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bi-bard · 2 years ago

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Cruel Trick of Fate - Xenk Yendar Imagine [Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves]

Title: Cruel Fate

Pairing: Xenk Yendar X Reader

Word Count: 1,508 words

Warning(s): self-image issues (i think that's a good way to describe it), mention of attack

Summary: Xenk saves the life of a person in need. (Y/n)'s time spent healing brings the duo exceptionally closer than either of them considered to be possible.

Author's Note: I don't know if I'm surprised that this is happening or not.

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My story truly begins when I woke up in what I assumed was a cave.

I had no idea where I was or how I had gotten there. And once I blinked the sleep from my eyes, I realized those facts and shoved myself out of the bed.

I scrambled, doing a circle in the hopes of getting some kind of hold on my surroundings. It didn't do much.

I reached over blindly, grabbing a stick of some kind that I could use as a makeshift weapon.

"You shouldn't be moving around."

I jumped when I heard a voice. I held out my arms, trying to look more threatening to the man than I actually was.

"You hit your head," he said. "You should sit down before your head begins to hurt again."

"Who are you and where am I," I asked. "And why did you bring me here?"

"My name is Xenk Yendar, this is my home, and you were attacked," he answered simply.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "That didn't actually answer my final question."

"Your head was hurt," he repeated. "By the creature that attacked you. Do you not remember?"

"Head injuries can impact memory," I replied. "Shocking, I know."

"I do not find that shocking at all," his eyebrows furrowed for a moment.

"I was being- it wasn't- why am I explaining the concept of language to you," I scolded myself more than I truly spoke to him. "Let me go."

"I cannot do that in good conscience," he shook his head. "How are you feeling?"

"I- I'm fine," I blinked a few times when a spiking pain shot through my head, finding a place in my temple to continuously remind me of its presence. "I want to go home."

"If I allow you to do that and you end up even more hurt on the trip, then I would never be able to forgive myself."

"Then you can guide me, how's... how's that?"

I must've swayed a bit when I spoke.

Xenk stepped forward, only stopping when I shakily pointed the stick at him.

"You are threatening me with a stick and are clearly weak, please sit down," he pleaded.

I closed my eyes, my face scrunching up a bit as I did so. I felt him pull the stick from my hands before guiding me to sit back down on the bed.

"I will be right back."

I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, not acknowledging his comment.

At the time, I decided that the entire event was decided by some cruel act of fate.

It felt like I spent ages with Xenk.

At first, I was angry. Dismissive. I made my discomfort very well known. The more that I looked back on that time, the more stunned I am that Xenk never told me to leave. He refused to give up on me until I was fully healed.

I did eventually begin to calm down. Anger and annoyance became something close to indifference. It was all much calmer. We would eat together, conversations were less awkward, and my constant need to fight or run seemed to dissipate.

When that indifference changed, I wanted to refuse that it happened.

It felt strange to think that such a change had happened. Ridiculous.

It was so much easier for me to ignore it happened at all.

And then, Xenk came back with a wound on his arm.

I furrowed my eyebrows as he walked in.

"Are you alright," I asked.

He nodded. "Just need to take care of this."

I watched him for a while as he cleaned his wound and attempted to take care of it. It didn't seem like a very intense wound, but it did seem a bit difficult for him to take care of.

It took me far too long to finally step in.

"Alright, stop," I walked over and swatted his hand away. "I may go mad watching your stubbornness."

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment. "How would my supposed stubbornness cause you to lose- you were figurative!"

"Yes," I nodded as I moved his arm. He hissed a bit. "Does that hurt?"

"Not at all," he replied, voice slightly strained.

I rolled my eyes before walking around him and sitting behind him on the mattress. He was able to lower his arm and I was still able to properly take care of his wound.

I remained quiet as I wrapped his arm. I was the youngest in my family. My experience with tending to wounds was minuscule. But I could do some of the bare minimum.

"How is that," I asked quietly after pulling my hands away.

"Better than I could have done on my own," he mumbled.

It was then that I noticed how... strange the moment felt. We were so close and it all felt so... intimate.

We fell silent again. We both seemed fixated on watching each other's eyes. As if we were attempting to read each other's minds before either one of us made a mistake.

I nodded somewhat awkwardly before going to stand from my spot. "I... I think I am going to make us both some tea. I know that it won't heal you, but it certainly couldn't hurt."

I went to walk away, but his good hand stopped me, catching my wrist before I could get too far away from him. I stopped, turning back to him.

"What is it," I asked quietly.

He blinked a few times as if suddenly realizing what he had actually done. "I... I'm afraid that I don't truly know. I'm sorry."

He let go of my wrist, still stunned by himself.

I paused for a moment. After contemplating my choices, I stepped closer to him. He looked up at me.

My eyes moved up to his forehead. I don't know why. I think holding eye contact with him was simply too intense. I heard him sigh as my eyes moved. He must have assumed that I was staring at the mark decorating his skin and not just trying to cope with my own emotions.

"That is why it has taken you so long to fully trust me," he muttered.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What?"

"The symbol of Szass Tam," he explained, looking away from me. "Some part of me will always be lost to it. I am closer to a monster than not... it is why you were so hesitant to trust me."

"No," I shook my head. "No, no, Xenk. That is not true."

He looked at me again.

"I didn't trust you because I was hurt and found myself in a strange place with a person that I had never met before," I corrected. "It was a very understandable reaction. But once I got to know you, I trusted you more. I cannot think of a single moment that the symbol on your forehead was what determined how I felt about you.

"You are also far from any kind of monster. You are a hero. You have saved many people, you protected me when you didn't even know my name, you have vowed yourself to a life helping others. I don't know a monster that would ever do such a thing."

Xenk seemed to scan every inch of my face, waiting for some sign that I was being dishonest. I reached up, gently running my thumb over the mark on his forehead. He took a deep breath, eyes falling shut as I did.

"Silly thing, really," I muttered. "I didn't even notice it when we first met. Did you know that?"

"Really?"

I nodded. "I was a little too focused on other things... like figuring out what had happened."

"When did you notice it," he asked.

"We were having dinner. That first night," I said. "I was refusing to eat until you did, so I had nothing to focus on other than you. That's when I started making out the symbol. I just... I couldn't bring myself to care about it."

"Why?"

"Don't know," I shrugged. "Instinct... fate?"

"I do not understand why fate would prevent you from caring."

"Maybe fate didn't want me to leave," I replied. "If I cared about the mark, then I would have."

"And why would fate not want you to leave?"

I could see something cross his face. Some small, knowing look. I bit back a growing smile at the idea. There was this air of safety and comfort. Security in whatever choice I made next.

I took a deep breath before leaning down and gently pressing my lips to his. I felt the hand of his uninjured arm reach up and touch the hand not resting on his face.

It was only a few moments before I pulled away. I slowly grinned at him. He smiled back at me.

"I'm glad that fate kept you from leaving," he muttered.

I chuckled. "So am I."

I leaned forward and kissed him again.

Quite a cruel trick that fate decided to play, wasn't it?

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Author's Note: I just wanna brag about the fact that I managed to guess where this movie was filmed while I was watching it with a friend. It was the coolest thing I've done in a long time.

Also, that I kept making comparisons between this movie and Ella Enchanted, but that's not really as cool.

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#fanfiction #imagine #x reader #dungeons and dragons imagine #dungeon and dragons fanfiction #dungeons and dragons x reader #dnd imagine #dnd fanfiction #dnd x reader #xenk yendar imagine #xenk yendar fanfiction #xenk yendar x reader #honor among thieves imagine #honor among thieves fanfiction #honor among thieves x reader #dungeons and dragons: honor among thieves imagine #dungeons and dragons: honor among thieves fanfiction #dungeons and dragons: honor among thieves x reader

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saddleups · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 3k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . drabble , complete. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . pillow humping. dry humping. mating press. cervix kissing. breeding kink. possessive/dominant arthur. explicit dirty talk. mid to low arthur ngl. p_rn w/o plot.

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . . taking advantage of everything the hotel has to offer. arthur is too busy to notice until you leave him with no choice.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . erm,,,idk what to title this....it's a scrapped scene from honor among thieves. didn't think y/n in that story would allow arthur to be so dominant without any fight tbh. plus i lowkey need a short break from that fic , it was meant to be just pure smut across the board after they finally have sex but i got carried away with the relationship dynamic lmao. so, it'll be delayed and i'll fill the time with short drabbles like this that just didn't make the cut </3

The maid sets a basin of warm water on the vanity in the plush hotel room, the steam rising up and filling the air with a fresh scent. You thank her before eagerly plunging your hands into the water. Forming a puddle in your palms, relishing in its warmth as you splash it onto your face before washing away any traces of makeup and grime from the day. The pigments dissolve into the water, revealing your natural complexion underneath, and you can't help but sigh with relief at finally being able to unwind after a long day.

As you dry off, you replenish your skin with rose water, a sweet scent lingering on your skin, knowing all too well it'd drive him mad. Across the room, Arthur sits by the window with his gaze fixed outside, his gun carefully placed on the wooden table behind him. The quieter type, he leaves you to unwind alone. Stealing quick glances when he needed extra motivation.

In nothing but your chemise, you sink into the plush mattress beneath you with a contented sigh. It's a luxury that you rarely have in your line of work - a cozy hotel bed instead of a hard cot or rough bedroll. The distant sounds of city life drift in through the open window.

You can't contain a giggle as you roll around on the large bed, unintentionally unraveling the sheets in the process. Arthur quickly hushes you from his spot in the chair, lounging comfortably with his long legs stretched out under the table. He takes up more space than he realizes, his broad shoulders tapering down into a lean V shape. You can't help but admire him as he meticulously cleans each of his guns, his calloused hands gently caressing and polishing them until they gleam like new. In that moment, you wish those hands were on your own body instead.

Is he oblivious or just plain stubborn? You couldn't quite tell, but either way, he seems completely focused on his task at hand - oblivious to your half-naked state on the mattress only a few feet away. Your chemise clings to your curves, revealing hints of your allure underneath. Your fingers trace down your stomach and between the valleys of your chest, imagining his rough hands exploring those same areas. You hike your chemise higher, giving him a suggestive glimpse of your bloomers in hopes of sparking that primal desire in him. A gentle breeze brushes over your skin, causing you to moan softly as your hardened nipples strain against the thin fabric.

"You need somethin?" Arthur finally hums, breaking you out of your thoughts. Oblivious or just playing it cool, you can't quite tell. But despite being slightly annoyed at his lack of attention, you couldn't be too upset - after all, the hotel was meant for a mission that ended up lasting longer than expected. And now here he is, diligently keeping guard by the window. Though it's been long enough that you both should be able to relax for the night. But Arthur is always so meticulous and dedicated to his work, even if it means neglecting other desires...like yours. You sigh and continue to explore your body with your own hands, wishing they were his instead.

Without hesitation, you firmly respond with a breathless "no." You refuse to come across as desperate, but deep down, your desire for Arthur burns like a wildfire. You want him to take you and show him what he's been missing. And so, you shift your position once more, sitting up on the bed to face him. Grabbing a spare pillow and placing it between your legs, straddling it tightly while letting out a soft cry. Biting your knuckles, you grind your hips into the pillow, trying to contain your pleasure. But it becomes too much as the bed creaks under your movements and your whimpers grow in volume. Under the impression that you were settling into bed, Arthur pays it no mind until the creaking continues. A slow, continuous rhythm that he'd only heard one place else.

Arthur watches intently as you tease yourself, unable to resist any longer. He sets his guns aside and gives in to the hypnotizing sight of your body moving against the pillow. The fabric stretches over your bloomers as you move agonizingly slow, building up the pressure until you can no longer hold back. Lost in the throes of ecstasy, your eyes lock with Arthur's as he stands up and walks towards you with hunger in his gaze. Your lips part as you whimper and confess your need for him, "Oh Arthur," it sounds orgasmic and it's sending him into a frenzy. He stands above you with his legs slightly apart, feeling his own desire grow within him.

You lean forward and press your face against his clothed groin, leaving open mouth kisses on his covered length. He sucks in a sharp breath and reminds you of his previous question: "I asked if you needed somethin."

But you are too consumed by desire to remember. All you know is that you need him desperately. You continue kissing his clothed cock, wondering if it hurts him to keep it restrained like this. You know he wants you just as badly. The heat of his member radiated even through the fabric. Arthur grips your cheeks tightly and repeats his question with a firmness that sends shivers down your spine. "Answer me, girl."

You tremble as you reach for his thighs, using them as anchors as you grind your hips harder into the pillow. Your fingers dig into the fabric, grasping onto it for dear life. "I need you," you moan.

With a deep and husky voice, Arthur responds, "Dirty girl. Tell me what you need."

Your head is pressed against his lower abdomen, drooling at the thought of him filling you up wherever he pleases. With desperate need in your voice, you tell him exactly what you want: "I need you inside me."

The vulgar praise echoes in your ears, causing a surge of sweat to break out across your body as you ache for him. "I want your cock," you confess with a desperate whisper, your face pressed firmly against his groin. You can feel his heart pounding for you, the fabric of his pants the only thing keeping you from devouring his throbbing member whole.

"What was that?" he taunts, thrusting his hips forward as the length of his shaft slides up your face. A guttural moan escapes your lips, your skin flushed and hot with desire. "All them times you drove me crazy," he begins, gripping the crown of your head tightly against his cock. "Teasing yer'self while I'm trynna work."

"What makes you think I'll pleasure you so easily?" You challenge, looking up at him with pride but feeling an overwhelming need for him. Arthur leans in closer, pushing you down onto the mattress. The pillow between your legs acts as a barrier between him and his cock, you can still feel it pressing against your soaked bloomers, threatening to push inside you. He thrusts with such force that it's instinctual to wrap your legs tightly around his waist. You cry out his name over and over like a sacred chant.

"Yer gonna wake up the entire town if you keep goin' on like that."

"I don't care," you fight back, tears welling in your eyes. You crave him so intensely, it's almost maddening.

He chuckles darkly, "my filthy girl."

The intensity of his possession over you drives you wild with desire. Without warning, Arthur begins dry humping the pillow against your wet opening, soaking through your bloomers and leaving wet marks on the fabric caught between you two. Your jaw clenches so tightly that you fear your teeth might shatter. Desperate to remove the barrier between you, you try to pull the pillow out from between your legs, he stops you with a wicked smile. "Not until I say so, darlin'," he growls, driving you closer to the brink of madness with every rough thrust.

Your fingers claw at his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer as he continues to tease you mercilessly. The friction of the pillow against your most sensitive areas is maddening, bringing you right to the edge but never quite enough. You whimper and writhe beneath him, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. With each movement his groans and grunts join yours, a hushed tone growing more guttural when you retaliated his thrusts. Even more so when you cried his name, begging him to devour you whole.

"Arthur, please," you beg, your voice a breathy moan. "I need more. I need you."

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Patience, darlin'. Good things come to those who wait."

With agonizing slowness, he begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing tantalizing glimpses of his broad chest. Your hands itch to touch him, to run your fingers through the coarse hair there, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one large hand. His grip on your wrists is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control. You squirm beneath him, desperate for more contact, but he holds you in place effortlessly.

"Now, now," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Be a good girl for me."

With his free hand, he slowly trails his fingertips down your throat, across your collarbone, and down to the swell of your breasts. Your nipples strain against the thin fabric of your chemise, aching for his touch. When he finally brushes his thumb over one hardened peak, you arch into him with a gasp.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear those pretty sounds."

He continues his torturous exploration of your body, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. When he reaches the hem of your chemise, he pauses, his eyes meeting yours with a wicked glint. Slowly, achingly slowly, he begins to inch the fabric up your thighs, exposing more and more of your flushed skin to the cool air of the room.

You whimper, trying to buck your hips up to speed his progress, but he tuts disapprovingly. "Patience," he reminds you, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Finally, he tosses the pillow aside before he pushes your chemise up to bunch around your waist, revealing your soaked bloomers. Arthur inhales sharply at the sight, his eyes darkening with lust. "Look at you," he murmurs, running a finger along the damp fabric. "So wet for me already."

You moan at his touch, desperate for more. "Please, Arthur," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you so badly."

Arthur's eyes flicker with desire as he watches you writhe beneath him. "Tell me exactly what you want, darlin'," he growls, his fingers teasing along the edge of your bloomers.

"I want you inside me," you gasp, arching into his touch. "Please, Arthur, I need to feel you."

With a low chuckle, he finally relents, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your bloomers and slowly sliding them down your legs. The cool air hits your heated core, making you shiver with anticipation.

Arthur's gaze rakes over your exposed body hungrily. "Beautiful," he murmurs, before lowering his head to press a searing kiss to your inner thigh. You cry out at the sensation, your hands fisting in the sheets as he works his way higher.

When his lips finally reach your aching center, you let out a keening moan, your back arching off the bed. Arthur's tongue delves between your folds, tasting your arousal with a growl of approval. His stubble scratches deliciously against your sensitive skin as he explores every inch of you.

You writhe beneath him, gasping and whimpering as he works you closer to the edge. His strong hands grip your thighs, holding you open for his ministrations. When he sucks your swollen bud between his lips, you cry out his name, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmurs against you. "Let me hear you."

He slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them just right as his tongue continues its relentless assault. The dual sensations are overwhelming, and you feel yourself hurtling towards release. Your wetness gathering around his fingers, flooding down your thighs, pouring into his mouth like a fountain. "Oh my god, Arthur." You seize your thighs, an odd sensation forming at your center.

"That's it, sweetheart," Arthur growls against your sensitive flesh. "Come for me."

His words are your undoing. Hips buck on his face, that coil tightening finally snaps. You arch forward hand digging into the crown of his head. Your nectar squirts from your core and with a keening wail, you shatter, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. High off the taste of you, Arthur doesn't let up, working you through your climax until you're a quivering, oversensitive mess beneath him.

As you come down from your high, panting and flushed, Arthur rises up to hover over you. His eyes are dark with desire, his lips glistening with evidence of your pleasure. Without warning, he captures your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is deep and passionate, filled with hunger and need. You moan into his mouth, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders and down his muscled back.

Arthur breaks the kiss, panting heavily. "Gonna take care of ya," he growls, his voice rough with desire. You nod eagerly, spreading your legs wider in invitation. "Please, Arthur. I need you too."

With a fierce determination, he rips off the last remnants of his clothing, revealing a massive and throbbing cock. Arthur's length is like a weapon, thick and girthy with veins pulsing in shades of green and purple. The tip is a deep red, glistening with pre-cum, beckoning you to taste it. You can feel your own desire building as you lick your lips at the sight.

You ache for him to fill you completely, and he knows it. With a devilish grin, Arthur positions himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock.

"Tell me you need it," he demands, his eyes locked on yours.

"I need it," you breathe, unable to resist any longer. "Please, Arthur. Fuck me."

With a guttural groan, he thrusts inside you in one powerful motion, his coarse hair blending with yours as your bodies meld together. But even this closeness isn't enough for Arthur; he lifts your thighs higher up towards your chest and presses you against him with an animalistic force. Your foreheads press together as he claims you as his own.

"Whose pussy is this?" he growls.

"It's yours!" you scream without shame.

He pounds into you with an unbridled ferocity.

"That's right," he grunts.

And with every thrust, every moan that escapes your lips, you know that you belong to him completely

Arthur's relentless thrusts drive you wild with pleasure, each powerful movement sending shockwaves through your body. You cling to him desperately, your nails raking down his back as you match his irratic rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your breathless moans and Arthur's guttural groans.

"You feel so good, darlin'," he growls in your ear, his hot breath fanning across your flushed skin. "So tight and wet for me."

His words send another jolt of arousal through you, and you clench around him involuntarily. Arthur hisses in response, his hips stuttering for a moment before resuming their punishing pace.

"That's it," he encourages, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub tight circles on your sensitive bud. "Let go for me, sweetheart."

"Please, fill me with your hot cum," you beg, voice trembling with desire.

His lips curl into a smirk as he teases, "You want my cum inside that pretty lil pussy?"

Without hesitation, you nod eagerly and thrust your hips into his with a desperate need. Arthur's composure crumbles as he becomes a moaning mess above you, his sweat dripping onto your face as both of you lose yourselves in the moment. Your mouths hang open, drooling as your bodies move in perfect harmony.

Seizing control, you hold your own thighs up and allow Arthur to press his hands onto the mattress, his weight surrendering on top of you. A gasp escapes your throat as the tip of his cock hits against your cervix, sending electric shocks through your body.

"Yes, give it to me all, Arthur! Fill me up!" You cry out, urging him on as you feel yourself being pushed over the edge. In a frenzy of passion, your tongues tangle together in sloppy kisses as he finally gives in and releases himself inside you. It feels like every inch of your body is on fire, consumed by the intense passion between you.

Arthur's hot, thick cum fills your swollen pussy, and you both watch in awe as he pulls out, leaving a trail of sticky strands that connect the two of you. He playfully slaps the tip of his still-hard cock against your slick folds, eliciting shivers of pleasure throughout your body. With gentle circles and flicks, he teases your throbbing clit, sending electric pulses of desire through every inch of you. Your voice is caught in your throat. Eyes sealed shut as he leans forward, kissing your face so intently.

"You did so good, my sweet girl." Arthur's praises are filled with admiration for you. You lean in and kiss him lazily, still feeling the intensity of it all. "Do you think our neighbors are angry with us?" you ask, your voice strained from the relentless moaning that just moments ago filled the room.

Arthur chuckles, his hand gently stroking your back. "Probably," he replies, "can't deny we gave them quite a show."

Playfully slapping his chest, you sink into his embrace as he wraps his arm around your waist. Resting your head on his chest, you feel comforted by the steady rhythm of his beating heart. Tracing half circles along his abdomen, you look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Should we give them an encore then?" you suggest with a sly smile.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan #saddleups #filed: distraction

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whimsimille · 7 months ago

Text

POMEGRANATES

Jeong Jin-Man x female! reader

Pandemonium overtook the cabaret, and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering pierced through the cacophony.

Before you found refuge in the room and made a beeline for the closet, your eyes had taken in the eerie spectacle. The grand chandelier suspended from the ceiling cast ominous shadows that danced on the walls, their movements dictated by the tongues of flames consuming the room. Smoke, ashen and thick, curled upwards, a grim proof of the chaos below. It originated from multiple sources: tablecloths set ablaze, furniture upturned and broken, and bottles of discarded alcohol shattered upon impact from stray bullets. The stench was overpowering—a sickening cocktail of gunpowder, sweat, and blood.

One man clutched his stomach where he'd been shot; another woman sobbed uncontrollably near an upturned piano while cradling her head wound; yet another lies motionless near a pool of crimson liquid.

Imagining the worst case scenarios playing out of the reach of your eyes, you hope that whoever's shooting will miss their target.

But then again, if they did, they wouldn't have come here in the first place. This place was a haven for criminals, a den of vice—no honor among thieves—and it looked like someone wanted to reclaim the turf or send a message.

You didn't care about any of that; all you cared about was survival. And Min-Hye.

Through the cracks in the closet door, you watched in horror.

Bodies lay scattered like broken dolls, some screaming for mercy or moaning in pain, while others just lay still—dead or unconscious. It's hard to tell which is worse. Blood drips from their wounds and mixes with spilled alcohol on the floor as chaos ensues around you both.

Men in black tactical gear methodically searched each room, their eyes glazed over with a cold detachment that sent shivers down your spine. They moved swiftly and efficiently, leaving little room for error or hesitation. Their guns were cocked and ready to fire at any sign of movement.

Your Korean wasn't as good as your English to understand everything they said, but you caught enough to realize that they were looking for the girls.

Holding Min-Hye tightly against you, you notice how her soft curves nestled into your own body—the direct opposite of the flimsy lingerie she wore.

Your own clothes were practically torn to shreds from when they'd dragged you into the back room, and your skin was bruised and battered from their rough handling. But there was no time to mourn that now.

Min-Hye let out a whimper as the scream of a woman rang out, but you quickly grabbed her face and put it on your neck.

"Shh, shh," you whisper into her ear, gently stroking her hair as you try to calm her down.

The older woman shook in your arms, her frightened breaths hot against your neck. They were almost upon you now; you could feel their presence through the closet door, like a foul wind that reeked of sweat and gunsmoke. One hard kick and it would all be over. But you couldn't just let them take her—not like this. Not while she was clinging on to you so desperately, trusting in your protection. You had to do something—anything.

"You're going to be okay," you whisper, even though you know you might both end up dead.

Strangely, you feel calm and detached. Maybe it's the adrenaline, or perhaps it's because you've been in similar nightmarish situations before.

Growing up, your home was a battlefield. Your mother, with her razor-sharp words and fists as hard as talons, and your father, a drunk who spent more time stumbling than holding a job.

Your childhood was a blur of violence and fear—trying to drown it out with the solace of books. But that didn't stop bullets from flying and bombs exploding, or men with guns barging into your home, looking for who knows what. You knew how to survive in these situations. How to stay quiet and hidden, how to move without being seen or heard. You were an expert at keeping yourself alive, you learned never to show fear, never to scream, and never to go down without a fight. You learned to toughen up, to leave scars on whatever dared to harm you.

The closet you're in now is cluttered with discarded sex toys, torn dresses, and stained undergarments. Amid the chaos, you spot a pile of black leather items—remains of some BDSM act performed earlier tonight.

You quickly gather them, creating a makeshift cloak for you and Min-Hye to hide underneath.

“I-I’m scared!” Min-Hye interrupts your crafting, her head falling onto your shoulders as she weeps.

Without moving your lips, you pull Min-Hye's head back and gently remove the blonde wig from her head, revealing her short black hair that is matted with sweat and tears. You remember your own hair being pulled, yanked as a form of punishment or control. But that's a thought for another time.

"Breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out. Slow and steady."

Letting go of the cover, you find her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, hoping to transfer some of your calmness to her.

She must have picked up on your trick because she slowly started to mimic your rhythm.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes through the room as someone kicks in the door of the suite you two were in.

You hold your breath as you hear them approach your closet, feeling the vibrations of their heavy boots on the wooden floor. The knob turns slowly, and you flinch, expecting the worst.

Sweat begins to form on your brow as the door creaks open ever so slightly, revealing only darkness at first. But then, a sliver of light from the hallway enters and you see a pair of cold, impassive eyes gazing straight at you.

Your makeup smeared as you rolled out of the closet, your eyes fixed on the intruders—two men who stared back at you in surprise. You can see the shock on their faces when they take in your nude body and Min-Hye hiding behind you, her eyes wide with fear.

Adrenaline makes you swift and sure. Your hand snakes out, grabbing one of the discarded leather straps from your makeshift cloak and whipping it towards them.

The strap catches one man off-guard, wrapping around his neck and yanking him backward with a crack. He chokes, gasping for air as you twist it tighter, your fingers digging into his skin like claws.

Meanwhile, his comrade takes aim at you both, finger squeezing the trigger. But before he can fire, you dive forward and slam into him with a grunt of effort. Your shoulder crashes against his stomach just as a bullet rips through the air where your head was moments ago. You sink teeth into his neck to muffle his cry of pain until he goes limp beneath you.

The second man, dazed but still breathing, tries to bring his knife up, but you're too quick. His eyes widen as he sees your hands wrap around his neck and then narrow in anger when you squeeze. You smell the sweat on his skin as you twist, feeling his windpipe bend under your grip like a rubber band under pressure. You can hear him gurgle and wheeze for air—a pathetic sound that fills you with satisfaction. This is how it should be—every single one of these bastards deserves to suffer like this.

With a final crack of bone breaking under your hands, the man goes limp and drops to the floor with a thud.

For a moment, all is silent.

Your eyes land on Min-Hye, cowering behind the overturned table, her eyes wide with fear yet still following your every move intently.

From the moment you were unwillingly brought to this place, the youngest and the last to be ensnared, to be handled around Chinese men like a sex toy, you had taken Min-Hye under your wing, offering her the care that had been denied to you, even when she was 5 years older. And now, you would do anything to save her.

A sharp crack echoes through the room as more gunshots ring out.

Glass shatters behind you; someone else is breaking in or shooting through another windowpane. You barely register it as you kick the men away from you and push yourself up to your feet with a snarl. Your legs tremble underneath you but adrenaline carries you forward nonetheless.

You snatch up a shard of broken glass from the floor as another shot rings out—too close for comfort—and throw it with all your strength at a third assailant who had just entered through the doorway. The sharp piece hits him in the eye and he cries out before he falls to the ground.

You could hear others getting closer, their heavy boots stomping on the floorboards. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you tried to think of a way out of this nightmare.

You needed to get Min-Hye to safety, but how? The exit door was locked and there were at least two of them guarding it. The window was your only option, but it was high and covered by metal bars. And even if you managed to open it, the drop would surely break her fragile body. You didn't even know if she could climb or if the fall would kill her instantly.

A sudden thought hit you like a lightning bolt: the ventilation shaft! It led directly outside; perhaps you could squeeze through the tiny opening with Min-Hye and make a mad dash for freedom before they caught on to your plans.

Frantically, you reached for the fallen gun in one hand while dragging the unconscious men with the other, positioning them into a corner. It was a spot that was out of sight from outside yet still provided a modicum of cover while you prepared to make your bold escape.

“Damn it!” you hissed when you checked the gun, finding the chamber empty. Your heart sank as you checked the other bodies, but it was the same story.

In desperation, you ripped off one of their masks, revealing a scarred and rugged face that mirrored the cold determination in his eyes when he was conscious. You swiftly grabbed his discarded weapons belt, strapping it around your waist firmly, now armed with a knife and a baton.

"Y/N..."

"Shh, calm down. I have a plan," you reassured her, giving her hand a comforting squeeze.

Your eyes darted around the room, landing on a chair nearby. In quick strides, you rushed to it and jammed it under the doorknob. The chair was old and rickety, its wood groaning under the strain. But it held. This makeshift barricade would buy you some precious time.

Now, it was time to get Min-Hye to safety. She was still shaking, but she didn't resist when you lifted her into your arms, her bare legs brushing against yours as you placed her on top of the table.

With trembling hands, you started to unscrew the bolts that held the grate in place. The monsters outside were cursing loudly, their threats and taunts blending into the cacophony of the chaos beyond the door. Your fingers slipped several times, smearing grease and dirt on the metal, but you were determined.

After what felt like an eternity, the last bolt came loose. You quickly pushed the grate aside, revealing a dark and narrow passageway. The shaft was barely big enough for one person to squeeze through. The air inside smelled musty, filled with the scent of dust and rusted pipes, a testament to the age of the building.

"Min-hye," you said, looking at her, making sure to hold her gaze. "I need you to trust me and crawl through here, okay? Can you do that?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip nervously. “But…what about yo-?”

“Just listen," you said, cutting her off. You pointed down the shaft. "Follow it straight, then take the second left. There'll be an opening that leads to the alleyway behind this building. Wait for me there.”

"But..."

"Just trust me, okay?"

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes, but she didn't question you further. With one last look at you, she crawled into the shaft.

You watched as she disappeared into the darkness, her silhouette fading until all you could see was the black void of the vent. You turned your attention to the pipes running along the ceiling. They were old and rusted, snaking their way across the room and disappearing into the walls. You followed their direction, guessing they led to the main water supply...which meant the main exit was in that direction.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Min-Hye called out from the shaft, her voice echoing slightly. "Why aren't you following me?"

You didn't answer her. Instead, you reached down and grabbed one of the knives from the belt you'd taken from the unconscious man. The cold metal was comforting in your hand; its weight was somehow reassuring. You tested its balance, swinging it a few times before strapping it securely to your thigh.

Then you turned back to the shaft, forcing a smile on your face. "I'll see you soon," you told her, then you closed the grate, leaving her alone in the darkness.

You moved back to your hiding spot, a small alcove behind a heavy curtain that provided somewhat of a shield from the view of the door. The fabric was thick and velvety, muffling the sounds from the other side of the room as your heart pounded in your chest.

Just as you settled into your hiding spot, the door to the room burst open.

A tall man stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He was imposing, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway. He was dressed in dark clothes, the material stretching over his muscular form. He smelled oddly good, like a mixture of citrus and nicotine.

His eyes were deep-set and intense as they took in the room, searching. They were the colour of storm clouds, cold and unforgiving.

You left your hiding spot, charging at him with a primal roar. He turned just in time to see you, his eyes widening in surprise. But he was quick—quicker than you'd expected. He grabbed you mid-air and threw you to the ground, his grip like iron around your wrist.

You groaned as you hit the floor, and the wind knocked you out.

He was on you in an instant, pulling you up by your hair and pressing the cold barrel of his gun against your throat.

Unlike the others, his eyes didn't rake over your nearly exposed breasts, or the blood pooling around your inner legs from being used earlier, or the bruises marring your body. His gaze didn't possess the leering, predatory glint you'd come to associate with the men in this place. Instead, his eyes met yours and held them.

It was almost as if he was assessing you, looking beyond your physical appearance and into your core. It was as if he were asking himself if you were a morning or a night person, if you enjoyed the silence of the library or the hustle of the city. It was as if he cared more about what you preferred, pink or blue, rather than the color of your lingerie.

You didn’t close your eyes or tear up; all that you did was look back at him through your damp eyelashes, smirking.

The man arched an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your defiant response. But to your surprise, he eventually let go of your hair and sheathed his gun. With a swift movement, he shrugged himself out of his jacket and gently draped it over you, his hands careful not to touch your bare skin.

As he bent down and lifted you into his arms, you couldn't help but think of the ancient Greek myths you had read as a child.

Now you were Persephone, trapped in the underworld of this criminal haven, and he was Hades. But unlike the myth, there was no pomegranate seed to bind you to this hell and no mother to plead for your return.

The only hope was your own survival instinct and the strange mercy of your captor.

Knock Knock

"Which cheese is the most dramatic?"

"Gorgonzilla."

"Correct. And which cheese is always on time?"

"Swiss, because it has holes in it, like a clock."

"Good. And which cheese suffers the most?"

"Grated cheese."

"Excellent. You may enter. Oh, and by the way, you're bleeding, noona."

Those are the first words that Jeong Ji-An utters as you stumble across the threshold of her uncle's house. Her eyes, glazed with the artificial glow from the television screen, flicker to you momentarily before returning to the unfolding nature documentary she's engrossed in.

It was something about lions in Africa; she seems to be really into wildlife documentaries these days. She always shares a few interesting facts about cheetahs that make their legs super flexible when running at high speeds and how they have spots to camouflage themselves against the tall grasses as they hunt for food.

As her routine requests, she's curled up on the worn-out couch, her small hands coated with a thin veneer of butter from the popcorn she's munching on. The rhythmic crunching of the kernels punctuates the silence of the room, the only other sound being the low hum of the narrator explaining the predator-prey dynamics in the wild.

"Hello to you too, baby.”

As you bend down to plant a soft kiss on her head, the scent of her strawberry shampoo and the cigarettes she smokes fills your nostrils, momentarily washing away the gritty stench of gunpowder and blood that clings to you.

You're not much older than Ji-An, but the bond you share with her feels deeper, stronger. She's the one precious jewel whose value is immeasurable. Maybe it's because she's the spitting image of Jeong Jin-Man, a tiny version of her uncle. Or maybe it's because she, like you, carries the weight of a world much too harsh for her tender years.

"Did you two have dinner yet?" you ask, changing the subject, trying to bring some normalcy to the situation. You glance towards the kitchen; the smell of something burning is still lingering in the air.

You can already imagine Jin-Man's reaction when he sees what happened. He'll probably grumble something about his niece not paying attention while cooking or being distracted by the TV again.

Ji-An finally tears her gaze away from the TV, her eyes lingering on the bloody wound on your ribs with an unspoken concern. "I did, but he didn’t. He was probably waiting for you.”

A sigh escapes your lips and your heart clenches with an emotion you can't quite name. It was always like this. Despite his gruff exterior and chilly demeanor, he'd always wait for you, working obsessively, neglecting his own needs until he was sure you were safe.

"And where's our workaholic now? Is he holed up in his room again?"

“Office. He's been engrossed in managing the missions with Pasin, poring over the site data ever since you left home at dawn," she replies, gesturing towards the closed door at the end of the hall.

“Is Pasin there with him now? They have been working together a lot lately.”

“No, Pasin left a while back. He mentioned that he was going to check up on Min-Hye at the safehouse first, then head to his restaurant. It's almost closing time there, actually. I should start getting ready for my Muay Thai class with him. He's been teaching me some new moves, and I don't want to be late."

"Ji-An, it's already past your bedtime. Your class can surely wait until tomorrow," you attempt to reason with her, casting a worried glance at the vintage clock hanging on the wall. Its hands were inching closer to midnight.

"But noona," she protests, her voice taking on a whiny tone too high for a 17-year-old girl. She puffs out her cheeks and bats her eyelashes, a well-practiced display of aegyo. "I've been practicing my punches and kicks all day. I'm so excited to show him the progress I've made. I just can't wait!"

You sigh, a fond smile tugging at your lips. You know when you've lost this battle. Ji-An's determination was always a force to be reckoned with.

"Alright, but on one condition," you stipulate. "You must promise me you won't mention this late-night training session to Jin-Man, okay?"

Her eyes twinkle with mischief as she grins widely, revealing her perfectly aligned teeth. "I promise, noona. Your secret is safe with me. Furthermore, you once again have a battlefield odor."

You chuckle, your hand reaching up to affectionately ruffle her slightly messy hair. "Alright, alright. I hear you, Ji-An. But… before you go," you add, holding up a finger to catch her attention as she's about to spring up from the couch. "I need you to do a few things for me."

She looks at you expectantly, a frown forming on her forehead. "What is it, Noona?"

"First, go put some warm clothes on. It's cold outside, and I don't want you to catch a cold. Second, remember to turn off the TV before you leave. And finally," you say, pointing at the pile of dishes in the sink, "wash the dishes. We can't have ants invading our kitchen."

She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. "But noona-"

"I know, Ji. But we all have to do things we don't like. It's part of being responsible. Now, go on. I need to get cleaned up."

“Yes, mom.”

With a dramatic sigh, she nods, pushing herself off the couch to do as you instructed. You watch her go, a small smile on your face. She may be a handful at times, but she always listens to you in the end.

Turning your attention back to yourself, you head towards the bathroom.

As soon as you open the door, you take off your jacket and immediately spit out blood into the sink, wincing at the sound of it hitting the porcelain like a bullet casing echoing through an empty chamber.

There's a persistent ringing in your ears—maybe from gunshots, screams or just stress. But it doesn't matter now. You grab a bottle of painkillers from under the sink and swallow two dry, feeling them slide down your throat like tiny pebbles.

Caught in the mirror is an unflattering reflection: dark circles like bruised moons under your eyes, mascara smeared across your lids like the inky strokes of a careless painter, strands of long hair, reeking of sweat and clinging to your forehead. Dirt is caked under your fingernails, souvenirs of the hours spent digging through the earth looking for something you weren't supposed to find.

Your hand reaches for a washcloth, dipping it into the warm water as you lean against the sink for support while taking stock of your wounds. Your skin is scraped raw from crawling through unmarked graves and dodging bullets; there's a deep cut on your left thigh and shallow ones along your arms where you used them for cover. Your ribs ache where that bastard shot you, but at least it was only grazed. That bullet could have done some real damage if it had been an inch to the left. You grit your teeth against the pain and scrub away the blood with vigor.

Despite the pain and the exhausting work, nothing can change the fact that you did what needed to be done. Murthehelp is always like this—dirty, dangerous, and hazy at times—but someone has to do it. And you do it very, very well.

A knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Jeong Ji-An pokes her head in. "Do you need anything else before I head out, noona?" She asks curiously and her face softens when she sees the bandages peeking from under your torn shirt, her mouth turning down into a worried frown.

"No," you reply with a small, weary smile. "Just admiring my handiwork."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't comment—she knows better than anyone how tough life can be sometimes. You can hear her rustling around in her room before returning with some clean clothes for you and announcing that she turned off the TV and did the dishes like a good girl.

“Great, baby."

Looking down, you see the baby blue lacy pajamas she knows you love to wear.

"It's your favorite, right, noona?" She says this, holding up the soft fabric. "And you know, Uncle Jin-Man always says you look nice in these." She adds with a teasing smile. “Maybe wearing these will make him less angry at you for coming home shot again."

You laugh at that, despite the pain it causes in your ribs. "I'll keep that in mind, Ji-An. Thanks for the tip."

With that, she gives you a quick, warm smile, her eyes twinkling with that youthful mischief, before she heads for the door. "Don't let him put you in a wheelchair. I like it when you’re able to walk, you know. It’s not as fun when you’re all bandaged up and grumpy.”

“Yah! Jeong Jin-An!” You shout, feigning anger. But the girl was already gone, her laughter echoing in the hallway.

“That brat…” You mutter under your breath, a small smile playing on your lips despite the pain.

Gently, you peel off your clothes, the fabric sticking to your sweat-drenched skin. You leave them in a crumpled heap on the floor.

With a sigh, you sink into the water, wincing slightly as it stings your fresh wounds. Yet soon, the warmth starts to seep into your muscles, loosening the knots of tension and easing the throbbing pain.

There, in the bathtub, you lower your head beneath the water, closing your eyes and holding your breath. You imagine what it would be like to be this weightless always. It's quiet and warm, and your mind is empty of anything other than the comforting lull of the water against your skin.

You think about how every inch of your body screams in agony, and how, in this moment, submerged in this warm bath, the pain is bearable. You entertain the thought of what it would be like to let go, to surrender to the quiet peace of the water.

Then, your mind wanders to the feeling of the porcelain against your skin. You recall a memory from a few weeks ago when you were sitting in a bathtub similar to this, and only then were you engaged in a deep conversation with Min Hye. Her voice was punctuated by the sound of her smoking, the bright red lipstick staining the cigarette’s filter. There, you weren't holding your breath. You were telling yourself to remember that moment, how it made you feel alive despite the danger lurking outside your door.

You think about the bruises on your knees, the deep purple and blue hues, the tenderness you feel when they brush against each other and even though they hurt, they'll fade in a few days, just like the pain from your past.

You think of how your lungs are starting to ache, and it reminds you of running through the park with your sister, rolling down a hill and picking leaves from each other's hair. You then think of the day she died, how you held her lifeless body in that same park, and how the world seemed too cruel and too big.

It was like the earth was mourning for her, groaning, opening up its foundations like an old and creaky house, revealing its rotting insides. And yet the wind, the rain and the cold weren’t the cause of the shivers that raked her body, making her hands tremble and her eyelids twitch.

A body left to rot, to return to the soil, to turn into dust. A name scratched from the books. A face lost to the turning tides of history.

You contemplate all these things and more. You ponder everything that comes with living and being alive. All the things that hurt, sting and break skin, and then all the things that are light, gentle and happy. You weigh the two in your hands; the pain and the joy are so intertwined that they're impossible to separate.

After what seems like an eternity, the water begins to turn a pale pink from the blood seeping out of your wounds. Your skin is raw and red, stinging from the hot water and the rough scrubbing. Despite the pain, you can't help but feel a little cleaner, a little less tainted by the night's events.

Slowly, you pull the plug and let the water drain, watching as the pink swirls spiral down the drain until only a few droplets remain.

You reach for a towel, wrapping it around your body and wincing as the rough fabric brushes against your tender skin. The mirror is fogged up, but you don't need to see your reflection to know the extent of your injuries.

Moving to the sink, you retrieve a first-aid kit and start to stitch up the deeper cuts. The process is tedious and painful, but you've done it countless times before. Your hands shake slightly, but the thread goes through the skin with practiced ease. Once the stitching is done, you clean the area one more time before applying a bandage over it.

Dried off and bandaged, you put on the pajamas and head to Jin Man’s office.

The office door is slightly ajar, revealing the familiar sight of his desk cluttered with papers and screens, each displaying different angles of surveillance footage or diagrams.

A map of Seoul sprawls across the large desk, littered with notes, files and printouts from their last job. On the screen of his computer are grainy photos taken from a distance; they appear to be of two men meeting in what looks like an abandoned warehouse. One man has his back turned towards the camera while the other gestures wildly with his hands, most likely giving orders or directions.

You push the door open further and step inside, wincing at the loud squeak it makes under your weight. It needs oiling.

Jeong doesn't even seem to notice or mind; he's too absorbed in whatever he's working on. A half-empty cup of cold coffee sits on his desk, the steam long since dissipated, next to a plate with crumbs from a hastily eaten sandwich that looks like it was abandoned mid-bite.

You take a moment to appreciate how he wears his work like a second skin—it defines him, molds him into something almost apart from human—and you feel a pang of guilt for disrupting his routine like this.

His office smells metallic and antiseptic; it's always been like that since you can remember. Not unpleasant but not inviting either; it matches his personality perfectly. Outside, the world continues its mad rush of people, cars and noise. But here, there's just the hum of machinery from his computer and occasional typing noises.

"Done playing the tough guy, huh?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"You walk like a cat," he replies, not missing a beat, "And after a shower, you always smell like a mix of vanilla and lavender. It's a comforting scent, but it doesn't cover the stench of danger that follows you."

His words hang in the air, adding an extra layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere. You watch him, taking in his stern expression and the way his fingers dance over the keyboard. His words are stoic, almost passive-aggressive, but you know him well enough to see the flash of worry behind his icy demeanor.

"Could you at least look at me when you're lecturing me?" You snap, regretting the bitter edge in your voice the moment it escapes your lips.

He finally looks up, his eyes hard and unreadable. "I'm not lecturing you. I'm merely stating the facts."

Surpised, you watch as he fixes his table, clearing a space amidst the clutter. It's a spot you know well, a space you've occupied many times in the past. It's an unspoken invitation, a silent concession on his part. Despite his harsh words, he's still making room for you.

You hop onto the table, wincing slightly at the sharp pain that flares up from your ribs. He doesn't comment on it, keeping his attention fixed on his work, but you notice the slight tightening of his jaw.

Provoked by his dismissive attitude, you reach for a lighter and a lone cigarette that's been left on the edge of his cluttered desk. It's a mint flavored one, you notice, the kind Ji-An prefers and sneaks in from time to time, despite her uncle's constant disapproval.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" You challenge, striking the lighter and bringing the small flame to the end of the cigarette. The pungent smell of the tobacco fills the room as you take a deep breath, the smoke curling in the air around you.

He finally takes a long sip of his coffee before turning to look at you. "No," he says finally, "it's supposed to make you think. Think about your reckless actions and the consequences. Think about the people who care about you and worry about you. You could have avoided this," he adds, his gaze dropping to your bandaged ribs, "if you had answered my calls or asked Pasin for reinforcements."

"I was handling it just fine. I don't need a babysitter."

"Do you think this is a game?" He hisses, his icy composure finally breaking. "Do you think you're invincible?"

"You're not the only one who can handle a mission, Jin-Man," you snap back, ashing the cigarette on his pristine desk. "I can take care of myself."

In a split second, he’s on his feet. He moves so fast that you barely have time to react. One moment he's sitting behind his desk, and the next he's standing in front of you, his hands on your knees, forcing your legs apart to make space for him. He steps in between them, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

Before you can utter another word, he pulls out a knife from his pocket, a switchblade with a sleek, matte black finish that glints ominously under the harsh fluorescent lights. He presses the cold, razor-sharp blade against the tender skin of your throat. His touch is light, but you know he can cut deep if he wants to.

Simultaneously, he snatches the cigarette from your hand, crushing it under his boot. The smell of burnt nicotine fills the air, mixing with the sterile scent of his office.

“Hey! I need my nicotine fix-”

“Quiet!" he hisses. “I don't know if your goal is to live only for 2 or 3 years more, but you're so reckless, and you're going to get yourself killed one of these days."

The words hang heavy in the silent room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare back at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. He's close—so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. His jeans brush against your bare legs, and you can't help but shiver, feeling the wetness between your legs spread.

"I didn't save you from that cabaret to watch you bleed out. I didn't let you raise my niece as your daughter, only to let her see you getting home wounded. I didn't invite you into my and Ji-An’s lives just for you to get yourself killed." A thin line of blood appears where the blade grazes harder against your skin, but, no, he doesn't pull away; he's only watching as it blooms red against the pale expanse of your neck.

"You don't get to decide what I can and can't handle. I'm not the damsel in distress you saved from that grimy cabaret. I'm not your innocent niece who needs protection. I'm not your responsibility. I'm a killer, just like you."

"And what if you are? What if you're more than just a responsibility to me? I don't even know where you end and I begin." He moves his face closer to your collarbones, and his tongue darts out to taste the saltiness left behind by the blood trickling down from the cuts on your neck. It's a possessive kiss—like he wants to claim every part of you as his own.

Suddenly, you are very aware that he is a man who's been through hell and back—not just with the scars from bullets and knives but also from the way his eyes seem to hold so much pain yet desperation for something more.

"I'm tired of watching you put yourself in danger. You can't keep doing this."

For the first time in years, Jin Man sounds truly vulnerable. His gaze stays locked on yours as if waiting for an answer or maybe hoping you'll finally say something that will change his mind about caring for you. But all you can do is breathe in the scent of his cologne, which mixes with sweat.

You feel yourself slipping away from sanity, wanting him to save you from the chaos within yourself.

"I don’t need someone but myself.”

He sighs heavily.

His large hands shake as they grip your knees tightly for support as he leans against them, staring down at your groin, taking in your arousal staining the PJ shorts.

“Yeah? Can you take care of this yourself, too?”

Pulling the blade out of your throat, he carries on, pressing the blade against your skin gently, tracing it along one hipbone, then the other, as if he needs to make sure everything is okay down there. His hand brushes against the tender skin of your thighs before slipping inside your shorts to touch where you're wet from anticipation and fear mingled together.

It's intimate but also terrifying—you can't help but squirm under his touch as he traces the outline of your labia teasingly while looking straight at you with those dark eyes that have haunted your dreams for months now.

You bite down on your bottom lip to stop it from trembling as he starts cutting through the fabric of your shorts, and you hear the soft rip of cotton tearing apart.

The air in the room feels heavy with anticipation and tension as he caresses your mound before pushing inside. It's cold against your heated skin, making you squirm slightly under his touch.

The knife glides through your folds effortlessly, causing you to gasp in surprise when it hits something soft and sensitive inside you.

He withdraws the blade slowly, the cold metal leaving a stinging sensation in its wake. A small cut on your flesh blossoms like a tiny crimson flower, the evidence of his intrusion.

A bead of blood forms at the edge of it, growing in size until it's too heavy to cling to the blade. It drips onto the floor between your legs.

With a calculated motion, he discards the bloodied knife onto his desk, the clattering sound echoing in the charged silence of the room.

"So experienced yet so innocent. My little lamb," he murmurs, breath hot against your neck as he smears his finger on the little pool of sweet nectar seeping from between your folds.

"What are you doing?"

His dick strains in his trousers, throbbing at the unsure, confused tone that layers your question. It sears through him like a midsummer heatwave—the flash of bright sunlight after the clouds of a storm have parted. Jesus, you’re too good at this; you know exactly how to get under his skin.

“Teaching you to not play with fire.”

It's clear he's not going to let you hide behind a wall of anger and defiance anymore. Each word he says seems to peel away another layer of your armor, exposing something raw and fragile underneath. Something that craves his touch, even when it hurts.

"Ouch!" You exclaim sharply as his strong hand grips your arm, yanking you around and forcing you to stand upright again. The abruptness of the movement causes a jolt of pain to shoot through your body, making you wince.

Before you have a chance to protest or push him away, you're bent forward, your chest pressing against the cool, polished wood of his desk. You try to push yourself back up, but you're stopped by a firm hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, effectively pinning you in place.

“Stay still.”

You let out a whimper, your hips instinctively shifting in response to his forceful command. Slowly, you let your body go limp, surrendering to the dominating position that Jin-Man has forced you into.

“Do you know,” the man begins, fingers trailing down your lithe back, along the length of your spine, all the way down until his fingers can tuck under the hem of the rest of your shorts, "that in the old days, rulers like this were not just used for measurement?"

You know it. But you won’t answer; you won’t give him the taste. So you shake your head and make a whining sound as your boss begins to push the fabric down over the swell of your ass.

"They were also used for discipline against wayward children.”

Your whole body shivers.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Long lines of red across your thighs and ass marks to remind you not to act like such a slut…” Jeong emphasizes the words with the drag of nails against the newly-bared skin. “You’re just asking to be punished.”

Shaking your head again, you try to deny the accusation.

“Oh,” the man says, feigning surprise and removing his hand from your backside. “You don’t? You don’t want me to spank you for your insolence today? You want me to stop?”

There’s a small thudding sound as you let your head bump into the desk a couple of times in self-punishment. When you speak, the words are straining and shaking. “N-No, Sir.”

“What was that?”

You groan in frustration. “Yah, Jeong Jin-Man, come on! Ah!”

Fingers wound tightly in your hair, Jin Man pulls your head back from the desk, baring your bruised neck. “Excuse me?”

“Sir! Sir, I’m sorry; please, I’ll be good, I–” You mumble, probably aiming for politeness, but the words come out more sulky than you likely intended.

Jeong Jin-Man ignores it in favour of getting your bloodied shorts down, pushing them over your thighs until they fall to a puddle on the floor around your ankles. Spreading the cheeks, he can see your stretched and cut pussy, can see the throb of your clit, your smaller, puckered hole also smeared with wetness from just how much you had been oozing out.

Lifting his gaze, he surveys the room meticulously. His eyes linger on the worn-out leather chair with its loose stitching, the stacks of paperwork teetering precariously on the edge of his desk, and the dimly lit ceiling lamp that casts long, sinister shadows on the wooden floor. His gaze then falls on a wooden ruler resting among a chaotic array of stationery in an open drawer.

He reaches out, his fingers wrapping around it and lifting it from its resting place. He turns it over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the worn wood against his skin. He tests its weight, swishing it through the air and listening to the soft whooshing sound it makes.

He thinks he will only stop once your ass and the backs of your thighs are neatly lined in red, with touches of crimson and purpling spots showing through the skin where patches of bruising are going to form.

Jin Man knows your skin has always been easy to mark, flaring eagerly with scarlets, pale rose and smatterings of plum. The warm colours are quick to fade, replaced by blues and greens, mottled yellows that cover the fragile arcs of your cartilage, flesh pasted with echoes of tender, affectionate violence.

It’s so pretty, so lovely. He has always preferred charcoal and pencils when setting something on paper, but when it comes to this particular canvas, he likes to paint.

His free hand settles on your ass, squeezing it hard and leaving his large palm impression on your skin, making your lips quiver.

"One," he says, and the sting is immediate as the ruler hits your right cheek, leaving a blossom of searing pain that radiates across your body, making you gasp. "Two," he continues, and this time the ruler hits your left cheek, making you shudder violently.

The sting is fierce but not enough to distract from the strange pleasure that courses through you. You can feel yourself getting wetter with each strike.

"Three." He slaps your left side, causing a wave of heat to wash over you as he repeats it on the other side.

The room seems to echo with the sounds of his hand connecting with your flesh. This time he doesn't stop at five but hits six and seven times on both sides before pulling back to admire his handiwork.

The welts are already bright red and tender, ready for him to take more if need be. He runs a finger down each one gently, tracing their edges before trailing it lower between your legs, where he presses against your clit roughly. You moan loudly this time, needing him to continue even though it hurts so good.

“I-Is it over?”

He chuckles, the sound dark and low, resonating from the pit of his chest. It's a sound that sends shivers down your spine and has you clenching your thighs together in anticipation. He lifts his finger, coated with your arousal, and presents it to your lips. "Taste," he commands.

You parted your lips obediently, taking his finger into your mouth. Your tongue wraps around it, tasting your own arousal—salty and bitter, with a hint of metallic tang from your earlier exertion. It's a taste that's uniquely yours—a taste that he's come to crave.

Once you've licked his finger clean, he pulls it away and grabs hold of the ruler again. He brandishes it in front of you, the wooden surface gleaming under the harsh lighting. Another line of pain sears across your ass cheeks, making you jerk in surprise. This time, when he pulls back, he commands, "Sit on the desk and spread your legs.”

Again, you hesitate. You can feel your fingers twitching, itching to claw at him, to show him your defiance. But you know better than to challenge him now.

Crack!

Jeong snaps the ruler against the desk and you flinch. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

No, you think, but you're not giving him the satisfaction of hearing you say it. You scramble into action, hopping up onto the desk again, scooting backwards until your knees hook on the table’s edge when you open your legs. The sting of the cut intensifies, making you wince, but you refuse to let out a sound.

One more time, he steps between your spread thighs. “You asked if your punishment was over. Do you really think that after all your disobedient, inappropriate behavior today, those measly strikes were all you deserved?”

Shaking your head desperately, you babble, “No, sir, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

Jeong Jin- Man stuts. “And now you’re lying…”

“No, please, I just want to be good, I–” You are cut off with a hiss as your boss cracks the ruler down half-way up the center of your inner thigh.

He doesn’t lift the ruler, instead dragging it over your skin, up, up, up until he reaches the crux of your hip. You shiver, your eyes wide and your lips caught between teeth.

Glancing down at the ruler, you see the point of which is laying mere inches from your cunt before looking back up.

Jeong can tell that you’re trying to hide how hungry you are and how much you want this, want more, and need it. But you are so subtle about it; he can only tell because he knows where to look.

“You don’t need to count this time,” he says, seemingly casual. “Just do your best not to make too much noise, hmm? We don’t want Ji-An to come back home and hear you like this.”

“Yes, Sir.” Your reply is curt, but the edge in your voice is unmistakable.

Jeong doesn't seem to mind your defiance. If anything, it seems to amuse him, admiring the way the muscles in your thighs tense up as he uses the ruler to part your soft labia. He presses the wooden corner harshly against your clit.

“Fu– Mmph.” A sharp, snapping sound breaks through the air as you clap a hand over your own mouth, cutting off the curse before it can fully form itself.

The man smirks and twists the ruler, maintaining the heavy pressure.

Smack! Smack!

Puffy lips must cushion the blows, just slightly, but he is still sure that it’s sharp enough to hurt when the blows make contact with your swollen clit. The impacts sound moist, and the slick covering your skin likely makes the sting a touch more severe.

Jin-Man doesn’t give you a moment to recover between each hit, unleashing a stream of spanks in quick succession, each one causing your entire body to jump and convulse as though you had been electrocuted.

“Ngh, ngh, nghh—Mmph!” You have both of your hands covering your mouth, your eyes squeezed shut and your knees jerking inward on every impact. You try to bare your teeth at him, a growl of defiance building in your throat, but he cuts you off with a sharp look, as if you're a dog trying to show aggression to its master.

It only takes a few more smacks against your pussy before the man’s free hand has to grip your thigh and hold it still, keeping you from allowing your legs to close.

Resting for a moment, Jeong lets the flat side of the ruler lay overtop of your cunt. The already-flushed skin is now a darkened red rather than that rose-petal pink, the colour of your mouth. He is sure that it would be hot to the touch, glowing with heat from the abuse.

“Please!”

Dropping the ruler to the floor, he steps forward. Reaching down with one hand to click open the buckle of his belt, he buries the other in your hair. "Please, what?" he asks, his hand tugging on your hair, tilting your head back to expose your delicate throat. The threat of teeth grazing your skin is electrifying.

He takes his time, slowly unbuckling his belt, the leather sliding out of its loops with a soft whisper of sound. His pants drop to the floor, pooling around his ankles, revealing a hard thickness straining against the fabric of his boxers.

With a swift tug, it's freed, standing erect and proud.

Your eyes widen at the sight, heat pooling in your lower belly. The tip of his cock is flushed a dark red, throbbing with anticipation, the veins on the sides bulging and straining, ready to claim its prize.

A whimper escapes your lips, your back arching involuntarily. The heat radiating off his dick is palpable, and you can't help but imagine how it would feel sliding into you, filling you to the brim.

On seeing your reaction, a predatory grin spreads across Jeong's face. He moves closer, his hand gripping your head firmly and holding you still. He positions himself at your entrance, his fingers gripping your hips, pulling your legs wider apart.

And as he thrusts into you, claiming you entirely, the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone rings in your mind again.

Only this time, you are not a helpless Persephone being whisked away to a foreign underworld. Instead, you are a willing partner in this dance of power and desolation, a queen finding her throne in the deepest depths of hell. And Jin-Man, your Hades, is not just your captor but also your savior, a dark god offering you a sanctuary built on shadows and secrets.

As the underworld of his life consumes you, you realize there are no seasons dictating your stay, no harvest goddess waiting for your return. Your fate is braided with his, and in this underworld, you are both the rulers, bound not by pomegranate seeds but by a desire as relentless and binding as the river Styx itself.

#jeong jin man #a shop for killers #lee dong wook #lee dong wook x reader #seo moonjo #seo moonjo x reader #yoon jongwoo #floriculturist #imagine

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