“The Side No One Sees”

“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.

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😝😝😝😝

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.

Part 4- Cherry Coke & Cigarettes

Geum Seong-je x Fem!Reader | Soft Romance, Flirting, Emotional Vulnerability, soft seong je

——

He didn’t call it a date.

You knew that already. He wouldn’t.

He just texted:

“Be ready at 6.”

And when you opened your door, he was already there — hands in his pockets, leather jacket, a little more cologne than usual. He didn’t meet your eyes at first. Just scanned you up and down, slow.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked, voice unreadable.

You blinked. “Uh… yeah? Why?”

A pause.

He looked away. “You look good.”

You smiled. “Is that your way of flirting?”

“No,” he muttered. “That was me being honest.”

⸻

At the Ramen Spot — Late Evening

He brought you to this little ramen place that had two tables, cracked walls, and the best broth you’d ever tasted. He didn’t say much at first — just watched you blow on your noodles and sip slowly, his own bowl untouched.

“You’re staring,” you said, playful.

He didn’t deny it.

“You always eat this slow?” he asked, leaning on one elbow. “Or are you just trying to look cute?”

You nearly choked on your spoon.

You narrowed your eyes at him, teasing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to charm me, Seong-je.”

He smirked. “Is it working?”

You leaned forward a little. “Maybe.”

He blinked. You saw the way his smirk faltered — just for a second — and something tender settled in its place.

Then, quieter:

“I’ve never done this before.”

“What, flirt?”

He chuckled under his breath. “No. This. The… normal stuff.”

You twirled your noodles, voice soft. “What’s normal to you?”

“Running. Fighting. Keeping people out.”

You didn’t say anything — just reached out and gently brushed your knuckles across his hand.

He looked at it, then at you.

“I guess you’re not ‘normal’ either,” he said.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

⸻

Walking Home – Under Dim Streetlights

He walked close to you. Not touching, but his hand would brush yours every few steps like he was thinking about it. You didn’t push — just let it happen.

“Can I ask you something personal?” you said suddenly.

He tilted his head. “That’s all you ever ask me.”

You laughed. “Okay. What were you like… before all this?”

He took a breath, eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

“Quiet,” he said. “Angry. Always trying to prove something.”

“To who?”

“Myself. Mostly.”

You nodded. “I think I tried to disappear a lot. Not because I hated the world. Just… I didn’t think it would miss me if I went.”

He stopped walking.

You turned toward him.

He stared at you for a long time. “That’s not true.”

You shrugged, trying to smile through it. “It felt true.”

He reached for your hand again, lacing his fingers between yours without looking away.

“Well. I would’ve missed you.”

That did it.

Your face flushed, and he noticed — and the way his expression softened after that made it even worse.

“You really like me, don’t you?” you asked, voice light but hopeful.

He pulled your hand up to his mouth and kissed the inside of your wrist, like it wasn’t a question.

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.”

⸻

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

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

⸻

It’s the only night he doesn’t come.

You wait.

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

You stare into the dark, heart drumming.

He’s never missed a night.

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

But not tonight.

You wait another hour.

Nothing.

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

Hunger.

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

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

But he forgot something this time.

You’re not scared anymore.

You want to find him.

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

Click.

The lock gives.

Your breath catches.

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

Not even him.

You move barefoot through the corridor.

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

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

Third — locked.

Fourth — another guest room. Clean, unused.

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

His room.

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

Then push.

It opens with a soft creak.

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

And then — him.

Geum Seong-je.

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

You freeze.

You’ve never seen him like this — unguarded.

He looks so young. So tired.

So… human.

Something inside your chest twists.

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

You slip beneath the covers.

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

The moment you touch him, he stiffens.

Then —

“…You picked the lock?”

His voice is quiet. Half-awake.

You don’t answer right away.

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

A beat.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t respond.

But he holds you tighter.

⸻

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

Not from the chair.

But from inches away.

His eyes are open now. Awake. Silent.

Like he still can’t believe you chose this.

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

His voice barely breaks the dark.

“You’re mine,” he whispers.

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

Part 3 - Cherry Coke & Cigarettes

———

Part 3 is finally here!!!! Hope yall enjoyyyyyy

——

Geum Seong-je x Fem!Reader — Soft, Vulnerable, Relationship Begins

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet for Geum Seong-je. He always preferred noise — the kind that distracted him from whatever was going on in his own head. But now, after the party, after the jealousy, after the silence on the way back…

You were still here.

Sitting on the edge of his bed in his hoodie, legs tucked under you, watching him with that cautious, thoughtful look — like you weren’t scared of him, but could be if you wanted to. You just… weren’t.

“You’re really staying?” he asked suddenly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

You looked up. “You told me to.”

“I tell a lot of people things. Doesn’t mean they listen.”

You smiled, small and quiet. “I’m not a lot of people.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

“You’re not.”

A pause. You looked down at your hands in your lap. “You didn’t mean to scare me, did you?”

His eyes lowered.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t like feeling that way. Jealous.”

“Because it makes you lose control?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

You stood slowly, walking toward him. You stopped just short of touching him.

“Then let’s try something else.”

He looked at you.

“Let’s get to know each other. Like… actually,” you said. “Without fighting. Without games. Just—us.”

Seong-je hesitated, as if the idea was harder to accept than it should be. Slowly, he nodded.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he muttered.

“Okay. Then I’ll go first.”

You held up a finger. “One fact about me: I used to doodle cartoons in all my notebooks. My teachers hated it.”

That drew the smallest smile out of him.

“You?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I hate mornings. Always have.”

You tilted your head. “Because of school?”

“Because of my life.”

He looked at you then, really looked — and something about your expression, calm and unflinching, made the edge in his shoulders loosen.

“You’re not scared of what I’ll say, are you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’ve ever had someone just listen. Not without judging you.”

He was quiet.

“I don’t care what you’ve done,” you said. “I care about who you are when no one’s watching.”

His throat tightened at that.

Another silence passed, but it felt warmer this time. More settled.

“…I used to take care of someone,” he said, voice low. “Back before all this. She was just a kid. I didn’t know what I was doing. But I tried.”

You nodded, gently. “You’re good at protecting people.”

“Not always.”

“You try, though.”

He blinked, then looked away like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of faith.

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his — slow, careful, like he was a storm you weren’t afraid of. And when he didn’t pull away, your chest eased.

“I want this,” you said. “Whatever it looks like, however long it takes.”

He squeezed your hand once.

“Only if it’s you,” he replied quietly.

⸻

Later that night…

He let you lay your head on his shoulder while the TV played quietly in the background. He didn’t move much, just played with the hem of your sleeve, glancing down at you every few minutes like he was still trying to figure out if you were real.

You were the calm in all his chaos.

And for once… he didn’t want to push you away.

“Glass Cage: Part 7 – The Key”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, forbidden knowledge, quiet rebellion, raw intimacy

____

You didn’t mean to do it

Not at first.

You just want to hold him. He’s sleeping deeper than usual — jaw relaxed, brow soft, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

His hand is heavy on your waist. Like always.

But this time…

You’re not content.

You lie awake, heart loud in your chest, staring into the dark of the new house.

That room.

That door.

What does he think will break if you see?

You slide out from under his arm like you’ve done a dozen times before — when you just wanted water, or to wander the house barefoot in your own thoughts.

But this time you go to the closet.

And you kneel down.

Where he keeps the small fireproof lockbox.

You saw him slip a key into it last week.

The only key you’ve never asked him for.

You open the box.

And find it.

Thin, silver. Cold.

The key to the locked door.

You hold it in your palm.

You don’t even hesitate.

⸻

The hallway is darker than usual.

Like the shadows know.

Your bare feet are silent against the floorboards. The only sound is your breath — fast, sharp, not from fear…

But from knowing this is the one thing he wouldn’t forgive.

You reach the door.

Slide the key in.

Click.

It swings open without a sound.

⸻

The air smells… different.

Dust. Metal. Paper.

The room is dim — covered windows, low light.

You step inside.

It’s not what you expected.

No blood. No chains. No horror.

It’s a shrine.

To you.

⸻

Photos of you, before he took you.

Candid ones. Ones you didn’t even know were being taken.

In cafés. On your old college campus. Walking down streets at night.

Dozens. Hundreds. Lined on the wall like a timeline of his obsession.

There are journals, too.

Notebooks filled with his handwriting — pages upon pages of you.

“She wears the same shoes again today. I think she likes them because they squeak when she walks. They sound like her — small, but impossible to ignore.”

“Someone touched her wrist when handing her change at the bookstore. I almost followed him home.”

“I know her patterns. I know what time she showers. I know what time she cries.”

You stand still.

Not afraid.

Not disgusted.

Just… quiet.

Because it makes sense.

All of it.

The way he looks at you like he’s starving.

The way he memorized your breath before he memorized your body.

The way he loves you so deeply it started before you even met.

And in the back of the room…

A sketch.

Drawn by hand.

You, asleep.

In his bed.

Before he ever brought you here.

⸻

You hear his voice before you turn.

Low. Lethal. Broken.

“…You weren’t supposed to come in here.”

You freeze.

Then slowly, turn around.

He’s standing in the doorway.

Barefoot.

Shirtless.

Key still missing from the box you forgot to close.

You say nothing.

He walks forward, every step measured.

And stops in front of you.

“You disobeyed me.”

“I know.”

“You saw everything.”

“I did.”

He’s breathing harder now. His jaw’s tight.

His hands twitch like he doesn’t know whether to hold you or strangle the air between you.

Then—

“Do you hate me?”

You look up at him.

Shake your head.

“I think I love you more.”

His breath catches.

“What?”

You step forward. Place your palm over his chest.

“I always knew you were dangerous. I just didn’t know how long you’d been mine.”

He swallows hard.

Then falls to his knees in front of you.

Head against your stomach. Arms around your waist. Shaking.

Like you just saved him from himself.

⸻

You don’t sleep in his bed that night.

You sleep on the floor of the secret room.

With him curled around you.

Surrounded by the proof of how long he’s loved you.

—

The morning after you found the secret room, everything feels different.

Not colder.

Not tense.

Just… exposed.

Like something raw and sacred has been shared.

He doesn’t speak much that day.

He makes you breakfast, quiet. Watches you eat like you might vanish if he blinks.

He cleans the gun under the table while you braid your hair in front of the mirror.

He doesn’t bring up the room.

But he doesn’t lock it again either.

And that night, after he falls asleep—

You get up.

And start bringing in your things.

⸻

You take your favorite lipstick and draw a heart on the wall over one of the photos.

Then you tape up a photo of him.

Not one he took.

One you stole — months ago — when he wasn’t looking, standing at the stove, half-asleep in his hoodie.

You bring your perfume.

A strand of your hair from his brush.

A paper napkin with your old handwriting on it — the one that says “I love the way you look at me.”

And you tape it to the wall.

Right next to his sentence:

“I love the way she doesn’t know she belongs to me yet.”

⸻

He finds you in the room three days later.

Sitting on the floor.

Drawing his silhouette in the corner of one of his notebooks.

He stands in the doorway, stunned.

“…What are you doing?”

You look up.

Smile.

“Making it ours.”

⸻

He walks in, slowly.

Looks around.

Sees the photo you added.

The lipstick heart.

The perfume bottle.

He swallows hard.

“You’re not afraid of this?”

“No.”

He crouches beside you.

“Of me?”

You shake your head. “I’m yours, remember?”

His hand trembles as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours,” he whispers. “Even the parts I wanted to hide.”

You lean in. Kiss the corner of his mouth.

Then say:

“Then give me more.”

⸻

That night, you don’t sleep in the bed.

You sleep in the shrine again. Together. Tangled. Safe.

You fall asleep with his name written in ink across your thigh — because he asked to write it there.

And when you wake up, he’s already sketching you again.

This time not from memory.

This time from right here.

Right now.

In the place where obsession turned into something neither of you has words for.

——-

I’m not even gonna call with y’all I did cry when I wrote this and when I reread it✋🤧