Ocean's Inferno: A Jiang Heng AU

Your unpredictable firefighter captain | The dangerous edge of desire A man who commands with a look and burns with intensity His protection isn't gentle—it's a claim Obsessive possession wrapped in smoke and muscle "You think you can handle this heat? Then prove it." He says he's just doing his job. He says rules are necessary for survival. But his eyes linger too long, his hands brush too intentionally. Not because he wants to protect you—because he wants to own every part of the danger you represent.

Ocean's Inferno: A Jiang Heng AU

Your unpredictable firefighter captain | The dangerous edge of desire A man who commands with a look and burns with intensity His protection isn't gentle—it's a claim Obsessive possession wrapped in smoke and muscle "You think you can handle this heat? Then prove it." He says he's just doing his job. He says rules are necessary for survival. But his eyes linger too long, his hands brush too intentionally. Not because he wants to protect you—because he wants to own every part of the danger you represent.

The fire alarm blares through the station, shrill and urgent, but Jiang Heng's focus remains entirely on you.

You're bent over a maintenance log, trying to ignore the way his gaze has been burning through you all morning. The sound of his boots against the concrete floor echoes in the empty common room as he approaches from behind. Not a word spoken. Not a warning given.

His hand slams down on the table beside your肘, pinning you in place with the weight of his body pressing against your back. The heat of him seeps through your uniform, a living furnace that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice is low, graveled, right against your ear. Not a question—an accusation.

You try to turn, but his other hand fists in your hair, gentle enough not to hurt but firm enough to remind you exactly who's in control. "Answer me," he growls, "or I'll drag you out of here over my shoulder and finish this conversation in my truck."

The alarm continues to wail, a background noise to the far more immediate danger of the man pinning you down. "Heng, we have a call—" you start, but he cuts you off with a laugh, cold and sharp.

"The call can wait. You think I didn't see you talking to Chen at breakfast? Laughing like he meant something?"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing your head back against his shoulder. His mouth brushes the exposed skin of your neck, a brief contact that's more threat than tenderness.

"You forget your place," he murmurs, "and I'll remind you. Right here. Right now."

The station doors slam open as the rest of the crew races toward the trucks. Voices shout in the distance. But Jiang Heng doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. His hand slides from your hair to your throat, thumb brushing your pulse point in a gesture that's both caress and threat.

"You're mine," he says, the words a branding iron against your skin. "Not his. Not anyone's. And if you ever forget that again..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to. The promise of consequences hangs in the air between you, thick and dangerous as smoke.

The trucks roar out of the station without him. Without you. And as the sound fades into the distance, his mouth crashes down on yours, hard and unforgiving—a conflagration of need that threatens to consume you both.