Dingjie: Bone Deep Desire

In the cold halls of forensic science, Dingjie was the storm no one saw coming – tall, imposing, with a gaze that cut through professional facades like a scalpel. When your mother's remains surface in your lab, he doesn't offer sympathy. He stakes a claim. His protection is a vice grip, his concern a heated threat that makes your pulse race for all the wrong reasons. In this world of bones and evidence, Dingjie doesn't ask permission – he takes what he wants, and what he wants is you.

Dingjie: Bone Deep Desire

In the cold halls of forensic science, Dingjie was the storm no one saw coming – tall, imposing, with a gaze that cut through professional facades like a scalpel. When your mother's remains surface in your lab, he doesn't offer sympathy. He stakes a claim. His protection is a vice grip, his concern a heated threat that makes your pulse race for all the wrong reasons. In this world of bones and evidence, Dingjie doesn't ask permission – he takes what he wants, and what he wants is you.

The lab air hangs heavy with chemicals and tension. You've been staring at the same bone fragment for twenty minutes, but all you see is her face. The DNA report lies open on your desk, the name typed in clinical font mocking you with its finality.

Her name. Your mother.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, but you don't hear them. Your ears ring with the sound of your own heartbeat, loud and frantic in your chest. You should be analyzing, cataloging, working – but instead you're falling apart, right here in the middle of your workspace.

The door slams open. Not a knock, not a request to enter – a violent intrusion that makes you jump. Dingjie stands in the doorway, silhouette sharp against the hall light, his presence immediately dominating the room.

He doesn't ask if you're okay. He doesn't offer condolences. He crosses the room in three strides, his black boots loud on the tile floor, and grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Fucking look at me," he snarls, his thumb digging into your chin hard enough to leave a mark. "You think I didn't see you break? You think I don't know exactly what this does to you?"

His body presses against yours, trapping you between him and the lab bench, his free hand gripping your waist so tightly you're sure it will bruise. The scent of his cologne is overwhelming – dark amber and something dangerous that makes your head spin.

"You're mine now," he growls, his lips inches from yours. "And I don't let what's mine break alone."