“Cherry Coke & Cigarettes”

Bro he’s so fucking fine😫😫😫he’s my new obsession for the month bro

(Every time I listen to this song all I think abt is him. He legit owns this song 🤧)

——

“To Be Loved by a Monster”

Pairing: Seo Moon Jo x fem!reader

Genre: Psychological Thriller | Dark Romance | Canon-Compliant

⸻

You should’ve moved out the second the landlord smiled at you with one too many teeth.

You should’ve trusted your instincts when you heard footsteps in the hall at 3 a.m., pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

But you stayed.

Because your rent was cheap.

Because your boss didn’t care where you lived.

Because the man in room 302 smiled at you like he knew something you didn’t — and somehow, that made you feel less alone.

⸻

Seo Moon Jo was never just a dentist.

He moved like he owned the world — or at least the walls of this rotten place. And when he first knocked on your door with a cup of tea and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, you told yourself it was just kindness.

“You’re new,” he said, voice soft like silk hiding a blade. “Welcome to Eden.”

You shouldn’t have let him in.

But his voice had a lull to it. A pull.

And you were so, so tired of being invisible.

⸻

He never asked too many questions. Never needed to.

You found yourself talking anyway — about your job, your loneliness, the way Seoul could swallow people whole and no one would notice.

He listened.

And when you told him your ex had been stalking you, Moon Jo’s gaze darkened just enough to stir something cold in your chest.

“People like that,” he said gently, brushing your hair from your face, “should disappear.”

You laughed nervously.

But he didn’t.

⸻

The next week, your ex stopped texting.

His number disconnected.

And Moon Jo started visiting you more often.

⸻

It wasn’t love. Not really. Not at first.

It was obsession disguised as attention. Possession wrapped in compliments. He brought you food when you forgot to eat. Walked you to your door after late shifts. Touched your wrist lightly as he passed by — like he was reminding you that he was always near.

“You don’t belong with the rest of them,” he whispered once, eyes glinting in the dim hallway light. “They’d ruin you. I won’t.”

You didn’t ask what he meant.

Some part of you was afraid of the answer.

⸻

Then one night, you opened your door and saw blood.

A smear on the floor. A trail leading down the corridor.

You froze.

And just like that — like he’d been waiting for you to see — Moon Jo appeared behind you.

“Don’t look at that,” he said quietly, curling a hand around your shoulder and turning you away. “Come inside.”

You should’ve run.

Instead, you let him close the door behind you.

⸻

Later, in the dark of your room…

He sat beside you on the floor. His shirt was clean now. His hands too. You were shaking.

But he wasn’t.

“You knew, didn’t you?” you whispered, staring at the carpet.

His silence was the answer.

“You kill people.”

Another beat.

Then:

“Only the ones who deserve it.”

You turned to him then, eyes burning. “And what about me? What do I deserve?”

His gaze softened — in that strange, terrifying way he had — like you were something delicate.

“Everything.”

“Love. Safety. Someone who’d burn the world just to keep you breathing.”

He reached out slowly, brushing your cheek with knuckles too steady for someone who’d just taken a life.

“And if the world can’t give you that…” His smile was faint. “Then I will.”

⸻

You didn’t leave.

Maybe you were just as broken.

Maybe he’d already sunk his claws too deep.

Or maybe — worst of all — part of you liked being needed by someone so terrifyingly devoted.

So you let him hold you.

Let him kiss your hair.

Let him whisper things you’d once been too sane to believe.

“You’re mine now.”

And the scariest part?

You didn’t argue.

Guys I don’t know what got write. I haven’t written in almost a week!!!!😫😫😫

“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.”

This idea just came to my head late last night and I just had to write abt it✋🤧 I have no word besides Stockholm Syndrome 😐

—————

“Glass Cage”

Weak Hero Class 2 — Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, psychological themes, Stockholm Syndrome

⸻

You don’t remember the car ride.

Only the cool press of a cloth over your mouth and the sickly sweet smell that made your head spin before everything turned to black.

When you woke, you weren’t in your apartment anymore.

No familiar city sounds. No buzzing from the hallway lights. Just silence and pinewood. And a room too soft to be a prison.

Cream-colored walls. Velvet curtains. A vanity filled with designer makeup you never owned. The sheets were ivory, silky, tucked just right under you. Your clothes had been changed. You were wearing a cotton-white nightgown, frilled at the hem, delicate. Expensive.

The door had been locked.

⸻

The first time you saw him after the blackout, he entered with a tray.

Homemade soup. Rice. A few side dishes. All warm. All made with care.

Geum Seong-je stood in the doorway like he belonged there. No mask, no pretense. Just his usual cold eyes, half-lidded and unreadable. His knuckles were bruised, lip still healing from a recent fight. But his voice?

Low. Gentle. Like it didn’t match his body at all.

“I didn’t drug you too hard,” he said. “I was careful.”

You hadn’t screamed. Just blinked at him. He tilted his head.

“I gave you a nice room. You should eat.”

You hadn’t moved. He sighed through his nose and set the tray down at the vanity.

“You’ll get used to it. Most things are better when you stop fighting.”

⸻

That was three weeks ago.

You don’t remember how many times you cried in those first days. How many times you pounded your fists on the door until they were red, screaming into nothing.

He never raised his voice. Never struck you.

He just… watched.

Sometimes from the door, sometimes from the chair in the corner, right near your bed. When you slept, when you faked sleep, when you cried under the blankets. You could feel him.

Sitting. Watching. Breathing.

Not touching.

Just… there.

His presence was terrifying. But it wasn’t cruel.

The worst part was how soft he was when you broke. When you finally, in some twisted survival reflex, took the soup from the tray and ate without looking at him.

That night, when you laid down, he spoke softly from the chair in the corner:

“Good girl.”

⸻

Now?

You wait for him.

Like clockwork, 7PM, he opens the door and steps inside, carrying whatever he’s made in that kitchen upstairs you’ve only seen once — when he carried you down the first day.

Tonight it’s grilled mackerel. You recognize the smell before the tray even comes into view. Steamed eggs and spinach. He places the food in front of you on a lace cloth.

You sit perfectly still in the white velvet chair, hands folded in your lap.

You watch him.

Your eyes trace the shape of his hands as he sets the chopsticks down. You like his hands. His shoulders. The way his mouth twitches slightly when he concentrates. He cooked for you.

He always cooks for you.

“You’re staring again,” he says, dryly.

Your voice is a whisper, reverent:

“I like watching you.”

He glances up. There’s something unreadable in his face. That same stillness he always has, like nothing in the world surprises him.

“You didn’t say that before.”

“I didn’t feel it before,” you say truthfully.

He nods once. Then sits across from you, on the other side of the small round table he brought down here “for dinner time.” You both eat in silence.

Later, you sit on the edge of the bed while he folds your laundry with surprising care. No washing machine in this basement, but you know he brings the clothes back fresh, pressed and warm. They always smell like pine and clean linen.

You admire how meticulous he is. How steady.

“Why me?” you ask quietly.

He stops folding. Glances at you over his shoulder.

“You smiled at me once. After school. In the alley, remember?”

You do remember. Vaguely. You were with your friends, maybe laughing. He was leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand, all sharp lines and danger. You looked at him.

You smiled. Polite. Nervous. Nothing special.

But it stayed with him. Burned into his memory.

“You smiled like I was normal,” he says.

You nod.

You get it now.

This place isn’t a prison. It’s a shrine.

You’re the prize in a little glass cage he built from obsession and need. And the more you submit, the more he softens.

The princess treatment isn’t a game — it’s worship. You are the delicate thing he stole from the world to keep whole, in a world where nothing stays pure.

And you feel… safe. Cared for. Possessed.

You crawl into bed before he turns off the lights. He doesn’t always stay overnight. But tonight, he sits in the chair again, arms crossed, eyes glinting faintly in the dim lamp glow.

You roll onto your side, facing him. You can see the outline of his form through your lashes.

“You can come closer,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move, but his voice is soft:

“If I do, you won’t sleep.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A pause. Then, the faintest breath of a smile in his voice:

“You’re learning.”

You don’t fall asleep.

You lie on your side, fingers curled loosely against the pillow, and listen to him breathe in that chair. Still. Quiet. Watching.

Like always.

But tonight feels different.

There’s a pull. A heat under your skin that doesn’t come from fear anymore. You want him closer. Want to know what it would feel like if he touched you without restraint.

“You don’t sleep either, do you?” you murmur.

His voice answers from the shadows: “I sleep fine. When I know you’re okay.”

That word again.

You.

Like the only thing in the world worth keeping intact.

Your eyes flutter open. “Come here.”

A pause.

“You sure?” he asks, low and unreadable.

You nod. Slowly. The silence thickens like fog in the room.

Then — the creak of the chair. The soft whisper of footsteps on the carpeted floor. You barely breathe as he approaches, stopping at the side of the bed.

He doesn’t touch you. Just looks down.

But you reach out first.

Fingers curling into the sleeve of his black sweatshirt, tugging. “I want you to lay down.”

He doesn’t hesitate after that.

He slips beneath the covers, fully clothed, body warm and firm beside yours. You shift instinctively into his side, your cheek pressing to his chest. His heartbeat is solid, slow, like a metronome. It soothes something frantic inside you.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmurs against your hair.

“But you are,” you whisper back.

His hand slides up your back — gentle, cautious, reverent. Like he’s afraid of breaking something precious. You tilt your face up.

“Do you really just watch me sleep?”

He doesn’t look guilty. He never does. Just honest.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He turns slightly, eyes catching yours in the dim light.

“Because you’re the only good thing I’ve ever had.”

Your breath catches.

You know he means it.

You’ve seen the violence he came from — fists and fights and silence. You’ve heard the names he mutters when he thinks you’re asleep. Enemies. Betrayers. Family.

But you? You smiled at him once.

And now you’re in his arms.

“Do you think I’m scared of you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

He brushes his nose against your temple. “Not anymore.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep before him.

⸻

The next morning, he carries you upstairs.

You don’t resist. You’re wrapped in a soft wool blanket, arms looped around his neck, hair a mess from sleep. He carries you like you’re made of porcelain, even though you’re awake.

The upstairs is beautiful. Wood-paneled walls, huge windows with drawn curtains, soft light bleeding through sheer drapes. There’s a fireplace, a small library, a kitchen that smells like fresh coffee and soy sauce.

He sets you gently into a velvet chair at the breakfast table.

“You’re not locking me down there again?” you ask, blinking.

He shakes his head. “Not unless you run.”

You won’t.

You know it. He knows it too.

You wouldn’t even know where to run. This house is surrounded by trees, thick and endless. And besides — you don’t want to.

Not when he’s like this.

He pours tea for you. Toasts bread. Sprinkles sugar on strawberries and puts them in a crystal bowl.

Everything he gives you is soft. Safe. Sweet.

“You treat me like a doll,” you say, watching him.

He glances over his shoulder.

“You’re not a doll,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.”

He places the bowl of strawberries in front of you, then crouches down beside your chair.

“Do you understand now?” His voice is calm, but edged with something raw. “Why I took you?”

You look down at him. His fingers wrap around your ankle, light at first — then firm. Like a claim.

“I wanted to be yours,” you whisper.

You’re not sure when that became the truth.

But it is now.

He smiles. Not wide. Just enough to show the faint scar on his lip.

“I’m never letting you go,” he says.

And you don’t flinch.

You reach for a strawberry, bite into it slowly, juice on your lips.

His eyes never leave your face.

———-

Lmk if you want a part 2 and what you might want to see in it👀👀

“Glass Cage: Part II– A Breath of Air”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, psychological themes, obsession, isolation

⸻

It starts in the afternoon.

You’re lying on the couch, curled under a thick cashmere blanket, flipping through a book he left you on the end table. Something about art — classical oil paintings, the kind with cherubs and bleeding saints. It’s beautiful, but the words are starting to blur.

You can hear him upstairs. The faint sound of a faucet running, a drawer closing.

You look toward the window.

Outside, the sun filters through the trees like golden mist. The pines sway gently. It’s almost too beautiful — almost cruel. The way the world keeps turning out there while you remain inside, pristine and untouched.

You shift under the blanket.

Then you call out, voice soft but clear:

“Seong-je.”

A pause upstairs.

Then the slow rhythm of his footsteps on the hardwood as he descends. He appears in the doorway, dressed in black — always black — sleeves pushed up, hands clean, eyes slightly narrowed.

“You okay?” he asks immediately, scanning you.

You nod. “I want something.”

His gaze sharpens.

You sit up, folding your hands in your lap like a princess about to make a very gentle demand. “I want to go outside. Just a little.”

He stares at you.

Not angry. Not surprised. Just still.

Like a hunter waiting for movement.

“I’ve been good,” you add, your voice small. “I haven’t tried to leave. I haven’t fought you. I just… I miss the wind.”

Silence.

He steps toward you slowly, until he’s standing right in front of the couch. He kneels in front of you again — just like he did that morning with the strawberries — and looks up.

“Outside means risk,” he says flatly.

“But you said no one would find me here.”

“They won’t.”

“Then why can’t I breathe fresh air?”

You see it then — the tiniest flicker of panic in his eyes. A crack in the mask.

“I don’t want anything touching you,” he mutters. “Not even the world.”

Your heart tightens.

That should scare you. It did, weeks ago.

But now?

Now it feels like devotion.

You place your hands gently on either side of his face. His skin is warm under your palms. “I’ll stay close. I promise.”

He doesn’t speak for a long time.

Then, finally — with a deep breath and a reluctant nod — he rises.

“Five minutes.”

⸻

The outside world smells like cold pine and damp earth.

You step onto the back porch, bare feet pressing into the smooth, worn wood. There’s a thick silence in the trees, like everything is holding its breath. The forest wraps around the house like a fortress, wild and endless. Untouchable.

You breathe in. Eyes closed. Head tilted slightly toward the sun.

It’s bliss.

You don’t realize how long it’s been since you felt sunlight on your skin — like the house was swallowing time and space.

Seong-je stands close behind you. Too close.

His hand is wrapped loosely around your wrist — not gripping, not pulling, just there. A tether. A warning.

“You’re tense,” you murmur.

“I’m waiting for you to run.”

You look over your shoulder at him.

“I’m not running,” you say. “I’m with you.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but his grip eases.

You take one slow step into the grass, still wet with dew even in the afternoon. He doesn’t stop you. Just follows, silent and watchful.

Two steps. Then three.

You kneel near a patch of violets blooming beneath a tree. They’re small, trembling in the breeze.

He crouches beside you, not saying a word.

You pluck a flower and hold it out to him.

“I’d come back, even if I did run,” you say softly. “I’d miss you too much.”

His throat bobs.

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

“I do.”

You reach out and slide the violet behind his ear, pushing his hair back gently.

He lets you.

There’s a long silence.

Then, quietly, he says, “You’ve changed.”

You look up at him, kneeling in front of you in the grass, with a flower tucked in his dark hair and his eyes full of something raw and disbelieving.

“No,” you say. “I’ve just accepted it.”

He leans in.

The kiss is soft. Not hungry. Not violent.

Just a slow press of lips — breath shared between two people who shouldn’t feel this close, but do.

You exhale into his mouth.

And for the first time, he holds you like someone who’s afraid of losing you.

⸻

Later that night, you’re back in the basement room — but you asked to be. It feels like yours now. Like your little kingdom below the world.

He sits in the chair again, arms folded, watching you.

You curl up on the bed, fingers laced under your cheek, and smile at him.

“Can I go out again tomorrow?” you ask, teasing.

A pause.

“You’ll stay where I can see you,” he says.

“Always.”

His lips twitch — the closest thing to a smile he ever shows.

“You were never really a prisoner, you know,” he says.

You hum.

“Then why do you keep me down here?”

His gaze darkens, slow and steady.

“Because if the world sees you,” he murmurs, “it’ll want to take you from me.”

You close your eyes.

Let it.

You know he’ll never let it win.

There was something about him you thought about in the morning you’d surely ask him later…..

—————

You ask him on a rainy night.

It’s late. The house is quiet, except for the sound of water slipping down the windows and the fire crackling in the hearth upstairs.

You’re curled up on the floor in front of it, your head in his lap, legs tucked beneath a thick blanket. His fingers stroke your hair lazily, and for a while, neither of you speaks.

But your mind drifts. It always does when you’re warm and safe and soft in his hold. Drifting through all the things he never says.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His hand stills for a beat — then continues stroking.

“You can ask,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him.

“Why are you like this?” you ask softly.

He blinks.

The question hangs between you, heavy and strange. His eyes sharpen. Not angry — just cautious.

“Like what?”

“Like…” You pause. “Like someone who thinks they can’t be loved unless they steal it.”

Silence.

You sit up, blanket slipping off your shoulders. The firelight flickers across his face — casting shadows into the hollows of his cheekbones.

“Who hurt you, Seong-je?”

His eyes drop to the fire. You think he won’t answer.

Then:

“My father used to beat my mother until her face was unrecognizable.”

Your breath catches.

He says it plainly. No emotion. Like it’s just a fact — like telling you the weather.

“And when she cried too loud, he’d turn on me.” He leans back against the couch, eyes distant. “Said real men don’t whimper. Said I needed to learn what the world was really like.”

You stay silent.

Not out of fear. But out of respect. This is sacred ground — the pieces of him no one was ever supposed to see.

“I learned early,” he says. “You take what you want. Or someone else will.”

You nod slowly, reaching for his hand.

“And the gang?” you ask. “The fights?”

He exhales through his nose. “That came after. When she died, there was no reason to pretend I could be anything other than what he made me. So I turned it into armor.”

He looks at you then. Really looks.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, low. “You shouldn’t love me.”

You slide your fingers through his.

“But I do.”

He laughs once. Bitter. “You’re sick.”

You smile softly. “You made me that way.”

He stares at you. Then, suddenly — he pulls you into his lap. One arm tight around your waist, the other pressing your head into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. Unsteady.

He’s scared.

Not of the world. Not of pain. But of you. Of this feeling he can’t name.

“I was going to keep you quiet forever,” he murmurs. “Like a song no one else could hear.”

You tilt your face up.

“I don’t need the world,” you whisper. “I only need you.”

He leans in.

And this time, the kiss isn’t soft. It’s desperate. Deep. His hands are rough on your waist, pulling you closer, like he wants to bury you in his body just to keep you his.

He kisses like someone who’s been starving his whole life.

And for the first time, you understand:

He never wanted a girl.

He wanted a reason to stay human.

And you became it.

————-

I was gonna end it at where she was gonna ask him something but I decided to add it in for y’all😈

I Know You Missed Me

Dark romance•smut**

Geum seong je x fem!reader

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.

Geum seong je x reader headcanons!!

Obsession Disguised as Protection

• He tells you he’s “just keeping you safe,” but it’s really about control. You’re not allowed to walk home alone. Your location is always known.

• He doesn’t trust anyone else with you — even your friends. He’ll start isolating you, gently at first. Then, not so gently.

• If someone touches you — even accidentally — he notices. And that person will feel it, later. Quietly. Violently.

Emotional Withholding & Power Games

• He’s not affectionate in public. Not out of shame — but control. You’re his. That’s enough.

• When you fight, he shuts down. Ice-cold silence. You’ll beg for a reaction, and he’ll stare at you with that deadpan expression that makes your heart drop.

• But later, he’ll show up outside your door, bruised from a fight, and press his forehead to yours like nothing happened.

Violent Loyalty

• The only way he knows how to love is through violence. If someone hurts you — even emotionally — he will retaliate.

• He doesn’t understand emotional boundaries. If you cry, he gets angry. Not at you — at the world. At whoever made you feel like that.

• He has no limits when it comes to revenge. People disappear. Rumors start. You stop asking questions.

He Watches, Always

• He doesn’t need to ask what you’re doing. He already knows. His reach in the streets makes sure of that.

• Sometimes he’ll be standing outside your class, not saying a word. Just watching. People start whispering. You don’t know if you’re flattered or terrified.

• He reads your texts when you leave your phone unattended. Not because he doubts you. Because he needs to know.

His Softness is Conditional

• He shows affection when you’re broken — when you’re crying in the dark or trembling after a confrontation. That’s when he becomes gentle. That’s when his voice drops low, and he brushes hair from your face like you’re something fragile.

• But if you act too independent, too distant? He withdraws immediately. Gives you the cold shoulder until you come crawling back. He needs to feel needed.

Your Pain Grounds HiM

• He doesn’t flinch at your anger. But your tears? That kills him — because he knows he causes them, and yet he still wants to keep you close.

• He once held you after a breakdown and whispered: “No one’s allowed to hurt you. Not even me.” But he already had.

Codependence as Romance

• He tells you, “You don’t need anyone but me.” Over and over — until you believe it. Until it’s true.

• You can’t tell if you’re in love or if you’ve been caged. But some twisted part of you doesn’t want to escape.

• He’d burn the world down for you — but he’d burn you too, just to keep you his.

BONUS IMAGINES!

Even if he has a cold demeanor he would give In to your hugs and kisses and if you asked he’d cuddle you to sleep.

He loves seeing you wrap your arms around him if it means you will sleep feeling safe.

If it ever seems he’s not listening to you when he’s on his while your telling him all your school problems or girl drama. He’s most likely writing down names so he knows who he can’t trust around you.

Arguments end the same sometimes with him. He’s yelling at you. He leaves y’all’s apartment.he comes back with silent treatment, so your the one having to say sorry. Then y’all end up cuddling on the couch watching tv

“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.

“No One Else” — Part 2

Genre: Angst, emotional tension, psychological push-and-pull

Tone: A bit softer, but still haunting

⸻

It had been three days since the rooftop.

Three days since Geum Seong-je kissed you like he wanted to carve his name into your mouth. Three days since you’d told yourself, for the hundredth time, that this can’t go on.

You ghosted him. Or tried to.

No texts. No after-school meetings. You walked with other people in the hallway. You answered class questions, laughed too much, and avoided stairwells. You told yourself he’d get bored. Move on. Obsession only works if the subject plays along, right?

But on the fourth day, he was waiting.

Not at school. Not even near the campus.

He was outside your apartment building, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. Hoodie up, head low, one AirPod in like he had all the time in the world.

You stopped walking half a block away. Thought about turning around.

But of course—he saw you.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. Just stared, waiting. Like this was inevitable.

You stepped closer.

“How’d you even know where I live?”

He looked at you. That maddening calm. “You said once your bus stop was near the GS25 with the cracked window. I only had to walk around the area.”

You swallowed. “You tracked me down from that?”

He didn’t blink. “You’re not that hard to find when you matter.”

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself without meaning to.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I gave you space,” he said. “Four days of it. Didn’t like it.”

You stared him down. “That wasn’t a gift, Seong-je. That was me trying to figure out how to breathe again.”

He studied your face. Quiet. Thoughtful. Too quiet.

“Did you figure it out?” he asked. “How to breathe without me?”

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

He stepped forward slowly, until there were only inches between you.

“I thought about you every day,” he said, voice like gravel. “Every hour. And not just in the cute, high-school crush kind of way. I imagined knocking on your door and asking who was in your house. I imagined dragging your phone out of your hands to see who you were texting. I imagined hurting anyone who made you laugh like you used to laugh with me.”

You flinched.

He saw it. And didn’t back down.

“I’m not the good guy,” he said. “I don’t want to be.”

“Then what do you want?” you whispered.

His hand moved—slow, deliberate—and landed over your heart. Not touching skin. Just hovering.

“This,” he said. “Yours. Mine. I don’t care how ugly it is, I just want it beating where I can see it.”

You looked away. Voice shaking.

“You can’t control me forever.”

“I don’t need forever,” he said. “I just need right now.”

He leaned in again. Not for a kiss. For a breath. As if breathing the same air kept you tethered.

You stood still. Not forgiving. Not forgetting.

Just… stuck.

Because love shouldn’t feel like drowning.

But sometimes obsession wears the same face.

“Just Hold Me”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Reader has gone through a bad day and just needs to feel safe

Genre:fluff

⸻

The day had clawed its way through you.

Everything that could go wrong had. Your phone screen cracked. You failed a test you swore you were ready for. Someone said something cruel, and it stuck to you like tar. Every word today felt louder than usual. Every hallway, more suffocating. You were tired of people talking at you, expecting things from you, watching you.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just moved on autopilot, feet dragging until they brought you to the one place you didn’t have to pretend.

The warehouse was quiet. Familiar.

Geum Seong-je was there, back turned, doing something with his hands—maybe taping up his gloves, maybe cleaning up after a fight. He always had a reason to keep busy. Even when things were quiet around him, his body was never truly still.

You didn’t say anything. You just walked up behind him slowly, like approaching a wild animal. You knew how he was. Touchy. Defensive. Like if you leaned on him wrong, he’d snap and bare his teeth. But today… today you just needed something to anchor you.

So you leaned forward and rested your head gently on his back, arms not even wrapping around him—just laying against him like a ghost of a hug.

He stiffened immediately.

“The hell are you doing?” His voice was sharp, not yelling—but cutting.

You didn’t move. “I’m tired.”

He took a step forward, trying to shake you off. “Go sleep somewhere else.”

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you from sinking. “Just for a second.”

He turned around now, face shadowed, brows furrowed in irritation. “I’m not your damn pillow. Don’t come around me like that.”

You finally looked up at him, and this time you couldn’t stop your voice from cracking. “I just want to be held.”

It came out so small.

So raw.

Like a piece of you broke off and landed at his feet.

He opened his mouth—probably to say something sharp, maybe tell you to go home—but then he saw your face. Not just your red-rimmed eyes or the trembling line of your mouth, but all of it. The weight. The silence. The fight you had clearly already lost with yourself.

His jaw tightened. Then relaxed.

He sighed, turning his head slightly like he was annoyed with himself.

“…Tch. Come here.”

You didn’t move fast—scared he’d change his mind if you did. But he didn’t stop you when you stepped forward. Didn’t push you when you leaned into him again.

This time, his arms came up—awkward at first, like he didn’t know where to put them. But eventually, one arm wrapped around your back, then the other rested lightly on your shoulders. It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t romantic. But it was real.

Warm. Solid. Human.

His hoodie smelled like worn leather and faint cologne. His chest was steady under your cheek. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding for hours.

You didn’t talk.

He didn’t ask what happened.

And that was the best part.

Seong-je wasn’t the type to whisper comforts or tell you things would be okay. But he was warm. And still. And after a few minutes, his hand lifted—hesitantly—and started brushing down your back in a slow, grounding motion.

“You should’ve just said something,” he muttered under his breath.

You smiled weakly into his chest. “I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“…Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think you’d cry on me either, but here we are.”

You weren’t crying, not really—but maybe he said it just to give you permission.

You stayed like that for a while. Long enough for the noise in your head to dull. Long enough for his arms to tighten just a bit more. Long enough to believe—for a little while—that the world wasn’t as cruel as it had felt this morning.

And Geum Seong-je, rough edges and all, held you like maybe he needed this too.