I Just Want You

“No One Else” — Part 5: “Collateral”

Genre: Dark romance, psychological drama, emotional fallout

Tone: Dangerous affection, unraveling consequences, possessive tension

(The guy Jun hyuk is a made up character for this fan fic)

⸻

It wasn’t just between the two of you anymore.

People had started to notice.

The way you always sat next to him—even when there were open seats. The way his eyes followed you like a tracking system. The way no one could joke with you anymore without feeling like a shadow was hovering behind them.

You hadn’t meant for it to get this far.

But the deeper you fell into him—the more obvious it became that there was no getting out without a cost.

And people were beginning to pay it.

⸻

It started with Jun-hyuk.

He’d been your friend since middle school. Safe. Easygoing. The kind of guy who knew your mom’s name and brought you snacks during exam week.

He was also the first person to finally say it out loud.

“You’ve changed,” he told you after school, standing just outside the school gates. “You don’t laugh anymore. You watch. Like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped closer. “Is it… is it Seong-je?”

The name made your chest tighten. You hated how much you liked hearing it from someone else’s mouth. Like he was yours, and everyone knew.

You didn’t say yes. You didn’t have to.

Jun-hyuk’s jaw clenched. “He’s not normal. You know that. He’s dangerous.”

“He protects me.”

“No,” he snapped. “He isolates you.”

That made you look up.

And the worst part?

You felt angry.

Because even if it was true—even if you knew it deep down—he didn’t get to say it. Not him.

Not anyone.

⸻

You told Seong-je about it that night.

Not because you wanted him to do anything.

But because you wanted him to know.

He was silent for a long time after you finished. Sitting beside you, eyes on the floor, the silence thick.

Then he spoke.

“Do you miss him?”

You turned your head slowly.

“Do you want me to?”

His gaze snapped to yours. Cold. Controlled.

But something was breaking.

“No,” he said. “Because if you ever do…”

He trailed off. Didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

⸻

Jun-hyuk stopped showing up to school the next day.

Rumors swirled.

Some said he got into a fight and didn’t want to come back.

Others said someone threatened him.

You knew the truth.

And when Seong-je sat beside you in class like nothing had happened—calm, composed, triumphant—your stomach twisted.

But you didn’t say anything.

Because part of you felt safe.

And part of you liked it.

⸻

You were losing things.

But you still had him.

And in the growing silence of your life, that started to feel like enough.

Even if he was a storm and you were just learning how to breathe in the eye of it.

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

I love your whc fics so much!! and I love baekjin 🤗 could i request a baekjin x reader headcanon like you did with seonje?

Yessss!!!! And thank you for requesting!!!!

Na Baek Jin Headcanons

——————-

🌸 Sweet & Soft Na Baek-jin Headcanons

1. Quiet protector energy.

He’s not loud about how much he cares, but he’s always watching from a distance. You’ll find him leaning against a wall nearby, headphones on, eyes scanning for trouble. If someone even looks at you the wrong way, he narrows his eyes, and they back off fast.

2. The type to memorize your schedule.

He won’t admit it, but he knows exactly what time you have lunch, what route you take to class, and where you like to hang out when you need quiet. If you’re ever missing, he notices within five minutes.

3. Acts cold around others but melts when it’s just you.

Around his crew, he’s all blank expressions and sharp words. But with you? He softens. Pulls you into his hoodie. Tucks your hair behind your ear. Hums a tune while your head rests on his chest.

4. Gives you his jacket without a word.

You shiver once, and he shrugs off his jacket like it’s nothing, tossing it over your shoulders. No eye contact. Just a quiet: “Wear it.” His scent lingers on the collar and makes you dizzy in the best way.

5. Secretly writes music about you.

He has a locked folder in his phone with beats he made while thinking of you — sometimes dark and brooding, sometimes soft and slow. You have no idea, but he listens to them late at night when he misses you too much to sleep.

⸻

🖤 Obsessive/Intense Na Baek-jin Headcanons

1. He doesn’t trust people around you.

Even if they’re being friendly, he watches every interaction like a hawk. If anyone flirts with you, his hand clenches at his side. He won’t start a fight — not unless you’re hurt — but he’ll remember. And he’ll handle it later.

2. Needs to know where you are — always.

He doesn’t blow up your phone, but he expects you to text when you get home. If you don’t, he shows up. Calm, serious, standing outside your door like: “Why didn’t you tell me you were safe?” It’s not a question — it’s an accusation wrapped in worry.

3. Keeps little pieces of you.

That broken hair clip you threw away? He has it. Your old scarf? Still in his drawer. They’re like tokens — reminders that you’re real, that you’re his. He’d never tell you, but they matter more to him than his own stuff.

4. Gets possessive when you pull away.

If you try to create space — emotionally or physically — he goes still. Withdrawn. But the storm behind his eyes brews silently. He doesn’t beg, but he’ll back you into a corner emotionally with quiet intensity, whispering: “I don’t know how to breathe without you.”

5. Has a dangerous calm when he’s jealous.

He doesn’t explode. He waits. Observes. Then he finds quiet ways to isolate the person — pushes them out of your life with subtle pressure, until you only see him. And he’ll act like it’s coincidence.

“Just You, Just Me”

Geum Seong-je x fem!Reader

Smut | Soft possessive | Explicit

*They had a first round and he goes back for another*

⸻

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breaths evening out, skin still slick with heat, your bodies tangled under the sheets.

Seong-je lay on his side, one arm draped across your stomach, his fingers tracing lazy circles just above your navel. His lips brushed your shoulder — light, like he was barely touching you.

You thought he’d fall asleep like that. But then—

His voice, rough, low:

“You’re too good for me.”

You blinked at the ceiling, heart slowing but full. “What?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just shifted closer. His mouth found your jaw, then your throat, tracing the edge of it with deliberate slowness. You felt his breath fan across your skin as he whispered, “I’m not done with you.”

Your body reacted instantly — heat pooling low, thighs pressing together beneath the sheets. He pulled the blanket down just enough to expose your chest, his eyes darkening at the sight of you bare beneath him again.

His voice dipped, rough with that edge only you got to hear.

“I want to take my time this time.”

His lips found your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucked — slow, teasing. One hand slid between your thighs, already finding you soft and wet again.

“Still so ready for me,” he murmured with a smirk, kissing lower now, down your stomach, until he was between your legs.

“Seong-je—” your voice broke as his tongue dragged up your center, gentle at first, then deeper, more focused. One arm slid under your thigh to pull you closer to his mouth.

He moaned softly against you. “Taste so good. Could stay here forever.”

Your hands tangled in his hair as your hips bucked, but he held you steady, savoring you, taking his time. His tongue moved slow but confident, lips wrapping around your clit just right — until you were trembling, back arching, eyes fluttering shut.

When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips like he was addicted.

He moved up your body, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re shaking.”

You nodded, breathless. “You’re unreal.”

He chuckled, low and satisfied. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

This time, he slid into you slowly — deep, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every second. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, anchoring him closer.

He kissed you through it, lips slow and open-mouthed, swallowing every gasp, every moan.

His thrusts were smoother now — not rough, but deep. Intimate. You could feel every inch of him, and it made your head spin.

He held your face in one hand as he rocked into you, watching your expression, whispering, “Look at me… I want to see you fall apart.”

You tried to look away, but he caught your jaw gently.

“No hiding. Not with me.”

And you didn’t. You gave him everything — every breathless cry, every broken moan, every pulse of your body around him as you spiraled over the edge a second time, tighter, hotter, deeper than the first.

He followed fast after, with a low, guttural groan, hips stilling deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours as he let himself go.

You lay there, breath tangled in his, hearts thudding together in the dark.

His thumb stroked your cheek, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Only you do this to me.”

You smiled, exhausted but full. “Good.”

He chuckled, brushing your hair back.

“You gonna survive round three later?” he teased.

You narrowed your eyes, barely holding back a grin. “Only if you keep looking at me like that.”

He leaned in, kissed your nose.

“Oh, I will.”

Sup! Love your content

You shouldn't do this one if it makes you uncomfortable.

Could you do a si-eun and/ or seong je x reader where they find out about readers sh scars?

Xx

“No Need to Hide”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x fem!reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm scars, emotional vulnerability, soft Geum Seong-je

A/n: if you are going through this just know you are not alone. Coming from someone who has been in that spot it can be hard especially if you feel alone, but everything will be ok in the end just keep your head up! Just take your time and remember everything will pass. There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. Luv y’all🫶🏻

⸻

The rain outside painted the windows with a steady rhythm, soft and calming. Inside the small apartment, the lights were low—just the warm glow of the lamp near the couch where you and Seong-je were tangled up together. His arm was around your waist, your head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while a random movie played on the TV neither of you were watching.

It had been a long day, and you were finally letting yourself feel safe.

You had taken off your hoodie earlier, now just in a loose tank top and shorts. You didn’t think about it when you raised your arms to stretch, your body relaxed for once.

But when you reached for the blanket beside you, Geum Seong-je’s eyes caught something he hadn’t noticed before.

Scars.

Faint but unmistakable, etched gently along the soft skin of your upper arm.

Your breath hitched when you saw him looking. You tried to pull the blanket over yourself quickly, to cover up, to hide, but his hand gently caught yours.

“Wait…” he said quietly.

Your heart pounded. You looked away, suddenly cold even in the warmth of his arms. “Don’t.”

“Y/N…” His voice was soft, so different from how he usually spoke to the world—sharp, cold, intimidating. But this wasn’t the gang leader now. This was your Seong-je.

He sat up, carefully taking your hand, fingers brushing against the faded scars like they were something delicate. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed hard. “Because it’s not something I want people to see. It’s ugly.”

His jaw tensed, eyes flicking up to yours. “Don’t say that.”

You gave a hollow laugh. “Well, it’s the truth.”

But then he did something that made your chest tighten—he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your arm. Right over one of the old scars.

“You lived through it. That makes it anything but ugly,” he said. “You’re still here.”

You blinked quickly, eyes stinging.

He held your face in his hands then, looking into you like he could read every part of you. “You don’t have to hide from me. Not ever.”

“I didn’t want you to think less of me,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper.

“I think more of you,” he said without hesitation. “A lot more. You went through something and you’re still standing. Still laughing. Still loving. That’s strength, not weakness.”

You bit your lip, the tears falling now—slow but real.

Seong-je pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly, protectively. His voice was lower now, soft against your hair. “Next time you feel like hiding… come to me instead. I’ll hold it with you. The weight, the pain, all of it.”

You nodded into his chest, unable to speak, just clutching onto him like he was the only solid thing in the world—and right now, he was.

He stayed like that with you for a long time, whispering soft things, reminding you that he wasn’t going anywhere.

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

——-

The rain outside was still falling in slow waves, casting soft shadows through the window. Geum Seong-je had his arms around you, and you stayed tucked into him for what felt like forever—safe, warm, and finally breathing without the weight of shame pressing down on your chest.

Eventually, he leaned back a little, his hand still holding yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding.

“You hungry?” he asked, voice low. “I can make you something. Or order from that place you like.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I just… wanna stay like this. With you.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a second, and then gave a quiet, almost shy smile. The kind of smile not many got to see from him.

“Then we stay like this,” he said simply.

You both shifted to lie back on the couch, your head now resting on his chest while one of his hands played with your hair and the other wrapped securely around your waist. It was quiet, but the kind of quiet that felt good—like healing.

“You know…” you said after a moment, your voice soft against his shirt, “I used to think no one would ever love me if they saw all of me. The broken pieces. The dark parts.”

Geum Seong-je didn’t answer right away. He just ran his fingers slowly down your back and whispered, “Then they didn’t deserve you.”

You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were already on you—serious, soft, filled with something deeper than just affection. Something like devotion.

“You’re not broken,” he continued. “You’re just… still healing. That’s different. And I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You mean that?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

You were quiet for a second, overwhelmed by how gentle he was being with you—this boy who so many feared, who had blood on his knuckles and scars of his own, was handling you like glass but never treating you like you were weak.

“I’m scared sometimes,” you admitted.

“So am I,” he said. “But I’m not scared of us.”

That broke something open in you. You leaned forward and kissed him—soft, slow, your hand resting against his cheek. He kissed you back with the same tenderness, like this moment was something sacred.

When you pulled back, he looked at you with so much warmth, his forehead resting against yours.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered. “Not for anything else. Just to hold you properly.”

You nodded.

In his room, the sheets were warm from the dryer. You slid under the covers, and he pulled you into his chest, wrapping himself around you like he never wanted you to leave.

You rested your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat again.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“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.

LEE JUN YOUNG THE MAN YOU ARE UGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wanted to request for Sieun x high functioning depressed female reader.

“You’re Still Here”

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x fem!Reader

Theme: Comfort | Emotional Intimacy | Hurt/Comfort | Slice of Life

⸻

It’s not easy to explain to people why you’re tired all the time.

You get up. You show up. You speak when spoken to. You get the grades. You smile just enough. You reply to texts with just the right tone that no one notices you drifting further away in your own mind.

No one, except Si-eun.

He doesn’t pry.

That’s the scariest part.

He just knows.

You’re sitting in the quiet corner of the school library, cheek resting against your fist, eyes glazed over a page you’ve reread four times without registering a word. You’re supposed to be taking notes. The pen sits still in your hand, ink bleeding faintly onto the page where your grip is just a bit too tight.

Then, you feel it.

The shift of air. The quiet footstep. The presence.

Si-eun slides into the seat across from you without saying anything, placing a bottle of banana milk and a protein bar on your notebook like it’s a normal Tuesday thing. Like he knows you haven’t eaten anything solid since yesterday afternoon.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your throat aches at how gently he speaks. Like he’s afraid to break something in you that’s already barely holding.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the bottle. He watches, eyes steady, calculating—not judging—and then pulls out his own book, opening it silently. As if to say: You don’t need to talk. I’m just here.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. You finally begin writing again. Slower than usual, but it’s something. He’s still reading, occasionally scribbling in his notebook, and not once does he look impatient.

After some time, you whisper, “I don’t think I’m okay.”

Si-eun doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fumble. He looks up, meeting your tired eyes with those calm, unreadable ones of his.

“I know,” he says. “But you’re still here.”

The words hit somewhere deep in your chest.

You let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I don’t even know why. It’s like I’m…running on fumes. Like I’m surviving by accident.”

His hand moves across the table. It lands near yours—not touching, just close enough.

“I don’t think you’re a burden,” he says quietly, almost too quiet for anyone else to hear. “And I don’t care if you don’t have the energy to be ‘fine’ every day. You’re still… you.”

You close your eyes.

You’ve cried alone before—into pillows, into showers, into the dark silence of your room—but this feels different. You’re not crying yet, but your chest is finally exhaling.

Safe. That’s what he gives you without even trying.

You whisper, “Why do you stay?”

He tilts his head, like he’s confused by the question.

“Because I care. Isn’t that enough?”

You nod. Just barely. And then, almost timidly, you reach your hand out. His fingers curl around yours slowly, naturally, like it was always meant to happen this way.

And in that quiet library, surrounded by fluorescent lights and the scent of old textbooks, you find something rare.

Not a solution. Not a sudden burst of happiness.

But something softer.

A hand to hold in the dark.

Someone who sees the version of you you’re too tired to perform.

“Glass Cage: Part 4 – Stay With Me”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, obsession, jealousy, emotional intensity, psychological intensity, first time smut (softly written but obsessive), twisted proposal

⸻

The morning after you broke into his bed, you wake to warmth.

The sun filters through half-open curtains. His scent lingers everywhere — in the sheets, the pillows, the heavy comforter wrapped around your waist. You’re still tucked into his chest, your bare legs tangled with his under the covers.

And he’s already awake.

His hand strokes your back slowly, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine under the shirt you stole from his drawer the night before. It’s far too big for you. He hasn’t said anything about that yet.

You breathe in the moment. Safe. Claimed.

Then his voice cuts through the silence.

“You’re not sleeping downstairs again.”

Your eyes flutter open.

“What?”

“I said you’re staying here,” he repeats, low and certain. “With me.”

You look up at him.

His expression is unreadable, but his arms are locked around you like steel. Like you’re some priceless thing someone might come and take.

“I thought you liked watching me sleep from the chair,” you tease, smiling softly.

His jaw ticks.

“I like knowing you can’t disappear.”

Something about the way he says it — calm, controlled, laced with fear — makes your throat tighten.

You press your palm flat against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods.

But his eyes don’t soften.

⸻

That afternoon, you hear a car.

You’re in the kitchen with him — barefoot, wearing his shirt and nothing else, sitting on the counter as he slices fruit in that quiet, focused way of his.

Then the gravel outside crunches under tires.

You freeze.

His hand stops mid-slice.

No one’s supposed to come here. No one even knows about this place. Not friends. Not enemies. Not ghosts from his past.

Then the knock.

Three sharp raps at the front door.

You see it happen behind his eyes — that switch. The one where his humanity gets buried under instinct. He sets the knife down and steps away from you.

“Stay here,” he says, voice colder than you’ve ever heard it.

“Seong-je—”

“I said stay.”

Then he disappears down the hall.

You wait maybe ten seconds before slipping off the counter and creeping to the corner — just far enough to see without being seen.

He opens the door.

It’s a man. Mid-thirties. Tall. Dressed like a courier, but wrong. Too clean. Too quiet.

“I was told this property was for sale—” the man begins.

Seong-je doesn’t let him finish.

The door slams.

Then a click.

The lock.

The deadbolt.

Then silence.

You duck back just as he comes striding down the hall again. When he turns the corner and sees you standing there, bare and nervous in his shirt, his whole expression breaks.

Not in anger.

But in pure, animal fear.

“You weren’t supposed to come out,” he mutters.

He grabs you — not hard, but fast. Hauls you against his chest and buries his face in your hair.

“I thought maybe you’d vanish,” he whispers.

“Why would I—”

“Because things that don’t belong in this world get taken back.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t know who that man was.

But you know Seong-je would burn this entire forest down before letting anyone near you.

⸻

That night, you don’t ask permission.

You slip into his bed before he even gets there. Curl under the covers, facing the spot where he sleeps, wearing nothing but the scent of him on your skin.

When he walks in and sees you waiting, something in him shatters.

He doesn’t say a word.

He locks the door. Peels his shirt off slowly. Slides into bed behind you.

His hand runs down your arm, then over your hip, then lower — but not rushed. Not greedy. He touches you like he owns you, but worships you all the same.

“You’re mine,” he breathes into your neck.

You whisper it back. “Yours.”

You guide his hand to your thighs. Let him feel how much you want him. Let him know the hunger is mutual.

The kiss he gives you then is not gentle.

It’s permanent.

⸻

Later, you lie on his chest, skin warm and flushed, legs tangled under the covers.

He watches you with heavy eyes, one hand resting on the curve of your waist like a lock.

You whisper:

“I never want to sleep alone again.”

He’s quiet.

Then he nods.

And pulls you tighter.

“No one’s taking you from this bed,” he murmurs. “Not ever again.”

——-

You’re alone in his room when you find it.

He went out to the shed — something about checking the perimeter, tightening the security.

“You’ll be safe here,” he told you before he left, kissing your forehead.

But you weren’t looking for escape.

You were looking for more of him.

The drawer by his bed is usually locked. But tonight it’s not.

Inside: a stack of old photographs. Black-and-white, a little wrinkled.

You pick one up carefully.

It’s a young boy. Sharp eyes, bruised cheek. Standing beside a woman who’s smiling through sadness. Her arm wrapped around him like she’s trying to protect him from the world — and failing.

You know it’s him.

His mother. The pain that shaped him.

Then you find the letter.

Cracked at the edges, folded and re-folded. The ink smudged.

It’s from her.

Just a few lines.

You’re not like him, Seong-je.

You’re not a monster.

Don’t let them make you one.

Your chest tightens.

You hear the door open behind you.

He sees the photo in your hand — the letter.

And he freezes.

⸻

“You weren’t supposed to read that,” he says quietly.

You turn to face him.

“I wanted to understand you.”

He doesn’t come closer. His jaw is clenched. Hands twitching at his sides.

“I’m not a good man,” he murmurs. “I’m just the one who made you love your cage.”

You shake your head, stepping toward him.

“No. You’re the only one who ever saw me.”

His throat works. You’re in front of him now. Close. The photo slips from your hand, floating to the floor between your bare feet.

You reach up.

Touch his jaw. His cheekbone. The scar under his lip.

“I want all of you,” you whisper. “Even the parts you think are unlovable.”

And just like that — he snaps.

⸻

He kisses you hard. Desperate. Like he’s drowning and you’re the air.

You wrap your arms around his neck, his body pressing you back onto the bed. His weight, his heat, his need surrounds you. Clothes come off in frantic pieces, tossed to the floor without care.

You gasp when his hands slide over your skin — slow now, reverent, like he’s touching something holy.

His voice is rough.

“I’ll be gentle.”

You pull him closer. “Don’t be.”

Eyes lock.

Then he sinks into you.

And the world disappears.

⸻

It’s not soft — not entirely.

It’s slow. Intense. His hand gripping yours above your head, his body flush with yours like he’s trying to fuse your hearts. He groans your name like a curse and a prayer, over and over again.

Every movement says:

Mine. Mine. Mine.

And your answer is always the same:

Yes. Yours. Always.

You come undone with his name on your lips.

He follows — chest pressed to yours, burying himself so deep inside you it feels like he could never leave.

Afterward, he doesn’t let you go.

Not for a second.

⸻

Hours later, still naked under the covers, his hand strokes lazy patterns on your back. Your body is still sore in the best way — used, cherished, claimed.

Then he says it.

“I’m going to make you my wife.”

Your breath catches.

He’s not looking at you. Just staring up at the ceiling like he’s making a quiet promise to the sky.

“I won’t ask,” he says. “Because I won’t accept no.”

You stare at him.

“You’re serious.”

He turns his head.

Those eyes — black fire, unwavering.

“You think I’d let anyone else take care of you?” he asks, voice low. “You think I’d let someone walk you down an aisle, hand you over like you’re a gift?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll build the altar. I’ll say the words. And you’ll wear the ring while I keep you locked in the only place you’re safe — right next to me.”

Your pulse is wild.

And still — there’s no fear.

Just heat.

Love.

Obsession.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I’ll be yours.”

His fingers tangle in your hair. He kisses you again — slower now, but just as possessive.

“You already are.”