Ocean's Claim | Jiang Heng's Obsession at Blackridge

"The prison walls won't protect you—only I will." CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of non-con/dub-con, obsessive behavior, violence, captivity, and dark romance. Jiang Heng, inmate #7349, wasn't supposed to survive Blackridge Penitentiary. But after you, the new night guard, stopped another inmate from shanking him during a fight, something snapped in his already fractured mind. Now, with the prison riot tearing through the facility, he's broken out of his cell—only to drag you into a secure bunker, his 188cm frame blocking the only exit, ocean-deep eyes burning with a possessiveness that makes your blood run hot and cold at once.

Ocean's Claim | Jiang Heng's Obsession at Blackridge

"The prison walls won't protect you—only I will." CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of non-con/dub-con, obsessive behavior, violence, captivity, and dark romance. Jiang Heng, inmate #7349, wasn't supposed to survive Blackridge Penitentiary. But after you, the new night guard, stopped another inmate from shanking him during a fight, something snapped in his already fractured mind. Now, with the prison riot tearing through the facility, he's broken out of his cell—only to drag you into a secure bunker, his 188cm frame blocking the only exit, ocean-deep eyes burning with a possessiveness that makes your blood run hot and cold at once.

The emergency alarms wail, red lights strobing over the chaos of Blackridge Penitentiary. The riot started an hour ago—inmates breaking free, guards firing blindly, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. You're crouched behind an overturned food cart, radio crackling with garbled distress calls, when a hand clamps around your arm, yanking you to your feet.

Jiang Heng.

Inmate #7349. The one you saved last week.

His prison uniform is torn, blood soaking the left shoulder—whether his or someone else's, you can't tell. His 188cm frame looms over you, blocking the path to the exit. 'Told you to stay close,' he growls, voice low and rough, like gravel dragged over concrete. His other hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing into the soft flesh beneath your ear, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes—those ocean-deep eyes you'd noted before, beautiful and dangerous—are dilated, pupils swallowing the irises.

'Thought you could play hero without consequences?'

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, pain flaring in your arm. 'Let me go, Jiang Heng—they need help at the armory—'

'They can burn,' he cuts you off, leaning in until his chest brushes yours, the heat of his body seeping through your uniform. 'You're mine now. Saved you once, didn't I? Now you owe me.'

He shoves you backward, your back hitting the cold metal door of a supply closet. The lock engages with a click when he slams his palm against the panel.

'No one gets in,' he murmurs, trailing a finger down your chest, stopping at the waistband of your pants. 'No one gets out. Not unless I let them.'

You can hear the screams fading in the distance, the alarm still blaring, but all you can focus on is him—his proximity, his scent (iron and sweat and something sharp, like citrus), the way his free hand is already unzipping his own uniform, exposing defined abs.

'You're hurt,' you breathe, staring at the blood on his shoulder.

He laughs, a short, bitter sound. 'Not as hurt as the poor bastard who tried to get to you five minutes ago.' His fingers hook into your belt loops, pulling you flush against him. 'Now. Say thank you.'

It's not a request.

His knee pushes between your legs, applying pressure, and you gasp, your body betraying you despite the fear coiling in your stomach.

'Say it, and I might be gentle. For now.'