So uh if some people know how to make smut or anything that good make some oneshot story. I just hope you guys can make me a one shot with my idea. I don't know if this good or not. So Rina in this idea is reader but you can change it as y/n and yeah it's female
The rain fell mercilessly that night, soaking the streets and the girl lying limp beneath a crumbling overpass. Rinaâs leg was bleeding, the torn skin swelling with the raw color of pain. She didnât cry. Not because it didnât hurtâbut because crying felt useless. No one ever came for girls like her.
Heavy boots stopped in front of her, dripping water with each slow step. When she looked up, there stood a man cloaked in blackâfrom his leather jacket to his gloves, with eyes that looked like they had long since stopped believing in the world. Cold. Empty. Dangerous.
He didnât ask questions.
âCan you walk?â he asked, voice low and sharp.
She shook her head. He clicked his tongue and muttered something under his breath. But then, surprisingly, he crouched down and lifted her like she weighed nothing.
No more words were exchanged.
Thatâs how she ended up in his apartment.
He didnât say much in the days that followed. She cleaned, she cooked, she kept quiet. It was the unspoken deal. In return, she got four walls and a roofâa luxury after months of fear and hunger. He came and went like a shadow, often bruised, sometimes bleeding, never explaining. The man lived in the underworld, and she knew better than to ask questions.
Still, every morning, she woke up before the sun, prepared breakfast, laid out clean towels, stitched his torn shirts without a word. She didnât do it out of fear. She did it because somewhere, somehow, she wanted him to feel warmthâeven if it was just in a bowl of soup.
He stumbled into the apartment, reeking of blood and rage. A gash ran across his side, his shoulder dislocated. She ran to him, worried, hands trembling as she tried to patch him up.
But something snapped inside him.
He dragged her to the bedroom, kissed her too hard, gripped her too tightly. She cried out, not in resistance but in painâshe begged him to slow down, to remember she was small, that she was still a virgin. But he didnât hear her.
And when she lost consciousness, her body giving in from exhaustion, he was the last to realize what he had done.
The next morning, she sat curled on the sofa, a blanket around her trembling form. She didnât cry this time either. Only stared blankly at the wall, her hands balled up against her chest like a child trying to keep herself from shattering.
He stood behind the hallway corner, watching.
His fists were clenched, guilt thick in his throat, but he couldnât speakânot yet. Cowardice, or shame, or both.
She stood, limbs shaking, and walked to the kitchen like nothing had happened. She took out the vegetables, washed them carefully, and reached for the knife.
Wordlessly, he took the knife from her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, noticing how cold they were. He stepped closer, his bare chest brushing her back as he leaned around her to grab the pan.
âLet me,â he said softly.
She gasped but managed a fragile smile. âMorning⊠Itâs okay. I can⊠do it myself. Your handâs still not healed.â
He ignored her words and began slicing the vegetables himself, caging her between his body and the counter. She tensed. He could feel her trembling. But he didnât step away.
âSit down,â he said, voice calm but firm.
âBut⊠Iâm supposed to prepare you breakfastâŠâ
He stopped cutting. Then turned her around, gently but firmly gripping her shoulders. Her eyes were red, face pale, yet she smiled like she wasnât breaking.
She moved to the sofa obediently, the same small concern still lingering in her eyes. Like she expected him to yell or throw something. Like she deserved it.
He turned off the stove and followed her, sitting next to herâtoo close, intentionally so. Her presence, so small beside him, made his chest ache.
âYou always wake up this early to make breakfast?â he asked suddenly.
âSince you let me live at your house.â
He clenched his jaw, head bowed slightly. Of course it was from day one. Sheâd been caring for him without complaint, like he was something worth caring for.
âYouâre the one who needs more sleep,â he muttered. âStop acting like my fucking mother.â His hand reached up, brushing her cheek. âAnd when the fuck did you get this skinny?â
She smiled gently. âI always have been. Iâll stay this way, even if I eat a lot.â
Her hand reached for his face again, brushing his temple softly.
âHey⊠you donât need to feel bad about last night. Iâm completely fine, I swear.â
âStop being so fucking nice to me,â he growled, though his eyes didnât match the harshness in his voice. âI hurt you last night.â
She nodded slowly, smile never faltering.
âI know. And Iâm happy you realize it. Itâs okay. I forgive you, Gun.â
He closed his eyes briefly. Her wordsâso undeservedâshattered something inside him.
âDonât forgive me too easily,â he warned. âI might fuck up again.â
His thumb rubbed circles on her wrist.
âYou should hate me, Rina.â
She shook her head. âI know. But sadly⊠I canât.â
She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder.
âIâm proud of you. Not every man would say sorry after that.â
He stiffened, then melted into her touch.
âFuck off,â he muttered, the words stripped of venom. âStop making me feel like less of an asshole.â
She chuckled. âI love you, Gun.â
The words hit him like a bullet.
No one had ever said that to him. Not once. He wasnât made for love. He was made to kill, to break, to be feared.
But this girl⊠this stubborn, kind, broken girlâŠ
ââŠFuckâŠâ he whispered, voice cracking.
She pulled back slightly. âHmm? Are you crying?â
He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and faked a cough.
âShut up,â he grumbled. âIâm not crying, you idiot.â
But then he took her face in both hands, holding her like something fragile.
âSay it again,â he said, voice barely a whisper.
She smiled softly. âI love you.â
He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, clutching her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
And for the first time in his lifeâPark Jonggun wasnât the monster.
Not when she forgave him.
Not when she loved him, even when she shouldnât.
And maybe he didnât deserve her.
But heâd burn the whole world before letting her go.
