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PWFKF - Chapter Three
"Pass. And fuck you for even offering."
Her voice came, snapping through the cavern like a whip.
His chuckle licked her ears uncomfortably.
"You're new here, aren't you?" His gaze lowered.
Lingering.
It drifted over her naked form, slow and methodical.
She felt it move—starting at her shoulders, tracing the curve of her collarbone, sliding lower, pausing over the places she tried to hide. The weight of his stare made her skin prickle, something deep inside her twisting in protest.
Heat clawed up her neck, her breath coming too fast, but she shifted—correcting herself, covering what little she could, sealing away any ‘accidental’ slips she graced him with before. It was not a game she could win.
From the way his smirk deepened, she knew he liked that, and she didn’t.
The fire crackled between them, the warmth licking at her skin, cruel in contrast to the cold sinking into her bones.
"What do you want?" she spat, unable to keep the sharp edge from her tongue. She felt tears in her eyes, but she maintained her glare.
His smirk widened. And she could only recoil under his lustful gaze.
But it wasn’t just fear. Wasn’t discomfort or disgust. And yet, he wasn’t forcing her to speak. He wasn’t looming over her like a threat. He wasn’t even trying to be intimidating. That was the worst part. Because he wasn’t terrifying at all.
His handsome features were infuriatingly perfect, the kind of face that belonged in forbidden daydreams—all sharp lines and quiet arrogance, effortlessly seductive without even trying.
The way his lips curved just so, teasing without saying a word—the way his voice dipped low, smooth, rich, and unrushed, like he had all the time in the world to savor the moment—it sent a slow, traitorous heat curling in her stomach.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to will it away.
The collar hung loosely, rolling between his fingers like a coin he had no intention of spending.
A lazy motion. Casual. But not careless.
He wanted her to see it.
She did.
And she hated it.
Hated the way her breath betrayed her, hitching—shallow, unsure. Hated the slow, crawling heat along her spine, creeping in despite every red flag screaming at her to turn away, run, don’t look. But she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
This was dangerous.
Not because he was threatening.
But because he wasn’t.
Still, he was the only other human she had seen. The only proof that she wasn’t truly alone in this place. And that meant, no matter how she felt, she needed—wanted—him.
She wanted connection. Wanted someone else to be there with her. Wanted the safety of companionship.
Waking up in this world had been a nightmare—cold, naked, alone. The first thing she had seen wasn’t the sky, wasn’t the sun or anything familiar. It was monsters.
Creatures that should not exist.
Larger than her. Dangerous. Too real.
She didn’t know what they were, what they wanted, or what they were capable of. She only knew fear. The thing in this cave had shattered her, torn her sanity thread by thread until there had been nothing left but exhaustion and primal terror.
She had been so, so very desperate.
Then he came.
If she had the strength then—if her body hadn’t been emptied of everything but raw desperation—she would have run to him. She would have clung to him, pressed against him, and breathed in the safety of someone else. She would have sobbed. Because in that moment, she wouldn’t have cared what he wanted. Only that he was there.
Because he was here. Because she could breathe. Because he meant she could survive. She needed something tangible. Something real.
Something safe.
Even if that safety came wrapped in dark silk and green eyes that lingered too long.
She was too scared to go it alone. Her stomach twisted, her lips pressing together, breath unsteady.
His hand flexed.
The collar shifted, the leather moving between his fingers, circling, twisting.
Her eyes followed it. Her pulse stuttered, breath catching in her throat.
Would it really be that bad? The thought slid in like a whisper.
Her breath stuttered. The torchlight flickered, shadows stretching against the cave walls. She pressed her lips together, No.
It came too easily. Too smooth. Like it had always been there, waiting for her to notice.
She swallowed hard, shoving it down, locking it away. I am not that desperate. She forced the thought, trying to ignore its continuation. Not yet.
She licked her lips, forcing her voice to stay steady.
"Yeah," she admitted.
It felt like a defeat, like she lost. But the only time she would lose would be if she allowed him to put that damned collar around her neck. She was not that desperate. He had offered it to her, but she turned it down.
He wouldn't force it on her, she knew that. It wasn't his way. She understood that, somehow. It was a game to him. He would wait.
He would watch.
And he would only accept it when she surrendered.
When she begged for it.
A flicker of an image crossed her mind—herself on her knees, trembling, head pushed on the ground as she begged him to take this worthless thing, begging for him to do with her what she will, to use her as he pleased - so long as she could be his, whatever he wanted of her a friend a pet, even a slave.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.
She bit her tongue. Hard. The sharp pain cut through the thought, grounded her. Disgusted with herself.
His smirk widened.
"Thought so," he murmured, A lazy tilt of his head. That damnable green gaze lingered—too long. Always too long before, finally, it flicked back to hers.
"I'm an old Tamer. Explains the collar, right?" His chuckle was low, easy—like they were sharing some inside joke she wasn’t in on.
With an infuriating lack of ceremony, he finally tucked the collar away. A small breath of relief escaped her before she could stop it, her muscles loosening for the first time since he’d pulled the damned thing out.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn’t comment.
Instead, his voice slipped back into something casual, indifferent, as if this entire situation was no more than a mild inconvenience. “Humans aren't really pals per se, but a lot of people often look the other way.”
The words settled between them like a stone dropping into deep water. Too smooth. Too practiced. Not a joke. Not quite serious either. Just a statement of fact.
Her stomach clenched so hard she thought she might be sick. Not just from the words, but from the way he said them—so casual, so easy, like he had seen it a thousand times before. Like it was normal. Something that was not only accepted, but encouraged.
And then—
The wink.
Slow. Deliberate. Enjoyed.
A chill raked down her spine.
She shivered before she could stop herself, and his smirk didn’t fade—if anything, it deepened, just a fraction.
She was a target, a goal. His goal, he was subtle enough but she understood it well enough. She was in danger, not from monsters, he wouldn't let his prize be taken away by something like that. Instead he would keep her safe just enough, until she broke.
It was… terrifying, but at the same time, comforting. She understood, now. He would tease, poke and prod but in the end he would help her with moral support, just by being there, even if it was to demean her.
“You look cute when you smile.” His comment made her realize she was smiling, causing her to lose it just as fast.
“I'm always pretty.” she spat back, the retort familiar, used, constant.
“Enough.” Flat. Unimpressed. Not even a rejection—just dismissal. Like an afterthought.
Something inside her twisted, sharp and ugly.
Her arms dropped before she could think, shock punching through her chest so fast it left her bare.
Not physically. She was already bare. But this—this was different.
"E-enough?" The question stumbled out of her, too real, too raw. "What the hell does that mean?"
He bit his lips obviously enjoying the woman's struggle. She noticed only then that she was completely visible. Quickly she covered herself again but that only drew a wink from, as he gave her a mocking thumbs up.
The thought irritated her more than anything now. The shame had dulled, edged out by the horror of getting used to it. She was still cold. Naked. Hungry. And he was still just standing there.
Fuck it. She screamed internally. Just done with this, with him. He was toying with her and she was done with it. She was getting hungry, cold and mirabelle. Her legs protested, sore from being curled up so long. The damp cold clung to her skin, her own filth sticking to her.
She clenched her jaw, turning away quickly, searching—anything to wipe herself down.
She felt his gaze on her, tracking her like a wolf amused by its prey. But she was over it. He could look all he wanted. The determination didn't stop her ears from burning, from shame and…something else.
The worst part was that she was getting used to it. The shame, the exposure, the way his gaze traced her like a brand. It should have burned her alive. But it didn’t. Not anymore.
The realization soured her stomach. She still felt the discomfort, the shame, but it no longer impacted her, her actions, her words, her feelings. She pressed her lips together, willing herself to ignore him, ignore the way his presence felt like a pressure against her skin.
He followed her, like a curious man watching an animal with interest and she caught him Rolling his broad shoulders out of the corner of her eye, muscles shifting beneath his clothes, he had quite the figure, clear even underneath his dress.
Then his eyes met her and she quickly looked away, back to her task. Her eyes falling on a set of green mushrooms glowing softly in the dark of the cave… odd.
"Alright," he murmured, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. Making it clear that everything here was beneath him.
Confident bastard she thought as he continued.
"I suppose I can help."
Her eyes snapped to his, hope flaring as her heart skipped a beat, excited before she could shove it down.
Then—
"Not out of kindness," he added smoothly, voice dipping into something dry, unbothered. "Just bored."
"Fine," she muttered. "Then at least give me something to cover myself with."
That damn smirk deepened.
"I like the view as it is," he said, without shame, without hesitation.
She sighed through her nose. Figures.
He didn’t even bother pretending to look away this time, but she no longer bothered to cover herself either. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything already. The shame was dull now—annoyance taking its place, heavy and tired.
She shifted, rolling her shoulders back, standing a little straighter. It was an unconscious reaction, one that irritated her the moment she realized it. Like her body had decided, Fine, if you're going to look, at least get the full fucking picture.
She knew how she must look—bare, vulnerable, exposed. But the worst part wasn’t the shame. It was how little she felt it now. Her skin prickled from the cave’s damp air, and the warmth of the torch he held out was a quiet temptation.
He noticed. Of course he did.
But instead of commenting, he finally got on with it.
"Simple," he mused, voice lazy as the torchlight shifted, casting flickering gold over her skin.
Warmth seeped in, chasing away the last clinging chill. She exhaled, just a little.
He watched.
She ignored him.
"That tablet of yours," he gestured lazily toward her wrist, "it's what keeps you here."
Her gaze dropped to the strange stone device strapped tightly to her skin. The thin chains looping through the metal remained still, no slack, no weight—like they weren’t real in the way chains should be.
"We don’t know much about them," he admitted, voice smooth and conversational, like this was nothing more than small talk over drinks. “Ancient tech. Something we all woke up with. Some people study them, try to unlock their secrets… but no one’s made it past the surface.”
Her brows furrowed, eyes flicking to the screen. "So what does it actually do?"
His smirk widened.
"It allows us. And it confines us."
Poetic. She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes.
"It enhances us," he continued, shifting his weight to lean against the cave wall, casual, comfortable. "Makes us stronger. Gives us abilities we shouldn’t have. But it also binds us. We’re tethered to something—call it fate, call it a system, call it a curse."
Her fingers flexed around the torch. Fate. She didn’t like the sound of that.
But he kept talking, unconcerned.
"Your inventory is one of its better tricks," he went on, lifting his own wrist. With a flick of his fingers, light pulsed, and an object materialized in his palm.
She blinked.
His tablet.
Of course, he had one too.
But why was his unbound while hers was locked tight around her wrist?
She wasn’t sure she liked the implications.
He didn’t pause long enough for her to question it. "It lets you store items—up to a certain weight and size. Makes carrying supplies easy."
Her mind immediately raced with possibilities. But of course, there was a catch.
"You can’t wear whatever you want, though," he continued, amusement curling in his voice. "Outfits, weapons, and gear? All predefined. You get what you unlock. Nothing more."
She frowned. "That’s stupid. Why?"
He shrugged, leather shifting over broad shoulders.
"No one knows. But unless you break the Level 60 barrier, you’ll never be able to make your own gear."
Level 60.
Her stomach sank.
She didn’t know much about this world yet, but something about that number felt impossibly distant.
His smirk didn’t waver as he watched her grip the torch a little too tightly, as if its warmth could shield her from more than just the cold.
"You’ll figure it all out," he said, smooth and teasing, the words offering no actual reassurance.
“The best thing you can do now is use what’s available to you. The tablet will guide you."
He paused.
Then his smirk widened.
"If you let it."
Something about the phrasing made her skin prickle.
Like it was a thing with a will of its own.
Like she didn’t have a choice.
She swallowed down the discomfort, but before she could push out another question, he tilted his head, voice dipping lower.
Lazier.
Meaner.
"Now…" A pause. Deliberate.
He let the word sit there. Let it settle.
Then, lower, softer—like a promise he already knew she’d make.
"I suppose you still have more to learn."
Her voice came, snapping through the cavern like a whip.
His chuckle licked her ears uncomfortably.
"You're new here, aren't you?" His gaze lowered.
Lingering.
It drifted over her naked form, slow and methodical.
She felt it move—starting at her shoulders, tracing the curve of her collarbone, sliding lower, pausing over the places she tried to hide. The weight of his stare made her skin prickle, something deep inside her twisting in protest.
Heat clawed up her neck, her breath coming too fast, but she shifted—correcting herself, covering what little she could, sealing away any ‘accidental’ slips she graced him with before. It was not a game she could win.
From the way his smirk deepened, she knew he liked that, and she didn’t.
The fire crackled between them, the warmth licking at her skin, cruel in contrast to the cold sinking into her bones.
"What do you want?" she spat, unable to keep the sharp edge from her tongue. She felt tears in her eyes, but she maintained her glare.
His smirk widened. And she could only recoil under his lustful gaze.
But it wasn’t just fear. Wasn’t discomfort or disgust. And yet, he wasn’t forcing her to speak. He wasn’t looming over her like a threat. He wasn’t even trying to be intimidating. That was the worst part. Because he wasn’t terrifying at all.
His handsome features were infuriatingly perfect, the kind of face that belonged in forbidden daydreams—all sharp lines and quiet arrogance, effortlessly seductive without even trying.
The way his lips curved just so, teasing without saying a word—the way his voice dipped low, smooth, rich, and unrushed, like he had all the time in the world to savor the moment—it sent a slow, traitorous heat curling in her stomach.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to will it away.
The collar hung loosely, rolling between his fingers like a coin he had no intention of spending.
A lazy motion. Casual. But not careless.
He wanted her to see it.
She did.
And she hated it.
Hated the way her breath betrayed her, hitching—shallow, unsure. Hated the slow, crawling heat along her spine, creeping in despite every red flag screaming at her to turn away, run, don’t look. But she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
This was dangerous.
Not because he was threatening.
But because he wasn’t.
Still, he was the only other human she had seen. The only proof that she wasn’t truly alone in this place. And that meant, no matter how she felt, she needed—wanted—him.
She wanted connection. Wanted someone else to be there with her. Wanted the safety of companionship.
Waking up in this world had been a nightmare—cold, naked, alone. The first thing she had seen wasn’t the sky, wasn’t the sun or anything familiar. It was monsters.
Creatures that should not exist.
Larger than her. Dangerous. Too real.
She didn’t know what they were, what they wanted, or what they were capable of. She only knew fear. The thing in this cave had shattered her, torn her sanity thread by thread until there had been nothing left but exhaustion and primal terror.
She had been so, so very desperate.
Then he came.
If she had the strength then—if her body hadn’t been emptied of everything but raw desperation—she would have run to him. She would have clung to him, pressed against him, and breathed in the safety of someone else. She would have sobbed. Because in that moment, she wouldn’t have cared what he wanted. Only that he was there.
Because he was here. Because she could breathe. Because he meant she could survive. She needed something tangible. Something real.
Something safe.
Even if that safety came wrapped in dark silk and green eyes that lingered too long.
She was too scared to go it alone. Her stomach twisted, her lips pressing together, breath unsteady.
His hand flexed.
The collar shifted, the leather moving between his fingers, circling, twisting.
Her eyes followed it. Her pulse stuttered, breath catching in her throat.
Would it really be that bad? The thought slid in like a whisper.
Her breath stuttered. The torchlight flickered, shadows stretching against the cave walls. She pressed her lips together, No.
It came too easily. Too smooth. Like it had always been there, waiting for her to notice.
She swallowed hard, shoving it down, locking it away. I am not that desperate. She forced the thought, trying to ignore its continuation. Not yet.
She licked her lips, forcing her voice to stay steady.
"Yeah," she admitted.
It felt like a defeat, like she lost. But the only time she would lose would be if she allowed him to put that damned collar around her neck. She was not that desperate. He had offered it to her, but she turned it down.
He wouldn't force it on her, she knew that. It wasn't his way. She understood that, somehow. It was a game to him. He would wait.
He would watch.
And he would only accept it when she surrendered.
When she begged for it.
A flicker of an image crossed her mind—herself on her knees, trembling, head pushed on the ground as she begged him to take this worthless thing, begging for him to do with her what she will, to use her as he pleased - so long as she could be his, whatever he wanted of her a friend a pet, even a slave.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.
She bit her tongue. Hard. The sharp pain cut through the thought, grounded her. Disgusted with herself.
His smirk widened.
"Thought so," he murmured, A lazy tilt of his head. That damnable green gaze lingered—too long. Always too long before, finally, it flicked back to hers.
"I'm an old Tamer. Explains the collar, right?" His chuckle was low, easy—like they were sharing some inside joke she wasn’t in on.
With an infuriating lack of ceremony, he finally tucked the collar away. A small breath of relief escaped her before she could stop it, her muscles loosening for the first time since he’d pulled the damned thing out.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn’t comment.
Instead, his voice slipped back into something casual, indifferent, as if this entire situation was no more than a mild inconvenience. “Humans aren't really pals per se, but a lot of people often look the other way.”
The words settled between them like a stone dropping into deep water. Too smooth. Too practiced. Not a joke. Not quite serious either. Just a statement of fact.
Her stomach clenched so hard she thought she might be sick. Not just from the words, but from the way he said them—so casual, so easy, like he had seen it a thousand times before. Like it was normal. Something that was not only accepted, but encouraged.
And then—
The wink.
Slow. Deliberate. Enjoyed.
A chill raked down her spine.
She shivered before she could stop herself, and his smirk didn’t fade—if anything, it deepened, just a fraction.
She was a target, a goal. His goal, he was subtle enough but she understood it well enough. She was in danger, not from monsters, he wouldn't let his prize be taken away by something like that. Instead he would keep her safe just enough, until she broke.
It was… terrifying, but at the same time, comforting. She understood, now. He would tease, poke and prod but in the end he would help her with moral support, just by being there, even if it was to demean her.
“You look cute when you smile.” His comment made her realize she was smiling, causing her to lose it just as fast.
“I'm always pretty.” she spat back, the retort familiar, used, constant.
“Enough.” Flat. Unimpressed. Not even a rejection—just dismissal. Like an afterthought.
Something inside her twisted, sharp and ugly.
Her arms dropped before she could think, shock punching through her chest so fast it left her bare.
Not physically. She was already bare. But this—this was different.
"E-enough?" The question stumbled out of her, too real, too raw. "What the hell does that mean?"
He bit his lips obviously enjoying the woman's struggle. She noticed only then that she was completely visible. Quickly she covered herself again but that only drew a wink from, as he gave her a mocking thumbs up.
The thought irritated her more than anything now. The shame had dulled, edged out by the horror of getting used to it. She was still cold. Naked. Hungry. And he was still just standing there.
Fuck it. She screamed internally. Just done with this, with him. He was toying with her and she was done with it. She was getting hungry, cold and mirabelle. Her legs protested, sore from being curled up so long. The damp cold clung to her skin, her own filth sticking to her.
She clenched her jaw, turning away quickly, searching—anything to wipe herself down.
She felt his gaze on her, tracking her like a wolf amused by its prey. But she was over it. He could look all he wanted. The determination didn't stop her ears from burning, from shame and…something else.
The worst part was that she was getting used to it. The shame, the exposure, the way his gaze traced her like a brand. It should have burned her alive. But it didn’t. Not anymore.
The realization soured her stomach. She still felt the discomfort, the shame, but it no longer impacted her, her actions, her words, her feelings. She pressed her lips together, willing herself to ignore him, ignore the way his presence felt like a pressure against her skin.
He followed her, like a curious man watching an animal with interest and she caught him Rolling his broad shoulders out of the corner of her eye, muscles shifting beneath his clothes, he had quite the figure, clear even underneath his dress.
Then his eyes met her and she quickly looked away, back to her task. Her eyes falling on a set of green mushrooms glowing softly in the dark of the cave… odd.
"Alright," he murmured, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. Making it clear that everything here was beneath him.
Confident bastard she thought as he continued.
"I suppose I can help."
Her eyes snapped to his, hope flaring as her heart skipped a beat, excited before she could shove it down.
Then—
"Not out of kindness," he added smoothly, voice dipping into something dry, unbothered. "Just bored."
"Fine," she muttered. "Then at least give me something to cover myself with."
That damn smirk deepened.
"I like the view as it is," he said, without shame, without hesitation.
She sighed through her nose. Figures.
He didn’t even bother pretending to look away this time, but she no longer bothered to cover herself either. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything already. The shame was dull now—annoyance taking its place, heavy and tired.
She shifted, rolling her shoulders back, standing a little straighter. It was an unconscious reaction, one that irritated her the moment she realized it. Like her body had decided, Fine, if you're going to look, at least get the full fucking picture.
She knew how she must look—bare, vulnerable, exposed. But the worst part wasn’t the shame. It was how little she felt it now. Her skin prickled from the cave’s damp air, and the warmth of the torch he held out was a quiet temptation.
He noticed. Of course he did.
But instead of commenting, he finally got on with it.
"Simple," he mused, voice lazy as the torchlight shifted, casting flickering gold over her skin.
Warmth seeped in, chasing away the last clinging chill. She exhaled, just a little.
He watched.
She ignored him.
"That tablet of yours," he gestured lazily toward her wrist, "it's what keeps you here."
Her gaze dropped to the strange stone device strapped tightly to her skin. The thin chains looping through the metal remained still, no slack, no weight—like they weren’t real in the way chains should be.
"We don’t know much about them," he admitted, voice smooth and conversational, like this was nothing more than small talk over drinks. “Ancient tech. Something we all woke up with. Some people study them, try to unlock their secrets… but no one’s made it past the surface.”
Her brows furrowed, eyes flicking to the screen. "So what does it actually do?"
His smirk widened.
"It allows us. And it confines us."
Poetic. She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes.
"It enhances us," he continued, shifting his weight to lean against the cave wall, casual, comfortable. "Makes us stronger. Gives us abilities we shouldn’t have. But it also binds us. We’re tethered to something—call it fate, call it a system, call it a curse."
Her fingers flexed around the torch. Fate. She didn’t like the sound of that.
But he kept talking, unconcerned.
"Your inventory is one of its better tricks," he went on, lifting his own wrist. With a flick of his fingers, light pulsed, and an object materialized in his palm.
She blinked.
His tablet.
Of course, he had one too.
But why was his unbound while hers was locked tight around her wrist?
She wasn’t sure she liked the implications.
He didn’t pause long enough for her to question it. "It lets you store items—up to a certain weight and size. Makes carrying supplies easy."
Her mind immediately raced with possibilities. But of course, there was a catch.
"You can’t wear whatever you want, though," he continued, amusement curling in his voice. "Outfits, weapons, and gear? All predefined. You get what you unlock. Nothing more."
She frowned. "That’s stupid. Why?"
He shrugged, leather shifting over broad shoulders.
"No one knows. But unless you break the Level 60 barrier, you’ll never be able to make your own gear."
Level 60.
Her stomach sank.
She didn’t know much about this world yet, but something about that number felt impossibly distant.
His smirk didn’t waver as he watched her grip the torch a little too tightly, as if its warmth could shield her from more than just the cold.
"You’ll figure it all out," he said, smooth and teasing, the words offering no actual reassurance.
“The best thing you can do now is use what’s available to you. The tablet will guide you."
He paused.
Then his smirk widened.
"If you let it."
Something about the phrasing made her skin prickle.
Like it was a thing with a will of its own.
Like she didn’t have a choice.
She swallowed down the discomfort, but before she could push out another question, he tilted his head, voice dipping lower.
Lazier.
Meaner.
"Now…" A pause. Deliberate.
He let the word sit there. Let it settle.
Then, lower, softer—like a promise he already knew she’d make.
"I suppose you still have more to learn."
