“No One Else”

No One Else(follow up) Mine, Completely

Geum Seong-je x Fem!Reader

Dark Romance · Obsession · Established Relationship · Emotional Intensity

This will be the last of the “no one else” series 😖😖

Requested: yess!!

⸻

You used to wake up alone.

Now, it was always him.

Geum Seong-je didn’t sleep much, but when he did, it was always with an arm flung over your waist like a chain. His breath against the back of your neck, warm and steady. His body curled around yours, protective and overwhelming all at once.

When you stirred that morning, his grip immediately tightened.

“Where are you going?” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

“I just moved,” you whispered. “Relax.”

He didn’t.

“You move too far and my chest starts to ache,” he said, almost like a joke. But you knew better.

You rolled over, facing him. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but alert. Watching. Like he was still afraid you’d disappear.

“You don’t have to watch me like I’m going to vanish,” you said softly.

“You did,” he answered, eyes locked to yours. “Once. I won’t forget it.”

His tone wasn’t accusing. It was just… truth. The kind of truth that haunted him.

You reached out, brushing your fingers down the scar on his cheek, the one he never talked about. “I’m not running again.”

His expression didn’t change much, but you saw it — the flicker of relief. The crack in his armor.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’d find you.”

“I know.”

You both lay there in silence for a moment.

And then he shifted, propping himself on his elbow to look down at you. There was a fire in his eyes. Not anger — devotion. The dangerous kind. The kind that didn’t know where he ended and you began.

“I don’t like the way people look at you,” he said. “Like they deserve a chance. Like they don’t know you’re already taken.”

You smiled faintly. “They don’t matter.”

He didn’t smile back. “They’d matter if you looked back.”

“I wouldn’t,” you said. “You know that.”

But he was already pulling you closer, holding you like he could fuse you to him with just his hands. “I trust you,” he murmured. “I don’t trust the world.”

You rested your forehead against his. “Then stay close.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request. It was a truth you’d both already accepted.

And for better or worse — in obsession, in fire, in love twisted and beautiful — you were his.

Completely

⸻

“Glass Cage: Part |||– The Lock and the Longing”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, obsession, soft tension, quiet ache

⸻

It’s the only night he doesn’t come.

You wait.

Eyes wide open, curled in the soft nest of blankets and expensive sheets in the basement room — but the door doesn’t open. The chair remains empty. No quiet breathing from the corner. No watching. No warmth.

You stare into the dark, heart drumming.

He’s never missed a night.

He always sits in that chair like a silent guardian — a king keeping vigil over the only thing in his world he wants to protect.

But not tonight.

You wait another hour.

Nothing.

At first, it feels like abandonment. Then something else entirely.

Hunger.

Not for food. Not for air. For him. His presence. His closeness. His voice in the dark.

You slide out of bed barefoot, floor cool under your toes. You go to the door. It’s locked, of course — the same way it’s always been when he leaves at night.

But he forgot something this time.

You’re not scared anymore.

You want to find him.

You go to the vanity drawer. Dig under the perfume bottles and silk ribbons until you find it — the thin hairpin he tucked there last week when brushing your hair. You twist it once, twice — remember something you saw in a movie once.

Click.

The lock gives.

Your breath catches.

You push the door open slowly. The upstairs hallway stretches out like a black river, long and quiet and full of shadows. You step out, careful. Listening. Not a sound.

Not even him.

You move barefoot through the corridor.

First room — empty. Just storage. Dusty linens, untouched.

Second — a study. Neat rows of books. Closed curtains.

Third — locked.

Fourth — another guest room. Clean, unused.

Then the last one. At the very end of the hall.

His room.

You feel it before you even open the door. It smells like him. That warm, masculine scent — clean soap, leather, cedar, and something sharp beneath it. You press your palm to the door, breath trembling.

Then push.

It opens with a soft creak.

The room is dark, but the curtains are cracked just enough to let moonlight spill across the floor. You see the edge of the bed first. Huge. Unmade.

And then — him.

Geum Seong-je.

Asleep on his back, one arm resting over his stomach, the other turned palm-up on the sheets beside him. His hair is slightly messy, lips parted, chest rising and falling under a thin black shirt.

You freeze.

You’ve never seen him like this — unguarded.

He looks so young. So tired.

So… human.

Something inside your chest twists.

You step forward. Slowly. Silently. The floor doesn’t creak under your weight. You approach the bed like it’s an altar and he’s the god that owns you.

You slip beneath the covers.

His body shifts instinctively, heat radiating off him like fire. You slide close, curl against him — your cheek resting right over his heart.

The moment you touch him, he stiffens.

Then —

“…You picked the lock?”

His voice is quiet. Half-awake.

You don’t answer right away.

You only whisper, “I couldn’t sleep without you.”

A beat.

Then a sigh leaves his chest — long and low and defeated.

His arm curls around you without resistance, pulling you flush against him. Your legs tangle. Your fingers curl into the hem of his shirt. He presses his face into your hair.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he murmurs.

“You said I was never a prisoner,” you breathe.

He doesn’t respond.

But he holds you tighter.

⸻

Later that night, you shift in your sleep and feel him watching you.

Not from the chair.

But from inches away.

His eyes are open now. Awake. Silent.

Like he still can’t believe you chose this.

Like he doesn’t know how to survive the ache you’ve carved into his ribs.

His voice barely breaks the dark.

“You’re mine,” he whispers.

And you, still half-asleep, curl deeper into his chest and murmur, “I was always yours.”

“The Quiet Between Us”

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, slow-burn comfort

⸻

The wind was crisp today—cool enough to make you shiver despite the faint sunlight filtering through the trees in Yeongdeungpo Park. You tugged your sleeves over your hands and glanced beside you.

Yeon Si-eun was sitting on the park bench, back straight, hands resting neatly on his knees. His expression was neutral as always—guarded, distant—but you could tell he was relaxed in his own way. The gentle sway of his leg and the way he let out a soft breath every now and then told you more than his face ever did.

“You’re cold,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You blinked. “What gave it away? My chattering teeth?”

His gaze flickered to you—dry, deadpan.

“You’re not that subtle,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “You could offer me your jacket, you know. Like a proper gentleman.”

“I would,” he said without missing a beat, “but you’d probably drown in it.”

That made you laugh, and you didn’t miss the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. You loved that—you loved the way he didn’t smile often, but when he did, it felt like you’d uncovered something rare. You didn’t need big gestures with Si-eun. His presence, his quiet concern, was enough.

“You always come out here when you’re thinking,” you said, watching the small pond across from the bench. Ducks floated lazily, undisturbed by the cold.

“It’s quiet here.”

“You don’t like quiet?”

“No, I like it,” he said, turning his head slightly to look at you. “But when I’m with you, the quiet feels different.”

Your heart stuttered.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to say things like that. He wasn’t the type to offer compliments or be affectionate without reason. But every now and then, he dropped these quiet, thoughtful lines that left you breathless.

“Different how?” you asked softly.

Si-eun looked away, watching the leaves dance in the breeze. His brows drew together—not in irritation, just contemplation. You’d come to recognize the subtle shifts in his expressions.

“It’s not heavy,” he finally said. “Silence is usually… pressure. But with you, it’s not.”

You didn’t speak for a while, afraid that anything you said might shatter the moment. You simply leaned your shoulder into his, your touch light but intentional. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move away.

He let you stay there.

That was enough.

⸻

You and Si-eun weren’t dating—at least, not officially. You weren’t even sure what you were. Friends, maybe. Companions. Something suspended in that space between understanding and unspoken affection.

But days like this made you feel like you didn’t need a label.

“You know,” you said after a while, watching a kid try to feed bread to a pigeon twice his size, “most people wouldn’t pick a cold bench over their warm beds on a weekend.”

He shrugged. “Most people aren’t me.”

“Mm, true. But most people aren’t this pretty, either.”

That made him pause.

“Pretty?”

“You know you are,” you teased. “If you ever wanted to stop beating people up, you could just model for skincare brands. You’ve got that ‘stone-cold beauty’ thing going for you.”

He gave you a flat look, but his ears were pink. That was enough for you to claim victory.

“You’re weird,” he said quietly.

“So are you.”

There was a pause. He was still looking at you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long to be casual.

“That’s why I don’t mind being around you,” he murmured.

You were pretty sure your heart forgot how to beat for a second.

⸻

Later, the two of you wandered the nearby streets, your footsteps naturally falling in rhythm. Si-eun didn’t talk much, but his presence filled the space in other ways. You always noticed the little things—how he walked on the side closest to the road, how his eyes subtly scanned your surroundings, how he slowed his steps if you fell behind.

There was comfort in that. In knowing that he cared in ways that didn’t need to be said aloud.

You stopped in front of a small convenience store.

“Want hot chocolate?” you asked.

He nodded once. You ducked inside, grabbing two cans of warm cocoa from the heated shelf. When you came back out, he was leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, face turned up slightly to the sky like he was trying to read something in the clouds.

You handed him one can.

“Thanks,” he said, fingers brushing yours as he took it.

The contact made you warm in a way the drink couldn’t.

You both stood there for a moment, sipping cocoa in silence.

“I used to do this alone,” he said suddenly.

You looked at him.

“Come out on weekends. Watch people. Drink hot chocolate.”

You smiled. “Sounds lonely.”

“It was.”

His eyes met yours. There was something unguarded in his gaze, a softness that didn’t come often.

“It’s not anymore,” he said.

that new chapter AND y si fuera ella?? perfect tbh

Thank youuuuuu. I’m not even gonna lie reading the chapter back I did shed a little tear 😭😭😭😭there will be another chapter thooooo😝😝😝😝

“Glass Cage: Part 8 – Our Vows, Our Future”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, private wedding, intimate obsession, hope twisted into devotion

⸻

It starts on a night with no power.

Just wind through the trees.

Candles casting long shadows against the shrine room walls.

Your perfume lingering in the air.

His sketch of you half-finished on the floor, ink still wet.

You sit beside him.

Knees tucked under you.

Your hand resting lightly on his thigh.

“You ever think about it?” you whisper.

He doesn’t look up. “What?”

“Us. Making it… official.”

He stiffens, just slightly.

Then sets the sketch aside.

“Like a wedding?”

You nod.

“A private one. Just you and me.”

He turns to you.

Eyes like midnight storms. “You’d want that?”

You smile. Soft. Honest.

“I already live like I’m yours forever. Might as well say it out loud.”

⸻

He doesn’t answer.

Not with words.

He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

And whispers:

“Then write the vows.”

⸻

That night, you write them in separate corners of the room.

No peeking. No rules. No white dresses or rings.

Just candlelight and ink.

Just love — obsessive, dark, loyal.

And when it’s time—

You both kneel on the floor.

Hands clasped.

The shrine around you.

His name on your thigh.

Your perfume on his collar.

He speaks first.

His voice is low. Reverent. Bare.

“I vow to keep you hidden if the world tries to take you.

I vow to love you so deeply it rewrites who I used to be.

I vow to never ask you to be good, only mine.

And I vow… that if I ever fall apart, I’ll fall apart with you in my arms.”

Your lips tremble.

Then it’s your turn.

“I vow to never try to change the way you love me.

I vow to see every twisted, brutal part of you — and stay.

I vow to never crave freedom more than your touch.

And I vow to want forever, even if the world burns for it.”

He pulls you to him then.

Hands in your hair.

Kisses you like you just gave him eternity.

⸻

The next morning, he disappears into the woodshed for hours.

You don’t ask.

You don’t need to.

You hear hammering. Sanding. The low drag of something heavy.

And when he finally comes back, his shirt clings to him with sweat.

Dirt on his hands. Dust in his hair.

He drops to his knees at your feet.

And whispers:

“If we’re going to be forever… then I want to start building for more than just us.”

⸻

You find the room the next day.

Hidden behind a panel in the hallway.

New. Unfinished.

But you know exactly what it is.

A crib in the corner.

Your favorite color on the walls.

And a tiny drawing — taped to the door.

A child. Holding both your hands.

Your throat tightens.

And when you walk back into the house to find him—

You throw your arms around him.

And say only one thing:

“I want forever. And I want it to look like this.”

———-

It starts with a suspicion.

You’ve been tired.

Sleepy in the middle of the day, hungry at odd hours, emotional over things that never touched you before.

But the thing that tells you—

The thing that confirms it—

Is the way Seong-je starts hovering.

Worse than usual.

You catch him staring at your hands, your stomach, your reflection in the mirror.

And when he presses his lips to your lower belly one night without a word, without explanation—

You know.

You buy a test in the little town.

You hide it in your coat.

Take it in the upstairs bathroom while he’s outside chopping wood.

You watch the line appear.

Clear. Unmistakable.

Pregnant.

And your hands shake.

Not from fear.

From how much you want this.

⸻

You find him on the back porch.

He’s lighting a cigarette — one of the last ones left from his old stash.

You take it from his mouth.

Flick it out into the wet grass.

Then place his hand against your stomach.

He freezes.

“Yours,” you whisper.

Then — quieter — “Ours.”

He doesn’t move.

Not for a long time.

And then he pulls you to him. Wraps both arms around you. Holds you like you’re glass.

And says the first thing that comes to him:

“I won’t let the world touch her.”

⸻

You find out it’s a girl in the next town over.

A tiny clinic tucked between forgotten buildings.

The nurse smiles. “Want to know the sex?”

You nod.

Seong-je stays sitting, hands clenched on his knees.

“She’s a girl.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding it for years.

Then he looks at you.

And something in him shatters.

⸻

The months pass in a strange rhythm.

He won’t let you lift anything.

He paints her room twice, because the first color didn’t feel soft enough.

He carves her name into the side of the crib.

He talks to her when he thinks you’re asleep — whispers things like:

“I’m going to teach you how to fight. How to be soft without being weak.”

“I’ll kill for you before anyone hurts you. Just like I did for your mother.”

“You’ll never have to fear the dark — not while I’m breathing.”

⸻

The labor comes one rainy afternoon.

He drives you into town, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

No music. No sound. Just the road winding through the woods and your hand clamped in his.

The little hospital is quiet.

The nurses kind.

He won’t leave your side.

Not for a second.

He whispers “I love you” between every contraction, every push, every breath.

Until—

She arrives.

Tiny. Red. Wailing.

And everything stops.

⸻

He cries for the second time in his life.

The first was when you came back to him after trying to run.

The second is when they place his daughter in his arms.

He doesn’t say a word.

Just holds her.

Like she’s something holy.

⸻

You name her that night.

No middle names from old families.

No pieces of a past life you’ve long abandoned.

Just a name that fits her.

A name that sounds like warmth and wildfire.

⸻

The drive home is long and soft.

The baby sleeps in your arms.

Seong-je watches the rearview like a predator — like something might still come for you.

But nothing does.

You reach the house.

The lights are on.

The crib is ready.

The fire is warm.

And when he carries her inside — cradled like she might dissolve — he whispers:

“You’ll never know pain. Not while I’m alive.”

You place her gently in the crib.

She makes a tiny noise.

Then settles.

And for the first time, your house is silent — not from emptiness, but peace.

⸻

You sleep that night with her beside you.

With him wrapped around both of you.

His hand resting on her back.

Your hand on his.

And when the wind picks up outside — rattling the trees, brushing the windows — you don’t flinch.

Because your daughter is safe.

Because she has the father the world fears.

And the mother who chose this life, again and again.

———

This is the last part and did take me the longest (the rest were in my drafts so I posted them all at once cause I didn’t want to make y’all wait😘)

“No One Else” — Part 6: “The First Lie”

Genre: Dark romance, angst, possessive unraveling

Tone: Paranoia, emotional cracks, trust bleeding out

⸻

It was a small thing.

An after-school tutoring session. A group project. A few classmates staying late to work on a presentation.

And you lied.

You told Seong-je you had to stay late because your teacher needed help organizing paperwork. Harmless. You just didn’t want him hovering. Watching. Breathing down your neck every second.

You needed air.

That was all.

But the moment you walked out of the school gates, and saw him waiting across the street, back against the wall like always—you knew.

He’d known.

And he’d followed.

You walked toward him slowly.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared with those cold, burning eyes like you were a puzzle he had just realized was missing a piece.

“Was it worth lying?” he asked.

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Not calm—contained. Like something was locked behind it.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

He took a step closer.

“I saw you,” he said. “With him.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I didn’t ask if something happened.”

There it was. That awful, quiet fury. Worse than yelling. It made the air feel tight. Your ribs ache.

“I just wanted—” You hesitated. “I wanted space.”

His jaw clenched. “From me?”

You nodded. Barely.

That was the first time he truly looked hurt.

Not angry.

Not possessive.

Just… hurt.

Like you’d ripped something out of his chest and stepped on it.

And for a second—just a second—you hated yourself for it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped you,” he said, voice flat. “But I wouldn’t have liked it.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

And this time, you did flinch.

That pause… it shattered him.

“You’re scared of me again,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

He laughed once. Bitter. Broken.

“You said you could handle me. Said you wanted this. That we understood each other.”

“I did. I do,” you said, voice soft.

“Then why lie?”

“Because I’m tired, Seong-je,” you whispered. “I’m tired of always looking over my shoulder. Of knowing if I talk to someone too long, you’ll find a way to make them disappear. I wanted to feel normal for one day.”

His eyes were cold. But not unreadable.

No—this time, they looked… betrayed.

“You’re not normal,” he said. “You stopped being that the second you chose me.”

You swallowed.

And then he said it. The words that changed everything.

“So pick. Right now. Do you want normal, or do you want me?”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a test.

And God help you—

You didn’t answer.

“No One Else” — Part 8 (Final): “If I Can’t Have You”

Genre: Dark romance, psychological climax, toxic intimacy. Very little brief mention of smut

Tone: Obsessive desire, emotional conflict, sensual tension, blurred lines

A/n: this is the last part but if you want like a follow up of there lives i’ll do it!!

⸻

You knew he’d come back.

He’d been gone for three days, but his absence only thickened the air, like the moments before a storm—calm, but electric. When you opened your bedroom door and found him there, sitting on your bed in silence, it wasn’t fear that hit you first.

It was recognition.

You shut the door quietly behind you. Your heart didn’t race. It waited.

“Hello,” he said.

His voice was low. Tired. Dangerous.

“I should call someone,” you said.

“You won’t.”

And the terrifying part was—he was right.

He stood slowly, shadows clinging to him like they belonged to him. His presence filled the room until you couldn’t breathe around it. He looked at you like a man who’d spent days walking barefoot through hell, just to stand in front of you again.

“You lied to me,” he said. “You pulled away.”

“I needed to.”

“I needed you,” he growled, stepping closer. “Do you know what it felt like? Thinking you’d outgrown me? That you’d left me?”

You stepped back, but not far.

He stopped inches from you, chest rising and falling fast. He looked desperate and furious and shattered.

“I wanted to forget you,” you whispered.

“Liar.”

His hand cupped your jaw—rough, trembling. His thumb slid over your cheek like he was memorizing it all over again.

“I hate what you make me,” he said. “But I’d rather be this—unhinged, broken, obsessed—than feel nothing without you.”

You should’ve pushed him away.

You wanted to.

But his lips were already on yours—demanding, aching, full of everything he hadn’t said in days. And God help you, you kissed him back.

Not out of love.

But because it was the only thing that made the silence bearable.

⸻

It wasn’t soft.

It was all fingernails and breathless gasps and clothes dragged off in frustration. He didn’t touch you like he was asking for anything—he touched you like he was claiming you. And you let him.

Because some part of you still needed to be wanted this much. Still craved the danger of him, the way his voice said your name like it was a prayer and a threat all at once.

“Mine,” he growled against your throat.

“Say it.”

You hesitated.

Then: “Yours.”

And it broke you.

⸻

After, you lay tangled in the sheets—half on top of him, your breath slowly returning. Your mind was blank. Your body buzzed. Shame and longing mixed into something you couldn’t name.

He looked at you, eyes calmer now. Sadder.

“Tell me you won’t leave again,” he whispered.

You didn’t answer.

Not yes. Not no.

Just laid your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

Because maybe this wasn’t love.

But it was the closest either of you had ever come.

And that was enough.

For now.

“Only I Hurt You”

Oneshot were seong je finds reader in his bed after he was out handling a couple of guys who had fought her while walking home in an alley way (he told her to go home but she went to his house instead)

The front door creaked when he opened it.

Blood still clung to his knuckles, dried into the creases of his fingers. His hoodie was soaked with someone else’s sweat, maybe some of his own, and the adrenaline hadn’t fully left his bloodstream yet. It rarely did.

They’d laid hands on you. That was enough to make him see red. Enough to make him track them down like dogs.

But the house was too quiet now.

Geum Seong-je kicked off his boots and headed down the dim hallway. The rain hadn’t stopped — he could still hear it hammering against the windows. He told you to go home. Told you to listen.

You never listened.

And when he stepped into his bedroom, there you were.

Curled in his bed, soaking wet, blood streaked down one arm, your lip split and trembling. His sheets were damp. Your clothes were stuck to your skin like a second layer. Your shoes were still on.

“You walked here?” His voice came out low. Barely controlled.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t answer.

He crossed the room in two steps.

“You walked here. In the rain. After they touched you?”

You blinked. He could see the shiver you tried to suppress, your body reacting before your pride could hide it. The blood on your shirt wasn’t all dried. Some of it was still fresh.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” you whispered.

That cracked something in him.

Geum Seong-je didn’t speak for a long moment. He just stood there, fists clenched, chest rising slowly. Then, without a word, he knelt at the edge of the bed and started untying your soaked laces. You flinched when his knuckles brushed your ankle.

“I told you to go home,” he muttered. “But you came here, instead.”

Your voice was barely audible. “This is home.”

He froze. Just for a second.

Then he yanked your shoes off with more force than necessary and peeled your jacket away from your shoulders. It clung, resisting, your blood and the rainwater mixing into a mess that stained his fingers.

You tried to sit up, but his hand landed on your thigh — firm, grounding.

“Stay still.”

You didn’t dare disobey.

He left for a moment. You heard drawers open, the faucet running. When he came back, he had a towel, gauze, ointment, and one of his oversized shirts.

“Take the top off.” His tone left no room for argument.

You moved slowly, the sting in your ribs sharper now that the adrenaline was fading. He watched you, eyes narrow, jaw tight, like he was memorizing every bruise so he could repay them tenfold.

He cleaned the cut on your arm with terrifying gentleness, fingertips brushing over your skin like you were something fragile, breakable.

“You should’ve called me,” he murmured.

“You told me to leave.”

“You should’ve still called.”

Your eyes flicked up. “Would you have come?”

He paused.

Then leaned in.

“I’m always coming for you.”

The silence between you tightened, thick with something you didn’t know how to name. You winced when he pressed antiseptic to your split lip. He cupped your jaw to steady you, his thumb brushing your cheek, rough with callouses and blood.

“I handled it,” he said. “They won’t touch you again. They won’t touch anyone again.”

A beat.

“Did you kill them?”

His eyes didn’t flinch. “No. But I made them wish I had.”

The room went still.

“You scare me sometimes,” you admitted.

He brushed damp hair from your face. Then leaned forward and kissed your forehead — barely a whisper of contact.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m the only one who’s allowed to hurt you.”

You didn’t know whether to cry or kiss him.

So instead, you let him pull his shirt over your head, let him dry your hair with the towel like he’d done this a hundred times before. And when he climbed into bed behind you, one arm sliding under your neck and the other over your waist, pulling you close, you didn’t fight it.

You just let yourself be held. By the boy who broke bones with his fists and still handled you like porcelain.

Because somehow, in all this cold, bleeding chaos —

Geum Seong-je was the only warmth you had left.

Every Time

Geum Seong-je x Fem!Reader

Dark Romance · Obsession · Intimate NSFW · Angst & Craving

____________

You hadn’t seen him for three weeks.

You changed your number. Blocked him everywhere. Moved out of your apartment without telling anyone where. But Geum Seong-je had a way of finding things — people — when he wanted them. And he always wanted you.

So when you opened the door to your new place and saw him standing there in the hallway, hood up, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched at his sides, you knew it was over.

“You really thought you could disappear on me?” he said quietly.

You should have slammed the door. Screamed. Called for help. But your heart was already racing — not from fear. From that sick, aching part of you that missed him every night, even when you hated him.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I never stopped looking.”

His voice was low, almost broken. When he stepped into your apartment without asking, you didn’t stop him. When he grabbed your face and kissed you like he was drowning, you didn’t push him away. And when he whispered, “You ruined me, and you think I’d let you leave?” — you pulled him closer.

His jacket hit the floor. Your shirt followed. His hands were rough, desperate — dragging down your back, gripping your waist like he could hold you in place forever.

“Say it,” he growled against your neck. “Say you missed me.”

You didn’t want to. You tried to lie.

But his hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding over your underwear, and your body betrayed you with a soft gasp that only made him smirk.

“Liar,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

He pushed your panties aside, fingers teasing you, slow at first, then harder when you arched into him. Your hands tangled in his shirt, dragging it over his head. His body was tense, inked with bruises and rage, but he let you touch him like you were the only thing that calmed the fire.

“You think I don’t know you?” he rasped. “You leave, you run — and you still want me like this.”

You hated how true it was.

He pushed you back onto the bed, crawled over you like a storm — wild eyes, clenched jaw, every muscle in his body coiled like he was barely holding himself together. He kissed you like he wanted to devour you. And when he finally slid inside you, deep and punishing, you moaned his name like it was salvation.

“I’ll never let you go,” he groaned into your ear. “I’d burn the whole world to keep you.”

His thrusts were rough at first, fueled by weeks of madness — but when your nails dug into his back and your legs wrapped around his waist, he slowed. Not because he wanted to — but because he needed to feel you break for him.

Every time you gasped his name, every time your body trembled around him, it made something darker settle behind his eyes.

“You’re mine,” he said, forehead against yours, breath heavy. “You always fucking were.”

When you came undone under him, crying out, he followed with a hoarse moan and buried his face in your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

He didn’t leave that night.

He held you after — arms wrapped tightly around you, his voice barely a whisper: “Run again, and I’ll come find you. Over and over.”

And you knew you would let him.

Every time.

“Glass Cage: Part 6 – Relocation”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, paranoia, fresh start, domestic intimacy in isolation

⸻

In the late nights of you tangled in his arms, he thinks , and thinks, and get get thoughts out his head

He bolts upright in bed, breath caught in his throat, eyes burning into the dark.

You stir, rubbing your eyes. “Seong-je…?”

He doesn’t answer at first.

He just gets up.

Goes straight to the closet. Pulls down bags. A duffel. Two black suitcases you’ve never seen before.

“…What are you doing?”

He finally looks at you.

“We’re leaving.”

You blink. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t need to.

The memory of your friend standing in the garden hasn’t left either of your minds.

He kneels by the side of the bed, fingers brushing your cheek.

“I waited too long last time. I thought we were safe. I won’t make that mistake again.”

You nod slowly. “Okay. What do I grab?”

He kisses your hand.

“Everything that’s yours.”

⸻

He moves like a ghost through the house — precise, silent, tense.

You pack your makeup carefully, your perfume, the soft brush he used on your hair.

He brings up your clothes from the basement — folded already, like he was always ready to flee.

Your sheets. The shampoo. A framed photo you took together, hidden in the drawer.

He takes the guns. The documents. The cash.

Every trace of the life you built together in that house vanishes into bags.

He opens the front door of his truck for you to get in. You’re still in your pj’s with a robe on and still tired and a little confused as you wait for seong je to finish coming in and out of the house with bags.

And two hours later, just before dawn —

you disappear.

⸻

The new house is deeper in the woods.

Colder.

Bigger.

Safer.

At least, that’s what he tells you when you arrive.

“It’s unregistered,” he says, pulling into the overgrown driveway. “No digital footprint. No cell towers for miles. No neighbors.”

You step out of the car and breathe in pine and fog.

It smells like secrecy.

It smells like home.

⸻

He opens the door to the new house.

Everything is wooden. Clean. Empty.

You look at him. “Where’s the basement?”

“No basement,” he says. “You sleep with me. Always.”

Your stomach flips. You nod.

Then you carry your bags into the master bedroom — his room.

And start unpacking your makeup on the wide wooden dresser.

Lipsticks, brushes, serums. Your world in little glass bottles.

He watches you from the doorway, arms folded.

Like you’re art. Or a miracle.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “I thought you might say no. When I said we were leaving.”

You blink. “Why would I say no?”

He looks down. Then back at you.

“Because most people run from cages.”

You walk over.

Wrap your arms around his waist.

“I don’t care where we are. I care that we’re together.”

He closes his eyes like your words slice him open in the best way.

Then kisses you.

Hard. Grateful.

⸻

Later, while he’s setting up the locks and security cameras, you explore the house barefoot.

The floorboards creak. The windows are tall, and the kitchen smells like pine and dust. You find:

• A fireplace in the den, untouched

• A loft above the stairs, with a single skylight

• An empty room filled with wild light — one you think could be yours

There’s a long hallway that leads nowhere.

But you find his jacket on a hook near the back door.

You touch it, smile to yourself.

Because even in this new place…

He still leaves pieces of himself lying around for you to find.

⸻

That night, after you make ramen in the new kitchen and eat it on the floor by candlelight, he pulls you into bed.

No words.

Just his arms around you.

Tighter than ever.

You whisper into his chest:

“I’m not scared.”

And he replies:

“Good. Because I’ll never let anyone find you again.”

—————-

It starts with the floorplan.

You were wandering the new house again — barefoot, robe tied loose, sunlight warming your skin — when you noticed it:

A hallway with five doors.

But only four open.

One stays shut.

Always.

You try the knob.

Locked.

You frown. “Strange.”

⸻

That night, curled in bed, your head on Seong-je’s chest, you whisper into the silence:

“What’s in the last room?”

He stiffens.

Subtly.

But you feel it.

“…Storage,” he says.

You lift your chin. Look up at him. “What kind of storage?”

He’s quiet.

Then: “Things that don’t belong to this life. Old things.”

You brush your fingers along his ribs. “Will you show me?”

He exhales, long and low.

“No.”

You blink. “Why not?”

He looks at you then — expression unreadable, jaw sharp with restraint.

“Because what’s in that room isn’t for you.”

You sit up a little. “But I want to know everything about you.”

His voice is low.

“I’m giving you everything that matters. This house. This life. Me.”

“And that room?”

He looks away.

“That room is before you.”

⸻

The next day, you wake up alone.

He’s already gone — probably outside, checking the traps, the perimeter, the signals. His new routine.

You walk barefoot again.

Same hallway.

Same five doors.

Four open.

One locked.

You kneel by the door and press your ear to it.

Nothing.

No sound.

Just stillness.

But somehow… it feels loud.

Like whatever’s in there is waiting.

⸻

Later, he finds you painting your nails on the windowsill.

He notices the chipped polish on your thumb.

“You were picking at it again,” he says.

You shrug. “I was bored.”

He sits beside you. Watches you brush on the new coat.

Then he says — casual, but careful:

“You went to the locked door, didn’t you.”

You pause.

“I didn’t open it.”

“You tried.”

You stay silent.

Then:

“I don’t want to lie to you.”

His jaw tightens. But his hand doesn’t leave your thigh.

You turn to him. “You said what’s in there is before me.”

He nods.

You lean close, lips brushing his cheek. “But I want all of you. Even the pieces you locked away.”

His eyes flick to yours.

Quiet. Dangerous.

“You’d regret it.”

“I don’t regret anything with you.”

⸻

That night, he sleeps restlessly.

You feel it in the way his arms tense around you.

How he murmurs your name in his sleep.

How he clutches you like you’re already slipping.

The door stays locked.

But now the house feels different.

Heavier.

Like the air’s holding its breath.

⸻

You dream of the hallway.

You dream of the door opening.

And Seong-je standing inside it —

Not angry.

Not afraid.

Just waiting for you to follow him into the dark.