Katara 🍓

The trap was brutal—crude magic mixed with silver nets soaked in sacred oil. The crew had gone silent hours ago, tension thick in the air. Then came the song, faint and honeyed, curling over the water like smoke. Men began to drift toward the sound, glazed-eyed, mesmerized. Donghyuck had clamped wax in his ears. Waited.

When she breached the surface—hair like sea silk, eyes glowing like deep emeralds—he acted.

Now, the ship creaked under moonlight as his men dragged her onto the deck, slippery and snarling, tangled in the glimmering net. Her voice was already rising, low and hypnotic, a sound that made their blood slow in their veins.

“Shut her up,” Donghyuck snapped.

Before she could release her full song, he knelt, grabbed a length of cloth, and shoved it into her mouth, gagging her roughly. She screamed behind it, thrashing in fury. Even silenced, her voice was dangerous—like desire made sound.

Her skin shimmered faintly as they hauled her upright. She was wet, furious, and wickedly stunning. Water clung to the swell of her breasts, to the curve of her hips and thighs, her tail already beginning to split as it dried, scales peeling back to reveal smooth legs beneath. Her transformation was slow but mesmerizing, her magic receding with every drop of water that left her body.

Donghyuck couldn’t look away.

His eyes roamed shamelessly over her body, sharp and intense. The slick arch of her spine. The way she stood tall, even bound and gagged, defiance sparking in her eyes. She met his gaze like she wanted to bite his throat out.

“Beautiful thing,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “You’re going to take me to the gold.”

She hissed behind the gag.

“Lock her up,” he said, voice dark with amusement and something more primal. “Don’t let her near water. And keep her dry.”

Two crewmen dragged her down into the belly of the ship. The brig was cold, iron-barred, with a single oil lamp flickering overhead. They tossed her inside like she weighed nothing, the cell door slamming behind her.

Donghyuck followed, boots echoing on the wood floor.

He stepped up to the bars, watching as she slowly adjusted, tail now nearly gone, legs fully formed. Her hands were bound behind her back, her chest rising and falling with rage.

“You’re mine now, siren,” he said softly. “You’re going to be very useful to me.”

She met his eyes. The heat in her stare was enough to make any man flinch.

But Donghyuck only smiled.

He was used to dangerous creatures.

And he’d never wanted one more.

The ship groaned gently with the ocean's lull, but inside the brig, time stood still.

Donghyuck leaned against the iron bars, fingers toying with the keys hooked at his hip. He watched her silently for a long moment. She sat in the far corner, back pressed to the wooden wall, hair still damp and curling over her shoulders, clinging to the exposed skin of her chest. Her arms were still tied behind her, her legs curled beneath her in a posture that looked almost relaxed—until you noticed the tension in her jaw. The burning in her eyes.

He slid the cell door open with an easy hand.

She didn’t flinch. Just lifted her chin.

Donghyuck stepped inside, slow and sure, kneeling in front of her like she was something rare and volatile. He pulled the gag loose from her mouth, fingers brushing the curve of her cheek as he did.

"There," he said smoothly. “Better, isn’t it?”

Silence.

She held his gaze, lips red and parted, but said nothing.

Not a sound.

He smiled, cocking his head. “Still not speaking, huh?”

Nothing.

Donghyuck chuckled lowly and leaned in, just enough to breathe the same air as her. His eyes dropped to her lips.

“You know, there’s a rumor,” he said softly. “That if a human kisses a siren… he can breathe underwater.” He gave her a long, lingering look. “Tempting, isn’t it?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But her jaw tightened, and—

Her teeth shifted.

In the low light, her lips curled back just enough to show the beginning of fangs. Sharp. Gleaming.

Dangerous.

Donghyuck only grinned.

“Feisty,” he murmured, unbothered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be begging me for a kiss later.”

Still, she said nothing.

But her heart was pounding too hard now, the blood in her veins rushing with heat she hadn’t felt before. Not for any sailor. Not for any prince. She'd lured kings to their deaths, sung admirals into the sea. But this man—this pirate captain with maddening confidence and too-sharp eyes—he unsettled her.

She hated how aware she was of his warmth, how close he was, how his scent smelled like salt and smoke and danger. How he looked at her like he already owned her. It made her want to bite him.

And… something else.

Donghyuck watched her closely. He felt the tension in the air, heavy like a storm about to break.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You stay down here until you’re ready to talk. No water. No sunlight. But—” he held up a finger, “—if you decide to be a good girl and use that mouth for something other than hissing, I’ll move you upstairs. A real bed. Food. Clothes. I might even let you sit next to me at dinner.”

She bared her teeth at him again, eyes narrowed to slits.

Donghyuck smiled like she’d kissed him.

“Prison hold it is.”

He stood, and before she could react, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder with ease. She let out a muffled, furious grunt, fists pounding his back uselessly.

“Careful,” he teased, “or I might think you like being carried.”

He marched back through the brig, kicking the door open with his boot before tossing her back onto the cell’s cot like she weighed nothing. She landed with a thud, glaring murder up at him.

Donghyuck only laughed.

“You’re going to make this so much fun.”

The cell clanged shut. The keys jangled.

And the siren, still stubborn and silent, was left wondering how this man had made her body burn hotter than anything she’d felt in her immortal life.

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

The brig was silent except for the creak of the ship and the faint hum of the sea beneath.

Y/N sat with her back to the wall, wrists still bound behind her, gagged again after yet another failed attempt to tempt her into speech. Her sharp eyes were half-lidded, watching, waiting. Every moment on this wretched dry ship made her feel weaker, and angrier. And worse than all of it… hotter. Her body kept reacting to him—to Donghyuck—and she loathed it.

So she was all venom and stillness when the cell door creaked open without warning.

Two sailors stepped into the dim brig, lanterns swinging in their hands. They were younger. Nervous. Curious. Their eyes gleamed with something darker than fascination.

“Well, would you look at that,” one muttered, stepping closer to the bars. “They weren’t lying… she’s real.”

The second one whistled. “A real siren. I heard they can turn your brain to mush with a song… but they’ve got to be wetto do it, right? She’s harmless like this.”

They laughed under their breath, the kind of laugh that made her blood run cold with rage.

“Captain’ll kill us if he finds us down here,” one whispered, even as he pulled the key off the wall hook. “Just a look.”

“Maybe a kiss,” the other one snickered. “They say if you kiss a siren, you can breathe underwater. Could be useful.”

Y/N snarled into her gag, straining against the ropes.

“Oh, hush,” the first one said, stepping into the cell. “Let’s see if it’s true.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. She waited.

The man crouched beside her and reached forward, tugging the gag from her mouth with a grin. “Pretty lips,” he muttered.

The second his hand moved toward her face again—

She struck.

Her mouth snapped open and her fangs sank deep into the meat of his palm. He screamed, a piercing, ragged sound as blood gushed from the wound. He stumbled backward, crashing into the floor, shrieking.

“You bitch!” the second sailor shouted, lunging forward. He tried to grab her, wrestling her down with his arms, trying to force her flat.

Y/N screamed, voice hoarse but full of fury, thrashing against his weight.

Then—

BANG.

The second sailor’s body stiffened.

Blood bloomed from his chest like spilled wine.

He crumpled beside her with a heavy thud, eyes wide, dead before he hit the ground.

Y/N froze.

The remaining man was still groaning on the floor, clutching his hand.

And behind him, standing in the doorway, was Donghyuck.

Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Gun still smoking.

His gaze swept over the scene. The blood. Her body. Her ragged breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

Y/N stared at him.

And then bared her teeth.

She hissed, chest rising and falling, fangs still stained red.

Donghyuck exhaled sharply and stepped into the cell, grabbing the gag from the floor and slipping it gently back between her lips. She growled, biting the cloth this time as if it offended her more than anything else.

“I never meant to put you in danger,” he muttered, voice tight with something like guilt. “You’re here for one reason—your knowledge of the treasure. That’s it. Once we find it, we part ways. Simple.”

He looked down at the dead man. Then at her.

“I can’t risk this happening again.”

He turned, barking to the crew outside, “Bring chains. And clean this mess up.”

Then to her, he added under his breath, “You’re staying in my quarters from now on. No one touches you. No one looks at you. That’s an order.”

She hissed again, but something in her chest shifted. Something unfamiliar. Heat mixed with… something that almost felt like safety.

Later that night, still gagged and still seething, Y/N sat in the corner of Donghyuck’s captain’s quarters—lavish, dark wood, lanterns swaying softly with the tide. She watched him from across the room as he scrubbed blood from his hands at the basin, back tense.

She didn’t speak, but she listened.

He stormed out to the deck minutes later.

And from the shadows, she heard his voice boom out across the crew:

“If anyone so much as thinks about stepping foot near her again without my permission,” Donghyuck shouted, voice like fire, “they’ll meet the same fate. I don’t care if it’s my first mate or my brother—death. No warnings.”

Silence.

Only the ocean dared to move after that.

And back in his cabin, Y/N closed her eyes, her heart beating too loud in her ears. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself—but for the first time since being dragged onto this cursed ship…

She wasn’t afraid.

The cabin swayed gently with the sea, wood groaning as if sighing under the tension inside.

Donghyuck had stripped his jacket first. Then his boots. Now, shirt half-unbuttoned, he stood in front of the small mirror, running a hand through his damp hair. The heat from the lanterns clung to the room like breath on skin, and he didn’t hide what he was doing—undressing, towel slung around his neck, muscles flexing as he dried his arms.

Y/N sat in the corner chair, chains loose enough now to allow movement, gag removed for dinner.

She didn’t eat.

She watched.

Unblinking.

Her green eyes raked over his torso, his hips, the patch of bare skin revealed with every shift of his shirt. She showed no shame, no embarrassment. Naked herself, her legs now fully formed, knees pulled loosely to her chest. There was no modesty in the way she sat. Sirens didn’t understand modesty.

Donghyuck noticed, of course. Every glance. Every breath.

He set down the towel and turned toward her with a cocky smirk.

“You just going to stare all night, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head slowly, voice low, rough from disuse.

“Why do humans wear clothes?”

Donghyuck froze.

He turned, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You just spoke.”

She didn’t react to his surprise. Just stared. “Answer me.”

He leaned back against the table, arms crossed. “Well,” he drawled, “humans wear clothes for privacy. Modesty. Protection. Shame, maybe. Though…” he smirked again, eyes dragging down her body, “not all of us care much for any of those things.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly. “I don’t understand. What is there to be ashamed of?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if you’re brave, clueless, or both.”

He took a step toward her. Then another.

Close enough to make the air shift between them.

“Do sirens have sex?” he asked casually, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N’s eyes widened. Her breath caught. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped, voice raspier now, cheeks flushing.

“Oh,” he said, leaning in, just enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “You’re shy now?” He tilted his head. “So maybe you do understand shame.”

She didn’t move. But her eyes flicked away for the first time, lips slightly parted, breath unsteady. The strange ache between her legs was growing again. Sharp and hot. Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore. The tail she once had had never throbbed like this.

Donghyuck smiled darkly, voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“You’re missing out,” he murmured. “Nothing feels better than being stretched out… by the right man.”

Y/N gasped.

The heat pulsed between her thighs, involuntary and unbearable. She clenched her legs together, swallowing hard.

He backed up with a smirk, hands raised.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said lightly. “I’m not touching you.”

He turned his back, walking toward the washbasin.

“But I need a cold shower.”

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

The captain’s quarters were dark, save for the soft sway of the oil lantern hanging above the bed. The ship rocked gently beneath them, a lullaby for the damned.

Y/N lay beside Donghyuck, her wrists still chained loosely to the bedframe. Her gag remained—softened now, cloth instead of rope—but still firm in its purpose. Her sharp fangs had proven too dangerous to trust, even when she slept.

She wore one of his shirts, oversized and hanging off her body in soft folds. He’d pulled it over her head hours ago with grumbled concern—“can’t have you freezing and dying before you tell me where the damn treasure is.” But now…

Now she was writhing in the sheets.

Donghyuck blinked awake, breath catching when he realized what he was seeing.

Y/N’s back arched gently, body twisting, her thighs clenching and shifting under the covers. Her chest rose and fell fast, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric of his shirt. Sweat gleamed on her skin like ocean mist, lips parted around the gag as low, sweet moans slipped from her throat—soft, needy, unaware.

She was dreaming.

And it was filthy.

Donghyuck stayed frozen for a beat, then slowly turned onto his side, watching.

Watching as she arched again, helpless to the sensations wracking her body.

A lazy, smug smile spread across his face. He tucked a hand under his head, just enjoying the show.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Her eyes fluttered open with a soft gasp, brows pinched in confusion, body still shivering.

Donghyuck leaned over her, eyes locked on hers. He cupped her jaw roughly, tilting her face toward him.

“Did you have a good dream?” he asked, voice low and rough, taunting. “Huh, sweetheart? Was it me you were dreaming about?”

She whimpered behind the gag, stunned by the intensity of what she felt—her thighs slick, her core throbbing. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Not in the sea. Not in her tail.

Donghyuck’s nose grazed her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent was sweeter than before—ripe with heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, yanking himself back suddenly like he’d been burned. “You’re dangerous.”

He threw himself onto his back, arm over his eyes, breathing heavy.

Beside him, Y/N let out a frustrated, muffled shriek. Her body was a wildfire she couldn’t douse, and he was the match that lit it. She glared at him, then at herself, furious with the aching between her legs, the wetness, the longing. She’d never wanted anyone—certainly not a human. But Donghyuck was ruining her. And she hated how good it felt.

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

Donghyuck sat her beside him at the long dining table on deck, the chains still discreetly hidden under the tablecloth. She wore a second shirt now—tighter, cleaner, less oversized—but the gag was finally gone.

Her eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the gathered crew like a cornered animal.

She didn’t touch the food in front of her.

The rest of the crew avoided looking at her directly, except for the occasional sidelong glance or whispered mutter. The woman who had killed one of their own and left another maimed—what kind of creature had they let onto the ship?

Then a voice cut through the tension, warm and gentle.

“It’s alright.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up.

Across the table sat a young man—freckles, tousled hair, a soft smile. His posture was relaxed but confident.

“I’m Mark,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to hurt you. Once all this treasure nonsense is sorted, you’ll be free. I promise.”

Donghyuck glanced at him but said nothing, letting the moment breathe.

Y/N didn’t respond. Not with words. But her gaze lingered. Just for a second.

And then, quietly, without looking away from Mark—

She picked up a piece of fruit and bit into it.

Donghyuck didn’t smile.

But he saw it.

And he didn’t miss the flare of jealousy tightening in his gut.

The captain’s quarters were quiet again. The sound of the ocean just outside the hull, wind brushing over the sails. Lanternlight flickered across polished wood and tattered maps, bathing the room in a soft gold.

Y/N sat on the edge of the captain’s bed, legs crossed, chains still looped gently around her ankles and one wrist. She could move freely within the space, but not far enough to escape. Not yet.

Donghyuck stood across the room, cleaning his pistol, back turned.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, voice smooth but sharp. “Even if I lead you to the treasure… you won’t survive it.”

He paused, the soft click of metal stopping mid-motion.

“There are traps,” she continued. “Ancient ones. Ones meant to tear men like you apart.”

He glanced over his shoulder, brow quirked, smirking. “Men like me?”

“Greedy. Arrogant. Mortal.”

He turned to face her fully, arms folding across his chest. “I appreciate the concern,” he drawled, “but don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ve survived worse than a few booby traps.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes—and then, without warning, reached for the hem of the shirt he’d given her. She tugged it over her head and dropped it carelessly onto the bed beside her.

Nude. Unbothered.

Like the sea had never taught her modesty.

“This thing is restricting,” she said simply. “Annoying in the heat.”

Donghyuck froze.

His gaze raked over her—bare legs, full breasts, soft stomach, smooth skin shimmering slightly from the heat of the room. His jaw flexed. He turned his head and dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly like trying to anchor himself.

Y/N noticed.

Her voice came low and amused. “Why do you always get so fidgety when I take my clothes off?”

Donghyuck dragged his eyes back to hers. There was no smirk now—just something darker.

“Because you’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “And I’m trying very hard not to ruin you before you beg me to.”

Her lips parted.

Then she scowled.

“You’re filthy,” she snapped. “That’ll never happen.”

He grinned lazily, stepping closer, unbothered. “We’ll see.”

The silence that followed was thick. It throbbed.

Then he cleared his throat and turned toward the table, grabbing the covered tray he’d brought earlier. He set it down beside her on the bed and lifted the lid.

“Dinner.”

She eyed the food, then her wrists.

“My chains hurt,” she said. “Feed me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You bite me, I shoot you.”

She tilted her chin defiantly. “You won't. You like me too much.”

His jaw ticked.

But he reached for a fork.

Y/N sat up straighter, letting her thighs spread a little wider, back arching just enough to make it clear she wasn’t shy. She opened her mouth slightly, waiting.

Donghyuck brought the fork to her lips.

The moment was too quiet. Too hot. She leaned forward and took the bite slowly, lips brushing the metal, eyes locked on his the entire time. He could feel her breath on his fingers.

He swallowed hard.

“Fuck, you’re dangerous,” he muttered.

She smiled wickedly, licking her lips. “You said that already.”

He fed her again, and again. Closer. Slower. Each bite a challenge, each glance a test of will.

She could feel his thigh just inches from hers, the warmth of his skin, the tight control in every motion. Her body pulsed with the same restless, aching heat as the night before. She didn’t understand it—but she knew it was his fault. He was the reason her new legs trembled and her core clenched and her skin felt too hot to touch.

And yet…

She opened her mouth again.

And Donghyuck, lips parted, breathing harder now, gave her one more bite.

Then another.

Until he was very sure he needed to leave before he forgot all his rules.

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

The captain’s quarters were too warm again.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the side, the remains of dinner pushed aside. Her skin still glistened slightly with heat, her breath just a touch too shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the loose shirt she’d reluctantly thrown on after their intimate feeding.

Donghyuck leaned against the far wall, arms folded, shirt untucked now, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He watched her. Always watching her.

She shifted, tugging at the collar of the shirt. “Why does my body… feel like this?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Hot. Tight. Weak.” She scowled at her own thighs. “It’s like something’s pulling at me. Inside.”

Donghyuck bit back a groan. He walked slowly toward the bed, crouched down in front of her, hands braced on his knees.

“That’s called arousal, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and smug. “It means your body wants something.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That can’t be it.”

He leaned in. Close. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. “Oh, it’s it. Trust me.”

Y/N’s legs twitched. Her breath caught. Her mouth opened like she might ask something else—but then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sound of a fist pounding the captain’s door.

Donghyuck groaned in frustration, standing.

“What?” he barked.

“Storm’s rolling in fast,” a voice called from outside. “Wind’s shifting hard. Could get ugly.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Then turned to Y/N with a sigh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the timing.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Always when it’s getting good.”

He crossed the room, unlocked the door, and opened it—revealing Mark standing at attention.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “She doesn’t leave. No one goes in or out unless it’s me.”

Mark nodded quickly. “Aye, Captain.”

Donghyuck turned back to her once more, smirking. “Be good, sweetheart. We’ll finish this talk later.”

Then he was gone, boots thudding down the stairs as the storm began to howl outside.

Mark stood awkwardly in the corner, eyes on the floor.

Y/N sat still for a while, silent.

“You can sit,” she said after a long pause. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Mark laughed nervously, pulling over a chair. “Sorry. I just— I’ve never seen another siren before or been this close to one.”

“I figured.”

“You… look more human than I thought you would.”

She smirked. “Is that disappointing?”

He looked flustered. “No! No, not at all. You’re, uh… beautiful. I mean. You know. For a creature that eats sailors.”

Y/N’s laughter was soft, surprising even herself. “You’re not like the others.”

Mark’s cheeks flushed. “I just think… it’s wrong to treat you like a prisoner when you haven’t even done anything to us yet. At least not something anyone didn't deserve”

She tilted her head. “So innocent,” she muttered under her breath.

Mark cleared his throat and tried not to look at her too long—but his eyes flickered down her body again before jerking away. “You, um… don’t like wearing clothes, do you?”

“No.” She stood slowly, letting the shirt she’d taken off earlier slip through her fingers. “They don’t make sense.”

Mark turned bright red, eyes immediately snapping to the ceiling. “Could you— maybe just put it back on? Please?”

She grinned, amused. “You’re no fun.”

But she slipped the shirt back on anyway.

Not for modesty.

For him.

An hour later, the door creaked open again.

Donghyuck returned soaked to the bone, hair dripping, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He looked wild, wind-whipped, and irritated—but his eyes landed on Y/N immediately, scanning for any signs of disobedience. Then flicked briefly to Mark.

“She behave?” he asked.

Mark nodded. “Yes, Captain. Quiet as a tidepool.”

“Good.” Donghyuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re dismissed. Go help the others prep for the storm. Tie everything down.”

Mark hesitated just a second, glanced back at Y/N, then nodded again and slipped out.

Donghyuck turned toward her slowly, eyes darker now, tension rolling off him in waves.

“It’s gonna be a busy night,” he said, voice quiet. “Don’t try anything.”

She lifted her chin. “I won’t.”

“Good. Because even if you did…” he stepped forward, close enough to make her breath catch, “we’re too far from your precious waters. Weeks away. That’s assuming you even know how to find your way home.”

She didn’t reply—but she felt the reminder sink into her stomach like a stone.

He stepped back, peeling off his wet shirt, muscles flexing in the low light.

Y/N’s thighs pressed together without her meaning to.

And Donghyuck—smirking now, towel in hand—noticed.

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

The storm battered the ship from all sides, waves crashing like thunder, the hull creaking under nature’s weight. But inside the captain’s quarters, the real chaos was simmering under skin.

Y/N couldn’t sit still.

Her legs pressed together, thighs clenching and rubbing in search of friction. Her breaths were shallow, desperate. She paced, then sat, then squirmed in the chair near the bed, her chains clinking softly with every twitch.

“I feel like I’m going to explode,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Like I’m being punished.”

Across the room, Donghyuck leaned back in his chair with maddening calm, sweat on his brow despite the cool sea air. He gave her a lazy smirk, eyes dragging down her bare legs, her parted lips, the clear desperation in every movement of her hips.

“I could fix that,” he said casually, voice low and obscene. “One good fuck, and you’d stop whining. You’d forget your name. Forget the treasure. Forget your tail ever existed.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, screeching, pushing off the wall.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

“I’d fuck you right here,” he murmured. “Bent over this chair, your ass high, screaming my name while I ruin your tight, virgin—”

She shoved him, furious, her entire body burning.

But the anger wasn’t enough to stop the heat pulsing between her legs, slick and aching and starved. Her breaths came faster now. Her body moved on its own.

She fell back into the chair and finally—finally—spread her legs wide.

Right in front of him.

And slid her hand between them.

Donghyuck’s mouth went dry.

Y/N moaned softly, fingers brushing her soaked slit, back arching, hair sticking to her sweat-damp neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, biting her lip, grinding down against her own hand like she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck—” Donghyuck stood up fast, storming toward her. “No.”

Before she could get any relief, he grabbed her wrist and yanked it away. “You don’t get to touch yourself like that in mychair.”

She growled, struggling. “You’re the reason I feel like this! You—you did something to me!”

Donghyuck tightened the chains at her wrists, locking her arms behind the chairpost this time, more secure. “Damn right I did.”

“I hate you,” she hissed, grinding herself down against the edge of the chair instead, desperate now, wild. “I hate this—!”

Her shirt rode up, bare heat pressing into the wood, her hips working back and forth in quick, helpless bursts. She moaned through gritted teeth, unable to stop.

Donghyuck stood frozen for a second, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his temple. He was rock hard now, and furious about it.

Then he snapped.

In one motion, he grabbed her and hauled her up—slamming her back against the wall, her wrists still pinned, her body flush to his front.

“You need to fucking stop,” he growled, voice shredded and desperate, his breath hot against her neck. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips were pressed into her ass, his hardness impossible to ignore. His hand braced next to her head, the other gripping the chain at her wrists.

She squirmed in his hold, panting, not even trying to deny how wet she was now, how badly her body was begging for him.

Donghyuck’s mouth hovered at her ear. His voice was broken and raw.

“If you don’t stop grinding that sweet little cunt on my wall, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Y/N whimpered, biting her lip, her thighs trembling.

He pulled away with effort, pacing back like a caged animal.

“Cold shower,” he muttered, half to himself. “I need—another fucking—cold shower.”

The door slammed behind him as he left.

Y/N slid down the wall, still breathing like she’d run a mile, her body wrecked and unsatisfied, trembling with need.

And for the first time, she whispered into the empty room,

“…please.”

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

The storm howled like a living beast.

Waves slammed against the ship, wood groaning, sails snapping in the wind. Y/N sat in the captain’s quarters, arms still chained, legs twitching with every crash of thunder. She could hear yelling. Panic. Footsteps pounding on soaked wood.

She smirked to herself, lips curling.

Serves them right, she thought. Kidnapping a siren… the sea always takes what it’s owed.

Then came the scream.

A different kind of scream.

“Man overboard!”

And then Donghyuck’s voice, raw and broken, cutting through the chaos.

“MARK!”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

She didn’t know why. Didn’t want to know. But her body moved before her mind could stop it.

She yanked against the chains. The wood creaked. Her pulse thundered louder than the storm.

The door was locked.

But not for long.

She hurled herself against it, over and over, rage and panic giving her unnatural strength. Finally, with a splintering crack, it burst open—her bare feet hitting the wet deck, hair whipping around her face as rain poured down like knives.

The crew turned, shocked by the sight of her. One flash of glowing green eyes, bare legs morphing mid-sprint into her glittering tail, and then—

She dove.

Smooth and silent.

The sea swallowed her whole.

Donghyuck stood at the railing, rain blinding him, chest heaving. His heart sank. She’s gone. She escaped. Mark’s dead. He lost them both.

Then—

“Captain!”

A cry from the lookout.

He turned—

And saw her.

Y/N broke the surface a few feet away, struggling against the current but slicing through the waves with practiced ease. In her arms was Mark, limp but breathing, blood running from his temple.

She swam toward the rope ladder with all the strength she had left.

Hands reached down to help them up—crew pulling Mark up first, shouting orders, pressing on his chest.

Donghyuck dropped to his knees beside him.

“Breathe, Mark—breathe, damn it—”

Mark choked suddenly, coughing up water. His eyes opened, wide and dazed.

The crew let out a collective cry of relief.

Donghyuck exhaled like he’d been underwater himself.

Then slowly, his eyes rose—

And locked on her.

Y/N, still soaked, her long tail glittering beneath her, skin pale and trembling. She clung to the side of the ship, arms shaking as she tried to haul herself further onboard, struggling between tail and legs, caught in the in-between.

She was free.

She had water. She had her voice.

She could’ve sung them all to the bottom of the ocean.

But she didn’t.

She just… stared at him.

Her green eyes blazing. Her face unreadable. The siren in her was alive—but so was something else. Something cracked wide open in her chest.

Donghyuck stood, staring back, drenched and stunned.

She hissed softly when she slipped, tail thudding against the slick deck. She couldn’t stand—not with her legs gone again.

He didn’t say a word.

He just walked over, slid his arms beneath her, and lifted her easily against his chest.

Her head rested against his shoulder, but she didn’t speak.

He didn’t look at her again.

Just turned and carried her silently back into the captain’s quarters, sea-soaked and glowing and heavier than anything he’d ever held.

He set her down gently on the bed.

And walked back out, closing the door behind him, jaw clenched as he went to check on Mark.

----------

The noon sun pierced through a blanket of gray clouds, casting the deck in a soft, golden light. The worst of the storm had passed. The crew moved slower today—tired, hungover on fear—but when Y/N stepped out from below deck, every head turned.

This time, no one whispered.

They stood still. Silent. And then—

A chorus of nods.

Some gave awkward bows. Others mumbled their thanks.

One even left a piece of fruit at her seat before scurrying off.

Y/N blinked, suspicious.

“What is this?”

Donghyuck, seated beside her at the long wooden table, didn’t look up.

“They’re grateful,” he muttered. “You saved Mark. They thought you’d let him drown.”

Y/N scoffed. “I thought about it.”

The crew laughed nervously.

Then Mark appeared.

Hair still damp, temple bandaged, eyes soft.

He came to her side, his steps slow but sure.

“I owe you my life,” he said quietly.

Y/N stared at him for a long time, then picked up a piece of bread, tearing it in half.

“You saved me first,” she said. “You treated me like a person.”

Mark smiled, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

Y/N finally ate. Cleaned her plate in silence. The rest of the crew subtly relaxed, the atmosphere growing warmer as the waves calmed.

She stood up abruptly.

“I want to go back to my room.”

Donghyuck raised a brow but didn’t argue. “It’s actually my room.”

She shot him a glare. “Not anymore.”

He stood, motioning for her to follow, still oddly quiet since last night.

The door shut with a soft click. Y/N padded across the floor, tail now gone, legs beneath her again. She sat on the edge of the bed, folding one leg beneath her, eyes on him.

Donghyuck remained standing.

Silent.

Brooding.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her.

“You’ve barely looked at me all day,” she said. “I saved your crew. I saved Mark. You’d think you’d be a little more charming again.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, ragged breath.

“You did,” he said. “You did save him. And I… have no fucking clue what to do with that.”

He finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

“All I’ve done is kidnap you. Chain you up. Threaten you. And you still—” his jaw tightened. “You still dove into a storm and brought back the one person I can’t live without.”

Y/N’s gaze didn’t soften. But something in her expression shifted—like the weight of what they were finally naming was too heavy to ignore.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“I know.”

Silence.

Then—

“I’ll tell you where the gold is.”

Donghyuck blinked.

She stood, moving closer, stopping just in front of him.

“But once we find it,” she said quietly, “you let me go. We both know I could've sunk your entire crew and ship last night, but I didn't. I have no idea where we are and when I'm free, I want to go. I get you to your gold, you get me home. Deal?”

He swallowed. Hard.

“It’s a deal,” he said. “And I’ll give you anything else you want.”

Y/N laughed. Low. Bitter.

“There’s nothing you can give me.”

And she walked away.

Leaving Donghyuck staring after her, pulse racing, knowing damn well—

That wasn’t true.

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

The village was small, nestled between jagged cliffs and churning sea. It was the first time Y/N had stepped on land since being dragged aboard Donghyuck’s ship, and the feeling was strange. Every texture beneath her bare feet, every new smell and sound made her pause with wide eyes and tilted head.

“Stay close,” Donghyuck muttered, his hand wrapping around hers. “There are more people here than fish.”

Y/N’s fingers twitched in his grasp. Her skin prickled at the contact — his palm warm and calloused, grounding her — and yet charged, like lightning might crackle from it at any moment. She didn’t pull away.

He didn’t either.

They walked through the narrow, cobbled streets, Donghyuck’s oversized shirt hanging off her shoulders, the belt tied too tight around her waist to keep it from slipping. She looked half wild, half regal — a siren in borrowed skin.

Heads turned. Men stared.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened.

When they entered the tailor’s shop, the bell chimed overhead.

A petite woman with silver rings on every finger looked up and beamed. “Ah! Finally, someone with taste. And—” her eyes drifted to Y/N, widening in delight. “Oh my stars. She’s beautiful.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re… more gorgeous.”

The woman laughed brightly. “What a charmer.”

Donghyuck watched in stunned silence as Y/N let herself be measured, lifted her arms, turned around, touched all the fabrics with reverence. The tailor cooed and fussed over her, telling her what colors would make her glow (as if she didn’t already), calling her skin luminous, her body perfect.

“She’s shy,” Donghyuck said offhandedly.

“I am not,” Y/N said immediately.

The tailor grinned. “You two make a cute couple.”

Both Y/N and Donghyuck froze.

“No - were not - I would never...,” they said at once, speaking over each other.

But their eyes met — and held — for a second too long.

Neither of them looked away first.

----------

Y/N gasped as they passed a group of giggling children chasing a dog through the square.

“What are those?” she whispered urgently.

Donghyuck blinked. “Kids.”

She crouched, watching them with wide, fascinated eyes. “Why are those humans so small and… cute? Are they a different breed?”

He laughed, actually laughed, and the sound made her stomach twist.

“They’re just younger,” he said. “You grow into one of me eventually.”

“Gross,” she muttered.

-----------

The tavern was loud, packed, lit with flickering torches. Music played in one corner, boots stomping on wood, laughter echoing through beer-frothed air.

Donghyuck sat at the bar with Y/N beside him, her new fitted dress snug on her hips, sleeves slipping off her shoulders. She drew attention wherever she went — but she didn’t notice. She was too busy studying how beer foamed or how humans laughed with their teeth.

Then she approached.

Tall. Stunning. Curved like the ocean. A woman in red leaned over Donghyuck’s shoulder with a coy smile, her voice honey-slick.

“Well well. Captain, you’re a long way from your usual ports.”

Donghyuck smirked. “You know me?”

“I never forget a handsome face.”

Y/N didn’t understand what was happening at first. Just that something in her belly twisted watching the woman touch his chest.

Then the woman leaned in closer — too close — and Donghyuck didn’t push her away.

Y/N’s lip curled.

She stepped forward.

Her fangs slid out like silver and she let out a powerful hiss, her eyes glowing green.

The woman screamed and stumbled back, heels catching on the floor before she bolted out of the tavern, her drink crashing to the ground behind her.

Silence fell for a beat. Then people laughed.

Donghyuck turned to her, stunned. “What the hell was that?”

Y/N shrugged, licking her teeth and smiling, unbothered. “She was annoying me.”

Donghyuck narrowed his eyes, biting back a smile. “You jealous, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, that same smug grin on her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But she didn’t move from his side.

And when he threw an arm over the back of her chair — casually, lazily, like he was just stretching — she didn’t move away either.

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

The tavern was starting to fill with the night crowd — sailors, locals, girls in bright dresses, and men already leaning too close to too many glasses. The buzz of music and clinking tankards grew louder by the minute.

Y/N sat at their table beside Donghyuck, brows furrowed as he drained the last of his drink and stood up with a sigh.

“Go back to the ship,” he muttered, waving Mark over with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Take her with you. We leave first thing in the morning.”

Y/N blinked. “No.”

Donghyuck raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You’re not,” he said firmly, already stepping away from the table. “It’s not safe for you out here at night. I want to drink. I can’t protect you when I’m drunk.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she snapped, standing too. “Not from men. Not from you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking tired. “Y/N—”

“Why?” she demanded. “So you can find some random woman to drag into bed?”

He let out a hollow laugh. A short, humorless thing.

Then he turned on her—suddenly, sharply—and shoved her back against the wooden wall of the bar. The impact made the entire tavern blur for a moment, air knocked from her lungs as his hand grabbed her jaw, holding her face.

His body was flush with hers.

His voice was low and dangerous.

“I can sleep with whoever I want.”

Y/N’s mouth parted, eyes narrowed—but she didn’t speak.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened slightly, breath warm on her cheek.

“But I won’t,” he growled. “Because it turns out, my body only fucking responds to you. So no, sweetheart. No one else is touching me tonight.”

His gaze dragged over her face, lingering on her lips, his jaw flexing like he hated the truth coming out of his own mouth.

“I just need some damn space.”

Y/N smiled then.

Sweet.

Mocking.

With fire in her eyes.

“Well,” she said coolly, “have all the damn space you want.”

She shoved him back with both hands — hard — and without looking at him again, turned and stormed across the tavern, grabbing Mark by the arm.

“Take me to the ship.”

Mark glanced between them, wide-eyed, but nodded. “Yes. Yeah—okay.”

They disappeared into the night.

Donghyuck watched her go, fists clenched at his sides, chest tight and head swimming with regret.

But he didn’t follow.

Not yet.

The tavern was almost empty when Donghyuck stumbled back into the captain’s quarters.

He’d sobered up halfway on the walk.

Partially from the night air.

Mostly from the regret.

The room was dim, lantern burning low.

Y/N was already asleep — curled on the far edge of the bed, facing the wall, arms crossed, the sheets pulled all the way around her like a cocoon. She was hogging every single blanket on the mattress, leaving none for him.

Donghyuck stood there in silence.

And just… stared.

At the stubborn set of her back. The way her hair tangled against the pillow. The rise and fall of her breath.

The space between them had never felt so suffocating.

He dropped into the bed beside her, careful not to touch her.

But his eyes stayed on her for a long, long time.

---------

The journey toward the lost treasure had begun.

The ocean was calm. The crew worked with quiet determination. And Y/N…

Y/N didn’t speak a single word to Donghyuck.

She laughed with the crew. Teased Mark. Even offered to help scrub decks just to learn how humans used “buckets.” But whenever Donghyuck walked past her, whenever he entered a room or tried to catch her eye—

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t speak.

She was the picture of peace.

And it drove him insane.

“Can you pass me that rope?” she asked Mark sweetly.

“Y-yeah, of course,” he stammered, handing it over with shaking fingers.

They stood near the helm, the sea stretching wide and endless around them, the sun beating down on their shoulders.

Donghyuck stood just behind them, arms crossed, eyes burning into Y/N’s back.

“So…” Y/N said casually, tying the rope. “When you have sex… does it hurt at first?”

Mark went beet red.

“I—uh—that’s not—” He choked. “I mean, it depends! I—I wouldn’t know exactly from your perspective but I’ve read that—uh—some people—”

Donghyuck stepped in sharply. “Don’t ask him that.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, unbothered. “Why not?”

“If you want to talk about sex, you talk to me. No one else.”

She stared at him, gaze cool and sharp like sea glass.

“I’ll talk about whatever I want,” she said. “With whoever I want.”

Mark swallowed. “I’m just gonna… check the rigging. Over there. Far away. Yup.”

And he was gone.

Silence fell between them.

The wind tugged at her hair. Her jaw clenched.

“Why can’t you ever just listen to me?” Donghyuck asked, exasperated.

“Why the hell would I listen to my kidnapper?” she snapped.

He stepped closer.

Tension sparked between them instantly.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Fine,” she said, sharp and defiant. “Answer my question. When does the feeling go away? The heat. The ache. It’s constant.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitched. Then his smile — slow and dark — curled across his lips like oil spreading on water.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, circling her, voice low enough that only she could hear. “It doesn’t just go away. You have to work it out of your system.”

She inhaled sharply.

His hand ghosted along the edge of the railing beside her, not touching, but close enough to make her skin prickle.

“It starts with the stretch,” he said. “At first, you’ll think it’s too much. You’ll grip the sheets, maybe my arms, try to close your legs—but I’ll keep pushing. Keep rocking deeper until I hit that perfect little spot inside of you.”

Her throat bobbed with a gasp. Her eyes widened.

“And when I find it?” He smiled. “You’ll scream.”

His hand rested on the railing now, brushing hers.

“You’ll beg—maybe for me to stop, maybe for more. But I won’t stop. Not until I feel you clench around me. Until you come so hard you forget you ever had a tail.”

Y/N’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts.

Her lips parted, face flushed, thighs pressed together like she could trap the heat and hide it.

Donghyuck leaned closer, his mouth inches from hers.

“Then,” he whispered, “and only then, you’ll finally feel relief.”

She gasped again, trembling now, breath hot and uneven against his mouth.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Didn’t touch her.

He stepped back slowly, eyes blazing.

“It’s maddening being near you,” he said roughly. “I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe.”

Y/N stared at him, frozen.

Every nerve in her body alive. Her heart hammering like the sea in a storm.

And Donghyuck turned away—

Before he did something they couldn’t undo.

--------

The fight still lingered in the air — sharp and heavy, like salt in a wound. Neither had spoken in hours. Not a word when the cabin door slammed. Not when they stripped down. Not when they climbed into bed.

Y/N faced the wall.

Donghyuck lay behind her, stiff and silent. His breathing was slow now, deep — finally asleep.

She wasn’t.

Not with her thighs clenched, her heart pounding, her pride bruised and burning. They hadn’t touched in days. Not since the last argument. And tonight’s silence was unbearable.

Still, she refused to turn around. Refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly she needed him.

But gods — she did.

Just once, she told herself. If she could just feel him once, maybe she’d sleep again.

So she moved.

Carefully.

Slowly, she turned, crawling over to him, straddling his waist beneath the thin blanket. He didn’t stir. His brows were relaxed in the dim light, lips parted slightly. Moonlight spilled across his cheekbones, softening the edges of a face she couldn’t stop dreaming about.

“Fuck,” she whispered, breath hitching. “You’re so handsome it hurts.”

She pulled his shirt — hers, really — off her shoulders, too hot to breathe, her skin prickling with nerves. Naked now, she placed her palms on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her fingertips. Her hips moved on instinct, rolling slowly, gasping softly at the friction of her bare pussy dragging against the thick fabric of his underclothes.

He groaned — in his sleep.

Her eyes widened.

Then he bucked his hips up, unconscious but needy, grinding into her with a hardness that was growing fast beneath her.

Her jaw dropped in a silent moan, heat surging through her entire body. She couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. Her hips moved again, and again — smoother now, bolder.

Then—

Donghyuck’s eyes snapped open.

And in one fluid, furious motion, he flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress with his hand around her throat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N arched into him, no shame, just need. “Please,” she whispered, eyes glassy with desire. “Just this once. I need you inside me.”

His grip didn’t tighten, but it stayed firm, keeping her still. His hips settled between her thighs, the outline of his cock pressing right where she wanted it.

“This what it took?” he sneered. “Had to crawl on top of me in the dark like a needy little slut to finally admit you wanted it?”

She whimpered, eyes fluttering, nodding slightly.

He exhaled a long breath — then let go of her throat, only to slide his hand up to cup her jaw. Not tender — just taking control.

“I knew you’d fold,” he murmured, his mouth finding the soft skin of her neck. “Knew you’d come begging eventually.”

He kissed down, never touching her lips, just her throat, her collarbone, lower. When his mouth found her breast, he groaned like it had been haunting him.

“Been dreaming about these,” he muttered against her skin before biting her, tongue soothing the sting right after. His hands kneaded her breasts like he owned them, thumbs circling her nipples until she writhed under him.

Then — finally — he shoved his underclothes down just enough, lined himself up, and without warning, slowly thrust all the way in.

They both moaned — loud, raw, relieved.

“Fuck,” he gasped, burying himself in her warmth. “So tight. So fucking wet. You were ready for me, weren’t you?”

Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, her head tipping back, mouth open in a silent cry. She didn’t answer — didn’t need to. Her body answered for her, clenching around him like it never wanted to let go. She had never known such pleasure was possible.

He held still for a moment, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to hers.

Then he pulled back, and started to move.

Rough and deep, every thrust angled with purpose until she gasped — a sharp sound, body jerking beneath him.

Donghyuck froze. Smiled darkly.

“There it is,” he murmured, grinding into that perfect spot. “That’s the one, huh? That’s where you break.”

She was close. Already unraveling, her hands fumbling for something to hold on to — and he gave her his. Their fingers locked tight, tangled, as he thrust into her again and again, chasing the high he knew would tear her apart.

“Come for me,” he grunted, voice hoarse. “Clench around this cock. Show me how much you needed this.”

Y/N came hard, gasping his name, eyes rolled back as her body shook around him.

He followed right after, moaning into her neck, hips stuttering as he came deep inside her, still pulsing from the strength of it.

Neither of them moved right away. He stayed inside her. She kept clenching around him. His hand in hers. Their bodies still rocking from the aftershocks.

Their lips brushed once.

Almost.

But she turned her head.

And instead, he buried his face in her neck, kissing and biting the skin there like he was claiming it, like that was enough.

----------

The ship set sail at dawn.

The crew moved with purpose, laughter louder than usual, the wind kinder, the ocean calm. It felt like the tide itself was carrying them toward something great. Toward gold.

But there was something else in the air too.

A tension broken. A pressure relieved.

And Mark noticed it the moment he stepped onto the deck.

Y/N walked past him, her skin brighter somehow, the breeze playing through her hair as she gave a quiet, unreadable smile to no one in particular. Not hostile. Not annoyed. Just… content.

Glowing.

And behind her?

Donghyuck.

Looking like the smuggest bastard alive.

Mark stared at the two of them. Back and forth. Then grabbed Donghyuck’s arm as he passed and yanked him toward the stairs.

“What?” Donghyuck said, clearly amused.

Mark didn’t even lower his voice. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck just smirked.

“You did!” Mark hissed. “Are you out of your mind?”

Donghyuck shrugged, leaning lazily against the railing. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Wait… kiss? Did you actually kiss her?”

“No,” Donghyuck said, gaze flicking out over the water. “Didn’t want to risk it. If the rumour’s true and kissing a siren lets you breathe underwater… it should be her move, don’t you think?”

Mark blinked. “So you did… everything else?”

Donghyuck didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Mark rubbed his face like he was trying to erase the mental image. “Hyuck… what are you doing? You promised to let her go after the treasure. That was the deal.”

“And nothing’s changed,” Donghyuck said easily. “She told me herself last night. Once the gold’s found, she’s gone. I’m not holding her here.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re thinking clearly,” Mark muttered. “Neither of you are.”

He turned and walked off before Donghyuck could reply.

Donghyuck stayed there, arms crossed, staring out at the horizon.

They were getting close — he could feel it. Every gust of wind in the sails, every shift of the sea whispered it. The map pieces were aligning. The route Y/N had given him made sense now. It was all falling into place.

The treasure he’d spent years chasing was within reach.

But for some reason…

He wasn’t as excited as he thought he’d be.

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

They docked at a small island just after midday — a quiet, hidden place off the usual routes, with thick palms, soft sand, and deep lagoons. The crew was eager to stretch their legs, get drunk, and forget, for a few hours at least, the long sea ahead.

But Donghyuck had something else in mind.

"Come on," he muttered to Y/N, not waiting for her to follow. She did anyway, silent as ever, her eyes narrowed.

They hiked through thick brush and winding paths until they reached it — a clear blue oasis tucked between rocks and vines. A hidden pool, glowing in the dappled sunlight. The air was humid. Quiet.

"You can swim here," he said simply, sitting down at the edge of the stone. “Figured you’d want the water more than the crew.”

Y/N stared at him a moment, then stepped into the pool. Her tail unfurled beneath the surface, glinting like cut glass. She sank under, disappearing completely.

Donghyuck exhaled.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think about the curve of her back, the way her skin had shimmered just before she slipped beneath the surface. He tried not to feel guilty for still being angry, and still wanting her at the same time.

The water stayed still for several seconds.

Then—

She surfaced.

Only her eyes visible.

Glowing, inhuman, shimmering beneath long wet lashes.

He felt his breath catch.

Slowly, Y/N swam toward him — silent, smooth, her glowing siren eyes fixed on his. The closer she came, the harder it was for Donghyuck to look away. His spine straightened. His muscles tensed.

Then she began to hum.

Low and haunting.

He blinked fast, eyes flickering. His fingers curled into fists.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

But it was already working.

His chest began to rise faster. His heartbeat picked up. His fingers dug into the stone beside him.

Her voice wasn’t even a full melody yet — just the start of a siren’s song, but he felt it — deep, humming in his bones, crawling beneath his skin.

Still underwater, Y/N swam toward him slowly. Gracefully. Like she had all the time in the world.

And he couldn’t move.

The hum wrapped around him like warm silk, coaxing his body forward while his mind screamed to pull back.

His jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body was locked in resistance.

Still, she came.

Rising up from the water, her hands pressed against the stone edge. Her tail glistened as she lifted herself onto the rock beside him. Her body was dripping wet, slick and glowing. His shirt was clinging to her torso — though nearly see-through now — but it was her eyes that held him.

Still glowing. Still singing.

She slid closer. Her palms pressed to his chest.

Haechan’s whole body shuddered.

She stroked along the line of his collarbone, up his throat, over the edge of his jaw.

“You’re shaking,” she said softly, a whisper wrapped in amusement.

His breath was ragged. “You’re doing it again.”

She tilted her head. “You locked me up. Shoved me in chains. What did you think I was going to do? Forgive you?”

“I thought…” His voice wavered. “I thought you might not want to hurt me.”

“I don’t,” she said, voice still light.

Then she leaned in, her lips nearly brushing his jaw.

“But I do want to remind you who I am.”

The humming stopped.

The power dropped like a stone in the water. Haechan let out a shaky breath, blinking fast, like snapping out of a dream. The air around them shifted back to normal.

She looked at him with that same quiet, smug calm—

Then dove into the water again with a twist of her tail, a splash soaking the front of his shirt.

“Hey—!” he sputtered, standing up, blinking through the droplets.

She surfaced several feet away, floating on her back now, looking up at the sky like nothing happened.

He wiped his face and swore under his breath.

She had him completely undone… and she knew it.

Then dove back into the water with a flick of her tail — splashing him hard enough to soak his clothes.

She surfaced once more near the edge of the lagoon, floating on her back like nothing happened, humming a different, sweeter tune this time. His shirt clung to his chest. His heart still hadn’t slowed.

She was playing with him.

And it was working.

The sun had dipped low over the island, casting the oasis in golden light. Haechan sat at the edge again, still wringing seawater from his shirt after her last surprise splash.

Then he felt a sharp tug at his ankle.

Before he could react, Y/N dragged him under.

He gasped—just before the water swallowed him whole.

Everything was blue and silent beneath the surface. Haechan’s eyes opened wide, panic briefly flaring in his chest, but then he saw her — Y/N gliding through the water like a dream, or a warning. Her tail flashed like a blade. Her arms outstretched toward him, eyes glowing, hair floating like ink.

He’d never seen her like this.

Powerful. In her element.

He reached for her, clumsy and human, but she twirled away from him effortlessly, circling him with ease.

She wanted him to see.

She wanted him to know this world wasn’t his.

That it belonged to her.

Haechan lasted maybe a minute.

Then the burn in his lungs became unbearable. He kicked toward the surface, breaking through the water with a sharp gasp, air flooding back into his chest.

He floated there, panting, blinking up at the sky.

Then—ripples.

Y/N surfaced too, silent.

Only her eyes visible again — glowing just above the surface, watching him.

Haechan flinched slightly. “You look terrifying when you do that,” he muttered between breaths.

Her voice cut through the air. Clear. Cool. Confident.

“I know,” she said. “That’s the point.”

It was the first thing she’d said to him in days.

He blinked at her, water dripping down his face. “What you did earlier… with your song. That wasn’t okay.”

Y/N gave a cold little laugh, tilting her head. “Neither was kidnapping me.”

Touché.

The water lapped between them, neither moving closer. But something had shifted — their anger softened by salt and breathlessness, their stubborn pride eroded by the current.

Then, quietly, she asked, “Why is the treasure so important to you anyway?”

She floated closer now, arms crossed over a slick rock, eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You have everything you need already. A ship. A crew that respects you. Power. Freedom.”

Haechan looked away.

He wiped the water from his face and leaned back, resting his elbows on the stone behind him, throat working.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—he sighed.

“You ever want to stop running?”

Y/N blinked, thrown by the softness in his voice.

“My father was a sailor,” he said. “Honest. Poor. We lived in a shack near the docks. He used to say gold doesn’t matter unless you can rest on it. Unless it lets you stop living with one foot always ready to run.”

Y/N said nothing.

“So yeah,” Haechan muttered. “I want the treasure. I want to stop. I want to buy a patch of land so big no one can find me. Grow fruit, drink rum, sleep in. Not owe a thing to the sea. Or to anyone.”

His voice was quieter now.

“Is that so greedy?”

Y/N stared at him for a long time.

No tricks in her eyes now. No siren glow. Just… curiosity.

And maybe a hint of something softer.

“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

Haechan met her gaze.

The silence between them was different now — deeper.

Then she sank beneath the surface again, leaving only ripples.

But this time, she didn’t disappear.

She circled him once, brushed her fingers lightly along his arm underwater… then surfaced beside him, hip-to-hip, resting her chin on his shoulder with a hum.

Not a spell.

Just a sound.

Just her.

----------

Donghyuck leaned back on his elbows, sweat already glistening along his collarbones, shirt soaked from yn dragging him in earlier, watching Y/N cut through the water like sin given form. She twirled and dipped, sleek and hypnotic, her tail flashing under the surface like temptation itself.

She wasn’t just swimming.

She was performing.

And she wanted him to watch.

His cock had been hard for five minutes straight.

When she finally emerged, she didn’t say a word. Just swam to the shallows and rose — tail shifting mid-step, morphing into long, wet, bare legs. Her nipples were tight from the cool water, and her skin glistened as she sauntered toward him, dripping, powerful, devastating.

She straddled him slowly, pressing her soaked body to his fully clothed one, her heat grinding right onto his cock.

“You’re so obvious,” she whispered against his jaw. “Bringing me out here like this. Just the two of us. All alone. You wanted me loud, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck’s hands gripped her thighs, groaning under his breath. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh?” She rolled her hips, rubbing her slick pussy directly over the thick bulge in his pants. “So it’s just coincidence this place is so damn secluded? Where I can scream your name and no one will hear me?”

She ground down again — harder. “Deny it, Captain. Go on. Dare you.”

He laughed — dark and low.

“You think I brought you here for peace and quiet?” he rasped, grabbing a fistful of her ass, pulling her flush against him. “I brought you here so I could fuck you into the dirt and you wouldn’t have to hold back a single fucking sound.”

Y/N moaned, fingers already tugging his pants down, freeing his cock. She hovered over him, rubbing herself on the tip, teasing them both. “You want to hear me beg?” she whispered.

“No,” Donghyuck growled. “I want to hear you scream.”

She sank down on him in one slow, aching motion, and they both moaned — loud, unashamed.

Her head tipped back as she took every inch, hips settling in his lap. “Gods,” she gasped, rotating her hips. “You stretch me so good—”

“You were fucking made for me,” he snarled, thrusting up hard, making her cry out. “You walk around dripping, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You act like I’m the monster, but look at you—riding me in the goddamn dirt like a bitch in heat.”

Y/N braced herself on his chest, bouncing now, hair clinging to her face, breath hot and broken.

“It’s only ever been you,” she panted. “I need you.”

Donghyuck’s hands slid to her waist, watching her move like it was a vision meant for him alone. The filth of it — her slick thighs, his cock disappearing into her over and over, their mixed sounds echoing through the canyon — it drove him wild.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, eyes fluttering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not yet,” she whispered, tightening around him and riding him harder. “Not until you come inside me.”

He flipped her over without warning, slamming into her from above now, pinning her arms down.

“You want it? Then take it. But don’t you dare pretend you’re in control.”

Their bodies moved in sync — hot, sticky, brutal. They were grunting, gasping, so close to the edge it hurt.

Donghyuck found her spot again and didn’t stop, drilling into her with filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“It’s yours—fuck—it’s yours—”

Their hands locked tight.

They moaned together — raw, guttural — as they came in sync, her legs shaking, his cock pulsing deep inside her.

And when it was over, when their breathing slowed and their bodies calmed, their lips hovered.

So close.

She turned her head.

And Donghyuck pressed his face into her neck, licking the sweat from her skin like he couldn’t get enough of her taste.

But she wasn’t done.

She leaned in — so close their noses brushed — and let her fangs descend.

Donghyuck’s breath hitched, eyes darkening.

She bit his bottom lip. Not too deep — just enough. A single bead of blood welled up.

Then she licked it — slow, deliberate — her tongue dragging across his lip like a promise.

Still no kiss.

Donghyuck licked his own lips after, tasting her saliva mixed with blood groaning. 

"If I died right now I'd be the happiest man alive."

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

The sky was soft that evening back on the ship — all pink streaks and gold-dipped clouds, the sea glassy and still.

The crew was buzzing with quiet anticipation. They were close now to the treasure they had been looking for. Everyone could feel it.

Y/N stood by the railing, wind tugging at her hair as she stared at the horizon. Mark approached slowly, cautious but warm, holding two tin mugs of lukewarm tea.

"Don’t worry,” he said, offering her one. “No rum in it.”

She took it with a quiet smile.

They stood in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t feel awkward — just thoughtful.

Then she spoke, her voice low. “I’ve met a lot of bad men in my life.”

Mark glanced at her, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes on the ocean.

“Sailors. Soldiers. Hunters. Men who saw me as a prize or a monster.” She sipped her tea. “But you, Mark… you’re the most pure-hearted, kindest man I’ve ever met.”

Mark went still.

“You’re not naive,” she added quickly. “You’re good. That’s different. And I hope you never change. I hope this world doesn’t corrupt you.”

He swallowed hard. “I… thanks. That means a lot. You’re… you’re not what I expected either.”

She smiled faintly. “I know.”

Then she looked past him, toward the captain’s quarters, where Donghyuck had just stepped out, leaning against the post to watch them.

“I hope he gets everything he wanted,” Y/N said quietly, her voice dipping into something sadder, heavier. “Once he finds the treasure. I really do.”

Mark followed her gaze, then gave her a soft pat on the shoulder and left her alone.

Donghyuck didn’t say anything for a moment. Just approached, hands in his pockets, watching the sky with her.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “For kidnapping you. For everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

He gave a short laugh, dry and tired. “You’ll be free soon. And then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. But her silence was louder than any rejection.

Because neither of them looked happy about it.

Then—

“There,” she whispered, pointing to a shape in the distance. Faint, but unmistakable. An island rising out of the mist.

“That’s the one.”

Donghyuck’s breath caught.

He’d waited years for this.

But now, with her beside him, the weight in his chest was something else entirely.

He nodded once, quietly.

“Then let’s go.”

The island was quiet when they landed.

Too quiet.

Thick jungle framed the white sand beach like teeth, the air damp and heavy with the scent of moss and secrets. Birds didn't chirp. The wind didn't move.

Donghyuck stood at the head of the crew, compass in one hand, cutlass in the other. Beside him, Y/N watched the tree line with narrowed eyes, barefoot in the soft sand, her posture coiled and alert.

"This is it," she confirmed softly. "The map ends here."

The crew was already fanning out, eager and restless. The promise of gold was louder than caution.

“Spread out in twos,” Donghyuck ordered. “Follow the ravine north. Mark, stay close to me. Y/N—” He hesitated. “You lead.”

Y/N gave him a sharp glance, then nodded, stepping forward through the brush with eerie grace, tail gone, legs long and bare beneath the shirt and belts wrapped around her waist. The jungle swallowed them whole.

They walked for hours.

Past broken statues covered in vines. Cracked tiles with worn symbols. Booby traps long-dead — and some still very much alive. At one point, a pressure plate set off a spear that missed Mark’s head by inches.

“Stay sharp!” Donghyuck barked. “One wrong move and we’re all dead.”

Eventually, they reached a clearing — and the mouth of a temple.

Carved into the cliffside, ancient and crumbling, its pillars still standing, stone doors sealed shut.

It was there. It had to be.

The crew erupted into celebration — cheering, hugging, patting each other on the back.

And through it all, Y/N stood silent.

Until the noise died down and she stepped into the center of the clearing.

“This is where you should stop,” she said plainly. “You’ve made it. You can still turn back.”

The crew blinked at her.

Donghyuck frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Y/N looked around at all of them — her voice calm, but her words cutting.

“Everyone’s heard of the lost treasure of Elarion,” she said. “They know it’s real. But they never ask why it’s never been taken. Why no one’s claimed it.”

“Because they failed,” one sailor muttered.

Y/N shook her head slowly. “Because it’s cursed.”

The crew stilled.

“You’ll find it,” she said. “You’ll be happy. You’ll spend your wealth, buy ships, estates, women. You’ll drink the finest wine. Live like kings.”

“But it won’t last.”

Her eyes flicked to Donghyuck.

“Soon, you’ll feel it. That hollow pit in your chest. That ache that doesn’t go away. Because money doesn’t buy joy — and once you lose your hunger, you lose yourself. You won’t even realize it’s happening. Until one day, you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the man staring back.”

A long silence followed.

Mark looked visibly shaken.

One of the older crew members crossed himself.

Donghyuck held her gaze, jaw tight.

“That’s just a rumour,” he said finally. “A sailor’s tale. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Y/N shrugged, her tone almost playful now.

“Suit yourself, Captain.”

And then she turned and walked toward the temple steps.

They stood in front of the sealed temple doors, the stone surface carved with symbols older than any kingdom Donghyuck had ever plundered.

While the crew gathered torches and ropes behind them, Donghyuck stayed close to Y/N’s side, eyes flicking from the doors to her face.

“You really believe that curse story?” he asked under his breath.

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the stone like it was watching her back.

Donghyuck took a step closer. “If it were your treasure… what would you do with it?”

She glanced at him, expression unreadable. “Sirens don’t care about material things. We don’t even have a concept of wealth like you do. I am the sea. It’s always given me what I need.”

“So there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted?” he asked. “No dream? No secret longing?”

She was quiet again. Then, softly, she said:

“Maybe… companionship.”

That made him pause.

Y/N kept her gaze fixed on the temple, voice low and distant.

“It can be boring, you know. Lonely. Sirens sing for fun, for instinct. But it’s always the same ending. A man falls under, drowns, screams… dies. It’s hard to crave anything different when you’re built to destroy.”

Her eyes glinted. “But sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To swim beside someone. To talk. To not have to lie. To not be feared.”

Donghyuck stared at her, something cracking in his chest. But he didn’t push her.

Instead, he reached forward — and pressed his palm to the door.

It groaned, stone mechanisms shifting and grinding.

And slowly… it opened.

Inside the temple, it was dark and warm. The air was thick with age, and the walls were carved with puzzles, riddles, strange symbols they worked through as a team — matching constellations, avoiding collapsing tiles, dodging blades that swung from the walls like silent pendulums.

It felt like the treasure didn’t want to be found.

But they pressed on.

Y/N remained silent through most of it, her expression stoic, though her eyes scanned everything — calculating, remembering, guiding.

And finally, they reached the final chamber.

The deepest cavern. The end of the path.

They stepped inside— And found nothing.

Just stone.

Cold. Empty. Dusty.

The crew froze.

Whispers filled the space.

“That’s it?” “There’s nothing here?” “We were lied to.” “We’ve wasted years.”

Mark looked at Donghyuck, who stood stock-still, face unreadable.

Y/N stepped forward slowly. Her bare feet echoed softly as she moved into the center of the room.

And then— She began to sing.

Not loudly. Not like a weapon.

Soft. Sweet. Like the lull of the waves.

The walls began to hum. Vibrate. And then… glow.

Faint gold light bloomed from the far side of the cave, spreading like sunlight over the stone.

A murmur went through the crew — and suddenly, they ran, boots pounding, shouting in disbelief.

Donghyuck was the first to reach it.

And there it was.

Endless.

Gold stacked higher than any man. Coins, crowns, goblets, swords encrusted with jewels, chests spilling open with rubies and sapphires. Ancient weapons. Royal heirlooms. Riches long lost to legend.

He stepped into the gold, his boots sinking into coins, his breath catching.

He had found it.

The treasure he’d chased his whole life.

And yet… somewhere behind him, Y/N stood quietly at the entrance of the chamber, her face calm but her eyes distant — already knowing how this story ends.

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

The room erupted in chaos.

Shouts of joy echoed off the golden walls. Coins clattered, chests were pried open, and men fell to their knees laughing as they let gold pour through their fingers like water. They stuffed bags, hats, even their shirts, giddy and frenzied.

One man tried to climb a mountain of coins and slipped, disappearing in an avalanche of riches. Another hugged a jewel-encrusted helmet like it was a long-lost lover. It was madness. Beautiful, sparkling madness.

But Y/N was already turning around.

Her expression unreadable as she took one last look over her shoulder.

Donghyuck stood at the center of it all, surrounded by everything he had ever wanted.

And he wasn’t moving.

Just staring.

Eyes wide, chest still. Not reaching. Not touching.

Y/N lingered for a beat longer, watching him.

He looked like a man who had just realized he was standing in the middle of his dream… and feeling absolutely nothing.

Her heart twisted.

She wondered—just for a second—what it would’ve been like if he were a siren. Or if she had been born human. If they hadn’t started as enemies. If he hadn’t caged her. If she hadn’t tried to drown him with her song.

She wondered what could’ve been.

Mark caught her gaze and saw the softness in her expression before she turned sharply and began to walk away.

He made a move to speak to Donghyuck, but Y/N raised a single finger to her lips and shook her head.

Don’t tell him.

Mark froze, dazed. Unsure if she was using her voice to compel him or if he was simply caught in her gravity.

Either way, he nodded.

And let her go.

The air outside was cooler.

The ship looked just as she left it, bobbing gently in the shallow cove where they’d anchored. The jungle was still. The water was calm.

Y/N sat at the edge of the dock, legs in the water, waiting.

She didn’t look back.

Not even when the sound of someone running behind her broke through the trees.

“Y/N!”

Donghyuck’s voice cracked, desperate.

“Y/N!”

He stumbled out of the jungle, hair wild, chest heaving, eyes wide with panic as they landed on her.

He looked like he’d just fought through hell to find her.

And he had.

She turned her head slightly as he skidded to a stop beside her.

"You promised you'd take me back home," she said quietly.

Donghyuck nodded, so breathless, so relieved it almost hurt.

"I thought—I thought you left—"

“You were busy,” she said simply.

He didn’t reply. He just stared at her, then slowly dropped to his knees beside her like he still didn’t quite believe she was real.

Mark and the rest of the crew appeared behind them, dragging sacks of loot with greedy smiles and dazed expressions.

Mark approached and handed Donghyuck a bag.

“Figured you’d want something. You didn’t take anything.”

Donghyuck didn’t even look at it.

He just dropped the bag at his feet.

And kept staring at her.

The crew laughed, already talking about where they’d go next, what they’d buy, who they’d become.

But Donghyuck didn’t join them.

Because his treasure was already here.

And she was still deciding whether or not she’d let him keep it.

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

The water was calmer than it had been in weeks — still and deep, a silken blue stretching endlessly in every direction. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting the ship and its weary crew in a molten glow.

They had arrived.

Her waters.

Home.

Y/N stood at the edge of the deck, the wind in her hair, the salt thick in her lungs. She could feel it in her bones — the ocean humming with welcome. It had missed her.

Behind her, Donghyuck stood with his arms crossed, eyes unreadable. He hadn’t said much on the journey back. Not since they left the island. Not since she chose to sit alone, staring at the sea instead of at him.

Now he came closer, steps slow, uncertain.

“This is it,” he said softly.

Y/N didn’t look at him, just nodded. “It is.”

A beat.

Then she turned.

“I hope you’re happy, Donghyuck,” she said sincerely. “Really. You found what you were looking for. You got your gold. You completed your quest.”

He winced.

She saw it.

The way her words hit something raw.

Like they tasted bitter coming from her.

“I’m not proud of how this started,” he said. “But I am sorry. For everything.”

She nodded again, slower this time, letting the silence hang between them like mist.

Then she turned to the rest of the crew, offering them a quiet smile.

“Goodbye,” she said, and then, surprising even herself— “Thank you.”

She stepped forward and hugged Mark — arms around his shoulders, a warm squeeze. He blinked in stunned silence, then hugged her back fiercely.

The first human she had ever touched with affection.

The only one she hadn’t tried to drown.

Then she turned to Donghyuck once more.

Their eyes met.

Nothing was said.

But everything was felt.

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

Spiderman slips onto the fire escape outside Renjun's apartment, the city humming below him like a heartbeat he can't quite feel anymore. He's not here to spy—he tells himself that. He's just checking. Making sure she's safe. That's what he does now: patrols her life like a ghost, invisible and aching.

But then he hears Renjun's voice through the cracked window, and Y/N's laugh—that soft, familiar sound that used to be for him—and he can't tear himself away.

He crouches low, listening.

"So you're telling me you haven't gotten laid in, what, three months?" Renjun's voice is teasing, light. He's sprawled on his couch, a beer in hand, grinning at Y/N like they're having the most casual conversation in the world.

She's curled on the other end, legs tucked under her, a throw pillow hugged to her chest. "That's not what I said."

"That's exactly what you said. You said you're 'too wound up, stressed, can't sleep.' That's textbook horny, babe."

"Renjun!"

"What? I'm just saying." He takes a lazy sip of beer. "You're way too tense these days. You need to hook up with someone. Let off some steam."

She gasps, swatting at his leg. "I absolutely am not."

He grins, eyes glinting. "Yes you are. I can't put my finger on it, but you just seem so restless lately. Like you're crawling out of your skin."

"It's just stress over work." She pulls the pillow tighter. "Writing for the New York Chronicles is a lot of work. Deadlines, interviews, fact-checking—"

"Uh-huh. And when's the last time you got properly fucked?"

"Renjun!"

He laughs, full and unbothered. "I'm serious. Maybe some good dick will help you. Relax those shoulders, clear that head of yours. You're practically vibrating."

On the fire escape, Donghyuck's hands tighten into fists.

She's mine.

The thought crashes through him, possessive and raw. His jaw aches from clenching. He watches her through the window—her flustered expression, the way she hides her face in the pillow, the way she doesn't deny it. She's restless. He knows. He's seen her pace her apartment at 2 a.m., seen her press her thighs together in the bathtub, heard the soft, frustrated moans she thinks no one can hear.

And he knows Renjun is right. She needs release. But the idea of her finding that release in someone else—some stranger's hands, some stranger's mouth, some stranger's cock inside her—makes his stomach twist with something dark and violent.

"You're impossible," she mutters, throwing the pillow at Renjun.

He catches it easily. "And you're in denial. But okay. Keep telling yourself it's deadlines."

She stands, smoothing her shirt. "I'm leaving before you say something even more embarrassing."

"Text me if you change your mind! I know a guy—"

"Goodnight, Renjun!"

The door clicks shut. Renjun chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

Donghyuck stays frozen on the fire escape long after she's gone, her scent still lingering in the air, her laugh still ringing in his ears.

He knows what he has to do.

He has to reintroduce himself. Casually, carefully. Slide back into her life before she finds someone else to release those frustrations on. Before some other man touches what's his.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he watches her walk home from a rooftop three blocks away, her silhouette moving under the amber streetlights. He watches her pause at her door, glance over her shoulder like she feels something watching her. She hugs herself, shivers, and disappears inside.

Soon, he tells himself, pressing a hand over his chest where his heart used to belong to her. Soon I'll make you remember. Or I'll make you want me again.

But for now, he waits.

Donghyuck stands outside the coffee shop, his reflection staring back at him from the glass door. He checks his hair three times—runs his fingers through it, smooths the front, tucks a stray strand behind his ear. The black shirt hugs his shoulders just right, and the glasses frame his face in a way that used to make Y/N bite her lip and look at him twice.

She loved these glasses, he thinks, adjusting them once more. She used to say I looked like a secret librarian. A hot one.

He takes a breath, pushes the door open, and walks in with a confidence he's been practicing for weeks.

The bell above the door chimes. Y/N looks up from the counter where she's been scribbling in a notebook—probably working on another article for the New York Chronicles. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She's wearing a simple apron over a cream sweater, and when she sees him, she smiles.

It's polite. Professional. The same smile she gives every customer working at her parent's cafe.

But it's still her smile, and his heart stumbles.

"Hi," she says, setting down her pen. "What can I get started for you?"

He steps up to the counter, leaning an elbow on the polished wood. "Hey. I'll take an iced americano and a chocolate donut."

She nods, writing it down. "Anything else?"

"No, thanks. That's perfect."

She turns to prepare the coffee, and he watches her movements—efficient, practiced. The way she scoops ice, pours the espresso, reaches for the donut with a tissue. When she turns back and hands him the cup, their fingers brush.

It's barely a second. Just a whisper of contact.

But she pauses, her eyes lifting to his face. A flicker of something—recognition? Curiosity?—passes through her gaze before she blinks it away.

"Here you go," she says softly.

He takes the cup, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks."

She smiles again, a little different this time—warmer, a hint of confusion. Then she turns back to the sink where a few dishes are waiting, rolling up her sleeves.

Donghyuck takes a seat by the window, sipping his americano, watching her from behind his glasses. She's humming softly, something he doesn't recognize. From the back room, he hears Renjun's voice, humming some pop song, the clatter of boxes being moved.

Over the next few weeks, he becomes a regular.

He comes in every other day, sometimes every day. Always orders the same thing—iced americano, chocolate donut. Sometimes he grabs a table and pretends to work on his laptop, but really he's watching her. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she bites her lip while reading. The way she laughs at something Renjun says, bright and easy.

Their interactions are casual. Limited.

"Morning Haechan." That's the name he gives her, for now at least.

"The usual?" She asks.

"You know it."

A smile. A quick exchange. Then she's busy, and he's left with the ghost of her attention.

It's not enough.

So one afternoon, when the shop is empty and Renjun is in the back, he makes his move.

He walks up to the counter, coffee in hand, and as he reaches to pay, he lets his wrist go slack. The cup tips. The lid pops off. Brown liquid splashes across the floor, a puddle spreading near his feet.

"Shit," he mutters, a little too loud.

Y/N spins around from the espresso machine. "Oh no! Don't worry, I'll get it—"

She grabs a roll of paper towels from under the counter and moves to crouch down, but he's already there. He takes the roll from her hands, his fingers closing over hers for a brief, deliberate second.

"It was my fault," he says, meeting her eyes. "Don't worry about it."

"Really, I can—"

"Nope. I got it." He kneels, wiping up the mess quickly, ignoring her protests. "You have enough to do. Let me take care of this."

She stands there, hands on her hips, watching him clean up her floor with an expression caught between amused and impressed.

"You're not going to let me help, are you?" she asks.

"Nope." He finishes, tosses the wet paper towels in the trash, and straightens up. "See? All good."

She shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're stubborn."

"I prefer determined."

"A determined mess-maker."

He laughs—a real laugh, not the careful one he's been using. 

They stand there, the air between them easier now, the tension cracked open. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms, studying him with fresh eyes.

"You come here a lot," she says.

"I do. Good coffee. Good donuts." He pauses, letting his voice drop just a fraction. "Good company."

Her cheeks flush. She looks down, then back up, a spark in her gaze. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Born and raised. Just... been away for a while."

"Ah. A returning native."

"Something like that."

She tilts her head. "What do you do, Haechan? Besides cleaning up your own messes?"

"I'm a freelance photographer. I take pictures of the city, the people. Try to capture moments that don't last."

Her eyes light up. "That sounds beautiful."

"It has its moments." He holds her gaze. "Maybe I could show you sometime. If you're interested."

The offer hangs in the air, soft and deliberate. She bites her lower lip, considering, and he feels his pulse quicken.

"I'd like that," she says quietly.

A bell rings from the back—Renjun calling something about a shipment. The moment breaks, but it doesn't shatter. It settles into something warm, something potential.

"I should let you get back to work," Donghyuck says, stepping back. "But I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?"

"Same time," she confirms, her smile lingering.

He walks out of the coffee shop, heart hammering, a grin threatening to break across his face. He doesn't look back, but he doesn't need to.

He knows he has her attention now.

Renjun slides up beside Y/N the moment the door swings shut behind Donghyuck. He nudges her shoulder with his, a knowing grin already spreading across his face.

"Okay, so that guy? Exactly your type."

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she can feel the heat creeping up her neck. "Haechan?"

"Obviously Haechan." Renjun leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Like, I get it. He's attractive in that nonchalant way. The whole I just rolled out of bed but I'm still hotter than you vibe. And that confidence? It's practically dripping off him." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Makes you horny, doesn't it?"

"Renjun!" She smacks his shoulder, but she's laughing. "Shut up. He's just a nice guy."

"A nice guy who you've been staring at for three weeks straight."

"I have not—"

"You literally watched him walk to the door just now. Like a sad puppy."

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because he's right. She did watch him. She always watches him.

Renjun groans, shaking his head with mock exasperation. "When you two finally hook up, I'm going to be right there to say I told you so."

"He's just a customer, Injun."

"Mhmm. Sure." He pats her shoulder and heads toward the back room, already humming again, leaving her standing there with her thoughts.

She bites her lip.

He's just a customer, she tells herself. But her mind drifts anyway, unbidden.

His voice—low and warm, with a teasing edge that makes her stomach flip. The way he carries himself, relaxed but aware, like he knows exactly what he's doing at all times. His baggy clothes, the way they hang off his frame, hiding and revealing at the same time. The silver rings on his fingers. That little smirk he gives her sometimes, like he's in on a joke she hasn't heard yet.

Her exes were... fine. Nice. Respectful. Boring.

They held doors open and said please and thank you. They kissed her forehead and asked if she was comfortable. They never made her pulse race. They never made her wonder what it would feel like to be pushed against a wall and taken.

Haechan does.

He gives her mystery. Maybe even a little danger. The way he looks at her sometimes, like he's holding something back—something intense.

She shakes her head, physically trying to dislodge the thought. Crazy. You don't even know him.

But the thought lingers, hot and stubborn, all the way through the rest of her shift. It follows her home, past the subway, up the stairs to her apartment. It settles in her bones the moment she closes her door.

---

She's restless.

The apartment is quiet, dark except for the lamp by her bed. She changes into a tank top and shorts, lies down, tosses, turns. Her body feels tight—a coil wound too tight, needing release.

She gives in.

From the nightstand drawer, she pulls out her vibrator—a sleek pink thing she's had for years. She lies back, spreads her legs, and lets the hum of the motor fill the silence.

Her mind drifts to him.

To Haechan. To his hands. Those rings. What they'd feel like gripping her thighs. His voice, low in her ear, telling her exactly what he's going to do to her.

She presses the vibrator harder against her clit, her breath hitching. She thinks about his smirk, his confidence, the way he holds her gaze a second too long. She chases the image, lets it build—

And then she comes.

A sharp, quick release. A gasp. The tension snaps, but it doesn't dissolve. It just... scatters. Falls apart unsatisfyingly.

She sighs, letting the vibrator drop onto the mattress. Her body feels hollow. Empty. Like the orgasm barely scratched the surface of what she actually needs.

"Fuck," she whispers to the ceiling.

She lies there, staring at the dark, her skin still buzzing with unresolved heat. She wants more. She wants him. But he's a stranger. A customer. Nothing.

She rolls onto her side, pulls the blanket up, and tries to sleep.

---

Outside her window, perched on a fire escape three buildings over, Donghyuck watches the dark shape of her bedroom through the gap in her curtains.

He didn't look. Not directly. He swung toward her building on instinct, drawn by the familiar pull of her presence, and he landed on the adjacent rooftop just in time to hear it.

The buzz of the vibrator. Her soft, breathy moans.

His name. She whispered his name—Haechan—on a desperate exhale.

And then the sigh. That disappointed, hollow sigh at the end.

He heard it all.

His fingers curl into a fist against the brick wall beside him. A smirk spreads across his face, slow and predatory, mixing with the ache in his chest.

You're not satisfied, are you, baby?

He knows the feeling. He's been unsatisfied too—in a different way. Hungry for her touch, her voice, her warmth. But that hunger is about to be fed.

He pushes off the ledge, letting the night air rush past him as he swings into the darkness.

Soon. I'll take my rightful place soon.

Below him, the city blurs. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance. Another night of crime waits for him—thugs to stop, civilians to save. The usual.

But tonight, for the first time in weeks, he feels something close to hope.

It starts slowly.

A whisper of warmth against her skin. The weight of a body behind her, pressed close, solid and familiar. She can't see his face, but she knows him—or rather, her body knows him. Her back arches into his chest instinctively, seeking more contact.

His hands. God, his hands. Calloused palms sliding up her thighs, fingers digging into her hips with just enough pressure to bruise. She feels the cool bite of metal rings against her overheated skin. A low chuckle rumbles against her ear.

"You've been so good for me, baby. But I'm gonna take what's mine now."

She opens her mouth to respond, but he's already rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, positioning her on her knees. The sheets are soft beneath her palms. She can feel his cock—thick, hard, pressing against her soaked entrance—and she whimpers, pushing back against him.

"Please," she breathes. "Please, I need—"

He cuts her off with a sharp thrust. He slams into her to the hilt, and she screams, her body clenching around him immediately. He doesn't stop. He fucks her like he owns her, like he's been waiting for this, each stroke deep and punishing, hitting a spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids.

"That's it. Take it. Take all of it."

His voice is low, rough, almost unrecognizable through the fog of lust. She can't think. She can only feel—the stretch, the burn, the relentless pounding. He wraps a hand around her throat, not choking, just holding, tilting her head back so he can whisper directly into her ear.

"You missed me, didn't you? Your tight little pussy missed me. Say it."

"I—yes—fuck—I missed you—"

He groans, a sound so raw it vibrates through her bones. His pace quickens, his grip on her hip bruising. She feels the coil building, tighter and tighter, her moans turning into desperate sobs—

And then she wakes up.

---

Gasping.

Y/N bolts upright in bed, her tank top soaked with sweat, her thighs sticky with arousal. The sheets are twisted around her legs. Her pussy is throbbing, clenching around nothing, so empty it almost hurts.

She blinks at the ceiling, panting.

What the fuck was that?

The dream is already fading, slipping through her fingers like water. She remembers heat. A deep voice. Being pinned down and fucked senseless. But the face—she can't remember the face. Just a blur of dark hair, broad shoulders, a cruel smirk.

She presses her palm against her cunt, gasping at the sensitivity. She's soaked. Her thighs are slick. Her hole flutters, desperate to be filled.

"Fucking hell," she mutters, flopping back onto the pillows.

It's been like this for almost a week now. Every night, another dream. Some nights she's on her knees, sucking a thick cock while a hand tangles in her hair. Some nights she's tied to a bed, spread open, being fucked so slowly she can feel every inch drag against her walls. Some nights it's just a voice—a low, possessive voice—calling her filthy, desperate, mine.

She always wakes up the same way: wet, aching, unsatisfied.

She reaches for her vibrator on the nightstand, but even as she presses it against her clit, she knows it won't be enough. It never is anymore. She comes—hard, fast, grinding into the plastic—but the release is hollow. An echo of what her body actually craves.

She doesn't know what that is.

Her exes were boring. They never made her feel claimed. They never made her scream.

But her body wants something more, something she's never experienced. Or so she thinks.

She sighs, tossing the vibrator aside. Her cunt still throbs, still clenches, still weeps for something she can't name.

Why does this feel like grief?

---

Across the city, perched on a water tower overlooking her block, Donghyuck watches the distant glow of her window with a dark, hungry expression.

He knows.

He's been watching her sleep through the gap in her curtains. He's heard her moans, her whimpers, the desperate sounds she makes when she's lost in a dream he put there—not consciously, but through the lingering threads of the spell that binds them. She can't remember him, but her body can. Her body is a traitor, whispering his name in the language of her muscles, her slick, her trembling thighs.

He clenches his fists, his cock hardening painfully in his suit.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath.

I'll give you what you're craving soon.

He pushes off the water tower, swinging into the night, leaving his mark on the rooftops like a promise.

But he doesn't go far. He lands on the fire escape just outside her window—close enough to hear her frustrated sigh, the rustle of sheets as she rolls over, the quiet, desperate whisper she thinks no one hears:

"What do I need? What's wrong with me?"

He presses a hand to the glass, his rings glinting in the moonlight.

Nothing's wrong with you, love. You just need me.

The morning rush at the coffee shop had been mercifully slow, leaving Y/N and Renjun with nothing better to do than wipe down the already-clean countertops in a lazy, synchronized rhythm. The TV mounted in the corner murmured in the background—some local news broadcast about a bank robbery in Midtown. The anchor's voice was tinny, almost an afterthought.

"...and witnesses report that Spider-Man intervened just moments after the robbers entered. No casualties reported. The web-slinger made a quick escape as usual—"

Y/N didn't look up. Neither did Renjun. It was New York. Spider-Man stopping a robbery was as routine as a subway delay. They'd both heard the name so many times it barely registered anymore—a ghost in red and blue, flickering across screens, saving lives, disappearing.

Renjun hummed a tune under his breath, rubbing a smudge off the granite with his thumb. Y/N's mind was elsewhere. Still half-lost in the hazy aftertaste of another dream from last night—the echo of a deep voice, the phantom weight of hands on her hips, the ache between her legs that hadn't fully faded even after she'd come twice this morning.

She bit her lip, grip tightening on the rag.

Focus. Work. Coffee. Normal stuff.

The little bell above the door jingled.

She looked up.

And there he was.

Haechan stepped inside, and she felt the air shift. He was breathing hard, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso like a second skin, dark patches of sweat spreading across his chest and under his arms. His hair was damp, plastered to his forehead in messy waves, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened over his neck and collarbones.

He looked exhausted. But also... good. Really good.

"Hey," Y/N said, her voice coming out a little too breathy. She cleared her throat. "You okay?"

He offered a tired smile, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Just tired. Killed it at the gym today." He let out a huff of laughter, rolling one shoulder like it ached. "Didn't realize I pushed myself that hard."

She nodded, already moving to make his usual ice americano. Her body went through the motions automatically while her eyes trailed down his frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the tanned skin. The sweat highlighted every contour—the arch of his biceps, the column of his throat, the way his chest rose and fell with each controlled breath.

Shit. She felt heat creep up her cheeks.

Her gaze dropped lower, catching a glint of silver at his wrist. A bracelet—woven black cord with a small metallic charm, a roughly shaped star. It looked handmade, well-worn, the edges smooth like it had been touched a thousand times.

She slid the cup across the counter toward him. "That's pretty," she said, nodding at the bracelet.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. A flash of emotion too fast to name—hope? Pain? He opened his mouth, and she could've sworn she saw him about to say something, his throat bobbing with a swallow.

Do you remember that you gave this to me?

But the words didn't come. He just watched her as she pulled away from the counter, already turning back to the rag in her hand.

Of course she didn't remember.

"Thanks," she said over her shoulder, already distracted, moving toward the back to restock napkins.

Donghyuck stared at the bracelet on his wrist. The star charm. She'd made it for him on their six-month anniversary, clumsily braiding the cord while sitting cross-legged on his bed, laughing about how she'd never made jewelry before. "So you don't forget me," she'd said, pressing it into his palm. "Wear it even when you're being Spider-Man. I want to be with you, always."

He clenched his jaw, forcing the ache down his throat.

She doesn't remember. Of course she doesn't. You knew that.

Renjun slid off his stool and walked over, holding out a napkin. "Hey," he said, his voice soft but pointed. "Your forehead's bleeding a bit."

Donghyuck blinked, reaching up. His fingers came away with a smear of red. Shit. Must've caught a stray piece of debris during the takedown. He'd been too focused on getting there fast—on changing out of the suit in that alley, on making it to the shop before she closed—that he hadn't bothered to check for damage.

"Ah, that." He took the napkin with a casual shrug, pressing it to the cut. "Tripped on the way here. Almost ate pavement. Stupid, I know."

Renjun's eyes lingered on him a moment too long, a quiet skepticism behind his gentle gaze. He didn't say anything, but Donghyuck could feel the weight of his unspoken question.

That's a weird place to trip. And you're too banged up for just a fall. And you showed up right after Spider-Man was seen.

But Renjun just nodded, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "Be careful," he said simply, and walked back to the counter.

Donghyuck exhaled slowly, pressing the napkin harder against his temple. He watched Y/N move behind the counter, her hair tied in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She was beautiful. She was his. And she didn't even know it.

He took a long sip of the coffee she'd made him, letting the bitterness ground him.

He smiled against the rim of the cup, eyes fixed on the curve of her back as she bent down to grab more cups from the low shelf.

The bracelet gleamed on his wrist like a promise.

The morning air in Manhattan carried the usual cocktail of exhaust fumes, pretzel cart steam, and distant sirens. Y/N walked with her messenger bag slung across her body, earbuds in, a playlist of lo-fi beats keeping her grounded. The New York Chronicle skyscraper loomed ahead, all glass and steel, reflecting the pale winter sun. She was running a little early today, which meant she could grab a decent coffee from the lobby cart before heading up to her desk.

She was two blocks away when the screaming started.

At first, it was distant—a ripple through the crowd ahead. Then it grew, a wave of panic rolling toward her. People began sprinting in her direction, faces twisted with fear, elbows knocking pamphlets and coffee cups out of the way. A woman clutching a toddler nearly collided with her.

"What—" Y/N pulled out her earbuds, heart lurching. "What's happening?"

No one stopped to answer. The tide of bodies pushed past her, and she stumbled sideways, grabbing a lamppost to steady herself. Then she saw it: a column of smoke rising from the base of the Chronicle building. Orange flames licked at a collapsed awning. Glass littered the street like crushed diamonds.

Oh god. That's the lobby.

Her feet started moving before her brain caught up. She had to get in there. Had to see if her coworkers—her editor, the layout team, Maria from HR who always gave her extra granola bars—were okay. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.

"HEY!"

A blur of red and blue dropped from above, landing in front of her with a soft thud that cracked the asphalt. She yelped, skidding to a halt. 

Spider-Man. 

His lenses narrowed, body angled like he was about to grab her.

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice was modulated, sharp with urgency. "There's a gas leak—could blow again any second. Get back."

"I have to see if the people in that building are okay!" She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her, a wall of spandex and muscle.

"I'll check. You stay here." He pointed a gloved finger at the sidewalk behind her. "Don't move."

She barely registered that she'd just been ordered around by a superhero. Her heart was hammering. The smoke stung her nostrils. "I'm not just going to—"

He was already turning, preparing to leap. She took a step forward, following him.

A sharp thwip sliced through the air.

Something snapped around her right wrist—a rope of white webbing, sticky and warm, yanking her arm sideways. She stumbled, grunting, and found herself anchored to the handle of a police cruiser parked at the curb. The web held fast, elastic but unyielding.

"What the hell?!" She yanked at her wrist, but the webbing stretched and held. "Are you serious right now?!"

Spider-Man paused, tilting his head. She could almost hear the smirk behind the mask. "Nope. Wait here. I'll free you after I'm sure it's safe."

And then he was gone, a red streak disappearing into the smoke-filled doorway.

Y/N stood there, arm stretched awkwardly toward the cop car, jaw hanging open. People were still running past her, but the immediate panic was thinning. She looked at her wrist, at the white strands wrapped snugly around it, and felt a jolt—not of anger, but of something else.

The texture. The pressure. The slight give when she pulled.

Her breath caught.

She was in her bedroom. The lights were dim. Her wrist was bound to the bedpost with...not a rope...not a scarf...something else entirely. Her arms stretched above her head and a dark figure hovered over her. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his weight, his heat, the deep rumble of his voice against her ear.

"Stay still, baby. I'm not done with you yet."

The memory dissolved as quickly as it came, leaving her gasping on the sidewalk, knees weak.

What the fuck?

She shook her head violently, pressing her free hand to her flushed cheek. "I'm starting to feel like a fucking sex addict," she muttered under her breath. Of all the things to think about right now—tied to a car by Spider-Man—her brain was conjuring erotic flashbacks? With...Spider-Man? For all she knew, the guy was a forty-year-old accountant underneath that suit. He could be balding. 

But he didn't move like a forty-year-old. And his voice, even through the modulator, had a certain quality—young, confident, teasing.

She shook her head again, harder. Stop it. Focus. The building.

A few minutes passed. The fire trucks arrived. EMTs started setting up a triage zone. Y/N strained her neck, trying to see if anyone was being carried out. She pulled at the web again, frustrated, but it held true.

Then Spider-Man emerged from the smoke, walking casually now, hands on his hips. He jogged over to her.

"Building's clear. No casualties. Gas leak was contained before it got worse. Minor injuries, but everyone's out." He reached for the web on her wrist and gave it a sharp tug setting her free.

She rubbed her wrist, red and slightly raw. "That wasn't cool. You could have just asked me to stay."

"I did. You didn't listen." He shrugged, the motion exaggerated by the suit's padding. "You should be more careful. People get hurt when they run toward explosions."

"I work there." She glared at him. "I was worried about my friends."

He was quiet for a second, his head tilted. She could feel his gaze through the white lenses, studying her. There was something familiar about the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders.

Then he straightened. "Bye."

And with a single leap, he was gone, swinging between buildings, disappearing into the Manhattan skyline before she could even respond.

Y/N stood there, mouth half-open, hand still rubbing her wrist. The phantom sensation of the web lingered—soft, taut, possessive. Her skin tingled where it had been wrapped.

Why does that feel like a memory I can't reach?

She stared up at the empty sky, the smoke still curling into the gray clouds.

And for some reason, her thighs pressed together.

Get a grip, Y/N. He's a stranger in a mask.

But her body didn't believe that. Not for a second.

The evening air did nothing to cool the heat lingering beneath Y/N's skin. After the chaos at the Chronicle building, after being webbed to a police car like some disobedient puppy, after the shredded remains of her dignity scattered across Sixth Avenue—she'd gone through the motions. Talked to her editor. Confirmed everyone was safe. Filed a preliminary report on the gas leak. Smiled at Maria's thanks.

But all the way home, her wrist tingled. The ghost of that webbing refused to fade.

Now she stood in her apartment, shoes kicked off, coat thrown over the armchair. The city lights bled through her window, painting amber stripes across her wooden floor. She should shower. Eat something. Answer the three texts Renjun had sent asking if she was okay.

Instead, she grabbed her laptop and collapsed onto her bed, flipping it open.

YouTube.

Her fingers moved before she could talk herself out of it. She typed in the search bar: Spider-Man New York 2024.

The results flooded the screen. News clips. Fan edits. Compilations titled "Spider-Man's Top 10 Saves" and "Spider-Man Being a Menace for 12 Minutes Straight." She clicked the first one—a news report from two months ago, shaky cell phone footage of Spider-Man webbing a falling construction beam before it crushed a bus.

She watched it twice. Then a third time.

The comments section was a battlefield.

"whoever is under that suit is DEFINITELY packing i'm not taking questions"

"imagine getting railed by spider-man... the grip?? the stamina???"

"he literally fights crime every night and still has time to help old ladies cross the street... husband material"

"plot twist: he's actually a 50 year old dude with a beer belly and we're all just simping for spandex"

"even if he is 50 i'd still let him web me to the bed 🥴"

Y/N snorted despite herself, scrolling deeper. The thirst was real, embarrassingly real. These women were out there, posting paragraphs about what they'd let Spider-Man do to them. What they'd do to him. She felt a pang of something—not judgment, because who was she to judge—but recognition.

She'd felt that web around her wrist. She'd felt the possessiveness in that single thwip.

And God help her, she wanted to feel it again.

She clicked on another video. This one was different—a street interview, low-budget, filmed by someone's phone. The camera focused on Spider-Man, standing casually beside a hot dog cart, and standing next to him was a little boy—maybe eight years old, holding a notebook.

The interviewer says, "We've got a special guest today—this is Liam, and he wanted to ask Spider-Man a few questions."

Spider-Man crouched down to the boy's level. His lenses softened, tilted—the body language of someone genuinely engaged. He reached out and patted the kid's head, a casual, affectionate gesture.

"Go ahead, Liam. I'm all ears."

And he laughed—a low, warm chuckle that cut through the modulator like a blade through silk.

Y/N's breath hitched.

That laugh. She knew that laugh. It tickled something deep in her chest, a phantom sensation, like a voice calling from underwater. Her fingers tightened on the laptop. She replayed it. Once. Twice. Three times.

"I'm all ears."

The way he said it—teasing, gentle, familiar.

She shook her head, hard. You're projecting. Every guy laughs. It's not him. You don't even know who "him" is.

But her skin was prickling. Her thighs pressed together under the laptop.

She kept scrolling.

There was a Reddit link. r/SpiderManFantasies (NSFW). Her thumb hovered over it for a full ten seconds before she clicked.

The forum was a treasure trove of desperation. Women (and some men) posting photos they'd taken of Spider-Man mid-swing, or perched on a rooftop, or standing in the middle of a street after a rescue. The photos weren't explicit—they couldn't be, he was fully suited—but the captions were anything but.

"If I ever meet him I'm dropping to my knees immediately. That suit does NOT hide what he's working with."

"Imagine him pinning you down after a fight, all that adrenaline still pumping... you'd feel the bass in his chest."

"I don't even care what he looks like. I just want one night. ONE. NIGHT. With whoever is under that mask."

One post showed a blurry shot of Spider-Man crouched on a fire escape, his legs spread, the suit stretching taut across his thighs. The caption read: "I want to sit on his face and never get up."

Y/N closed the laptop so fast the screen clicked shut.

Her heart was hammering. Her cheeks burned. She pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning.

"I'm not above this," she whispered to the empty room. "I'm so far below this it's embarrassing."

She threw the laptop aside and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The city hummed outside—distant sirens, a neighbor's TV, the low bass of a car passing by. Her skin felt too tight. Her cunt ached, a dull, persistent throb that had been living in her bones for weeks now.

The clock on her nightstand read 11:47 PM when Y/N finally collapsed onto her bed, still wearing her jeans and a thin camisole. 

Sleep came heavy and reluctant.

---

She woke with a gasp, thighs pressed together, a dull throb between her legs.

The clock read 2:47 AM.

Her skin was damp with sweat. Her nipples were hard, rubbing against the cotton of her shirt. She'd been dreaming again—fragments of a body above her, weight pressing her into the mattress, a warm mouth trailing down her stomach. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his hands. Strong, calloused, knowing exactly where to touch.

"I've got you, baby. I've always got you."

She threw an arm over her eyes, breathing hard. She was wet, aching, clenching around nothing. She slid a hand down her belly, into her underwear, her fingers finding her clit swollen and desperate.

She rubbed herself slowly, trying to chase a release that never came. She imagined the web wrapped around her wrist again. Spider-Man's lenses staring down at her. The low laugh from the video.

"Fuck," she whimpered, fingers moving faster. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. She could feel a shape just out of reach.

Her body remembered. Her mind didn't.

She pressed her palm harder, hips bucking, but the orgasm hovered like a mirage, untouchable. She let out a frustrated sob, pulling her hand away, her chest heaving.

Outside, on the fire escape, a shadow shifted.

Donghyuck pressed his back against the brick wall, his own breathing uneven. He'd heard her whimper through the glass. Heard the wet sound of her fingers working. The whine of her frustration when she couldn't finish.

His cock was hard, straining against the suit. He'd come here to check on her after the explosion—to make sure she was safe, to watch her sleep like he did most nights. He hadn't expected this.

But he couldn't leave. Not while she was aching.

Not when he was the only one who could fix it.

He pressed a palm against the cold glass of her window, the mask hiding the anguish on his face. Soon, he told himself. Soon I'll find a way.

But for now, he just listened to her breathe, and hated the spell that kept them apart.

The knock that rattled Renjun's door at 11 PM was frantic—three sharp, pounding hits, then a pause, then another. He barely had time to unlatch the lock before Y/N pushed past him into his apartment, her eyes wild, her hair a mess, her chest heaving like she'd run the whole way.

"Okay," she said, hands on her hips, pacing his narrow living room. "You were right. You were fucking right."

Renjun closed the door slowly, crossing his arms. He was in sweatpants and an old band tee, clearly winding down for the night. "Right about what, exactly? Because I'm right about a lot of things."

She whirled on him, jaw tight. "The sex thing. The needing-to-get-laid thing. The I'm crawling out of my skin thing." She raked her fingers through her hair, tugging at the roots. "It's not just being horny, Renjun. It's like—" She stopped, struggling for words. "It's like my body is craving something specific. A specific touch. A specific rhythm. A specific person. But I don't know who or what. I don't remember. I just feel this ache that nothing fills."

Renjun's teasing demeanor softened. He gestured to the couch, and she collapsed onto it, head in her hands.

He sat beside her, voice careful. "An ex? Someone you dated before? Maybe your brain locked away a breakup that hit you harder than you think."

She looked up, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "No. It's not an ex. I don't have any traumatic breakup memory. It's—" She groaned, frustrated. "I don't know. It feels like a ghost. A phantom limb."

Renjun was quiet for a moment. Then he said, slowly, "Maybe you don't need to find that specific person. Maybe you just need to try someone new."

She blinked at him. The idea hung in the air, fresh and foreign.

"Someone new," she repeated, tasting the words.

"Someone who doesn't come with baggage or memories. Someone who can just—" He made a vague gesture. "Fuck you into forgetting whatever's haunting you. A clean slate. A hot body. A night of no strings."

She stared at him. Then, slowly, a nod. "Maybe you're right."

His grin spread wide. "I am right. And I know exactly how to start." He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. "There's that new nightclub in midtown. Opened last week. 'Velvet Underground.' It's got black lights, VIP booths, and supposedly a very attractive bartender who does body shots. I've been dying to go."

"A club," she said flatly.

"A club where you can find a guy—or girl, no judgment—who will take you home and fuck you until you forget your own name. That kind of club."

She chewed her lip. The idea terrified her. Thrilled her. She thought of her empty bed, the wet sheets, the incomplete orgasms. She thought of the phantom hands in her dreams.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Let's do it."

Renjun clapped his hands together. "Yes. I'll text you the details. Wear something slutty. I'm talking a dress that says 'I'm here to get railed.'"

She laughed—a real laugh, shaky but genuine. "You're such a bad influence."

"Someone has to be."

They spent the next hour planning. What time to arrive. Which drinks to order. An exit strategy if the guy was a creep. Y/N felt lighter than she had in weeks, a fragile hope blooming in her chest.

---

Outside, pressed against the brick wall of the adjacent building, a figure in red and blue watched through the sliver of curtain left uncovered.

Donghyuck's hands curled into fists.

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Someone new.

The words echoed in his skull, each syllable a knife twist. She was going to let some stranger touch her. Some random guy from a club. He'd put his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat...

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, muffled by the mask.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

He pushed off the wall, landing silently on the fire escape below. His mind raced. He couldn't stop her—not directly. He couldn't reveal himself, couldn't break the spell. But he could intercept. He could follow. He could make sure that no one—no one—got close enough to touch what was his.

Even if she didn't remember it.

He swung into the night, a plan already forming. The club. He'd be there. Not as Spider-Man—too obvious. He'd ditch the suit, put on something tight, something that would make her look. He'd find her on the dance floor, buy her a drink, let the night unfold.

The hunt was on.

The strapless bodycon dress was a weapon, and Y/N knew it.

Black velvet hugged every curve from her collarbone to mid-thigh, the hem riding up just enough to make men's eyes glaze over. She'd paired it with strappy heels that made her legs look miles long and a thin silver necklace that caught the light. Her hair fell in loose waves, makeup smoky and deliberate.

Renjun let out a low whistle when she stepped out of her bedroom. "Holy shit."

"Too much?" She tugged at the neckline nervously.

"Not enough. You're going to break necks tonight. Possibly some hearts too, but who's counting." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it, laughing. "Let's get me laid."

---

The Velvet Underground lived up to its name. The interior was all dark burgundy and dim gold lighting, with a massive dance floor pulsing under black lights that made white fabrics glow. Bodies moved together in a haze of sweat and bass, the air thick with perfume and alcohol.

They claimed a spot at the bar, and Renjun ordered them both shots of tequila. "Warm-up," he shouted over the music.

Y/N downed hers, grimacing at the burn. A second followed. Then a third.

By the fourth, the edges of her anxiety had blurred into a pleasant haze. The bass thrummed through her bones, and she found herself swaying, scanning the crowd. Potential candidates everywhere—sharp jawlines, broad shoulders, confident grins.

None of them made her stomach flip.

But then the door opened.

And he walked in.

Donghyuck had planned this.

Tight black jeans that hugged his thighs and sat low on his hips. A simple white T-shirt, thin enough that the outline of his chest was visible when he moved. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms. He'd styled his hair messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and he wore that lazy half-smirk that had always made her knees weak.

Her favorite outfit.

He remembered the first time she'd seen him in it. They'd been dating for a few weeks, and he'd shown up at her door looking like this. She'd pulled him inside by his collar, pinned him against the wall, and kissed him so deep he'd seen stars. Her hands had tangled in his hair, pulling, while the other roamed down his stomach to palm him through the denim. She'd broken the kiss just to whisper against his lips, "You look so good it should be illegal. I want to ruin you."

And she had. For hours.

He carried that memory in his bones as he pushed open the club door, scanning the crowd with practiced casualness. His eyes landed on the bar.

There she was.

Strapless black dress. Hair loose. Cheeks flushed from alcohol. She was even more beautiful than he remembered—which was saying something, because he remembered every detail.

He pretended not to see her at first. Ordered a drink. Leaned against the bar, letting the black lights catch the contours of his arms.

Then Renjun spotted him.

"Hey! Hyuck!"

Donghyuck turned, feigning surprise. His eyes landed on Y/N, and he let them widen slightly—just enough. "Oh. Hey. Didn't expect to see you guys here."

Y/N's breath caught. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. "Hi."

Just that. Hi. But the word came out breathy, almost involuntary.

Renjun gestured him over. "Come join us. We're just warming up. Y/N's on a mission tonight."

"A mission?" Donghyuck raised an eyebrow, sliding onto the stool beside her. Close enough that his knee brushed hers under the bar. "Sounds intriguing."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words came out slurred. "M'sion... find someone... hot..."

Renjun sighed. "I think the tequila hit faster than expected."

Donghyuck smiled knowingly. She always did get tipsy fast. Three drinks and she'd be clinging to him, whispering dirty things in his ear. Four and she'd be begging to go home. Five and she'd be asleep before they hit the door.

"I can help you get her home," he offered, voice steady. "If you want."

Renjun looked relieved. "God, yes. I was not looking forward to carrying her six blocks in those heels."

They helped her off the stool. Her legs wobbled, and she stumbled forward—

Right into Donghyuck's arms.

Her palms landed flat on his chest. Her head tipped up, eyes glassy and unfocused. She blinked at him, a dopey smile spreading across her face. "Wow. You're... strong."

His hands caught her waist, steadying her. The velvet of her dress was soft under his fingers, her skin warm beneath the fabric. He could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse.

He lowered his voice, letting it dip into that husky register she'd always loved. "Oh yea?"

She nodded, earnest and drunk. "Mmhm. Like... hero strong."

If only you knew.

Renjun was already heading for the door, waving them along. Donghyuck kept one arm around Y/N's waist, guiding her out into the cool night air. The city hummed around them, taxis honking, distant sirens, the buzz of neon signs.

The walk to her apartment was slow. She kept tripping on cracks, leaning into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. At one point she looked up at him, squinting.

"You smell... familiar."

His chest tightened. "Good familiar or bad familiar?"

"Good." She nuzzled into his shoulder. "Really good."

Renjun shot him a look—half curious, half amused. Donghyuck just shrugged, playing it casual, though his heart was hammering.

They reached her building. Renjun held the door while Donghyuck helped her up the stairs. At her apartment door, she fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them twice.

When she finally got it open, she turned around, throwing her arms around both of them in a messy group hug.

"Thank you," she mumbled into Renjun's shoulder. "You're the best."

She pulled back, swaying slightly, and turned to Donghyuck.

Her eyes met his.

The air between them thickened.

"You..." She reached up, touching his cheek with drunken clumsiness. Her thumb brushed his jawline. "You look so good tonight."

The words came out soft. Barely a whisper. Heavy with something she couldn't name.

Donghyuck's throat tightened. He wanted to grab her, pull her inside, pin her against that door and remind her exactly what she was missing. He wanted to kiss that drunk confession off her lips and replace it with moans.

But not yet.

Not yet.

He smiled, gentle and aching. "Get some sleep, Y/N."

She blinked slowly, then ducked inside, closing the door with a soft click.

The lock turned.

Donghyuck stood there for a long moment, hand pressed flat against the wood. He could hear her on the other side, shuffling, probably kicking off her heels.

"She say something?" Renjun asked from behind.

"Just saying goodnight."

Renjun hummed, unconvinced. "You know, for a guy who just met her, you're pretty invested."

Donghyuck turned, keeping his face neutral. "She's a friend. I don't like seeing friends drunk and alone."

"Uh huh." Renjun didn't push. "Well, thanks for the help. I'm gonna crash. See you around, Haechan."

"Yeah. See you."

When Renjun disappeared down the stairwell, Donghyuck let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He pressed his forehead to the door, listening. On the other side, he heard her humming—off-key, sleepy—as she padded toward her bedroom.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon she'll know.

But for tonight, he'd settle for knowing that even drunk and confused, she still thought he looked good.

That was enough.

For now.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of his apartment swallowed him whole.

Donghyuck stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the wood, listening to the echo of her voice in his head. You look so good tonight. Drunk, slurred, honest. She'd meant it. Even without knowing who he was, her body remembered. Her eyes had traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, and something deep in her gut had stirred.

But she was inside, alone, probably already curled up in bed, dreaming of strangers.

And he was out here. Alone. Again.

He pushed off the door and walked to his kitchen, grabbing a glass of water he didn't want. The apartment was too quiet. Too empty. The walls seemed to press in on him, carrying the weight of every night he'd spent like this—restless, aching, watching the clock tick toward dawn while the city hummed outside.

It's hard when no one loves you and the ones you love can't remember you.

He set the glass down harder than intended. It cracked. Water spilled across the counter.

"Fuck."

He stood there, dripping, staring at his own reflection in the dark window. A stranger in his own life. Spider-Man saved people. Donghyuck saved no one. Not even himself.

He loved being Spider-Man. Loved the rush of swinging between buildings, the wind in his face, the sound of sirens fading as he swooped in to help. Loved the gratitude in strangers' eyes when he pulled them from wrecks, the way kids pointed up at him with awe.

But Donghyuck deserved his own life too. A job he didn't have to hide. Friends who called him by his real name. A girl who looked at him like he was the only man in the world.

He closed his eyes, and there she was. Y/N. Laughing. Touching his face. Whining his name in that breathless way she used to when he was inside her.

"You're so good, Hyuck. Fuck—don't stop—"

His hand curled into a fist.

Then his spider-sense flared.

Sharp. Urgent. Something wrong.

He sighed, heavy and resigned, and reached for the suit.

---

The city was cruel tonight.

He swung from rooftop to rooftop, the wind biting at the exposed skin of his face and hands. Below, the neon lights of Manhattan bled into puddles on wet asphalt. Somewhere, a woman screamed—he veered toward it, landing on a fire escape to find a mugger wrestling a purse from an elderly lady. He webbed the guy to a lamppost in seconds, returned the purse, and was gone before the woman could finish thanking him.

Two blocks over, a car crash. He helped pull a family out before the fuel line sparked.

A domestic disturbance. He talked a man down from a balcony ledge.

A break-in at a convenience store.

A fire on the Lower East Side.

He kept moving. Kept saving. Kept pretending that each life he touched filled the hole inside him.

But it didn't.

Because the whole time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of her. Her safety. Her smile. The way she used to trace the scars on his shoulders after a bad fight, her voice soft with worry: "You can't keep doing this, Hyuck. One day you won't come back."

And he'd kissed her forehead and promised he'd always come back to her.

Now she didn't even know to wait.

---

He landed on a rooftop overlooking her building.

The lights were off in her apartment. She was asleep, probably still drunk, tangled in sheets that smelled like her perfume. He imagined her lips slightly parted, hair fanned across the pillow, the slow rise and fall of her chest.

He pulled out the photo he kept tucked inside his suit. Polaroid, edges worn from handling. Her smiling at the camera, hair messy, wearing his hoodie. She'd taken it one morning after they'd spent the whole night tangled together. He'd been making coffee, and she'd grabbed his phone, snapped the picture just as he turned around.

"So I can look at you even when you're gone," she'd said.

He didn't know she'd end up being the one gone.

He pressed his thumb to her face, tracing the curve of her smile.

Soon.

Soon, he'd find a way. Something drastic. Something that would break through the spell's hold and make her remember—or at least make her feel it, even if she couldn't name it.

Soon, he'd be inside her apartment. Inside her. Reminding her exactly what she was missing.

But for now, he tucked the photo back, turned toward the next siren, and launched himself into the night.

For her. Always for her.

The bell above the door chimed, and Donghyuck walked in like he owned the place.

Y/N looked up from the register, head pounding, eyes barely open. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot, and she was pretty sure she still smelled like last night's cheap perfume and regret. The hangover was a dull throb behind her eyes, a punishment for every shot Renjun had convinced her to take.

She squinted at him. Him. The guy with the dangerous smile and the bracelet she didn't remember giving him.

"Morning," she grumbled, not even trying to sound pleasant.

He grinned. Actually grinned, like her misery was the highlight of his day. "Someone had fun last night."

"Someone regrets everything."

He laughed—that low, easy sound that did something annoying to her stomach—and walked past her to the counter. "Just the usual, please."

She turned to make it, moving slow, her head throbbing with every step. The espresso machine hissed, and she winced.

Behind her, she heard the door open again—a small commotion, a child's voice. She glanced over her shoulder.

A little boy, maybe seven or eight, had run in too fast, his backpack swinging. He collided with the table where Hyuck had set his bag, sending it toppling. But before it could hit the ground, Hyuck's hand shot out, catching it mid-air with reflexes too fast, too precise.

"Sorry, mister!" the boy said, eyes wide.

Hyuck just smiled, crouching down to the kid's level. "It's okay, buddy. No harm done." And he reached out, ruffling the boy's hair with an easy, affectionate motion.

Y/N froze.

The gesture. The way his fingers moved through the dark strands, the gentle mock-scolding in his tone. It was exactly how Spider-Man had ruffled that kid's hair in the interview she watched online. She'd watched the clip multiple times, her body heating each time—the way those gloved fingers had been so careful, so human, beneath the mask.

She blinked, shaking off the thought. No. That's ridiculous. Lots of people ruffle kids' hair.

But something nagged at her. The precision of the catch. The casual confidence. The way he moved.

Hyuck straightened, catching her stare. His eyebrow arched. "Something wrong?"

She realized she'd been staring. Heat crept up her neck. "No. Nothing. Your coffee."

She shoved the cup toward him, maybe a little too aggressively. He took it, amused, and leaned against the counter instead of leaving like a normal person.

She needed to get this over with.

"Listen," she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "About last night. I was... a lot. I know I was all over you, and I'm sorry. I don't usually—I mean, I was drunk, and Renjun was being an ass, and—"

"Cute."

She stopped. "What?"

"You were cute." He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim. "Not 'a lot.' Cute."

Her face burned. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out. Just a stupid, flustered silence.

He smiled—that knowing, crooked smile that made her knees weak—and pushed off from the counter. "See you around, Y/N."

He walked out, the bell chiming behind him.

She stood there, heart hammering, watching him disappear down the street.

Fuck.

She touched her cheek. It was hot. She was blushing like a teenager. And worst of all, she was thinking about him—the scent of his cologne, the strength in his hands when he'd caught that bag, the way his voice had dipped when he said "cute."

She shook her head, turning back to the register.

But as she wiped down the counter, her mind wandered. To Spider-Man. To Haechan. To the way both of them made her feel seen in a way she couldn't explain.

Maybe I have a crush on him.

She bit her lip.

Or maybe I'm just that desperate.

But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something about him. Something familiar. Something that pulled at the edges of her memory, just out of reach.

And somewhere across the city, swinging between rooftops, Donghyuck smiled to himself, her blush burned into his mind.

Soon, he thought. Soon, you'll remember.

The city was settling into dusk, streetlights flickering to life as Y/N walked home, her bag slung over one shoulder. The hangover had faded to a dull ache, replaced by the restless energy that had been gnawing at her all day. She was thinking about Hyuck—the way he'd laughed, the way his hand had caught that bag, the way he'd called her cute.

She was so lost in thought she almost missed the commotion.

A sharp cry. An old man's voice, cracked with panic. "Help! Someone help!"

Y/N's head snapped up. Across the street, a figure in a hoodie was sprinting away, an old leather bag clutched under his arm. Behind him, an elderly man stumbled, reaching out helplessly.

"Hey!" Y/N didn't think. She ran.

Three blocks. Her lungs burned, her legs pumping, the thief weaving through pedestrians. She was fast—she'd always been fast—but he was younger, more desperate. He ducked into a narrow alley, reeking of garbage and stale urine.

She followed without hesitation.

The alley was dark, shadows pooling like liquid. She could hear his footsteps echoing, slowing. He was cornered. She rounded a corner, ready to tackle him—

And then he was gone.

No. Not gone. Pinned.

A figure in red and blue dropped from above, landing silently. The thief was already webbed to a wall, the bag dangling from Spider-Man's hand. The hero turned to her, the white lenses of his mask catching the faint light.

"You really need to stop running into danger," he said, his voice modulated, teasing.

Y/N's heart pounded—not from the chase, but from him. From the way he stood, the way he moved.

She tried to step forward, to get a better look at the thief, to see where he'd gone into the darkness—

A thwip. A strand of web shot out, catching her wrist, yanking it to the brick wall beside her.

She stared at her hand, pinned by the familiar white silk. Again.

"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, yanking at the web. It held firm. "You can't just—"

"Watch and learn," Spider-Man said, and in two quick moves, he had the thief subdued, the bag retrieved, a police call tapped into his comm—all while she stood there, helpless, a memory flickering in the back of her mind.

Webs. Restraint. A voice whispering in the dark. Hands on her wrists, pinning her down. A body pressing against hers, the rough texture of a suit, the heat beneath it.

She blinked, the image dissolving like smoke.

He was in front of her now, the old man's bag tucked under one arm. He reached up and flicked the web on her wrist. It dissolved instantly, dropping her hand.

"You're free," he said. "Now go home. It's not safe."

She rubbed her wrist, glaring at him. "You can't just do that whenever you want! I was helping! I could have—"

She stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest plate. "You don't get to decide when I'm in danger! You don't get to just—"

She pushed him. Hard. He didn't move, but she kept going, frustration boiling over, her hands flat against his chest—

And then her foot caught on a loose piece of asphalt.

She stumbled forward, off-balance, straight into him.

Her body collided with his, her hands instinctively grabbing his arms to steady herself. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, the fabric of his suit smooth and textured beneath her palms.

And something clicked.

The feel of it—the tight compression, the subtle ribbing, the exact way the material hugged the muscle underneath—sent a shiver through her. Her eyes widened. She didn't know why, but her hands began to move, sliding down his arms slowly, almost reverently. She felt the curve of his shoulders, the strength of his forearms, the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

She looked up.

The mask stared back at her, white lenses unreadable. But she could feel him watching her, feel the sudden stillness in his body.

Her breath caught. She could see him beneath the mask. Not his face, but something else. A feeling. A memory just out of reach. 

I know you. I've felt you before.

She lifted a hand, reaching for his mask, her fingers trembling—

He stepped back.

Just one step, but it was enough to break her hold. Her hand hung in the air, empty.

"I have to go," he said, his voice tighter now, less playful. He set the bag down. "The police are on their way. Stay safe."

And before she could say another word, he was gone—a blur of red and blue vanishing into the night sky, leaving her alone in the dark alley, the old man's bag at her feet, her skin still tingling where she'd touched him.

She stood there, heart racing, frustration and confusion twisting in her chest.

Why does he feel so familiar?

She clenched her fists. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a name she couldn't remember, a face she couldn't see.

And yet, he's a stranger.

She bent down, picked up the bag, and walked out of the alley, her mind churning.

Who are you?

The question echoed in the empty space where Spider-Man had been. And somewhere, high above, hidden in the shadows, Donghyuck watched her go, his hands shaking, his heart aching with the weight of everything she didn't remember.

The bell above the café door chimed, and Y/N's heart did a little flip she immediately suppressed.

Donghyuck walked in, all easy confidence in a loose black t-shirt and those worn jeans that hung just right on his hips. He ran a hand through his hair—still slightly damp, like he'd just showered—and gave her a small smile as he approached the counter.

"Morning, Y/N."

She should have said something. She should have smiled back, asked for his usual order, made some casual remark about the weather. But her mind was still reeling from last night. The alley. The webs. The way her hands had traced the suit's texture like her fingers remembered what her brain couldn't.

Instead, she just nodded, her movements mechanical as she punched in his order. "Americano."

He blinked, clearly noticing her clipped tone. "Yeah. Thanks."

She turned to make the coffee, her back to him, feeling his gaze on her. She could sense the question in his silence—what's wrong?—but she couldn't bring herself to address it. She didn't know what to say. Hey, I think you might be the superhero who's been haunting my dreams and my subconscious sex life, but I can't be sure, so just pretend everything's normal.

She slid the cup across the counter. He took it, their fingers almost brushing. She pulled back too fast.

"Thanks," he said again, slower this time, searching her face.

She just nodded and turned to wipe down the counter, even though it was already clean.

The café was quiet—a lull between the morning rush and the lunch crowd. Renjun was in the back, restocking cups, humming something under his breath. Y/N busied herself with meaningless tasks, acutely aware of Donghyuck settling into his usual table by the window, pulling out his phone.

He didn't look at her again. Or maybe he did, in brief glances she pretended not to notice.

After a few minutes, he stood up, stretching his arms above his head. The motion pulled his shirt up just slightly, revealing a sliver of his stomach. Y/N's eyes tracked it before she forced them away.

"Bathroom," he said, more to announce it than anything, and disappeared through the back hallway.

The moment the door clicked shut, Renjun emerged from the stockroom, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Okay. Now's my chance."

Y/N frowned. "What chance?"

Renjun didn't answer. He darted to Donghyuck's table, where the worn leather messenger bag sat propped against the chair leg.

"Renjun, what the hell—"

"Shh." He was already crouching, unzipping the bag with practiced ease. "He's so mysterious. I just want to snoop a little. See if he's hiding anything interesting."

Y/N's heart lurched. "Stop! Put that back." She hissed, crossing the café in three quick strides. "What are you doing? That's his private stuff—"

"Relax, I'm just looking." Renjun's hands moved through the bag's contents—a wallet, a phone, a protein bar wrapper, a small notebook. "Boring, boring, boring. How does this guy have no personality in his bag?"

"Renjun, I swear to God—"

He pulled out a crumpled piece of fabric. Dark red and blue, folded into a rough square.

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he's a fan."

He unfolded it, and Y/N's breath caught in her throat.

It was a mask. A Spider-Man mask. The white lenses stared up at her, empty and familiar.

Renjun held it up, smirking. "See? Fanboy. Probably wears it to bed or something." He scoffed, tossing it carelessly back into the bag. "Guess even mysterious guys have heroes."

But Y/N wasn't listening.

She reached down, her fingers trembling, and picked up the mask. The fabric was cool against her skin. She ran her thumb across the surface—the subtle ribbing, the tight weave, the exact texture that had pressed against her palms last night.

The same texture.

Her blood ran cold.

She remembered the alley. The way her hands had slid down Spider-Man's arms. The way the suit had felt beneath her fingers. The way her body had known it, even when her mind couldn't.

This was the same mask. The same fabric. The same—

She looked up. Renjun was staring at her, his smirk fading into confusion. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She couldn't speak. Her throat was tight, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She was holding Spider-Man's mask.

Haechan's mask.

Haechan is Spider-Man.

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

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He smirked, offered a sleepy wink to a blonde two rows ahead, and slid into the nearest seat with a dramatic yawn. Even Professor Lee didn’t seem that mad anymore — he was used to Jaemin's brand of lazy brilliance.

“All right,” the professor said, scanning his clipboard. “Capstone research pairs. This will be your semester-long project.”

Groans followed. Everyone knew once partners were assigned, they were locked in.

“Na Jaemin and Y/N.”

Jaemin barely looked up. He didn’t recognize the name — until you raised your hand silently from the back, already tucking a pen into your hair and closing your laptop. No dramatic reaction. No gasps. You didn’t look excited, or even remotely interested.

Just... efficient.

His brows lifted a little. Huh. You were cute. Like really cute, actually. Ponytail, bit of makeup, glasses perched on your nose. But it wasn’t your looks that caught him — it was the way you didn’t even look at him when you stood up and walked out of the room.

No one ever ignored him. Not like that.

He caught up to you outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, all charm and heat in his step.

“Hey, partner,” he said smoothly, flashing you the million dollar smile that usually had girls forgetting their majors. “We should celebrate. You just scored the best project buddy in the class.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Celebrating a group assignment sounds like a waste of time.”

He laughed, undeterred. “Wow. Ice cold. I like it.”

You sighed and turned to him, not amused. “Look, we just need to do the work, right? I have a full course load and I don’t mess around with grades.”

He grinned and leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Oh, so you're the overachiever type. Bet you color-code your planner and schedule bathroom breaks.”

You blinked. “Yes. And?”

Jaemin's grin faltered slightly. For the first time in a while, his flirting wasn't just ignored — it was disarmed with surgical precision.

He tried again.

“Maybe we can... start brainstorming tonight?” he offered, voice dropping into that warm register he used when cornering girls at parties. “Your place or mine?”

You stopped walking.

“Library. Six o’clock. Bring your laptop. And maybe try reading the project brief before then.”

Then you walked off, earbuds in, completely immune to the charm that made half the campus swoon.

Jaemin stood there for a moment, watching you disappear into the crowd.

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed under his breath.

“Well, shit,” he muttered. “I think I just got friendzoned before I even had a chance.”

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

Jaemin pushed open the heavy doors of the campus library and let out a soft whistle. It was quieter than usual, the late hour chasing off most of the casual studiers. Only a few scattered students hunched over textbooks, and somewhere deep in the back, he spotted you already seated.

No surprise there.

You were tucked into a corner booth like you owned the place, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, laptop open, highlighter capped between your teeth. A tall iced americano sat untouched next to a thick binder of notes — color-coded, of course. Your glasses were slightly crooked.

Jaemin stopped for a second.

You weren’t trying to be cute. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. But fuck, you looked good. Real good. And somehow, that hit harder than any short dress or party invite.

He smoothed his hair and sauntered over with his usual swagger, dropping into the seat across from you.

“Damn, didn’t realize I had to book a reservation,” he teased, gesturing at your neat little command center.

You glanced up, a smile tugging briefly at your lips. “You’re only two minutes late. That’s basically early for you, right?”

Jaemin chuckled, a bit thrown by your dry wit. “You remembered that?”

You shrugged, eyes flicking back to the screen. “It’s hard to forget when you stroll in halfway through class like you just rolled out of bed.”

His grin widened. “Hey, looking like this takes effort.”

Now you looked at him — really looked — and Jaemin swore something tightened in his chest.

You smiled, soft and a little tired. “You’re actually on time. That’s a good start.”

It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t sarcastic.

It was… nice. Encouraging. Genuine.

And somehow, it landed deeper than any compliment he'd ever gotten.

You pushed your laptop around to face him, already halfway through an outline. “So, I was thinking we could split the research. I’ll handle the case studies and theoretical framework. You could cover the methodology section?”

Jaemin blinked. “Wait—you trust me with that?”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

“I mean, most people assume I’m just here to coast on someone else’s GPA.”

You tilted your head. “Well, you showed up. And I’ve seen you in class. You’re not dumb, Jaemin.”

That hit him square in the chest.

He stared at you, the joking smile dropping for just a second. You didn’t say it with judgment — just quiet honesty, like you saw right through the surface and didn’t mind what you found underneath.

Jaemin cleared his throat. “Okay. Methodology. Got it.”

He leaned in, suddenly more serious. “I’ll pull my weight. Promise.”

You gave a small nod, eyes back on the screen. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, the mood shifted. The air between you wasn’t heavy or charged — it was warm, like something slowly unfolding. You weren’t charmed by him. You weren’t impressed by the smile he used on everyone else.

But you saw him. Talked to him like he mattered.

And for the first time in a long, long while… Jaemin wanted to be more than just charming.

He wanted to be good enough for you.

It was nearing midnight, and the library was nearly empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and Jaemin had long since stopped pretending he wasn’t into the project. He was focused, typing notes and glancing at you every so often, not because he was bored — but because he liked the way your brow furrowed when you were concentrating, liked the way you softly hummed when you were reading something complicated.

You were the kind of pretty that didn’t try. It just... was.

“You ever take a break?” he asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head, hoodie riding up to reveal a flash of toned skin.

You didn’t even glance. “Not when there’s work to do.”

He grinned. “That sounds exhausting.”

You finally looked at him, eyes soft but firm. “My family’s full of overachievers. Doctors, lawyers, professors. I’m the youngest, so... yeah. I care about grades. A lot.”

Jaemin tilted his head, watching you closely. “That pressure doesn’t get to you?”

You shook your head. “No, it motivates me. They’re not breathing down my neck or anything, but... I want to make them proud. I like being the smart one. My family gave me everything, I want to show them their love and care in me resulted in something great.”

You paused, looking a little embarrassed. “Besides, I actually enjoy the work.”

He smiled, slow and genuine. “That’s kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in it. “You flirt like it’s your default setting.”

“Not with everyone.”

That made you look at him again — not with curiosity or interest, but confusion. Because he hadn’t been flirting, not really, not for a while. He’d been listening. Helping. Laughing with you.

And that meant more than any cheesy pickup line.

“Come to my frat party this weekend,” he said, changing the subject.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because you need to unwind. And because I’ll be there. And you trust me now, right?”

You hesitated.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. I’ll keep you safe, no weirdos, no pressure, no drunk frat boys grinding on you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re literally a drunk frat boy.”

He grinned. “Exactly. You’ll be protected by the king of them.”

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

The music was already shaking the walls by the time Jaemin met you at the front door of the Sigma Tau house. You were nervous, shifting on your feet in your jeans, white tank top and pink unbuttoned cardigan .

But Jaemin's eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm. “You look good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally dressed like a volunteer librarian.”

“Exactly,” he said, leading you inside. “And somehow, still the prettiest girl here.”

His hand lingered on your lower back, just for a second, guiding you through the crowd. You noticed how his touch was gentle — not possessive, not pushy. It made you feel safer than you expected.

Inside, everything smelled like beer and sweat and cologne, but you stuck close to Jaemin’s side. He introduced you to a few of his friends, tossing a casual “This is Y/N, my friend” that made you glance at him in surprise.

Friend. Not “project partner.” Not “cute girl from class.” Just... friend. And yet it sounded like he meant more than that.

For once, Jaemin wasn’t flirting with anyone. Not even a little. His usual teasing was gone, replaced with a protective energy that wrapped around you like a jacket.

And then—trouble.

A guy you didn’t recognize stumbled toward you, already reeking of vodka. “Hey,” he slurred, leaning far too close. “Haven’t seen you before. You’re cute. Wanna dance?”

You stepped back immediately. “No, thank you.”

He ignored it. “Come on, just one dance—”

“She said no.”

Jaemin’s voice cut through the music like a blade. He was at your side in a flash, hand sliding protectively to your waist.

The guy squinted. “What, she your girl or something?”

Jaemin didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the guy, sharp and cool. “She’s my friend. And I don’t like it when my friends are uncomfortable. You understand?”

His frat bros — the ones who’d never seen Jaemin act like this — quieted a little. Even the music seemed to fade. The guy held up his hands and backed off, muttering an apology.

Jaemin turned to you, voice soft now. “You okay?”

You nodded, chest a little tight. “Thanks.”

He didn’t let go of your waist, not right away. Just kept you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time that night, you looked up at him — really looked — and something in your chest fluttered.

Because he hadn’t been trying to charm you.

He’d just been himself.

And maybe that was even more dangerous.

“Let me walk you home,” Jaemin said, already pulling his hoodie over his head as the cool night air swept through the porch of the frat house.

You hesitated, but he was already holding the door open for you.

“I’m not drunk,” you said.

“I know.”

“I could’ve taken the bus.”

“I know that too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why?”

He shrugged, smile lazy but eyes sincere. “Because I wanted to.”

You didn’t argue after that.

The two of you walked side by side under the streetlamps, your shoulder occasionally brushing his. It was quiet — not awkward, just... calm. And even though you'd been surrounded by music and people all night, this somehow felt more intimate.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said eventually, breaking the silence. “And for... stepping in earlier.”

Jaemin glanced over at you, jaw tightening just slightly. “Yeah. That guy was an asshole.”

You offered a small smile. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I did,” he said simply.

You paused at the corner near your apartment, turning to face him under the glow of a flickering lamppost. He looked good in the dark — hoodie pushed back, eyes warm, mouth soft.

You opened your arms, tentative. “Hug goodbye?”

Jaemin didn’t hesitate. He stepped in and wrapped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he'd been waiting for it all night.

You felt how careful he was — how tightly he wanted to hold you, but didn’t. How he let you set the rhythm. His hand pressed lightly to your back, and you breathed in the scent of his cologne and fabric softener.

When you pulled away, your voice was quieter. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, a little dazed. “Night, Y/N.”

You didn’t see the way he watched you until you disappeared into your building.

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

By the following week, something had changed.

You weren’t sure when it happened — but Jaemin started showing up to the library early. Not late. Not casually on time. Early.

And with coffee.

“Americano, no sugar,” he said, placing it beside your laptop like it was nothing.

You blinked. “How’d you know?”

He smiled and tapped his temple. “I remember things.”

That became routine. He’d bring your coffee. Sometimes a muffin. Sometimes a note scribbled on a napkin: “Reminder: You’re killing it. Let’s ace this thing.”

And when you looked over at his screen, he wasn’t just pretending to work — he was actually working. Focused. Quiet. Highlighting things. Organizing sources. Color-coding notes.

You leaned in once and asked, “Did you seriously highlight this entire chapter?”

“Yep,” he said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “In your system. Blue for theory, pink for data, yellow for examples, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “You remembered my color code?”

He grinned, winking. “Told you I pay attention.”

Back at the frat house, it didn’t go unnoticed.

Jaemin sat on the couch, hoodie pulled tight over his head, textbooks open on his lap — while the rest of his frat brothers tossed chips at each other and shouted at a FIFA game.

“Bro,” Chenle said, laughing, “you’ve been home studying like every night this week. Who is she?”

Mark leaned in with a mock gasp. “Oh my god. You’re whipped.”

Jaemin didn’t even blink. “And?”

Jeno tossed a Dorito at him. “You’re wearing blue highlighter on your sleeve right now.”

Jaemin looked down. Smirked.

“I like her,” he said simply. “She makes me want to try harder.”

The room fell silent for half a second. Then someone shouted, “You’re in love!” and the teasing exploded all over again.

But Jaemin didn’t flinch. He leaned back against the couch, one arm draped lazily behind his head, eyes still scanning the textbook.

Because yeah.

He was in it.

And for once in his life, he wasn’t looking for a quick win.

He was playing the long game — and for her?

He’d wait as long as it took.

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

The library was mostly empty again — just you, Jaemin, and the faint hum of the heating vents kicking in every now and then.

It was past midnight.

You had your laptop open, one foot tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. Jaemin sat across from you, elbow on the table, spinning a pen between his fingers while you spoke softly about your outline.

“…so if we lead with the theory, then follow with the data sets from the 2020 case study—what?”

He was staring at you.

Not in a mocking way. Not in a distracted way.

In that way that made your words falter and your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“You get like this,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Focused. Intense. You kinda zone out when you’re passionate about something. It’s cute.”

You frowned, half-suspicious. “You’re teasing me again.”

“No,” he said, voice even softer now. “I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything.

Jaemin shifted in his seat, expression a little tighter now — like he was debating something in his head.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced up warily. “Sure.”

“Would you ever date someone like me?”

The air went still.

You blinked once. Then again. Slowly.

“…what do you mean ‘someone like you’?”

He gave a small, self-conscious smile. “I mean… a frat guy. Who didn’t care much about school until recently. Who flirts too much. Who maybe talks a little too loud and parties a little too hard.”

Your brows lifted.

“Jaemin,” you said gently, “why are you asking that?”

He shrugged, but it was a nervous kind of shrug. “Because I like you. And I don’t know how to say it without scaring you off.”

Your heart thumped painfully hard. You stared at him, brain short-circuiting.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. You weren’t stupid. You just… hadn’t let yourself think about it.

Because Jaemin had been your project partner. Your friend. Your surprisingly thoughtful coffee delivery guy. You didn’t want to ruin anything.

And now here he was, sitting across from you, looking unfairly pretty under cheap library lights, finally saying what he hadn’t for weeks.

“I don’t…” you started, then stopped.

His eyes flicked up. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m not saying no,” you rushed. “I just… I don’t know, Jaemin. I like hanging out with you. I trust you. I think you're—” You stopped again. “I just need time.”

Something in his face softened — the tension easing from his shoulders as he leaned back in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You can have all the time you want,” he said.

And then, teasing again — but gentler this time:

“As long as I still get to bring you coffee and highlight your notes.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh, eyes crinkling. “Deal.”

And even though you didn’t say it, the thought crept in anyway, quiet and dangerous:

Maybe I like him too.

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

Jaemin was in his living room when you found him — hoodie on, hair pushed back, knees pulled up on the couch with a textbook balanced in his lap. Chenle let you into the frat house after you showed up my surprise. Mark and Jeno were yelling at the TV, controllers in hand, but Jaemin looked up the second the door opened.

You looked nervous. His heart skipped.

“Hey,” you said, voice barely audible over the sound of button-mashing chaos.

Jaemin blinked, then stood up quickly. “Hey—yeah. You okay?”

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, gesturing toward the hallway. “Yeah. Come on.”

You followed him into the kitchen, where it was quieter. The fridge hummed. One of the overhead lights flickered. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for you to speak — not pushy, just watching.

You shifted awkwardly, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said,” you started slowly. “Back at the library.”

He tilted his head. “About the outline?”

You shot him a flat look.

He grinned. “Okay, sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Then it dropped. “No, seriously. When you asked if I’d ever date someone like you.”

Jaemin’s expression changed. A little more cautious now. A little more still.

You took a breath.

“I didn’t like how you said it. ‘Someone like me,’ like that means something bad. Like you’re just a frat guy who flirts too much and doesn’t care.”

He didn’t say anything.

You stepped closer.

“You’re not just a frat guy, Jaemin. You’ve been… so kind to me. You listen. You show up. You remember things. You study with me. You make me feel safe.”

You swallowed.

“You’re smart. And funny. And—actually a really good friend. I think anyone would be lucky to have you around. And you deserve people who treat you like that.”

His jaw was clenched lightly now, like he was trying not to smile too soon, but it was already blooming behind his eyes.

You exhaled shakily. “So. Yeah. I guess I just wanted to say that.”

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, taking you in. And then, softly:

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You looked down, shy all over again.

“I kind of figured that out,” you muttered, smiling into your sleeve.

He stepped closer. Not touching you yet — just near enough to make the air feel thicker.

“If you’d grant me the honor,” he said, voice gentle, “I’d really like to take you on a date. A real one. Just us. No textbooks. No highlighters.”

You laughed — quiet and full, like it had been waiting to escape.

“Okay,” you said. “I’d like that.”

Jaemin’s smile turned brighter, almost boyish in its joy. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t crowd you. He just stood there beaming, like you’d handed him the world.

And for the first time since you'd started this project… maybe you had.

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

Jaemin was already bouncing on his feet when you showed up outside the arcade, hoodie strings swaying and a grin tugging at his lips like he couldn’t contain it.

“You’re seriously taking me to an arcade on our first date?” you teased.

He mock-gasped. “Excuse me, this is a carefully curated experience of childhood nostalgia, light competition, and sugar-fueled bonding.”

You snorted. “So… an arcade.”

“Exactly,” he said, and held the door open for you with a dramatic bow.

Inside, everything buzzed with light and energy — flashing machines, digital sounds, coins clinking, the sweet scent of slushies and popcorn in the air. Jaemin handed you a loaded-up card and shot you a wink. “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Ten minutes later, he was sure of exactly one thing: he was getting destroyed.

You beat him at skee ball. You beat him at basketball. You beat him at air hockey so badly he pretended to dramatically cry in a corner while you laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

“WHO ARE YOU?” he yelled over the sounds of electronic guns and kids screaming. “Have you been lying to me this whole time?! Are you secretly training for the Olympics of Fun?”

You leaned on the air hockey table, breathless with laughter. “I told you I have older brothers. I grew up playing all this. You just didn’t listen.”

He was speechless. For once.

Which was why you grinned and leaned in, brushing his shoulder lightly. “Still think I’m just a study nerd?”

Jaemin laughed, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re dangerous. And I’m obsessed.”

He walked you home again, hands stuffed in his pockets, that cocky grin finally softened into something quiet and glowy.

The city had calmed down for the night. Streetlights buzzed softly overhead, and your arms brushed once, then twice — and then you stopped pretending it was an accident and let them swing together.

When you reached your door, you turned to face him, heart thudding.

Jaemin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy in a way that melted you.

“So…” he said slowly. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

You blinked, surprised — not that he wanted to, but that he asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He leaned in slowly. Gently. His hand hovered near your jaw but didn’t touch — just in case. Then his lips pressed to yours, warm and soft and careful, and the moment was still and sweet and—

He pulled back, eyes flicking to yours, checking. Waiting.

You didn’t speak.

You just grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him again — deeper this time. Your mouths moved in sync, all heat and want and finally. His hands found your waist, tentative at first, but then grounding you to him as your back hit the door.

You kissed until you were breathless, until your fingers curled in his hoodie and your mind spun. When you finally broke away, cheeks flushed and lips tingling, you just stared at him for a second.

“…That was fun,” you said softly.

Jaemin laughed, breath hot against your skin. “Yeah. Really fun.”

You pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back gently. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He looked dazed. “Night.”

You slipped inside and closed the door, pulse racing.

Jaemin walked into the house with his hoodie crooked, hair mussed, lips still pink and so obviously kissed. He didn’t even try to hide the stupid grin on his face.

Mark looked up from the couch and burst out laughing. “Ohhh shit, someone got lucky!”

“Bro didn’t even try to play it cool,” Jeno added. “You’re glowing. Like a Disney princess.”

Jaemin just flopped onto the couch and covered his face with both hands, still smiling so hard it hurt.

“She kissed me first,” he said dreamily.

Jisung cackled. “He’s gone.”

And yeah, maybe he was.

Because Y/N kissed like she meant it. Like she was finally seeing him for exactly who he was.

And Jaemin?

He was never going to get enough.

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

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Sneak peak of part 2:

He turned to face you, hands on your hips again, slower this time. More lingering. He kissed you at the door — soft at first, then deeper, like he couldn’t help himself. Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him close.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your voice was small.

“…You don’t have to leave yet.”

Jaemin just smiled, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I wanna stay,” he whispered. “But if I stay… I won’t stop.”

You blinked at him, heart pounding.

He kissed your forehead this time, gentle and affectionate.

Jeno cleaned his hands on a rag and nodded toward the Audi behind her. “Pop the hood.”

She walked back to her car, hips swaying a little too naturally, and bent over the front seat to grab her keys. When she hit the release, Jeno caught the glint of gold on her ankle—a tiny chain. Delicate. The kind of detail a man like him wasn’t supposed to notice.

But he did.

She lingered while he worked, biting her lip while asking what a timing belt was, leaning forward every time she asked something, just a little too close. The silk of her blouse gaped when she did. Jeno pretended not to notice.

The next day, she was back.

And this time, it was denim cutoffs and a ribbed tank top—no bra, he was sure of it. She leaned against the workbench with a perfectly innocent smile while he tried to explain the leak again. Jeno almost dropped a wrench on his foot.

“You sure you’re here about your car?” Mark, one of the junior techs, muttered when Y/N left that afternoon.

“What?” Jeno said gruffly.

Mark snorted. “Dude. She’s into you.”

“She’s—what?”

“C’mon, man.” Mark leaned against the hood of an old truck. “She’s here every day now. And she doesn’t even pretend to know what’s going on under the hood. She just stares at you like you’re on the damn menu.”

Jeno tried to wave him off, but that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she twirled her hair, the way she watched his hands, how her lip caught between her teeth when he leaned under the hood.

The third day, she came in wearing a sundress that would’ve been sweet if it wasn’t cut so low. She wore lipstick this time too—shiny, pink, kissable. She crossed her legs when she sat in the waiting area, letting the hem of the dress slide up just enough for him to see the start of her thighs. Her eyes tracked him like a predator every time he moved.

Jeno tried to focus, he really did.

But it was getting harder to ignore. The scent of her perfume clung to the air when she leaned too close. She asked if she could “watch him work” and then leaned against the car with a pout when he told her it’d take a while.

The fourth day was a disaster.

Tiny lace crop top. Tiny denim skirt. Platform sandals that made her legs look endless. She bent over the counter while asking if he needed her to “drop off any more parts,” and her skirt flipped up just enough to show the curve of her ass and the tiniest glimpse of lace.

Mark saw it. Grinned. “You’re stronger than me, bro.”

Jeno wasn’t so sure anymore.

She walked over, all innocent eyes and breathy questions, licking her glossed lips while pretending to be confused about air filters and spark plugs. She reached out, touched his arm lightly, and something in him snapped.

He dropped the wrench with a loud clang.

Y/N jumped. “Everything okay?”

He wiped his hands, jaw tight, chest heaving. “Princess,” he said lowly, “you got any idea how ridiculous you look right now?”

Her eyes widened, lips parting.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing? That I haven’t noticed how every day you show up looking like you’re trying to get fucked in the middle of the shop?”

She blinked rapidly, swallowing. “Jeno, I—”

He stepped in close, crowding her back toward the car. “Is that what you want, huh?” His voice dropped. “You want me to take you back there, mess up that little skirt you wore just for me?”

Her breath hitched, thighs pressing together.

“Get in the backseat.”

The slam of the car door behind them echoed in the closed bay.

Jeno had barely given her time to scramble into the backseat before he followed, slamming the door shut and reaching for her, big hands grabbing her by the hips and dragging her onto his lap. Her skirt rode up instantly. She gasped, thighs spreading around him, back hitting the opposite door.

“You think this is a joke?” he growled, one hand sliding up the back of her bare thigh. “You’ve been coming in here all week looking like fuckin’ dessert. And I’m supposed to just smile and fix your engine?”

Her breath hitched as he yanked her top down, baring her tits to the humid air.

“You wanted my attention, didn’t you?” he rasped, thumb brushing across her nipple. “You got it now, baby. Hope you can handle it.”

Y/N moaned when he bent forward and sucked one nipple into his mouth, biting down hard enough to make her jolt.

“Every little outfit. Every sweet little question. All that lip gloss. You were begging for this,” he muttered against her skin, grinding his hips up so she felt the hard line of his cock through his coveralls. “So don’t play innocent now.”

“I wasn’t—”

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t lie to me. You wanted to get fucked in this garage, didn’t you?”

She whimpered, nodding.

“That’s what I thought.”

Jeno pushed her skirt up higher, fingers dragging her soaked panties to the side. He groaned when he felt how wet she was.

“God, look at you. Dripping for me. You wore this tiny little nothing of a skirt knowing I’d see your panties if you so much as breathed wrong.”

“Jeno, please…”

“You think I didn’t want this?” he growled, pushing two fingers into her without warning. “Think I haven’t been jerking off every night with your voice in my head? The way you say my name, all sweet and spoiled—fuck, I couldn’t sleep.”

He fingered her hard, fast, thumb rubbing tight circles over her clit while she writhed on his lap, moaning shamelessly.

“I’m gonna fuck you raw,” he hissed. “Right here. Backseat of your pretty little car. Gonna fuck you so deep, you’ll feel it every time you sit in this thing.”

“God, yes—please,” she begged, nails raking down his arms.

“Yeah?” He leaned in, nose brushing hers. “That what you want, princess? Want your mechanic’s cock inside you? Want me to ruin you like the filthy little tease you’ve been all week?”

“Fuck yes,” she gasped. “Jeno, please—need it so bad.”

He growled, pulling his coveralls down just enough to free himself. He was thick, flushed, leaking.

“No condom,” he grunted.

“I don’t care.”

That was all he needed.

He lined himself up and slammed into her in one hard thrust. Y/N cried out, back arching, hands flying to his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he hissed, holding her hips tight. “You’re so tight. Like you’ve been saving this pussy just for me.”

He didn’t start slow. He pounded up into her, fucking her into the seat with hard, punishing thrusts, one hand yanking her top down further so her tits bounced with every snap of his hips.

“You gonna cum for me?” he growled. “Right here? While I fuck the brat out of you?”

“Jeno—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Good. Cum all over my cock, baby. Show me how desperate you’ve been.”

She shattered around him with a cry, clenching so tight he nearly lost it.

“God, that’s it,” he groaned, fucking her through it. “You take it so well. So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

His thrusts grew erratic, breath ragged as he chased his own release.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled, thrusting deep. “You want that, princess? Want me to cum in this tight little pussy?”

“Fuck—yes, yes—please!”

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, holding her there, cock twitching as he spilled inside her.

For a moment, the only sound was their breathing.

Then Jeno leaned back, cupping her jaw with a smirk. “So… you coming back tomorrow?”

She grinned, lips swollen, mascara smudged, skirt still hiked around her waist. “Only if you promise to check my fluids again.”

Y/N was still catching her breath, straddling Jeno’s lap with her panties askew and his cum dripping down her thigh when he kissed her—rough at first, all teeth and hunger, then slow. Almost reverent.

“Jesus,” he muttered against her mouth. “You’re fuckin’ dangerous.”

She giggled, brushing her fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “You started it.”

Jeno chuckled low in his chest, running his hands up her back. “No. You did, the second you walked in here with that damn perfume and no bra.”

She rolled her hips lazily, feeling him twitch beneath her. “So what? You’re gonna scold me every time I get you hard?”

His jaw clenched. “I’m trying to not fuck you again right now, sweetheart.”

Y/N bit her lip. “Who said anything about fucking?”

She slid off his lap and onto the floor between his legs.

Jeno blinked, then cursed softly when she tugged his coveralls and boxers down enough to free his cock again—still half-hard, still wet from her.

“Baby, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she said, voice sweet, eyes locked on his. “Been thinking about this since day one.”

And then her mouth was on him.

Soft, wet, warm. She licked up the underside of his shaft, tongue flicking over the head where his release still clung. Jeno hissed, grabbing the seat cushion behind him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N…”

She smiled around his cock, eyes gleaming as she took him deeper. Her lips slid down slowly, swallowing inch after inch until her nose brushed his stomach. Jeno’s head fell back against the window with a thud.

“Shit, baby, your mouth… fuck, just like that.”

She sucked him slow, messy, moaning softly like she was the one getting off on it. Her hand gripped the base while her tongue worked around the tip, teasing the slit, making him jerk in her grip.

“You wanted attention, huh?” he growled, watching her now. “This how you planned to get it? Crawl under my workbench and suck my cock like a good little girl?”

She moaned and bobbed her head faster. His thighs tensed under her hands.

“God, look at you,” he groaned. “Eyes all wet, drool on your chin, takin’ my cock so deep like it’s nothing. Fuck, you’re unreal.”

He tangled a hand in her hair, not guiding—just holding—like he needed something to anchor him. His other hand grabbed her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re perfect, you know that? A fucking mess, and perfect.”

She hummed around him in approval, and the vibrations nearly undid him.

“Shit—gonna cum,” he gasped. “You swallowin’ it?”

She nodded with a wicked gleam in her eye, sinking down to the base just as he exploded in her mouth. Jeno cursed again, low and harsh, holding her there while his cock pulsed on her tongue.

She swallowed everything, slow and proud, licking him clean before leaning back with a dazed little smirk.

Jeno stared at her—completely fucked out, lips puffy, skirt still bunched around her hips, his cum now both inside her and down her throat.

“You…” He reached for her, pulling her into his lap again. “You’re insane.”

“You like it.”

“Fuck yes, I like it.” He kissed her again, slow and deep, tasting himself on her lips.

Then he pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“You doing anything tonight?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I’m taking you out. Somewhere with actual seats and food and not backseats.” His thumb rubbed her hip. “If you’ll let me.”

Her grin widened. “Only if you promise dessert.”

Jeno smirked. “Babe, I’ve been starving for days.”

Catching feelings?

That night, Jeno picked her up—not in a sleek black town car, but in his old, rebuilt Chevy truck. The leather was worn, the dash cracked, but it smelled like pine and motor oil. Her dress was designer. His shirt was black and freshly ironed, sleeves rolled to the elbows to show off those forearms she already knew too well.

“You look…” he paused, eyes scanning her as she slid in next to him, “…dangerous.”

“You said food, not flattery.”

“Baby, I said both.”

He took her to a roadside diner twenty minutes out of town—the kind of place that served burgers the size of her face and milkshakes in tall metal cups. It wasn’t glamorous, but the way Jeno looked at her across the booth made her feel like the most expensive thing in the room.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said, sipping from his vanilla shake.

He raised a brow. “What’d you expect?”

“A guy who’d bang me in the backseat and then pretend he didn’t know my name the next day.”

He laughed—really laughed. “Sweetheart, I remembered your name the second you walked into my shop. Knew it before I even popped your hood.”

“Was that supposed to sound sexy?”

“Did it work?”

She smirked. “Unfortunately.”

After dinner, he drove her to a hill just outside the city where you could see the lights spread out like stars. He climbed into the bed of the truck with her, offering his jacket when the wind picked up. They laid back, shoulder to shoulder.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said softly.

“Eat burgers?”

“Fall for mechanics.”

He turned his head, smiling. “You falling for me already?”

“Maybe.”

He kissed her again—this time, soft. Slow. No heat. Just lips, a shared breath, and the feeling of something starting.

The Next Day

She was glowing the next morning. Full makeup, messy hair, wearing one of his oversized T-shirts when she walked barefoot into her marble kitchen.

And then the group text lit up.

💬 Amanda: “Tell me you’re not actually hooking up with your car guy?”

💬 Sophie: “Like a mechanic mechanic? Babe. Ew.”

💬 Claire: “At least tell me he’s hot. Otherwise, this is a total poor-girl fantasy.”

She stared at the messages, heart sinking. They hadn’t even seen him—and they were already judging.

Later that week, she swung by the shop to surprise him with coffee. But the smile on her face dimmed when she saw the way Mark elbowed Jeno the second she walked in.

“Look at you,” Mark teased. “Turning the princess into a regular townie. What’s next? She working the desk with me?”

Y/N’s smile faded just a little. She wasn’t ashamed of Jeno—not even close—but everyone else seemed to have something to say.

The brunch was her idea.

She wanted to ease her friends into the idea of Jeno. Show them that he wasn’t just the “hot mechanic” they liked to joke about in the group chat—but someone real. Someone she liked.

So she invited them all to an upscale café. Outdoor seating. Floral arrangements. A bottle of rosé already sweating in a bucket before they even arrived.

Jeno showed up in a black button-down and clean jeans, sleeves rolled, hair swept back. He looked unfairly hot, even she had to admit—and her friends definitely noticed.

Amanda leaned over as soon as he turned to check the menu. “Okay… he’s actually hot-hot.”

“Like… ‘ruin your credit score’ hot,” Sophie whispered with a giggle.

Claire stirred her mimosa. “I mean, I wouldn’t let him near my car, but I’d let him ruin my oil filter.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

They’d spent the whole brunch grilling him—polite smiles, thinly-veiled digs.

“So what do you do all day?” “Fix rich girls’ flat tires?” “Do you even have time for someone like Y/N?”

And through it all, Jeno stayed calm. Patient. Charming, even. But she knew that vein in his neck—the one that ticked when he clenched his jaw too tight. She knew he was holding back.

Then Claire had the audacity to slide a little closer and press her hand to his arm. “You must be good with your hands.”

That was it.

Jeno stood abruptly, pulling Y/N’s chair out for her. “We’re leaving.”

Her friends blinked.

“But we haven’t—”

“We’re leaving,” he repeated, low and sharp, already guiding her inside the building, past the restrooms, down a hallway marked STAFF ONLY.

“Jeno,” she whispered, heart hammering, “what are you—”

He spun her around and pinned her to the wall, breathing hard. His voice was low and ragged.

“They touched me.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t even—”

“I don’t want them near me. I don’t want them looking at me. I'm not here to impress your stuck-up friends, Y/N.” He dipped his head to her ear. “I’m here because you begged for it.”

Her breath hitched.

“And you’re gonna remember exactly how you deserve to be treated. Like royalty.”

He dropped to his knees right there.

“Jeno—what if someone—”

“I don’t care.” He pushed her dress up and yanked her panties down her thighs. “Let them fucking hear you.”

Then his mouth was on her.

Tongue hot and unrelenting, licking through her folds like he was starving. He groaned when he tasted her, hands gripping her thighs to keep her open and still.

“Oh my God—Jeno,” she gasped, fingers flying into his hair.

“Say it louder,” he growled into her cunt, tongue flicking over her clit. “Let them know what this ‘car guy’ does to their rich little friend.”

She bit her lip, but he slapped her thigh lightly.

“None of that. You don’t get to be shy now. Not after you’ve been letting those bitches paw at me like I’m for sale.”

He sucked her clit hard, and her legs buckled. “That’s it. Grind on my face, princess. Make a fuckin’ mess. I’ll lick up every drop.”

She moaned loud—shameless and echoing down the hallway.

His mouth worked in filthy circles, tongue curling just right, until her body jerked and her orgasm hit fast and hard. Her knees gave out, and Jeno caught her, holding her against the wall while he kissed the inside of her thigh.

Still panting, she looked down at him. “You’re insane.”

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and kissed her like she was air and gasoline.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “I don’t give a fuck what they think. If they want to see me again, it’s gonna be with my head between your legs and my name on your lips.”

Y/n gasped.

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

A soccer player—some sophomore with more energy than coordination—tripped over a backpack near their table. His tray launched into the air, food tumbling in slow motion toward Y/N.

Before anyone could react, Mark moved.

His hand shot out, hitting the tray in a clean, sharp slap. It veered sideways, the contents smearing across the wall rather than all over her hair and hoodie.

The whole table froze. Y/N stared at the wall, then slowly looked back at Mark.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “How did you do that?”

Mark blinked, swallowing hard. “Uh. Reflexes?”

She stared at him for a second longer, then gave a small laugh and smiled—really smiled—like he’d just flown her out of a burning building. “Thanks for saving me from instant death by cafeteria slop.”

He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh. No problem.”

That’s when Haechan appeared, dropping into the seat beside Mark with a heavy sigh and a knowing glare.

“Dude,” he said.

Mark avoided eye contact.

“Dude,” Haechan repeated, voice dropping.

Mark leaned closer. “Don’t.”

“You punched a tray mid-air. Are you trying to get exposed?”

“She almost got hit in the face with lasagna. I wasn’t just gonna watch.”

“You could’ve knocked it into her. Played it off. Look clumsy, not like a ninja robot. You’re gonna get caught.”

Mark muttered under his breath, “You’re overthinking.”

Haechan gave him a look, then leaned in more. “I’m literally the only one who knows you’re Spider-Man. So maybe I should overthink it.”

Mark clenched his jaw and gave a tiny nod. “Fine. I’ll… trip or something tomorrow.”

“Good boy,” Haechan muttered, biting into a fry with satisfaction.

Y/N watched the interaction from her side of the table, curious. She’d noticed the way Mark moved—how fast, how precise—but more than that, the way he looked at her afterward, like he was genuinely afraid for her, like he would’ve caught the tray with his face if he had to.

And maybe she was imagining things, but… it looked like his hand was shaking a little.

“You okay?” she asked, soft and teasing.

Mark turned to her again. Their eyes met. The noise of the cafeteria faded into static.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling softly. “Just glad you’re not covered in marinara.”

Y/N laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming under his gaze. “Guess I owe you lunch next time.”

Mark shrugged, but his eyes flicked to her lips before he could stop them. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Haechan groaned and slid out of the seat with his tray. “Jesus Christ. Just date already.”

Mark pretended not to hear him, even as Y/N blushed and focused hard on her sandwich. Neither of them said anything, but something hung between them—heavy, slow-burning.

Neither of them knew the other was already half in love.

Neither of them knew how much longer they could pretend to be just friends.

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

The text came in while Mark was crouched on the edge of a rooftop in SoHo, panting through his mask, heart hammering in his chest after disarming a group of muggers. His phone buzzed inside his suit.

Y/N: hey, wanna hang? i just finished studying, i could use a break

Mark exhaled through his nose. God, of course she’d text now. She was probably curled up in her tiny dorm room two blocks from his, hoodie sleeves pushed over her hands, soft voice, softer eyes.

He wanted to go. He always wanted to go.

Instead, he wiped a smear of blood from his lip and sent back:

Mark: can’t tonight :( homework mountain

A lie. One he’d gotten good at telling.

10 minutes later

Y/N zipped up her jacket, stuffing her phone in her pocket as she exited the NYU library. The streets were mostly empty—just a few students and night-shift delivery workers riding past on electric bikes. She took her usual shortcut home, cutting through the back streets by the scaffolding-covered construction zone.

The alley echoed with quiet footsteps and the hum of machinery left idle overnight.

Then, above her—a blur.

Metal groaned.

She looked up, and her breath caught.

A red-and-blue figure shot across the sky, backlit by the moonlight, webbing trailing from his wrist as he swung from a crane with inhuman grace. Spider-Man.

She barely had time to process it when a crack rang out—followed by the screech of shifting metal.

A chunk of debris broke loose from the scaffolding overhead.

Y/N stumbled back, eyes widening as it plummeted toward her.

And then—

Arms wrapped around her. A chest against her back. She was airborne.

The world turned into wind and sky and the rush of adrenaline. She was clinging to Spider-Man’s suit—her fingers fisting red fabric, body pressed against his as he swung them out of the alley and onto the rooftop of a brownstone across the street.

He landed on one knee, holding her close, then straightened.

She didn’t open her eyes.

“…Hey,” he said, voice warm and careful. “You okay?”

She let out a breath, eyes still squeezed shut. “Yeah. Just—heights, not really my thing.”

He chuckled softly. “Fair. You’re good now. Debris didn’t touch you.”

Y/N slowly opened her eyes. She was still pressed against him, still gripping the suit like her life depended on it.

Now that she was looking at him—actually looking—he wasn’t just some vague blur across the sky. His mask was unmistakable, but under it, she could tell… he was young. Her age, maybe a little older. Lean. Broad-shouldered.

And flustered.

“Um…” She loosened her grip. “Can you maybe put me down now?”

“Right.” He stepped back, carefully lowering her to the rooftop, and then shot a web that brought them gently down to street level in a matter of seconds.

The walk to her building was quiet at first. They strolled side by side, the city lights washing the sidewalks in a warm yellow glow.

“You, uh… do this often?” she asked, glancing over at him.

“Rescue girls from scaffolding death traps?” He grinned under the mask. “Only the pretty ones.”

She snorted. “Wow. Spidey’s got lines.”

“Not good ones,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. That was dumb.”

“No,” she laughed, brushing hair behind her ear. “It was kind of charming. You seem… around my age?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. College, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” She looked him up and down. “You single?”

He stumbled over his own feet.

“I—uh—I mean, I—” He cleared his throat, hands suddenly very busy adjusting the straps on his wrists. “I should probably get going.”

Y/N smiled, amused by his panic, her heart fluttering. “It was a joke.”

“I know. Totally. Yep. Funny joke.”

She stopped outside her building, tilting her head at him. “Thanks again. For saving me.”

His voice was softer now. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

They looked at each other for a long second.

Then he nodded and stepped back. “Goodnight.”

And with a fwip, he was gone—swinging into the sky, disappearing between the buildings like a ghost with a secret.

Y/N stood frozen on the steps for a moment, fingers curled around her keys, heart pounding in her chest.

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

Y/N didn’t say a word to anyone.

Not about the scaffolding, the swing through the air, or the way Spider-Man’s chest had felt against hers. She kept it tucked close—like a secret pressed to her ribs, warm and intimate. A moment just for her.

She met Mark at their usual spot on campus, a tucked-away corner of an old brick café with velvet couches, low lights, and the smell of espresso soaked into every inch of the walls. They both had exams coming up, though the books between them remained mostly untouched.

Mark was already waiting on the couch, his laptop open in his lap, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He glanced up when she walked in.

“Hey,” he greeted with a small smile. “You look… happy today.”

Y/N sat down beside him, curling her legs underneath her. “Do I?”

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a little longer than usual. “Glowing, even.”

She laughed softly. “Well… I had an eventful walk home last night.”

Mark stiffened. “Eventful?”

She shrugged, nonchalant. “Nothing crazy. Just… one of those nights.”

She didn’t say more, and he didn’t press, but something flickered behind his eyes—like he was holding his breath.

They settled into studying, sort of. Pages turned. Highlighters squeaked. But they were sitting too close on the plush couch, knees brushing. At some point, they shifted to face each other. Y/N’s textbook sat ignored on the armrest while she tucked her legs up, her elbow brushing against his.

Their eyes kept meeting. Glances that lasted a beat too long. Fingers twitching as if tempted to touch. Every time Mark smiled, she felt it in her chest. Every time she leaned closer, he felt it in his spine.

He closed his laptop, clearly no longer pretending to study, and turned toward her fully.

“Y/N,” he said, voice lower than before.

She looked up, lips parting slightly. He was close—so close his breath warmed her cheek.

“I—” He hesitated, searching her face like he was reading a page he’d memorized a hundred times but still didn’t understand. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

BOOM.

A loud crash echoed in the distance—about two miles away, maybe closer. The kind of sound that made every bone tense.

Mark sighed, eyes closing for a moment. “So close.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, already standing up. “Just… I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

Y/N frowned as he hurried off, disappearing toward the back of the café. Her heart sank a little, the mood shattering into smoke.

Ten minutes passed.

When Mark returned, he looked… different.

His hair was tousled like he’d run through a wind tunnel. His chest rose and fell too fast. He looked pale under the café lights, one hand gripping the table a little too tightly before he sank back onto the couch beside her.

“You okay?” she asked, eyeing him carefully.

He nodded too fast. “Yep. Just… the bathroom’s way further than I thought.”

She tilted her head, unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

His voice cracked slightly.

Y/N gave a soft laugh, then—before thinking—reached up and combed her fingers through his messy hair, trying to smooth it back into place.

“You should rest,” she murmured, eyes focused on the strands between her fingers. “You look exhausted.”

Mark froze under her touch, eyes wide.

Realizing what she was doing, Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she snatched her hand back like she’d been burned. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head quickly. “It’s okay. You can. I didn’t mind.”

Silence bloomed again, thicker this time. More dangerous.

But neither of them moved away.

And somewhere in the back of Y/N’s mind, a thought whispered louder than the rest:

The timing. The bruises. The way he looked at her like he already knew what she wasn’t saying.

Could it be?

No. It couldn’t.

Right?

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

Mark insisted on walking her home. He always did when it was late, and she never fought him on it—especially not now. The city was buzzing as usual, cars honking, sirens faint in the distance, but with him beside her, everything felt quieter. Safer.

They reached the cracked sidewalk in front of her building, the steps leading up uneven and worn.

Y/N misjudged the second stair—her foot caught the edge, ankle twisting just slightly, body lurching forward.

But she didn’t fall.

Mark’s hands were already on her, steadying her before she could even blink. One arm wrapped tight around her waist, the other bracing her shoulder, pulling her flush against his chest like she weighed nothing.

Her hands gripped his arms instinctively—hard biceps under soft fabric, the heat of him burning through the layers. One hand slid up, fingers curling into his shoulder for balance.

They stayed like that.

Close. Too close.

Y/N could feel his breath on her face, see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. His jaw was tense, lips parted just slightly like he was about to speak but couldn’t.

Neither of them moved.

For a second, it felt like gravity had shifted—like he was the center of it now, and she’d be stupid to let go.

Then Mark blinked, startled like he’d just remembered where they were. “S-sorry—are you okay?”

Y/N didn’t move back, not just yet. “No, don’t apologize. Thanks for… saving me. Again.”

Something flickered behind Mark’s eyes—uncertainty.

Again?

His hands slipped from her waist as he stepped back, just barely. “Again?”

She smiled lightly, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “Yeah. The cafeteria. You know, reflexes-of-steel moment?”

Relief passed over his face like a breeze. “Right. Yeah. That.”

“Honestly,” she teased, shooting him a glance as she climbed the last stair, “you’ve got great timing. You should consider a side gig in hero work.”

Mark let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that in mind.”

She turned toward her door, pausing with her hand on the knob.

Mark stayed on the sidewalk, looking up at her with that same unreadable softness he always had around her. The kind that made her knees a little weak if she looked at it too long.

“Goodnight, Mark.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

She lingered at the door a beat longer than necessary, then stepped inside.

Upstairs, in the quiet of her apartment, she dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto her bed with a soft groan. But her heart wasn’t tired.

It was racing.

Her mind flashed back to Spider-Man—his arms around her, the warmth of his chest, the way he held her so protectively as they flew across the city.

Then it flashed to Mark.

Same warmth. Same strength.

Same… everything.

Her brows furrowed.

She shook her head, rolling onto her back and covering her face with a groan. Stop. You're overthinking. No way.

But even as she tried to push it aside, the thought echoed louder now:

Holding Mark… felt exactly like holding Spider-Man.

And her heart wouldn't let her forget it.

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

The air was crisp, city lights flickering below like a galaxy flipped upside down. Y/N leaned against the cool brick ledge of a rooftop she had no business being on—except for the fact that he always seemed to find her.

Spider-Man landed with a soft thud behind her, the wind from his swing rustling her jacket.

“You come up here often?” he teased gently, walking toward her.

She smiled, not turning to face him yet. “Only when I want to talk to someone who knows what it feels like to be… alone in a crowd.”

There was a pause. Then a softer, “You okay?”

She turned then, fully facing him now, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Spider-Man sat beside her on the ledge, one knee drawn up, looking out at the skyline. The silence between them was easy, familiar.

Y/N glanced at him sideways, heartbeat steady but deliberate.

“So,” she said casually, “what’s your favorite study spot on campus?”

He tilted his head. “Huh?”

“You go to college, right?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Favorite spot then.”

There was a beat. “Uh… that café across from the student union. The one with the ugly green couch?”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Interesting.”

“What?”

She shook her head, biting her smile. “Nothing. You just remind me of someone I know.”

Mark’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he kept his posture still, trying to play it off. “Hopefully in a good way?”

“The best way,” she murmured, then looked down at her hands.

There was a pause, heavy and quiet. Then—

“Can I ask you something?”

He turned his masked face toward her. “Of course.”

“I…” she started, then huffed out a nervous laugh. “Okay, this is stupid, but—I have a huge crush on my friend.”

Mark blinked behind the mask.

“Oh,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “That’s… not stupid.”

“He’s… amazing. Kind. Sweet. Stupidly brave. He’s the best guy I know, and I’m terrified of screwing it up if I tell him.”

Mark’s stomach twisted.

He swallowed. “Well… I think whoever he is, he’d be lucky. You’re… incredible.”

She looked up at him then, and in the way her eyes shimmered in the city light, something unspoken passed between them. Her voice softened.

“Do you ever get lonely? Being Spider-Man?”

Mark stilled.

No one had ever asked that. Not like that. Not with a voice so gentle, so human. He wasn’t sure what to say at first.

“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But it’s worth it. If I can keep people safe—even just one person—it’s worth it.”

Y/N stepped closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her body through the suit. She reached up, hands hesitating near his jaw, then slowly cupped his masked face, thumbs brushing gently over the fabric.

He almost leaned into her touch without thinking.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

He nodded once, unable to speak. His throat felt tight.

For a second, he wondered—Could she know?

But then she dropped her hands, took a small step back, and offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I should go.”

He cleared his throat, finding his voice. “Yeah. Me too.”

She hesitated one last second. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“I’ll always be around,” he said softly.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he was gone—swinging off into the night sky.

Y/N stood alone on the rooftop, heart pounding.

The way he touched her waist.

The café comment.

The voice—kind and uncertain.

It’s him. It has to be.

But if she was wrong…

She bit her lip, heart torn in two directions—toward the man she might already love, and the mask hiding his face.

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

The city hummed in the distance, golden lights stretching across the skyline like a heartbeat. Cars whispered across the bridge below them, and the East River reflected the stars above like ink kissed with silver.

Mark and Y/N stood at the edge of the pedestrian walkway, the iron rail pressed to their thighs, wind tugging at their jackets. He’d planned the night carefully: late dinner, a walk through DUMBO, and now this—his favorite hidden spot just off the main path where hardly anyone came after dark.

They stood close. Shoulders touching. Neither said anything for a long moment.

Mark glanced down, chewing the inside of his cheek. Now or never.

He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against hers.

Y/N stiffened—then relaxed.

He hesitated again, heart racing so loud he was sure she could hear it, then slowly slid his fingers between hers, gently lacing them together.

Y/N let out the tiniest breath and looked away, biting back a smile.

They both blushed like they were sixteen.

Mark stared out at the water, jaw tense, battling something behind his eyes.

Y/N tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”

His thumb rubbed over her knuckle once, then stopped. He sighed.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, voice low, and turned to her fully.

She blinked, startled by the intensity in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice rough, honest, shaking just a little.

Y/N gasped—not from surprise but from the thrill of hearing him say it. Then slowly, as if pulled by a string, she nodded and began to lean in.

Mark met her halfway.

Their lips brushed once, a feather-light graze that sent both of them shivering. Then again—firmer this time, mouths fitting together like they’d done it a thousand times in dreams.

And then—more.

Y/N’s hands curled around his neck, fingers tangling in his soft hair, tugging just enough to make him groan quietly against her lips. Mark’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him like he couldn’t bear to let go.

They kissed slowly, learning each other in that breathless, tentative way—like a secret passed between lips, tasting, tugging, pausing just enough to draw out the tension before diving in again.

The river, the cars, the whole city disappeared.

There was only her.

Only him.

Only this.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the night air. Y/N’s lips were kiss-swollen, eyes glazed. Mark looked completely dazed, like she’d knocked the sense right out of him.

“…Wow,” he breathed.

Y/N giggled, still catching her breath. “Yeah… wow.”

They stayed like that a moment longer, smiling, arms still wrapped around each other.

And even though neither of them said it out loud yet, in that moment, it was painfully, blindingly obvious:

They were already gone for each other.

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

Mark burst into the dorm, practically glowing. He didn’t bother turning on the lights—just stumbled in, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed backward onto his bed with a deep, content sigh.

Haechan sat up from his own bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and squinting at him. “Did you get hit by a truck or are you just radiating happiness right now?”

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands covering his face. “I kissed her.”

“What?”

“I kissed her,” Mark said louder, peeling his hands away and grinning at the ceiling. “And she kissed me back.”

Haechan blinked, slowly sitting up straighter. “No way. No way. You actually did it? You finally stopped pining like a Victorian widow and did something about it?”

Mark nodded like a drunk man in love. “On the Brooklyn Bridge. We held hands. Talked. Then I asked. And she said yes. And we just… kissed. Like—really kissed.”

Haechan snorted, flopping back into his pillow. “God, you’re disgusting.”

Mark laughed again, rolling onto his side, still smiling like a fool. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can. Took you long enough.”

Mark grabbed a pillow and lightly chucked it across the room. It hit Haechan in the face.

“But,” Haechan continued, serious now, “you’ve gotta be careful.”

Mark’s smile faded slightly. “Why?”

“She’s smart, dude. Like… smart. And she notices things. I’ve seen her face when something doesn’t add up.”

Mark stayed quiet.

“I’m just saying,” Haechan added, sitting up again, voice softer now. “You’ve been lucky. But if she finds out without you telling her? That’ll hurt more than a villain with a rocket launcher.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, his buzz still lingering—but weighed down now with reality. “I’ve been thinking about telling her.”

Haechan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to lie to her,” Mark said quietly. “Not anymore. I want her to know the real me. I want to tell her everything.”

Haechan exhaled slowly. “Then you have to be ready for what that means. Because once you do, it’s not just your secret anymore—it’s hers. And she has to carry it too. Every time you don’t text back right away, every time the news says Spider-Man got hurt… she’ll know. And it won’t be easy for her.”

Mark stared at the ceiling again, chest tightening.

He knew Haechan was right.

Telling her would be like giving her the key to a room that could only hold fear, uncertainty, and danger. But not telling her… when things were finally becoming real between them… that didn’t sit right either.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, voice small.

Haechan tossed the pillow back to his bed. “Well… when you do know, I think she’ll listen. She’s already in deep with you, man. I can tell. Just don’t screw it up.”

Mark lay there in silence, thinking of her smile, the way her fingers tugged his hair, the softness of her lips, and how she’d held him like she knew him—like she already suspected something.

He didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because he was afraid of being Spider-Man.

But because for the first time… he was afraid of what it might cost him.

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

The study date was meant to be just that—notes, coffee, some quiet time in the library. But somewhere between teasing touches and the way Mark looked at her over the top of his textbook, everything shifted. And now here they were—laughing in whispers as they reached her front door, the sky outside dipped in navy and starlight.

Y/N hesitated with the key in the lock, biting her lip before glancing over at him.

“Do you… wanna come in? Just for a bit?”

Mark’s breath caught. He nodded.

She smiled and opened the door.

Inside, things moved slowly at first. They dropped their bags by the couch, kicked off their shoes. They sat on the edge of her bed, close, too aware of how quiet the room was. How private.

Y/N turned toward him, fingers brushing his knee. “You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to.”

Mark shook his head. “I want to.”

Her eyes searched his. A pause.

Then she leaned in.

And when their lips met again, it was hotter than before. Less hesitant.

She pushed gently on his shoulder, and he let himself be lowered with her, their bodies sliding onto the bed. Mark braced himself above her, kissing her slow and deep, his hand cradling the back of her neck. Her fingers tugged at the hem of his hoodie, sliding beneath it, palms gliding over the firm skin of his back.

“Can I—?” she asked softly, fingers curling around the hoodie.

Mark nodded, chest rising and falling hard, letting her pull it off. Her hands spread over his chest, fingertips skating over the warmth of his skin.

But then—

The tingle.

It shot through his spine like electricity.

His senses lit up all at once.

Something was happening.

Mark’s whole body froze.

Y/N blinked up at him. “Mark?”

He sat up too fast, chest heaving, eyes darting to the window.

“Shit,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair. He started pulling the hoodie back on with shaky hands.

“Wait—what’s wrong?” Y/N sat up, voice small. “Did I—did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, God, no,” he said quickly, reaching out and cupping her face. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I forgot I was supposed to do something. Something important.”

Her brows drew together, eyes scanning his like she was trying to read between the lines. She saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his body wanted to stay even while his mind was already gone.

“…You don’t want to go,” she said quietly.

Mark pulled back, blinking fast, his throat tight. “No. I really don’t.”

Y/N leaned forward, brushing her lips to his in a soft kiss, hands on his shoulders. “Then go do what you need to do,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I get it.”

He stared at her for a beat too long, eyes filled with something aching and unspoken. Then he kissed her again—firmer, deeper—like a thank you and an apology wrapped into one.

“Thank you,” he said softly, forehead pressed to hers.

Then he was gone—out the door, down the stairs, and disappearing into the night.

Y/N sat on the bed alone, heart still racing, fingertips still tingling from where they’d touched his skin.

She didn’t know what he was running off to do.

But she knew one thing for sure now:

Whatever it was, it mattered.

And maybe… it had everything to do with why Mark always seemed to disappear right when Spider-Man showed up.

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

There was a knock at the door. Not loud. Just one soft set of three taps.

Y/N, still in her pajamas, blinked at the clock. Almost midnight.

She opened the door cautiously—then gasped.

“Mark.”

He stood there, hoodie torn, blood drying at the edge of his lip, dirt streaking his jaw. His eyes were dazed, like he’d walked miles to get there. His knuckles were scraped raw. And under the dim hallway light, she could already see the bruising through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Without a word, she reached out, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him inside.

“What happened?” she asked, trying to stay calm, but her voice was shaking. “Mark—sit, please—God, sit down.”

He slumped onto the couch like his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Take off your hoodie,” she said gently, but firmly. “Now.”

He hesitated—then obeyed.

The hoodie fell to the floor.

“Shirt too.”

Another pause, another heavy breath—and then the shirt came off.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears.

Bruises bloomed across his chest and ribs—deep purple, angry reds. Small cuts along his stomach. One shoulder scraped and bloodied like it had met asphalt hard.

“Oh my God…” she whispered, moving instinctively. She rummaged through her drawer and came back with her first-aid kit, snapping it open on the coffee table. “This is gonna sting.”

Mark winced as she dabbed antiseptic onto his side.

“I told you—ow,” he hissed. “That hurts.”

“Yeah, well, maybe stop getting thrown off buildings,” she muttered, wiping a streak of blood from his arm. “Hold still.”

Mark didn’t complain again.

He just watched her.

Watched the way she bit her lip in concentration, how her fingers trembled at first but steadied with care. How she gently taped gauze to his ribs and held her breath when he flinched. How tears clung to her lashes but never fell.

Then, quietly—almost too quietly—

“You know, don’t you?”

Y/N stilled.

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

Y/N flushed scarlet. She hadn’t her brothers best friend in two years and that’s the first thing out of his mouth? Moving back in with her brother and Jae was gonna be tough.

“You’re one to talk,” she mumbled, trying to look away.

But he stepped closer, eyes locked on hers, smirk playing on his lips. “Say that again, angel. I liked how that sounded.”

She scurried off, cheeks burning.

It only got worse after that.

Every time they crossed paths—Jaehyun alone in the hallway, shirtless in the kitchen, sprawled on the couch with that stupid smug smile—he’d say something.

“You know your skirt’s riding up, right?”

“Careful looking at me like that, baby. Someone might think you want something.”

“You keep biting your lip like that and I’m gonna start wondering what else that mouth’s good for.”

Each time, her throat dried, her heart raced, and her body responded way too fast.

But Jaehyun never touched her. Never crossed the line. He'd crowd her into a wall, whisper things into her ear, and back off with a lazy wink—just enough to ruin her for the rest of the day.

And she kept letting him. Kept loving it.

The Party

She wasn’t even supposed to be going. Johnny had said it was mostly older friends, college guys, exes—“boring,” he’d told her.

But when she heard Jaehyun would be there, Y/N made a choice.

A tight black dress. Strapless. Short. Paired with heels and gloss and a teasing perfume she hoped he’d notice. The moment she walked into the apartment, she saw the way heads turned—and more importantly, she felt his eyes on her.

Jaehyun was leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, laughing with someone. But the second he saw her, his jaw went slack. His gaze dragged over her—slow, dark, deliberate.

And he didn’t look away.

He didn’t approach her all night. He didn’t say anything. But she felt him everywhere—watching, pacing like a predator, drinking her in from across the room.

And finally, when she slipped into the kitchen for air, he followed.

“You wore that dress for me.”

Y/N spun around. Jaehyun stood in the doorway, shirt open at the collar, hair wild like he’d run his hand through it too many times. His voice was low, rough, already half-wrecked with frustration.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she whispered, clutching her cup.

He stalked closer. “You knew I’d be here. You knew what that dress would do to me.”

“I didn’t think you’d even notice.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes dragged down her body again. “You wanted me to notice. You want me to look at you and forget all the reasons I shouldn’t bend you over this counter right now.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “We’re not doing this.”

His jaw ticked. “You think I want to want you?” He stepped closer. “You think this is easy for me? Knowing every inch of you is off-limits? Knowing I can’t fucking touch you because your brother would bury me alive?”

Y/N gasped as his hand flattened on the counter beside her hip, boxing her in without touching.

“You walk around like you don’t know what you’re doing,” Jaehyun growled. “Like you don’t see how I stare at your legs. Your lips. How I can’t stop thinking about the sounds you’d make if I had my mouth between your thighs.”

“Stop,” she whispered.

“Why?” His face was inches from hers now, voice ragged. “Because if I say one more filthy thing, you’re gonna let me pull that dress up and show you exactly how long I’ve been waiting to fuck you?”

“Jaehyun—”

“You want me to stop?” he asked, chest rising and falling fast. “Say it. Say you don’t think about it too. Say you haven’t imagined me fucking you so hard you forget your own name.”

She couldn’t speak. Her body was shaking.

But then she whispered, “We can’t…”

His forehead touched hers for a second, hot and desperate.

“I know we can’t,” he breathed. “But don’t lie to me, baby. Don’t lie to yourself.”

A pause. Their lips almost brushed. So close it hurt.

“I want you,” she admitted, barely audible. “So fucking bad.”

He let out a rough, broken sound—half a groan, half a curse—and stepped back like it physically hurt to leave her.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.”

Another beat of silence. Then he looked her over one last time, hunger still sharp in his eyes.

“This tension’s gonna kill us.”

She nodded. “I know.”

They didn’t kiss. They didn’t touch.

They just stood there, burning alive, trying not to destroy everything.

Later that night...

Jaehyun hadn’t moved in twenty minutes.

He leaned back in a chair on the balcony, nursing the same drink while the rest of the guys hollered over some drinking game inside. His jaw was tight. His eyes tracked every shadow that passed near the kitchen—her. He hadn’t seen Y/N since she slipped out, cheeks flushed and lips parted like she wanted him to ruin her right there.

And fuck, he wanted to.

But he couldn’t.

“Bro,” one of the guys nudged him. “You good?”

“Hm?” Jaehyun looked up.

“You haven’t flirted with anyone all night. Usually by now you’re halfway into someone’s pants.”

Jaehyun gave a lazy smirk. “Guess I’m just not in the mood.”

But his voice lacked its usual cocky bite. His mind was still in that kitchen—her body inches from his, breath catching when he told her how much he wanted her.

“Not like you,” the guy muttered, squinting at him. “You’re not sulking over a girl, are you?”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “Relax.”

But the guy didn’t drop it. “Wait... are you—”

A sudden commotion cut him off.

Shouting. From the front lawn.

Voices raised, sharp. A girl’s voice.

Jaehyun was already standing before the others processed what was happening. He recognized it immediately—her voice. Her angry voice.

By the time he pushed through the door and onto the porch, a small crowd had already formed near the edge of the lawn.

There she was—Y/N, flushed and furious, backing away from some drunk asshole with slick hair and a cocky stance.

“I said no,” she snapped, voice shaking. “Don’t touch me.”

“Come on,” the guy slurred. “You’ve been giving me looks all night.”

Jaehyun didn’t hesitate.

He was down the steps in two strides, pushing through the crowd, voice sharp and deadly.

“She said no. Back the fuck off.”

The guy blinked at him, confused. “Who the hell are you?”

Jaehyun stepped between them, towering over him now. “The last person you want to piss off tonight.”

The guy scoffed, tried to square up—drunk and dumb.

And Jaehyun didn’t give him the chance.

He punched him—clean, hard, right in the face.

The guy hit the ground like a sack of bricks, groaning, hands clutching his nose.

The crowd gasped. Someone laughed. Someone cheered. And Jaehyun just stood there, chest heaving, teeth clenched, fists still curled like he wanted to throw another.

Y/N stared at him, breathless. Eyes wide. Lips parted. She grabbed his hand and he unclenched his fists and gave her a soft look.

Johnny came out seconds later, saw the scene, and rushed over, both of them quickly letting go.

“What the hell happened?”

Jaehyun didn’t even look at him. “Your sister was dealing with some creep who didn’t know what no meant.”

Johnny looked between the guy on the ground and Y/N—who was visibly shaken—and then back at Jaehyun.

His expression softened.

“Thanks for stepping in, man,” Johnny said, clapping a hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Seriously.”

Jaehyun nodded once, barely. “Anytime.”

But he wasn’t thinking about the fight anymore.

He was thinking about the way Y/N looked at him just now—like she wanted to fall into his arms and never come out.

Later That Night – Jaehyun’s Room

It was quiet.

The party had died down. Most people had left. Johnny was still out back finishing drinks with a few stragglers.

Jaehyun lay on his bed, shirt off, muscles tense, replaying that moment over and over. Her voice. The way her eyes had found his. The heat still thrumming in his chest.

Then a soft knock.

He sat up fast. “Yeah?”

The door cracked open. Y/N slipped in.

Short shorts. A thin tank top. No bra. Hair down. Barefoot.

Every nerve in Jaehyun’s body snapped awake.

“I… just wanted to thank you,” she whispered, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “For earlier.”

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his eyes on hers. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

“I was handling it,” she said, a smile playing on her lips.

“Not fast enough.”

They both laughed softly. The air between them buzzed.

Then she walked closer.

So close.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and she stopped in front of him. Her fingers brushed his knuckles—light, unsure. Then her other hand cupped his cheek, gently, tenderly.

Her lips pressed against his cheek. A soft kiss. A thank-you.

But then she lingered. Just a second too long.

And when she pulled back, their lips brushed.

Soft. Barely-there. But real.

Jaehyun didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Her breath trembled. “Jae…”

Then—

SLAM.

The front door opened. Johnny’s voice echoed through the house.

“Yo! Anyone still awake?”

They froze.

Y/N stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

Jaehyun stood too, tension radiating off him in waves.

“We shouldn’t…”

“No,” he agreed, voice tight. “We shouldn’t.”

But their eyes said everything else.

She slipped out of the room a second later, heartbeat still in her throat.

And Jaehyun sat back down, fists clenched in his lap, jaw tight, cursing every goddamn reason he couldn’t have her.

The Next Day

The backyard smelled like grilled meat, sunscreen, and summer sweat. The gang was loud—music playing, beers clinking, people laughing too hard at nothing. Y/N sat on a bench under the umbrella, trying to pretend she was listening to Johnny talk about some dumb lawn game.

But she couldn’t focus. Not with him there.

Jaehyun.

Laid back in a white tank top that clung to his chest, golden skin glowing under the sun, hair pushed back lazily as he nursed a beer. He looked like sin in human form. And every time he glanced at her—every slow drag of his eyes—her thighs pressed tighter together under the table.

He hadn’t said a word to her all afternoon.

Not a single filthy whisper. Not a single cocky smirk.

Which made her want it more.

And he knew it.

Later, she slipped inside to grab napkins from the kitchen—and the second the screen door shut behind her, she felt it.

His presence.

She turned, startled, just as Jaehyun’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down the hallway.

“Jae—what are you—”

“Shhh,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. No one noticed.

And then they were in the narrow hallway, alone, hidden from the windows.

He backed her into the wall—crowding her in. One hand on the wall beside her head, the other gripping her chin, thumb grazing her lower lip.

“Wearing those little shorts again,” he murmured, voice low and deadly. “Trying to make me lose my mind in front of all our friends?”

Y/N couldn’t breathe.

“You haven’t even looked at me all day,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Because if I looked at you too long, I’d drag you inside and make you scream my name.”

Her knees buckled.

“You want that, don’t you?” he murmured, leaning closer—his breath hot on her ear. “You want me to take you right here. Up against this wall. My hand over your mouth so they don’t hear you moan.”

Y/N whimpered.

Jaehyun groaned, deep in his throat. “You’d be so fucking loud for me.”

Before she could stop herself, her hands slid up his chest. Her thighs pressed together. And then she ground herself on his leg—slow, needy, shameless.

“Fuck, baby…” he hissed, thigh flexing under her. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?”

Her fingers gripped his shirt. Her hips kept moving, grinding up the length of his thigh like she couldn’t help herself.

His forehead touched hers. Their lips brushed.

Barely.

She let out a breathy, desperate moan straight into his mouth.

And Jaehyun snapped.

Not all the way.

But enough to shove his hand over her mouth, breathing hard as he held her there, both of them trembling.

“Stop,” he panted. “Y/N, stop—fuck—”

She slowed.

But she didn’t back away. Her eyes were glassy. Her cheeks flushed. Her body buzzed with the tension still thick between them.

He leaned in, whispering against her ear again, voice wrecked. “You do that again and I won’t stop next time.”

A beat passed. Her thighs clenched.

Then—voices.

“Where’s Y/N?” “Didn’t she go inside?” “Yo, Jae! You seen her?”

They froze.

Jaehyun exhaled sharply, composed himself. Dropped his hand from her mouth. Straightened his shirt. Ran a hand through his hair.

Y/N looked equally wrecked.

They took a breath.

And then they walked out together—calm, casual, like nothing had happened.

“Oh,” Jaehyun said easily, slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “She spilled juice in the kitchen. We were cleaning it up.”

Johnny blinked. “You cleaned a spill?”

Jaehyun smiled lazily. “What can I say? I’m helpful.”

Y/N laughed—too high-pitched. “So helpful.”

And no one questioned it.

But under the table, Jaehyun’s hand brushed her thigh. Just once.

A silent promise.

When they had a moment alone later Jaehyun thought it over. They can't keep going like this. He was too attracted to her and it wouldn't end well. Even a little bit isn't enough. He had to cut her off.

"We can't be friends." Jae said guiltily when they were alone.

"What?" Y/n looked in shock.

"I can't be your friend. Because I'll never think of you or see you as my friend. And every time we have a normal interaction I'm just thinking about everything I wanna do to you and how your brother would kill me if he found out."

Y/n scoffed offended. "You don't even wanna be friends? That's a lame excuse Jae, even from you. But fine. You got it, we're no longer friends."

Over the next few days tensions grew with their constant bickering and y/n wearing more revealing clothing around the house.

It started with another fight.

Jaehyun had been moody all day—gruff responses, tense jaw, barely speaking to anyone. Y/N finally snapped after he gave her yet another cold stare when she passed him in the hallway.

“What the hell is your problem?” she hissed, arms crossed tight.

“You,” he bit out. “You’re my fucking problem.”

Her heart stuttered.

“You don’t want me. You don’t want to be friends. So what do you want from me, Jaehyun? We both live in this house so suck it up.”

“I want to stop thinking about you every time you breathe in the same damn room!” His voice cracked. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t pretend this is normal. I can’t act like I’m not dying to touch you every second.”

Y/N stared at him, chest heaving. Her cheeks burned with anger and something else. “Fine,” she snapped, voice cold. “You don’t want to deal with me? Then don’t.”

That night, she went on a date with someone else.

Later That Night

The restaurant was awful. The guy was worse. He talked over her, laughed at nothing, stared at her chest the entire time.

And when he leaned in, trying to kiss her outside by her Uber, she shoved him away and ran.

Tears burned in her eyes as she called the only person she knew would come.

“Jae…” she whispered when he answered. “Can you… can you pick me up?”

He didn’t hesitate. He picked her up and drove her back to their place, the car ride thick with silence. 

It was pouring.

The sky cracked open above them, rain spilling like it had been waiting for this moment—just like them.

Y/N got out of the car and stood at the edge of the driveway, soaked and seething, arms crossed under her chest as thunder rolled in the distance. Her white tank clung to her breasts like second skin, completely see-through, nipples clearly visible. Her tiny denim skirt was soaked and hitched up high, the hot pink waistband of her panties teasing just above the fabric.

And Jaehyun—black shirt plastered to his chest, cargo pants hugging his hips, tattoos glistening in the storm—stood there with his jaw clenched, looking like he was on the verge of tearing something apart.

He was.

“What the hell are you doing calling me?” he snapped, stepping into the rain. “Didn’t you run off to your perfect little date?”

She spun around, drenched hair whipping over her shoulder. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t fucking start?” His laugh was humorless. “You go out, dressed like that, trying to pretend I don’t exist, then cry for me to come save you like I’m still the good guy?”

“I called you because it's your fucking fault I went on that date in the first place. I didn’t know who else to—!”

“No,” he growled, stepping closer, “you called me because even when you’re pissed at me, you still want me.”

Her breath caught.

Jaehyun's eyes dragged down her body, tongue darting out over his bottom lip. “You really think I didn’t notice that tiny little skirt, that wet tank, those bright fucking panties begging to be pulled down?”

Her eyes widened, but he wasn’t done.

“You walk around dripping wet, tits out, skirt barely covering your ass—and I’m supposed to keep pretending I don’t want to bend you over every surface I see?”

Y/N’s lips parted in shock.

“You think I haven’t pictured it?” he hissed. “Your legs spread in my backseat, you wrapped around me while my tongue is down your throat? Or your mouth gagged on my cock, crying while I throat fuck every thought of every other guy out of your head?”

Her knees buckled slightly. He saw it—and grinned. Dark. Filthy.

She shoved at his chest. “You're such a—”

But he grabbed her.

Fisted her skirt and panties, yanking her flush against him. Her gasp was swallowed by the sound of rain, her breath catching when she felt how hard he was through his pants.

“I’ve had enough of pretending,” he rasped. His lips brushed hers. “I’m fucking done.”

Then his voice dropped, hot and filthy against her mouth:

“Fuck it.”

And then he took her mouth.

It was wild. Open. Tongues colliding. His lips crushed hers, tongue shoving into her mouth like he was claiming it—like he’d been waiting years to taste her. His hand stayed tight on her panties, holding her body against his while he devoured her, spit and rain mixing between them.

Y/N moaned into it—helplessly—gripping his shirt like she needed something to hang on to.

Jaehyun groaned, deep and rough, sucking on her tongue before biting her bottom lip just to hear her whimper.

“You feel that?” he growled between kisses, grinding into her soaked skirt. “That’s what you fucking do to me.”

She was panting, dazed, lips swollen.

And he wasn’t done.

“I swear to god, if Johnny wasn’t your brother—” he shoved her back against the wall of the house, kissing her again, even harder this time— “I’d have fucked you right here. In the rain. With your panties still on.”

When they finally broke apart, both wrecked and breathless, her voice trembled.

“I want you.”

He wiped the rain from her cheek, staring at her like she was his breaking point and salvation at once.

“You’ve got me,” he whispered. “Now I’m done hiding it.”

The kiss didn’t stop.

Even as Jaehyun dragged her back into the house, their mouths stayed fused—wet, frantic, tongues tangling while their soaked bodies bumped into walls and doorframes. His hand stayed tight on her waist, the other sliding up under her clingy, dripping tank, fingers kneading over bare, slick skin.

He kicked his bedroom door shut and slammed her against it, lips pressing into her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. He groaned when he felt the heat of her body through the thin fabric, both of them soaked to the bone and breathless.

“Clothes,” he growled against her mouth, tugging hard at the hem of her top. “Off. Now.”

She whimpered as he peeled the wet fabric off her—tank top first, tossed somewhere on the floor. Her skirt followed with a harsh tug, panties bunched with it. His black shirt clung to his abs, tattoos snaking over soaked muscle as he pulled it off over his head.

She barely had a second to breathe before his lips were on her again—hot, hungry, starved—pushing her backward until her thighs hit the edge of his shower.

Jaehyun spun the handle.

Steam rushed out as hot water poured down from above.

He walked her straight into it, fully naked, his mouth still locked on hers. Their bodies collided under the stream, her back hitting the tile wall with a wet slap.

He didn’t let up.

His hands roamed—fisting her ass, dragging her against his thick length, sliding over her hips and ribs and chest, palms rough and greedy. His mouth dipped to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, biting just below her jaw before kissing her again—deep and messy, with his tongue shoved so far into her mouth she could barely breathe.

“You feel that?” he growled, grinding into her under the water. “That’s what I’ve been hiding. Every night. Every time you walked past me looking like a fucking dream.”

“Jae—” she gasped, nails digging into his back.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he snarled, grabbing her thighs. “But I’m about to show you.”

Then he lifted her.

Y/N yelped, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pinned her back to the wall, her legs hooked around his waist. His cock pressed hot and hard between them, and then—with one deep thrust—he was inside her.

She cried out, head snapping back.

Jaehyun moaned—a filthy, guttural sound—his forehead resting against hers as he started to move, slow at first, then harder, faster, relentless.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, biting her bottom lip. “So fucking perfect. You were made for this. For me.”

Water rushed around them. Their skin slapped wetly with every thrust. She clung to him, moaning into his mouth, and he kissed her through all of it—tongue tangled with hers, hand gripping her ass as he pounded into her.

“You wanted this too,” he panted against her lips. “You’ve been teasing me, dressing like that, looking at me like you needed me to ruin you.”

And god, he was ruining her—completely.

When they came, they came together—loud, messy, full-body shudders against the tile wall, mouths fused as they moaned into each other’s throats.

But Jaehyun wasn’t done.

Still breathing heavy, he set her down gently, kissing her temple as her legs shook. She barely had time to process the comedown before he dropped to his knees.

“Jae—” she gasped, wide-eyed.

“Don’t stop me,” he said darkly, voice hoarse with want. “You think I’m done tasting you?”

Then he spread her thighs, still trembling, and buried his face between them.

Y/N nearly screamed—clamping her own hand over her mouth just in time.

His tongue was ruthless. Flicking, sucking, dragging through her slick folds like he couldn’t get enough. The water poured down around them, hot and pounding, but all she could feel was his mouth—his filthy, expert mouth—and the way he groaned like he was addicted to the taste of her.

“Keep that hand there,” he muttered against her, tongue dragging up again. “You don’t want Johnny hearing how much you love this.”

And she couldn’t even reply.

Because her body was already shaking again—under the water, on the wall, around Jaehyun’s mouth.

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Sneak peak below of what comes next:

Johnny wandered in, sipping coffee, squinting at him.

Jaehyun raised a brow. “What?”

Johnny gestured at his chest. “You’ve got scratches. Everywhere.”

Jae froze mid-bite. “Huh?”

“And hickeys,” Johnny added casually. “Neck. Collarbone. Even your ribs, bro. Who the hell were you with last night?”

Jaehyun choked—literally—on the toast.

Coughing violently, he reached for his water. “I—uh—just… a girl. From the party. I don’t… remember her name.”

He leaned against his black GT-R, gloved fingers tapping his phone, only half-listening to the guy standing next to him rattle off stats about his latest upgrade.

“Turbo’s clean. Rear diff’s tightened. You’ll smoke his ass in under thirty seconds,” his crew chief said, grinning.

Yuta barely glanced up. “I always do.”

It wasn’t cockiness. It was fact.

He was twenty-seven, rich off side bets and sponsor money funneled through back doors, and untouchable behind the wheel. Tokyo’s street scene practically knelt for him—guys wanted to race like him, girls wanted to fuck him, and cops couldn’t catch him if they tried.

And yet?

It was all so… fucking predictable.

Tonight’s opponent rolled up in a lime green Civic, decals too loud, revving his engine like a try-hard. Yuta didn’t even blink. He took one look at the dude’s stance—shoulders tense, white-knuckled grip on the wheel—and knew it was already over.

The crowd gathered. Bets flew. Cameras pointed.

Yuta slid into his seat, pulled on his harness with one hand, and popped his neck with the other. His custom dash flickered to life in smooth neon blue.

3… 2… 1…

The signal girl dropped the bandana.

They launched.

Yuta barely tried.

A clean drift on the first turn. Early shift into second. The Civic was already choking behind him, pushing too hard, too early. By the halfway mark, he’d gained two car lengths. By the end, it wasn’t even a race—it was an execution.

Cheers erupted.

He rolled to a stop, engine humming like a satisfied predator.

The losing driver stumbled out, red-faced, pissed. Yuta didn’t even get out of the car. Just cracked his window, sunglasses still on.

“Better luck next year.”

His crew swarmed him. Another win. Another wad of cash in his glovebox. Another girl at his window asking if he needed company tonight.

He didn’t even remember her name.

He didn’t say yes.

He just sat there, watching the smoke rise from the street, his jaw clenched.

What’s the point of being king, he thought, if there’s no one worth fighting for the crown?

He didn’t know it yet, but that question would haunt him.

Until she showed up.

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

Engines roared under the midnight sky, headlights slicing through the dark like blades. The city’s underbelly pulsed with life—neon signs flickering, smoke curling from food carts, and crowds crowding the sidelines, hungry for speed and scandal.

This was Yuta Nakamoto’s world.

And tonight, he was pissed.

Not that anyone could tell. He stood beside his jet-black Nissan GT-R, arms folded, expression unreadable, signature silver chain catching the glow of the streetlights. The king of Tokyo’s illegal street racing scene. Cocky, untouchable, and fast as hell. He didn’t lose.

Ever.

But now, all anyone could talk about was her.

Y/N.

New girl. Pretty face. Big mouth. No one knew where she came from, just that she showed up three weeks ago and had already clocked wins that made veterans sweat. But to the boys in this scene, she was still just a gimmick. Eye candy with a nice ride.

Yuta had watched her from the second she pulled up.

Cherry-red Supra. Engine tuned to perfection. Confidence dripping from her smirk as she climbed out, leather gloves on, hair tied back, helmet under her arm. She hadn’t looked at anyone.

Except him.

And she winked.

The crowd didn’t take her seriously. But Yuta? He wasn’t stupid. He never underestimated anyone who walked like they had nothing to prove.

So when she was placed on the bracket to race him that night, everyone laughed.

Yuta didn’t.

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

The engines idled, low and dangerous.

Y/N pulled up beside him, her car humming like a beast waiting to be unleashed. She turned and gave him a slow, infuriating smile through her half-lowered window.

“Try to keep up, sweetheart.”

Yuta grinned, sharp and amused. “Don’t get cocky before I’ve even made you beg.”

The flag girl stood between them, heels clicking, arms up.

Three…

Two…

One—

Lights flashed.

Rubber screamed against concrete. They launched.

The streets were a blur of color and smoke, each turn sharper than the last. They tore through tunnels, bridges, and abandoned industrial zones, chasing the horizon like predators. Every drift, every inch of acceleration, was perfect—until she started toying with him.

First, she edged just slightly ahead, enough to block his lane. Then she tapped her brakes—just to throw him off. He gritted his teeth. Not because he couldn’t keep up.

Because she was flirting.

With him. During the race.

She drifted around the final curve, back bumper nearly kissing his front, and for a second he thought she was going to take it.

But at the last second… she let him pass.

He crossed the finish line barely ahead, heart pounding, fury and adrenaline crashing through him like a storm.

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

Crowds swarmed.

Yuta didn’t stay for the cheers. He didn’t let anyone slap his back or offer drinks. He pulled off his gloves, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd until he found her.

Y/N leaned against her car like it was a throne. Suit unzipped just enough to tease, chin tilted, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world.

He jerked his head once.

Follow me.

To everyone else, it looked like nothing. But she saw it.

And she went.

He led her past the crowd, down the alley behind the warehouse—quiet, dark, save for the hum of cooling engines and the buzz of tension.

When she stopped, he turned slowly.

“You let me win.”

Her smile was infuriatingly innocent. “Did I?”

Yuta stepped closer, until the air between them felt like it might combust.

“You had me on that last corner. You let off.”

She shrugged, voice soft and unbothered. “Guess we’ll have to find out next time.”

That fucking smile. Sweet. Coy. Like she hadn’t just pushed him to his limits and pulled back at the finish line just to mess with his head.

“You think this is a game?” he asked, stepping even closer, his chest brushing hers. “You think you can get in my head, baby?”

Y/N raised a brow. “Looks like I already did.”

His eyes dropped to her lips, then her smirk, then her mouth again.

“You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I always finish,” she said, low, leaning in like she might kiss him.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stepped back. Slow. Purposeful. And just when he thought she was done, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Night, Yuta.”

And disappeared around the corner.

He stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving, half-hard and half-furious.

Next time? He wasn’t letting her walk away.

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

The lot was empty. No crowd. No bets. No distractions.

Just two cars.

Two drivers.

And something thick and electric hanging between them like smoke from burnt rubber.

Yuta leaned against his GT-R, arms crossed, jaw tight. His leather jacket hung open, black tee clinging to the lines of his body, and his eyes were locked on the red Supra parked twenty feet across from him.

She was late. On purpose, he was sure. Just to piss him off.

Y/N finally pulled in, tires crunching gravel. She stepped out slow, deliberate, peeling off her helmet and shaking out her hair like this was a fashion shoot, not a race. Her eyes met his with that same smug, maddening sparkle.

Yuta didn’t move. Just watched.

“Cute of you to call for a rematch,” she said, walking toward him.

He pushed off the car, steps calm, but gaze burning. “That wasn’t a race. That was a performance.”

Her lips curved. “Was I good?”

Yuta stepped into her space. Close. Close enough to feel the heat off her body, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to hold his gaze.

“This time, you better give me everything,” he said, voice low and sharp. “I don’t want your tease. I want your best.”

Y/N’s eyes dropped to his mouth, slow and deliberate. Then lower. Her lashes fluttered.

“I’ll think about it.”

Yuta groaned—actually groaned—and dragged a hand down his face, turning away like it was the only way to stop himself from grabbing her right then and there.

“You’re fucking unbearable,” he muttered.

“You love it.”

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

They lined up.

Two monsters idling beneath them. The street was empty. The only light came from the glow of nearby signs and the hazy orange of an overhead lamp.

Engines roared.

Yuta’s hands tightened on the wheel. He glanced over. She winked. Again.

Fuck.

The flag dropped.

They took off.

Smoke, speed, heat—the world blurred into motion. No traffic. No obstacles. Just an open stretch of concrete and two hungry engines chasing domination.

Yuta pushed harder than he ever had. Every drift, every calculated burst of nitro, perfectly timed. And still—still—she stayed with him. Neck and neck, corner after corner, brake lights flickering like Morse code between them.

He thought he had her on the final straight. Thought he saw her drop just a fraction of a second.

But she surged forward.

So did he.

The finish line blurred past—and when they stopped at the end of the strip, both dashboards read the same time.

Dead. Even.

Yuta slammed his fists against the wheel.

“FUCK—”

Her laugh cut through the night.

He turned his head slowly, furious and breathless, just in time to see her blowing him a kiss through the window.

Then she sped off.

Gone again. No win. No loss. No answers. Just that fucking laugh echoing in his head, making his blood boil and his heart race.

Yuta leaned back in his seat, chest heaving.

He wasn’t just obsessed anymore.

He was losing it.

And the worst part?

She knew.

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

It started like any other race night.

Same lot. Same haze of exhaust and cheap smoke. Same faces shouting over dubstep bass and engine revs. Yuta had just dusted another challenger—this one in a souped-up BMW who swore he’d figured out “the secret to beating Nakamoto.”

Spoiler: he hadn’t.

Yuta didn’t even break a sweat. The cash was in his back pocket, the praise rolling in, and a girl he vaguely recognized was trying to get his attention with too much perfume and too little subtlety.

He didn’t look. Didn’t care.

He was already turning to leave when he heard it—a low, aggressive rumble slicing through the chaos like a blade.

It wasn’t just a car.

It was an arrival.

Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The crowd parted like instinct knew to move out of the way.

And then he saw it.

Cherry-red Supra.

Clean. Polished to hell. Not a scratch on the body, but the exhaust sounded mean. Whoever tuned it knew exactly what the fuck they were doing. Yuta’s brows rose, curiosity flickering somewhere under his usual deadpan expression.

The door opened.

Boots hit the asphalt first.

Then legs. Hips. Black racing suit unzipped just enough to reveal the curve of her collarbone. Fingerless gloves. Helmet tucked under one arm, hair pulled back like she didn’t have time for drama.

And then she looked up.

Right at him.

Not the crowd. Not the cars. Not the so-called competition standing around like dogs sniffing for scraps.

Straight at Yuta.

Like she already knew who he was.

And worse—like she wasn’t impressed.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause.

She just walked past everyone, slow and confident, and came to a stop directly in front of him.

“You’re the king, huh?” she said, voice calm, almost lazy, like this was a casual conversation at a bar—not a challenge on sacred blacktop.

Yuta tilted his head, eyes dragging over her frame, the car behind her, and finally her mouth.

“Depends who’s asking.”

That got her to smile. A little.

“The girl who’s about to smoke you.”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. Just turned and walked back to her car, hips swaying like the whole thing bored her. Like she wasn’t surrounded by men who’d eat glass for half her confidence.

Yuta stood frozen for a second.

What the fuck just happened?

His crew was whispering behind him.

“Who is she?”

“Is she serious?”

“She won’t last a second.”

But he knew.

She’s not bluffing.

Yuta didn’t get excited anymore. Not by money. Not by sleeping around. Not by victory. Not by the roar of engines or the flash of lights.

But his heart was racing.

Finally.

Someone worth chasing.

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

It was just another underground meet—oil-stained concrete, revving engines, neon lights flickering in the humid night air. Yuta had just pulled in, freshly detailed GT-R humming, when he heard it.

Voices. Laughter. Stupid.

“She’s hot, sure, but that’s all she is. No way she beats Yuta clean. He probably let her win just to get in her pants.”

“She’s not even that good. Just a tease in tight suits. I’d wreck her on a straight.”

Yuta stopped.

Turned.

And cracked his neck like he was warming up.

The first guy didn’t even see it coming.

Yuta’s fist slammed into his jaw, clean and fast, sending him sprawling back into a stack of tires. The second tried to step in—Yuta elbowed him square in the gut, then grabbed his collar and shoved him hard into the hood of a car.

“She’s better than you’ll ever be,” he snarled, jaw clenched, fire in his eyes. “You talk about her again, I’ll make sure you never race in this city again.”

He let the guy drop, chest heaving, blood buzzing with something he hadn’t felt in years.

Not just anger.

Possession.

Respect.

Obsession.

She saw it all.

Y/N stood across the lot, leaning against her Supra, one brow raised, chewing on a piece of gum like it was the most interesting thing she’d seen all night.

He stalked toward her, wiping his knuckles with a rag, adrenaline still thick in his veins.

“You ready?” she asked sweetly.

Yuta didn’t smile. “Born ready.”

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

Just the two of them.

Again.

Same stretch of closed-off city. No crowd this time—word had spread that this wasn’t a public thing anymore.

This was personal.

Yuta pulled up beside her, rolled down his window, leaned one elbow out casually.

“You sure you’re ready to lose in style tonight?” he asked, smirk lazy.

Y/N turned to him, head tilting, the neon lights catching the gleam in her eyes. “I thought I already beat you where it counts.”

Yuta licked his teeth. “We’ll see who’s breathless at the finish line.”

They launched.

But this time, Yuta played dirty.

Every drift, every tight turn, he teased her.

Cut in just close enough to rattle her rhythm. Braked slightly to make her overthink. Sped ahead, only to let her catch up just to block her again.

He wasn’t trying to win.

He was trying to get under her skin. The same way she’d gotten under his.

She growled into her mic once when he blocked her third attempt to pass.

“Fuck you, Yuta.”

“You trying,” he replied smoothly, “but I like it desperate.”

They crossed the line.

Dead even. Again.

But this time, she didn’t drive away.

She stuck her arm out the window and curled her finger once.

Follow me.

He did.

No hesitation.

They drove fast, far—past the edge of the city, through a winding forest path, until they pulled up to a secluded clearing just big enough for their cars.

She stepped out first, no helmet, racing suit peeled halfway down to her waist, tank top clinging to her sweat-slicked skin.

Yuta was on her before she could even speak.

He crowded her back against the hood of his car, both hands on either side of her thighs, lips barely inches from hers.

“You like fucking with me, huh?” he murmured, gaze burning. “Racing me, teasing me, driving me insane.”

Y/N smirked, breath shaky. “Is it working?”

He leaned in closer, until his mouth brushed her cheek, then her ear.

“You don’t even know what you’ve started. I’ve been thinking about your mouth every time I shift gears. About the way your thighs squeeze when I cut you off. About bending you over your own fucking hood.”

She gasped.

Yuta smirked. Finally.

“You wanna play games, baby? You just picked the wrong opponent.”

His fingers brushed down her arm, slow, like a threat and a promise. His lips hovered over hers.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice like gravel and heat.

But she didn’t.

She tilted her chin up instead, lips parted, eyes glazed over with want.

And Yuta smiled.

The trees rustled in the breeze. Her back was still against the hood of his car, the metal warm under her thighs from the engine. Yuta hadn’t stepped away. He stood between her legs, chest almost brushing hers, hands planted on either side of her like a trap.

The air between them was hot and tight—every breath laced with the things they hadn’t done yet.

And then Yuta leaned in, voice dropping.

“There’s a race this Friday. Public one. Big crowd. Everyone’ll be there.”

Y/N’s lashes flicked up, eyes meeting his with a slow, lazy challenge.

“So?”

He smiled. Sharp. Dangerous.

“We race. Just you and me.”

Her brows raised. “Like we haven’t done that already?”

“No.” His hand came up, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek, fingertips grazing her jaw. “We make it interesting.”

She didn’t move. But her breath hitched.

“No money,” he murmured, thumb now stroking under her ear. “No title slips. Just us.”

Her voice came soft, curious. “Then what’s the bet?”

Yuta’s mouth ghosted over hers.

“If I win,” he said, tone filthy-sweet, “I get you.”

She froze.

“In my car. On my car,” he whispered, lips brushing hers with every syllable. “Where everyone hears how sweet you sound when you come for me. You’ll moan my name louder than my engine.”

Y/N’s lips parted, shaky.

“And if I win?” she asked, but it came out breathless.

Yuta chuckled low, dark. “You take the crown. Queen of the underground. And I’ll do whatever the hell you want.”

He leaned in closer, mouth now dragging over her cheek to her ear, breath hot and steady.

“But baby,” he rasped, “you better start thinking about how you wanna use me. Because when I win—”

His hand slid down, gripping her waist.

“—I’m gonna spread you across this hood, tongue-deep in you while my engine’s still cooling.”

Her thighs shifted, tension coiling so tight she could barely breathe.

“And then,” he growled, “I’ll fuck you in the backseat while the whole city knows who you belong to.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, eyes wide, but her fingers curled into his shirt.

Yuta smiled against her skin.

“Still wanna play?”

She smirked, trying to keep her voice steady—but he could see her pulse jumping.

“I’ll see you Friday, King.”

She slid off the hood, slow and deliberate, her body brushing against his with just enough pressure to make him ache. But before she could step away fully, Yuta grabbed her wrist—gentle, but firm.

She turned, cocking a brow.

“What?”

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned in.

Their mouths crashed together.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw, starved, all tongue and teeth and heat. His hand slid to her waist, gripping tight, the other threading into her hair to pull her even closer. Y/N moaned against his mouth before catching his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging—punishment and promise in one breath.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. His hips pressed forward like his body couldn’t help it.

It only lasted a few seconds.

But it felt like fire.

When they finally pulled apart, their lips were red, wet, swollen—destroyed.

A thin string of spit stretched between their mouths, glinting in the moonlight before it snapped.

Both of them stood there.

Breathing hard.

Eyes half-lidded.

Chests rising and falling like they’d just finished something filthy instead of starting it.

Yuta’s voice came low, ruined. “Fuck.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don’t go soft on me now.”

Then, like she hadn’t just left him with a hard-on and no shame, she turned on her heel and walked back to her car, hips swaying like a death sentence.

Yuta stood there, dazed, chest buzzing.

His lips still tingled.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

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

The race was unreal.

Rubber burned into the pavement. Crowds screamed. Their engines howled against each other like animals locked in heat.

Y/N was fast—scary fast—taking every turn like the laws of physics bent for her. Yuta hadn’t had to fight this hard in years. His knuckles were white on the wheel, pulse pounding in his ears as he drifted the final curve.

They crossed the line side-by-side.

Milliseconds.

Just milliseconds gave it to him.

The crowd erupted. Her fists slammed the wheel.

Yuta looked over and saw her face through the window. Set jaw. Gritted teeth. Eyes still burning with speed.

He grinned.

And motioned with two fingers:

Follow me.

Their Secret Spot

The rain had started halfway through the drive—hot and heavy, pounding against the windshield like it had a score to settle.

They pulled up to the same hidden clearing, deep in the trees, engines still steaming.

Yuta stepped out first.

His racing jacket was undone, hanging from his arms like a careless afterthought, the rain soaking into the black fabric. His abs glistened with water and sweat, stomach flexing with every breath. His belly button piercing shimmered. A silver chain rested against his throat, wet and catching the occasional flash of lightning overhead.

He looked like sex and sin and pure, arrogant victory.

Y/N climbed out, slamming her door with just a little too much force.

Her top clung to her body like a second skin, rain making it nearly transparent. Her nipples showed through the fabric, hard and perfect, her chest rising with every angry, aching breath.

The second she faced him, thunder cracked through the sky.

Yuta licked his lips.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her voice came breathless.

“Well?” she bit out. “Are you gonna fulfill your side of the bet or just stand there smirking?”

Yuta’s grin turned feral.

He didn’t answer.

He just stalked toward her, chain glinting, water dripping from his jaw.

His hands grabbed her hips, spun her around, and lifted her onto the hood of his car—her soaked thighs spreading instinctively. The metal was warm beneath her, even in the rain.

His hands pushed up her skirt. No warning.

Y/N gasped.

“Yuta—”

But then his mouth was on her.

Hot. Open. Filthy.

Tongue licking a slow, devastating stripe up her soaked panties before he yanked them aside with a growl.

His mouth landed again, fully now, tongue curling, lips sucking like he’d been starving for her.

And he had.

She bucked, hands flying to grip the edge of the hood.

The rain kept pouring, steam rising from the heat between her thighs and the metal under her, and Yuta didn’t stop. He licked her like she was his reward, moaning low against her cunt, chain swinging as he moved his head, hips grinding into the car because he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck—Yuta—” she gasped, legs trembling, body jerking at every pass of his tongue.

He slid two fingers into her without warning and groaned against her, voice muffled and wrecked.

“You taste like I fucking knew you would.”

She let out a strangled cry, falling back against the windshield, legs spread wider, one heel slipping against the hood.

He pulled back only to spit between her legs, watching it drip down her pussy before licking it all up again like he was possessed.

Y/N was gone.

Cursing. Shaking. Chanting his name in the rain.

She came with a cry that echoed through the trees, thighs squeezing around his head, nails clawing at the slick metal beneath her.

Yuta finally looked up.

Soaked hair. Slick mouth. Chain hanging crooked on his neck.

Smirking.

“Well,” he rasped, voice like gravel, “I am a man of my word.”

Y/N was still panting on the hood, legs twitching from the aftershocks of his mouth, when Yuta stood tall between her knees—his smirk dark, dangerous, fucking triumphant.

He didn’t say a word.

Just yanked his belt open, shoved his pants low enough, and flipped her over in one motion—face-down, ass up against the wet hood.

“Yuta—fuck—” she gasped, cheek pressed to the metal, hands splayed to steady herself.

His chain swung over her back as he grabbed her hips, lining himself up.

“I dreamt of this exact fucking moment,” he growled, dragging the head of his cock between her folds, teasing her. “Every time I get behind this wheel, I picture your ass bent over my car. Just like this.”

She moaned, low and desperate.

“I’ll never drive again without feeling your pussy right here—soaking my hood, dripping down the fender.”

And then he pushed in, slow and thick, and Y/N cried out, back arching.

Her hands clawed at the rain-slick surface, face twisting in pure pleasure as he bottomed out.

Yuta leaned over her back, hips grinding into hers with every roll.

“God, this tight fucking cunt,” he breathed into her ear, “you were made to be taken like this.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back.

He fucked her deep, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the trees and over the roar of the rain. His grip on her hips tightened, his voice right in her ear, chain brushing her spine.

“I should keep you here,” he growled, slamming into her, “legs spread on my hood like a hood ornament—just for me.”

Her cries got louder, more desperate. She was soaked, both from the rain and from him.

And when he felt her clenching, close again, he pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and slid right back in—facing her this time.

She gasped—his cock hitting deeper in this angle—and then his chain slapped against her chin, slick and cold, just as he thrust hard.

She moaned.

Loud.

“F-fuck—your chain—”

“Oh, you like that?” Yuta panted, breath hot, mouth open as he pounded into her, rain dripping from his hair. “You like getting fucked by your king? Want my chain on your throat while I ruin you?”

She nodded helplessly, eyes fluttering, gripping his arms, nails digging in.

“Say it,” he groaned, fucking her harder, “Say who fucking owns this pussy.”

“You do—fuck—you do, Yuta—”

He kissed her hard, wet and open-mouthed, biting her bottom lip, their tongues tangling and rain running between their skin.

But it wasn’t enough.

He pulled out suddenly, dragging her off the hood, and threw open the driver’s seat door.

He sat down.

Cock out, chain glinting, sweat and water running down his abs.

“Get in.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She climbed on, straddling him, sinking down onto his cock with a loud moan—still dripping, still twitching from how close she already was.

But Yuta didn’t help her.

His hands held her waist loosely, teasingly, just enough to guide her, not enough to lift.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, voice velvet filth, “You wanna be queen? Show me.”

She rode him, slow at first, hands on his shoulders, then faster—harder—until their skin slapped and moans echoed off the windows. Rain poured outside, but in the car, it was all heat and sweat and want.

Yuta’s head fell back against the seat, jaw slack.

“God, look at you. Fucking made for me.”

She grabbed his chain, yanking him back into a messy kiss, lips sliding, tongues licking.

“Who's the king?” he panted, eyes wild, hips now bucking up into her just a little.

Y/N bit his lip.

“You are,” she breathed, eyes half-lidded.

He groaned, guttural, slamming up into her, hands finally gripping tight and helping her now—using her, bouncing her harder, faster.

The windows fogged. Her cries grew high-pitched, his name falling over and over again from her soaked lips.

And when she came—shaking, nails clawing his back—Yuta held her there, moaning her name into her mouth as he came too, deep and hard, filling her up in the driver’s seat.

———-

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“I’m always getting threats. It’s part of being beautiful, rich and female in politics.”

Still, her heart pounded. Not that she’d show it.

She was halfway to the grand dining room when two sharply dressed guards stepped in her way. “Miss, you’ve been asked to remain in your wing until further notice.”

Y/N’s brow twitched. “Excuse me?”

One of the guards tapped the side of his earpiece. “Your new protection detail is en route. You’ll be briefed then.”

She scoffed. “Protection detail? You make it sound like I’m some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”

“Like you did in Paris when you ‘lost’ your security team at that underground club?” the guard said dryly.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That was one time, and I still made it back before sunrise.”

The guards didn’t budge.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But he better not be ancient like the last guy. I’m not sharing a damn car with someone who uses a flip phone.”

They didn’t respond. Just kept still like statues, until one of them finally turned his head, nodded to someone over her shoulder, and said, “He’s here.”

She turned.

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t ancient. Far from it.

He was tall, lean with broad shoulders that filled out his tan tactical gear in the most obscene way. The shirt clung to a body forged in discipline—cut abs, thick arms, short black hair and strong hands. His eyes were sharp, his jawline edged like stone, and the scar slicing across his brow only added to the danger that radiated from him in waves.

Johnny Suh.

She didn’t know him, but she felt him.

His eyes locked on hers, cold, assessing.

“This is the girl?” he asked, glancing at the guards like she wasn’t standing right there.

“I’m not a girl,” she snapped before anyone could answer. “And who the hell are you?”

He didn’t flinch. “Your new shadow.”

“You mean bodyguard.”

“I mean I go where you go. I sleep where you sleep. If someone breathes too close to you, I’m the last face they see before they drop.”

A chill ran down her spine.

She folded her arms over her chest, lifting her chin. “Cute. You practiced that line in the mirror?”

He stepped closer, towering over her. His voice dropped, slow and deliberate. “No. But I’m not here to charm you. I’m here to keep you alive. So if I say don’t move, you freeze. If I say run, you run. If I say you’re not going to that party, you’re not going.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I do now.”

Her chest heaved with restrained fury.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or climb him like a tree.

By nightfall, her bags were packed, and the mood in the estate had shifted.

She wasn’t given a chance to argue. Not this time.

Her father’s security chief came into her room just as she was applying a fresh coat of lipstick.

“You’re being extracted,” he said simply. “They hit one of the convoys. It’s real now.”

She paused. “Who?”

“We don’t know yet. Could be a splinter group. Could be political retaliation.”

“I’m not leaving—”

“Yes, you are. Johnny’s already cleared the route.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “And where exactly is he taking me? A bunker?”

“Close. A safehouse right across the border, from there he'll lead a team to deliver you safely to your primary dwelling in your homeland. Quiet. Low profile.”

“That sounds awful.”

“That’s the point.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I need my perfume, at least.”

“You need to go.”

Within ten minutes, she was being rushed out the side entrance under darkness. Johnny was waiting beside a beat-up black car that looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. He opened the back door wordlessly.

She stared at the vehicle in horror. “You expect me to ride in that?”

“You want to live or look cute?”

“I want both.”

He didn’t smile. “Pick one.”

With a scoff, she climbed in. “This is so not cute.”

He got in beside her, started the car, and didn’t say a word for the first half hour.

Silence reigned in the cabin except for the hum of the tires on asphalt.

She shifted in her seat, annoyed he wasn’t at least trying to talk to her. “So what’s your story? You always this charming, or is it just with women you’re forced to protect?”

His eyes stayed on the road. “I don’t do small talk.”

“Shocking. You’re such a delight.”

He gave her a side glance. “You really think pouting and being a brat is going to work on me?”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve read your file. The parties, the fake names, the sneaking past security with wigs. You’re not subtle, princess.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t need to. I know how to keep people alive. That’s what I care about.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smirked. “You’re welcome.”

That night, they stopped at a grimy roadside motel just before the border.

The room reeked of smoke and mildew. There was only one bed.

“One bed?” she gasped.

“Better than sleeping in the car,” he muttered, already setting his duffel down.

“I’m not sleeping next to you.”

“Then take the floor.”

She gawked at him. “I don’t sleep on floors.”

“I don’t care where you sleep as long as you don’t leave the room.”

He stripped off his jacket, revealing an undershirt that clung to his body like a second skin. The muscles in his arms flexed as he reached into his bag for a weapon to set beside the bed.

Y/N tried not to stare.

Tried.

Failed.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” he said without looking.

Her face burned. “I was not staring.”

He finally met her gaze, voice low and dangerous. “You’re not as subtle as you think, princess.”

She turned her back, cheeks flaming, heart hammering in her chest.

Maybe being stuck with Johnny Suh wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

But God help her… She was not going to survive this man.

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

The next morning, the sun barely broke through the grime-streaked motel window. The walls were thin, the bed was lumpy, and the air smelled like stale smoke and something fried a decade ago.

And Johnny Suh hadn’t slept a damn second.

Between Y/N’s tossing, her sighing, and the faint scent of her expensive perfume on the pillow they unfortunately had to share, it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his mind.

Now she sat in the passenger seat of their beat-up sedan, bare legs stretched out, polished toenails resting on the dashboard—disrespecting it in a way that made his military-trained brain twitch.

“Would you relax?” she drawled, leaning back, her tank top rising just enough to flash the tiniest peek of stomach. “It’s not like this car has resale value.”

“I said feet down.”

“Or what?” she smirked. “You’ll spank me?”

His hand visibly tightened on the steering wheel.

Y/N grinned to herself.

She’d noticed it. The subtle flicker in his eyes. The slight freeze every time she let her mouth get a little too filthy. He never acknowledged it, never cracked—but she could feel the tension in him, sharp as a wire pulled taut.

Johnny Suh might’ve been trained in a hundred forms of warfare, but he was not prepared for her brand of bratty flirtation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head. “You’re not thinking dirty thoughts, are you, Sergeant Suh?”

He didn’t blink. “I’m thinking about how easy it would be to leave you on the side of the road.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You’d leave me to die?”

“Not to die. Just to shut up for five minutes.”

“You wish I would shut up.”

“I do. Every second.”

She laughed and turned to look out the window, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She might’ve been kidnapped out of her palace life, stripped of her private chef and ten-step skincare routine, but at least she had one thing going for her:

She made Johnny Suh sweat.

Hours later, they pulled up to another motel. This one even worse than the last—if that was possible.

“Are you sure this is safe?” she sniffed as they walked through the creaking hallway. “I think something just ran under the vending machine.”

Johnny didn’t look back. “Don’t care. It’s remote. No digital trace. And no one would think someone like you would stay here.”

“Oh, you mean someone clean?”

He ignored her. Unlocked the door. Tossed his bag in.

She followed him in slowly, blinking at the one (again, single) bed. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t joke.”

“Not even during sex?”

His eye twitched.

She noticed.

He turned away.

She smiled.

After a long, lukewarm shower (she cursed loudly when she found out there was no hot water), Y/N stepped back into the room in a towel and dropped her dirty clothes in a heap on the bed.

Among them: her lacy red lingerie set, still damp from the steam.

Johnny, seated on the chair cleaning his sidearm, didn’t look up—at first.

But then she dropped her towel.

Right in front of the bathroom door.

And walked to the bed in nothing but the tiniest silk shorts and a paper-thin tank top.

He froze.

Didn’t lift his head.

But she saw the tic in his jaw. The way his fingers stopped on the weapon.

Saw his throat bob as he forced himself to keep looking anywhere but her.

“Oh no,” she said, faux-innocent. “Did I leave that there?”

She bent down casually to scoop the lingerie off the bed, fully aware of how high her shorts rode up as she did.

“I swear this set always makes everyone go quiet,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

He still didn’t respond.

But he wasn’t breathing normally anymore.

“Something wrong, soldier?” she purred.

“Go to bed,” he said, voice tight, strained.

“I am in bed.”

“I mean sleep. Not whatever this is.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it,” she said, stretching, arms above her head, tank top lifting with her. “We’re sharing beds. Sharing air. You must have imagined it at least once.”

His voice was a low growl. “You don’t want to know what I’ve imagined.”

Her breath hitched.

That—that was the first time he cracked. Just a sliver. Just a flash of what was boiling under that rigid control.

He stood up suddenly, tossing his weapon on the table and turning away, his back muscles flexing beneath his shirt. “Put on some goddamn clothes.”

She smirked. “Jealous I’m more armed than you right now?”

His hand clenched into a fist.

“Last warning, Y/N.”

“Or what?” she teased, voice like silk. “You’ll put me over your lap?”

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t have to.

Because the silence that followed was electric.

And she knew then: Johnny Suh might not act on it. Might bury it under rules and orders and cold glares.

But he was thinking it. Every single filthy thing.

And that was almost better than the real thing.

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

The motel room was quiet—finally. The dim lamp on the nightstand flickered with every surge in the old wiring, and the only sound came from Johnny’s slow, steady breathing.

He was asleep.

Laid out on his side of the bed, one arm slung across his chest, the other resting near the loaded pistol tucked under his pillow.

Y/N had waited. Waited until his breaths evened out, until she could slip off the bed without making a sound.

She was sick of this.

Sick of the chipped paint, of the no-hot-water showers, of her so-called "protector" acting like she was a prisoner.

She wanted music. A drink. A reminder of her life before this mess.

She changed silently, sliding on a tight black top she’d stuffed deep in her duffel and a pair of dark jeans that hugged her hips. A tiny tube of lip gloss—the only makeup she managed to sneak past Johnny’s military-grade packing inspection—gleamed between her fingers as she twisted off the cap and slicked it across her mouth.

She smacked her lips once in the mirror, then moved to the door, turning the handle slowly.

But just as she pulled, the weight of a large, calloused hand clamped over hers.

She froze.

A deep voice—raspy from sleep and sharp with warning—cut through the dark: “Where do you think you’re going?”

Y/N whipped around to find Johnny towering behind her, still half-draped in the shadows, shirtless and dangerous even with his eyes half-lidded from sleep.

“I—I was just gonna step out,” she lied, yanking her hand back.

His palm stayed pressed to the door, keeping it firmly shut. “Try again.”

She lifted her chin, irritated by how her pulse quickened just looking at him. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business. Your safety is my business. Did you forget what I’m here for?”

“I didn’t ask for you to be here,” she snapped, her voice rising.

He leaned in close, eyes locked on hers, voice like gravel. “No. But your father did. Because people want you dead. And walking into some shady bar in the middle of nowhere with that lip gloss and those jeans? That’s not just stupid—it’s suicide.”

Her brows knit together, heat rushing to her cheeks. “You don’t get to control my life.”

“Actually, I do. Until this mission is over, your life is mine to control. If you hate that, take it up with the people sending death threats.”

She shoved at his chest—not that he moved. “I want a new bodyguard.”

His mouth twisted. “Too bad.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping an octave. “I’m all you’ve got. And whether you like it or not, you’re not stepping outside this room unless I say it’s safe.”

Y/N glared up at him, chest heaving. “You’re a dictator.”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

“Well, you suck at it.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he wasn’t finished.

“Change back into the clothes I gave you. Now.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, eyes dropping briefly to her skin-tight jeans before quickly returning to her face. “Tank top. Shorts. Back in bed. Or I’ll stand here and make sure you do it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He stared. Unflinching. Dead serious.

She stormed past him with a frustrated hiss, grumbling under her breath as she peeled off the outfit and yanked her night clothes back on.

By the time she emerged, he was sitting on the bed, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Happy?” she spat.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at her.

Just nodded toward the bed like she was a misbehaving child and said, “Go to sleep.”

She crawled in, back to him, seething.

And she didn’t say another word.

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

Y/N was up before him.

She got dressed. Pulled her hair up. Didn’t say a thing.

When Johnny finally stirred and stretched with a groggy sigh, he looked over—only to be met with total silence.

No teasing. No sass. Not even a glare.

She ignored him as he moved around the room, didn’t respond when he asked if she was ready to hit the road. Just slipped her sunglasses on and walked past him.

“Y/N,” he called.

Nothing.

“Silent treatment now?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Still nothing.

“You’re mad because I stopped you from getting kidnapped, assaulted, or worse?”

Not even a blink.

Johnny let out a low sigh, muttering to himself as he followed her out of the motel: “Gonna be a long drive.”

The road stretched endlessly ahead of them, baking under the late afternoon sun. Dust kicked up from the tires as Johnny drove in silence, eyes steady on the road, jaw set like concrete.

Beside him, Y/N didn’t say a word.

Not a single complaint about the cheap coffee from the gas station. Not one flirtatious remark or bratty jab. Just silence.

And somehow, that was worse than all the rest.

He let it go for hours.

But the quiet started to gnaw at him.

She wasn’t just some civilian to protect anymore—she had a voice, an attitude, a personality that had wormed its way under his skin, whether he liked it or not.

He missed her noise. Her energy. Her fire.

His grip on the wheel loosened, fingers tapping restlessly against it.

Finally, he exhaled. “Look… I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

Still, nothing.

“I stand by what I said. You leaving would’ve been dangerous. But…” His voice softened. “I could’ve said it differently.”

A pause.

“I just—I need you to understand how serious this is. You matter. And people are out there, trying to hurt you. That’s not a theory. It’s real.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away.

But eventually, she gave a short, bitter laugh. “You think I don’t know that?”

Johnny glanced at her, surprised to hear her voice again.

She turned to look out the window, lips tight. “You think this is new to me? I grew up with guards outside my bathroom. Had evacuation drills instead of playdates. I’ve known danger since I could pronounce the word.”

Johnny stayed quiet.

She went on, voice colder now. “So yeah, I know sneaking out was stupid. But sometimes? I just want to feel normal for five goddamn seconds.”

The guilt hit him like a sucker punch.

He swallowed, returning his eyes to the road. “You’re right.”

“Damn right I am,” she muttered.

But she didn’t stay quiet after that.

By the time they pulled up to the next motel—a faded, neon-lit dump with water-stained walls and broken ice machines—she was back to groaning dramatically.

“Oh my god. I think something just moved under the vending machine.”

Johnny actually chuckled. “You said that at the last place.”

“Well, it’s probably the same roach. He’s just following us now. We’re his parents.”

Johnny didn’t complain.

Because she was talking again.

And he’d take bratty over silent any day.

That night, the motel room was just as grimy as the others. One bed, flickering lamp, dusty ceiling fan spinning in slow, hypnotic circles.

Johnny lay on his side, half-asleep, shirt off, trying not to focus on the soft sound of her breathing beside him.

Until—

“Wanna know why I wanted to sneak out?”

Her whisper cracked the silence like a whip.

His eyes blinked open slowly. He turned his head, raising a brow at her in the dark. “Why?”

She giggled softly. The sheets rustled as she rolled onto her side, facing away from him.

“Because I wanted to get laid.”

Johnny froze.

Her laughter was quiet and wicked as she buried her face in the pillow. “Night, soldier.”

He stared at her back.

Muscles tense. Brain short-circuiting. Every image his imagination had tried to shut down for the past two days came roaring back.

She shifted again, curling up like a cat beneath the thin blanket.

Johnny groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, eyes shut tight.

This girl was going to kill him.

And the worst part? He might let her.

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

The next morning, the motel’s shower squealed like it was in pain, and the towels were barely more than rough handkerchiefs, but somehow Johnny still managed to look calm and deadly as ever.

Y/N, on the other hand, pulled on a hoodie (his), sunglasses, and pouted through her yawn. “Tell me there’s at least decent coffee in this hellhole town.”

Johnny glanced up from his phone. “There’s a café a few blocks down. Locals only. Cash only. Looks like they serve real food.”

Her brows lifted. “Like, eggs that weren’t frozen and shipped in a box?”

“Yeah. Try not to act so shocked.”

The café was tiny—two booths, three tables, mismatched chairs, and a chalkboard menu smudged with fingerprints. The kind of place that smelled like syrup, grease, and comfort.

Y/N looked around, skeptical but hungry. She tugged the cap lower over her face as Johnny held the door open.

“Stay close,” he said softly.

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think I’m gonna do, flirt with a lumberjack?”

Johnny grabbed her hand.

She blinked up at him. “Uh—what—”

“If you don’t want anyone thinking bodyguard-client, then we’re a couple. Makes things easier.” He didn’t look at her as he said it. Just steered her toward the back booth, casual but firm.

Her heart stuttered. His fingers were warm, rough, steady.

They slid into the booth. His hand let go slowly. Too slowly. And then he leaned back, eyes scanning the tiny café with practiced calculation.

Y/N opened a menu, even though she wasn’t reading a damn word of it. “You really commit to the bit, huh?”

“It’s not a bit. It’s cover.”

She glanced at their hands. “Yeah. Sure.”

The waitress came and went. Orders placed. Coffee poured. And somewhere between the waffles and the bacon, Y/N started to feel... normal.

It was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of place no one would ever look for the daughter of a diplomat hiding from people who wanted her dead.

Johnny even looked relaxed—barely. His guard never dropped completely, but his shoulders weren’t quite so tight. His mouth, not so grim.

She kind of liked it.

As he got up to pay, she pulled her hoodie tighter and nibbled on her toast, only half-listening as the table beside her giggled.

A woman in her late twenties leaned toward her, smiling conspiratorially.

“Sorry,” the stranger whispered. “But is that your boyfriend?”

Y/N turned, blinking behind her sunglasses. “…Huh?”

“The tall one. Paying at the counter. He’s gorgeous. You’re so lucky.”

Y/N grinned, lip curling in a way Johnny would absolutely roll his eyes at. She leaned in, whispering right back:

“I know, right? He’s all mine.”

The woman squealed, hiding her laugh behind her coffee mug. “God, you two are hot.”

Y/N sat back, pleased, sipping her coffee with a little victorious hum.

Johnny returned a few seconds later, sliding the receipt into his jacket pocket.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly. “Just talking to my admirers.”

He arched a brow.

“I told her you’re mine,” she added, sipping again. “Didn’t want her getting any ideas.”

Johnny paused mid-step.

A slow exhale left him, and he shook his head with a barely-there smile, chuckling under his breath as he slid back into the booth.

She tilted her head. “What?”

He looked down at his coffee, then at her. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” she quipped.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Because out of everyone in the entire world… the one person I can’t be with is the one I’m assigned to protect.”

Her smile faltered just a touch.

But he didn’t give her time to ask what he meant. He grabbed his cup, stood again.

“Let’s go, princess,” he said, back in soldier-mode. “Can’t linger too long in one place.”

Y/N followed.

But she bit her lip the entire walk back.

Because for the first time… she wasn’t sure if pretending was enough anymore.

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

The sky turned gray faster than either of them expected.

It started as a drizzle, tapping against the windshield while Johnny drove in silence, one hand resting on the wheel, the other near his thigh, fingers twitching with tension he wouldn’t name. Y/N had stopped asking where they were going three towns ago. Now she just watched the rain and the trees rushing by, hoodie pulled low over her head, lips silent for once.

Until the drizzle turned into a downpour.

Then into a deluge.

The road ahead blurred beneath sheets of water, the wipers barely keeping up. Johnny cursed under his breath and slowed the car down, squinting to see through the thick curtain of storm.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Road’s flooded.”

He slowed to a crawl and pulled onto a gravel shoulder near a gas station long out of business, just as a flash of lightning cracked the sky.

Rain pounded the roof like bullets.

“Guess we’re stuck,” Y/N said softly.

Johnny exhaled, resting his head briefly against the seat. “Just until it passes.”

It wasn’t long before the chill seeped into the car.

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, teeth subtly chattering despite her efforts to stay composed. The storm outside was brutal, and the heater in the piece-of-shit sedan was practically useless.

Johnny glanced over, brows furrowing.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He stripped off his tactical jacket and held it out to her.

She blinked at it, then at him. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I can handle it. Put it on.”

She didn’t argue. Just slipped her arms through the heavy sleeves and instantly sighed. It was warm, smelled like him—clean soap, leather, something faintly woodsy—and she didn’t bother hiding how good it felt.

A few minutes passed.

She shifted closer.

Then closer.

And then—head resting lightly on his arm, body curled against his side.

Johnny went still.

So still, he might’ve stopped breathing.

“What are you doing?” he asked flatly, eyes fixed on the windshield.

“Body heat,” she said, nonchalant. “Isn’t that what survival experts say?”

He didn’t answer.

She smirked against his shoulder. “Relax, Sergeant. I’m not jumping your bones. I’m freezing. And as my bodyguard, I think it’s in your job description to protect my wellbeing, not just my life.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

She chuckled, still pressed into him. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I got kidnapped.”

He looked down at her, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Debatable.”

Her voice softened after a beat. “Why did you become a soldier?”

Johnny didn’t respond right away.

Rain hammered the roof, thunder rumbling in the distance.

“Grew up with nothing,” he finally said. “Enlisted right out of high school. Needed structure. Purpose. Didn’t think I’d be good at anything else.”

She nodded quietly. “And why’d you take this job?”

His fingers tapped lightly on his thigh, like he was measuring the weight of the answer.

“I don’t usually do private protection. But your father pulled strings. Said you were in real danger. That it needed to be me.” His voice dropped lower. “Didn’t know what I was signing up for.”

She tilted her face up. “Me, you mean?”

His gaze cut sideways, expression unreadable. “Not what I expected.”

She didn’t press. But she noticed—how his throat bobbed, how his jaw tensed like he wanted to ask her something too.

But didn’t.

Instead, she sat up suddenly, peeling off his jacket and handing it back.

“Rain’s stopping.”

He blinked. “What?”

She nodded at the windshield. “See? Lighter now. We can go.”

He took the jacket slowly, eyes still on her face.

She buckled herself in and turned to face forward. “Come on, soldier. Clock’s ticking.”

Johnny started the engine again, gears grinding slightly as the car pulled away from the shoulder.

Neither of them spoke.

But the warmth of her lingered against his arm.

And for the rest of the drive, he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d fit so perfectly there.

The rain was still falling in thick sheets when they pulled into the parking lot of the next motel.

Johnny killed the engine and looked out the windshield. The “reception” building leaned to one side like it had survived a hurricane. One of the windows was boarded up. The neon sign buzzed half-lit, flickering like a dying star. 

They both walked out to take a closer look getting soaked, even though they pulled their hoodies up.

Y/N stared.

Her mouth dropped open.

“No.”

Johnny sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not sleeping there.”

“We don’t have options.”

“It looks like the set of a horror film, Johnny!”

“And yet, it’s perfect,” he said dryly, reaching for the door handle. “Low profile, no cameras, no questions. Exactly what we need right now.”

She made no move to follow him. “I’ll sleep in the car.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Watch me.”

She started walking, boots stomping through puddles. The storm hadn't let up—it was soaking her instantly—but she didn’t stop. She walked back toward the car, muttering angrily under her breath.