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ja3yun · 1 month

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Please, Please, Please | P.JS

criminal!jay x good girl!reader

warnings: angst, slight fluff, smut (mdni), multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex, oral (m&f rec.), multiple orgasms, fingering, car sex, cliffside bj, white dragon, slightly toxic!jay at the beginning, possessive, crime (obvs), mentions of robbery, theft, guns, money laundering, violence, blood, overall criminal behaviour from multiple parties, tough love, confrontation, touch her and you'll die, anything else lmk!

w.c: 34k (sorry)

synopsis: synopsis: visiting your tax fraudulent dad in prison and nothing was new, except the boy being carted in to the police station in cuffs. when you follow your connection on a reckless whim, it opens you up to a world filled with crime, love, and realisations about who you are.

a/n: hi! this was heavily anticipated and i went back and forth on this for a long time regarding making it a series or keeping it a one shot. In the end, i decided to make it just one thing. i really do hope you like it, i tried to set the pace as best i could with the little wordcount blr will give me so i am praying it's okay! anyway, enjoy! as always, reblogs, comments, etc etc are all appreciated and loved <3

“Now be a good girl for me, Y/N,” your dad gushes, his eyes tired and hand placed against the glass. He looks like half the man he was before stepping into this place.

The greyness of the prison seems to leech the colour from everything around it, leaving only the stark contrasts of shadows and light, along with his navy and white uniform. The fluorescent lights inside cast a sickly pallor on your father's face, accentuating the lines of worry and regret etched into his once confident features.

He was a self-made man, once the toast of the town, known for his business acumen and seemingly Midas touch. But behind the facade of success, he had been entangled in a web of deceit. It all began with a seemingly harmless decision to bend the rules - just a little. He had justified it to himself as a necessary measure, a way to keep the business afloat during tough times. It was just a bit of creative accounting, he had thought. But what started as a small indiscretion soon snowballed into a full-blown scheme of tax evasion.

For years, he had hidden his tracks well, moving money through a labyrinth of offshore accounts, shell companies, and falsified records. His lifestyle had grown ever more lavish, the fruits of his ill-gotten gains displayed in a sprawling mansion, luxury cars, and vacations to exotic locales. Yet, the more he accumulated, the more paranoid he became, always looking over his shoulder, fearing the day when his carefully constructed house of cards would come crashing down.

And crash it did. An anonymous tip-off to HMRC triggered an investigation that swiftly unravelled the elaborate fraud. The evidence was damning – millions of pounds in unpaid tax, laundered funds, and fraudulent claims. The trial was short and sharp, the verdict inevitable. The judge's gavel fell with finality, marking the end of his freedom and the start of his journey behind bars.

Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you view it, he only got five years in prison which is unheard of for someone who committed such a lavish crime with lots of money involved. So far, he has served four and a bit out of five years and is set to come home in 6 months.

However, that freedom is still a while away, and the only way you can see him now is through this thick glass panel, speaking to him through a telephone. The visitation room is grim and impersonal, with rows of metal chairs bolted to the floor, and a cacophony of muffled conversations echoing off the hard surfaces. The phone is cold in your hand, a lifeline to the man who once seemed invincible.

Your dad's prison uniform hangs loosely on his frame, the drab, coarse fabric a far cry from the tailored suits he used to wear. He shifts uncomfortably on the small stool, the shackles around his wrists clinking softly with every movement. Every visit you have with your dad, it’s always the same jargon; “Be a good girl”, “Stay out of trouble”, or, “Don’t be bad like your dad.” It’s always a useless reminder because, for 20 years of your life, you have never once gotten into bother.

From a young age, you have been the epitome of a model child. You always listen to your parents, excel in school, and never once give them cause for worry. Your teachers often remarked on your diligence and kindness, always quick to help a struggling classmate or volunteer for a school project. While other kids might have dabbled in teenage rebellion, you stayed focused, driven by an internal compass that always pointed towards doing the right thing.

You are just so scared of disappointing your father.

Even at University, you stay away from parties and stay focused on keeping your head straight, making friends with people of similar character to you - if they even are still your friends. Most of them dipped on you once your father got convicted, not wishing to be associated with a criminal’s daughter, or more importantly, a girl with no money.

Little did they know that you were very much still wealthy thanks to your dad’s extra-sneaky antics.

Now, sitting across from your father in the sterile confines of the prison, you feel a pang of sorrow mixed with frustration. His reminders to stay out of trouble feel almost insulting, a stark contrast to the reality of your life. You have always been the one to shoulder responsibilities, to pick up the pieces and move forward.

Sometimes, you wish you could just do something out of character, something others would deem reckless.

“Dad, I’ve never been in trouble,” you remind him gently, trying to hide the sting of your words. “I’ve always been a good girl, remember?” To a fault, sometimes.

He sighs, the weight of his guilt evident in his tired eyes. “I know, Y/N. I just…I worry about you. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

“You don’t have to worry,” you say firmly. “I’m not you. You made it perfectly clear the path I need to be on.”

Your words sting into his chest, but his face never shows it. You’re right anyway, you have always lived up to his impossible expectations. Instead, he nods and relents, dropping the subject altogether. Just in time, too, because the guard quickly steps in to wrap up the visit.

“Time’s up,” the guard announces, his tone brisk and indifferent.

You both hesitate for a moment, savouring the last few seconds before the separation. “I love you, Dad,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

“I love you too, Y/N. Be strong,” he replies, his hand still pressed against the glass.

With a final nod, you place the phone back on the hook and stand up, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you walk away. The sound of the door buzzing open and then locking behind you is a harsh reminder of the reality you both face.

Stepping out of the visiting room, a tumult of emotions surges within you - sadness, frustration, and a lingering sense of helplessness. Each step feels heavy, as if the burdens of your father's past are pressing down on your shoulders. The overhead lights in the corridor cast a stark, cold glow, reflecting off the polished linoleum floor and intensifying the sterile atmosphere of the prison. You hate it here, trying to avoid the place as much as possible, only visiting your dad maybe once every five months.

It’s not that you don’t love him but this place isn’t built for someone like you.

As you navigate the maze of hallways to head to the exit, a sudden commotion draws your attention. Two guards are escorting a man into the facility, his wrists bound behind his back with handcuffs. He walks with a defiant swagger, despite the firm grips on his arms. His black slacks and tight-fitted black polo shirt cling to his muscular frame, giving him an air of unrefined power. His hair, meticulously gelled back, now shows signs of disarray from the rough handling, with a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead.

"Fucking calm down, I'm walking with you," he growls, his voice dripping with sarcasm and defiance. The deep timbre of his words reverberates through the corridor, causing a ripple of tension among the guards and onlookers.

You pause, momentarily taken aback by the scene unfolding before you. The man's audacity and the raw edge in his voice contrast sharply with the controlled environment of the prison, sparking an unexpected intrigue. Certain prisoners cause scenes, but never have you seen it up close, only hearing about it through the words of your father.

As the guards march him up the corridor, his dark eyes lock onto yours for a brief moment. His face is strikingly beautiful - dark eyebrows framing his symmetrical face and dangerous eyes that seem to pierce right through you. He looks more like a model than a felon, and the incongruity of his appearance in this setting sends a jolt through your system.

His gaze trails down your body as he gets closer to you, slow and deliberate, igniting a rush of heat that spreads from your cheeks to your core. His eyes linger on your curves, and you notice the way he licks his lips, a predatory smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The intensity of his attention makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you in this stark, fluorescent-lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’, how’s it going?” he asks as he passes, his tone nonchalant but menacing, the kind of menacing that makes your pulse quicken and your skin tingle.

“Move along,” one of the guards snaps, shoving him forward. But even as they push him into a room, he cranes his neck to keep you in his sight for as long as possible. His eyes burn with defiance and amusement, and he smirks, the expression filled with a dangerous charm that leaves you momentarily breathless.

The door slams shut behind him, and the spell is broken. You’re left standing in the corridor, your heart racing and your mind reeling from the unexpected encounter. The raw magnetism of his presence lingers in the air, intertwining with the myriad of emotions already churning within you.

“Ma’am, please come this way,” a guard gestures for you to step through the gated door. Numbly, you follow his direction, your mind still preoccupied with the intensity of those dark eyes.

You step through the gate, hearing the metallic clink as it locks behind you. Making your way to the front desk, you feel a strange mix of adrenaline and bewilderment coursing through you. You remove your visitor’s badge and place it on the desk, your fingers lingering on the smooth plastic for a moment.

“Who was that?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your voice betrays a hint of the curiosity you feel.

The guard behind the desk, a burly man with a no-nonsense demeanour, looks up from his paperwork. “Park Jongseong,” he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. “He's a series regular here. It's best not to catch his attention; he eats girls like you for dinner.”

You swallow hard, the guard’s words sending a shiver down your spine. “Eats girls like me for dinner?” you repeat, more to yourself than to him, the gravity of the warning sinking in.

“Yeah,” the guard nods, his expression grim. “He’s got a reputation. Charismatic, but dangerous. You don’t want to be on his radar.”

You nod, thanking the guard before turning to leave. The encounter with Park Jongseong, brief as it was, has left a deep impression. You replay the guard’s words in your mind, a cautionary tale that echoes with the reality of the world you’ve just stepped out of.

But you’re so over listening to everyone’s advice, allowing your body to rule your head for a moment. Maybe this is your chance to break free from the shackles of your life and enter a new world of freedom.

Even if it is with someone behind bars.

_____

You sit in the visiting room, the sterile environment starkly contrasting with the elegance of your outfit. You're wearing a pastel blue Versace dress, its delicate fabric clinging to your figure in all the right places, the intricate design showcasing a blend of sophistication and subtle allure. The dress features a fitted bodice with delicate lace details, the skirt flowing gracefully to just above your knees. The soft, cool hue of the dress enhances the warmth of your skin and the high neckline adds an air of modesty.

Your heartbeat feels like a defining accessory, pounding in your chest, a constant reminder of your anticipation. Normally, visiting your father doesn’t elicit such a reaction - your heart maintains a steady rhythm, the meetings imbued with sadness and routine.

But today is different. Today, you aren't here to see your father. You're waiting for the man who shared a fleeting moment with you two weeks ago, the memory of his intense gaze still fresh in your mind.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one amplifying the tension coursing through you. Your eyes keep darting to the door, waiting for it to open and reveal the man whose presence had left such an indelible mark on you. The guards move about their routines, the clinking of keys and distant echoes of conversations creating a backdrop to your restless thoughts.

This is a bad idea, probably your most foolish one, but you had to see him just once more to truly understand the leap your heart performed when you looked at him for the first time. You have never gone against your father’s wishes of staying out of trouble, but this was an itch you couldn’t ignore, the pull towards the felon all too real.

Your emotions are a chaotic cocktail of anticipation, fear, and excitement. The adrenaline rush is almost dizzying, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to leave, to not get involved with someone so dangerous, but the other part - the part that felt an inexplicable connection - can’t bear the thought of walking away without understanding what it is about him that draws you in so powerfully.

You glance down at your hands, noticing how they tremble slightly. You clasp them together in your lap, trying to steady yourself. The fabric of your dress feels soft and cool against your skin, a contrast to the heat coursing through your veins. You shift in your seat, trying to calm your racing thoughts, but every small sound in the room heightens your awareness, keeping you on edge.

As each second drags on, the waiting becomes almost unbearable. Doubts creep in - what if he doesn’t remember you? What if this was all just a meaningless encounter for him? But then you recall the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, so why wouldn’t he remember you?

You tell yourself that this is more than simply gratifying a passing curiosity; it's about understanding the electrifying connection you felt. It's about breaking free, even if only for a moment, from the bounds of your usual, routine existence.

Your father’s voice echoes in your mind, warning you about the dangers of straying from the straight and narrow path. You’ve always been the good girl, the one who follows the rules, but something about Park Jongseong makes you want to throw caution to the wind. There’s a thrilling allure in the forbidden, in stepping outside your comfort zone to explore the unknown.

When the buzzer sounds around the room, you jump slightly even though you have heard that klaxon indicating the unlocking of the door numerous times over the years. But this isn’t a polite chit-chat with your dad; this is a meeting with a man whose crimes you don't know the extent of, nor how dangerous he truly is, all because you got fanny flutters.

The prisoners filter through, each one going to their respective visitors with longing and hurried speed. Then, Jongseong waltzes in, his hands cuffed in front of him. His navy, ill-fitted trousers, paired with a tight white v-neck that showcases just enough of his chest to let your imagination run wild and non-styled hair give him a dishevelled yet irresistibly handsome appearance. His dark eyes scan the room, exuding a sense of confidence and dominance.

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs over as you try to compose yourself and stop tears from escaping down your legs. Prison boys have never done anything for you, but Jongseong is on another level of attraction.

The room feels hotter, the air thicker, as your anxiety spikes like you’re playing a brutal game of emotional volleyball and you are always on the losing side. Jongseong whispers something to the guard beside him, his voice low and smooth but indecipherable. The guard glances your way, then points directly at you, making your heart race even faster, like you’re suddenly under the spotlight of an interrogation room.

Jongseong’s eyes land on you, and a smug smile spreads across his face. There's a flicker of surprise and confusion flashing across his features, but it quickly vanishes, replaced by that same predatory gleam you remember. He strides over to you with a casual arrogance, his every movement exuding confidence.

As he reaches the booth, he throws himself into the seat opposite you, the long chain connecting his hands and feet skate along the floor. He leans back, his eyes never leaving yours, the cuffs around his wrists clinking softly with the movement. The intensity of his gaze makes you feel as if the rest of the room has faded away, leaving just the two of you in this charged, electric moment.

Reaching for the phone, he places it against his ear and waits for you, chewing his gum leisurely, his eyebrows raised in an expectant arch. Your body remains still, paralysed by the magnetism of his presence, his pupils like black holes, sucking you into his hold. For a few beats of your heart, you can’t move, his gaze pinning you in place with an almost hypnotic intensity.

Finally, you gather the courage to lift the receiver, your hand trembling slightly as you bring it to your ear. The action feels monumental, the weight of the phone a tangible connection between you and the enigmatic man before you. As soon as you do, Jongseong smirks, leaning his elbows casually on the ledge behind the glass panel.

“Now who are you?” he inquires, devouring your appearance with trailing glances.

“...My name is Y/N,” you reply so softly he almost doesn’t catch it coming through the receiver.

"Well, Y/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He drawls, his voice a low, lazy murmur tinged with amusement. His eyes gleam with a mix of curiosity and wickedness, and the leer never leaves his face.

You remain silent, the words caught in your throat as you grapple with the swirl of emotions and thoughts racing through your mind. His half grin widens and he tilts his head slightly, still chewing his gum with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Okay, let me rephrase,” he says, his tone shifting to a mockingly thoughtful one. “What is a little lamb like you, requesting to see a big bad wolf like me for? Do we know each other?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your reaction. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat in your ears, a relentless drum that amplifies the tension between you. His words, laced with a blend of sarcasm and genuine intrigue, challenge you to respond and also hurt your chest a smidge. You have been thinking about this man who you saw for a maximum of 20 seconds for the past fortnight, dreaming about him and finding ways to get a visitor’s badge to see him and you probably haven’t passed his mind once.

Taking a deep breath, you find your voice, albeit shaky. “No…we don’t know one another,” you admit, suddenly realising the insanity of this whole ordeal. You begin to bite your lip and inwardly curse yourself for being so reckless.

“Then why are you here? ... Fuck, are you the lawyer they keep trying to pounce on me?” The sudden defensiveness in his words gets your attention, the sharpness of his voice creating a tremble in your legs. He is slowly putting his guard up the more he looks over your expensive outfit, drawing conclusions about you in his mind as he mistakes you for someone he would rather jab himself in the eye than see.

Quickly, your eyes widen, and you shake your hand up in defence. “No, no, no. I’m not a lawyer,” you explain, rushing the words out of your mouth to halt the wall he is placing between you. “I just-I want to get to know you.”

He pauses, the tension in his posture easing slightly, but his eyes remain wary. “Get to know me?” he repeats, his tone conveying scepticism and enlivened curiosity. “And why is that, darlin’?”

You swallow hard, your heart still racing and now paired with an uncomfortableness in your underwear as he calls you the endearing nickname, his accent filtering through your ears like your favourite song. “I don’t know,” you confess, looking down at your lap.

It’s pathetic, you know it, but you don’t know why. Well, you know you had to see him because your brain is insufferable and will not let you forget anything of the man’s existence, but that is all the reason you have come to see him, all it took for you to want to delve into his life. If you told him that, he would either see you as pathetic or easy prey.

“You don’t know?” he echoes back to you with a laugh, his body fully unguarded once again. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. It is at this moment that the penny drops as to who you are, his finger starting to wag as he leans back in the chair with an elated beam on his face.

“You were here when they carted me in.” The fact sits between you as it kisses a blush over your face in embarrassment, his realisation of your identity now suddenly making you wish that the ground would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Did you like what you saw that much, you just had to come see it up close?”

Jongseong’s eyes glint with amusement, the smugness radiating off him like heat waves off asphalt. He leans back further, making himself comfortable, his chains clinking softly against the chair. His body language oozes confidence, the kind that borders on arrogance, and his grin stretches wide, revealing perfectly aligned teeth that contrast heavily with the dark intensity of his gaze.

“Look at you, all flustered,” he teases, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I must’ve made quite an impression, huh?”

Your mind races, searching for an answer that feels as elusive as he is. He chuckles softly, the sound rich and full, vibrating through the phone line and into your very core. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” he says, his tone almost gentle now. “Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”

His self-belief is unshakable, a fortress built on years of navigating the rough waters of his life. The smugness in his manner is not just arrogance but a well-honed weapon, a way to keep people at bay while drawing them in. He knows the power he holds, and he wields it with a finesse that leaves you both disarmed and intrigued.

“Okay,” he leans forward again, his face so close to the glass panel that you wish it would disappear, allowing you to admire his features without the glare from the overhead lights as they dance annoyingly on the shield. “Let me tell you a few things about me. My name is Park Jongseong, although you already know that, don't you, darlin’?”

He pauses, his gaze lingering on you with a disconcerting intensity as you shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. How else could you have possibly arranged a visit with him? The question flashes across his face, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. After all, as far as he knew, only family could visit him and fuck knows where they are. So how did you manage to worm your way in?

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. He nods knowingly before continuing. "I'm 22, been in and out of here about four times. I love romantic walks on the beach, and before you ask, it was car theft." The words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and trepidation. His casual confession answers most of your unspoken questions, including the big one: why he was here. The revelation that he wasn’t in for something more sinister like murder eases some of your apprehension. Your heartbeat steadies and you feel a strange sense of relief mixed with the undeniable pull towards him.

The glass between you seems to distort, creating a shimmering mirage. Every word, every glance is charged with electricity. It's reckless, dangerous, but the allure is intoxicating. He studies you, his eyes drinking in your flushed cheeks and trembling lips. Leaning closer, he whispers into the phone, his voice a husky caress, "You're fucking beautiful. I could eat you alive."

The words are a cold reminder of the guard's chilling warning. Yet, instead of fear, you feel a thrill of defiance. Before you can stop yourself, you whisper back, "Why don't you?"

Surprised by your own boldness, you feel your face heat up even more. Jongseong’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of astonishment crossing his features before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “You’d like that, huh?” he asks cheekily, poking his tongue to his cheek.

He spots the cross hanging around your neck and shakes his head in disbelief. “Darlin’, you’re a good girl, I can tell. So why the fuck are you trying to play with me?”

His question hangs in the air, challenging you. You can feel his eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. The intensity of his gaze, combined with the unexpected boldness that had surged through you moments ago, leaves you speechless for a second.

"I..." you begin, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't know. Maybe because for once, I want to do something reckless. Something just for me."

He chuckles a deep, throaty sound that reverberates through the phone. "Oh, so you’re saying I’m just for you? That I can give you what you crave?” His voice is dripping in seduction and you are pretty sure you’re dripping on the stool you’re uncomfortably shifting on. “You’re playing with fire, little lamb. You sure you can handle the heat?"

The challenge in his tone ignites something inside you. You nod slowly, eyes locking onto his. "I'm not afraid of being burnt." You are, in fact, scared of a little heat but the thumping of your heart and the lightness of your head right now is a feeling you want to experience again and again, and you know for certain that the only person in this world that can give you this exhilaration is the criminal in front of you.

Jongseong's eyes hold a captivating potency as he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over the glass. "We'll see about that," he murmurs, a low, dangerous promise. "But be careful what you wish for, darling. Once you step into the fire, there's no turning back." His words hang heavy in the air, a tantalising mix of threat and allure.

Just then, the harsh clang of a metal object against the door shatters the intimate atmosphere. "Visiting time's over!" a guard's voice booms through the room. A wave of disappointment washes over you, a bittersweet pang as the realisation of impending separation hits you hard. Time flew by far too fast and you felt like you didn’t even get to scratch the surface of what you wanted this meeting to be

The playful arrogance in his eyes softens, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn't expected. "Hey," he begins gently, his voice a stark contrast to his usual bravado. "I'm out in three months." The words hang suspended in the air, a promise that ignites a spark of hope within you. “Wait for me, yeah?” he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer. Despite the softness, there's a flicker of his usual cockiness in his gaze, as if he already knows your answer. “Come on, you know you want to. I’m worth it.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The guard’s voice booms again, and you know you have to go. The brute of a man is already making his way over to Jongseong to escort him back to his cell. Jongseong stands up, still holding the phone, and smiles a mock-innocent grin at you.

“Take care, darlin’,” he says, his voice a soft caress that sends shivers down your spine. “And don’t go fucking around while I’m gone. I’d hate to have to get done for murder.” A mischievous glint dances in his eyes, a reminder of the man he is and that he has made you his own from here on out.

His words are a blend of a promise and a threat, leaving you breathless. The guard finally reaches him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and pulling him back. Jongseong doesn’t resist, but his eyes stay locked on yours until the last possible moment, a smirk playing on his lips.

As the guard leads him away, you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you - excitement, trepidation, and a strange sense of belonging. The connection between you and Jongseong is undeniable, and the anticipation of what’s to come only heightens the tension.

You hang up the phone and stand, your legs feeling unsteady. As you make your way out of the visiting room, the reality of your decision settles over you. Jongseong has already left an indelible mark on your heart. And as much as he has claimed you, you realise with a surge of confidence that you have claimed him too.

And you’ll patiently wait as long as you have to.

_____

The sun blazes overhead, its subtle heat beating down as you sit on the hood of your car outside the prison gates. Your outfit is casual yet sexy: a form-fitting red tank top with mesh detailing paired with high-waisted denim shorts that accentuate your curves, knowing Jongseong will appreciate the effort. You’ve learned a lot about him over the past three months through your almost daily phone calls. Conversations about life, likes, dislikes, and everything in between have built a connection that transcends the barriers of the prison walls.

The memories of those short but impactful conversations play through your mind as you wait. Jongseong's deep voice details his favourite songs, the foods he craves, and the gossip around the cell blocks. You remember laughing together over his stubborn insistence that dark chocolate is superior to milk and the surprising revelation that he actually does like to walk along the beach and it wasn’t just a sarcastic comment the first day you met him.

There was that one agonising week when you couldn't reach him. The anxiety had eaten at you until you finally learned he'd been thrown into the hole for an outburst with another prisoner. The story came out later: a dispute over the weight bench had escalated until Jongseong had whacked the guy over the head with a dumbbell as a result of testing his patience. It was a reminder of the world he was still entangled in, sometimes it’s easy to forget that he is in prison for a crime and that you both aren’t just long-distance lovers.

Seeing him in person had been almost impossible due to the strict visiting rules regarding family members being the only ones who could visit. But you weren’t deterred. With a little persuasion and a few hundred pounds slipped to the right people, you managed one precious visit. The memory of him that day is vivid: a busted lip, a black eye, and a new tattoo of a dagger with a dragon wrapped around it. The sight had sent your pulse racing. Despite the bruises, or perhaps because of them, he had never looked hotter. You’d been tempted to break the glass and pounce on him right then and there.

Although you still have some fear about injecting him into your peaceful life, you can’t deny the happiness you feel when he calls or the flutter in your stomach when he makes a slightly lewd comment describing exactly what he is going to do to you once he gets his hands on you.

You know you’re in for a wild ride in every sense of the word.

Luckily for you, you don’t have to wait too long because, right on time, you hear the gates open with a strained creak and yet, your heartbeats are somehow louder. The door of the gates swings open with a groan, revealing Jongseong. He's wearing the same black polo and fitted black trousers you saw him in that first day, now with an added black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The sight of him makes your heart quicken and throat close up as anxiety, both good and bad, courses through you. He looks every bit as dangerous and enticing as you remember, his stride strong and purposeful.

The closer he gets to you, the more urgent his steps become. His eyes lock onto yours with an ardour that makes your breath catch. He can’t wait to finally hold you in his arms, to feel your skin touching his. The world around you fades away, leaving only the magnetic pull between you two.

You jump down from the hood of the car, your legs slightly wobbly with excitement and nerves. Jongseong reaches you in a few long steps, chucking his duffle bag to the ground without a second thought. His hands grasp your face, fingers spreading out to cup your cheeks and jaw, his touch both firm and tender. The heat of his palms sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively lean into him, your hands finding purchase on his broad chest.

His pupils blaze with longing and something deeper, more primal. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones as he holds you in place, as if grounding himself in the reality of your presence. He can’t quite believe you’re here and that he can finally know what you feel like. The air between you crackles with unspoken desire and the pent-up tension of months just out of reach.

"Fuck. Hi, darlin’," he whispers, mouth slightly open and eyes shaking. Part of him can’t fathom that you waited for him; most girls he fucks with never keep their promises to stay his, too scared to actually tag along in his life, but you did because that’s the kind of good girl you are: forever loyal and faithful.

"Hi, Jongseong," you smile softly, any fear you had now replaced with glee. The way his eyes are drinking you should scare you, the same way they did that day three months ago, but now it makes you feel wanted and desired in a way no other person has ever made you feel.

Call it the growth of character and a desperate need for the man in front of you.

Jongseong's eyes darken as he watches you wet your lips, anticipation crackling in the air between you. His gaze locks onto your mouth, and then suddenly, without giving you a moment to react, his lips crash against yours with a fervent urgency. His hands thread through your hair, fingers tangling as he tugs your head back. The motion elicits a gasp from you, and he takes full advantage, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore and conquer.

The kiss is wild, messy, and breathtaking. His tongue moves against yours with a possessive hunger, claiming every inch as if staking his territory. The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady mesh of his unique flavour and mint that leaves you dizzy. His lips move with a bruising intensity, sucking and biting, leaving your mouth tingling and swollen.

You moan into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, needing something to anchor yourself as the world spins around you. The force of his kiss, the way he devours you, sends a rush of heat straight to your core, making you ache with need. Every brush of his tongue against yours, every pull and nip of his lips, fans the flames of your desire higher and higher.

Jongseong's hands slide from your hair to your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against your softer curves, the heat of him searing through your clothes. His touch is both rough and tender, a dichotomy that leaves you craving more.

The kiss deepens, growing more frantic and desperate. It's as if he's trying to pour three months of pent-up longing and frustration into this one moment, and you respond with equal fervour. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

Never in your life have you been kissed like this. The rush and excitement tingle all over your body as his large hands dig into your skin, his fingers pressing firmly into your back, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. His tongue strokes against your own in a heated dance, each movement eliciting a new wave of desire that courses through you.

Your ex-boyfriend gave you soft pecks and gentle arm rubs, leaving you wondering if you even wanted to be with him. Those kisses were perfunctory, lacking the fire that now burns between you and Jongseong. This heated exchange, this raw, unbridled passion, makes you understand just how much you can crave a person.

Your own hands roam over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, ignites a spark that sets your entire being ablaze. You feel like you could drown in this moment, in the intensity of his desire and the way it mirrors your own.

Jongseong breaks the kiss just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both pant heavily. His eyes are filled with a mix of lust and seduction. It makes you want to keep kissing him until your lips fall off, your mouth missing the invasion of his tongue suddenly.

As you go to lean in once again, he pulls back and shakes his head, a cocky smile plastered on his face. Your heart drops for a minute, thinking about how you might be too needy for him, too clingy. It was a constant complaint from your last boyfriend, so that insecurity bubbles up to the surface.

“No, baby,” Jongseong says, his voice low and teasing, his smile widening at your puzzled expression. “Not unless you want me to fuck you in front of the guard back there.”

Your cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson, embarrassment and excitement mingling to create depth to the shade. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, spotting the guard lingering a few feet away. Jongseong twists his body to give the officer a final wave, his gesture a clear, arrogant fuck-you to both authority and the system that has confined him. His smirk is one of satisfaction, and it only makes you shiver more, feeling the raw energy that radiates off him.

As the guard’s eyes follow Jongseong’s movement with disapproval and curiosity, Jongseong finally pulls his gaze back to you. His hand moves to grab his duffle bag, lifting it with effortless ease before sliding his arm over your shoulder in a possessive, almost protective manner. The touch of his arm against your skin sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you instinctively lean into his side, savouring the closeness and warmth of his body.

“Come on,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, commanding murmur, suddenly turning slightly serious despite the small smile on his face. “We gotta stop somewhere real quick.”

_____

Stepping out of the car, Jongseong takes your hand and leads you towards a diner. The building has a certain charm despite its rundown appearance. The paint is peeling in places, and the sign flickers intermittently. Only a few patrons occupy the scattered booths inside, which is slightly strange considering it’s the middle of the day and diners like this are typically occupied by teenagers and first dates.

Which is exactly why you are so excited. This is your first real date with Jongseong, and you cannot wait to get to know him on a deeper level. Although you would say you know him pretty well, all those 15-minute-a-day calls have done wonders for learning about each other, but this isn’t time-restricted or monitored by guards; this opens up the opportunity for a pure and unfiltered conversation with him.

Peering up at him, you see his relaxed manner and smile. You will never know what it is like to be locked up, but you can imagine how draining it can be - the kiss of freedom from the air must uplift his spirit.

As you walk into the diner, the chequered floor and the nostalgic aroma of coffee and fried food fill the air. The decor is dated, with vinyl booths and Formica tables, but there's a certain cosiness to it. You expect Jongseong to lead you to a booth so you can have your long-awaited date, but instead, he guides you through the diner's main area, straight towards the kitchen.

You glance around, confused. "Where are we going?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Just some business, then you'll have me all to yourself, alright?" he replies with a wink, giving your knuckles a soft kiss before continuing forward.

You follow him, weaving through the bustling kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of food on the grill, and the chatter of the chefs create a cacophony of sounds. Jongseong nods and exchanges brief greetings with a few of the cooks, who glance at you curiously before returning to their tasks. One chef, a burly man with a white apron smeared with grease, gives Jongseong a nod of recognition and jerks his head to the door coming into view.

Finally, Jongseong pushes open a heavy metal door at the back of the kitchen, revealing a starkly different environment. The room beyond is dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something more acrid. It is filled with brute-looking men, one of them is counting a stack of money with deliberate precision, his thick fingers moving with practised ease, while the others eye Jongseong and you with cold, assessing gazes.

The atmosphere is tense; you feel suffocated, if not by the smoke, then by the glares you are currently receiving. Something tells you that these men and Jongseong are not on the best of terms.

The man counting the money looks up, his eyes narrowing slightly. He has a thick, muscular build, and a scar runs down the side of his face, giving him a permanently grim expression. “Park fucking Jongseong,” he chides, placing the notes down on the table beside him. “Where the fuck did you go?”

“Aw, did you miss me, Bang?” Jongseong fake pouts, jutting out his bottom lip. “I’m touched, really.”

Standing up, Bang towers over the table, his broad shoulders casting an imposing shadow. His eyes, dark and unyielding, bore into Jongseong with a mixture of contempt and curiosity.

Jongseong, however, remains unfazed. His casual demeanour contrasts sharply with the palpable hostility in the room. He releases your hand and takes a step forward, his movements deliberate and confident. “I was in the slammer for a few, you know how it is,” he says coolly, like losing months of his life to prison bars was as casual as forgetting to pick up milk from the shop run. “I’m here for my money.”

Bang scoffs a low, guttural sound that reverberates through the room. “What fucking money? you waltz back in here like I owe you something, is that it?” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging under the strain. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Jongseong’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’ve always had nerve, Bang. And you owe me for the car that put me behind bars.” He glances back at you, his eyes softening for a moment before returning to the hardened stare of his adversary.

You stand rooted to the spot, your heart pounding in your chest. The smoky air feels even thicker now, each breath a struggle. The men shift slightly, their eyes flicking between Jongseong and Bang, anticipating the next move, like they’re awaiting instructions.

You’ve seen scenarios like this play out in movies and even then do you hate the feeling it gives in your stomach, so now watching the movie play out in real life makes you feel a little nauseous because you know this can only end badly.

Bang’s lips curl into a sneer. “You’re demanding I pay you for that piece of shit car? The one with the kicked-in engine? Mate, you’re fucking delusional. That car couldn’t have even paid your pathetic bail.”

“You asked me for that specific car, I delivered, now give me my money.” Jongseong’s calm and cocky aura suddenly shifts to a dangerous one, one you hadn’t quite prepared yourself to see. Of course, you knew this side existed; you don’t survive multiple bouts in prison without developing an edge. But witnessing it firsthand is something else entirely.

His posture changes, shoulders squared and jaw set, exuding a raw, unfiltered intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. The room seems to shrink around the two men, their confrontation a silent battle of wills. The other men at the table straighten up, sensing the shift in tension, readying themselves to pounce as soon as their boss gives a signal.

This is bad.

Placing your hand on his arm, you draw his focus to you. Your eyes gleam up at him, silently conveying worry. “Jongseong, let’s just leave it, you just got out,” you plead as your head shakes in disapproval. If there was one thing you have learned from the stories Jongseong has told you, it’s that his temper is a short fuse, and with the lock on his jaw, you know he is a few seconds away from exploding.

His eyes soften momentarily as he looks at you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if to rein in his anger. For a brief moment, it seems like the confrontation is over. But before you can even attempt to lead him out of the room and back to your car, Bang’s voice cuts through the air, dripping with derision. “Yeah, Park, listen to your bitch before I set my men on both of you.”

The words hang in the air, a malicious echo that sends a chill down your spine. Jongseong stops dead in his tracks, his body going rigid. You feel the shift instantly, his muscles tensing under your hand.

The calm exterior he had tried to maintain shatters. Jongseong whirls around, eyes blazing with fury. “What the fuck did you just say?” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous, a stark contrast to the calm, controlled tone he had used before.

Bang smirks, leaning back in his chair, clearly relishing the reaction he’s provoked. “You heard me. I said listen to your slutty side piece before I make sure you both can’t walk again,” he repeats, his voice dripping with contempt. “Did that hit a nerve?”

Before you can react, Jongseong lunges forward, his fist connecting with Bang’s jaw with a sickening thud. The force of the punch sends Bang sprawling to the floor, the chair skidding across the room. The men around you jump to attention, but no one makes a move to intervene, their eyes wide with shock.

“You don’t ever threaten my girl like that,” Jongseong growls, standing over Bang, who is struggling to get up. “Ever.”

You can’t deny the fuzziness in your stomach when he claims you as his girl. The simple slip of the tongue somehow drowns out his outlandish actions. Bang deserved it after all.

Bang wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes blazing with a mix of pain and rage. “You’re gonna regret that, Park,” he spits out, though there's an unmistakable tremor of fear in his voice now. With a snap of his fingers, his men spring into action, advancing toward Jongseong with menacing intent.

Jongseong steps back, his stance shifting into a defensive posture, muscles coiled and ready. “Darlin’, go wait in the car, I’ll be out in a minute,” he murmurs, his gaze locked onto the advancing men. His arm is outstretched to shield you, the veins in his forearm prominent as he tenses.

You hesitate, torn between the urge to stay by his side and the instinct to protect him despite his obvious capability. “But-”

“Be a good girl,” Jongseong’s voice is firm yet gentle, laced with a protective urgency. He meets your gaze with a stern but concerned look that brooks no argument. With a heavy heart and a lump in your throat, you nod reluctantly, stepping back into the kitchen.

Your eyes remain glued to him, a mix of fear and helplessness tightening in your chest. The seconds tick by slowly, each moment feeling like an eternity as Jongseong prepares to face off against men far larger and more intimidating than any security guard or gym bro you’ve ever encountered.

The room’s atmosphere thickens with tension as the men close in on Jongseong. One of them, a burly figure with arms like tree trunks, grabs hold of Jongseong, his grip like iron. Jongseong struggles against the man’s hold, his muscles straining as he fights to break free.

Another of Bang’s men seizes the opportunity, delivering a brutal punch to Jongseong’s midsection. The impact sends a sharp gasp through the air, and you watch in horror as Jongseong’s body lurches from the blow. His face contorts in pain, but he doesn’t give in, still trying to break free from the grip holding him back.

From your vantage point, you can only watch in helpless horror as the fight unfolds. Jongseong’s strength and skill are evident, but the overwhelming numbers and sheer size of his opponents make it daunting. Each punch landed on him seems to resonate with a bone-deep impact, and the grunts and shouts of the men create a chaotic symphony of violence.

The sight of Jongseong, usually so composed and confident, struggling against the odds is almost too much to bear. You want to rush in, to do something, anything to help, but the kitchen's doorway feels like an insurmountable barrier. Your heart races, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps as you watch the scene unfold.

Jongseong’s eyes meet yours briefly, a flicker of reassurance in their stormy depths even as he endures another punishing blow. The look he gives you is a silent promise that he will get through this, that he’s fighting not just for himself, but for both of you. He will be damned if any of these men thought for a second that it was acceptable to threaten you or lay a finger on your precious body - especially not since he has just found out how beautifully soft your skin feels on his fingertips, or how perfectly your lips mesh with his own.

With a strained grunt, Jongseong uses his legs to kick out at his assailants, creating a brief moment of respite. His body, still taut from the impacts, is hunched and battered, but his spirit remains unyielding. He turns to face you, his voice a mix of anger and desperation cutting through the cacophony. “Y/N, get the fuck out of here!” he yells, his command urgent and fierce.

Nodding frantically, you stumble back, your breath hitching as you watch Jongseong throw a sharp, decisive punch at the man who had been holding him back. The impact sends the man staggering, giving Jongseong a brief but crucial reprieve. The fight rages on around him, but for a moment, his focus is entirely on you.

You retreat through the kitchen, your mind spinning with fear and helplessness. Your only thought is to get to safety, to ensure Jongseong’s instructions are followed. You burst through the back door and into the parking lot, the air cold against your flushed skin despite the sun still blaring.

Once outside, you hurry to the car, your mind racing. The dim light of the diner’s parking lot does little to ease the anxiety curling in your stomach. You can’t help but worry about Jongseong - about what’s happening inside and whether he’ll come out unscathed.

You lean against the car, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you glance anxiously towards the diner. The minutes stretch on interminably, amplifying the knot of worry in your stomach. The tense stillness seems almost unbearable, and just as the fear of the worst begins to grip you, you see Jongseong’s figure finally emerge through the door.

He strides towards you, each step purposeful but burdened. His face is a canvas of bruises and blood, his eyebrow bleeding in a thin streak that trails down his cheek. The sight of him, battered and raw, sends a shiver of dread through you. You can barely hold back the tears as you rush forward.

“Oh my god, Jongseong-” The words tumble out, laced with a mix of relief and anguish, but they are abruptly cut off as Jongseong’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is fierce and demanding, a raw burst of emotion that takes you completely by surprise.

His hands are strong and desperate as they frame your face, his touch scorching against your skin. The kiss is so hungry, so primal, that it eclipses the first kiss you shared, which is hard to believe if you weren’t the one on the receiving end. The intensity of it is overwhelming, the force of his need evident in every movement. He pulls you closer, his lips moving with an urgent, almost frantic rhythm.

As he deepens the kiss, his hand trails down from your face to his own throat, his fingers gripping the base of his neck. The gesture is both intimate and possessive, reminding you that he called you his girl and fought on behalf of you. The thoughts add another layer of desire from your end, the protectiveness he already has over you despite only knowing you for a hot minute makes your skin tingle with glee.

Every sensation is amplified - the rough texture of his lips against yours, the heated pulse of his touch, and the faint tremor of excitement in his frame. You can taste the salt of his sweat and the faint metallic tang of blood from his cuts mingling with the warmth of his breath. His other hand moves to your lower back, pulling you tighter against him, his body pressing firmly into yours.

Jongseong had forgotten how much of a thrill he got from fighting, the way seeing the blood splatter - from both his rival and himself - made him feel alive. It had been too long since he had a good kick like this, the prison scraps he would be part of were nothing like this, too weak and pathetic. This is the kind of adrenaline he wanted, one when he didn’t know if he would make it out alive. But he knew he had to, for your sake.

The image of you flashed in his mind as he was pummelling into the men and Bang. The thought of dragging you into this dangerous world gnaws at him, but it’s a burden he’s willing to bear. He can’t imagine asking you to walk away, even though he knows he’s pulling you into a dangerous world with wicked consequences.

Jongseong pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath heavy and laboured. The heat in his gaze is unmistakable, an intense blend of desire and desperation. Blood smears across your cheek where his fingers had been, the sight and scent adding something raw to the moment. He never wants to see you hurt, but the blood smudged on your skin makes his blood run thinner with lust.

He gets horny when he is riled up like this, that much is evident by the way he is suddenly pushing you against the car and pressing his growing erection into your lower abdomen. The cold metal of the car against your back is a stark contrast to the heat of his body, a jarring reminder of the reality you're in, yet it only heightens the sensations coursing through you.

Jongseong's lips return to yours, more aggressive and demanding as he tries to consume you entirely. His hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, fingers digging into your skin with a need that borders on feral. The bruises on his knuckles brush against your flesh, a rough reminder of the fight he's just endured for you. His touch is searing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

A low, guttural groan escapes him as he grinds his hips into yours, the friction sparking a desperate ache deep within you. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could fuse your bodies together.

His name falls from your lips in a breathless whisper, a plea and a promise all at once. Jongseong responds with a growl, his lips trailing down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that claim you as his. His hands roam lower, gripping your thighs and lifting you slightly, pressing you harder against the car.

“Darlin’, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he whispers into your mouth with promise. He means this both figuratively and physically. He is going to lead you down a dark path, and he can’t say he’s even the slightest bit sorry about it.

Without warning, he swings the backseat door open and tosses you in, his strength overwhelming. You barely have time to catch your breath before he's on top of you, the weight of his body pressing you into the seat, his hands moving with a desperate urgency. His lips find yours again, a hungry, demanding kiss that leaves you gasping.

The confined space of the car adds an extra layer of intensity, the heat between you palpable. Jongseong's hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, his fingers digging into your skin with a need that borders on feral. He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, "I need to taste you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation that leaves you trembling. He moves down your body, his lips and hands leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The car's interior feels too small, too hot, as he shifts between your legs, his eyes dark with desire as he looks up at you.

“You okay with this?” he asks, seeking consent. Your body language is enough to tell him that you want this probably as much as he does, but the thing is, he doesn’t know how much of a good girl you are. If no one else got to touch you like this, he would be ecstatic, but it also means you could want to take your time.

There is a flash in his eyes that makes your core pulse and has you nodding without thinking. “Yeah, I want this,” you whisper out, though it sounds like you’re bellowing the words through a megaphone, the desperation in your voice making sure of that.

Kissing along your stomach as his hands undo your shorts, his lips dipping lower as he pulls them off of you. “Has anyone had you before?” The tone of his voice is gritty and hoarse, swallowing his jealousy at even the thought.

Just because he would be fine with it, doesn’t mean he can’t wish to curse any man that had the audacity to think they are worthy of being with you.

Swallowing the forming saliva in your mouth, his dangerous glare into your eyes tells you that perhaps you should lie and say no, that you haven’t had past lovers. But if he caught you lying, you think the repercussions might be worse than whatever will come if you tell him the truth.

“Yes, one.”

“How many times did he have you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How many times did he put his disgusting, unworthy mouth on you?”

Oh.

You physically shrivel up, feeling small under his intense stare and gripping hands. You can’t actually recall how many times your ex boyfriend went down on you but it can't be more than four times, claiming he didn’t see the point in it when he could just fuck you. Safe to say the sex you had with him was lacklustre.

“Not many,” you manage to whisper, feeling the heat of shame and anger rise in you. The memories of the past, the way you were neglected, seem to pale in comparison to the intensity Jongseong is offering you now. “Three times? Maybe four?”

“Well, which is it? Three or four?” he insists. His fingers dip into the band of your underwear, teasing your skin with a ghosting touch.

“Why? Does it matter?” This was absolutely the wrong follow-up question to ask because Jongseong’s eyes turn black, jaw setting into the same locked position it did earlier.

“So I know how many times I need to make you cum to wash him out of your system,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear, the touch searing and electric against your skin. He pulls them down, tossing them aside with a careless flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear, a raw hunger that leaves you breathless.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart with a possessiveness that sends a thrill of anticipation through you. The heat between your legs is unbearable, the need for his touch almost painful. His breath is hot against your skin as he trails kisses down your inner thigh, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Jongseong’s lips hover just above your centre, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive parts, making you shiver with need. The anticipation is excruciating, every nerve ending screaming for his touch.

“Tell me, how many?” he murmurs, holding back from diving in which is just as painful as it is for you.

“I really…I really don’t remember,” you reply honestly. No matter the number of times your ex-boyfriend was between your legs, he never made you cum anyway so that might have everything to do with the memory lapse.

Something tells you that you will remember exactly how many times Jongseong gets between your legs.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with determination. "Okay, I’ll make it five, just to be sure," he says, his voice rough with need. When his tongue finally makes contact, it’s like an electric shock, pleasure shooting through you in waves.

He works you over with a skill and intensity that leaves you gasping for breath. His tongue moves with purpose, each flick and swirl designed to draw out your pleasure. He knows exactly where to touch, how to lick, to drive you wild. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he devours you, the sensation almost too much to bear.

You arch against him, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could never get enough. His low, satisfied growls vibrate against you, adding another layer of sensation that leaves you trembling.

"Jongseong, please," you gasp, your voice shaky and filled with need. The world narrows down to the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands, and the waves of pleasure crashing over you. You can feel yourself spiralling towards the edge, every touch pushing you closer and closer.

Jongseong has a tongue and mouth simply made for eating pussy, and he is showing you just how someone should be licking and slurping at your sensitive area. Not even two minutes have passed and you can already feel the pressure of your orgasm building; a new record for you. Not even when you manage to find some alone time can you make yourself cum this quickly.

His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and swirling with a precision that has you seeing stars. He alternates between gentle laps and firm, insistent strokes, each movement designed to push you higher and higher. His lips seal around your clit, sucking and releasing in a rhythm that leaves you gasping. The heat of his mouth, the roughness of his tongue, and the sheer determination in his every move send you spiralling towards ecstasy.

When the first orgasm hits, it’s like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. Jongseong holds you through it, his mouth never leaving you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left trembling. His hands grip your hips, anchoring you to the car seat as you ride out the waves of sensation.

But he doesn’t stop. His fingers find their way inside you, curling and stroking with a skill that has you begging for breath. He adds a second finger, then a third, stretching and filling you, making you deliciously overwhelmed. His tongue continues its assault on your clit, harshly flickering in tandem with the movements of his fingers.

“Jongseong, I-” you gasp, trying to form words through the haze of pleasure.

“I know, darlin’,” he growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. “I can feel you. Don’t hold back.”

His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot with unerring precision, each stroke sending shivers up your spine. His tongue dances around your clit, alternating between gentle flicks and firm, insistent licks that have you teetering on the edge. The second orgasm comes even faster, your body hypersensitive from the first. It crashes over you, leaving you gasping and moaning his name. Jongseong’s mouth is relentless, his tongue and fingers never stopping, never giving you a moment to catch your breath. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge and then pull you back, prolonging the pleasure until you’re a quivering mess beneath him.

His determination is relentless. He pushes you through the third orgasm with the same intensity, his touch never faltering. He adds another layer to the sensation, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue and fingers continue their work. Each orgasm leaves you more breathless, more spent, until you’re a quakinh mess beneath him, gripping at his hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself from euphoria.

“I need you to scream my name,” he murmurs against your folds, his voice dark and commanding. “I want everyone to know who’s making you feel this good.”

It is only at that moment you remember that Jongseong is eating you out in a diner car park where anyone can look in the window and see your lewd actions, never mind hear them.

But that doesn’t stop you obeying him.

The thrust of his fingers quickens as your juices begin to fly around in your car and drip down your leather seats, your essence acting like holy water as you bless the car with your backseat serenade. Your hand grips the silver cross around your neck as you curse the Lord's name in vain, the only thing you can worship right now is a criminal’s touch.

“Jjongie,” you mewl out, losing yourself to your lust and heat, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He smirks as you create a nickname in the midst of the pleasure, loving the way it sounds falling from your tongue.

He will only ever let you call him that.

The fourth orgasm builds slowly, the pleasure mounting with every touch, every stroke. Jongseong’s fingers hit that perfect spot over and over again. His tongue dances across your clit as he makes his tongue rigid, each flick sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. You can feel the pressure building, the heat coiling in your belly, until it finally explodes, leaving you shuddering and gasping for breath.

“Jjongie, please,” you beg, your voice hoarse and broken. “I can’t take anymore.”

“Yes, you can,” he insists, his voice rough with desire. “You’re gonna give me one more. Just one more, darlin’.”

He keeps going, his mouth and fingers working together in a symphony of pleasure. The fifth orgasm is the most intense yet, your body extremely susceptible and on edge from the previous ones. He adds a fourth finger, stretching you wide, probably even wider than your ex’s cock ever did, his tongue working your clit with a precision that has you seeing venus. He uses his tongue apply pressure in ways that have you feeling every single nerve ending come alive. The pleasure builds and builds until it finally crashes over you, leaving you a quivering, trembling mess beneath him for the nth time.

When he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with multiple layers of your arousal, he looks at you with a fierce, possessive pride. "There," he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "Now you’re mine. Only mine."

He climbs up your body, his mouth finding yours in a searing kiss that tastes of you. The connection between you is electric, something beautiful. You fight the tiredness as you plaster a smile of happiness and contentment across your face, and he kisses all over your cheeks and lips, creating a line of adoration. His kisses are softer now, each one a tender promise.

As the initial rush of passion subsides, you finally take in the full extent of his injuries. His face is a canvas of bruises and cuts, each mark a testament to the fight he endured. Your fingers move gently, tracing the path of the blood streak on his eyebrow, smoothing over the swollen skin with care. The sight of him beaten like this makes your heart ache.

"Promise me you won't keep doing this?" you ask, your voice tinged with worry and desperation as you wipe the mixture of your slick and saliva from his mouth. Your eyes search his, pleading for an answer, a reassurance that he won’t put himself in harm's way again.

Instead of a verbal response, Jongseong leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one is soft, tender, and lingering. It speaks of unspoken promises and the turbulent emotions between you. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

Although you take the kiss as a sealed promise, you should know better than to trust a criminal.

_____

Walking out of your campus building, you see an unfamiliar car paired with a very familiar man waiting on the sidewalk. Jongseong leans against the sleek monochrome vehicle. He looks as confident and imposing as ever, with his hair gelled in his typical style and a fitted black T-shirt that shows off his tattoos, earning some judgmental glances from your peers.

You wave off your friends, a wide smile spreading across your face. Skipping down the stairs with glee, you bound towards him, unable to contain your excitement. The moment Jongseong spots your figure approaching, the hard stare and scowl he portrays vanish, replaced by an expression of equal joy to yours.

In the past month, you and Jongseong have grown incredibly close. Despite his semi-cold exterior and rough edges, there's a softer side to him that only you get to see. He's protective and loyal, his tough shell cracking open whenever you're around. The little things he does - like texting you as soon as he wakes up, remembering your favourite bands name, plus all the members, or listening to you read him excerpts from the book you divulge in while he works out - reveal a tenderness he rarely shows to anyone else.

Jongseong opens his arms, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist as he catches you effortlessly. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, grounding himself in your presence. The onlookers judge, whispering among themselves, but neither of you cares. Being with each other is all that matters.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes.

He grins, a rare, genuine smile lighting up his face. "Couldn't stay away from my darlin’ too long, could I?" he murmurs, his voice a blend of affection and mischief. "Thought I'd surprise you."

You chuckle, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Well, paint me shocked."

Setting you down gently, he keeps his arms wrapped around your waist, not wanting to let you go just yet. “I thought we could drive out for a bit, I need to visit my bank for a…slight withdrawal,” he explains.

You nod, eyes twinkling. It doesn't matter what the errand is; any time spent with Jongseong feels like an adventure. Over the past month, you've done everything together: hitting the gym, shopping for your dorm kitchen, and running around to the post office to send some letters. Even mundane trips to the bank like this seem exciting when he's by your side.

As you both get into the front seats, you can't help but ask the million-dollar question, "Where did you get this car?"

Jongseong's life outside has been anything but easy; his criminal record makes it difficult for him to secure a steady job. Despite this, he's always trying, often because you push him to stay on the right path. You appreciate his efforts, knowing how much he resists resorting to his old ways. At least, as far as you know.

"Just a banger from one of my mates," he replies nonchalantly, as he starts the engine. "Nothing compared to yours."

"I think it suits you," you say, glancing around the shabby interior. The car is a patchwork of bumps and scratches, with a dashboard that's seen better days and seats that are well-worn and torn in places.

"Because it's battered and dented?" he quips, a teasing note in his voice.

"No," you respond, playfully hitting him on the arm. "Because it has a certain charm about it, if you look past the scrapes and cuts."

A shy, almost boyish grin settles upon Jongseong’s face, very much out of character for him. Considering you’re admitting to seeing past his rugged appearance and guarded heart, even through the guise of the car, he can’t help but appreciate the compliment. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel as he pulls out onto the road.

You settle back into your seat, watching the world pass by outside the window. The car rattles slightly, but it feels like an extension of Jongseong himself - rough around the edges, but with a hidden depth that you can't help but admire.

The journey takes you away from the hustle and bustle of the campus, the road stretching out for miles ahead. The landscape transforms into a picturesque scene painted with warm, golden hues. Sunlight bathes the rolling fields in a soft glow, casting long shadows that dance across the green grass. Farm animals graze contentedly within the sweeping wind, their movements leisurely and peaceful. The serene beauty of the countryside envelops you, a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts that often plague your mind.

As the scenery blurs by, you unlock your phone and realise you've been so caught up in sight-seeing that you hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. A slight furrow forms on your brow as you glance at the clock, wondering why on earth you are still driving.

"Your bank branch is really far away, Jongseong," you observe, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Yeah," he replies, placing a hand on your exposed leg, his touch warm and reassuring. "I guess it is, huh?"

His tone carries a weird, knowing look on his face, something that makes you sceptical but also intrigued. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes, one that you’ve come to recognise. It’s the look he gets when he’s planning something unexpected. Despite the small sliver of doubt in your mind, you decide not to question him further, choosing trust over anything else.

The road ahead twists and turns, each bend revealing more of the idyllic countryside. Birds soar in the sky, their songs adding a melodic backdrop to your journey. You find yourself relaxing into the seat, the comfort of Jongseong’s presence and the captivating landscape blending together into a perfect moment of tranquillity.

That moment is about to be severely interrupted.

Jongseong takes a sharp turn off the main road, driving down a narrow, gravelly path that leads to a run-down building in the middle of nowhere. The structure of the bank is weary and neglected, its facade chipped and the white stones which make up its exterior are now yellow with a mixture of smoke and years of tear. The windows are grimy, and the door doesn’t shut over as the hinges hold the doors askew. Weeds sprout through the cracks in the pavement, and the entire place exudes a sense of forgotten utility. You wonder who on earth decides to keep money here.

Jongseong pulls the car to a stop and gets out, jogging around to open the door for you. He helps you out with a gentle grip on your hand, his touch a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings.

You notice the tension in his shoulders, his usually composed exterior seems frayed, much like the edges of the black duffle bag he retrieves from the backseat. The bag, reminiscent of the one he had when coming out of prison, is empty save for something weighing it down slightly.

"What's that for?" you inquire, pointing to the duffle that is trapped in his tight grip.

"I'm just going to get a lot of money, that's all," he replies, smiling so innocently that it looks almost devious.

Why wouldn't he just keep it all his money in the bank in the first place? Places don't even usually take cash these days. You internally start to question, unable to suppress the growing unease. He is acting strange and suddenly, your gut isn’t feeling so happy.

Jongseong extends his hand, fingers stretched for you to interlock with his. His grip is firm, reassuring yet compelling. They are so big compared to yours that they practically swallow yours whole. As he starts to walk away, you can’t help but notice he isn’t locking the car. You know no one is around, but considering he used to steal cars for a living, you think he would know the dangers of leaving it out in the open like this.

Regardless of your apprehension, you follow him, the gravel crunching under your feet as you approach the run-down bank. Jongseong’s pace quickens, his body language a mix of urgency and confidence.

As you step inside, the air is stale, carrying the scent of mildew and old paper. The interior is dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the beams of sunlight. Surprisingly, there are people scattered in the foyer: an older couple who have to be in their late sixties and a man who exudes zero confidence, his pale complexion and silver-rimmed glasses, paired with his shrivelled frame.

The worst thing the man does is look at you for a second longer than Jongseong would like. Cracking his neck, Jongseong pulls you closer to him as he stares the man down, giving him a warning shot. Quickly, there are no eyes on you.

Jongseong is always like this, silently threatening any man who even dares to glance at you. One time, you were at the supermarket, innocently buying a bottle of wine and some Sensations chilli and lime crisps, when the clerk had the audacity to speak to you - it was just to ask if you needed help, that was too many words according to Jongseong. He had given the clerk a harsh look, his jaw clenched tightly as he pulled you closer, ensuring the man understood his silent message. The poor guy had paled, quickly ringing up your items without another word.

You glance around the run-down bank, taking in the cracked tiles and peeling wallpaper. The entire place feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. As you watch Jongseong, you notice him checking the duffle bag a few times, his eyes scanning the room with a sharp intensity. Something about his demeanour makes your stomach twist with unease.

"Jongseong, what are we actually doing here?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the growing anxiety.

"Darlin', I'm getting money, why else would we be here?" he laughs as if you’ve asked the dumbest question he has ever heard. His tone is light, but his eyes remain hard, focused.

You bite your lip, glancing around the room once more. The older couple is speaking softly to each other, their attention nowhere near you. The timid man with glasses is fiddling with his phone, his hands trembling slightly. Despite the seemingly mundane scene, your gut is yelling at you that something is terribly wrong and you think you know what it is.

"How are you getting the money?" you ask, the words catching in your throat. You’re scared to even pose the question due to the answer you might receive.

Jongseong doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances at you, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he turns his attention back to the bag. The silence stretches uncomfortably, and you can feel the tension in the air growing thicker.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the realisation dawning on you. “Jongseong, please, tell me we’re not here to-”

“Next,” the woman calls in front of you, breaking your chain of thought.

Jongseong gently unravels your intertwined hands and steps forward to the desk. The woman behind the counter looks up with a bored and disinterested expression, her fingers tapping impatiently on the worn-out surface.

“What can I help you with today?” she asks, her tone flat and mechanical.

Jongseong smiles brightly, tilting his head slightly as he leans closer. “I need you to put all the money in the bag,” he says, his voice smooth and sweet.

The woman furrows her brow in confusion, her mouth opening to question him, but the words die in her throat as Jongseong smoothly pulls a gun from the duffle bag and presses it to her forehead. His smile never falters, remaining charming and innocent, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

You feel your stomach drop, a cold wave of fear washing over you. Your hands tremble, and your breath catches in your throat. The world around you seems to blur, the edges of your vision darkening as panic sets in. You can hardly believe what’s happening. This isn’t the Jongseong you know, the one who holds you gently and kisses you tenderly. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, a side that terrifies you.

“Jongseong,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the rushing blood in your ears.

He doesn’t look at you, his focus entirely on the woman in front of him. With a calm and steady hand, he clicks the safety off the gun. “10s and 20s in the bag, love. Quickly.”

The woman’s eyes widen in fear, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she begins to gather the bills. The crisp rustling of paper fills the charged silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of the bank’s outdated air conditioning. Her movements are jerky and hurried, every action underscored by the mounting tension in the room. Her terrified gaze flits nervously between Jongseong and the duffle bag, reflecting the same panic you feel surging within you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice another bank worker, a woman in her late forties with a spiky haircut fit to rival Shirley Carter from Eastenders, sliding her hand toward the hidden panic button beneath the desk. Jongseong’s sharp eyes catch the movement instantly. With a swift, fluid motion, he pivots the gun’s direction, the barrel now pointed at the second worker. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns, his voice cutting through the air like a razor blade.

The woman’s face drains of colour, her eyes widening in terror as she freezes mid-reach. Her fingers twitch nervously, the hand hovering inches from the button. You can see the palpable fear in her expression as her face goes slack, slowly withdrawing her hand to ensure her own safety, not daring to provoke Jongseong’s ire.

Turning back to you for a moment, Jongseong makes eye contact with you, winking in joy as if you are equally having as much fun as he is.

And the funny thing is, he can see it inside of you. Behind that fear, is a flash of thrill that even you haven’t registered. It’s something he can identify because it is the exact same look he has in his orbs when he does something that spikes his adrenaline. This is exactly why you came to him that day and the exact reason he has kept you by his side.

You’re cut from the same cloth, even if sewn to different clothes.

As the woman finishes stuffing the bills into the bag, her hands moving with a frantic speed, Jongseong maintains his disarming smile, but the menace in his eyes betrays his calm demeanour. The bag grows heavy with the weight of the cash, the rustling paper now almost rhythmic, a morbid symphony underscoring the gravity of the situation.

When the woman finally slides the bulging duffle bag across the counter, her face pale and stricken, Jongseong’s fingers close around the handle with a sense of finality. He casts one last wary glance around the bank, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a reassuring nod that feels more like a promise of survival than comfort.

“Thanks for the service, sweetheart. Really, it has been class. I’ll write you a good Yelp review, for sure,” Jongseong's voice drips with arrogance and sarcasm, an unsettling calm underlying his criminal actions. He turns to you, his eyes intense yet strangely affectionate. “Let’s go, darlin’.”

With the duffle bag in hand, he leads you towards the exit, his grip on your wrist firm yet unyielding. Your legs feel like lead as you follow him, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty space. You glance back at the bank workers, their faces a portrait of fear and confusion, and you can't shake the crushing sense of guilt that weighs on your heart. Yet, there is a strange feeling of exhilaration that beats in your chest, a rush you’ve never felt before.

The two of you step back into the bleak daylight, and Jongseong’s car waits in the same spot. Now leaving it unlocked makes sense; you need to make a quick getaway. He opens the door for you with an almost gentlemanly gesture, though his eyes are still sharp, scanning the surroundings.

You both jump into the car, the doors slamming shut simultaneously. Jongseong hits the gas, the car lurching forward with a screech of tires. The engine roars to life as he maneuvers onto the road, the world outside blurring into a frenetic swirl of colours and shapes. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, adrenaline flooding your system. It's the closest to an existential crisis you’ve ever come, the reality of what just happened clashing violently with the surreal rush of it all.

Jongseong wears a shit-eating grin, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous glee as he speeds down the highway. He runs a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place messily. Suddenly, he slams his palm on the steering wheel a few times in sheer excitement, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. “We fucking did it!” he exclaims, his voice filled with disbelief and triumph.

You look at him like he’s crazy, his entire being now radiating joy despite just committing a felony big enough to land him back in jail. Your mind races, a whirlwind of fear, excitement, and bewilderment. How could he be so thrilled, so elated, after what just happened? The exhilaration from moments ago is rapidly giving way to a gnawing anxiety, the reality of your actions sinking in.

"Pull over," you finally manage to say, your voice barely steady.

"What?" Jongseong's grin falters for a moment, confusion clouding his features.

"Pull over," you repeat, more forcefully this time.

"Do you want to get caught?" he snaps, acutely aware that the police have probably been alerted by now. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror, scanning for any signs of pursuit.

“I want to know what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

Jongseong’s jaw tightens, and any joy that was flowing through his body has now evaporated, escaping through the heavy exhale from his nostrils. His hands grip the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white, the tendons in his arms standing out starkly. The atmosphere inside the car grows heavy, thick with tension and unspoken words.

You realise instantly that you’ve crossed a line, the severity of your words sinking in as his anger radiates off him like a palpable force. The air between you crackles with electricity, the adrenaline of the heist replaced by a chilling fear of the unknown. You’re not scared of Jongseong, not really, but of the intensity of his reaction and what he might be thinking.

He hard shoulders the car to the edge of a cliff, the tires screeching as he brings the vehicle to an abrupt stop. The scenery outside is almost picturesque, the cliff overlooking a vast expanse of ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows, but the serene beauty of the landscape does nothing to alleviate the suffocating tension within the car.

Jongseong's cold glare freezes you in place, his eyes dark and unyielding. "Repeat that last sentence," he demands, his voice low and menacing.

"I...I," you stammer, too overcome with slight fear to form a coherent response. It’s not Jongseong himself that scares you, but the raw intensity of his emotions and the unpredictability of the situation.

"Did you just swear at me?" he asks, his tone sharp enough to cut through the thick silence. His eyes bore into yours, and you can see the flicker of hurt beneath the anger.

The fear of what he’s thinking, the consequences of your words, paralyses you. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. The reality of the situation crashes over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I... I didn’t mean to-”

“Get out of the car. Now.” His voice is a low, dangerous growl, leaving no room for argument.

You scramble to comply, fumbling with the door handle. Your fingers tremble as you push the door open, the heavy metal creaking in protest. As you step out, the uneven ground beneath your feet adds to your growing sense of disorientation. The wind whips through your hair and the cliff's edge looms just a few feet away, adding to your sense of vulnerability.

Is he going to leave you here? The thought is a panicked whisper in your mind, the idea of being abandoned on this desolate cliffside sending a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. But he wouldn’t do that, he is too infatuated by you to abandon you.

So you’re quaking in trepidation and adrenaline for what he has planned.

Jongseong steps out of the car with a deliberate calm, the door slamming shut behind him with a resonating thud. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, the earlier anger now replaced by something cold and calculating.

“On your knees,” he commands, his voice hard and unyielding.

You hesitate for a moment, confusion and anxiety warring within you. The words seem surreal, echoing in your mind as you try to process what’s happening. But then the steel in his eyes brooks no argument, and you realise you have no choice but to do as you’re told.

Slowly, you lower yourself to the ground, the rough gravel biting into your knees. The indignity of the position, combined with the terror of being so close to the cliff, leaves you feeling utterly exposed. You glance up at Jongseong, searching for a hint of what’s to come, but his face is a mask of icy determination.

Noticing the tremble in your lips, a soft, almost tender expression flickers across his features. He reaches down, his hand cradling one side of your face gently. “Shhh, darlin’. I’m just going to wash those dirty words out of your mouth,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively soothing.

Your heart pounds harder, anticipation and fear twisting into a knot in your stomach. You watch, wide-eyed, as he undoes his belt with deliberate slowness, the metallic clink echoing in the stillness. He pulls down the zipper, his movements controlled and precise, never breaking eye contact with you. It is only now that you know what he means by washing the dirty words out of your mouth.

Jongseong takes out his cock, thick and long, a sight you can’t quite get used to, no matter how many times you see it. Your fingers grip tightly at your skirt as you endure the rough gravel digging into your knees. Despite the discomfort, your focus is entirely on his eight-inch length, its pink tip throbbing with desire, mirroring your pulsing clit.

Seeing the light of excitement in your eyes, Jongseong smiles wickedly. What he saw back at the bank, that flicker of wanting rush and spontaneity is instilled deep within you, and what perfect way to get it out of you than making you suck his cock on the edge of a nth-drop-foot cliff.

He taps the head of his cock against your lips, his expression a blend of mock innocence and raw hunger. “You know I don’t like doing this, Y/N," he says, his tone dripping with false remorse. Jongseong doesn’t care about you swearing at him, not really; he’s just looking for an excuse to ease the horniness swimming through his blood and to bring out the real you that's hiding in the shadows.

“Unless...you want to be bad?” He tilts his head, his gaze feigning curiosity because he already knows the answer. “I saw it in your eyes, darlin’. That blood rush because you know you’re doing something bad.”

You shift slightly on your knees, licking your lips, your eyes fixated on his member. The desire to take him in your mouth is overwhelming. The fear, guilt, dread, excitement, and power mix into a heady cocktail - it creates something inside you that you have long sought after. Your life that has been so built up in the foundation of being perfect for your father is draining and mundane, which is why you were drawn so irresistibly to him. He can give you everything you crave, even through unorthodox situations like this.

Jongseong teases you, swiping his tip along your lips. As you open your mouth in eager anticipation, he pulls away just out of reach, a smirk playing on his lips as you lift your ass from your heels, chasing it like a dog with a bone before you yield.

He starts pumping his cock slowly, his eyes locked onto yours. “You can be as bad as you like, baby,” he leans down slightly, his voice a low, seductive growl. “As long as you're a good girl for me, okay?”

“Yes, Jjongie,” you nod quickly, desperate for your mouth to be filled. The anticipation, mixed with the danger of the cliff and the fear of being caught, makes your pussy ache and your heart race.

With a sudden, forceful motion, Jongseong grabs the back of your head, pulling you closer. "Open wide," he commands, his voice firm yet filled with desire. You comply, your mouth opening eagerly as he thrusts himself deep, filling you completely. He groans in pleasure as he begins to fuck your mouth with rough, passionate thrusts.

His hand rests on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he sets a deliberate pace. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, your tongue swirling around his length, paying extra attention to his tip when it hits the edge of your lips. The heat and weight of him on your tongue send shivers down your spine, and you moan around him, the sound vibrating through his dick.

“Take it all, darlin’,” he murmurs, his grip tightening as he pushes deeper, your gag reflex kicking in. Tears spring to your eyes, but the mixture of pain and pleasure only fuels your desire. You moan around him, the vibrations making him groan louder.

Jongseong’s pace quickens, his long length hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You struggle to breathe, but the sensation of being used, of surrendering completely to his control, sends waves of heat through your body. Despite the intensity, you crave more; you can’t get enough. Every thrust, every moment of control he exerts over you, only deepens your need. You love this, even though you probably shouldn’t.

Because you have always been so compliant to him, never pushing his buttons, every time he has ever touched you has always been rough but with an overwhelming cast of softness, scared to push you too far considering your limited sexual experiences. But right now, it is pure lust and dominance taking over his body. This is your chance to show you can take it, soft or hard, as long as it’s Jongseong.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he pants, his eyes dark with lust. “So good at taking your punishment.” You nod as best as you can, his cock still buried in the back of your throat as you try your best to widen it, accommodating his girth the best you can.

His praise spurs you on, and you bob your head faster, your hand coming up to stroke the base of his cock in time with your movements. Jongseong’s breath hitches, his hands gripping your roots for support. The veins on his arms bulge with the intensity of his grip, his knuckles white.

His breathing becomes erratic, and you feel his cock twitching, a clear sign he's nearing climax. His eyes close momentarily, his brow furrowing, then lock onto yours again, filled with raw desire.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he groans, his hips thrusting in sync with your movements. “I’m so close.”

His thrusts become more urgent, more forceful. You can sense the muscles in his abdomen tensing with each movement, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten. His jaw clenches, his breathing ragged. You are lost in the moment, your body reacting instinctively, wanting to please him, to draw out his release. The sensation of his cock filling your throat, the taste, the feel - it’s intoxicating, leaving you craving more with every second.

Suddenly, he tightens his grip on your scalp, pulling you down hard onto his cock, burying himself so deep that his bell is well past your tonsils, almost hitting your voice box. The force and intrusion makes you gag, and he holds you there, deep in your oesophagus. Your eyes water, and you feel his cock pulsing as he reaches his peak.

With a guttural moan, Jongseong shudders violently, emptying himself deep within you. The hot torrent of his seed floods your throat with a sudden intensity that makes you gag, the unexpected force sending spurts through your nose. The sensation is both startling and overwhelming, the heat and discomfort mingling in a strange thrill. Your nostrils burn slightly, each breath catching the faint, musky scent of his cum, and you feel the final thick, warm fluid trickling down your throat and seeping from your nose.

Jongseong's grip on you is unyielding, his body taut with pleasure, eyes squeezed shut in an expression of raw ecstasy. His cock pulses and twitches as he drains himself completely, the final spurts leaving him trembling. Slowly, he loosens his hold, withdrawing from your mouth with a slick, wet sound, his length coated in a mixture of saliva and cum.

You gasp for air, your lungs burning as you draw in ragged breaths. The remnants of his release cling to your lips and drip from your nose, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. The myriad sensations leave you dizzy and lightheaded, but there’s an undeniable satisfaction in the aftermath of such a powerful, primal exchange. Your chest heaves as you recover, each breath a challenge, and despite the intensity, you can’t help but feel a deep, insatiable hunger for more.

Jongseong tucks his cock away before looking down at you, the white dripping down your nose, chin and onto your chest. The sight makes him tremble, an aftershock of pure adoration for the messy girl before him. "You are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs, crouching down to wipe the seed from your face. Your lazy smile spreads across your lips, a blend of bliss and contentment washing over you. The intensity of the experience leaves you feeling floaty and disoriented, but there’s an underlying sense of satisfaction and connection that warms you from within.

"Just don't swear at me again, okay, pretty? You gotta trust me," he continues, opening your mouth with his thumb and sticking his fingers in, making you clean them up. The taste of his cum lingers as you obediently suck his fingers clean, your eyes overcast with a mixture of bliss and unfamiliarity. You nod, feeling a bit contrite.

"I'm sorry. It won’t happen again, I was just...surprised. You should have told me what we were doing." You can’t help but feel a twinge of regret. It would have been nice to have a heads-up that you were committing your first crime, even if you were just an accomplice.

Jongseong sighs, understanding your point of view. He helps you stand, his hands steadying you as your legs feel like jelly. He brushes the gravel from your knees, his fingers lingering slightly as he ogles at the indents and scrapes, oddly admiring the view. There's a gentleness in his touch, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

"You would never have agreed to come with me if I did tell you. I wanted you to see and feel the rush of it all," he explains, his voice filled with conviction. He leans in, kissing your lips gently, the softness of his kiss a vastly different feeling from the burning in your throat and nose. "You did, didn’t you? You understand it now."

The memory of the heist flashes vividly in your mind, the exhilarating chaos of it all. Standing side by side with Jongseong as he robbed the bank was like stepping into another world, one where every second was charged with a thrilling sense of danger and excitement. The cold metal of the gun in his hand, the authoritative bark of his commands, and the wide-eyed fear in the faces of the bank staff and customers - it was a symphony of sensations that left your heart pounding in your chest in the best possible way.

You pause, the truth sinking in. "I...I do," you admit, knowing there’s no point in denying it. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s undeniable. But the risk, the fear of losing him, it lingers in your mind. "But there are other ways to get that same rush, ones that don't risk me losing you."

For the first time, Jongseong's heart feels like it's punching his rib cage. He can’t believe the depth of your concern, the intensity of your feelings for him. "I know, but I'm not going anywhere," he promises, his voice filled with sincerity. You give him a sceptical look, worry etched into your features. "I'll be careful. You're my good luck charm, and you're never leaving my side. So, what is there to worry about?"

Jongseong's arms wrap around you, bringing you closer. His warmth envelops you, providing a soothing presence amidst the chaos of your thoughts. You cuddle into his hug, a smile pulling to the middle of your cheeks. His steady, robust heartbeat is a calming contrast to your own. The lingering taste of him, the scent of sweat and musk, it’s all becoming music to your senses.

He can't believe he has found someone so perfect for him. Someone to ground him and see his potential, even through everything. Maybe there is a part of him that wants to tone it down a little, because the fear of losing you too is something his heart doesn't want to bear thinking about.

Although the rush and excitement of breaking the law pumps the blood through his body, even just laying his eyes upon you has the same desired effect. Perhaps you could be his new rush. Jongseong had never considered another way to get his kicks because this is all he has known for so long, the window you're opening up in his mind lets him peep into what could be, rather than what he knows.

Sirens blare softly in the distance, almost acting as a backing track to your loving waltz. But you know you can’t stay standing here for long, very few roads to turn and navigate if they caught up to you. Looking up at him, you smile, oddly calm despite the circumstances around you. “Let’s go. We can book a motel.”

“Good shout. I don’t think I can wait to fuck you.”

You look puzzled, brow furrowing as you process his words. "Do you not hear the police? I mean we need to keep low."

Jongseong laughs, a low, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. His hand traces your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin. "Oh, I know," he says, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and desire. "But I also meant what I said."

_____

The smell of chlorine fills the air, a sharp, clean scent that immediately evokes memories of summer afternoons spent poolside. Beneath the tang of chemicals lies the faintest hint of dampness, the kind that clings to cool tiles and wets the soles of your feet. The ambient humidity wraps around you like a warm blanket, the moisture hanging heavy in the air as you take careful steps forward, your senses heightened by the darkness that surrounds you.

A blindfold is secured over your eyes, its fabric soft against your skin, blocking out the world and leaving you in a realm of anticipation. Jongseong's hands are firm yet gentle on your arms, guiding you carefully, his touch reassuring as he leads you to the unknown. His fingers occasionally rub soothing circles on your arms, grounding you, while his lips brush tenderly against your shoulder, planting a kiss that sends a shiver of warmth through your body.

"Just a bit further," he murmurs, his voice a low, comforting rumble in your ear. The sound of it makes you smile, your heart swelling with affection, but the mystery of what lies ahead keeps a slight edge of nervousness tingling in your veins.

“Jjongie,” you giggle, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in your chest. “What’s the surprise?”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “If I tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

You laugh, but there’s a faint tremor of unease beneath your amusement. “I don’t like your surprises...” you say, trying to keep your tone light, but there’s a flicker of real concern in your voice.

Your mind drifts back to the last time Jongseong had surprised you. What was supposed to be a simple drive had turned into something much more exhilarating - and terrifying. He’d taken you on a late-night drag race, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as he floored the gas pedal. You’d ended up in his lap, your lips wrapped around him as he tried to navigate the twisting roads. The memory of him nearly crashing into a lamppost as he swerved around a corner, the car jerking violently while you were mid-act, flashes vividly in your mind. It had been thrilling, dangerous, and unforgettable, but it had also left you with a newfound wariness of his surprises.

Jongseong suddenly stops, halting your thoughts along with your steps. He releases his grip on your arms and takes a moment, his eyes scanning over the scene before him. You can sense the slight shift in his demeanour, the way his breath catches ever so slightly, as if he’s nervous, though he’s doing his best to hide it.

“Okay, are you ready?” he asks, his voice taking on a more serious tone, as if the moment ahead holds weight.

“It depends on what for,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as the tension in your chest tightens.

“Yes or no answer, darlin’,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as the anticipation builds. It crawls over your skin like tiny insects, a sensation that makes you think of the creepy-crawly trials from I’m a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here. The unknown feels like it’s pressing down on you, making your heart race in your chest but in an excited, throwing-up way, not in an anxiety-inducing throwing-up way.

“Yeah...I’m ready,” you finally breathe out, your voice laced with a mix of courage and curiosity.

With that, Jongseong reaches up and slowly removes the blindfold. The world beyond the darkness gradually comes into focus as your eyes adjust to the light. You blink a few times, your vision sharpening, and then the scene before you fully reveals itself.

You find yourself standing at the edge of a beautifully lit gymnasium pool. The water is calm, its surface reflecting the soft glow of the lights that line the ceiling and walls. The pool stretches out before you, the deep blue water inviting and serene. The entire space is transformed, the usual harshness of a gymnasium replaced by an almost magical ambience. The soft glow of string lights hangs above, casting a warm, golden hue that dances across the water’s surface. Candles flicker gently along the edges, their flames steady despite the humidity, adding a touch of romance to the already enchanting atmosphere.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart swelling with emotion as you take in the sight before you. “Jjongie...” you whisper, your voice thick with a mixture of awe and emotion. A smile begins to creep across your face, slow but unstoppable, and you feel a sting in your eyes as tears threaten to spill over.

“It’s nice, right?” Jongseong asks, his voice soft, filled with an affectionate warmth as he watches your reaction.

“Nice?” you echo, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s beautiful. When did you do all of this?”

“A few hours ago, while you were getting ready,” he admits with a shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if the effort was no big deal, though you can tell he’s pleased with himself. It actually took him well over three hours to sort everything out, and an hour of that was simply to untangle the lights he had managed to wrap himself up in.

You look at him, the adoration you feel for him filling every corner of your being. The surprise, the thoughtfulness of it all, is overwhelming in the best possible way. It��s not just about the setting he’s created, but the care and effort he’s put into making this moment special for you.

As you step further into the softly lit gymnasium, your eyes catch sight of a blanket spread out near the edge of the pool, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights. The setup is simple yet thoughtful: a wicker basket sits in the centre, along with two plates, some cutlery, and an assortment of your favourite snacks. You can't help but smile as you notice a small bag of Percy Pig sweets peeking out from the basket, their bright, cartoonish faces bringing a touch of humour to the romantic setting.

Jongseong follows your gaze, a proud grin spreading across his face when he sees you've noticed the details. “See, I got all your favourites, even those ugly pigs,” he teases, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to keep a straight face.

You turn to him, feigning offence. “Excuse me? Percy Pig deserves respect.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” he laughs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Now, sit down before I eat them all myself.”

You both settle down on the blanket, the fabric soft beneath you as Jongseong reaches for the basket. He pulls out a bottle of cheap wine and a pair of plastic glasses he bumped from Tesco, it’s not really stealing, just an accidental 'forgot to scan it' - along with the basket, some plates, and the fairy lights that encompass the space. He did pay for the wine though, that much he can pour guilt-free.

“This is really nice, Jonseong. But how did you manage to rent out the pool after hours?”

He takes a sip of his wine, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his response. “I know a guy.”

You narrow your eyes at him, scepticism evident in your expression, but you don’t press further. “Why did you choose this place? You know, picnics are usually in parks, not next to chlorine-filled water.”

Jongseong chuckles, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “Well, duh. I know I’ve spent most of my life in prison, but I do know basic picnic etiquette.” He rolls his eyes dramatically before continuing, “I just wanted to do something different. Trying to create an original experience, you know? Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly fancy restaurant material.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, appreciating his honesty. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the stillness only broken by the gentle lapping of the water and the hum of the old but functioning AC. The ambience is peaceful, the soft glow of the lights reflecting off the pool’s surface, creating a serene atmosphere that makes you feel completely at ease.

But there’s a question that has lingered in the back of your mind for some time now, one you’ve never dared to ask. You hesitate, the words sitting heavy on your tongue, unsure if now is the right moment to bring it up. Eventually, curiosity wins out, and you break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jongseong looks at you, his expression softening. “Anything, darlin’. You know that.”

You’ve always respected his privacy, never prying into his past because, in your mind, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the person he is now, the man who’s made you feel more cherished than anyone else ever has. But he’s mentioned his past in passing, little snippets here and there, and now feels like as good a time as any to learn more.

“When did you first go to prison?” you ask, your voice tentative, almost unsure.

His reaction is immediate, his eyes widening for a split second before he quickly downs the rest of his wine, using the alcohol as Dutch courage. Jongseong usually isn’t nervous about discussing his past, knowing that the judgement and resentment from others can’t change the path he’s driven down. But with you, it’s different. He doesn’t want you to see him in a different light, doesn’t want his past mistakes to taint the way you look at him now.

You see the turmoil flickering across his face, and you quickly reach out, grabbing his hand to offer comfort. “It’s okay,” you say gently, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to tell me...it was stupid of me to ask.”

He shakes his head, taking a deep breath as if steeling himself. “No, it’s not stupid. You deserve to know.” He pauses, his voice quieter when he finally speaks. “I was 16. They charged me with domestic assault.”

You feel your body tense up at his words, recoiling slightly, but before you can pull away. Though your brain doesn’t want to jump to that conclusion, it’s the first thing your mind flickers in front of your eyes.

Jongseong squeezes your hand tightly, his eyes earnest and pleading as he sees you leap to conclusions that make him feel sick. “Oh God, no, not like that, baby,” he quickly clarifies. “I would kill myself before I ever laid a hand on my partner. I couldn’t even fathom the idea.”

Relief washes over you, your muscles relaxing as you search his eyes for the truth. “Then who?”

He looks away for a moment, his jaw clenching as he struggles to find the right words. “My dad,” he finally says, his voice rough with emotion. “He was fucking awful, and I just snapped one day after school. The neighbours called the police, and they carted me off. Next thing you know, I’m serving two months in juvie.”

You feel a surge of anger on his behalf, your heart aching at the thought of what he must have gone through. “He deserved it, though, right?” you ask, needing to hear it from him.

“Fuck yeah, he did,” Jongseong replies, his voice seething with barely contained rage. “Fucking prick was a good for nothing low life and let him know it. After that, it was just a downhill spiral. Selling, stealing, fighting... it’s hard to get out of that life once you’re in it.”

The rawness of his words hangs heavy in the air, the weight of his past pressing down on both of you. You can see the pain in his eyes, the memories of a life he’s tried so hard to leave behind. You want to say something, anything, to make it better, but words feel inadequate. Instead, you simply hold his hand tighter, letting him know that you’re here for him, that you’re not going anywhere.

As Jongseong finishes recounting his story, you listen intently, the gravity of his words settling over you. The conversation has taken a turn for the deeply personal, exposing vulnerabilities you had only glimpsed before. His past is a labyrinth of mistakes and regrets, mirroring the tangled web that ensnares people once they slip into a life of crime. It reminds you of your father’s own downward spiral, how once he got entangled in embezzling money, every effort to escape only seemed to complicate matters further. It’s a relentless cycle, each attempt to break free only making the situation worse.

But as you gaze at Jongseong, with his defiant eyes and mischievous grin, you see a boy who, despite his reckless choices, has a core of goodness. The crimes he’s committed are not born from malice but from a life he was thrust into, a life he has never known how to escape. Maybe, just maybe, you can offer him a different path, one that leads to a better future.

“I think there’s a better life out there for you,” you say softly, your voice trembling with sincerity.

Jongseong meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that catches you off guard. He stares at you for a moment, his mind churning and eyes twinkling with realisation. “I think there is.”

A gentle smile begins to spread across your face. Despite the adrenaline-fueled adventures and the excitement of petty crimes you’ve shared with him, you’ve come to realise how much Jongseong means to you. The thrill has been exhilarating, but now it’s time to give back, to help him find the life he deserves. The life that’s not defined by theft and deceit but by something more meaningful.

“I got you something,” he says, breaking the silence with a hint of mischief in his tone.

Curiosity piques as you ask, “What is it?”

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, his voice light but carrying a touch of seriousness.

You comply, and the sounds of him rummaging through the picnic basket fill your ears. The rustling of items and the faint clink of metal create a suspenseful atmosphere. There’s a brief pause, and you hear him take a slow, steady breath. The anticipation is palpable, crawling up your spine like a swarm of butterflies, each flap of their wings a reminder of the momentous occasion unfolding.

“Okay, open.”

You slowly open your eyes, adjusting to the dim glow of the fairy lights that flicker around you. Jongseong holds out a tiny white box, his expression a mix of nervousness and hope. Your heart skips a beat as you take the box from him, the weight of it feeling surprisingly significant.

“Jongseong...” you whisper, a mixture of shock and affection in your voice.

“Open it,” he urges, his eyes locked onto yours with a fervent intensity.

With trembling hands, you lift the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft cotton, are two simple yet elegant rings. The sight of them takes your breath away, the understated beauty of the rings striking a chord deep within you.

“What is-”

“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jongseong interrupts, a playful glint in his eye. “I’m not proposing or anything. I love you, but I’m not letting you marry an unemployed loser who’s couch-hopping between friends’ flats. This is just to remind everyone that you’re mine.”

Your eyes widen, the significance of his words settling over you like a warm embrace. “Y-you love me?”

Jongseong looks at you as though your question is absurd. “Wasn’t it obvious? I’m literally obsessed with you.” He takes one of the rings and carefully slides it onto your finger. “I didn’t think I had to make a big song and dance about it when I show you how much I love you every day.”

The simple act of placing the ring on your finger speaks volumes. It’s not just a gesture; it’s a declaration of his feelings, one that surpasses words. Jongseong has never experienced love before, has no frame of reference, but if all those tacky magazines in the prison recreational room were correct, this is what love is supposed to feel like. It’s raw, sincere, and unfiltered.

It’s willing to become a better person for them.

“I love you too,” you say softly, the words flowing from your heart with a new depth. It’s the first time you’ve uttered those words to someone who wasn’t family, and the weight of the phrase carries a profound significance now. It’s not just about affection; it’s about a deep, abiding connection.

Jongseong’s laughter fills the air, a rich, throaty sound that resonates with joy. You tilt your head, puzzled by his sudden amusement. “What?”

“Well, duh!” he says, his tone a mix of mock arrogance and genuine affection. “You get googly-eyed every time you look at me. Even when I was getting carted off to prison, you were practically gushing over me - probably in more places than just your chest.” His gaze drops to your skirt, a cheeky smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh my God, shut up!” you exclaim, playfully shoving him. But as you do, his balance falters, and he tumbles backward into the pool with a splash. The cold water surges around him, and you burst into laughter at the sight of his surprised, spluttering face.

Before you can fully enjoy the moment, Jongseong’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the pool with him. The shock of the cold water envelops you, the fabric of your dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

“Jongseong!” you cry out, trying to push him away as you sputter and splash him. “This is Prada!” You gesture to your drenched dress, the expensive fabric now ruined.

“And this” he retorts with a grin, pinching the soggy fabric of his non-designer t-shirt, “is from the lost and found box.” He gives you a sheepish smile, but when he sees your unamused expression, he quickly adds, “Okay, okay, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s ￡700!” you protest, though there’s a playful undertone in your voice.

“Then I’ll steal you a new one,” he quips, his tone light but earnest.

You fix him with a serious look, though your lips twitch with a suppressed smile. “If you want me to keep this ring on,” you say, holding your hand out of the water to display the glinting band, “then you need to promise me you’ll stop stealing, and fighting, and anything else that could get you locked up.” Your voice grows more serious with each word. “I can’t lose you.”

Jongseong’s expression softens as he takes your hand in his, pressing a tender kiss to the ring before placing your hand over his heart. “Scout’s honour. For you, I’ll be on the straight and narrow. I solemnly swear that I, Park Jongseong, will never commit another crime.” His tone is light-hearted, but the sincerity in his eyes assures you that this promise is different from the ones he made before.

Just as you’re about to respond, a booming voice interrupts. “Hey! What are you two doing here?”

You both turn to see a security guard marching toward you, his face a mix of irritation and confusion. Jongseong glances at you with a sheepish grin, water dripping from his hair. “Well...starting now, I’ll commit no crimes.”

“Huh-” Before you can fully comprehend the situation, Jongseong is already dragging you out of the pool, his hand gripping yours tightly as you both scramble to your feet. You catch sight of the security guard sprinting toward you, his expression growing more determined.

“I thought you said your friend helped you out?” you huff as you run alongside him.

“Yeah, my friend called Lockpick,” Jongseong replies with a grin that reaches his eyes, bending down to pick his ring up. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

Despite the chaos, you find yourself mirroring his bright smile. Maybe you’ll let him commit some crimes after all - just as long as you’re along for the ride.

_____

The reflection in the mirror feels like a portal to the past, a glimpse into a version of yourself you thought you’d left behind. The long, opulent gown drapes elegantly over your frame, its intricate embroidery catching the light in a way that’s both nostalgic and unfamiliar. The diamond earrings - a gift from your father on your 16th birthday - sparkle with a cold brilliance, a stark reminder of the expectations that have always weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your hair is styled in a sleek, elegant updo, every strand meticulously in place, as if you were once again the picture-perfect daughter in his carefully curated world.

It’s been months since you last had to dress like this, stepping into a role that now feels more like a distant memory than a reality. But tonight is different. Tonight is a special occasion. It’s the night of your father’s grand welcome-back party, a lavish affair meant to reintroduce him to the world of business after years behind bars. This event is more than just a celebration; it’s a calculated move to solidify his reputation as a formidable figure in the corporate world, a moneyed tyrant who, against all odds, has maintained his iron grip on power.

Despite the scandals that would have buried anyone else, your father’s influence remains unshaken. His business partners and corporate clients still stand by his side, drawn by the promise of wealth and the unspoken agreements that bind them together. Perhaps it’s the money he’s skillfully laundered for them over the years or the secrets he’s kept buried deep, that have ensured their loyalty. The room will be filled with men in tailored suits, their faces masked with polite smiles, but beneath the surface, a web of silent transactions and mutual dependencies will be at play.

You love your father, you really do, but big soirees like this have never been your thing. Attending them always felt like a chore rather than a time of relaxation and merriment. Maybe it was because of the prestige and pressure it was being your father’s daughter, or maybe it was the constant polite smile and meaningless interactions with people you didn’t know that weighed down the atmosphere.

Either way, you had to show up for your father, just as you are now. He would be so disappointed if you missed this and you can’t bear the thought. So you will put up with the uncomfortable attire for at least a night.

The good news is, one man will be by your side the entire night, a thought that washes over you like a wave of relief. Jongseong's presence brings you an immense sense of ease, though the prospect of him meeting your father for the first time still stirs a flutter of anxiety in your chest. It has to happen eventually, and what better setting than a crowded party where distractions abound?

Jongseong isn’t a people person and he avoids interaction unless absolutely necessary. The only person he ever makes an exception for is you, which is why he agreed to accompany you tonight despite his discomfort. You know how much this evening will demand of him - being surrounded by a crowd so different from him, full of people who thrive on small talk and business banter. But he would do anything for you, simply because he loves you. And you know that no combination of words could ever fully express your gratitude for that.

As you twirl a strand of hair into place, you steal a glance at the ring on your finger, smiling at the symbolic silver. It puts some comfort into your chest even as you mentally brace yourself for whatever the night will bring. You step out of the bathroom and your eyes immediately find Jongseong. He stands in front of the free-standing mirror in your dorm room, struggling with his tie, wrapping it around and around, only to fumble with the knot.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, drawing Jongseong's attention. His head snaps up, and the frustration in his eyes melts away, replaced by a look of pure awe. His gaze softens, shimmering with admiration as he takes you in. It never seems to matter whether you're dressed in sweatpants or a £5,000 gown - Jongseong always looks at you as if you are the only person in the world.

To him, you are. The only one who truly matters, anyway.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, his hands dropping from the black silk tie as he stands there, completely mesmerised. He takes in how the dress hugs your waist, how your hair frames your face perfectly, and he suddenly feels unworthy to even be in your presence. “You look so beautiful, darlin’. You make diamonds look dull.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you dip your head slightly, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. Slowly, you walk over to him, smiling softly. “Thank you, Jjongie. You look really handsome,” you reply, your voice earnest and full of affection. And it’s true - he looks like something out of a wet dream, the kind you've had more times than you’d ever admit. The way his fitted black trousers accentuate his frame, the crisp white shirt that contrasts so beautifully against his tanned skin, and the fresh undercut that highlights the angles of his face - all of it makes you want to forget about the party entirely and lose yourself in him.

As you reach him, you gently take the tie he was struggling with earlier and start to tie it, your fingers deftly creating a Windsor knot that could rival any royal affair. You’ve done this countless times for your father, and the thought crosses your mind of how he might be feeling as he dons a suit for the first time in five years.

Jongseong tilts his head back slightly as you loop the end of the tie through, fidgeting like a restless child. “Hold still,” you chide him with a playful roll of your eyes, amused by his toddler-like impatience.

“I fucking hate ties,” he grumbles, trying his best not to squirm as you pull the knot tight. Jongseong has never been one for formalwear; he despises suits with a passion. The only times he’s ever worn one have been for court dates and funerals, events that always seem to bring trouble in their wake. To him, the tie feels less like an accessory and more like a silk noose.

You sigh softly, nodding in understanding. “I know, baby, but please, just bear with it. Tonight is important.” Your voice is gentle, and you shoot him an apologetic glance as you finish adjusting the tie, making sure it’s perfectly in place.

Jongseong knows how much this evening means to you. He’s also noticed the subtle changes in you ever since your father regained his freedom. He’s not blind to the way you’ve become a little more reserved, a little more cautious. He wonders if it’s just the anxiety of tonight or if it’s the looming reality that your father will soon learn about your relationship with him, along with his not-so-angelic extracurricular activities. Either way, Jongseong has been extra vigilant, more protective of you than ever.

You pin the tie bar in place, stepping back to admire your handiwork with a smile. “There, not so bad, huh?”

“I feel like a circus attraction,” he mutters, resisting the urge to loosen the knot and unbutton the collar. Formalwear has never been his style, and tonight feels like he’s being paraded in front of an audience he wants nothing to do with.

You place your hands on his chest, rubbing small circles to ease the tension you can feel building beneath your palms. “I would come to see you perform every day,” you joke lightly, rising on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. His mouth is warm, his lips soft, making you wish they were attached to yours every second of the day.

A smirk tugs at the corners of Jongseong’s mouth as his hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, the sensation causing your carefully applied Charlotte Tilbury Pillow Talk lipstick to smudge and transfer onto him. The kiss grows more intense, erasing all thoughts of the party, the people, and even the daunting meeting with your father. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters.

But it can’t last forever, as much as you wish it could. In an ideal world, Jongseong would rip the overpriced dress off your body, and the two of you wouldn’t leave your dorm room for days. Yet, reality pulls you back, and with it, the obligations of the night. You reluctantly pull away, feeling the weight of the evening settling back into place.

Jongseong instinctively tries to follow your lips, but you step back, offering him a remorseful smile. “C’mon. We need to head downstairs. Sunghoon should be arriving to pick us up in a couple of minutes.”

At the mention of another man’s name, your boyfriend’s ears perk up, and his eyebrows knit together in suspicion. “Sunghoon?” He practically spits the name out, his jaw tightening visibly. There’s an edge to his voice, one you recognise all too well.

You roll your eyes playfully, familiar with Jongseong’s lack of enthusiasm when another man is in the same room as you. “Babe, he’s just the driver for my parents. They insisted he pick us up,” you explain, your tone gentle but firm, hoping to diffuse his growing irritation.

Jongseong’s gaze softens a fraction, though a trace of his protectiveness lingers. “I could drive us,” he offers, his voice low, the implication clear. He wants to be the one to look after you, not someone he doesn’t know.

Exhaling loudly, you shake your head and cross your arms. “If you drive us, you won’t be able to drink. Now imagine being in a room full of upper-class businessmen and not one ounce of Jack Daniels in your system?”

That gives Jongseong food for thought as he stands in silence, weighing up the pros and cons of an alcohol-free night next to pretentious laughter and fake compliments. He shivers at the thought, his body visibly shaking at the idea of sobriety.

The look on his face causes you to laugh and nod your head. “Exactly. Now come on.”

Your boyfriend loosens his tie slightly, prioritising his comfort over meeting your father’s strict expectations. The simple gesture sends a ripple of unease through you, as if the crooked tie is a symbol of everything that could go wrong tonight. You wouldn’t say you’re normally an uptight person, but moments like these set your nerves on edge, making every little detail feel like it carries immense weight.

As you pick up your handbag, you pause at the front door, bracing yourself for the conversation you know you need to have. Your heart races, fearing how Jongseong might react. “Jongseong?”

“Yeah, darlin’?” he replies, his voice softening as he senses your hesitation.

You swallow, choosing your words carefully. “Please don’t…embarrass me tonight.”

The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret how they sound. Jongseong’s expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face as he narrows his eyes. For as long as he has been yours, he’s never known you to be embarrassed by him. “When have I eve-”

“Maybe not embarrass, but…” you interrupt, realising your words came out harsher than you intended. “Just don’t be so overprotective or try to hunt down any man that looks at me or breathes next to me. I love you so much for it, but not tonight, okay? This is a big deal for my dad, and I need you two to get along.”

You see the surprise in his eyes as he processes your request. Despite your concerns, you can’t help but adore his possessive nature - the way he scowls and asserts his claim over you in front of anyone he sees as a threat. The way he reacted to Sunghoon’s name even sent a thrill through you, though you knew tonight wasn’t the time for that. You need him to dial it back, and surprisingly, he doesn’t push back.

Instead, Jongseong simply takes the Prada bag from your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. There’s a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a sign that he understands your embarrassment isn’t about him but about the high expectations your father holds.

“We’ll get along just fine, darlin’. We already have so much in common. We can swap prison stories,” he jokes, but the humour is lost on you. Your gaze hardens, stern enough that it could turn anyone to stone, and he immediately raises the hand holding your bag in mock defence.

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave,” he promises, his tone shifting to a more sincere one. “But if anyone speaks out of line about you, I’m knocking them into next Thursday.”

You sigh, the tension easing slightly as you nod in agreement. “Thank you,” you murmur, leaning in to peck his cheek in gratitude. The small gesture of affection helps to soothe the lingering anxiety, and as you walk him out the door, your heart feels a little lighter.

_____

As expected, when you arrive, the scene before you looks like something straight out of Jay Gatsby’s wildest fantasies. The sprawling 13-bedroom mansion, once your childhood home, has been transformed into a shimmering spectacle of wealth. Guests are crowded around the grand entrance, their laughter and chatter spilling out onto the manicured lawn. The estate is alive with the hum of a party that promises decadence at every turn, a stark reminder of the world your father has clawed his way back into.

Despite the legal battles and the assets stripped from him, your father had been too cunning for the law. He’d anticipated the fallout, shielding the most valuable pieces of his empire under your mother’s name. The house, the cars, even some of the art that adorns the walls - they all remained untouched, legally out of reach.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the evening settle over you as you step out of the car. Jongseong is by your side in an instant, his presence a steady anchor amidst the swirl of luxury and status. His hand intertwines with yours, a silent promise that he’s with you every step of the way. Although he might be uncomfortable, his main priority is ensuring your happiness throughout the night.

As you both approach the entrance, the grandeur of the night unfolds around you. The glittering chandeliers cast a warm glow over the marbled floors, and the air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and cigars. The crowd parts slightly as you and Jongseong make your way inside, their eyes flicking toward you, assessing, judging, some with curiosity, others with veiled envy.

Jongseong’s grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, a small but reassuring gesture. You glance up at him, catching the faintest smirk on his lips as he surveys the scene. He’s out of his element here, but you can tell he’s already sizing up the room, assessing who’s who and what role they might play tonight. There’s an edge to him that you can’t help but feel guilty for, placing him in an environment that you know won’t accept him.

Even though his tattoos are covered and his criminal status is concealed behind the expensive suit you bought him, these people sniff out those who aren’t like them, making it known by the judgement on their faces.

Gazing around, Jongseong quickly understands why you’ve been so anxious about tonight. The reality of this world is even worse than anything he could have imagined. The opulence, the haughty faces, the way the guests carry themselves with an air of superiority - it’s suffocating. How you were raised among these people and managed to emerge with your spirit intact is beyond him, but it makes one thing abundantly clear.

“Now I know why you came begging me for a change of pace,” he whispers in your ear, his eyes never leaving the snobbish guests who seem to be measuring each other up as much as they are the room itself.

You twist your head to look at him, a curious expression on your face. “I did not beg,” you correct him, recalling your first encounter differently than he does, the memory bringing a smile to your lips.

Jongseong shrugs, a playful grin spreading across his face as he swings your bag lightly by his side. “Well, you certainly were begging the day I got out. What was it you said to me in the car?” he teases, eyes sparkling with mischief as your cheeks start to heat up at the memory. “That’s it! It was ‘Please, Jongseong, I can’t take it-’”

Your hand shoots up to cover his mouth, your eyes widening in playful horror, though a laugh escapes your lips before you can stifle it, making your attempt at scolding him lose some of its edge. “Stop it! This is what I meant by behaving,” you warn, though your tone is more amused than stern.

Jongseong chuckles against your palm, his eyes softening as he leans in to kiss it gently before lowering it from his lips. “Actually, you said not to get possessive,” he counters, still grinning. “You should have been more specific.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress your own smile as you meet his flirty and playful gaze. He has a way of easing your nerves even in the most tense situation.

As you share a quiet laugh with Jongseong, the warmth of the moment is interrupted by the sudden approach of a familiar figure from your past. A woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and a designer dress that practically screams old money makes her way toward you, her smile wide and fake, the kind that never quite reaches the eyes. You recognize her immediately - Emily, a girl you once called a friend before your father’s fall from grace. Her presence alone is enough to make your stomach turn, knowing the kind of person she truly is.

“Y/N! Oh my God, it’s been forever!” Emily exclaims, her voice dripping with an over-the-top enthusiasm that you know is completely fabricated. She flings her arms around you in a hug that’s more for show than anything else, the scent of her expensive perfume cloying as it invades your senses.

You force a smile, stepping back slightly as you extricate yourself from her embrace. “Emily, it’s...good to see you,” you reply, keeping your tone polite but guarded. The last thing you want is to give her any ammunition, especially not tonight.

It’s not just Jongseong that has to behave.

“I was just telling everyone how much I missed you,” she gushes, her tone oozing false sincerity as she waves her hand around, drawing attention to her perfect manicure. “I mean, it’s just been so sad without you around. How have you been? And your father - what a comeback, right?”

The mention of your father sends a pang of irritation through you, but you maintain your composure, nodding politely. “Yes, it’s been a challenging time, but he is getting through it.”

Emily doesn’t miss a beat, already shifting her focus as her eyes flicker over to Jongseong. Her smile widens, eyes sparkling with interest as she takes in his tall, imposing figure. “And who is this?” she asks, her tone dropping into something far more flirtatious. Without waiting for an introduction, she steps closer to him, batting her eyelashes in a way that’s almost comical. “You must be new around here. I’m Emily,” she purrs, her hand reaching out to lightly touch his arm.

Jongseong’s expression shifts instantly, his easygoing demeanor turning icy cold. He doesn’t flinch, but the look in his eyes makes it clear that her touch is entirely unwelcome. He slowly peels her hand off his arm, his disgust barely concealed. “Jongseong,” he says curtly, his voice devoid of any warmth or interest.

Emily’s confidence wavers, but she recovers quickly, trying to brush off his reaction as if it were nothing. “Well, Jongseong, if you ever need someone to show you around, I’d be happy to-”

“Not interested,” Jongseong cuts her off, his tone sharp enough to slice through her facade. He shifts slightly, positioning himself closer to you, making it clear that he’s not here to entertain her or anyone else.

Emily's smile falters at Jongseong’s blunt dismissal, but she’s not one to back down so easily. She adjusts her posture, regaining some of her poise as she leans in closer, clearly determined to salvage the situation. “Oh, of course,” she says with a laugh that sounds more forced than genuine. “But you know, sometimes it helps to have a fresh perspective. Someone who knows how these events work, who can help you navigate the crowd.” She casts a glance at you, her eyes flickering with something that resembles pity before she looks back at Jongseong, her flirtatious tone back in full force. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to get lost in all this chaos, right?”

Jongseong doesn’t even dignify her with a glance this time, his patience visibly wearing thin. He can feel the subtle shift in your posture, the way your hand tightens around his, signalling your growing irritation. The last thing he wants is for this interaction to ruin your night - or worse, to make you feel anything less than the incredible person you are.

He sighs softly, more to himself than anyone else, before turning his full attention to Emily, his expression hardening. “Listen,” he begins, his voice low and steely, “I don’t need anyone to navigate this place, least of all someone who doesn’t know when to back off.” He steps even closer to you, his arm slipping around your waist possessively, pulling you snugly against his side. “I’m here with my girl. She’s all the perspective I need, and she’s the only one I’m interested in listening to.”

Emily’s bravado crumbles further, her forced smile now barely holding together as she realises she’s completely outmatched. The icy edge in Jongseong’s voice leaves no room for misunderstanding - her presence is neither wanted nor tolerated. She tries to laugh it off again, but it comes out as more of a strained chuckle. “Well, I didn’t mean to intrude,” she mutters, clearly flustered, as she takes a small step back.

Jongseong doesn’t let up, his gaze still fixed on her, making sure she fully understands. “You did,” he replies bluntly, “but you can fix that by walking away.”

You watch the exchange, feeling a mix of relief and admiration for the way Jongseong handled it. He didn’t just brush Emily off - he shut her down in a way that left no room for further attempts. You can’t help the smug smile that is etching onto your face.

Emily finally seems to get the message. With one last awkward smile, she turns on her heel and hurries off into the crowd, her confidence shattered. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, the tension in your body slowly easing as she disappears from sight.

Jongseong looks down at you, his expression softening instantly as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” he asks gently, his tone a stark contrast to the icy one he’d used just moments ago.

“Yeah. Let’s go get a drink.”

“Music to my fucking ears,” he laughs, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before letting you lead the way to the kitchen. The hum of the party surrounds you, but all you can focus on is the comfort of his presence.

As you walk, Jongseong asks, “Why did she even come up to you? Didn’t you say they all turned on you once they found out what your dad had done?”

You nod, casting a glance at the sea of faces that once belonged to people you called friends. Now, they wave at you as if the last five years of cold shoulders and whispered gossip had never happened. “Yeah, but back then, they didn’t know my dad had managed to keep a massive chunk of his money. While he might not be a billionaire anymore, he’s still a millionaire - and that matters more to them than a prison sentence.”

Jongseong raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of incredulity and disgust. “So they would’ve stuck around if you’d just shown them your bank account?”

“Pretty much,” you sigh. “But Dad warned me not to flaunt the money he’d managed to save, just in case HMRC came snooping again. So when they thought our family lost everything, they ditched me without a second thought.”

You pause as the reality of it all sinks in, the bitterness of that betrayal still fresh. The socialite life was all you had known - luxury, parties, and a circle of 'friends' who thrived on status. But when your family needed support the most, they scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving you to navigate the fallout alone.

“Darlin’,” he begins, his voice low and soothing as his thumb traces slow circles over your waist, pulling you closer to his side. “You’re worth more than any thick-wallet prick in here,” he assures you, his tone filled with a sincerity that makes your heart swell. And you know he means it. If you were anything like the sea of people flooding your childhood home, he would never have given you a second glance.

But Jongseong saw the real you. From the moment his eyes locked onto yours in that cold, sterile visiting room, he knew there was something deeper inside of you - a spark, a fire that refused to be dimmed by circumstance. It’s why he held you so close then, why he slipped that ring onto your finger with unwavering certainty, and why he’s fallen so madly in love with you. To him, you are the closest thing to perfection, a rare and beautiful soul in a world obsessed with superficiality.

Despite the designer clothes that drape your frame, Jongseong sees beyond the surface. He sees your heart - pure, honest, and untainted by the judgmental ways of those around you. He knows you crave something more, a life that pulses with thrill and adrenaline, and he’s vowed to give you just that until his last breath.

Reaching the bar tucked away in the back of the kitchen, Jongseong picks up two champagne glasses and hands you one. He watches the bubbles rise rapidly, a sign of the high quality, and it sparks a question in his mind.

“Can I ask something?” he begins, his tone careful.

“Sure,” you reply, your gaze still lingering on the crowd outside.

“I know your dad still has money, but how is he allowed to keep making it if he stole millions? Surely that puts him on some sort of corporate blacklist?”

Before you can respond, a deep, familiar voice cuts through the air, stopping you cold. “Well, actually, son, no one can stop you from making money other than yourself.”

Your eyes widen as you whirl around to face him. Your father stands before you, looking nothing like the man you last saw behind bars. He’s put together, polished, every bit the powerful businessman he once was. His suit is immaculate, tailored to perfection, and his cufflinks gleam, catching the light and silently broadcasting his wealth.

The transformation is startling. Gone is the weary, defeated figure you remember. In his place stands a man who looks like he’s never missed a day in the office, as though the years of scandal and incarceration were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His presence is commanding, and it’s clear that the fall from grace hasn’t stripped him of his confidence - if anything, it’s sharpened it.

Jongseong’s grip on your waist tightens subtly, a silent show of support as your father’s eyes sweep over the two of you. The tension in the room thickens, and you feel yourself shrinking under the weight of his gaze. The confidence you’ve worked so hard to build falters, replaced by a shyness and timidity that Jongseong hasn’t seen in you for a long time. It’s as if you’ve reverted to the woman you were when he first met you - uncertain, reserved, and desperate for approval.

This isn’t the version of you that Jongseong knows and loves. You’ve grown so much since then - becoming strong, confident, and unafraid to live life on your own terms. You’ve finally broken free from the need to be a good girl for your father, embracing the freedom that comes with living for yourself. But that was easier when your dad wasn’t standing right in front of you, his mere presence pulling you back into the shadows of your past.

Jongseong feels a pang of frustration as he watches you retreat into yourself. Everything he’s done - every word, every action - has been for your sake, to help you see your full potential. Even the blowjob he made you give as punishment on the cliff a few months ago was meant to ignite the spark inside you, no matter how harsh or cruel it might have seemed at the time. Because when you love someone, you want to see them thrive, to become the best version of themselves.

But as he watches your father’s influence pull you back, he realises that this whole life - the expectations, the wealth, the need for validation - holds you back from that. Your father is the anchor chaining you to a life you’ve outgrown, and Jongseong knows that as long as he’s around, you’ll never truly be free to be the person you’re meant to be. And that’s what hurts him the most - seeing the woman he loves, who’s fought so hard to break free, being dragged back into the very world she’s been subconsciously trying to escape.

“Who’s your friend?” your father asks, his tone dismissive as he deliberately reduces Jongseong’s role in your life to that of a mere acquaintance. He doesn’t even spare him a glance, focusing instead on you with a look that makes your heart race with anxiety.

“Dad, this is Park Jongseong. He’s my boyfriend, actually,” you reply, but your voice grows quieter with each word, betraying the confidence that usually defines you.

It feels like being hit with a brick as you watch your father’s mean stare shift to Jongseong, sizing him up, looking for flaws, for any reason to disapprove. The tension is suffocating, and you can’t help but feel the weight of your dad’s judgement pressing down on you.

Your father’s eyes narrow slightly, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he asks, “How did you two meet?”

You hesitate, suddenly realising that the truth might not be the best option. You should have thought of something more palatable, maybe something like Tinder or Hinge - anything but the truth. Your mind scrambles for a safer answer, but before you can stutter out a response, Jongseong steps in, his hand tightening on your hip as he smiles confidently.

“Prison, actually,” he says, his voice smooth and unbothered.

Your father’s expression barely changes, but the atmosphere in the room grows even heavier. “Oh? And what were you in for?” he asks, his tone as sharp as ever.

Jongseong meets your father’s gaze evenly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Now, sir, you know that’s the number one rule of prison - don’t ask a man his crime.”

Your father’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, you know mine and you seem to want to dig your nose further into my business. It’s only fair I know yours, considering you’re chasing my daughter.”

Jongseong almost laughs at the word ‘chasing’ as if he hadn’t had you wrapped around his finger from the moment your eyes first met. “Let’s just say my conviction only landed me a few months and not five years.”

You nudge Jongseong’s side sharply, panic flaring in your chest. This isn’t what you wanted. You wanted them to get along, for your father to see the man you love the way you do. But instead, it feels like they’re circling each other, sizing each other up like adversaries in a game where you’re the prize. The tension between them is thick, and you can feel the clash of their personalities reverberating through the air.

Even with the sharpness of Jongseong’s words, your father doesn’t flinch. Instead, he recovers with the kind of ruthless calm that only years of power and manipulation can teach. He steps closer, eyes narrowing as they lock onto Jongseong with cold precision.

“Is that so?” your father begins, voice low and dripping with disdain. “I’ve always believed a man’s past speaks volumes about his future. What exactly does yours say?”

Jongseong doesn’t back down, his grip on your waist firm, almost possessive. “It says I learn, I adapt, and I move forward.”

Your father’s eyes harden, his lip curling into a sneer. “Adapting is for the weak. Real men don’t make mistakes in the first place.”

Jongseong’s smile is icy, his eyes flashing with barely restrained anger. “Is that what you told yourself when you ended up behind bars? Or is that just the lie you’ve convinced everyone else to believe?”

The words hit like a punch, and for a split second, something dark and dangerous flickers in your father’s eyes. But he quickly masks it with a cruel smirk. “I’d watch who you’re speaking to, kid.”

“Oh, I am,” Jongseong replies, his voice steady but laced with venom. He leans in slightly, his gaze unwavering as he adds, “I’m just not a fan of the view, if I’m being honest.”

Your father’s wicked grin tightens, the facade of civility cracking just enough to reveal the simmering rage beneath. He steps back, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Jongseong’s defiance. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? But cleverness won’t get you far in my world. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

Jongseong doesn’t flinch, his expression hard as steel. “I’m not in your world. And I don’t want to be.”

For a moment, the tension between them is palpable, a silent battle of wills that electrifies the air around you. Your father’s gaze flicks to you, his eyes cold and calculating, as if weighing his next move. Then, just as quickly, he turns on his heel, dismissing you both with a scoff.

The confrontation leaves you seething, a turbulent mix of anger and frustration churning inside you. You turn to Jongseong, your eyes alight with fury, the fire of your indignation barely restrained. “I told you this was important to me! Why would you speak to him like that?” Your voice is sharp, quivering with raw, unfiltered emotion that has been simmering beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

Jongseong meets your gaze with a hardened expression, frustration and determination reflected in his eyes. “Because, unlike you, Y/N, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not in front of your dad.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, your eyes widening in disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand, your heart hammering against your ribs, the blood pounding in your ears.

Jongseong steps closer, his voice dropping to a lower, more deliberate tone, yet the weight of his words lands heavily. “Look at yourself. The moment you heard his voice, you shrank. You’re biting your lip like you did when we first met - nervous, unsure. I’m not exactly close with my own family, but I’d say you shouldn’t regress to a scared little girl just because your dad is around.”

His words strike a nerve, a pang of guilt mingling with your anger. The urge to defend yourself rises within you, but the sting of his observations cuts too deep, slicing through your defences. The bitter truth of it, undeniable as it is, leaves you reeling. The moment your father entered the room, all the strength and confidence you’ve painstakingly built crumbled, leaving you feeling vulnerable, like the uncertain girl you once were.

You open your mouth to retort, but no words come. Instead, a flood of frustration and hurt surges through you, overwhelming your capacity to respond. Your hand shakes as you grab your drink, the glass cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the burning turmoil inside. Without a second thought, you down it in one long, desperate gulp, the sharp burn of alcohol barely registering as you push past Jongseong.

Your footsteps are heavy and determined, as you weave through the crowd, making your way out of the extravagant party and up the stairs to find some solace. You hear Jongseong call after you, but you don’t turn back. His brutally honest words, coupled with your father’s oppressive presence, have left you feeling raw and exposed, your every nerve frayed.

You push open the door to your old bedroom, the wood groaning in protest as you force your way inside. The room is a ghost of your past, a time capsule of your childhood preserved in pale pink walls and delicate lace curtains. The bed, still dressed in floral sheets that once seemed so perfect, now feels foreign - too innocent. The room should have felt comforting, like a sanctuary. Instead, it feels like a cage, trapping you in a version of yourself you no longer recognise.

Jongseong is right behind you, his presence filling the doorway as he refuses to let you retreat into silence. “Don’t walk away from me, Y/N,” he says, his voice low but firm, tinged with a desperation you rarely hear from him. “This isn’t how we do things.” He will always make sure that any argument that arises between you is figured out then and there, knowing how unresolved issues lead to cracks in any relationship, and he refuses to let your father be the hole in your boat.

You whirl around to face him, anger and hurt warring within you. “Well, sorry if being called a scared little girl by my boyfriend makes me not want to speak to him,” you snap, the words dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. The accusation still stings, a wound that refuses to heal.

Jongseong steps further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His expression is stern, but there’s a flicker of pain in his eyes, a crack in his resolve that you can’t ignore. “Then fight me on it,” he challenges, his voice rising with frustration. “But you can’t, can you? Because you know it’s true.”

You shake your head, the denial is quick and sharp. “It’s not, Jongseong. You just wouldn’t get it.”

His laugh is bitter, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Why? Because I’m not upper class and drinking my weight in champagne that costs more than your college tuition?” His words are laced with an edge, a defensive wall thrown up to protect himself from the hurt he feels.

You recoil, the accusation striking a chord you hadn’t expected. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then what do you mean?” he presses, his gaze unwavering. “You love me for who I am, right? Because class doesn’t matter to you, and you see me for who I am?”

“Exactly,” you reply, the word strong and meaningful. It’s the truth - you do see him, all of him, you saw him as more than his prison uniform, you saw him as more than the scum society makes him out to be, you see him as your equal, not someone below you.

Jongseong takes a step closer, his voice softening as he reaches out to you. “That’s exactly my point. I see you for everything you are, past the good girl and quiet mouse, because you’re more than that. You’re confident, powerful, your mind is so fucking strong, baby. So why on earth are you turning into someone who’s scared to even breathe too loud as soon as he steps in front of you?”

His words pierce through your defences, and you feel a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. “Because, Jongseong, he would be so fucking disappointed in me,” you confess, the admission tumbling out before you can stop it. The weight of your father’s expectations, of the life he’s tried to mould you into, hangs heavy over you. “He told me my entire life to stay out of trouble, to be a good girl, keep my nose clean, and just get through life. If he finds out I-”

You falter, the words catching in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, to admit the truth that’s been festering inside you for so long.

Jongseong doesn’t let you hide from it. “You what? Actually found someone who makes you happy and lets you breathe?” His voice is intense, but there’s an underlying gentleness to it, a plea for you to see what he sees. “Y/N, he’s trapping you, and you can’t even fucking see it. That first day you came to see me in prison, you told me you wanted to do something for you, something reckless. You want out of this life, Y/N, and he’s gonna drag you by the feet back into it. He might have gotten out of prison but he’s trapping you in one.”

His words cut through the fog of fear and doubt that’s been clouding your mind, the truth of them undeniable. The life your father envisioned for you - a life of safety, of predictability - has always felt like a gilded cage, something that kept you comfortable, but never truly alive. The past few months with Jongseong have been a whirlwind, a taste of something real, something that makes you feel like you’re actually living instead of just existing. And yet, here you are, retreating back into old patterns.

Jongseong takes another step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. “I’m sorry but I’m not going to watch the love of my life lose herself, all to please a hypocritical prick.”

The tears that have been threatening to fall finally spill over, and you close your eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. He’s right. You hate the mundane, prissy life you’ve been living, the one that your father insists is the only right path for you. The past few months with Jongseong have been the most precious, the most real, moments of your life. But even as you were getting ready for tonight, you could feel yourself slipping back into those old, timid ways, the ones your father would approve of.

You open your eyes, meeting Jongseong’s gaze, and for the first time, you allow yourself to truly acknowledge the truth. The life your father wants for you isn’t the one you want for yourself. And as terrifying as that realisation is, it’s also liberating.

Your voice trembles as you finally speak, the weight of everything crashing down on you. "I’m sorry, Jongseong," you murmur, your words carrying a multitude of apologies: sorry for lashing out, sorry for dragging him to this party, sorry for trying to hide who he is from everyone downstairs who didn’t even deserve to know him, sorry for all of it.

But before you can continue, Jongseong cuts you off, his voice firm but tender. “Don’t you dare fucking apologise, darlin’.” He pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly that it feels like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. His embrace is warm, strong, grounding - everything you need right now. “I just want you to be happy. It might come off as mean but if I have to thump it into your head by showing some tough love I will.”

His words are more than just a declaration; they’re a vow. A promise that he will protect your happiness at all costs, even if it means standing against your father or anyone else who threatens it. You can feel the fierce determination in the way he holds you, as if he’s ready to take on the entire world if that’s what it takes to keep you safe, to keep you smiling.

You look up at him, your eyes searching his, and what you see there makes your heart swell. He’s not just saying these things - he means them, every single word. “I am happy,” you whisper, your voice soft but full of conviction. The truth of it warms you from the inside out because you know that your happiness isn’t tied to the gilded expectations of your father or the superficial approval of those downstairs. It’s here, in Jongseong’s arms, in the life you’re building together.

His eyes soften at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leans down. The moment hangs in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and then his lips meet yours in a kiss that is tender, yet filled with all the passion and love that’s been bubbling beneath the surface. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, anchored in this shared moment of understanding and connection.

The kiss deepens, a slow, deliberate melding of lips that speaks of everything words cannot. His hand finds the clasp that is holding your hair neatly and unhooks it from your strands, his fingers threading through your hair as he draws you even closer, erasing the space between you. There’s a fervent intensity in the way he kisses you, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his love, his frustration, his devotion into this single moment. You respond in kind, your hands sliding up his chest to clutch at his shirt, needing to feel the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips.

Your heart races, matching the rhythm of his as you lose yourself in the kiss, in him. The heat between you rises, a slow burn that spreads through your body, making you dizzy with the intensity of it. Every brush of his lips against yours, every breath you share, feels electric, sending shivers down your spine.

When you finally break apart, it’s only because you both need air, but even then, he doesn’t pull away. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he exhales shakily. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and what you see there makes your breath hitch - a raw, unguarded love that leaves you feeling vulnerable yet more cherished than ever.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion, as if the kiss has stripped away all his defences. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N.”

You smile widely, joy and harmony finally flowing through your body for the first time tonight. The tension that had gripped you earlier is melting away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest and settles deep in your bones. In this moment, with Jongseong’s love laid bare before you, everything else seems to fade into insignificance. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in this shared vulnerability, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly free.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head slightly as you take in the man standing before you - the man who has seen you at your weakest, yet loves you with a fierceness that makes your heart swell. Considering how you started as a good girl, falling into the dangerous allure of a criminal, you can’t deny how far you’ve come. The path you’ve chosen has been anything but easy, but standing here now, it feels like it’s all been worth it.

Without another word, you lean in and capture his lips in another kiss, this one more deliberate, more purposeful. It’s as if you’re reaffirming the connection you share, grounding yourself in the reality of his presence. Your hands slide up to cradle his face, your thumbs gently brushing over his cheekbones as you pour every ounce of your love and desire into the kiss.

Jongseong responds immediately, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, as if he’s afraid to let go. The kiss deepens, the heat between you growing as your bodies press together, the boundaries between you blurring until all you can feel is him - his warmth, his strength, his unwavering love.

As the kiss intensifies, you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “Does doing anything for me include having sex with me on my childhood bed?”

The playful challenge in your voice brings a mischievous glint to his eyes. Jongseong smirks, his fingers tenderly wiping away the semi-dried tears on your cheeks, as if washing away the remnants of your earlier sadness. His touch is so gentle, so reverent, that it makes your heart ache with affection.

“Well,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone as he smirks down at you, “I did say anything.” There’s a teasing edge to his words, but you can see the heat in his eyes, the desire that matches your own.

He steps back slightly, his hands moving to the knot of his tie. With a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to loosen it, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of him, his dark hair slightly tousled from your earlier embrace, the way his fingers work the tie free with a practised ease, sends a thrill through you. It’s as if the act of loosening the tie is symbolic, a shedding of the constraints that have held you both back tonight.

As the tie finally slips free, Jongseong lets it fall to the floor, his smirk widening into a full, knowing smile. His gaze is filled with undeniable heat as he reaches for you again, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper against your ear.

“More than sure,” you breathe, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck as you pull him toward the bed. The thought of being with him here, in this room filled with memories of your past, feels like a reclamation of everything you’ve fought to become.

Jongseong follows your lead, his hands never leaving your body as you guide him toward the bed. When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you sink down onto it, pulling him with you. The look in his eyes, a mix of affection, desire, and something deeper, something primal, makes your pulse quicken.

He hovers over you for a moment, his hands braced on either side of your head as he looks down at you. The air between you is charged, electric, as if every breath, every touch is heightened by the intimacy of the moment. “You’re so beautiful,’” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, and then his lips are on yours again, claiming you with a fierce, possessive hunger.

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and you begin to work them free, your movements impatient, driven by the need to feel his skin against yours. He lets out a low growl of approval as you push the fabric aside, your hands sliding over the smooth planes of his chest, tracing the contours of his body and tattoos as if memorising every line, every dip.

Jongseong’s breath hitches when your hands dip lower, and he meets your gaze with a look that is equal parts love and raw, unfiltered desire. “You really want this, darlin’?” he asks, his voice rough as his fingers brush against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Because you might not be walking straight down those fancy stairs of yours after this.”

You nod, your eyes locked onto his as you answer, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I want you. I need you.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. With a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine, Jongseong leans down to capture your lips in another searing kiss. His hands begin to work on the fastenings of your dress with a sense of urgency, his touch both gentle and insistent. He slowly unzips the back of the dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pushes the fabric down.

As the dress falls, it reveals your bare chest, and the sudden chill of the air causes your nipples to harden instantly. Jongseong’s eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight, his breath coming faster as he revels in the moment. His hands, now free of the dress, move to gently cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, making you gasp softly.

Jongseong’s hands continue to explore your body, his touch electrifying as it moves from your breasts down to your waist. He pauses for a moment, eyes locked with yours, his breath heavy with desire. With a deliberate slowness that makes your pulse race, he hikes up the skirt of your dress, the fabric bunching around your hips as his hands trace the length of your thighs. The anticipation is almost unbearable, your skin tingling everywhere he touches.

As his fingers brush against the lace of your underwear, a soft gasp escapes your lips, the heat between your bodies intensifying. Jongseong’s eyes flicker with a primal hunger, but there’s still a tenderness in the way he touches you, a silent promise that he’s going to take care of you, to give you exactly what you need.

In response, your hands move with equal urgency, fingers trembling slightly as you reach for the button on his trousers. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten under your touch, the barely restrained power that lies just beneath the surface. The button comes undone with a quiet pop, and you begin to slide the zipper down, the sound barely audible over the heavy breathing that fills the room.

Jongseong lets out a low groan as you push his slacks down his hips, your hands brushing against his hardness through the thin fabric of his boxers. The sensation sends a jolt of desire through you, making you more impatient to feel him against you, inside you. You could start a new religion for his cock alone.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound urgency. As his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, he teases you, drawing out the moment until you’re practically trembling with need. His touch is both gentle and demanding, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You arch into him, your hips pressing closer as he slowly slides your panties down, his hands skimming over your skin in a way that leaves you breathless. Jongseong’s mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want them to hear you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, a promise of what's to come.

“Jongseong-” your voice falters, cut off by the way his fingers dip between your thighs, tracing a slow, agonising path along your slick heat. The sound of your own gasp fills the room, and you can feel the tension winding tighter within you, ready to snap at any moment.

He smirks against your skin, a dark satisfaction in the way your body responds to his every touch, every word. "I need to hear you beg for it," he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he pushes his fingers deeper, coaxing more desperate sounds from your lips.

Your hands find his hair, tugging him closer as you grind against his hand, needing more, needing everything. "Please, Jongseong...I need you," you manage to gasp out, the words barely coherent as pleasure overtakes your senses.

He pauses, his breath hot against your ear as he lets out a low chuckle. "I know you can do better than that, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice laced with a teasing challenge. His fingers press deeper, curling just right, as he waits for you to give him exactly what he wants.

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body instinctively arching towards him, craving more of his touch. Your fingers dig into his scalp as you writhe against his hand, the building pressure almost unbearable.

"Please," you gasp, your voice trembling with need, "I need you so badly, Jongseong. I'll do anything...just, please."

His smirk widens, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he feels the intensity of your plea. "That's more like it," he growls, his voice deep and full of raw desire. He continues to work his fingers in and out of you, his rhythm slow and deliberate, keeping you on the edge.

"You’re doing so well," he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear as his lips brush against your skin. "But I want to hear you scream my name, baby. Let me hear how much you want me."

Your chest heaves with each breath, and the pressure inside you becomes almost too much to handle. You nod frantically, your voice a desperate plea as you finally give in, letting out a loud, passionate cry that fills the room. Jongseong’s eyes light up with approval, his fingers and lips moving with even more intensity, pushing you towards the edge with an insistent rhythm.

With a low growl of approval, Jongseong finally sheds the last of his clothes, his eyes locking onto yours with a hungry intensity. He positions himself at your entrance, and the first thrust is a slow, deliberate invasion that fills you completely. A moan escapes your lips, resonating through the room and mingling with the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you.

He holds himself still for a moment, savouring the way you clench around him, feeling every shiver that ripples through your body. His eyes roam over your flushed skin, admiring the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. “You feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “So tight around me.”

Gradually, he begins to move, each thrust steady and deep, pushing you further into the realms of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you to match his rhythm. “That’s it,” Jongseong growls. “Feel every inch of me, darlin’. It belongs to you anyway.”

His words ignite a new fire within you, and your body responds with a frenzied energy. You feel every ridge, every curve of him, each thrust driving you wild with desire. “Jongseong,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need, “more…”

His pace quickens, becoming urgent and insistent, the pleasure building to a nearly unbearable crescendo. The room is filled with the heady mix of your moans and the rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh, each noise echoing off the walls and creating a chorus of raw, primal passion.

With a sudden shift, Jongseong pulls back slightly, his hands guiding you to a new position. He flips you onto your side, his movements smooth and fast, a mixture of desire and intent in his eyes. You roll over and get a surge of anticipation as Jongseong positions himself behind you, allowing him to enter and hit you deeper than before, giving you that ‘more’ you so desperately craved.

Jongseong’s thrusts are now angled upward, hitting a spot that makes you gasp with each push. The sensation is overwhelming, a blend of deep, rhythmic pressure and the intimacy of your shared movements.

“Is this what you needed?” Jongseong asks breathlessly, his voice filled with a rough, almost primal edge as he adjusts his rhythm to match the new position. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your answer comes out as a moan, your words mingling with the sounds of your combined pleasure. “Yes, Jongseong,” you manage to gasp, “It’s so deep, so perfect.”

As he continues to thrust into you, Jongseong’s lips find your neck, his kisses soft and heated against your skin. He trails his mouth up and down your neck, each touch sending shivers down your spine. His breath is warm and tantalising, his kisses growing more insistent as he marks you with his mouth.

You can feel his tongue flicking against your skin, each kiss more urgent than the last. His teeth graze gently, then with a bit more pressure, leaving a trail of kisses and marks that grow darker with each pass. “You’re mine,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice a deep, possessive growl. “I want everyone to know.”

The sensation of his lips and teeth against your neck only heightens the pleasure you're already experiencing. Each mark is a vivid reminder of the passion that drives you both, a tangible sign of the intensity and connection you share. “Jongseong,” you gasp, feeling the combination of his thrusts and the trail of kisses that map your neck. “Please, don’t stop.”

But you mean it in every sense - don't stop fucking you, as though every thrust and every shuddering release is a lifeline. Don’t stop loving you, as though the depth of his affection and the way he holds you close is your greatest comfort. Don’t stop pushing you to be who you are, to embrace every part of yourself, to feel alive in his arms and in his gaze. You want him to keep driving you to discover and explore every hidden part of yourself, to keep challenging and encouraging you in ways you never imagined.

He responds with a low, approving growl, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you with renewed fervour. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice rough with desire and a depth of emotion that goes beyond the physical. “Never.”

As he continues to thrust into you, his movements become more intense, more urgent, as if he’s trying to convey his promise with every powerful push. The room seems to pulse with the rhythm of your shared passion, the sounds of your pleasure echoing off the walls. Jongseong’s grip on your hips tightens, his touch both possessive and protective as he guides you through the waves of ecstasy.

“Feel every part of me,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of tenderness and raw need. “I’m right here, with you, always.”

The intensity of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge, each movement sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body. His kisses become more fervent, each one a reminder of his love and his commitment. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, a steady, reassuring presence that matches the rhythm of his thrusts.

“You’re everything to me,” Jongseong says, his voice breaking slightly with the force of his emotions. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you ride the waves of pleasure he’s giving you. His words, combined with the sensation of him inside you and the way his lips leave their marks on your neck, create a powerful cocktail of intimacy and desire. “I don’t,” you manage to breathe out, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and gratitude. “I never will.”

With a final, deep thrust, Jongseong brings you both to the peak of your shared climax. Your body convulses in waves of pure, unadulterated bliss, each shudder and moan a testament to the intensity of your connection. Jongseong’s release follows closely, his groans mingling with yours as he holds you tightly, his kisses now soft and tender against your neck.

As the initial rush of pleasure begins to subside, your muscles gradually unwind, each tremor giving way to a lingering afterglow. The room is filled with the soft symphony of your synchronized breathing, the steady rise and fall of your chests in perfect harmony. Jongseong’s kisses on your neck become gentle, almost reverent, as he trails a tender path of affection across your skin.

You feel his body relax against yours, his warmth enveloping you in a cocoon of intimacy. He pulls your face to his, capturing your lips in a deep, tender kiss that steals away the breath you had only just regained. Lost in the peacefulness of him, you savour the slow, lingering connection, each touch and caress a silent expression of his affection.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Jongseong murmurs against your lips, his voice low and inviting, his breath warm against your skin.

You nod, a contented smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, let’s do it,” you reply, your voice filled with unwavering resolve, knowing that the moment you step out of this place you once called home, you’ll never look back. He grins, playfully nudging your nose with his, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and mischief. “If Emily even looks at you again when we go down there, I might just rip her eyes out.” Jongseong is sexy all of the time but he is even sexier with a post-sex glow, so you know there are going to be some eyes on him, a pair of them just better not be hers.

Jongseong’s laughter fills the room, a deep, resonant sound that carries a note of both joy and possessiveness. He rests his head on your shoulder, planting light, affectionate kisses. “And to think, I was the one who was supposed to keep my cool and not get possessive,” he teases, his voice light and full of warmth.

“You’re not the only possessive one in this relationship, you know?” you reply with a soft smile, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “I just don’t show it as much.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as he shifts slightly, still buried to the hilt inside you. “I think you should show it more often,” he suggests, his voice low and laced with a delicious hint of provocation. “I’d let you put a collar on me and walk me like a dog if you asked.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you giggle, your laughter mingling with his as the intimate moment stretches between you, the connection deepening with every shared breath.

Eventually, you both begin to move, your limbs heavy with the lingering remnants of passion. The atmosphere shifts as you get dressed, pulling on your clothes with deliberate slowness, savouring the last few moments of solitude before reentering the world outside this room. The extravagant party downstairs beckons, the muffled sounds of music and laughter a distant hum, reminding you of the life you’re about to leave behind.

As you descend the grand staircase, the chandelier above casts a golden glow, illuminating the room filled with elegantly dressed guests, all of whom are focused on your father as he prepares to make a speech. The moment his eyes land on you and Jongseong, he falters, his gaze narrowing as he takes in your dishevelled appearance. His jaw tightens, and though he says nothing, the tension in the room shifts, a subtle ripple that everyone seems to sense. He knows exactly what you’ve been doing.

At the bottom of the stairs, you pause, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your mind. The opulence of this life, the weight of the expectations you’ve carried for so long, all press down on you. For a brief moment, doubt gnaws at the edges of your resolve.

Sensing your hesitation, Jongseong wraps his arms around you from behind, his presence grounding you in the here and now. He presses a tender kiss to your neck, soothing the marks he left there, his lips warm and reassuring against your skin. He keeps direct eye contact with your father, an unspoken challenge in his gaze, before turning his attention back to you.

“Let’s go, darlin’.”

And that’s all the encouragement you need to leave everyone in this room behind, everyone but the man holding you close, promising to love you forever.

_____

You sit across from each other in a worn red booth, the familiarity of the setting wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. The walls are adorned with faded photographs and vintage memorabilia, a tribute to a simpler time that feels worlds away from the chaos that often surrounds your lives. The table between you is cluttered with half-eaten plates of food - greasy fries, a burger with a bite taken out of it, and a tall milkshake slowly melting in its glass. It’s a scene of domesticity, of normalcy

“I’m sorry, but not even anything in prison was that disgusting,” he quips, his eyebrows raised in exaggerated horror.

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics, the sound bubbling up from deep within you. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who matters, even with your food combination choices, makes your heart swell with affection. “Come on, just try it! I promise you’ll love it,” you urge, holding out a fry that you have dipped in your milkshake, your eyes sparkling with playful challenge.

Jongseong hesitates for a moment, then leans forward and takes a tentative bite. His expression shifts from scepticism to genuine surprise as the sweet and salty combination hits his taste buds. His eyes widen, and he breaks into a grin. “See?” you say, triumphantly, as he reaches for more fries, dipping them into the ice cream and stealing them from your plate.

“Get your own, oh my God!” you protest, swatting his hand away with a laugh, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. It’s moments like these - small, stolen snippets of happiness - that make everything else worth it. The world outside might be chaotic, but here, in this little diner, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other.

But the illusion of safety is fragile. As you’re caught up in the moment, a subtle shift in the atmosphere catches Jongseong’s attention. A police car pulls up outside, its lights off but the engine still running. You barely notice it, too wrapped up in your banter, but Jongseong stiffens, his senses on high alert. His gaze follows the officers as they exit the car with a sense of purpose, their strides firm and unyielding as they approach the entrance.

You feel a prickle of unease, a small knot forming in your stomach as you notice Jongseong’s change in demeanour. His playful smile fades, replaced by a mask of cool detachment, his eyes darkening with the familiar wariness that never quite leaves him. The joy that lit up his face moments ago vanishes, leaving behind the hardened edges of a man who’s been on the run for far too long.

The officers push through the diner’s doors, their presence commanding immediate attention. They don’t bother with the usual pretence of surveying the room; their eyes are locked on your table from the moment they step inside. Your heart races as they approach, each step closer fueling your growing sense of dread.

“Park Jongseong?” one of the officers asks, his tone clipped and authoritative, as they come to a stop in front of your booth.

Jongseong doesn’t flinch. “Who’s asking?” he replies, his voice steady, laced with a defiant edge. He’s been here before, too many times to count, but it never gets any easier. The threat of losing his freedom, of being torn away from you, is always looming, always just one misstep away.

The officer’s gaze sharpens, not missing a beat. “You’re under arrest for theft. Anything you do or say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

Your heart skips a beat, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. Your mind reels back to the bank job you both pulled off, the thrill of it now tainted by the cold reality closing in around you. Jongseong remains unfazed on the surface, but you can see the flicker of realization in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly.

“Yeah? And what exactly did I steal?” Jongseong challenges, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he stands up, squaring his shoulders, ready for the confrontation. He never liked the police for obvious reasons, but what makes it worse is when they hound him like this when he has done nothing wrong.

The bank you robbed months ago would have already sent him to prison if they knew it was him, and any of the other petty crimes don’t require four policemen and a van.

The officer doesn’t back down, keeping his tone calm but firm. “Mr. L/N has reported his diamond cufflinks missing, and when we searched your place, we found them.”

Your boyfriend lets out a harsh laugh, the sound bitter and incredulous. “Yeah? First of all, you can’t search my home because I don’t have one. Second of all, you need a warrant for that, don’t you?” But even as he speaks, you can see the gears turning in his mind. If your father is behind this, as it now seems, the situation is far worse than he’d anticipated.

Your dad is far more powerful than you could ever imagine. That time in prison only gave him more contacts than enemies, and with Jongseong just another fish in a pond, they will happily throw him back to the sea with the right amount of persuasion.

Before Jongseong can react, the officer pulls out a pair of handcuffs, snapping them around his wrists with practised ease. He struggles, but it’s no use, the cuffs hold firm, and the officers aren’t about to let him go.

“Jongseong!” you cry out, desperation lacing your voice as you rush to him, placing yourself between him and the officers. Your hands cradle his face, trying to keep him grounded, to keep him from doing something reckless. His eyes soften as he looks down at you, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but you can see the worry etched into his features.

“It’s okay, darlin’. They’ve got nothing on me,” he says, his voice gentle, but you both know the truth: if your father is pulling the strings, there’s no telling how deep this goes. He’s trying to comfort you, to make you believe that everything will be fine, but there’s a part of him that’s not so sure.

“But-” you start, only to be silenced by the press of his lips against yours. The kiss is soft at first, a promise of return, but it quickly turns desperate, as if he’s trying to memorise the feel of you, to hold onto this moment in case it’s the last. It’s a kiss that tells you everything you need to know - he’s scared, and so are you.

You can’t lose him.

The officers pull him away, and you watch helplessly as Jongseong is dragged out of the diner and shoved into the back of the police car. His face, once full of life and laughter, is now clouded with that deadpan stare. You run out after him helplessly and fear for what will come coursing your veins.

Through the window, he mouths the words, “I love you,” and you nod, tears blurring your vision as you choke out the response, “I love you too.”

As the police car drives away, taking him with it, the world around you seems to crumble, leaving you standing alone in the diner’s driveway. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, and your heart sinks when you see the message from your father: “Come home, princess. Be a good girl.”

The words ignite a fire in you, a seething anger that burns hotter with every passing second. You clench your fists, your eyes falling on the ring Jongseong gave you - the promise of a future together, a future you’re determined to fight for. You made a vow to him, to wait for him no matter what, to stand by his side through thick and thin. But before you can keep that promise, there’s one last obstacle you need to overcome.

Your father.

_____

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jay smut #park jongseong smut #jongseong smut #aj writes #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #god i really hope you guys like this

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kamaluhkhan · 8 months

Text

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window.

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer.

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.”

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous.

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?”

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in.

“what? n-no!”

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you.

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp.

it just didn't seem fair.

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods.

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest.

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest.

every demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself.

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?”

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching.

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.”

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.”

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze.

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too.

“she deserved more.”

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there.

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do.

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise.

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.”

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm.

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day.

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.”

luke bristled at your nickname for him.

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go.

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in.

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly.

the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again.

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down.

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse.

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled.

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning.

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone?

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one.

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward."

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you.

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp.

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready.

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him.

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through.

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him.

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power.

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood.

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased.

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess.

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson.

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?”

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken.

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.”

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer.

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too.

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time.

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more.

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips.

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die.

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy.

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away.

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze.

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse.

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.”

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality.

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie.

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat.

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him.

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for.

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did.

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it.

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair.

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates.

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes.

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.”

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes.

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that.

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you.

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?”

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush.

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….”

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right.

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for.

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached.

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?”

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?”

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him.

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.”

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said.

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow.

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air.

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch.

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion.

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp.

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him.

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment.

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door.

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire.

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god.

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy.

everything was falling into place.

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you.

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles.

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist.

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him.

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey.

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy.

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?”

“they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true.

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him.

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it.

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down.

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet.

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog.

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more.

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously.

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated.

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind.

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated.

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well.

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.”

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe!

would you hate him, if you knew?

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage.

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?”

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns.

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.”

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment.

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips.

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe.

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his.

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath.

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time.

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted.

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor.

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother.

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock.

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.”

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being.

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.”

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone. we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance.

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor.

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape.

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice.

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head.

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life.

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

#this is my baby fr #really feeling the tragic hero vibe down to my core #will prob do a part 2 from reader's POV!#ofc inspired by get him back! bc nemesis!reader....#percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan angst #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan smut #saf writes #Spotify

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