 🍓🍓🍡🫐

Enemies with Benefits 🍓🍓

Jaehyun x Reader x Johnny 🍓🍓

Boxer Johnny x Princess Reader 🍓🍡

Nakamoto Yuta

Street Racer Yuta x Street Racer Reader 🍓🍓

Rockstar!yuta x Princess!reader (re-written) 🍓🍓🍡🫐

Bad Boy Yuta x Good Girl Reader 🍓🍓🍡

Jeong Jaehyun

Brothers Best Friend Jaehyun x Reader 🍓🍓

Bodyguard Jaehyun x Princess Reader 🍡🫐 🍓🍓

Soldier!Jaehyun x Reader 🍡🫐

Jaehyun x Reader - Trust 🫐🍡

Jaehyun x Reader x Johnny 🍓🍓

Fratboy Jaehyun x Reader 🍓🍓

Nerdy Jaehyun x Reader 🍓🍓🍡

Drabbles:

bratty reader

military phone call

Wedding Reunion

Mark Lee

Rapper!Mark x ChildhoodFriend!Reader 🍓🫐

Hockey player Mark x Tutor Reader 🍡🍓

Mark x Reader - Crybaby 🍓🍓

Best Friend Mark x Reader 🫐🍡

Lee Jeno

Mechanic!Jeno x Rich!Reader 🍓🍓🍡

Bodyguard Jeno x Reader 🍓🍓🍡

College Student Jeno x Reader 🍡 but 🍓 in prt 2

Best Friends Brother X Reader 🍓🍡

F1 Racer Jeno x Reader 🍓🍡🫐

Lee Haechan

Ex Boyfriend Haechan x Reader 🍓🍓

Hockey Player Haechan x Figure Skater Reader 🍡🍓

Academic Rivals Haechan x Reader 🍓🍓🍡

College!Haechan x Reader 🍡🍡

Nerdy!Haechan x Reader Part 2 Sneak Peek 🍓🍓

Haechan x Reader - Bridgerton Story 🍓🍓🍡

Worst Date Ever 🍓🍡

Pirate Haechan x Siren Reader 🍓🫐 🍡

Na Jaemin

Fratboy!Jaemin x Reader 🍡🍡 (part 2 has 🍓)

Ex boyfriend x Reader 🍓🍓

[jikookncity]

F1 Racer Jeno x Reader (Smut)

WC: 3.8k, car sex, dirty talk, emotional cheating (not between yn and jeno), Jeno and Jaemin are rivals, Y/n is Jaemin's little sister

-----------

The air was still thick with burnt rubber and champagne, the victory ceremony just wrapping up. Jeno Lee’s suit clung to his frame, damp with sweat and glory as he swaggered through the paddock. Another win. Another trophy. Another bitter look from him—his long-time rival.

But Jeno wasn’t thinking about the guy he’d just beaten. He was thinking about the guy’s little sister. Na Jaemin's little sister to be exact.

Y/N stood near the team trailers, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on her nose, and an expression that made it clear she’d rather be anywhere else than watching Jeno bask in the glow of victory.

But god, did she look good when she was pissed off.

He smirked as he made his way toward his car, only to find her standing in the parking lot, evidently waiting for her brother. Alone.

Perfect.

She noticed him immediately, and her posture straightened, jaw clenched like she was ready for a fight.

“Well, if it isn’t the golden boy,” she said, arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “Enjoy your win?”

Jeno stopped beside her, wiping his brow with a towel. “Immensely. Especially knowing he had to watch me take that podium.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. “You’re obsessed with him.”

“Hmm,” Jeno took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You know, it’s funny. For someone who ‘hates’ me so much, you sure stare a lot.”

She scoffed. “Staring at a car crash doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

Jeno chuckled, eyes blatantly dragging down her figure. “Maybe. Or maybe you just like the danger.”

She felt her breath hitch but refused to show it. “You’re full of yourself.”

“I am,” he said easily, stepping in closer until she could smell the mix of gasoline and sweat on him. “But I’m also right.”

“Right about what?”

His eyes met hers directly, hungry and gleaming. “About you. There’s something underneath all that attitude, sweetheart. Something that wants me.”

She laughed—short and sharp. “You wish.”

“I don’t need to wish.” Jeno tilted his head. “Tell me, you got a boyfriend?”

She smirked. “I do.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice dropped, practically growling now. “He must not be doing a great job. You look… frustrated.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Jeno leaned in, lips brushing dangerously close to her ear. “If you ever want to know what it’s like to be fucked by a realman—someone who doesn’t beg for second place—you know where to find me.”

She jerked back like he’d slapped her, eyes wide and skin hot. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re blushing,” he countered smoothly, a shit-eating grin on his face as he stepped away, throwing the towel over his shoulder like this was any other casual conversation.

Before she could say another word, her brother’s voice echoed from across the lot.

“Y/N, let’s go!”

She turned on her heel without looking back, heels clicking furiously against the pavement, but her pulse was still racing and her thighs pressed a little too tightly together.

She hated him. She hated him. But her body didn’t seem to get the memo.

---------------

The roar of the crowd still rang in Jeno’s ears, but this time it wasn’t for him.

Jaemin had won.

That bastard grinned like it was Christmas, champagne dripping from his curls, arm slung lazily around his girlfriend as cameras flashed. Jeno kept his helmet on longer than usual just to avoid the interviews. He could stomach a loss—but not to him.

Not when she was watching.

Later that night, the post-race VIP party was in full swing. Bass thumped through the sleek walls of the club, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and overpriced liquor. Jeno nursed a drink in a corner booth, jaw tense, surrounded by people he didn’t care to talk to.

And then he saw her.

Y/N.

Mini skirt. Tight crop top. Hair down in waves he wanted to bury his hands in. Lips glossed, eyes sharp. She spotted him across the floor—and smiled like the devil.

She walked up slowly, hips swaying, confidence bleeding from every step. She leaned down on the edge of his table, arms crossed beneath her chest, voice syrup-sweet and mocking.

“Aww. Rough night?”

He looked up at her lazily, trying not to stare—but he was already losing that battle. “Didn’t realize pity was your thing.”

She smiled wider. “Not pity. I just enjoy seeing you lose.”

His eyes dragged down her bare thighs before flicking back up. “You always dress like this for your brother’s win parties?”

She laughed, straightening up. “Why? Is it distracting you?”

“Very.” He stood slowly, towering over her, drink abandoned. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? Getting me all worked up.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” she said, turning as if to walk away—but he followed, catching her near a quieter back hallway of the club, cornering her between the wall and his body.

“Jeno,” she hissed, chest heaving, heart pounding.

He was so close she could smell the scotch on his breath and the heat coming off his skin.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He leaned in slowly, voice low and silk-smooth against her ear. “You know what’d make me feel better, sweetheart?”

She shivered. “Don’t.”

He smirked, letting his hand brush the hem of her skirt. “You. Bouncing on me with this little thing riding up your hips. Bet you’d love the stretch.”

She gasped, eyes wide, pulse racing. “You’re disgusting.”

“Mhm.” He stepped back like nothing had happened, casual as ever. “And you’re soaked.”

Her mouth parted in disbelief, but her cheeks were burning, her lips bitten red, and her thighs clenched just like he knew they would be.

She shoved his chest, hard, and stormed off.

But he didn’t miss the way her legs wobbled slightly in her heels… or the way she kept glancing back.

Later that night, still buzzed and lazy in his suite, Jeno grinned as he typed a message to a mutual friend. "Hey. Y/N's number. Don’t ask."

And the second he had it, he didn’t hesitate.

Unknown Number: Heard you have a boyfriend. Text me when you’re ready to stop faking it. I’ll remind you what you really need.

It started innocently enough. One TikTok. A short edit of Jeno shirtless in the pit lane, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat glistening on his skin, jaw clenched and veins popping in his arms as he stalked toward the camera.

Y/N’s thumb hovered.

Like.

Then another one—Jeno training in the gym, hoodie tugged halfway off, muscles straining, sweat soaking through his shirt. Then a slo-mo clip of him tugging off his gloves after a win, face stoic, jaw ticking, eyes hard and focused.

The algorithm knew too much. And Y/N was spiraling.

She groaned, throwing her phone face-down on her bed, clenching her thighs out of pure frustration. She hated him. She wanted him.

And her boyfriend? The sweet, boring guy who texted her half-hearted compliments and never made her feel anything close to what one look from Jeno did?

He wasn’t it. Not anymore.

The guilt came second. The clarity came first.

—

Later That Night — Downtown Bar

He showed up late. Her boyfriend—well, ex now, hopefully—stormed into the bar already irritated.

“You’ve been ignoring me for days.”

Y/N stood up from their booth, arms crossed. “I wanted to talk to you—”

“No shit,” he snapped, stepping too close, voice sharp. “You don’t even look at me anymore. What, you think I haven’t noticed? You’re not even pretending to care.”

Her stomach twisted. He was loud. Aggressive. People were starting to turn their heads. “Can we talk about this outside—”

“Who is it?” he hissed. “Who are you f—”

“Back off.”

The voice came from behind.

Jeno.

Cool, calm, and terrifying.

He stepped into the conversation like he owned the room, placing a firm hand on the guy’s shoulder and pushing just enough to make him stumble back.

“She said back off,” Jeno repeated, eyes like steel, jaw flexing as he squared up to him.

“Who the hell are—”

“Her exit plan,” Jeno said flatly. “You want to make this messy, or you want to walk away while your face is still intact?”

Y/N’s ex froze, clearly weighing his options—and deciding he didn’t want to test a professional driver with arms like that. He huffed, shoved past Jeno, and stormed out of the bar.

Silence lingered until Y/N exhaled shakily.

Jeno didn’t say anything—just looked at her, eyes a little softer now, but still burning.

“You okay?” he asked.

Before she could answer, another voice cut in.

“Y/N?”

Jaemin.

His brows were furrowed as he came over, eyeing the situation cautiously. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, smoothing down her dress. “It’s okay now.”

Jaemin’s eyes flicked to Jeno, clearly torn between gratitude and suspicion. After a long pause, he nodded once, then turned back to Y/N.

“Let’s go,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take you home.”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder one last time. Jeno was still standing there, gaze locked on her.

And maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the lingering heat from their last encounter. Or the memory of those TikToks.

But her heart pounded in her chest as she whispered—

“Thank you.”

Jeno gave her a nod, lips twitching into the smallest smirk.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

The next race weekend came fast. Too fast.

Y/N found herself pacing behind the pits, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding her eyes even though it was overcast. She wasn’t here for Jeno—not officially—but her eyes kept drifting to the other side of the paddock. To him.

She caught him alone near the garage, helmet in one hand, hair tousled, suit rolled halfway down his torso. He looked unfairly good. Like sin in red and black.

And when he noticed her watching, his smirk was instant.

She sighed, stepping toward him.

“You know this is stupid,” she said, arms crossed tight. “Nothing’s changed. I can’t be with you. You’re… Jaemin’s rival.”

Jeno raised a brow, amused. “Right. Because your brother would be so reasonable about it.”

“I’m serious, Jeno.”

He stepped closer, smirk fading into something softer. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I’d change what I did.”

She hesitated, then stepped in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He turned his head slightly—just enough that their lips brushed. Barely. But enough to make both of them freeze.

And then—

“JENO! GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

His manager’s voice shattered the moment, and Jeno groaned under his breath, giving her one last look before jogging toward the car.

Y/N stood frozen, her fingers pressed to her lips, pulse racing for an entirely different reason now.

But by lap 17, that pulse turned into full-blown panic.

The screen showed Jeno's car spinning out. One wrong angle, tires locking up, and his car hit the barrier with a brutal screech. The entire crowd gasped as it crunched against the wall.

“Jeno Lee’s had a collision!” the commentator shouted. “That’s a hard hit!”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Medical crews were rushing over. Her stomach twisted. Her legs felt heavy. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped breathing until she heard—

“He’s okay. He’s climbing out.”

The camera zoomed in, and there he was—pulling off his helmet, visibly pissed, but alive. Unhurt. Breathing.

Only then did her knees weaken.

—

Later, back in her hotel room, she stared at her phone for way too long before typing:

You okay?

The reply came fast. Too fast, like he was waiting for it.

You worried about me, sweetheart?

She rolled her eyes, but the smile bloomed anyway, uninvited and warm.

Of course not. Just didn’t want your team to lose their best driver.

Mhm. You gonna kiss me again if I crash next week too?

She groaned, flopping onto the bed.

Go to sleep, idiot.

Sweet dreams, princess. Try not to think about me shirtless again.

She screamed into her pillow.

God help her. She was falling.

---------------

The media event was supposed to be civil.

But nothing ever was when it came to Jeno and Jaemin.

The moment the reporters asked about the next race, Jeno leaned into the mic, that smug grin playing on his lips.

“Let’s just say... some drivers are better at winning popularity contests than actual races.”

The crowd snickered. Y/N’s blood boiled.

Her jaw clenched as she locked eyes with him across the room, but he didn’t even flinch—just winked like it was a private joke.

By the time the next race ended and Jaemin took first place again, the tension was unbearable. Jeno stormed off toward the parking lot, soaked in sweat, still wearing his black tank top and race pants.

And that’s where he found her.

Y/N.

Standing alone beside her car, arms crossed, fuming.

“Got something to say?” Jeno asked, already annoyed, hair wet and messy from the shower.

“You’re a dick,” she snapped. “He’s your rival, not your enemy. You don’t get to insult my brother in front of cameras just because you’re bitter.”

Jeno’s jaw clenched. “I’m bitter because I should’ve won. Not because of him.”

“Doesn’t justify dragging him,” she spat. “Grow the fuck up.”

Rain started to fall—light at first, then heavier. But neither moved. Neither backed down.

“Funny,” Jeno muttered, eyes narrowing as they raked down her body. “You sure defend him hard, considering you’re always pressed up against me every other race.”

Y/N scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But her white tank top was already clinging to her chest, soaked, translucent—her nipples peaked, chest heaving. Her tiny skirt was plastered to her thighs. And when her eyes flicked down, she realized he was soaked too—arms flexed, abs defined under the sheer fabric, veins popping.

She turned on her heel to walk away.

Bad move.

Jeno’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back—hard.

She gasped as her body slammed against his, back to his front, his breath hot against her neck despite the chill in the air.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growled.

Her heart thudded.

His hands slid down, gripping her hips hard, possessive, pinning her in place. Her breath hitched, hands reaching to steady herself on his thighs.

“Jeno—”

“Look at me.”

She turned, barely, eyes locking with his. Her lips parted, eyes wide, lip trembling slightly as if she hated how much she wanted him.

But her eyes flickered to his mouth. Then again. And again.

Jeno smirked, fingers sliding slowly up her sides, over her ribs, until they cupped her breasts—full, soaked, and soft under his calloused palms.

She gasped, the moan ripped from her throat when he squeezed, thumbs brushing her hardened nipples through the soaked fabric.

“Fuck—” she whimpered, head falling back onto his shoulder, hips rocking back against him on instinct.

“You feel what you do to me?” he whispered into her ear, grinding his hard length against her soaked ass. “You think I don’t see the way you stare?”

Her knees buckled when he pinched and rolled her nipples, another moan leaving her lips.

“I hate you,” she breathed.

He chuckled low. “No, sweetheart. You want me.”

And then—it snapped.

She turned, fists clutching his tank top, lips crashing into his with desperation and fury. Rain soaked their faces as his hands tangled in her wet hair, his mouth claiming hers like it was a race he refused to lose.

Tongues tangled. Teeth clashed. His hand snuck back under her shirt to feel bare skin, and her moans only grew louder.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw and messy and wrong.

And it was only the beginning.

The rain blurred the world into streaks of neon and silver, but Jeno didn’t care. His lips were on hers, hands under her ass as he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her across the lot toward his blood-red Ferrari parked under a dim, flickering streetlight.

Y/N gasped against his mouth when her back hit the leather seat, her soaked clothes sticking to the material, rain still pouring in through the open door. Her chest heaved, tank top transparent, skirt riding up—she was a mess. A beautiful, soaking mess.

“You sure about this?” he rasped, chest rising and falling, his chain hanging wet and heavy around his neck.

“Jeno,” she breathed, tugging him down by his soaked shirt. “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all he needed.

He climbed in, slamming the door shut behind them. The cabin filled with fog and the sound of rain pelting the roof. He grabbed her face, kissing her deep and filthy, biting her bottom lip and swallowing her moans.

Then—slap.

His chain swung forward, slick and cool, catching her cheek as he pulled back to strip his shirt off. Her gasp was sharp, her thighs clenching.

“Didn’t expect you to like that,” he murmured, leaning back in, smirking as her wide eyes locked on his bare chest, his biceps flexing as he caged her in.

“I didn’t,” she whispered, voice trembling. “But I do.”

He tugged her soaked top off and tossed it somewhere in the front seat, palming her tits again, this time with nothing between them.

“God, look at you,” he muttered, dipping his head to suck on one nipple, then the other, taking his time with slow, torturous swirls of his tongue while she writhed beneath him, her fingers digging into his arms.

She was soaked, and not just from the rain.

He pushed her skirt up to her waist, yanked her panties down, and groaned at the sight of her.

“You’re dripping,” he growled. “You wanted this. You’ve always wanted this.”

She nodded furiously, hips lifting toward him. “Jeno—please—”

He kissed her again, slower this time, gripping one of her hands and intertwining their fingers while the other guided his thick, hard length to her entrance.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open just as he slid in—deep.

Y/N choked on a moan, clinging to him with her free hand, nails digging into the firm swell of his bicep.

“F-Fuck—you're so big—”

“I know, baby,” he whispered against her lips, thrusting in again, watching her fall apart beneath him. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He set a pace that was steady and deep, grinding into her with every push, hips slapping against her ass, rainwater pooling around them in the seat as they moved.

“Feel me, sweetheart?” he hissed. “Every inch of me inside you.”

Her moans echoed inside the tight car, hands sliding over his shoulders, desperate for more, needing everything.

Then he slammed in harder—once, twice, three times—until her head fell back and she cried out his name, legs trembling, body soaking wet and clenching around him.

“You’re mine now,” he groaned, losing himself in her, one hand still locked with hers as he pounded into her, other hand cupping her face, thumb brushing her lips.

“Say it,” he whispered, almost broken. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” she moaned, hips arching to meet him, overwhelmed and aching and full. “Jeno—I’m yours.”

That did it.

With a low, guttural groan, he buried himself deep one final time, hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, still kissing her like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Rain still poured.

Windows fogged.

And for one breathless moment, everything outside the Ferrari didn’t exist.

Just her. Just him.

Just the crash they’d both been racing toward.

The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle now, tapping gently against the windows of the Ferrari. Inside, the air was fogged, sticky with heat and sweat and the ghost of moans still echoing in the cabin.

Jeno had pulled her close, bodies tangled under his jacket. He’d turned the car on a few minutes ago, letting the seat warmers hum beneath them, chasing away the chill from the rain-soaked chaos they’d just created.

Y/N lay with her head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. His hand rubbed up and down her bare back in slow, comforting strokes. For a moment, everything was still.

Until she quietly broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jeno hummed, lips brushing her damp temple. “Yeah?”

“How did the rivalry with Jaemin even start?” she asked, voice soft, hesitant. “You’ve never really said.”

He went quiet for a beat, his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek.

“It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious,” he finally said. “We came into the league at the same time. Both the youngest, both fast as hell, both came from the same junior academy. The media loved it. ‘Two prodigies,’ they called us. ‘The future of F1.’”

She didn’t speak, just listened.

“It was always a comparison. One of us had to be better. One of us had to be the star. I leaned into it. So did he, I think. Fans picked sides. Teams hyped it up. It got ugly fast.” He paused. “But it’s not personal. Not really.”

Y/N shifted slightly, lifting her head to look at him. “So you don’t hate him.”

Jeno met her eyes, expression unreadable. “No. I don’t.”

She exhaled, then leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips—slow and careful this time, nothing like before. When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want to feel guilty for being with you.”

Jeno’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t want to sneak around. I don’t want to lie to my brother. I want to be with you,” she continued. “But not like this. Not if it’s going to make everything worse.”

“Y/N…” he started, but she was already shaking her head.

“I want you two to make up,” she said. “Talk. Clear the air. Fix it.”

Jeno frowned, glancing away. “It’s not that easy. That rivalry’s the only thing I’ve known in this sport. I don’t even know what else there is without it.”

Her expression twisted in hurt. “So the rivalry is more important than me?”

He looked back at her, alarmed. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Because that’s what it sounds like.” She sat up suddenly, reaching for her clothes. “I’m not asking you to stop racing. I’m asking you to talk to him.”

Jeno reached for her wrist. “Y/N, wait—”

“No,” she snapped, voice sharp now. “If you can’t even try to fix this, then maybe you should just lose my number.”

That hit him like a slap.

She pulled on her clothes, shivering slightly even with the seat warmers, her wet skirt clinging to her legs. Jeno sat up, trying to find words—any words.

“I didn’t mean it like that—please just listen—”

But she was already out of the car, slamming the door behind her, walking off into the fading rain.

Jeno sat in the backseat, heart pounding, jacket falling off his shoulders, her warmth still clinging to his skin.

He’d finally had her. And he might’ve just lost her, too.

----------

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[jikookncity]

Accidentally spent all night writing an angsty jaehyun x reader but it has a happy ending… should I post? 😭

[jikookncity]

Pirate!Haechan x Siren!Reader (Smut)

14k, unprotected sex, reader humps donghyuck in his sleep but he's super into it, riding, floor sex, dirty talk, masterbation, degradation, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault (not in detail, very quick and nothing actually happens), reader is a SIREN

The sea was glass that night—too calm for any mortal comfort. Even the stars hung back, wary of what stirred beneath the surface.

Captain Donghyuck stood at the bow of The Maiden’s Mercy, eyes locked on the black horizon. His jaw clenched, fingers flexing over the hilt of his cutlass. Weeks he’d been chasing whispers. Months of bribing drunk sailors in dark taverns, collecting fragmented lore and forbidden charts. All leading to this: the rumored trail to the ancient, cursed treasure said to grant a man power and riches beyond belief.

But only a siren could guide him there.

And tonight, he'd baited one.

The trap was brutal—crude magic mixed with silver nets soaked in sacred oil. The crew had gone silent hours ago, tension thick in the air. Then came the song, faint and honeyed, curling over the water like smoke. Men began to drift toward the sound, glazed-eyed, mesmerized. Donghyuck had clamped wax in his ears. Waited.

When she breached the surface—hair like sea silk, eyes glowing like deep emeralds—he acted.

Now, the ship creaked under moonlight as his men dragged her onto the deck, slippery and snarling, tangled in the glimmering net. Her voice was already rising, low and hypnotic, a sound that made their blood slow in their veins.

“Shut her up,” Donghyuck snapped.

Before she could release her full song, he knelt, grabbed a length of cloth, and shoved it into her mouth, gagging her roughly. She screamed behind it, thrashing in fury. Even silenced, her voice was dangerous—like desire made sound.

Her skin shimmered faintly as they hauled her upright. She was wet, furious, and wickedly stunning. Water clung to the swell of her breasts, to the curve of her hips and thighs, her tail already beginning to split as it dried, scales peeling back to reveal smooth legs beneath. Her transformation was slow but mesmerizing, her magic receding with every drop of water that left her body.

Donghyuck couldn’t look away.

His eyes roamed shamelessly over her body, sharp and intense. The slick arch of her spine. The way she stood tall, even bound and gagged, defiance sparking in her eyes. She met his gaze like she wanted to bite his throat out.

“Beautiful thing,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “You’re going to take me to the gold.”

She hissed behind the gag.

“Lock her up,” he said, voice dark with amusement and something more primal. “Don’t let her near water. And keep her dry.”

Two crewmen dragged her down into the belly of the ship. The brig was cold, iron-barred, with a single oil lamp flickering overhead. They tossed her inside like she weighed nothing, the cell door slamming behind her.

Donghyuck followed, boots echoing on the wood floor.

He stepped up to the bars, watching as she slowly adjusted, tail now nearly gone, legs fully formed. Her hands were bound behind her back, her chest rising and falling with rage.

“You’re mine now, siren,” he said softly. “You’re going to be very useful to me.”

She met his eyes. The heat in her stare was enough to make any man flinch.

But Donghyuck only smiled.

He was used to dangerous creatures.

And he’d never wanted one more.

The ship groaned gently with the ocean's lull, but inside the brig, time stood still.

Donghyuck leaned against the iron bars, fingers toying with the keys hooked at his hip. He watched her silently for a long moment. She sat in the far corner, back pressed to the wooden wall, hair still damp and curling over her shoulders, clinging to the exposed skin of her chest. Her arms were still tied behind her, her legs curled beneath her in a posture that looked almost relaxed—until you noticed the tension in her jaw. The burning in her eyes.

He slid the cell door open with an easy hand.

She didn’t flinch. Just lifted her chin.

Donghyuck stepped inside, slow and sure, kneeling in front of her like she was something rare and volatile. He pulled the gag loose from her mouth, fingers brushing the curve of her cheek as he did.

"There," he said smoothly. “Better, isn’t it?”

Silence.

She held his gaze, lips red and parted, but said nothing.

Not a sound.

He smiled, cocking his head. “Still not speaking, huh?”

Nothing.

Donghyuck chuckled lowly and leaned in, just enough to breathe the same air as her. His eyes dropped to her lips.

“You know, there’s a rumor,” he said softly. “That if a human kisses a siren… he can breathe underwater.” He gave her a long, lingering look. “Tempting, isn’t it?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But her jaw tightened, and—

Her teeth shifted.

In the low light, her lips curled back just enough to show the beginning of fangs. Sharp. Gleaming.

Dangerous.

Donghyuck only grinned.

“Feisty,” he murmured, unbothered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be begging me for a kiss later.”

Still, she said nothing.

But her heart was pounding too hard now, the blood in her veins rushing with heat she hadn’t felt before. Not for any sailor. Not for any prince. She'd lured kings to their deaths, sung admirals into the sea. But this man—this pirate captain with maddening confidence and too-sharp eyes—he unsettled her.

She hated how aware she was of his warmth, how close he was, how his scent smelled like salt and smoke and danger. How he looked at her like he already owned her. It made her want to bite him.

And… something else.

Donghyuck watched her closely. He felt the tension in the air, heavy like a storm about to break.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You stay down here until you’re ready to talk. No water. No sunlight. But—” he held up a finger, “—if you decide to be a good girl and use that mouth for something other than hissing, I’ll move you upstairs. A real bed. Food. Clothes. I might even let you sit next to me at dinner.”

She bared her teeth at him again, eyes narrowed to slits.

Donghyuck smiled like she’d kissed him.

“Prison hold it is.”

He stood, and before she could react, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder with ease. She let out a muffled, furious grunt, fists pounding his back uselessly.

“Careful,” he teased, “or I might think you like being carried.”

He marched back through the brig, kicking the door open with his boot before tossing her back onto the cell’s cot like she weighed nothing. She landed with a thud, glaring murder up at him.

Donghyuck only laughed.

“You’re going to make this so much fun.”

The cell clanged shut. The keys jangled.

And the siren, still stubborn and silent, was left wondering how this man had made her body burn hotter than anything she’d felt in her immortal life.

--------------

The brig was silent except for the creak of the ship and the faint hum of the sea beneath.

Y/N sat with her back to the wall, wrists still bound behind her, gagged again after yet another failed attempt to tempt her into speech. Her sharp eyes were half-lidded, watching, waiting. Every moment on this wretched dry ship made her feel weaker, and angrier. And worse than all of it… hotter. Her body kept reacting to him—to Donghyuck—and she loathed it.

So she was all venom and stillness when the cell door creaked open without warning.

Two sailors stepped into the dim brig, lanterns swinging in their hands. They were younger. Nervous. Curious. Their eyes gleamed with something darker than fascination.

“Well, would you look at that,” one muttered, stepping closer to the bars. “They weren’t lying… she’s real.”

The second one whistled. “A real siren. I heard they can turn your brain to mush with a song… but they’ve got to be wetto do it, right? She’s harmless like this.”

They laughed under their breath, the kind of laugh that made her blood run cold with rage.

“Captain’ll kill us if he finds us down here,” one whispered, even as he pulled the key off the wall hook. “Just a look.”

“Maybe a kiss,” the other one snickered. “They say if you kiss a siren, you can breathe underwater. Could be useful.”

Y/N snarled into her gag, straining against the ropes.

“Oh, hush,” the first one said, stepping into the cell. “Let’s see if it’s true.”

She didn���t blink. Didn’t flinch. She waited.

The man crouched beside her and reached forward, tugging the gag from her mouth with a grin. “Pretty lips,” he muttered.

The second his hand moved toward her face again—

She struck.

Her mouth snapped open and her fangs sank deep into the meat of his palm. He screamed, a piercing, ragged sound as blood gushed from the wound. He stumbled backward, crashing into the floor, shrieking.

“You bitch!” the second sailor shouted, lunging forward. He tried to grab her, wrestling her down with his arms, trying to force her flat.

Y/N screamed, voice hoarse but full of fury, thrashing against his weight.

Then—

BANG.

The second sailor’s body stiffened.

Blood bloomed from his chest like spilled wine.

He crumpled beside her with a heavy thud, eyes wide, dead before he hit the ground.

Y/N froze.

The remaining man was still groaning on the floor, clutching his hand.

And behind him, standing in the doorway, was Donghyuck.

Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Gun still smoking.

His gaze swept over the scene. The blood. Her body. Her ragged breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

Y/N stared at him.

And then bared her teeth.

She hissed, chest rising and falling, fangs still stained red.

Donghyuck exhaled sharply and stepped into the cell, grabbing the gag from the floor and slipping it gently back between her lips. She growled, biting the cloth this time as if it offended her more than anything else.

“I never meant to put you in danger,” he muttered, voice tight with something like guilt. “You’re here for one reason—your knowledge of the treasure. That’s it. Once we find it, we part ways. Simple.”

He looked down at the dead man. Then at her.

“I can’t risk this happening again.”

He turned, barking to the crew outside, “Bring chains. And clean this mess up.”

Then to her, he added under his breath, “You’re staying in my quarters from now on. No one touches you. No one looks at you. That’s an order.”

She hissed again, but something in her chest shifted. Something unfamiliar. Heat mixed with… something that almost felt like safety.

Later that night, still gagged and still seething, Y/N sat in the corner of Donghyuck’s captain’s quarters—lavish, dark wood, lanterns swaying softly with the tide. She watched him from across the room as he scrubbed blood from his hands at the basin, back tense.

She didn’t speak, but she listened.

He stormed out to the deck minutes later.

And from the shadows, she heard his voice boom out across the crew:

“If anyone so much as thinks about stepping foot near her again without my permission,” Donghyuck shouted, voice like fire, “they’ll meet the same fate. I don’t care if it’s my first mate or my brother—death. No warnings.”

Silence.

Only the ocean dared to move after that.

And back in his cabin, Y/N closed her eyes, her heart beating too loud in her ears. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself—but for the first time since being dragged onto this cursed ship…

She wasn’t afraid.

The cabin swayed gently with the sea, wood groaning as if sighing under the tension inside.

Donghyuck had stripped his jacket first. Then his boots. Now, shirt half-unbuttoned, he stood in front of the small mirror, running a hand through his damp hair. The heat from the lanterns clung to the room like breath on skin, and he didn’t hide what he was doing—undressing, towel slung around his neck, muscles flexing as he dried his arms.

Y/N sat in the corner chair, chains loose enough now to allow movement, gag removed for dinner.

She didn’t eat.

She watched.

Unblinking.

Her green eyes raked over his torso, his hips, the patch of bare skin revealed with every shift of his shirt. She showed no shame, no embarrassment. Naked herself, her legs now fully formed, knees pulled loosely to her chest. There was no modesty in the way she sat. Sirens didn’t understand modesty.

Donghyuck noticed, of course. Every glance. Every breath.

He set down the towel and turned toward her with a cocky smirk.

“You just going to stare all night, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head slowly, voice low, rough from disuse.

“Why do humans wear clothes?”

Donghyuck froze.

He turned, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You just spoke.”

She didn’t react to his surprise. Just stared. “Answer me.”

He leaned back against the table, arms crossed. “Well,” he drawled, “humans wear clothes for privacy. Modesty. Protection. Shame, maybe. Though…” he smirked again, eyes dragging down her body, “not all of us care much for any of those things.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly. “I don’t understand. What is there to be ashamed of?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if you’re brave, clueless, or both.”

He took a step toward her. Then another.

Close enough to make the air shift between them.

“Do sirens have sex?” he asked casually, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N’s eyes widened. Her breath caught. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped, voice raspier now, cheeks flushing.

“Oh,” he said, leaning in, just enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “You’re shy now?” He tilted his head. “So maybe you do understand shame.”

She didn’t move. But her eyes flicked away for the first time, lips slightly parted, breath unsteady. The strange ache between her legs was growing again. Sharp and hot. Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore. The tail she once had had never throbbed like this.

Donghyuck smiled darkly, voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“You’re missing out,” he murmured. “Nothing feels better than being stretched out… by the right man.”

Y/N gasped.

The heat pulsed between her thighs, involuntary and unbearable. She clenched her legs together, swallowing hard.

He backed up with a smirk, hands raised.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said lightly. “I’m not touching you.”

He turned his back, walking toward the washbasin.

“But I need a cold shower.”

--------------

The captain’s quarters were dark, save for the soft sway of the oil lantern hanging above the bed. The ship rocked gently beneath them, a lullaby for the damned.

Y/N lay beside Donghyuck, her wrists still chained loosely to the bedframe. Her gag remained—softened now, cloth instead of rope—but still firm in its purpose. Her sharp fangs had proven too dangerous to trust, even when she slept.

She wore one of his shirts, oversized and hanging off her body in soft folds. He’d pulled it over her head hours ago with grumbled concern—“can’t have you freezing and dying before you tell me where the damn treasure is.” But now…

Now she was writhing in the sheets.

Donghyuck blinked awake, breath catching when he realized what he was seeing.

Y/N’s back arched gently, body twisting, her thighs clenching and shifting under the covers. Her chest rose and fell fast, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric of his shirt. Sweat gleamed on her skin like ocean mist, lips parted around the gag as low, sweet moans slipped from her throat—soft, needy, unaware.

She was dreaming.

And it was filthy.

Donghyuck stayed frozen for a beat, then slowly turned onto his side, watching.

Watching as she arched again, helpless to the sensations wracking her body.

A lazy, smug smile spread across his face. He tucked a hand under his head, just enjoying the show.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Her eyes fluttered open with a soft gasp, brows pinched in confusion, body still shivering.

Donghyuck leaned over her, eyes locked on hers. He cupped her jaw roughly, tilting her face toward him.

“Did you have a good dream?” he asked, voice low and rough, taunting. “Huh, sweetheart? Was it me you were dreaming about?”

She whimpered behind the gag, stunned by the intensity of what she felt—her thighs slick, her core throbbing. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Not in the sea. Not in her tail.

Donghyuck’s nose grazed her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent was sweeter than before—ripe with heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, yanking himself back suddenly like he’d been burned. “You’re dangerous.”

He threw himself onto his back, arm over his eyes, breathing heavy.

Beside him, Y/N let out a frustrated, muffled shriek. Her body was a wildfire she couldn’t douse, and he was the match that lit it. She glared at him, then at herself, furious with the aching between her legs, the wetness, the longing. She’d never wanted anyone—certainly not a human. But Donghyuck was ruining her. And she hated how good it felt.

-------------

Donghyuck sat her beside him at the long dining table on deck, the chains still discreetly hidden under the tablecloth. She wore a second shirt now—tighter, cleaner, less oversized—but the gag was finally gone.

Her eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the gathered crew like a cornered animal.

She didn’t touch the food in front of her.

The rest of the crew avoided looking at her directly, except for the occasional sidelong glance or whispered mutter. The woman who had killed one of their own and left another maimed—what kind of creature had they let onto the ship?

Then a voice cut through the tension, warm and gentle.

“It’s alright.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up.

Across the table sat a young man—freckles, tousled hair, a soft smile. His posture was relaxed but confident.

“I’m Mark,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to hurt you. Once all this treasure nonsense is sorted, you’ll be free. I promise.”

Donghyuck glanced at him but said nothing, letting the moment breathe.

Y/N didn’t respond. Not with words. But her gaze lingered. Just for a second.

And then, quietly, without looking away from Mark—

She picked up a piece of fruit and bit into it.

Donghyuck didn’t smile.

But he saw it.

And he didn’t miss the flare of jealousy tightening in his gut.

The captain’s quarters were quiet again. The sound of the ocean just outside the hull, wind brushing over the sails. Lanternlight flickered across polished wood and tattered maps, bathing the room in a soft gold.

Y/N sat on the edge of the captain’s bed, legs crossed, chains still looped gently around her ankles and one wrist. She could move freely within the space, but not far enough to escape. Not yet.

Donghyuck stood across the room, cleaning his pistol, back turned.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, voice smooth but sharp. “Even if I lead you to the treasure… you won’t survive it.”

He paused, the soft click of metal stopping mid-motion.

“There are traps,” she continued. “Ancient ones. Ones meant to tear men like you apart.”

He glanced over his shoulder, brow quirked, smirking. “Men like me?”

“Greedy. Arrogant. Mortal.”

He turned to face her fully, arms folding across his chest. “I appreciate the concern,” he drawled, “but don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ve survived worse than a few booby traps.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes—and then, without warning, reached for the hem of the shirt he’d given her. She tugged it over her head and dropped it carelessly onto the bed beside her.

Nude. Unbothered.

Like the sea had never taught her modesty.

“This thing is restricting,” she said simply. “Annoying in the heat.”

Donghyuck froze.

His gaze raked over her—bare legs, full breasts, soft stomach, smooth skin shimmering slightly from the heat of the room. His jaw flexed. He turned his head and dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly like trying to anchor himself.

Y/N noticed.

Her voice came low and amused. “Why do you always get so fidgety when I take my clothes off?”

Donghyuck dragged his eyes back to hers. There was no smirk now—just something darker.

“Because you’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “And I’m trying very hard not to ruin you before you beg me to.”

Her lips parted.

Then she scowled.

“You’re filthy,” she snapped. “That’ll never happen.”

He grinned lazily, stepping closer, unbothered. “We’ll see.”

The silence that followed was thick. It throbbed.

Then he cleared his throat and turned toward the table, grabbing the covered tray he’d brought earlier. He set it down beside her on the bed and lifted the lid.

“Dinner.”

She eyed the food, then her wrists.

“My chains hurt,” she said. “Feed me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You bite me, I shoot you.”

She tilted her chin defiantly. “You won't. You like me too much.”

His jaw ticked.

But he reached for a fork.

Y/N sat up straighter, letting her thighs spread a little wider, back arching just enough to make it clear she wasn’t shy. She opened her mouth slightly, waiting.

Donghyuck brought the fork to her lips.

The moment was too quiet. Too hot. She leaned forward and took the bite slowly, lips brushing the metal, eyes locked on his the entire time. He could feel her breath on his fingers.

He swallowed hard.

“Fuck, you’re dangerous,” he muttered.

She smiled wickedly, licking her lips. “You said that already.”

He fed her again, and again. Closer. Slower. Each bite a challenge, each glance a test of will.

She could feel his thigh just inches from hers, the warmth of his skin, the tight control in every motion. Her body pulsed with the same restless, aching heat as the night before. She didn’t understand it—but she knew it was his fault. He was the reason her new legs trembled and her core clenched and her skin felt too hot to touch.

And yet…

She opened her mouth again.

And Donghyuck, lips parted, breathing harder now, gave her one more bite.

Then another.

Until he was very sure he needed to leave before he forgot all his rules.

--------------

The captain’s quarters were too warm again.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the side, the remains of dinner pushed aside. Her skin still glistened slightly with heat, her breath just a touch too shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the loose shirt she’d reluctantly thrown on after their intimate feeding.

Donghyuck leaned against the far wall, arms folded, shirt untucked now, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He watched her. Always watching her.

She shifted, tugging at the collar of the shirt. “Why does my body… feel like this?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Hot. Tight. Weak.” She scowled at her own thighs. “It’s like something’s pulling at me. Inside.”

Donghyuck bit back a groan. He walked slowly toward the bed, crouched down in front of her, hands braced on his knees.

“That’s called arousal, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and smug. “It means your body wants something.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That can’t be it.”

He leaned in. Close. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. “Oh, it’s it. Trust me.”

Y/N’s legs twitched. Her breath caught. Her mouth opened like she might ask something else—but then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sound of a fist pounding the captain’s door.

Donghyuck groaned in frustration, standing.

“What?” he barked.

“Storm’s rolling in fast,” a voice called from outside. “Wind’s shifting hard. Could get ugly.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Then turned to Y/N with a sigh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the timing.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Always when it’s getting good.”

He crossed the room, unlocked the door, and opened it—revealing Mark standing at attention.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “She doesn’t leave. No one goes in or out unless it’s me.”

Mark nodded quickly. “Aye, Captain.”

Donghyuck turned back to her once more, smirking. “Be good, sweetheart. We’ll finish this talk later.”

Then he was gone, boots thudding down the stairs as the storm began to howl outside.

Mark stood awkwardly in the corner, eyes on the floor.

Y/N sat still for a while, silent.

“You can sit,” she said after a long pause. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Mark laughed nervously, pulling over a chair. “Sorry. I just— I’ve never seen another siren before or been this close to one.”

“I figured.”

“You… look more human than I thought you would.”

She smirked. “Is that disappointing?”

He looked flustered. “No! No, not at all. You’re, uh… beautiful. I mean. You know. For a creature that eats sailors.”

Y/N’s laughter was soft, surprising even herself. “You’re not like the others.”

Mark’s cheeks flushed. “I just think… it’s wrong to treat you like a prisoner when you haven’t even done anything to us yet. At least not something anyone didn't deserve”

She tilted her head. “So innocent,” she muttered under her breath.

Mark cleared his throat and tried not to look at her too long—but his eyes flickered down her body again before jerking away. “You, um… don’t like wearing clothes, do you?”

“No.” She stood slowly, letting the shirt she’d taken off earlier slip through her fingers. “They don’t make sense.”

Mark turned bright red, eyes immediately snapping to the ceiling. “Could you— maybe just put it back on? Please?”

She grinned, amused. “You’re no fun.”

But she slipped the shirt back on anyway.

Not for modesty.

For him.

An hour later, the door creaked open again.

Donghyuck returned soaked to the bone, hair dripping, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He looked wild, wind-whipped, and irritated—but his eyes landed on Y/N immediately, scanning for any signs of disobedience. Then flicked briefly to Mark.

“She behave?” he asked.

Mark nodded. “Yes, Captain. Quiet as a tidepool.”

“Good.” Donghyuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re dismissed. Go help the others prep for the storm. Tie everything down.”

Mark hesitated just a second, glanced back at Y/N, then nodded again and slipped out.

Donghyuck turned toward her slowly, eyes darker now, tension rolling off him in waves.

“It’s gonna be a busy night,” he said, voice quiet. “Don’t try anything.”

She lifted her chin. “I won’t.”

“Good. Because even if you did…” he stepped forward, close enough to make her breath catch, “we’re too far from your precious waters. Weeks away. That’s assuming you even know how to find your way home.”

She didn’t reply—but she felt the reminder sink into her stomach like a stone.

He stepped back, peeling off his wet shirt, muscles flexing in the low light.

Y/N’s thighs pressed together without her meaning to.

And Donghyuck—smirking now, towel in hand—noticed.

------------

The storm battered the ship from all sides, waves crashing like thunder, the hull creaking under nature’s weight. But inside the captain’s quarters, the real chaos was simmering under skin.

Y/N couldn’t sit still.

Her legs pressed together, thighs clenching and rubbing in search of friction. Her breaths were shallow, desperate. She paced, then sat, then squirmed in the chair near the bed, her chains clinking softly with every twitch.

“I feel like I’m going to explode,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Like I’m being punished.”

Across the room, Donghyuck leaned back in his chair with maddening calm, sweat on his brow despite the cool sea air. He gave her a lazy smirk, eyes dragging down her bare legs, her parted lips, the clear desperation in every movement of her hips.

“I could fix that,” he said casually, voice low and obscene. “One good fuck, and you’d stop whining. You’d forget your name. Forget the treasure. Forget your tail ever existed.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, screeching, pushing off the wall.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

“I’d fuck you right here,” he murmured. “Bent over this chair, your ass high, screaming my name while I ruin your tight, virgin—”

She shoved him, furious, her entire body burning.

But the anger wasn’t enough to stop the heat pulsing between her legs, slick and aching and starved. Her breaths came faster now. Her body moved on its own.

She fell back into the chair and finally—finally—spread her legs wide.

Right in front of him.

And slid her hand between them.

Donghyuck’s mouth went dry.

Y/N moaned softly, fingers brushing her soaked slit, back arching, hair sticking to her sweat-damp neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, biting her lip, grinding down against her own hand like she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck—” Donghyuck stood up fast, storming toward her. “No.”

Before she could get any relief, he grabbed her wrist and yanked it away. “You don’t get to touch yourself like that in mychair.”

She growled, struggling. “You’re the reason I feel like this! You—you did something to me!”

Donghyuck tightened the chains at her wrists, locking her arms behind the chairpost this time, more secure. “Damn right I did.”

“I hate you,” she hissed, grinding herself down against the edge of the chair instead, desperate now, wild. “I hate this—!”

Her shirt rode up, bare heat pressing into the wood, her hips working back and forth in quick, helpless bursts. She moaned through gritted teeth, unable to stop.

Donghyuck stood frozen for a second, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his temple. He was rock hard now, and furious about it.

Then he snapped.

In one motion, he grabbed her and hauled her up—slamming her back against the wall, her wrists still pinned, her body flush to his front.

“You need to fucking stop,” he growled, voice shredded and desperate, his breath hot against her neck. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips were pressed into her ass, his hardness impossible to ignore. His hand braced next to her head, the other gripping the chain at her wrists.

She squirmed in his hold, panting, not even trying to deny how wet she was now, how badly her body was begging for him.

Donghyuck’s mouth hovered at her ear. His voice was broken and raw.

“If you don’t stop grinding that sweet little cunt on my wall, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Y/N whimpered, biting her lip, her thighs trembling.

He pulled away with effort, pacing back like a caged animal.

“Cold shower,” he muttered, half to himself. “I need—another fucking—cold shower.”

The door slammed behind him as he left.

Y/N slid down the wall, still breathing like she’d run a mile, her body wrecked and unsatisfied, trembling with need.

And for the first time, she whispered into the empty room,

“…please.”

--------------

The storm howled like a living beast.

Waves slammed against the ship, wood groaning, sails snapping in the wind. Y/N sat in the captain’s quarters, arms still chained, legs twitching with every crash of thunder. She could hear yelling. Panic. Footsteps pounding on soaked wood.

She smirked to herself, lips curling.

Serves them right, she thought. Kidnapping a siren… the sea always takes what it’s owed.

Then came the scream.

A different kind of scream.

“Man overboard!”

And then Donghyuck’s voice, raw and broken, cutting through the chaos.

“MARK!”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

She didn’t know why. Didn’t want to know. But her body moved before her mind could stop it.

She yanked against the chains. The wood creaked. Her pulse thundered louder than the storm.

The door was locked.

But not for long.

She hurled herself against it, over and over, rage and panic giving her unnatural strength. Finally, with a splintering crack, it burst open—her bare feet hitting the wet deck, hair whipping around her face as rain poured down like knives.

The crew turned, shocked by the sight of her. One flash of glowing green eyes, bare legs morphing mid-sprint into her glittering tail, and then—

She dove.

Smooth and silent.

The sea swallowed her whole.

Donghyuck stood at the railing, rain blinding him, chest heaving. His heart sank. She’s gone. She escaped. Mark’s dead. He lost them both.

Then—

“Captain!”

A cry from the lookout.

He turned—

And saw her.

Y/N broke the surface a few feet away, struggling against the current but slicing through the waves with practiced ease. In her arms was Mark, limp but breathing, blood running from his temple.

She swam toward the rope ladder with all the strength she had left.

Hands reached down to help them up—crew pulling Mark up first, shouting orders, pressing on his chest.

Donghyuck dropped to his knees beside him.

“Breathe, Mark—breathe, damn it—”

Mark choked suddenly, coughing up water. His eyes opened, wide and dazed.

The crew let out a collective cry of relief.

Donghyuck exhaled like he’d been underwater himself.

Then slowly, his eyes rose—

And locked on her.

Y/N, still soaked, her long tail glittering beneath her, skin pale and trembling. She clung to the side of the ship, arms shaking as she tried to haul herself further onboard, struggling between tail and legs, caught in the in-between.

She was free.

She had water. She had her voice.

She could’ve sung them all to the bottom of the ocean.

But she didn’t.

She just… stared at him.

Her green eyes blazing. Her face unreadable. The siren in her was alive—but so was something else. Something cracked wide open in her chest.

Donghyuck stood, staring back, drenched and stunned.

She hissed softly when she slipped, tail thudding against the slick deck. She couldn’t stand—not with her legs gone again.

He didn’t say a word.

He just walked over, slid his arms beneath her, and lifted her easily against his chest.

Her head rested against his shoulder, but she didn’t speak.

He didn’t look at her again.

Just turned and carried her silently back into the captain’s quarters, sea-soaked and glowing and heavier than anything he’d ever held.

He set her down gently on the bed.

And walked back out, closing the door behind him, jaw clenched as he went to check on Mark.

----------

The noon sun pierced through a blanket of gray clouds, casting the deck in a soft, golden light. The worst of the storm had passed. The crew moved slower today—tired, hungover on fear—but when Y/N stepped out from below deck, every head turned.

This time, no one whispered.

They stood still. Silent. And then—

A chorus of nods.

Some gave awkward bows. Others mumbled their thanks.

One even left a piece of fruit at her seat before scurrying off.

Y/N blinked, suspicious.

“What is this?”

Donghyuck, seated beside her at the long wooden table, didn’t look up.

“They’re grateful,” he muttered. “You saved Mark. They thought you’d let him drown.”

Y/N scoffed. “I thought about it.”

The crew laughed nervously.

Then Mark appeared.

Hair still damp, temple bandaged, eyes soft.

He came to her side, his steps slow but sure.

“I owe you my life,” he said quietly.

Y/N stared at him for a long time, then picked up a piece of bread, tearing it in half.

“You saved me first,” she said. “You treated me like a person.”

Mark smiled, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

Y/N finally ate. Cleaned her plate in silence. The rest of the crew subtly relaxed, the atmosphere growing warmer as the waves calmed.

She stood up abruptly.

“I want to go back to my room.”

Donghyuck raised a brow but didn’t argue. “It’s actually my room.”

She shot him a glare. “Not anymore.”

He stood, motioning for her to follow, still oddly quiet since last night.

The door shut with a soft click. Y/N padded across the floor, tail now gone, legs beneath her again. She sat on the edge of the bed, folding one leg beneath her, eyes on him.

Donghyuck remained standing.

Silent.

Brooding.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her.

“You’ve barely looked at me all day,” she said. “I saved your crew. I saved Mark. You’d think you’d be a little more charming again.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, ragged breath.

“You did,” he said. “You did save him. And I… have no fucking clue what to do with that.”

He finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

“All I’ve done is kidnap you. Chain you up. Threaten you. And you still—” his jaw tightened. “You still dove into a storm and brought back the one person I can’t live without.”

Y/N’s gaze didn’t soften. But something in her expression shifted—like the weight of what they were finally naming was too heavy to ignore.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“I know.”

Silence.

Then—

“I’ll tell you where the gold is.”

Donghyuck blinked.

She stood, moving closer, stopping just in front of him.

“But once we find it,” she said quietly, “you let me go. We both know I could've sunk your entire crew and ship last night, but I didn't. I have no idea where we are and when I'm free, I want to go. I get you to your gold, you get me home. Deal?”

He swallowed. Hard.

“It’s a deal,” he said. “And I’ll give you anything else you want.”

Y/N laughed. Low. Bitter.

“There’s nothing you can give me.”

And she walked away.

Leaving Donghyuck staring after her, pulse racing, knowing damn well—

That wasn’t true.

------------

The village was small, nestled between jagged cliffs and churning sea. It was the first time Y/N had stepped on land since being dragged aboard Donghyuck’s ship, and the feeling was strange. Every texture beneath her bare feet, every new smell and sound made her pause with wide eyes and tilted head.

“Stay close,” Donghyuck muttered, his hand wrapping around hers. “There are more people here than fish.”

Y/N’s fingers twitched in his grasp. Her skin prickled at the contact — his palm warm and calloused, grounding her — and yet charged, like lightning might crackle from it at any moment. She didn’t pull away.

He didn’t either.

They walked through the narrow, cobbled streets, Donghyuck’s oversized shirt hanging off her shoulders, the belt tied too tight around her waist to keep it from slipping. She looked half wild, half regal — a siren in borrowed skin.

Heads turned. Men stared.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened.

When they entered the tailor’s shop, the bell chimed overhead.

A petite woman with silver rings on every finger looked up and beamed. “Ah! Finally, someone with taste. And—” her eyes drifted to Y/N, widening in delight. “Oh my stars. She’s beautiful.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re… more gorgeous.”

The woman laughed brightly. “What a charmer.”

Donghyuck watched in stunned silence as Y/N let herself be measured, lifted her arms, turned around, touched all the fabrics with reverence. The tailor cooed and fussed over her, telling her what colors would make her glow (as if she didn’t already), calling her skin luminous, her body perfect.

“She’s shy,” Donghyuck said offhandedly.

“I am not,” Y/N said immediately.

The tailor grinned. “You two make a cute couple.”

Both Y/N and Donghyuck froze.

“No - were not - I would never...,” they said at once, speaking over each other.

But their eyes met — and held — for a second too long.

Neither of them looked away first.

----------

Y/N gasped as they passed a group of giggling children chasing a dog through the square.

“What are those?” she whispered urgently.

Donghyuck blinked. “Kids.”

She crouched, watching them with wide, fascinated eyes. “Why are those humans so small and… cute? Are they a different breed?”

He laughed, actually laughed, and the sound made her stomach twist.

“They’re just younger,” he said. “You grow into one of me eventually.”

“Gross,” she muttered.

-----------

The tavern was loud, packed, lit with flickering torches. Music played in one corner, boots stomping on wood, laughter echoing through beer-frothed air.

Donghyuck sat at the bar with Y/N beside him, her new fitted dress snug on her hips, sleeves slipping off her shoulders. She drew attention wherever she went — but she didn’t notice. She was too busy studying how beer foamed or how humans laughed with their teeth.

Then she approached.

Tall. Stunning. Curved like the ocean. A woman in red leaned over Donghyuck’s shoulder with a coy smile, her voice honey-slick.

“Well well. Captain, you’re a long way from your usual ports.”

Donghyuck smirked. “You know me?”

“I never forget a handsome face.”

Y/N didn’t understand what was happening at first. Just that something in her belly twisted watching the woman touch his chest.

Then the woman leaned in closer — too close — and Donghyuck didn’t push her away.

Y/N’s lip curled.

She stepped forward.

Her fangs slid out like silver and she let out a powerful hiss, her eyes glowing green.

The woman screamed and stumbled back, heels catching on the floor before she bolted out of the tavern, her drink crashing to the ground behind her.

Silence fell for a beat. Then people laughed.

Donghyuck turned to her, stunned. “What the hell was that?”

Y/N shrugged, licking her teeth and smiling, unbothered. “She was annoying me.”

Donghyuck narrowed his eyes, biting back a smile. “You jealous, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, that same smug grin on her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But she didn’t move from his side.

And when he threw an arm over the back of her chair — casually, lazily, like he was just stretching — she didn’t move away either.

-------------

The tavern was starting to fill with the night crowd — sailors, locals, girls in bright dresses, and men already leaning too close to too many glasses. The buzz of music and clinking tankards grew louder by the minute.

Y/N sat at their table beside Donghyuck, brows furrowed as he drained the last of his drink and stood up with a sigh.

“Go back to the ship,” he muttered, waving Mark over with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Take her with you. We leave first thing in the morning.”

Y/N blinked. “No.”

Donghyuck raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You’re not,” he said firmly, already stepping away from the table. “It’s not safe for you out here at night. I want to drink. I can’t protect you when I’m drunk.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she snapped, standing too. “Not from men. Not from you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking tired. “Y/N—”

“Why?” she demanded. “So you can find some random woman to drag into bed?”

He let out a hollow laugh. A short, humorless thing.

Then he turned on her—suddenly, sharply—and shoved her back against the wooden wall of the bar. The impact made the entire tavern blur for a moment, air knocked from her lungs as his hand grabbed her jaw, holding her face.

His body was flush with hers.

His voice was low and dangerous.

“I can sleep with whoever I want.”

Y/N’s mouth parted, eyes narrowed—but she didn’t speak.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened slightly, breath warm on her cheek.

“But I won’t,” he growled. “Because it turns out, my body only fucking responds to you. So no, sweetheart. No one else is touching me tonight.”

His gaze dragged over her face, lingering on her lips, his jaw flexing like he hated the truth coming out of his own mouth.

“I just need some damn space.”

Y/N smiled then.

Sweet.

Mocking.

With fire in her eyes.

“Well,” she said coolly, “have all the damn space you want.”

She shoved him back with both hands — hard — and without looking at him again, turned and stormed across the tavern, grabbing Mark by the arm.

“Take me to the ship.”

Mark glanced between them, wide-eyed, but nodded. “Yes. Yeah—okay.”

They disappeared into the night.

Donghyuck watched her go, fists clenched at his sides, chest tight and head swimming with regret.

But he didn’t follow.

Not yet.

The tavern was almost empty when Donghyuck stumbled back into the captain’s quarters.

He’d sobered up halfway on the walk.

Partially from the night air.

Mostly from the regret.

The room was dim, lantern burning low.

Y/N was already asleep — curled on the far edge of the bed, facing the wall, arms crossed, the sheets pulled all the way around her like a cocoon. She was hogging every single blanket on the mattress, leaving none for him.

Donghyuck stood there in silence.

And just… stared.

At the stubborn set of her back. The way her hair tangled against the pillow. The rise and fall of her breath.

The space between them had never felt so suffocating.

He dropped into the bed beside her, careful not to touch her.

But his eyes stayed on her for a long, long time.

---------

The journey toward the lost treasure had begun.

The ocean was calm. The crew worked with quiet determination. And Y/N…

Y/N didn’t speak a single word to Donghyuck.

She laughed with the crew. Teased Mark. Even offered to help scrub decks just to learn how humans used “buckets.” But whenever Donghyuck walked past her, whenever he entered a room or tried to catch her eye—

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t speak.

She was the picture of peace.

And it drove him insane.

“Can you pass me that rope?” she asked Mark sweetly.

“Y-yeah, of course,” he stammered, handing it over with shaking fingers.

They stood near the helm, the sea stretching wide and endless around them, the sun beating down on their shoulders.

Donghyuck stood just behind them, arms crossed, eyes burning into Y/N’s back.

“So…” Y/N said casually, tying the rope. “When you have sex… does it hurt at first?”

Mark went beet red.

“I—uh—that’s not—” He choked. “I mean, it depends! I—I wouldn’t know exactly from your perspective but I’ve read that—uh—some people—”

Donghyuck stepped in sharply. “Don’t ask him that.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, unbothered. “Why not?”

“If you want to talk about sex, you talk to me. No one else.”

She stared at him, gaze cool and sharp like sea glass.

“I’ll talk about whatever I want,” she said. “With whoever I want.”

Mark swallowed. “I’m just gonna… check the rigging. Over there. Far away. Yup.”

And he was gone.

Silence fell between them.

The wind tugged at her hair. Her jaw clenched.

“Why can’t you ever just listen to me?” Donghyuck asked, exasperated.

“Why the hell would I listen to my kidnapper?” she snapped.

He stepped closer.

Tension sparked between them instantly.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Fine,” she said, sharp and defiant. “Answer my question. When does the feeling go away? The heat. The ache. It’s constant.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitched. Then his smile — slow and dark — curled across his lips like oil spreading on water.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, circling her, voice low enough that only she could hear. “It doesn’t just go away. You have to work it out of your system.”

She inhaled sharply.

His hand ghosted along the edge of the railing beside her, not touching, but close enough to make her skin prickle.

“It starts with the stretch,” he said. “At first, you’ll think it’s too much. You’ll grip the sheets, maybe my arms, try to close your legs—but I’ll keep pushing. Keep rocking deeper until I hit that perfect little spot inside of you.”

Her throat bobbed with a gasp. Her eyes widened.

“And when I find it?” He smiled. “You’ll scream.”

His hand rested on the railing now, brushing hers.

“You’ll beg—maybe for me to stop, maybe for more. But I won’t stop. Not until I feel you clench around me. Until you come so hard you forget you ever had a tail.”

Y/N’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts.

Her lips parted, face flushed, thighs pressed together like she could trap the heat and hide it.

Donghyuck leaned closer, his mouth inches from hers.

“Then,” he whispered, “and only then, you’ll finally feel relief.”

She gasped again, trembling now, breath hot and uneven against his mouth.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Didn’t touch her.

He stepped back slowly, eyes blazing.

“It’s maddening being near you,” he said roughly. “I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe.”

Y/N stared at him, frozen.

Every nerve in her body alive. Her heart hammering like the sea in a storm.

And Donghyuck turned away—

Before he did something they couldn’t undo.

--------

The fight still lingered in the air — sharp and heavy, like salt in a wound. Neither had spoken in hours. Not a word when the cabin door slammed. Not when they stripped down. Not when they climbed into bed.

Y/N faced the wall.

Donghyuck lay behind her, stiff and silent. His breathing was slow now, deep — finally asleep.

She wasn’t.

Not with her thighs clenched, her heart pounding, her pride bruised and burning. They hadn’t touched in days. Not since the last argument. And tonight’s silence was unbearable.

Still, she refused to turn around. Refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly she needed him.

But gods — she did.

Just once, she told herself. If she could just feel him once, maybe she’d sleep again.

So she moved.

Carefully.

Slowly, she turned, crawling over to him, straddling his waist beneath the thin blanket. He didn’t stir. His brows were relaxed in the dim light, lips parted slightly. Moonlight spilled across his cheekbones, softening the edges of a face she couldn’t stop dreaming about.

“Fuck,” she whispered, breath hitching. “You’re so handsome it hurts.”

She pulled his shirt — hers, really — off her shoulders, too hot to breathe, her skin prickling with nerves. Naked now, she placed her palms on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her fingertips. Her hips moved on instinct, rolling slowly, gasping softly at the friction of her bare pussy dragging against the thick fabric of his underclothes.

He groaned — in his sleep.

Her eyes widened.

Then he bucked his hips up, unconscious but needy, grinding into her with a hardness that was growing fast beneath her.

Her jaw dropped in a silent moan, heat surging through her entire body. She couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. Her hips moved again, and again — smoother now, bolder.

Then—

Donghyuck’s eyes snapped open.

And in one fluid, furious motion, he flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress with his hand around her throat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N arched into him, no shame, just need. “Please,” she whispered, eyes glassy with desire. “Just this once. I need you inside me.”

His grip didn’t tighten, but it stayed firm, keeping her still. His hips settled between her thighs, the outline of his cock pressing right where she wanted it.

“This what it took?” he sneered. “Had to crawl on top of me in the dark like a needy little slut to finally admit you wanted it?”

She whimpered, eyes fluttering, nodding slightly.

He exhaled a long breath — then let go of her throat, only to slide his hand up to cup her jaw. Not tender — just taking control.

“I knew you’d fold,” he murmured, his mouth finding the soft skin of her neck. “Knew you’d come begging eventually.”

He kissed down, never touching her lips, just her throat, her collarbone, lower. When his mouth found her breast, he groaned like it had been haunting him.

“Been dreaming about these,” he muttered against her skin before biting her, tongue soothing the sting right after. His hands kneaded her breasts like he owned them, thumbs circling her nipples until she writhed under him.

Then — finally — he shoved his underclothes down just enough, lined himself up, and without warning, slowly thrust all the way in.

They both moaned — loud, raw, relieved.

“Fuck,” he gasped, burying himself in her warmth. “So tight. So fucking wet. You were ready for me, weren’t you?”

Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, her head tipping back, mouth open in a silent cry. She didn’t answer — didn’t need to. Her body answered for her, clenching around him like it never wanted to let go. She had never known such pleasure was possible.

He held still for a moment, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to hers.

Then he pulled back, and started to move.

Rough and deep, every thrust angled with purpose until she gasped — a sharp sound, body jerking beneath him.

Donghyuck froze. Smiled darkly.

“There it is,” he murmured, grinding into that perfect spot. “That’s the one, huh? That’s where you break.”

She was close. Already unraveling, her hands fumbling for something to hold on to — and he gave her his. Their fingers locked tight, tangled, as he thrust into her again and again, chasing the high he knew would tear her apart.

“Come for me,” he grunted, voice hoarse. “Clench around this cock. Show me how much you needed this.”

Y/N came hard, gasping his name, eyes rolled back as her body shook around him.

He followed right after, moaning into her neck, hips stuttering as he came deep inside her, still pulsing from the strength of it.

Neither of them moved right away. He stayed inside her. She kept clenching around him. His hand in hers. Their bodies still rocking from the aftershocks.

Their lips brushed once.

Almost.

But she turned her head.

And instead, he buried his face in her neck, kissing and biting the skin there like he was claiming it, like that was enough.

----------

The ship set sail at dawn.

The crew moved with purpose, laughter louder than usual, the wind kinder, the ocean calm. It felt like the tide itself was carrying them toward something great. Toward gold.

But there was something else in the air too.

A tension broken. A pressure relieved.

And Mark noticed it the moment he stepped onto the deck.

Y/N walked past him, her skin brighter somehow, the breeze playing through her hair as she gave a quiet, unreadable smile to no one in particular. Not hostile. Not annoyed. Just… content.

Glowing.

And behind her?

Donghyuck.

Looking like the smuggest bastard alive.

Mark stared at the two of them. Back and forth. Then grabbed Donghyuck’s arm as he passed and yanked him toward the stairs.

“What?” Donghyuck said, clearly amused.

Mark didn’t even lower his voice. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck just smirked.

“You did!” Mark hissed. “Are you out of your mind?”

Donghyuck shrugged, leaning lazily against the railing. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Wait… kiss? Did you actually kiss her?”

“No,” Donghyuck said, gaze flicking out over the water. “Didn’t want to risk it. If the rumour’s true and kissing a siren lets you breathe underwater… it should be her move, don’t you think?”

Mark blinked. “So you did… everything else?”

Donghyuck didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Mark rubbed his face like he was trying to erase the mental image. “Hyuck… what are you doing? You promised to let her go after the treasure. That was the deal.”

“And nothing’s changed,” Donghyuck said easily. “She told me herself last night. Once the gold’s found, she’s gone. I’m not holding her here.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re thinking clearly,” Mark muttered. “Neither of you are.”

He turned and walked off before Donghyuck could reply.

Donghyuck stayed there, arms crossed, staring out at the horizon.

They were getting close — he could feel it. Every gust of wind in the sails, every shift of the sea whispered it. The map pieces were aligning. The route Y/N had given him made sense now. It was all falling into place.

The treasure he’d spent years chasing was within reach.

But for some reason…

He wasn’t as excited as he thought he’d be.

---------------

They docked at a small island just after midday — a quiet, hidden place off the usual routes, with thick palms, soft sand, and deep lagoons. The crew was eager to stretch their legs, get drunk, and forget, for a few hours at least, the long sea ahead.

But Donghyuck had something else in mind.

"Come on," he muttered to Y/N, not waiting for her to follow. She did anyway, silent as ever, her eyes narrowed.

They hiked through thick brush and winding paths until they reached it — a clear blue oasis tucked between rocks and vines. A hidden pool, glowing in the dappled sunlight. The air was humid. Quiet.

"You can swim here," he said simply, sitting down at the edge of the stone. “Figured you’d want the water more than the crew.”

Y/N stared at him a moment, then stepped into the pool. Her tail unfurled beneath the surface, glinting like cut glass. She sank under, disappearing completely.

Donghyuck exhaled.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think about the curve of her back, the way her skin had shimmered just before she slipped beneath the surface. He tried not to feel guilty for still being angry, and still wanting her at the same time.

The water stayed still for several seconds.

Then—

She surfaced.

Only her eyes visible.

Glowing, inhuman, shimmering beneath long wet lashes.

He felt his breath catch.

Slowly, Y/N swam toward him — silent, smooth, her glowing siren eyes fixed on his. The closer she came, the harder it was for Donghyuck to look away. His spine straightened. His muscles tensed.

Then she began to hum.

Low and haunting.

He blinked fast, eyes flickering. His fingers curled into fists.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

But it was already working.

His chest began to rise faster. His heartbeat picked up. His fingers dug into the stone beside him.

Her voice wasn’t even a full melody yet — just the start of a siren’s song, but he felt it — deep, humming in his bones, crawling beneath his skin.

Still underwater, Y/N swam toward him slowly. Gracefully. Like she had all the time in the world.

And he couldn’t move.

The hum wrapped around him like warm silk, coaxing his body forward while his mind screamed to pull back.

His jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body was locked in resistance.

Still, she came.

Rising up from the water, her hands pressed against the stone edge. Her tail glistened as she lifted herself onto the rock beside him. Her body was dripping wet, slick and glowing. His shirt was clinging to her torso — though nearly see-through now — but it was her eyes that held him.

Still glowing. Still singing.

She slid closer. Her palms pressed to his chest.

Haechan’s whole body shuddered.

She stroked along the line of his collarbone, up his throat, over the edge of his jaw.

“You’re shaking,” she said softly, a whisper wrapped in amusement.

His breath was ragged. “You’re doing it again.”

She tilted her head. “You locked me up. Shoved me in chains. What did you think I was going to do? Forgive you?”

“I thought…” His voice wavered. “I thought you might not want to hurt me.”

“I don’t,” she said, voice still light.

Then she leaned in, her lips nearly brushing his jaw.

“But I do want to remind you who I am.”

The humming stopped.

The power dropped like a stone in the water. Haechan let out a shaky breath, blinking fast, like snapping out of a dream. The air around them shifted back to normal.

She looked at him with that same quiet, smug calm—

Then dove into the water again with a twist of her tail, a splash soaking the front of his shirt.

“Hey—!” he sputtered, standing up, blinking through the droplets.

She surfaced several feet away, floating on her back now, looking up at the sky like nothing happened.

He wiped his face and swore under his breath.

She had him completely undone… and she knew it.

Then dove back into the water with a flick of her tail — splashing him hard enough to soak his clothes.

She surfaced once more near the edge of the lagoon, floating on her back like nothing happened, humming a different, sweeter tune this time. His shirt clung to his chest. His heart still hadn’t slowed.

She was playing with him.

And it was working.

The sun had dipped low over the island, casting the oasis in golden light. Haechan sat at the edge again, still wringing seawater from his shirt after her last surprise splash.

Then he felt a sharp tug at his ankle.

Before he could react, Y/N dragged him under.

He gasped—just before the water swallowed him whole.

Everything was blue and silent beneath the surface. Haechan’s eyes opened wide, panic briefly flaring in his chest, but then he saw her — Y/N gliding through the water like a dream, or a warning. Her tail flashed like a blade. Her arms outstretched toward him, eyes glowing, hair floating like ink.

He’d never seen her like this.

Powerful. In her element.

He reached for her, clumsy and human, but she twirled away from him effortlessly, circling him with ease.

She wanted him to see.

She wanted him to know this world wasn’t his.

That it belonged to her.

Haechan lasted maybe a minute.

Then the burn in his lungs became unbearable. He kicked toward the surface, breaking through the water with a sharp gasp, air flooding back into his chest.

He floated there, panting, blinking up at the sky.

Then—ripples.

Y/N surfaced too, silent.

Only her eyes visible again — glowing just above the surface, watching him.

Haechan flinched slightly. “You look terrifying when you do that,” he muttered between breaths.

Her voice cut through the air. Clear. Cool. Confident.

“I know,” she said. “That’s the point.”

It was the first thing she’d said to him in days.

He blinked at her, water dripping down his face. “What you did earlier… with your song. That wasn’t okay.”

Y/N gave a cold little laugh, tilting her head. “Neither was kidnapping me.”

Touché.

The water lapped between them, neither moving closer. But something had shifted — their anger softened by salt and breathlessness, their stubborn pride eroded by the current.

Then, quietly, she asked, “Why is the treasure so important to you anyway?”

She floated closer now, arms crossed over a slick rock, eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You have everything you need already. A ship. A crew that respects you. Power. Freedom.”

Haechan looked away.

He wiped the water from his face and leaned back, resting his elbows on the stone behind him, throat working.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—he sighed.

“You ever want to stop running?”

Y/N blinked, thrown by the softness in his voice.

“My father was a sailor,” he said. “Honest. Poor. We lived in a shack near the docks. He used to say gold doesn’t matter unless you can rest on it. Unless it lets you stop living with one foot always ready to run.”

Y/N said nothing.

“So yeah,” Haechan muttered. “I want the treasure. I want to stop. I want to buy a patch of land so big no one can find me. Grow fruit, drink rum, sleep in. Not owe a thing to the sea. Or to anyone.”

His voice was quieter now.

“Is that so greedy?”

Y/N stared at him for a long time.

No tricks in her eyes now. No siren glow. Just… curiosity.

And maybe a hint of something softer.

“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

Haechan met her gaze.

The silence between them was different now — deeper.

Then she sank beneath the surface again, leaving only ripples.

But this time, she didn’t disappear.

She circled him once, brushed her fingers lightly along his arm underwater… then surfaced beside him, hip-to-hip, resting her chin on his shoulder with a hum.

Not a spell.

Just a sound.

Just her.

----------

Donghyuck leaned back on his elbows, sweat already glistening along his collarbones, shirt soaked from yn dragging him in earlier, watching Y/N cut through the water like sin given form. She twirled and dipped, sleek and hypnotic, her tail flashing under the surface like temptation itself.

She wasn’t just swimming.

She was performing.

And she wanted him to watch.

His cock had been hard for five minutes straight.

When she finally emerged, she didn’t say a word. Just swam to the shallows and rose — tail shifting mid-step, morphing into long, wet, bare legs. Her nipples were tight from the cool water, and her skin glistened as she sauntered toward him, dripping, powerful, devastating.

She straddled him slowly, pressing her soaked body to his fully clothed one, her heat grinding right onto his cock.

“You’re so obvious,” she whispered against his jaw. “Bringing me out here like this. Just the two of us. All alone. You wanted me loud, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck’s hands gripped her thighs, groaning under his breath. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh?” She rolled her hips, rubbing her slick pussy directly over the thick bulge in his pants. “So it’s just coincidence this place is so damn secluded? Where I can scream your name and no one will hear me?”

She ground down again — harder. “Deny it, Captain. Go on. Dare you.”

He laughed — dark and low.

“You think I brought you here for peace and quiet?” he rasped, grabbing a fistful of her ass, pulling her flush against him. “I brought you here so I could fuck you into the dirt and you wouldn’t have to hold back a single fucking sound.”

Y/N moaned, fingers already tugging his pants down, freeing his cock. She hovered over him, rubbing herself on the tip, teasing them both. “You want to hear me beg?” she whispered.

“No,” Donghyuck growled. “I want to hear you scream.”

She sank down on him in one slow, aching motion, and they both moaned — loud, unashamed.

Her head tipped back as she took every inch, hips settling in his lap. “Gods,” she gasped, rotating her hips. “You stretch me so good—”

“You were fucking made for me,” he snarled, thrusting up hard, making her cry out. “You walk around dripping, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You act like I’m the monster, but look at you—riding me in the goddamn dirt like a bitch in heat.”

Y/N braced herself on his chest, bouncing now, hair clinging to her face, breath hot and broken.

“It’s only ever been you,” she panted. “I need you.”

Donghyuck’s hands slid to her waist, watching her move like it was a vision meant for him alone. The filth of it — her slick thighs, his cock disappearing into her over and over, their mixed sounds echoing through the canyon — it drove him wild.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, eyes fluttering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not yet,” she whispered, tightening around him and riding him harder. “Not until you come inside me.”

He flipped her over without warning, slamming into her from above now, pinning her arms down.

“You want it? Then take it. But don’t you dare pretend you’re in control.”

Their bodies moved in sync — hot, sticky, brutal. They were grunting, gasping, so close to the edge it hurt.

Donghyuck found her spot again and didn’t stop, drilling into her with filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“It’s yours—fuck—it’s yours—”

Their hands locked tight.

They moaned together — raw, guttural — as they came in sync, her legs shaking, his cock pulsing deep inside her.

And when it was over, when their breathing slowed and their bodies calmed, their lips hovered.

So close.

She turned her head.

And Donghyuck pressed his face into her neck, licking the sweat from her skin like he couldn’t get enough of her taste.

But she wasn’t done.

She leaned in — so close their noses brushed — and let her fangs descend.

Donghyuck’s breath hitched, eyes darkening.

She bit his bottom lip. Not too deep — just enough. A single bead of blood welled up.

Then she licked it — slow, deliberate — her tongue dragging across his lip like a promise.

Still no kiss.

Donghyuck licked his own lips after, tasting her saliva mixed with blood groaning. 

"If I died right now I'd be the happiest man alive."

----------------

The sky was soft that evening back on the ship — all pink streaks and gold-dipped clouds, the sea glassy and still.

The crew was buzzing with quiet anticipation. They were close now to the treasure they had been looking for. Everyone could feel it.

Y/N stood by the railing, wind tugging at her hair as she stared at the horizon. Mark approached slowly, cautious but warm, holding two tin mugs of lukewarm tea.

"Don’t worry,” he said, offering her one. “No rum in it.”

She took it with a quiet smile.

They stood in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t feel awkward — just thoughtful.

Then she spoke, her voice low. “I’ve met a lot of bad men in my life.”

Mark glanced at her, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes on the ocean.

“Sailors. Soldiers. Hunters. Men who saw me as a prize or a monster.” She sipped her tea. “But you, Mark… you’re the most pure-hearted, kindest man I’ve ever met.”

Mark went still.

“You’re not naive,” she added quickly. “You’re good. That’s different. And I hope you never change. I hope this world doesn’t corrupt you.”

He swallowed hard. “I… thanks. That means a lot. You’re… you’re not what I expected either.”

She smiled faintly. “I know.”

Then she looked past him, toward the captain’s quarters, where Donghyuck had just stepped out, leaning against the post to watch them.

“I hope he gets everything he wanted,” Y/N said quietly, her voice dipping into something sadder, heavier. “Once he finds the treasure. I really do.”

Mark followed her gaze, then gave her a soft pat on the shoulder and left her alone.

Donghyuck didn’t say anything for a moment. Just approached, hands in his pockets, watching the sky with her.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “For kidnapping you. For everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

He gave a short laugh, dry and tired. “You’ll be free soon. And then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. But her silence was louder than any rejection.

Because neither of them looked happy about it.

Then—

“There,” she whispered, pointing to a shape in the distance. Faint, but unmistakable. An island rising out of the mist.

“That’s the one.”

Donghyuck’s breath caught.

He’d waited years for this.

But now, with her beside him, the weight in his chest was something else entirely.

He nodded once, quietly.

“Then let’s go.”

The island was quiet when they landed.

Too quiet.

Thick jungle framed the white sand beach like teeth, the air damp and heavy with the scent of moss and secrets. Birds didn't chirp. The wind didn't move.

Donghyuck stood at the head of the crew, compass in one hand, cutlass in the other. Beside him, Y/N watched the tree line with narrowed eyes, barefoot in the soft sand, her posture coiled and alert.

"This is it," she confirmed softly. "The map ends here."

The crew was already fanning out, eager and restless. The promise of gold was louder than caution.

“Spread out in twos,” Donghyuck ordered. “Follow the ravine north. Mark, stay close to me. Y/N—” He hesitated. “You lead.”

Y/N gave him a sharp glance, then nodded, stepping forward through the brush with eerie grace, tail gone, legs long and bare beneath the shirt and belts wrapped around her waist. The jungle swallowed them whole.

They walked for hours.

Past broken statues covered in vines. Cracked tiles with worn symbols. Booby traps long-dead — and some still very much alive. At one point, a pressure plate set off a spear that missed Mark’s head by inches.

“Stay sharp!” Donghyuck barked. “One wrong move and we’re all dead.”

Eventually, they reached a clearing — and the mouth of a temple.

Carved into the cliffside, ancient and crumbling, its pillars still standing, stone doors sealed shut.

It was there. It had to be.

The crew erupted into celebration — cheering, hugging, patting each other on the back.

And through it all, Y/N stood silent.

Until the noise died down and she stepped into the center of the clearing.

“This is where you should stop,” she said plainly. “You’ve made it. You can still turn back.”

The crew blinked at her.

Donghyuck frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Y/N looked around at all of them — her voice calm, but her words cutting.

“Everyone’s heard of the lost treasure of Elarion,” she said. “They know it’s real. But they never ask why it’s never been taken. Why no one’s claimed it.”

“Because they failed,” one sailor muttered.

Y/N shook her head slowly. “Because it’s cursed.”

The crew stilled.

“You’ll find it,” she said. “You’ll be happy. You’ll spend your wealth, buy ships, estates, women. You’ll drink the finest wine. Live like kings.”

“But it won’t last.”

Her eyes flicked to Donghyuck.

“Soon, you’ll feel it. That hollow pit in your chest. That ache that doesn’t go away. Because money doesn’t buy joy — and once you lose your hunger, you lose yourself. You won’t even realize it’s happening. Until one day, you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the man staring back.”

A long silence followed.

Mark looked visibly shaken.

One of the older crew members crossed himself.

Donghyuck held her gaze, jaw tight.

“That’s just a rumour,” he said finally. “A sailor’s tale. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Y/N shrugged, her tone almost playful now.

“Suit yourself, Captain.”

And then she turned and walked toward the temple steps.

They stood in front of the sealed temple doors, the stone surface carved with symbols older than any kingdom Donghyuck had ever plundered.

While the crew gathered torches and ropes behind them, Donghyuck stayed close to Y/N’s side, eyes flicking from the doors to her face.

“You really believe that curse story?” he asked under his breath.

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the stone like it was watching her back.

Donghyuck took a step closer. “If it were your treasure… what would you do with it?”

She glanced at him, expression unreadable. “Sirens don’t care about material things. We don’t even have a concept of wealth like you do. I am the sea. It’s always given me what I need.”

“So there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted?” he asked. “No dream? No secret longing?”

She was quiet again. Then, softly, she said:

“Maybe… companionship.”

That made him pause.

Y/N kept her gaze fixed on the temple, voice low and distant.

“It can be boring, you know. Lonely. Sirens sing for fun, for instinct. But it’s always the same ending. A man falls under, drowns, screams… dies. It’s hard to crave anything different when you’re built to destroy.”

Her eyes glinted. “But sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To swim beside someone. To talk. To not have to lie. To not be feared.”

Donghyuck stared at her, something cracking in his chest. But he didn’t push her.

Instead, he reached forward — and pressed his palm to the door.

It groaned, stone mechanisms shifting and grinding.

And slowly… it opened.

Inside the temple, it was dark and warm. The air was thick with age, and the walls were carved with puzzles, riddles, strange symbols they worked through as a team — matching constellations, avoiding collapsing tiles, dodging blades that swung from the walls like silent pendulums.

It felt like the treasure didn’t want to be found.

But they pressed on.

Y/N remained silent through most of it, her expression stoic, though her eyes scanned everything — calculating, remembering, guiding.

And finally, they reached the final chamber.

The deepest cavern. The end of the path.

They stepped inside— And found nothing.

Just stone.

Cold. Empty. Dusty.

The crew froze.

Whispers filled the space.

“That’s it?” “There’s nothing here?” “We were lied to.” “We’ve wasted years.”

Mark looked at Donghyuck, who stood stock-still, face unreadable.

Y/N stepped forward slowly. Her bare feet echoed softly as she moved into the center of the room.

And then— She began to sing.

Not loudly. Not like a weapon.

Soft. Sweet. Like the lull of the waves.

The walls began to hum. Vibrate. And then… glow.

Faint gold light bloomed from the far side of the cave, spreading like sunlight over the stone.

A murmur went through the crew — and suddenly, they ran, boots pounding, shouting in disbelief.

Donghyuck was the first to reach it.

And there it was.

Endless.

Gold stacked higher than any man. Coins, crowns, goblets, swords encrusted with jewels, chests spilling open with rubies and sapphires. Ancient weapons. Royal heirlooms. Riches long lost to legend.

He stepped into the gold, his boots sinking into coins, his breath catching.

He had found it.

The treasure he’d chased his whole life.

And yet… somewhere behind him, Y/N stood quietly at the entrance of the chamber, her face calm but her eyes distant — already knowing how this story ends.

--------------

The room erupted in chaos.

Shouts of joy echoed off the golden walls. Coins clattered, chests were pried open, and men fell to their knees laughing as they let gold pour through their fingers like water. They stuffed bags, hats, even their shirts, giddy and frenzied.

One man tried to climb a mountain of coins and slipped, disappearing in an avalanche of riches. Another hugged a jewel-encrusted helmet like it was a long-lost lover. It was madness. Beautiful, sparkling madness.

But Y/N was already turning around.

Her expression unreadable as she took one last look over her shoulder.

Donghyuck stood at the center of it all, surrounded by everything he had ever wanted.

And he wasn’t moving.

Just staring.

Eyes wide, chest still. Not reaching. Not touching.

Y/N lingered for a beat longer, watching him.

He looked like a man who had just realized he was standing in the middle of his dream… and feeling absolutely nothing.

Her heart twisted.

She wondered—just for a second—what it would’ve been like if he were a siren. Or if she had been born human. If they hadn’t started as enemies. If he hadn’t caged her. If she hadn’t tried to drown him with her song.

She wondered what could’ve been.

Mark caught her gaze and saw the softness in her expression before she turned sharply and began to walk away.

He made a move to speak to Donghyuck, but Y/N raised a single finger to her lips and shook her head.

Don’t tell him.

Mark froze, dazed. Unsure if she was using her voice to compel him or if he was simply caught in her gravity.

Either way, he nodded.

And let her go.

The air outside was cooler.

The ship looked just as she left it, bobbing gently in the shallow cove where they’d anchored. The jungle was still. The water was calm.

Y/N sat at the edge of the dock, legs in the water, waiting.

She didn’t look back.

Not even when the sound of someone running behind her broke through the trees.

“Y/N!”

Donghyuck’s voice cracked, desperate.

“Y/N!”

He stumbled out of the jungle, hair wild, chest heaving, eyes wide with panic as they landed on her.

He looked like he’d just fought through hell to find her.

And he had.

She turned her head slightly as he skidded to a stop beside her.

"You promised you'd take me back home," she said quietly.

Donghyuck nodded, so breathless, so relieved it almost hurt.

"I thought—I thought you left—"

“You were busy,” she said simply.

He didn’t reply. He just stared at her, then slowly dropped to his knees beside her like he still didn’t quite believe she was real.

Mark and the rest of the crew appeared behind them, dragging sacks of loot with greedy smiles and dazed expressions.

Mark approached and handed Donghyuck a bag.

“Figured you’d want something. You didn’t take anything.”

Donghyuck didn’t even look at it.

He just dropped the bag at his feet.

And kept staring at her.

The crew laughed, already talking about where they’d go next, what they’d buy, who they’d become.

But Donghyuck didn’t join them.

Because his treasure was already here.

And she was still deciding whether or not she’d let him keep it.

-------------

The water was calmer than it had been in weeks — still and deep, a silken blue stretching endlessly in every direction. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting the ship and its weary crew in a molten glow.

They had arrived.

Her waters.

Home.

Y/N stood at the edge of the deck, the wind in her hair, the salt thick in her lungs. She could feel it in her bones — the ocean humming with welcome. It had missed her.

Behind her, Donghyuck stood with his arms crossed, eyes unreadable. He hadn’t said much on the journey back. Not since they left the island. Not since she chose to sit alone, staring at the sea instead of at him.

Now he came closer, steps slow, uncertain.

“This is it,” he said softly.

Y/N didn’t look at him, just nodded. “It is.”

A beat.

Then she turned.

“I hope you’re happy, Donghyuck,” she said sincerely. “Really. You found what you were looking for. You got your gold. You completed your quest.”

He winced.

She saw it.

The way her words hit something raw.

Like they tasted bitter coming from her.

“I’m not proud of how this started,” he said. “But I am sorry. For everything.”

She nodded again, slower this time, letting the silence hang between them like mist.

Then she turned to the rest of the crew, offering them a quiet smile.

“Goodbye,” she said, and then, surprising even herself— “Thank you.”

She stepped forward and hugged Mark — arms around his shoulders, a warm squeeze. He blinked in stunned silence, then hugged her back fiercely.

The first human she had ever touched with affection.

The only one she hadn’t tried to drown.

Then she turned to Donghyuck once more.

Their eyes met.

Nothing was said.

But everything was felt.

------------------

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[jikookncity]

Bad-Boy Yuta x Good-Girl Reader (smut)

Y/n is a good girl who’s sick of nice boring boys who treat her like a fragile piece of glass in the bedroom. Cue Nakamoto Yuta.

WC: 2.6k, unprotected sex, oral sex, rough sex, spitting, biting, degradation, corruption kink no (some of these are in part 2)

Y/N stirred her tea with both hands, cheeks pink from the sun and her soft cardigan slipping off one shoulder.

“Aw, you’re so cute,” Haechan cooed from across the table, snapping a picture before she could protest.

She giggled, flustered, hiding her face behind her mug.

“I’m not that cute,” she mumbled.

But no one believed her.

Y/N was the one who always offered to drive people home. Who cried at sad commercials. Who baked cookies for birthdays. The one you introduced to your mom because she’d call her Mrs. Lee and bring her flowers.

She wore soft pastels. Pink gloss. Sweet perfume. She blushed when someone flirted too hard.

Of course, no one would ever suspect what she really liked.

What she really needed.

That night, she was on her knees in Yuta’s apartment, throat full of him, eyes glassy with tears and spit dripping from her chin.

“Look at you,” Yuta snarled, hand wrapped in her hair, forcing her deeper until her nose was buried against his abs.

She moaned around him.

He pulled her off with a wet pop, grabbing her jaw in one hand and dragging her mouth open. Her tongue lolled out automatically—trained—and he spat straight onto it.

“Swallow.”

She obeyed, cheeks burning, thighs clenching from nothing more than the sound of his voice.

“Get on the bed.”

The mattress creaked under her knees as she climbed up, heart pounding, soaking through the cotton of her panties.

Yuta didn’t waste time. He grabbed her by the hips, ripped the panties down, and drove into her in one quick motion.

Y/N screamed.

He stretched her. Made her feel full, like none of those “nice guys” ever had. Her nails clawed the sheets, mouth wide open in a moan as Yuta pounded into her from behind, rough and fast, no mercy.

“You let all those boring, soft little boys touch you?” he growled, leaning down, fingers bruising into her hips. “Bet they asked if this was okay every time they moved. Bet they couldn’t even make you cum.”

She whined. “They didn’t—I didn’t—I couldn’t…”

Yuta chuckled darkly, thrusting harder. “Of course not. You needed someone to ruin you.”

She gasped as he spanked her hard, once, then again, the sting blooming instantly.

“You needed someone to fuck you stupid, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, eyes fluttering shut, spit glistening on her lips. “Yes, Yuta—please—don’t stop—”

He grabbed her hair and yanked, forcing her arch back sharper. Her back bowed, breasts bouncing with every thrust as his pace turned savage.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered into her ear, biting the shell of it, then dragging his teeth down her neck. “My filthy little angel.”

Her eyes rolled back. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Right now. Make a mess for me.”

She shattered with a scream, clenching hard around him as her body convulsed. He didn’t stop, even as she trembled violently under him, whimpering from overstimulation. He fucked her straight through it, his hand coming down again to leave a red palm print on her ass.

When he came, he was grunting curses into her skin, spilling deep inside with one final hard thrust before collapsing over her.

They lay there for a beat, tangled and breathless, her face buried in the sheets and his teeth gently grazing her shoulder as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses over the bite marks he left.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured into her skin.

She nodded weakly, blissed out and ruined.

And all the while, her phone buzzed on the nightstand with a new message from Mark.

hey yn! dinner next week? my mom’s in town, i told her about you :) hope you’re free!

Y/N stared at the screen for a moment before giggling quietly.

No one had a clue.

————————

It was supposed to be a regular group hangout—loud music, cheap beer, someone rolling joints in the back room, and everyone crammed into Johnny’s place like always.

Y/N was perched on the armrest of the couch between Ningning and Mark, giggling softly at something they said, sipping from a cherry-flavored drink with her legs tucked up.

Then Yuta walked in.

A few cheers went up. "Finally!" "Where the hell were you?" "Late as always."

But Y/N’s drink nearly slipped from her hand.

Because there it was—a fresh black tattoo crawling up the side of his neck, bold and sleek, inked right over the tendon like it owned him. Like he owned it.

He said he got it on impulse. Shrugged it off.

The group swarmed him, admiring it, hyping him up. “Dude, that’s hard.” “Badass as fuck.” “Did it hurt?”

Y/N said nothing.

Because she was too busy crossing her legs tighter, breath caught in her throat, heart pounding in her ears.

And Yuta knew it.
He felt her staring.

And when his gaze finally dragged across the room and landed on her—slow and cocky—he smirked.

Like he already knew she was soaked.

That night, she was crawling toward him in nothing but soft white lingerie—delicate lace cupping her tits, thin straps sliding off her shoulders, the tiniest bow between her thighs.

“Yuta,” she whispered, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. “Please.”

“Use your words, angel.”

“I need you,” she breathed. “Need your cock—need to feel you. Can I ride you?”

He didn’t even speak. Just dropped onto the couch, jeans halfway undone, cock already hard and heavy against his stomach.

Y/N straddled him, needy hands guiding him inside her inch by inch, her mouth falling open in a broken gasp.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, rolling her hips. “You feel so good—so full…”

Yuta grabbed her ass in both hands, slapping it hard, making her jolt with a cry.

“Yeah? You love this cock, don’t you?” he growled, thrusting up into her. “Love how I fuck you open like no one else ever did?”

“Yes—yes, Yuta—only you.”

She raked her hands through his hair, pulling his face toward her neck, and then she bit him—hard, teeth sinking in as she rode him faster.

Then her lips were on his neck, licking, sucking, worshipping the ink she’d been fantasizing about since the moment she saw it. Her tongue traced the edges of the new tattoo as her hips snapped down faster.

Yuta groaned, slamming his hips up into her. “Yeah, suck it, angel. You love this shit, huh? Love my tattoos, my piercings, my fuckin’ hands on your ass.”

“I love everything about you,” she babbled, out of breath and cock-drunk. “Your tattoos, your voice, your hands—your hair, your fucking mouth—”

“Then cum on it,” he hissed, voice ragged. “Ride it like you mean it.”

And she did.

Head thrown back, hips grinding wildly, eyes fluttering shut as she moaned his name like a prayer, cumming hard around him with a sob. He followed with a groan, grabbing her hips and holding her down as he filled her deep.

They kissed through it—sloppy, desperate, messy—and she stayed on his lap for a moment, trembling, hearts pounding together.

Yuta pressed a kiss to her temple. “Fuck, angel…”

She smiled against his shoulder. “Carry me to bed?”

He scooped her up with ease, still half-hard, walking them to the bedroom like he couldn’t bear to let her go.

Sometime later, when the world had quieted and their bodies were tangled in soft sheets, Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny tin.

“What’s that?” Yuta asked, voice thick with sleep and sex.

She straddled his waist gently, soft thighs pressing against his hips, her hands warm.

“Tattoo balm,” she said with a shy little smile. “Saw it at the store. I figured you’d forget to take care of it properly.”

He blinked, speechless, as she opened it and dipped her fingers inside.

Then, carefully, she leaned down and began rubbing the soothing cream into his neck with slow, tender circles. Her touch was gentle—nothing like the way she fucked.

“Don’t scratch it,” she murmured. “Even if it itches.”

He watched her. Silent.

No one had ever done this. Not for him.

The way she touched him—like he was something worth caring for—made something tighten in his chest.

She looked up then, fingers still gently massaging balm into his skin. “What?”

Yuta didn’t answer.

He just pulled her down and kissed her.

And this time... it wasn’t rough.

It wasn’t even about sex.

It was soft. Slow.

Maybe even a little dangerous.

Because Yuta realized something as she curled up against his chest after:

This might not be just a hookup anymore.

——————————

The party was already loud when Y/N walked in, the soft shimmer of her dress catching the light and her sweet little smile lighting up the room more than the string lights ever could.

Yuta saw her the second she stepped through the door.

He was leaned against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, talking to Johnny, but his eyes never left her. Not when she hugged people. Not when she laughed. Not when she slipped off her coat and revealed the bare skin of her shoulders, that smooth glow he’d had his mouth on too many times to count.

He was just about to go to her when he showed up.

The guy in the leather jacket.

Tall. Tattooed. Cocky. Just like Yuta.

Y/N was leaning against the wall, smile soft, drink cradled between her hands as Leather Jacket started talking to her. Something about music. Or her dress. Whatever it was, it made her laugh.

Yuta’s jaw tightened.

The guy stepped closer.

Y/N didn’t push him away—of course not. She was sweet, she was polite. She was herself. But it didn’t matter.

Yuta slammed his cup down, already walking.

“Yo,” he said, tone calm but eyes sharp as he stopped next to them. “Back off.”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, didn’t realize she was taken.”

“She is.”

Y/N blinked up at him, confused. “Yuta?”

He didn’t answer her. Just slid his hand into hers—warm, firm—and pulled her away from the crowd without another word.

The hallway was quieter. Dimmer.

Her heels clicked softly against the wood as he backed her into the wall, but this time he didn’t pin her.

He didn’t growl or bark orders or rip anything off.

He just leaned down and kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Desperate.

Y/N melted instantly, her arms sliding around his shoulders, mouth opening for him as their lips moved like they were trying to memorize each other.

“Yuta,” she whispered when they broke apart. “What was that about?”

His forehead pressed to hers, breath shaky.

“I don’t like people flirting with you,” he muttered, kissing her jaw. “Don’t like the way he looked at you like you’re available.”

Her breath hitched as his hands gripped her hips.

“You’re not. You’re mine.”

She blinked, wide-eyed. “Yuta…”

Another kiss, slower this time. A thumb brushing under her eye like she might cry. His voice came low and honest against her mouth.

“I don’t wanna fuck around anymore,” he said. “I want you. Just you. Be mine, angel. Be with me.”

Y/N smiled, soft and glowing, her heart pounding as she kissed him again and again between her words.

“I already am.”

He smiled too—grin lazy and a little stunned—and kissed her until the noise of the party faded into nothing.

They didn’t have sex in that hallway.

Not that night.

But the kiss?

It was the dirtiest, most tender thing Yuta had ever done.

And for the first time, it meant everything.

Being his girlfriend didn’t change a thing.

Yuta still kissed like he wanted to own her soul. Still fucked like he didn’t believe in mercy. Still looked at her like she was his favorite sin.

But now?

Now he did it with even less restraint.

They barely made it through the door.

———————

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