C4shm0neyxxx - C4shm0neyx

“Glass Cage: Part 5 – Almost Normal”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, emotional intimacy, small town trip, slow burn, someone shows up from the past

⸻

He watches you from across the room — standing by the window, staring at the woods like they’re whispering promises of somewhere else.

So he surprises you.

“I’m taking you out today.”

You turn, startled. “What?”

“Town. A small one. Off the map. Quiet.”

He sets down a folded hoodie and sneakers at your feet. “No one’ll know you.”

You blink, barely believing it. “You’re serious?”

He looks up. Eyes soft, unreadable.

“I want to give you something.”

You ask what.

He answers without words.

Just freedom.

⸻

The drive is long and winding, the road narrow and wrapped in green. You watch the trees blur past the window, sunlight flickering through the leaves like gold. He’s quiet at first, one hand on the wheel, the other resting between you — close enough to touch.

You eventually take it.

And he lets you.

⸻

The town is small. Too small for crowds. Barely more than a gas station, a diner, and one dusty little grocery store with faded signs and empty aisles.

It’s perfect.

He holds your hand like a warning — not to you, but to anyone who might look your way.

You walk beside him through the store, looking at the shelves, grabbing a few things — fruit, snacks, tea you remember liking. Then you drift.

Your eyes catch the tiny beauty section tucked into the corner. Old shelves. Plastic bins of lip gloss, lotion, cheap face masks in wrinkled packaging. Useless stuff, really.

But something about it makes you smile.

You let go of his hand — just for a second.

And vanish around the aisle.

⸻

You’re holding a little blush compact and a pink tube of something when you hear it:

“ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sʜᴇ?”

His voice.

Sharp. Controlled. But underneath it — panic.

You peek out from the aisle and see him talking to the bored cashier, who shrugs like it’s no big deal.

You step out. “I’m here.”

His eyes snap to yours.

He crosses the distance in three strides. Grabs your wrist, not hard, but firm.

“You don’t leave my sight.”

You nod quickly, whispering, “I just… saw this stuff.”

You show him the little basket in your hands. It’s got three sheet masks, a cheap perfume, two scrunchies, and a bottle of shampoo that smells like strawberries.

He stares at it. Then at you.

Then walks away with it.

You follow him, heartbeat still fast.

At the register, he adds a few more things. Things you didn’t even ask for — a soft brush, scented candles, a compact mirror.

He never asks if you want them.

He just buys them because you touched them.

Because if you want it, it’s yours.

⸻

The ride home is different.

You’re not looking out the window anymore.

You’re looking at him.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting beside you again — close enough to grab.

This time, you do.

Your fingers thread with his. And then — you laugh. Out of nowhere.

He turns his head, surprised. “What?”

You smile. “I was just thinking how weird this is.”

“What is?”

“I feel… happy.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment.

Then he says, without looking at you:

“You haven’t smiled like that since I took you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re the reason I’m smiling now.”

That gets him.

He exhales slowly, like your words knock something loose in him.

⸻

On the way back, you talk more than you ever have.

He tells you about his first fight. His first scar. The day he realized he was capable of hurting someone and how easy it was to never stop.

He tells you about music he likes (he doesn’t admit it, but he likes old love songs), and the time he got caught stealing a bike when he was twelve, and how he broke his hand punching a guy who insulted his mother.

You ask him things you were scared to ask before.

He answers all of them.

Not because he’s suddenly soft.

But because he knows you’re already his — and he wants you to know the man you belong to.

⸻

By the time you pull into the driveway, your heart is so full you almost cry.

He kills the engine.

The forest is quiet.

And you whisper, “Thank you.”

He looks at you.

Really looks.

Like he can’t believe the girl he once caged is now choosing him back.

His thumb brushes your cheek.

And he leans in slowly, pressing a kiss to your lips — not demanding, not claiming.

Just… grateful.

⸻

Inside the house, he puts your new things in his bathroom.

Not the basement.

Not a guest room.

His.

Because this is your life now.

And even the outside world can’t take it away.

———

You sit in the bathroom — his bathroom — on the edge of the tub while he silently unwraps the little drugstore beauty products you picked out.

He opens the strawberry shampoo.

Sniffs it. Blinks slowly.

Then holds it out to you.

“You like this?”

You nod, a little shy. “It reminds me of being sixteen.”

He says nothing.

But when you look in the shower later, the bottle is already there, standing like it belongs.

He placed it next to his expensive soap.

Side by side.

Like you’re already one thing.

⸻

He brushes your hair out on the bed.

You sit between his legs in one of his shirts while he runs the soft new brush through your hair — slow, patient, careful not to tug.

“Why are you doing that?” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then:

“Because no one ever brushed mine.”

The silence settles like mist.

You twist to look at him.

He’s watching the strands fall between his fingers, like they’re silk.

You lean into his chest. “I’ll brush yours tomorrow.”

His jaw twitches.

He kisses the top of your head.

⸻

The next morning, you wake up wrapped in him — arms across your waist, chest against your back, your legs tangled in his.

You lie there a long time.

Not because you’re scared.

But because it feels like home.

⸻

You cook breakfast together.

Which is to say: you try to stir the eggs while he stands behind you like a wall of heat, one hand on your hip, the other covering yours on the spoon.

“Let me help—”

“I am helping,” he mutters, lips grazing your temple.

You laugh.

He still moves like he expects someone to shoot through the windows. Still glances at the door. Still keeps a gun under the sink.

But with you?

He’s relaxed.

And with him?

You’re whole.

⸻

Later, curled on the couch with a blanket over both your legs, you look at him and say the most dangerous thing you’ve ever said:

“I don’t miss my old life.”

He blinks. Slow. Turns to face you.

“You mean that?”

You nod.

“I was lonely. Empty. The world had me, but it didn’t see me.”

You pause. “You saw me. You… chose me.”

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw.

“I’ll always choose you.”

Then he adds — lower, darker:

“Even if I have to burn the world down to keep doing it.”

And you believe him.

⸻

You go to sleep that night in his bed.

His arms.

His world.

And for the first time in your life… you dream of staying.

Forever.

—————

It’s been three weeks since the grocery store trip.

Three weeks of laughter, touches, stolen kisses in the kitchen.

You even started keeping your own mug by the sink.

You started calling it “home.”

He didn’t correct you.

And you thought — maybe the world forgot you.

But the world has a memory like a knife.

⸻

It happens on a Sunday.

You’re in the garden. He let you start one — just herbs and small flowers. You wear a hoodie two sizes too big (his), and you’re humming to yourself when the air shifts.

Footsteps.

But they’re not his.

You freeze.

Then — a voice:

“…[Y/N]?”

You turn.

And time stops.

It’s your friend. From your old life.

The one who cried when you vanished.

The one who swore they’d find you, somehow.

You whisper their name.

They step closer, wide-eyed. “Oh my god. You’re alive. We’ve been looking for you—where have you—are you hurt? What the fuck is going on?”

You open your mouth.

But the truth dies in your throat.

Because behind them—

Silent. Still.

Like death itself—

Seong-je.

⸻

Your friend doesn’t see him yet.

You do.

His expression is unreadable. Not furious. Not loud.

Cold.

Lethal.

Your friend grabs your hands. “We can go. Right now. I have the car. Come on. You don’t have to be scared anymore—”

You pull back.

They freeze.

“…What?”

You glance behind them.

“Leave.”

“What?”

“Now. Before he—before I—please. Just go.”

That’s when your friend finally turns.

Sees him.

And takes a step back.

But it’s too late.

⸻

He doesn’t touch them.

Doesn’t speak to them.

Just stands there, knife at his belt, calm as a shadow.

Your friend looks at you, desperate. “He’s brainwashed you. You think this is love? This is prison.”

You shake your head.

“No. My life before him was the prison.”

You look at Seong-je then. “This is the first time I’ve ever felt free.”

He finally moves — walks to your side, hand brushing yours.

And you take it.

In front of your friend. Without shame.

“You chose him,” they whisper.

You nod once.

“Always.”

⸻

He lets them leave.

No chase.

No threat.

But they leave pale. Shaking. And you know they’ll tell someone. Try to come back.

You don’t care.

You go inside with him. Sit on the couch.

You’re silent for a long time.

Then:

“You’re angry.”

“No,” he says. “I’m reminded.”

“Of what?”

He turns to you, fingers tightening around yours.

“That this world thinks it can take what’s mine.”

You climb into his lap. Wrap your arms around his neck.

“I told them the truth.”

His jaw flexes.

You kiss it. “I chose you.”

He nods.

“I’ll always choose you.”

⸻

That night, he doesn’t leave your side once. Not to check the locks. Not to patrol. He just holds you.

And whispers, “They can come back. But they’ll never take you.”

And you whisper back, “I won’t let them.”

————

Reading it back I didn’t know it was this long 😭😭😭😭

CAN YOU PLEEEAAAASE WRITE A NA BAEKJIN X FEM!READER NSFW ONESHOT OR SERIES EVEN PLSS 😔🤲🏻

“Control”

Pairing: Na Baek Jin x fem!reader

Genre: NSFW / Smut, Emotional Intimacy, Slight Power Play, Soft Aftercare

Setting: His apartment, late at night after a long day

(I’ve had this in my drafts also😭)

⸻

You were already breathless when Baek Jin pressed you against the door of his apartment, your back hitting the wood as his lips claimed yours with quiet urgency.

The moment the door clicked shut, something shifted.

His grip on your waist tightened, jaw flexing as he pulled back just enough to look at you — eyes dark, sharp with intent.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that in public,” he said lowly, voice rough against your ear.

You smirked, despite the way your heart was thundering. “Like what?”

“Like you want me to lose control.”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer — his mouth was back on yours, hot and consuming, his hands already beneath your shirt. He peeled it off slowly, letting his fingers trail up your sides like he was memorizing every inch of you.

Every move was precise, almost studied — the way he touched you like he was in command, not just of your body, but of himself. Until you looked at him with that softness in your eyes, and the control cracked.

He pushed you gently but firmly toward the bedroom, never breaking eye contact. You laid back across the sheets, propped on your elbows, watching as he undressed with a slow deliberateness that made your thighs press together.

When he crawled over you, his hands planted firm beside your head, his expression changed — colder, hungrier.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, lips brushing your jaw. “I don’t show it. But I think about you… constantly.”

“Then show me,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

His mouth claimed your neck, then your chest, his hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer. You gasped when his fingers brushed over your soaked panties, and he smirked against your skin.

“So wet already?” he murmured, pushing them aside.

Two fingers slipped in easily, his thumb circling your clit while his mouth returned to your chest. You moaned, arching into him, fingers gripping the sheets.

“Baek Jin—” you breathed, your voice cracking slightly.

He glanced up, eyes half-lidded. “Say it again.”

“Baek Jin.”

He cursed under his breath and pulled away just enough to rid you of your underwear and align himself. He didn’t rush — just eased in slow, watching your expression like it was the only thing he cared about in the world.

You gasped, clinging to him as he filled you completely.

He groaned low in his throat, voice strained. “You feel too good. Fuck…”

His thrusts started deep and slow — steady, controlled, each one hitting just the right spot. You wrapped your legs around his waist, nails digging into his back as the pace built, your moans echoing into the night.

It wasn’t just sex — not with him.

It was the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. The way his lips would soften against your shoulder mid-thrust. The way he whispered, “Mine,” like a secret no one else was meant to hear.

Your orgasm hit fast and hard, your body trembling beneath him, back arching off the bed as you cried out his name. He held you through it, slowing only slightly before chasing his own release with low, breathless groans.

When he came, it was with his forehead pressed to yours, hands locked around your wrists like he needed to anchor himself to you.

The silence after was heavy with heat and heartbeats.

He rolled off you, but didn’t let go — pulling you into his chest, holding you close like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You nuzzled into his neck, smiling softly.

“Still in control?” you teased, voice hoarse.

Baek Jin chuckled — a rare, genuine sound. “Not even close.”

I need more geum seong je fics to read on here. Ive done read them all😩😩😩

Bare with me here…univerisity setting kang wooyoung x reader having a friends with benefits relationship but surprise reader catches feelings she decides to ignore until one day she learns there are rumors going around campus about wooyoung having multiple girls he sleeps with so she decides to break it off bc maybe they agreed to not sleep around while they have their lil deal going on? And that leaves wooyoung confused bc he doesn’t know what he did wrong until he finds out about the rumors and confronts the reader bc he also caught feelings and he’s like let me put an end to any rumors and since we know he likes to make lil videos this time he keeps the camera rolling while they do their thing but out of respect for the reader and also not wanting people to see what’s his the video doesn’t show much but records the sound of what’s going on for everyone on the campus to shut up with their silly rumors 👀

Ok ngl this was kinda confusing (but that’s ok!!!) so I hope you like this😘

“Rumors & Recordings”

Pairing: Kang Wooyoung x fem!Reader

⸻

You should’ve known this was a bad idea from the beginning.

Friends-with-benefits rarely stayed just that. Not when the lines blurred so easily — in the way Wooyoung would stroke your hair after, or pull you close as if he hated the idea of you leaving his bed. Not when his texts came in at midnight just to say “missed you,” like you were anything more than a body in his sheets.

But you had rules.

And you were foolish enough to believe he’d follow them.

So when whispers started floating around campus — about Wooyoung and a girl from his stats class, then another from his gym club — you told yourself they were just that. Whispers. Cruel rumors. Until your friend accidentally let it slip:

“I thought you and Wooyoung had, like… an open thing? He’s kind of all over the place.”

That was it. The crack that split everything open.

Because no matter what you told yourself — that this wasn’t real, that you weren’t allowed to care — it still hurt. Maybe more than it should have.

You didn’t cry when you ended things. Just gave him a quiet, “We’re done,” before walking out of his dorm.

Wooyoung didn’t chase you. Not at first. Just stared after you, jaw tight, eyes sharp like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he didn’t know he’d been handed.

⸻

Three Days Later

“You’re avoiding me,” he says, cornering you outside the library like it’s nothing. Like you didn’t just shatter whatever fragile thing you had.

“I’m not.” Lie. “We’re not anything anymore. I’m just giving us space.”

Wooyoung frowns. “You ended it out of nowhere.”

“Did I?” Your voice is cold now. Sharper than you want it to be. “Thought maybe you were too busy with your other hookups.”

He goes still. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Woo. People talk. They say you’ve been with half the girls in our year. What, did you forget we said no one else while we were—”

His hand shoots up. Not in anger — in frustration. “I haven’t touched anyone but you.”

You blink. “The rumors—”

“Are bullshit.”

Something in his voice stops you. There’s none of his usual cocky charm, no teasing glint in his eyes. He looks… tired. Hurt, even.

“I wouldn’t break the one rule we had,” he says. “You think I’d risk losing this? You?”

You look away.

“I caught feelings too, Y/N.”

It crashes into you like a wave — the admission, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

But he’s not done.

“Let me fix this,” he murmurs. “Let me make sure they know who I’m with. Who I want.”

⸻

That Night

It’s familiar, the way his hands explore your body like they already know every scar, every freckle. But there’s a different energy now — something raw, something laced with emotion neither of you want to name out loud.

You notice the camera first.

Perched silently on his desk. The red light blinking.

“Wooyoung—”

“It’s not for anyone’s eyes,” he says quickly, seeing the look on your face. “Just the audio.”

You freeze.

“I want them to hear what real sounds like,” he says, voice husky. “Let them talk. Let them wonder. But they won’t have a single doubt who I’m with.”

It’s crazy. Messy. Petty.

But you understand it. The need to take back the narrative. The need to show the world that you’re not some secret. That you matter.

So you let him.

The camera rolls, but only the sound of tangled sheets, whispered names, soft gasps, and the distinct, unmistakable rhythm of passion fill the air.

He kisses your collarbone and whispers against your skin, “Only you. Always you.”

And when the audio clip somehow finds its way into the group chat of a certain gossip-prone student society — cropped, tasteful, and full of unmistakable truth — the rumors stop.

Just like that.

⸻

Days Later

You’re walking across campus when a girl smirks and says, “Guess we were wrong about Wooyoung.”

You don’t answer. Just smile — a private, satisfied curve of your lips — and disappear into the arms of the boy waiting by the quad.

He kisses your forehead in front of everyone.

Let them talk.

This time, the story’s yours.

“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😈

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😝😝😝😝

“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” — 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.

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