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tmwcs · 17 days ago

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The Otherside – Final Chapter

Ooooh my goodness I finally finished this story and about dang time because it’s been living in my mind rent free. For those of you that want to read (or re-read) the previous chapters of TO (The Otherside) you may have to copy and paste the link in your browser and replace the old blog name (rinbowan…or something like that) with my current one (tmwcs) I promise I’ll go back…again…and try to fix the links…again. I swore I’ve done it a hundred times but tumblr likes to reverse whatever I do sometimes.

So please enjoy this finale. For those of you who haven’t read the previous chapter to this story—the story is written in split perspectives between the three y/n’s. I did distinguish the perspective switch in this chapter….cant remember if I did it for the other ones. Truth be told a lot of my work was never proofread until now…so I may need eventually go back and re-write some tales. In the meantime, enjoy!

PS: I started this chapter a loooooong time ago so just to eliminate confusion, this is picking up right where the last chapter ended…or some moments after it. Like I said, this was started a while ago so I apologize if it seems a little jumpy. I’ll fix it.

Warnings: to keep this short—this is not for the faint hearted. (If you need to, please look at the warnings from the very first chapter). This chapter is primarily written in Sunghoon’s y/n’s perspective and is picking up where her and Jake’s y/n is trying to point their escape. That’s all I’ll say. 🤐

Pairings:

Heeseung x Y/n🔪

Jake x Y/n 🫦

Sunghoon x Y/n 🍖

(☝🏻Those emojis mean something. Iykyk)

Sunghoon’s Y/N’s Perspective:

The air was thick with incense and roses, laced with prayers they never meant to finish. The soft hum of a pipe organ haunted the chapel halls as flickering candlelight bathed the old church in a golden glow—holy, but hollow.

Your fingers trembled against the lace hem of her bridal dress, and h/n, in a matching blush gown, clutched her wrist.

“Now,” h/n whispered, her voice cracked with urgency. “Go, now!”

You both run.

The emergency exit slammed open with a deafening bang, the fire alarm blaring into the sacred silence. Somewhere behind them, choir singers screamed. A string quartet dropped their instruments. Shouts erupted.

“They’re running!”

Bootsteps thundered above.

Your heels dig into the gravel, but you didn’t stop. You yanked the skirt of your gown up as you and h/n bolted down a steep stairwell behind the church. A heavy wooden door splintered behind them with the force of something—or someone—kicking it down.

You both sprinted through the cemetery, weaving between tilted gravestones and cracked statues of angels eroded by time. The moon above was nearly full, casting ghostlight across the overgrown weeds. This wasn’t a church for the living—it had long since been claimed by the dead.

“Where the hell even are we?” h/n gasped.

“No idea. Keep going!” You breathlessly gasped—not losing your momentum or pace.

Branches clawed at your arms. Both of your dresses are torn at the seams. Adrenaline masked the burn in your legs. You and h/n ran blindly through the woods, until the heavy trees thinned and opened into a wide, dew-covered field.

And on the other side…

A road.

An actual road.

Headlights pierced the dark like salvation.

You didn’t think—just sprinted towards them, waving both your tired arms. “Please! Stop! Help!”

The car slowed. A beat-up black SUV. Not elegant, not new. But it stopped.

Three men. The one in the back jumped out and helped them into the car, pulling the doors open with frantic concern.

“You girls okay?” he asked, eyes wide, voice warm. “You hurt?”

“No,” h/n whispered, breathless. “Just—please. We need the police. Anywhere safe.”

“Of course,” the driver said. “You’re safe now.”

You burst into tears. Actual tears. Your body was shaking, and for once—not from fear, but from hope. You even clung to the man beside you, not caring who he was, just grateful to not be alone anymore.

As they drove, you and h/n both slump in the backseat. H/n rubbed her sore ankles before leaning her head against the scratched up window.

The man beside her—balding slightly, with tired eyes—offered a crooked smile.

“You’ve been through something, huh? Looks like you’ve been off the grid for a while.”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. He reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror.

The other two men in the front kept their eyes forward. Too quiet now.

Then the SUV slowed.

The streetlights were gone. The road turned to gravel. Faint lights glowed in the distance—but not the kind from a police station. Not warm. Not real.

The SUV pulled beside a warehouse.

Your stomach begins to drop.

“This… isn’t a station,” you whispered.

The man beside you reached over and clicked the lock.

It echoed like a gunshot.

“You’re not gonna wanna scream,” he said softly, still smiling. “You’ll just make it harder for yourself.”

H/n tried the door handle. Locked. The driver turned around now. His eyes were blank.

“If you behave, we won’t hurt you.”

The terror that filled your stomach wasn’t like what you felt around Sunghoon. It wasn’t obsessive affection or suffocating control. No. This was different. This was pure evil. The tormenting part was that you couldn’t tell which was far more disturbing—a hiding cannibal infatuated with you or the three men who haven’t done any damage…yet seemed far worse.

For a moment, you envisioned his face.

Sunghoon.

He never let anyone touch you. And then there were these men… they didn’t care if they destroyed you.

This fear—it stripped you.

The SUV door creaked open with a metal groan. Rough hands pulled y/n and h/n out by the arms—no longer pretending to be kind. No more soft words or fake sympathy.

“Move,” one of them snapped.

The warehouse loomed like a dead colossus—its corrugated walls rusted and streaked with years of weather, broken windows like blind eyes staring out. The moon was swallowed behind a cloud, and in the absence of its light, something darker took hold.

Inside, the air was damp. Muffled. Breathing felt like inhaling mold and gasoline. Every step echoed through the hollow belly of the building.

You both were shoved down a hallway. A tangle of wires and broken monitors lined the walls. There were crates stacked high, some labeled, others sealed with industrial bolts. Faint voices echoed from deeper inside—men laughing. Talking. Waiting.

“Where are you taking us?” h/n demanded, trying to sound brave.

No answer.

Just the click of a switchblade opening behind them.

They separated you from h/n. Locked in rooms on opposite ends of the hallway. No windows. Only one camera mounted in the corner, the red light blinking steadily.

You backed into the far corner as the door slammed. Your knees buckled.

This wasn’t control.

This wasn’t obsession.

This was annihilation.

There were no rose petals. No breakfast trays. No obsessive portraits of your face. No “I love you” whispered like prayers repeatedly. This wasn’t like the fear you felt when you witnessed his eerie nature as he ate dug up lifeless flesh to stock up for his meals. How he brutally murdered those cult members and took you away, not as planned but definitely by choice. Sunghoon was horror. He was a demon. But he wasn’t stripped-down horror like these men were—the kind that didn’t care who you werre, just what you could be sold for.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

But you didn’t cry for help.

You cried for him.

CRACK.

The guard by the exit never saw the fist before it shattered his jaw. His body dropped with a dull thud, slumped in a heap at the warehouse entrance.

Jake stepped over him, knuckles split, blood still dripping down his fingers. Licking his lips he could smell her.

H/n. His one and only. His responsibility. His love.

His.

Sunghoon followed—black dress shoes slick with mud from the field, his tie loosened, eyes full of wrath. He breathes in a whiff of your scent. Unbeknownst to you and h/n, small trackers attached to the dainty jewelry they lavished you both in allowed them to find your location easily. Both your scents confirmed it.

They moved like ghosts with a vendetta. No hesitation. No mercy.

Jake kicked open the first door—empty.

Sunghoon moved down the corridor like a bloodhound. Despite slowing down on his cravings to consume human flesh since taking you, the urge was building up. But not for sustenance—no. This time, it was for mere pleasure. The type that can only be experienced when instilling fear and anguish to the ones who took you. For the first time, he had the desire to feast…just for the thrill of it.

A second guard rushed forward from the shadows—bang!

Jake slammed his skull against a steel beam, letting the body crumple beside a crate. Breathing hard. His pupils were shrunk to slits. Animal.

He didn’t say a word.

Only one thing mattered.

Her.

Meanwhile…

“Please—just let us go,” h/n begged.

The man in front of her smirked. “You’re gonna be just fine. We’re not gonna hurt you if you behave. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She turned away.

“I said, what’s your name—”

The door exploded off its hinges.

Jake stepped through the smoke and wood splinters like a demon summoned from hell. One look at h/n’s frightened eyes, and that was it. H/n saw the beast break out of his cage—it was a side of him she had never seen before…and she had seen many.

He launched at the man, fists flying, no words, no preamble. Just rage. A chair shattered. A scream. Bone cracked beneath knuckles made to kill.

“You touched her?” Jake snarled, grabbing the man by the throat. “You even looked at her wrong?”

The man gurgled. Jake slammed him through a crate.

You looked up at the sound of the lock turning. Your whole body braced.

But it wasn’t another captor.

It was him.

Sunghoon stepped inside slowly, gaze drinking you in. Disheveled. Tear-stained. His bride.

“Angel,” he breathed, walking closer.

Your heart caught in your throat. You weren’t sure if you wanted to smile or cry. All you knew was that the one who has caused you immense grief was here ans you felt…safe.

He didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to.

Because he wrapped you in his arms and held you like the world would end if he didn’t.

And maybe… it already had.

Stepping outside you immediately rejoined hands with h/n and Jake and Sunghoon shielded you both from one of the abductors holding a gun.

The reunion was cut short. Before it could be ascertained if it was a joyful one or of defeat. Lost…only to be found again by the wrong hands. Although right now, they seemed like the right ones.

The last abductor stumbled out with a gun raised. “Back the hell up!”

Jake emerged first, blood spattered on his cheek.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Drop the knife—!”

“I said don’t.”

The man shouted out in panic despite having the upper hand. A bullet can pierce through Jake’s skillful hands and is faster than the swing of the metal pipe Sunghoon had in his grip.

The gunman aimed at you and h/n—taking careful aim at the little space between the boys. You and h/n clutch on each others arms, embrace each other as sisters who suffered the same fate—because essentially you did.

“Move again,” the gunman said, “and I swear to God I’ll—”

*SLIIIIIIIIT*

A blade gleamed.

The gunman froze, expression going slack. Blood spilling past his closed lip.

A long, elegant dagger jutted out through the right side of his abdomen from behind. A flesh wound and likely to survive, but hurt like hell.

There, h/n recognized the wielder of the blade. That purple hair. It was him…the worst one of all.

Heeseung.

He stood there, unblinking. The light above him flickered. Purple strands of hair gleamed like midnight oil in moonlight.

“Ugh. That was loud,” he muttered, yanking the blade free. The body collapsed. His eyes remained stoic as he kept his focus on the wall. An expression that was far too mundane considering the act he had just committed. The again, who better than a seasoned serial killer to perfect this horrendous craft? With the amount of kills he committed, he was bound to get bored doing it. Just like Sunghoon began to lose the cravings for human flesh and skin, and Jake no longer subdued entitled women and forced them to take every inch of him. Three men who have been molded by blood and Hell, slowly become less demonic and more human. Yet it would seem that the abductors triggered them—reawakening the three heads of Cerberus.

The remaining abductors tried to run. After seeing the gaze from Jake, Sunghoon, and Heeseung…they definitely did try.

Sunghoon grabbed one by the collar and slammed him against the concrete. Jake tackled the other, grinding his face into the ground.

Within seconds, the three traffickers were tied together with chains scavenged from the storage crates. Bloodied. Weeping. Kneeling in the center of the floor. Their life essence drooling from their bottom lip.

The three suited men circled them like predators in a ring of steel. Heeseung spun his blade lazily, the metal humming through the air.

“Well?” he asked his friends. “What do you wanna do with them? Cut ‘em up? Put ‘em through a meat grinder? Dump ‘em in the river? Or get creative? I’ve got time.”

Jake cracked his knuckles.

Sunghoon crouched low, eyes like glass.

“You threatened her,” he whispered. “You looked at her as income. Like a piece of meat. That’s enough to get you skinned.”

Jake tilted his head. “We could make it last. Tear one apart in front of the others. Watch them break.”

One of the abductors began sobbing tirelessly. “Please..we—we didn’t mean—“

“I wouldn’t bother,” Heeseung snarled. “You didn’t care. Just like you didn’t care about the rest before them? How many girls have you three sold? Hundreds? Maybe thousands?” He smirked deviously.” No rest for the wicked.”

“No mercy either.” Jake added.

Heeseung nonchalantly nodded and grinned. “Riiiight.”

He lifted the blade and tapped the pointed edge against the heads of the restrained abductors.

You clung on to h/n, arms shaking around her as if holding tighter would stop time itself. You both witnessed the entire scene while backed into the farthest wall of the warehouse—just feet from the chained abductors, who now whimpered, bloodied and broken. Jake and Sunghoon stood like statues, guarding them in silence. Heeseung loomed ahead, blade resting like a baseball bat across his shoulder, face unreadable, eyes half-lidded with quiet rage. At the sight of him, H/N’s eyes widened with a level of fear she had never felt before. Jake and Sunghoon were bad enough. And the abductors? All terrible.

But Heeseung…he was the Devil.

The traffickers continued to beg.

“Please—please don’t kill us—”

Heeseung tilted his head, more amused than moved. “Eeenie…miiiiney…’moe—?” He suddenly halts and retracted the blade. He hears something from afar.

Footsteps.

Soft. Measured. Coming from the corridor beyond the bloodstained archway.

Click… clack… click… clack…

Your head turns toward the sound. A chill rippled down your spine. Not fear—something else. Something… foreboding.

The footsteps grew louder.

Jake’s ear twitched at the echo. Sunghoon turned his head slightly.

And then she appeared. A girl with violet hair, the same hue as Heeseung’s. H/n’s eyes widened and grew tearful. A stir of emotions blossoming as she sees a familiar face. And yet…something was different. Something that was defeated, broken, and rebuilt.

She walked with the eerie calm of someone in a dream. A white lace dress flowed around her thighs, delicate as frost. Her low heels made soft music on the concrete as she stepped into view, framed by the hanging shadows. The fabric shimmered faintly beneath the swinging light overhead, and her long violet hair—his color—was curled softly at the ends.

She looked like she belonged at the wedding.

But not as a guest.

As a ghost.

All three men froze.

Jake blinked. Sunghoon’s brows twitched. Heeseung didn’t move—his back to her, blade still balanced on his shoulder. But his head turned just enough for his profile to catch the light.

A sharp, haunting side-eye. His mouth curled—not into a smile, but into something far more dangerous.

He said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

Because she was coming to him.

Slowly, purposefully, she walked across the warehouse floor. Unbothered by the blood. Unshaken by the broken bodies. Her eyes were on him and only him.

And he watched her.

Every inch of his being drank her in.

That hair…

How long had it taken to get her to sit still long enough for the dye to take?

He remembered—clear as crystal.

She’d screamed. Clawed. He’d had to bind her wrists and whisper sweet nothings laced with threats. The stylist—a close friend—had known better than to question the madness. One wrong look, and Heeseung would’ve slit his throat before the dye even set.

But when it dried…

She was perfect.

His mirror…

She had resisted him then. Fought against the velvet chains of his love. She didn’t understand—not at first—that her defiance was the very thing that threatened her happiness, her ease, and her sight to the outside world.

So he took it all away.

Her room became a locked cell. Her food, controlled. Her schedule, rewritten. For a year, he had her in his palm. His fingers curled over—and squeezed.

She was a doll in his arms and a fire in his bed.

Every time she screamed, he whispered: “You’ll understand someday.”

And now… this was the day.

She came to him willingly.

And when she finally reached his back, her delicate hand rose… and rested on his shoulder.

Heeseung didn’t flinch.

But his grin deepened—slowly, subtly. A shadow curled into a smirk.

He turned toward her, blade sliding from his shoulder with a soft scrape of metal. His blue eyes glowed with something feral and triumphant.

“You disobeyed me,” he murmured.

“I know,” she said softly.

He raised an eyebrow.

Her other hand reached up—gently brushing her fingers against his cheek.

“But I came to you.”

Everything inside him ignited. He melted. That was all he needed—all he ever needed.

His girl. His prize. His patient work of madness and art. She was finally his.

Not in body—he’d had that for months against her will. Not in control—he’d broken her long ago.

But now, she eas his… in spirit.

He saw it in her gaze.

She wasn’t begging anymore. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t kicking. She wasn’t trying to be free.

She was choosing.

In her soft voice and trembling fingers, he heard it all—the subtle symphony of Stockholm. The birds wings had been clipped.

The long game had paid off.

She had become his heaven.

And he, her monster-shaped god.

He leaned in, brushing his nose against hers.

“My girl..”

Behind them, you and h/n watched in stunned silence.

You whispered, “That’s the girl who went missing… the one they said vanished last summer.”

“She’ was never missing,” h/n said quietly, voice laced with horror. “She’s been with him. All this time.”

You turned to loook at the horrified expression on her face. The way those dainty features became distorted by the pure and utter shock of what was being displayed. She recalled the times when Jake and Heeseung arranged for the “play dates.” They treated them like children—like pets. Pampered and primped. Arranged for delicate tea time as they watched and admired how “pretty” or “adorable” it was that they were getting along so well. Moments that occurred well before prison capture. H/n’s grip tightens on your elbow as she begins to sob.

What did she just witness? What happened since the last time she saw her—her and that man donning the purple hair. What did he do since she last saw her? What atrocity did he commit to make her so…willing?

The violet-haired girl turned her head toward you and h/n upon hearing the latter sobbing. Her hair glinting like dark amethyst.

“Why…how?” H/n directed her words to the one who, like you, was an ally. One who shared the same suffering…but worse. She was the first one to sustain the damages. She was the first one taken. Though very few knew her story. Where she witnessed a man seconds away from using man-made tools to tear her body piece by piece while she still breathed. While she was still awake. While she was looking.

And then he came.

Heeseung.

She recalled the moment when he hovered above like a dark angel in disguise. He tore her would be murderer’s face, starting with his tongue…then his nose…and his eyes. Those lengthy fingers digging, scraping, and extracting.

And yet…with her, there was no digging, no scraping cans no extracting.

Instead, he gripped her skin, but there was tenderness behind it.

He restrained her limbs, but there was protection in his intentions.

He tainted her body with his own…filling her with his essence repeatedly. Dirtying her. But there was love and loyalty in his rhythm. Behind every thrust was a growl of perfect love.

Which is why, when seeing her “playmate” sobbing at the transformation, the violet-haired girl calmly tells you and h/n…

“In the world today,” she slightly pauses, “is it really so wrong… to be loved?”

Jake and Sunghoon stood frozen. They hadn’t expected this. Neither had the girls.

“In a world where there are two types of evil…we have to choose the lesser one?”

She turned back to Heeseung, resting her forehead against his.

“They were monsters… before us,” she whispered. “But with us… they’re tamed.” She blinks as she directs her words to the man before her.

“You…you are a monster…but you’re mine…and I’m yours.”

She pulled back, then looked directly at you both again. “If we leave them… the world gets them back. Is that really what you want?”

Silence.

You and h/n had no answer. Because somewhere deep down…

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

With all that went on, you and h/n…you both ignored something that took months—nearly a year for the first one to realize the bold truth of this cruel game the universe decided to play.

…

No one…not even Heeseung knew what had happened to her spirit.

Her sister’s bad jokes. The warmth of a coffee mug passed between her best friends. The feel of real freedom—even if it was just stepping outside without asking for permission.

She missed the life she had…

and the one she could have.

At night, she would lie awake—silent, numb, curled into a shell of herself…with him beside her. Resting. Sleeping. Chained to her like he was her own shadow.

Not a life.

A shell.

There was a time, not so long ago, when the grief hit her like a wave with no tide to pull it back.

She cried until her voice cracked.

Until her ribs ached.

Until the pillow beneath her face was soaked and she couldn’t breathe through her sobs anymore.

And then—one night, the tears turned to laughter.

Soft at first. Almost delicate.

But it came from nowhere.

That was the moment she knew something inside her had cracked.

Not shattered—no, that would be too easy.

It cracked slowly, like ice beneath a boot, letting her sink deeper with each step.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not the monster she tried to paint in her head—the one who had kidnapped her, restrained her, broken her with whispered threats and silken restraints. The one who caressed her ears with beautiful words as he spilled his seeds into her over and over again.

“I love you…”

No.

Her thoughts drifted to the Heeseung who rescued a puppy from a storm drain.

The one who made jokes with children in grocery stores while gripping her hand too tightly.

The one who ordered her favorite takeout when she refused to eat.

Who fed her—force-fed her—because she wanted to starve and disappear, and he wouldn’t let her.

The one who held her when her body was cold and empty, even though she didn’t want his touch.

She didn’t want comfort.

But she took it—she didn’t have a choice. Not then at least.

But now… she wasn’t so sure.

Which was worse?

That he caused the pain?

Or that he was the only one who could soothe it?

Every time she looked at him, she tried to remember the fear and the offenses he committed against her…her mind and her body.

But all she could see was the way his eyes softened when he watched her.

How he whispered, “You’re safe now. You’re safe with me,” even though she wasn’t free. She’ wasn’t even safe with him. Just captured. Kept. And hidden.

She didn’t remember when the hatred turned to hesitation.

When her resistance turned to ritual.

When her defiance became devotion.

All she knew now…was him.

Every corner of her mind was filled with the sound of his voice.

The scent of his cologne.

The shade of his eyes when the moonlight hit them just right.

The way he smiled—not kindly, but like he owned the world.

And now… he owned her too.

….

The abductors whimpered again, bound and bloodied at their feet. But they no longer mattered.

Heeseung pressed a kiss to the corner of his girl’s lips. “Let’s go home.”

She nodded. “Please.”

And he led her away.

No chains. No cuffs.

Just fingers intertwined.

The clack of her heels faded into the dark corridor. The violet-haired girl and her shadow walked as one—his blade tucked under his arm like an umbrella, her head resting against his shoulder. Lovers. Or something like it.

Jake’s Y/N perspective:

Silence hovered after their departure, thick and disbelieving.

The three abductors still whimpered at the center of the warehouse floor, bound in bloodied chains. But now… no one looked at them.

Because Jake had turned.

And Sunghoon stepped forward.

Their eyes were no longer filled with rage.

Now, they shimmered with something more dangerous—possession fulfilled.

H/n stood still.

She didn’t run.

Didn’t speak.

Sunghoon crossed the floor slowly, the echo of his shoes bouncing off the walls like a hymn in an abandoned chapel. Her bridal gown fluttered faintly in the breeze that filtered through the broken windows. She still smelled of roses and dust and fear.

But he didn’t seem to see the trembling girl before him.

He saw his bride.

The one he’d waited for. Fought for. Stolen and sealed away in the depths of his obsession. The one who had fled from him, barefoot and crying… and still found her way back into his arms.

He stopped one step in front of her.

His voice was low. Velvet dipped in blood.

“Angel…”

She blinked up at him.

Her hands trembled at her sides, but she didn’t pull away when he reached for her.

He cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed a tear from her lashes.

“You ready?,” he whispered. “To be devoured by love?.”

His forehead leaned against hers. There was no smile—just that glimmer in his eyes.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It was vindication.

“Time to get married.” He finalizes. His whisper was gentle yet firm.

Her chin quivered.

She didn’t say yes.

She didn’t say no.

She just… nodded. A single, small motion. A signal of surrender. Of exhaustion.

Or maybe something darker.

Sunghoon pulled her close and buried his face in her neck, breathing her in like salvation.

Nearby, you stared Jake down.

You weren’t trembling.

You weren’t quiet.

Of the three, you had always been the spark. The spitfire. Even now, with tear stains on your cheeks and blood on your ankles, you held your ground.

Jake watched you—his tall frame looming, his bloodied hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he was debating whether to devour you or kiss you.

“Well?” he said finally. “Say something.”

You fold your arms. “Can I make a request?”

He raised a brow.

“…Do I really have to wear the collar and leash? Can we change that a little?”

A pause.

His smirk bloomed slow and feral.

“What,” he drawled, stepping in close, “you want a pair of ears and a tail to go with it, princess?”

Your mouth fell open slightly.

A tiny breath caught in your throat.

And then—to your own horror—you laughed. Quietly. Just once. And Jake’s grin deepened.

“Not what I expected,” you muttered, shaking you head regrettably.

He shrugged. “That’s the fun part.” A grin followed by a bite of his lip followed immediately after. His eyes staring down at you deliciously.

His hand extended—palm up, fingers relaxed.

An invitation.

You stared at it for a moment. Then sighed.

“Fine,” you whispered.

And placed your hand in his.

The three men did not look back.

Their enemies still sobbed on the floor, mouths gagged with fabric, eyes swollen shut.

There would be no cops. No arrests. No justice.

Only silence.

And you…and the two others—now reclaimed.

Not rescued.

Claimed.

As the warehouse doors opened, the wind rushed in like a sigh from the graveyard outside. It carried with it the scent of lilies and rust and ash.

You glanced up once more, one hand in Jake’s, the other brushing the edge of your ruined hem.

You watched as a car pulls in. Sunghoon takes h/n as she brushes her fingers against her ruined veil, he helps her in the backseat before glancing over at Jake with a nod that reflects a “see you later.”

Jake merely stood and responded with his piercing gaze. His hand squeezes yours without him even shifting his vision. You both watch as sunghoon’s driver departs. Another vehicle pulls in—Jake’s automatic car. It reverses out of its parking space and pulls up—parallel to you both. He opens the door to the passenger seat and guides you in.

The door shuts gently and the child lock features ignite. Of course they would. It didn’t matter.

Because even though you didn’t feel safe, you were safe.

Even though you were in visible to the world, you felt seen.

You felt wanted.

And in the warped, twisted lens of this world… maybe that was enough.

End

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tmwcs · 20 days ago

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@nikstrange found a gem. Add this to the recs list. ♥️

P: Cult Leader!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (NSFW 18+) PART 2

Warnings: Apocalypse!AU, Manipulation, Religious Trauma, Gaslighting, Emotional Control, Stockholm Syndrome Themes, Power Imbalance, Obsession, Forced Isolation, Mental Deterioration, Fear-based Obedience, Noncon/Dubcon, Power Play Dynamics, Predator/Prey, Implied Malnourishment, Injuries, Bondage, Degradation, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Breeding Kink, Mean!Heeseung, Dom!Heeseung, Fear Play, Choking, Manhandling, Breathplay, Oral Sex, Mentioned Impregnation, Emotional Conflict, Physical Punishment, Forced Submission, Violence, Voyeurism, Angst, Smut, Clit Play, Sadistic!Heeseung, Unprotected Sex, Rough & Messy, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Dumbification, Derogatory Names (Slut, Whore, Cocksleeve), Cockwarming, Hair Pulling.

Synopsis: You fled the compound, the chants, the man who called himself a prophet. You told yourself it wasn’t real, just another lie dressed as faith. But out in the wasteland, with nothing but hunger and silence, even doubt begins to sound like devotion. And Heeseung will find you again, because he won’t let his prized sheep get away.

a/n: bcs of tumblr stupid 1k per block rule i had to split the fic up, cause tbh its a looong one. commentary and reblogs are much appreciated!! MDNI!!

now playing; forbidden fruit by tommee profitt, bring me back to life by chris grey

READ PART 1 HERE

You weren’t prepared for the day Heeseung came himself. No more messengers. No more quiet, obedient followers dragging you back in chains.

No—this time, it was different.

Because after so many failed retrievals, after so many escape attempts, Heeseung had clearly decided...

If you wanted to run, then he would be the one to hunt.

It started slowly. A shift in the air.

Traps that used to work suddenly failed—triggered too early, or dismantled before you returned. Birds stopped singing near your hiding places. Bootprints larger than the Sanctum scouts’ appeared in the dirt behind you. Always one set. Always alone.

And then— the whispers.

Low. Familiar. Inevitable.

He didn’t shout like the others. He didn’t storm the forest like a soldier. He prowled.

You would wake in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, convinced you’d heard your name carried on the wind. Sometimes you’d find signs. A scrap of Sanctum cloth hung neatly on a branch. A piece of fruit left by a fire you didn’t start.

Then the leash.

That fucking leash.

Coiled like a snake near your bedroll one night. Waiting. You nearly vomited when you saw it. And that’s when it hit you. He wasn’t chasing you. He was playing with you. Because that’s what it was to him, wasn’t it? A game. A slow, careful hunt. And you’d been winning too often.

Too many bruised and broken sheep returned to Sanctum empty-handed. Rope frayed. Faces bloodied. Fingers trembling as they stammered apologies.

“She escaped—” “She bit me—” “She had a weapon—”

Heeseung didn’t scream. He didn’t rage. He just watched. Silent. Still.

And then, slowly, he began to smile. You weren’t playing fair. So he wouldn’t either. He stopped sending others. No more disposable disciples. They had failed him too many times. You had defied him too many times.

If he wanted his precious sheep back, he’d get you himself. He had stopped pretending. And now he’d play the game by his rules.

You had been running from his flock.

But now the shepherd was coming.

So when you saw the figure at the edge of the treeline—tall, still, watching you froze, heartbeat stuttering violently against your ribs as your eyes locked with his.

Heeseung didn’t move. Neither did you.

The forest held its breath with you—no wind, no birdsong, no sound beyond the soft rasp of leaves and the quiet, heavy drag of his breathing. His shoulders rose and fell with it. Measured. Controlled. But not calm.

He was breathing like he’d been running. Like he'd been tracking you.

Your legs trembled beneath you, the weight of him—of this—crashing down all at once.

Heeseung was filthy. His cloak torn. Smudges of dirt across his jaw. The collar of his shirt hung loose, one side damp with sweat. And still, somehow… he looked composed. Like this wasn’t the end of a chase. Like this was the beginning of a reunion.

Your fingers twitched toward your weapon, but even that felt laughable now. Because his eyes were on you—dark, unreadable, burning. And the moment you even thought of moving, his jaw clenched, like he knew. Like he could already feel it. Like he could already feel the fear curdling in your gut.

And then—

He moved.

Not fast. Not charging. But calm—too calm—as he took a step and slid down the slope between you, feet silent against loose dirt and leaves.

That was all it took to snap you out of your shock.

You turned.

And ran.

Heart slamming. Breath hitching. The sound of your pulse roaring louder than your footfalls as you shoved through branches and brush, barely registering the thorns holding you back or the rocks beneath your soles.

Behind you—

A low thud. Another. A curse under breath. Then the rhythmic crash of footsteps gaining speed.

He was chasing you.

You didn’t dare look back. You knew what you’d see. That same steady, unrelenting presence. That hunger dressed in patience.

“Stop running,” he called— not yelling, not panicked—just loud enough to chase your spine. “I’ll be gentle if you stop.”

Liar.

You pushed harder, lungs burning. Trees blurred past you, the world narrowing into just movement, just escape. Branches whipped your face, but you didn’t stop. Not when you could still hear him behind you.

Not charging. Not shouting. Just moving—fluid, focused. Like a shadow with a heartbeat. He didn’t have to run like you did. He knew the terrain. Knew you. Knew how long you’d last.

You were prey.

Wounded. Tired. Slipping.

And he? He was the thing that waited for you to run out of strength.

“Keep going,” he called again, voice barely winded, almost amused. “Let’s see how far you get.”

Your legs screamed. Your side ached with each ragged inhale. But the sound of him—the casual command in it—kept you moving.

You stumbled. Caught yourself. Kept running.

But he was closer now.

You could hear the difference in his steps—closer together, faster, almost playful. The brush cracked louder behind you, as if he was letting you know on purpose. Letting you feel it. The inevitability.

“Little sheep,” he murmured—closer now, God, so much closer. “You ran so far, didn’t you?”

You nearly tripped again when he said it. The name. The pet name. The claim. You hated how it shot through you. How it dug under your ribs and made your legs slow just a little. Because you remembered how he said it when you were on your knees. When his hands were in your hair. When you were too broken to run.

The leash was gone. But the memory of it still hung at your throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said next—soft, soothing, dripping with that awful tenderness. “But if you make me…”

You didn’t wait to hear the rest, turning sharply into thicker brush, thorns tearing into your face. It hurt. It burned. But better the sting of leaves than the weight of his hands. You were panting now—barely keeping upright. The trees opened into a clearing. If you could just—

A hand caught your wrist. Steel grip. Sudden. Absolute. You screamed—reflex, terror—twisting, kicking, but he was already there, dragging you back into him like he owned your gravity. Your back hit his chest, his arm banded across your middle, holding you like a trapped animal. You thrashed. Clawed. Bit. And he laughed. Laughed. Low and breathy near your ear. Hot breath skating down your neck. “Still so wild,” he murmured, voice thick with something feral. “But I like the fight.”

You screamed again, raw and furious, and he just tightened his grip.

“Let it out,” he whispered. “Let it all out, baby. That fear. That fire.” His other hand rose slowly to your throat, fingers brushed your throat—light, ghosting over your skin like he wasn’t already holding you still with the rest of his body. And then they stopped. Right at the collar. The slim, black band you hadn’t been able to remove. The one that had burned against your skin every day since you ran.

Heeseung let out a quiet, amused hum behind you. Low. Pleased.

“Well,” he murmured, his breath skating warm along the shell of your ear. “Would you look at that.” His fingers traced the curve of it, slowly as if reacquainting himself with something precious. “You’re still wearing it.” A soft laugh. Darker this time. “You really ran all this time with my mark on you?”

You jerked in his grasp, a snarl caught in your throat, but he didn’t budge. He just leaned in closer, voice dropping like silk dragged over a blade. “That’s loyalty, sweetheart. Even if you didn’t mean it.”

You turned your head slightly—enough to catch the edge of his face. His eyes burned down at you, pupils blown wide, mouth twisted in something too pleased to be called a smile.

“You could’ve torn it off,” he whispered. “You would’ve bled, but you could’ve.” His grip on your waist tightened just enough to make your breath stutter. “Even when you were starving. Even when you were hiding. You never let anyone see your neck, did you?”

His voice was almost gentle now. A confession. A reward.

“Because deep down, you knew.”

His hand slid from your throat to your jaw, tilting your head back, forcing your gaze up to the stars above the treetops.

“You were still mine.”

He pressed a kiss to the collar. Right at the center. Right over the little heart-shaped jewel he’d chosen just for you. And you hated—hated—how your knees threatened to give out when he did.

“Let me go—” you gasped, your voice hoarse, cracking with raw panic as you kicked back into him, squirming hard against the iron grip caging your waist. “I don’t want this,” you choked. “I never wanted this! You’re sick—you’re all sick—”

Heeseung said nothing. Just stood behind you like stone, chest rising and falling against your back, the collar still warm under his fingers.

You thrashed harder.

“I’m not yours!” you spat, twisting, reaching, fingers desperately fumbling near your boot, where the little shiv stayed tucked, hidden, waiting. “This isn’t love! This isn’t salvation! It’s—it’s a lie!”

Your hand scraped the hilt.

Almost there.

Heeseung’s voice was quiet, so quiet you barely heard it above your ragged breaths.

“Then why are you shaking?”

You froze for a second—just a second—and he felt it. Smiled into your hair.

“I see you,” he whispered, lips brushing the side of your face. “You can scream all you want. Tell yourself it’s fear. Call me every name in the book.” His grip shifted, and suddenly your arm was wrenched up behind you, your back arched slightly into him as your knees faltered. “But your body knows,” he growled, breath hotter now, dangerous. “Your body remembers who it belongs to.”

You let out a furious cry, finally gripping the shiv—but before you could swing it—

He caught your wrist.

Fast. Effortless. Crushing.

The blade clattered to the ground with a dull thunk.

He chuckled softly. “There it is.” Then he leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear again. “The last spark.”

You squirmed, trembled, tears hot in your eyes, rage and despair coiling together into something sharp and breathless.

But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he spoke.

“You think this is about obedience?” he whispered against your ear. “About control?” His hand tightened around your arm again, anchoring you with impossible strength. “No, little sheep… This—” his voice darkened, roughened with something bruised and feral, “—this is devotion.” He inhaled slowly, like breathing you in. “These past weeks… do you know what it’s been like?” His voice was soft now, dangerously soft. “Waking up without you beside me. Walking past your empty chamber. Waiting for reports that never came back, again and again.”

You whimpered as he leaned in, his words wrapping around you like smoke.

“I was patient. I let you run. I let you think. But you… you never stopped aching for me, did you?” His grip flexed. “And I never stopped yearning.” He pulled you a little closer, voice breaking just slightly, but not from weakness, but from the weight of how much he believed it. “I would’ve forgiven you. I would’ve kissed your bruises, licked your wounds, made you whole again.”

A pause.

“But now—” His tone sharpened, teeth behind velvet. “Now I think I’ll carve it into you instead.”

That voice—that quiet, controlled anger—it scared you more than shouting ever could.

So you did the first thing that came to your mind.

You bit him.

Hard.

Right on the inside of his wrist, where he held your arm so tight you thought it’d bruise.

He hissed—a guttural sound of pain and fury—as his grip faltered just enough.

Just enough.

You didn’t think.

You slashed.

The shiv you’d dropped now back in your hand, guided by pure instinct, a wild, sweeping motion that cut across his cheekbone, slicing flesh clean and red.

His head snapped to the side. Blood spilled down the elegant line of his jaw.

And you ran.

You didn’t scream words—just sound, primal and panicked, as you tore through the underbrush.

Your voice must’ve drawn them, cause suddenly a Hollowed creature stumbled from the trees, eyes fogged and mouth slick, reaching—

You braced for it—until BANG.

A single shot rang out.

The Hollowed dropped.

You barely had time to glance back.

Heeseung stood in the clearing, gun still smoking in one hand, the other pressed against his bleeding cheek.

His eyes—wild now, burning—locked on you.

His voice was a growl carried on the wind:

“Run, then.”

He dropped the empty clip. Loaded another.

“I want you to.”

And with terrifying calm, Heeseung started chasing you again. Faster this time. Bleeding. Smiling.

You ran like your life depended on it. Because it did.

Branches lashed your arms, tore at your legs. The ground was uneven, littered with roots and crumbling bones, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t dare.

Behind you, Heeseung’s footfalls were steady. Measured. No panic. No rush. He didn’t need to sprint. He just needed to follow. Because predators don’t chase in bursts. They wear you down.

You veered left, dodging a fallen tree trunk, then ducked low beneath a tangle of thorned vines. You scraped your palms bloody pulling yourself through a ravine of sharp stone and broken bark.

You heard him above you, moving along the ridge, tracking your path like a shadow sewn to your feet.

“Still running,” he called down, voice like velvet soaked in blood. “That’s good. Keep going.”

You didn’t respond. Your lungs burned. Your vision blurred. Sweat mixed with dirt and dried blood as you stumbled over a patch of loose ground and caught yourself on all fours, chest heaving, before you scrambled back to your feet and shoved through a dense patch of undergrowth. Your ankle turned sharply, but you pushed through the pain, the fear louder than your body’s protest.

Because you knew what it meant if he caught you again. No ropes this time. No gentle whispers or twisted sermons. He would break you. Properly. Finally.

“I missed this,” he called again. “You panting. Wild-eyed. Covered in filth.”

There was a sick sort of reverence in his voice, like he wasn’t chasing you—he was worshipping the chase itself.

You clambered up a mossy incline, grabbing at roots to hoist yourself higher. Behind you, his boots crunched louder.

So close now.

“You know what I love about you?” he said, voice distorted by distance and breath. “You never crawl. You run. Like a good little creature with something worth losing.”

Your foot slipped. You caught yourself. Kept going.

But he was gaining.

Every time you turned your head, you saw more of him. Closer. Quicker. Bleeding, yes, but moving with purpose. Like he had become the hunt.

And you—

You were just something he was waiting to drag back, limp and gasping, into the fold.

The air felt colder. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline.

Your body was screaming, your chest seizing with every breath, muscles locking in protest. You could feel the sting of old wounds tearing open. Could taste copper in the back of your throat.

But still, you ran.

Because that’s what prey does.

You crashed through a clearing, past the blackened remains of a house eaten by rot. An old picket fence stood crooked ahead—half-splintered, half-still standing—and you leapt it, barely clearing the top.

Heeseung didn’t slow. He vaulted it like it was nothing. Landing just yards behind you. “I’m not going to shoot you,” he called, almost kindly. “You’ll thank me later for that.”

You didn’t waste the breath to answer. Didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down. Because now the broken skyline of an old city loomed ahead—rusted steel bones jutting from collapsed concrete, windows shattered, streets long since swallowed by weeds and dust.

You ducked beneath a half-fallen sign, vaulted over an abandoned car. The stench of decay hit you instantly—stronger here. More rot. More ruin. And worse...

Hollowed.

They moved slow at first, twitching with jerks of recognition as your footsteps echoed through the street. But it didn’t take long.

The closest one—limping, throat torn and leaking black—snapped toward the sound of your footsteps and lunged.

You dodged left, fast and instinctive, and drove your knife into the side of its skull with a guttural yell, yanking it free before sprinting forward again. Two more stumbled into the open, groaning with that awful gargled hunger. You slipped between them, barely avoiding their grasping hands.

Then you heard it again—

Bang.

A Hollowed’s head exploded behind you. Then another. Then another.

The cracks of gunfire echoed down the broken streets, fast and controlled.

Heeseung.

You didn’t need to look. You felt it. Felt him behind you like heat, like a shadow with teeth.

Another creature lunged from a half-sunk stairwell—too fast. You turned to stab, but—

Bang bang bang.

It dropped mid-leap, torn open by bullets. The spray of rot and bone misted the air beside your cheek. You stumbled forward, heart slamming, throat tight with a scream you didn’t release.

“You’re welcome,” Heeseung’s voice called out through the carnage which distracted him enough to create distance.

Perfect.

Your breath tore ragged through your chest as you ducked through the crumbling doorway of an old storefront, shoes slapping the tiled floor slick with grime. You vaulted the counter and crouched, knife shaking in your grip, heart pounding like a war drum in your ears.

Silence followed.

Too long.

You dared a breath—shallow, slow.

Crunch.

You pressed yourself against the wall, eyes wide. Dust drifted through a single shaft of dying sunlight. The knife felt too small in your hand now. Too useless.

He was inside.

“Hiding?” His voice echoed off the ruined walls, smooth and cold and so close.

“You’ve never been good at that.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, chest heaving. Please, you thought, just let me—

“I killed five for you back there,” he said. Calm. Measured. “Ripped them apart before they touched you.” His tone dropped—something quieter. More intimate. “I protected you. And you still ran.”

A pause.

“Ungrateful.”

That one word hit harder than a slap. Your pulse stuttered. You knew what was coming next. You always knew.

His footsteps moved again. Slower now. Careful. Like a hunter in the dark.

“Come out,” he said. “Or I’ll start pulling this place apart. You know I will.”

You clenched your jaw, wiped your nose with the back of your trembling hand, and gripped the knife tighter.

“I’ll give you one chance,” he continued, voice drifting closer. “You can crawl out, and I’ll forgive you. I’ll even kiss you for it.”

He paused, just on the other side of the counter now. You could hear him breathing. Low. Steady.

“But if you make me reach for you,” he whispered, “you won’t walk for days.”

Your stomach turned. Your fingers tensed.

Silence.

Then—

You moved.

You sprang up before he could grab you, swinging the blade wildly.

It sliced through air, inches from his face—close enough that he flinched, but not enough to stop him. He caught your wrist again, but you twisted fast, using your momentum to knee him in the ribs. The air left his lungs in a sharp grunt, grip slipping just enough for you to yank yourself free.

You didn’t look back, bursting out of the broken shop and back into the crumbling street, lungs burning, body screaming. Your legs barely felt real anymore, but they kept moving. Kept carrying you through the skeletal maze of the dead city.

Behind you— footsteps.

Fast. Determined. No longer teasing. No longer playing.

You’d drawn blood. You’d bitten.

And now he was angry.

You darted through an alley, nearly slipping on old rainwater pooled across cracked cement. A low, guttural sound followed behind you—Heeseung, breathing heavy now, feral.

“You want to act like a animal?” he shouted. “Then I’ll hunt you like one.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. The knife trembled in your grip. You could still feel the way his fingers had bruised your wrist, the weight of his body behind every threat he hadn’t said yet. You turned sharply and ducked into another building, an old stairwell swallowed by rot. You bolted up two flights, turned a corner, slammed into a rusted door and shoved it open.

Rooftop.

Wide. Empty. Exposed.

Shit.

But there was no time. You turned to shut the door, only to see him right there, hand catching it, shoving it back open with brutal force.

You staggered backward as Heeseung stepped onto the rooftop, blood dried on his cheek, his dark eyes locked on yours.

Silent.

Seething.

His hand curled into a fist at his side. The other held the leash—clasp open, dangling like a promise.

Your chest heaved as you raised the blade again, shaking but firm. “I will kill you,” you spat. “If you touch me again, I’ll—”

“You won’t,” he said, cutting you off.

And he charged.

You swung.

He blocked.

And suddenly you were on the ground, wrists pinned, knife skidding across the concrete out of reach.

His face hovered above yours, eyes wild, hair a little messy from the chase, and when he spoke—his voice was low. Raw.

“Do it again,” he dared. “Fight. Bite. Bleed.” His fingers slid slowly down to the collar, still tight around your neck. “But next time,” he whispered, “you won’t get this far.”

You thrashed beneath him, limbs jerking, teeth gritted in panic as you twisted your wrists against his hold. You kicked, shifted, spat curses through clenched teeth—but he didn’t even flinch. Not a muscle.

Heeseung stared down at you with terrifying calm, his face unreadable. Like he’d already seen this a thousand times in his head. Like this wasn’t a fight—just a ritual.

His hand moved slowly, purposefully, reaching toward your neck.

You shook your head, twisting away—but it was too late.

Click.

The leash slid back into place.

The familiar weight yanked forward as he gave it a sharp tug, and you gasped, back arching slightly as the collar bit into your throat. The breath caught in your lungs, the sudden pressure making your eyes sting.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice low and cruelly fond, as if soothing a wild animal finally caught in its cage. “I knew you missed it.”

You thrashed harder, but your movements only made it worse, your struggling gave him every excuse to keep pulling, guiding, correcting you with that damn leash like you were nothing more than something disobedient that needed to be handled.

And still—his expression didn’t change.

Not smug. Not angry. Just patient. Like a shepherd dragging back his favorite stray.

You screamed—hoarse, furious—but the sound barely echoed before he had your wrists pinned again, rope sliding tight and practiced around your arms.

Tied. Bound.

You writhed in the bindings, chest heaving, but it was no use.

“You should’ve stayed,” he said quietly. “You had everything. Shelter. Safety. Me.” He crouched in front of you, hand curling around the leash again, pulling until you met his eyes. “I won’t ask you why you ran.” He tilted his head. “Because it doesn’t matter.” Another tug. “You’re back now.”

The words echoed louder than they should have. Like a door slamming shut behind you.

You shook your head, still squirming in the ropes, wrists aching from how tightly they were bound. Your knees scraped against the rooftop, gravel digging into skin, breath catching in your throat again as the collar tugged you forward another inch.

Heeseung didn’t move. Just watched.

And then, slowly, he crouched down again—closer this time. Eye-level. The city’s twisted skyline behind him, smoke rising in the distance like dying signals.

“You made me bleed,” he said, voice soft. His fingers traced the cut along his cheek—your cut. The blood had dried now, a rusty red line across sharp bone. But there was no anger in his face. Only something worse.

Appreciation.

“You fought harder than I thought you would.” He smiled faintly. “I liked it.”

You looked away.

He grabbed your jaw firmly and turned your face back to his. “But I like this more.”

Your lips trembled. You didn’t speak. Because there was nothing left to say that he hadn’t already turned against you.

He stood again, gaze flicking over you—disheveled, dirt-streaked, breathing ragged.

Then he tugged on the leash once more, and this time you stumbled forward on your knees, catching yourself with a soft grunt, ropes digging into your spine as you struggled to stay upright.

Heeseung didn’t even look back as he started walking. “You know the way,” he said simply.

The leash tugged once, twice—enough to remind you he still held it, and still could pull harder if he wanted to. You didn’t move at first. Knees raw against gravel, ropes biting into your wrists, your heart a mess of rage and exhaustion and something far more dangerous: surrender.

He stopped after a few steps. Tilted his head just slightly. “I won’t drag you,” he said, tone almost bored. “But I will carry you.”

You flinched. Because you knew what that meant. He had once before.

So, you moved. Because even now—after everything—there were worse things than walking.

Your legs trembled as you rose shakily to your feet, balance thrown from the bindings and the ache that lived in your bones. You could feel blood drying on your hands, the cold wind biting at torn skin, but none of that compared to the humiliation of stumbling after him like some shadow tethered by a thread.

Each step back toward Sanctum felt heavier. Familiar. Wrong. Inevitable.

You tried not to meet his gaze when he finally glanced over his shoulder, but he still smiled—just a little. Not smug. Not victorious.

Satisfied.

The city’s ruins faded behind you. The road ahead was dark, broken, silent. But he walked it like he’d known all along that you would follow.

And you did.

Step after step, gravel crunching beneath your shoes, your balance thrown by the tight bindings and the leash that jerked if you hesitated too long. The leash didn’t just tug you forward, it reminded you of who was in front. Who was in control. Who had won.

When the first Hollowed lurched from the roadside shadows—ribs split open, mouth slack and dripping—Heeseung didn’t slow.

He raised his gun without missing a step and fired.

One shot.

Right between the eyes.

Thump.

Another came from the treeline moments later. Heeseung didn’t blink. Another shot rang out. Another body hit the dirt.

You tried not to look. But you heard them. The sick sound of bone cracking, of groans choked off mid-howl.

And still he walked. Like a shepherd clearing the road.

If you slowed—if your knees buckled or your pace dragged even slightly, he gave a sharp tug on the leash. Not enough to pull you off your feet, but enough to steal the air from your lungs. Enough to make your body flinch forward like it had learned.

Like it was beginning to know its place.

You gritted your teeth, eyes burning. You told yourself not to cry again. Not in front of him. Not after everything.

And then you saw them.

People.

A small group—maybe five—half-hidden behind an overturned vehicle and the carcass of a collapsed roadside shack. Survivors. Not Hollowed. Not Sanctum.

Their eyes widened when they saw you, when they saw the leash, the collar, the ropes around your wrists, your dirtied, trembling form trailing just behind him like you were some pet dragged from a war.

They didn’t run. They didn’t call out. They just stared.

Shock first. Then something colder.

Pity.

And fear.

Not of you.

Of him.

Because Heeseung turned his head slightly, just enough to see them, and whatever they saw in his eyes made all of them freeze.

One of them—young, maybe seventeen—took a single step forward.

Heeseung didn’t raise his gun.

He smiled.

And that was enough.

The boy stumbled back, and the group retreated, eyes still locked on you until they vanished into the treeline like ghosts too afraid to even speak.

No one came for you. No one helped.

Heeseung didn’t say a word.

He just kept walking. Leash in hand. You behind him.

And the road stretched on—long, cracked, and unkind. But not nearly as cruel as the one you’d walked trying to escape him.

Eventually, you saw it.

Through the trees—half-choked by overgrowth and mist—Sanctum emerged from the darkness like something half-remembered from a fever dream.

The tall barricades. The watchtowers. The dull glint of floodlights casting pale rings across the dirt path. The thick scent of burning wood and damp earth. The faint murmur of people just inside.

Home, some would say.

But your stomach turned.

You tried not to slow, but your body faltered when the main gate came into full view—looming and heavy, manned by armed followers in long coats and black wraps. Your legs buckled slightly, knees weakened by exhaustion and dread.

Heeseung noticed, but he didn’t mock you. He just tugged the leash once, firmly. Steadying you.

The guards didn’t ask questions. They saw your face, your condition, your wrists still bound. And most importantly—they saw him.

Their gazes dropped in reverence as they unlocked the gates without a word. As if they’d been waiting. As if they already knew how this story would end.

The doors opened slowly, groaning under their own weight.

And beyond them—flickering torches, clean paths, rows of tents and shelters. People pausing to look up as you passed.

Some gasped quietly. Others smiled like prophecy had been fulfilled.

You couldn’t meet their eyes. You didn’t want to see what they saw when they looked at you.

A few even knelt as Heeseung walked by, silent and composed, dragging you behind him as if he’d simply gone out to retrieve a lost artifact.

No one asked where you’d been. No one asked what you’d done. Because it didn’t matter. Heeseung was back. And he had you.

You passed the fire pits, the mess area, the quiet groups clustered in prayer.

And then the stairs.

Down into the earth. Into the bunker.

The leash stayed taut. Your feet moved because they had no choice.

And when you reached the heavy door—the one you’d once seen sealed shut so many nights before he turned to you, eyes unreadable in the dim light.

“Welcome home,” he said softly.

And the door creaked open.

Swallowing you whole.

You stumbled when he pulled you down the final step, and your knees hit cold stone. You hissed, cursing under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You son of a—get your hands off me!”

But he didn’t flinch.

Not when you struggled, not when you dug your heels into the ground, not when you spat every insult you could think of like venom behind your teeth. He just held the leash tighter.

Like he’d expected this. Like he wanted it.

In the soft light of the bunker, he stopped walking—finally—and turned to face you. For one heartbeat, you thought maybe he’d snap. Shout. Do something loud.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached for your gear—the jacket stiff with blood, the torn shirt, the military vest still smeared with ash. You tried to slap his hands away. You shoved. You kicked.

Nothing worked.

“Don’t touch me—” you growled.

But he was calm. Mechanical. Efficient.

He stripped the dirt and chaos from you with quiet focus, as if peeling back layers of a broken thing he’d always planned to fix. When he wiped away dried blood from your shoulder, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cruel either. It was something colder. Detached. Like he was cleaning up a mess.

Your scraped knees. The bruises on your ribs. The cuts across your palm. All were examined, wiped, wrapped with bandages pulled from a small cabinet in the corner.

Still, you cursed. Still, you twisted against the binds. Still, you fought.

And he remained maddeningly silent.

You didn’t even realize when the dress appeared—light, soft white lace, simple and ghostlike in his hands. You tried to turn away, but you couldn’t stop him from slipping it over your head. You were too tired. Too sore. Your wrists ached from the struggle. Your body didn’t respond like it used to.

“This isn’t real,” you muttered. “This isn’t real. I’m not staying here.”

But he didn’t answer.

Not until he guided you back to the bed in the corner. The same one you’d seen in flickers of memory and dreams that left you sweating.

The chain clinked softly as it was locked to the bedpost, connected to your collar again.

Only then did he speak.

“You’ll rest now,” Heeseung murmured, voice low. “You need it.”

And with that, he stepped back. Out of reach. Out of sight.

But never out of control.

You laid in that bed for what felt like forever.

Time stretched thin, impossible to measure in the dark. The only light came from the faint crack beneath the heavy door—too dim to track the hours, too pale to give any comfort.

No footsteps.

No voices.

At first, you screamed. You pulled at the chain until your wrists burned. You kicked the bedframe until your heel throbbed and your throat went raw from shouting his name, any name—just to hear a voice. Just to hear yourself echo off the stone.

But no one answered.

Not even Heeseung.

Eventually… you stopped.

Not because you gave up.

Because your body started to.

The hunger curled in your gut like a fist. Tight. Angry. It came in waves, rising and falling until it became a part of you. Like the chain. Like the collar.

Your mouth felt dry, your lips cracked. Your tongue ached against the roof of your mouth with how little moisture was left. And still—nothing.

You stared at the ceiling, the walls, the bedpost where the chain looped and clinked when you shifted even slightly. That soft metallic noise became your only companion. You listened to it like it might sing. Like it might break the silence.

It didn’t.

The worst part wasn’t the pain. It wasn’t even the thirst.

It was the quiet.

The aching, bone-deep silence that wrapped around you like a second skin. No sermons. No chants. No breath but your own. It filled your head, loud and oppressive. Until your thoughts blurred, until memory lost its shape, until the only constant you had left was the sound of your own heartbeat—soft, slowing.

You hated it. You hated him. But more than that, you hated how a part of you waited. Waited for the sound of footsteps. Waited for the door to creak open. Waited for the only thing worse than silence...

Him.

Because at least when Heeseung came… you knew you still existed.

The door creaked open hours—maybe days—later. You weren’t sure anymore.

You didn’t lift your head.

You knew who it was.

Boots crossed the threshold with steady, deliberate steps. No hurry. No rush. The air shifted with his presence, like the entire room inhaled and held its breath.

You finally looked up when the silence became too sharp to ignore.

Heeseung stood at the foot of the bed, eyes unreadable, shadowed beneath the soft bunker light. There was no smile this time. No gentleness. Just cold deliberation—like a judge returning to the courtroom.

“I gave you everything,” he said quietly.

You opened your mouth, but your voice cracked. Dry. Weak. Nothing came out.

He stepped closer.

“You spat on it. Ran. Lied. Hid.”

He circled the bed slowly, like a predator surveying damage.

“Do you think that makes you brave?” His tone dipped—low, dangerous. “It makes you ungrateful.”

You tensed when his hand reached for the chain, the familiar tug jerking your body upright. You tried to twist away, but you were too weak. Too sore. Too empty.

He crouched down in front of you, expression unreadable. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly. “But you’ve asked for it.” His fingers gripped your chin, firm and unforgiving. You flinched.

“You don’t get to run,” he whispered. “Not from me. Not after everything I’ve given.” Heeseung's fingers tightened on your chin, his grip bordering on painful. You could see the cold calculation in his eyes, the flicker of something darker, more sinister. "You thought you could escape me?" he murmured. "You thought you could deny me?"

He released your chin abruptly, and you fell back, your body aching. Heeseung stood, towering over you, his presence overwhelming. "You made me chase you," he said, his voice laced with a cruel amusement. "And now, you'll pay for it." He reached for the chain again, yanking it hard enough to make you cry out. With a swift, brutal motion, he pulled you to your feet, your body colliding with his. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm going to teach you a lesson," he whispered. "One you won't forget."

A hand, firm and steady pressed to the small of your back.

He guided you forward with no resistance, no hesitation, like your path had already been chosen for you long ago.

“Go on,” Heeseung murmured, voice soft but laced with steel. “To the center.”

Your legs moved before your mind caught up. The floor stretched out beneath you like an altar. Smooth, polished stone, worn down by time and footsteps that had come before you.

You reached the center. You stopped. You waited.

Then his voice again—closer this time. A command.

“Kneel.”

It cut through the stillness like a blade. Not shouted. Not harsh.

Just final.

You dropped.

The cold floor bit into your knees, but you didn’t flinch. Not when the silence had grown so sharp it could pierce skin.

Behind you, Heeseung began to circle.

Each step echoed. Measured. Heavy with purpose. He didn’t speak at first. Just moved. Watched. Made sure you felt him without even needing to look. Like a lion studying its meal before the first bite.

Finally, his voice broke the silence—low, dark, and laced with restrained fury.

“You should have known better.”

A pause. You could feel his gaze on your bowed head, hot and unwavering.

“You should have known that you belong to me.”

His words hit like the crack of a whip.

You felt your stomach twist, your spine pull straighter—part defiance, part instinctual fear. Your fingers curled into fists against the stone as you bit back the storm rising in your throat.

“You thought distance would change that?” he asked quietly, voice curling around you like smoke. “That running would make me forget?” A hand ghosted over your shoulder—gentle, and then it closed.

Tight.

“Foolish.”

He bent slightly, so his lips were just above your ear.

“There is no before me anymore.”

You didn’t breathe.

Because in that moment—under his touch, his voice, his control—you felt it again. That awful, trembling truth.

You hadn’t been free the moment you left him.

You’d only been out of reach.

Now, with the air stretched taut between you and Heeseung standing above you like a shadow cast by something far older than rage, you could feel the truth in your bones.

His eyes didn’t burn—they froze. Piercing. Patient. Like he was dissecting your soul in real time.

The quiet metallic click of his belt unfastening sliced through the silence like a warning shot. The sound echoed off the cold stone walls, sharp and clinical, echoing over your skin like a chill you couldn’t shake.

Heeseung let the belt slip from his hands with a whisper of leather against cloth, letting it hang loose at his side—not as a weapon, not yet, but as a symbol.

Of control.

Of authority.

Of ownership.

He stepped closer, the heels of his boots loud against the stone. Your eyes lifted despite yourself, chest tight with too many things at once—fear, defiance, longing, shame. It coiled in you like static before a storm.

And when he knelt in front of you, crouching to your eye level, it felt like the room itself tilted in his direction. “You always make it so difficult,” he murmured, his voice low, unreadable. “But maybe… you just wanted to be reminded.”

In the stillness, something cracked open inside you. Because this wasn’t punishment in the way most would understand it.

This was ceremony.

A moment designed not to hurt you—but to humble you.

“You don’t listen,” Heeseung said, softer now. “But you remember. And that’s all I need.” He rose again, tall and quiet and endless, and with a rough tug on the chain, he pulled you forward, causing you to fall onto your hands.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. You obeyed, your eyes meeting his, seeing the cold, calculating glint in his gaze. He reached down, his hands moving to his pants and boxers, pushing them down slowly.

His erection sprang free, hard and ready, a stark reminder of his power and your submission. You stared, your eyes wide as your body responded to the sight of him, your thighs clenching in recognition. You could feel your pussy starting to get wet, your body betraying you.

He stroked himself slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You see what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "You're going to take this," he murmered. "And you're going to thank me for it."

Heeseung's hand moved to the chain around your neck, his fingers wrapping around the cold metal with a cruel, possessive grip. With a swift, brutal tug, he pulled you up, forcing you to your knees, your mouth now level with his erection. He hummed, a low, satisfied sound.

"You know what to do." He slapped the tip of his cock against your lips, the wet, warm flesh a stark contrast to the cold, hard metal of the chain. "Suck it."

You hesitated for a moment, your mind rebelling against the command, but your mouth betrayed you, your lips parting involuntarily. Heeseung took advantage of your hesitation, his hand fisting your hair, pulling your head back as he pushed his hips forward, his cock sliding into your mouth.

"Good girl," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Now, suck."

You obeyed, your mouth working him with reluctance. Heeseung's hips began to move, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with a relentless, punishing rhythm. He used the chain to control your movements, pulling you closer when he wanted more depth, pushing you back when he wanted to tease you.

"Feel that?" he moaned, "that's what happens when you run. That's what happens when you try to escape."

Your mouth was full of his cock, your eyes watering as you struggled to take his impressive length. Heeseung's hands were fisted in your hair, his grip tight and punishing, controlling your movements, your breaths, your very existence.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, as he looked down at you. "You like being used. You like being a good little slut for me."

You tried to respond, but no words came out, your throat constricted around his length, your body trembling. Heeseung chuckled as he pushed his hips forward again, his cock sliding back into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with a force that left you gasping and choking.

"Suck it," he commanded as he began to move his hips, fucking your mouth. "Suck it like a good little whore."

He pulled your hair, causing your head to tilt back, revealing the bulge in your throat from his cock, a rather obscene sight. Precum leaked from his tip, filling your mouth, coating your tongue, a salty, intoxicating taste that left you dizzy and wanting more. You whimpered, the sound a desperate, pleading moan, as you continued to suck, your mouth and throat working in tandem, your tongue swirling around his length, your lips creating a tight, wet seal around his base.

Heeseung's grip on your hair tightened, his fingers digging into your scalp, holding you in place. You could feel his cock swelling, his body tensing, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps, a sign that he was close, that he was on the edge.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and tear-streaked, your lips swollen and red, your throat sore and raw.

"Fuck, yes..."

"Choke on it. Take every inch."

Tears streamed down your face as you gagged around his cock, your body betraying you with each desperate gasp for air.

"Look at you," he mumbled as he looked down at you, his eyes gleaming. "So pathetic. So fucking helpless."

WIth a few more thrusts Heeseung's cock swelled in your mouth, and with a final, brutal thrust, he came, his body shuddering with the force of his climax as he released his load down your throat.

You swallowed, your body betraying you even as your mind rebelled, your throat working to take every drop. Heeseung pulled out of your mouth, his cock slipping free with a wet, sucking sound, leaving you gasping and coughing, your throat raw and aching.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Now, let's see if you've learned your lesson."

He released your hair, his hand moving to your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You met his gaze, your eyes filled with tears, your body shaking with exhaustion and fear, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Fear. Desire. Submission. Defiance. You weren't sure what you felt, what you wanted, what you needed.

Suddenly, with a brutal jerk, Heeseung pulled you to your feet, his other hand gripping your arm with a punishing force.

You stumbled, your body still weak and aching from the earlier ordeal, but Heeseung's grip was unyielding. He dragged you across the room, his steps purposeful and dominant, until you reached the edge of the bed. With a swift, almost casual motion, he threw you onto your stomach, your face pressing into the cool mattress.

Before you could react, he was on you, his body pressing down on yours, his weight pinning you in place. You could feel his hardness against your ass. His hands quickly moved to your dress, his fingers gripping the fabric with a savage intensity.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice muffled by the mattress, as you felt the fabric tear, the sound of ripping cloth filling the air. "Please, don't..."

"Shut up," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, cutting you off mid-sentence. "You don't get to talk. You just get to take it."

Heeseung's hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you back, positioning you on your knees, your ass exposed and vulnerable. You tried to squirm away, but his grip was like iron, holding you in place.

"So beautiful.. all for me."

You tensed as you felt his cock press against your entrance, the head sliding through your folds, coating itself in your arousal. Heeseung chuckled, as he positioned himself at your entrance.

"Ready for this?" he asked, "ready to take what's yours?"

Before you could respond, he was pushing in, his cock sliding into you with a swift, brutal thrust. You cried out, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure, as Heeseung began to move, giving you no time to adjust.

Heeseung's breath was hot and ragged against your ear. His right hand moved to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck with a possessive grip. He pressed and twisted your head, forcing you to look at him, your eyes meeting his, seeing the cold, calculating glint in his gaze.

"All mine."

You moaned and gasped, your body betraying you with each desperate breath, your lungs struggling for air as his hand tightened. His lips crashed down on yours, his tongue invading your mouth, swallowing your moans and gasps.

His left hand moved to your clit, his fingers finding the sensitive nub with a cruel, teasing touch. He rubbed it in slow, deliberate circles, a stark contrast to the brutal, punishing rhythm of his hips.

"Feel that?" he murmured against your lips. "Feel how your body betrays you? How it wants me? How it needs me?"

You whimpered, your body arching into his touch, your hips moving of their own accord, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of him. Heeseung chuckled, a low, dangerous sound, as he increased the pressure on your clit, his fingers moving faster, his touch more insistent.

"Such a good little slut."

You could feel your pleasure building, your body coiling tight, your mind reeling from the overwhelming sensations.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl, as he increased the pressure on your throat, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Come for me like the good little whore you are."

Your body obeyed, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you gasping and choking, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed through you.

Your orgasm ripped through you, a violent, all-consuming force that left you gasping and choking, your body convulsing with the intensity of the pleasure.

"Good girl," he gasped as he felt your body clench around him, your inner walls pulsing with the force of your release. "That's it... so good for me."

But even as your orgasm subsided, Heeseung showed no sign of stopping. His hips continued to snap forward, his cock plunging deep into your pussy with each punishing thrust. You sobbed and cried, your body wrecked and broken, overstimulated and raw.

"Please," you begged, your voice a raspy, desperate plea, as you gripped the sheets, your knuckles white with the force of your grip. "Please, I can't... I can't take anymore..."

Heeseung chuckled as he continued to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with a wet, obscene sound. "You say you want me to stop," he hissed. "Yet you keep clenching around me so deliciously. You don't want me to stop. You never want me to stop."

You realized with a shock of horror and arousal that you were grinding back at him, your hips meeting his thrusts, matching his pace. You whimpered as you tried to pull away, to escape, to deny the truth of your body's response.

"But look at you," he continued, as he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you back onto him. "You're so wet. So ready."

You tried to respond, to argue, to plead, but no words came out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, you were lost in the sensation, your mind a foggy, disoriented haze, your body betraying you as it welcomed him in, accepted him, craved him.

"Please," you whimpered again, your voice a desperate, pleading moan, as you gripped the sheets, your fingers digging into the fabric, your body trembling. "Please, Heeseung. Please, make it stop. Please, make it end."

Heeseung pulled out of you slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet, sucking sound, leaving you gasping and shaking, your body aching and your mind reeling.

"Make it stop?" he asked as he looked down at you, a smile playing on his lips. "Why would I do that? You're mine, and I'm going to remind you of that. Over and over again. Until you never forget it. Until you never want to escape it. Until you never want anything else."

He slipped his cock back in slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel everything, the stretch, the burn, the pleasure, the pain. You could hear the wet squelches from your pussy, the obscene, lewd sounds. They mixed with Heeseung's whines, and your own whimpers.

"Oh baby... you feel so good.."

Heeseung's thrusts quickly sped up, becoming more erratic, his hips snapping forward in a sloppy way. You could feel his body trembling against yours, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.

"Fuck, I missed you," he mumbled, his voice a low, slurred growl, as he leaned over you. "I missed being inside you. I missed feeling you wrap around my cock like this."

You could feel his saliva dripping down your back, warm and wet, as he continued to mumble, "you're so perfect. So fucking perfect. My good little angel..."

His hips moved faster, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with a relentless, punishing rhythm. "Fuck, I'm close," he whined out loudly. "I'm so fucking close.."

His body tensed, and with a final, brutal thrust, he released himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his seed. You gasped and shook, your body convulsing with the force of his climax, your inner walls milking him for every drop.

"Shit," he groaned, as he collapsed on top of you, his body pressing you down into the mattress. "Fuck, that was good."

He remained inside you for a moment, his breath ragged against your ear, before he slowly pulled out.

You lay there, your body shaking and your mind reeling, the aftermath of his brutal claiming leaving you in a daze. The room spun around you, and your breaths came in short gasps, your lungs still burning from the lack of air. You felt raw, broken, and utterly spent, your body aching from the relentless onslaught of pleasure and pain.

Suddenly, you felt his fingers, warm and wet, slipping inside your puffy, sensitive walls. You jumped at the intrusion, a sob escaping your lips as you felt him push deeper, his fingers curling inside you, claiming every inch of your being.

"Keep every drop inside you," he commanded. "You're going to keep it all. Every fucking drop... keeping my seed where it belongs."

Without warning, Heeseung flipped you onto your back, his hands gripping your thighs with a punishing force. He pushed your legs up to your chest, exposing you to his gaze, your pussy open and vulnerable to his inspection. You watched, dazed and disoriented, as he stared down at you, his eyes gleaming with arousal.

He brought his hand gently to his mouth, his fingers slipping between his lips as he coated them fully in saliva, before pulling his fingers free, the tips glistening with his spit.

"Want more?" he asked as he positioned his fingers back at your entrance, his eyes never leaving yours.

Before you could respond, he pushed his fingers inside you again, his movements slow, each thrust a teasing claim.

You tried to squirm away, your body instinctively rebelling against the invasive touch. Your hips bucked, and your legs kicked, a desperate attempt to escape his fingers.

"And where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice laced with a cruel, mocking amusement.

He pushed you down, his body pressing against yours, his weight pinning you to the mattress. You could feel his hardness against your thigh, as his fingers continued to move while he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "You're going to take my fingers. You're going to take my cock. You're going to take everything I give you. And you're going to like it."

His fingers curled inside you, finding that sensitive spot that made you clench around his fingers, your hips moving, despite your pleas and your tears. You could feel your arousal coating his fingers, a wet, slick proof of your want.

With that Heeseung pulled his fingers free, leaving you feeing empty and aching, your body craving more. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around the digits. "Mmm," he hummed out. "You still taste so fucking good. So sweet..." He licked his lips. "You've tortured me, you know. Running away, keeping me from this sweet pussy for weeks."

With that, Heeseung crawled down your body, his movements swift and purposeful. He positioned himself between your legs, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his tongue swiping through your folds. You gasped, the shock of his sudden touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

He groaned, a low, feral sound, as he began to lick and suck, his tongue exploring every inch of you. You could feel his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted on you.

In all your shock, you found yourself grabbing his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you threw your head back, your eyes rolling upwards, your mouth wide open as you screamed his name. "Heeseung! Oh my god, Heeseung!"

His tongue and fingers worked in tandem, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing, your breaths stuttering.

As Heeseung's nose bumped into your clit with each vigorous lick, you could feel the intense, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. His tongue delved deep inside you, fucking you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Your body tensed, your muscles coiling tight as each inhale you took sounded like a ragged, desperate plea for air.

You risked a glance down at Heeseung, and what you saw sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes were locked on you, studying every reaction, every twitch, every gasp, with an intensity that bordered on feral. Yet, there was a dazed, almost trance-like quality to his gaze, as if he were completely consumed by the act, by the taste and the feel of you.

His mouth moved vigorously, his lips and tongue working in a frenzied rhythm. His eyebrows were scrunched in concentration, his forehead glistening with sweat, strands of hair clinging to his skin, damp and disheveled. The sight of him, so utterly focused, so completely absorbed in pleasuring you, was almost overwhelming.

But what struck you most was the way he was grinding into the bed, his hips moving in a rough rhythm, as if he were fucking the very mattress beneath you. You could hear the soft, wet sounds of his mouth against your flesh, the occasional muffled groan as he breathed you in, straight from the core, his nostrils flaring with each desperate inhalation.

His hands gripped your thighs with a punishing force, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving moon-shaped marks where his nails bit into the meat. You could feel the sting, the sharp, almost painful sensation, but it only served to heighten your pleasure, to push you closer to the edge.

As Heeseung's relentless assault on your senses continued, you could feel that familiar, tingling sensation building in your core, a sure sign that your orgasm was imminent. Your body tensed, your muscles coiling tight as you gripped the sheets with a punishing force, your knuckles white and your fingers trembling.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice a raspy, desperate plea. "Please, I'm gonna come! I'm gonna come!"

Heeseung pulled back for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, a cruel, mocking smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you are, are you?" he murmured, and with a renewed vigor, he dove back in, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

And then, with a final, brutal lick, you were pushed over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you gasping and choking. Your scream was a choked, desperate sound, your whines mashed together as you rode out the overwhelming sensations.

Heeseung, ever the worshipper, licked and sucked, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy, lapping up every drop of your cum.

As Heeseung's relentless assault on your senses continued, you could feel your body becoming increasingly sensitive, every touch, every lick, every suck sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. You reached a point where the sensations were almost too much to bear, your nerves raw and exposed.

With a desperate, almost pleading push, you placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to create some space between you. "Please," you whimpered, your voice a raspy, desperate plea. "Please, I can't... I can't take any more."

To your surprise, Heeseung pulled back, his eyes meeting yours, his chin was dripping with a mix of your cum and his saliva, a rather primal sight. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact.

"You can't take any more?" he questioned, "or you don't want to take any more?" He gripped your hips with a punishing force, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you closer to him. You could feel his hardness pressing against your folds, the head of his cock sliding through your sensitive flesh with a teasing, almost torturous touch.

"Beg for it," he ordered. "Beg for me to put it in. Beg for me to fuck you."

You tensed, your body betraying you as it responded to his touch, his words, his command. "Please," you whimpered, your voice a raspy, desperate plea. "Please, Heeseung. Please, put it in. Please, fuck me. I need you. I need this."

Heeseung hummed while he continued to tease your folds with his cock, the head sliding through your wetness. "Need what?" he asked, "need my cock? Need me to fill you up? Need me to remind you who you belong to?"

"Y-yes," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. "Yes, please. I need your cock. I need you to fill me up. I need you to remind me. I need you to own me."

With a brutal thrust, Heeseung plunged his cock into you, his hips snapping forward. You cried out, your body easily welcoming him in.

Heeseung remained still, his muscles straining, his jaw clenched tight as he cursed under his breath. "Shit, you're still so tight," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

You whined, your eyes meeting his, your gaze pleading. The low lamp hanging from the roof cast a warm, golden glow over his face, highlighting the sharp angles and the intense, almost feral expression in his eyes. His eyes twitched, a telltale sign of his barely restrained control, as he pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you.

And then, he plunged back in, his hips snapping forward with a force that left you arching your back, your body bowing off the bed as you cried out loudly.

Wet sounds filled the room, the slick, obscene noises a reminder of the intimacy and the degradation of the act. The sound of chains rattling echoed through the space, a haunting, almost ominous accompaniment to your combined moans and gasps.

Neither of you realized you had an audience.

Not until a sharp knock—too sudden, too real—cracked through the heady silence of the room like lightning. You froze. Heeseung stilled deep inside you, a full-body tension radiating through him as if the air itself had turned hostile.

His head turned, slow and dangerous, toward the now open door.

You followed his gaze, pulse hammering in your throat, only for your heart to seize entirely. Two of Heeseung’s followers stood in the doorway, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and dawning horror. Their expressions shifted rapidly—shock, embarrassment, guilt. They were statues, breathless and pale.

You felt your skin prickle in mortified realization, heat rushing up your chest and neck, and despite everything—despite how used you were to the rituals, the possession, the worship—you still wanted to disappear.

Heeseung reacted instantly.

He shifted, his arms pulled you against him with a protectiveness that felt more like a claim. One hand cupped the back of your head. The other coiled around your waist with bruising precision.

The room that had once been warm with candlelight now crackled with something darker.

His voice, when it came, was low and wrathful.

“What the fuck?”

The two disciples flinched.

“I told the guards I wasn’t to be interrupted. Not for any fucking reason.” His words dripped with fury—controlled, but barely. Like he was using every ounce of his restraint not to destroy something. You could feel it in his body—how tightly he held you. How hard his jaw clenched. The storm in his breath.

“S-sorry, Heeseung…” one of them stammered. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “We—we wouldn’t have come, but something’s… wrong. Up top. Near the wall. A group. Armed. They're getting too close—”

Heeseung didn’t blink.

His grip on you tightened. Not out of anger at you—but at the world, it seemed. At the insolence of it daring to interrupt what he considered his.

“The only thing wrong here,” he said quietly, dangerously, “is your interruption.”

You felt his chest rise and fall against your back, each inhale more ragged than the last. The candlelight threw violent shadows across the floor, stretching long and wild.

“Get out,” he snapped.

Neither of them moved.

“I said get out.”

The guards scrambled then—shoulders tight with shame, fear heavy in their footsteps. They backed out, heads down, disappearing behind the heavy wooden door which thudded shut moments later, echoing like judgment through the room.

Silence fell again. But it was no longer the same.

Heeseung didn’t move right away. His hands were still on you. His breathing sharp and body tense above you, his muscles coiled tight as he processed the intrusion. You looked up at him—uncertain, raw.

His jaw ticked once.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Fucking hell."

He pulled out of you slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet, sucking sound, leaving you gasping and shaking, your body aching and your mind reeling. Heeseung stood up, his movements abrupt and jerky as he adjusted his pants, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"Stay here," he commanded, his voice low. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

You nodded, your body still trembling as you pulled the sheets around you, a futile attempt to cover your nakedness and your shame. Heeseung strode to the door, his steps purposeful and angry, and slipped out into the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your humiliation.

The room felt empty without him, the silence almost oppressive. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the memory of the intrusion, the shock of being caught, the raw, exposed feeling of your body and your desires laid bare. But the images and the sounds lingered, a haunting reminder of the reality you now faced.

Eventually, the door creaked open, and Heeseung stepped back into the room. You gasped when you saw him, your eyes widening in shock as you took in the sight of him. He was bloodied, his skin stained with crimson, and he was wiping away the evidence with a random cloth.

"Wh-what happened?" you asked shakily, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes fixed on the blood.

He looked up at you and grinned. "I took care of the of the problem," he answered simply, and with a casual flick of his wrist, he threw the cloth away, the stained fabric landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Before you could react, he was on the bed, crawling over you with a predatory grace. His hands moved to the sheets, pulling them away from your body with a swift motion. You lay exposed before him, your body trembling. He pulled you carefully with him, sitting against the bed frame, his back leaning against the headboard. You found yourself straddling him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your body positioned perfectly as he positioned you above his cock.

With a soft sigh, he pulled you down, impaling you on his length. You gasped and arched your back, the sudden intrusion sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your breasts pushed forward, offering themselves to his hungry mouth.

Heeseung accepted the invitation greedily, his lips and tongue sucking and biting, his teeth leaving marks on your sensitive skin, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, his moans vibrating against your flesh.

His hands occupied themselves by gripping your ass, fingers digging into your cheeks, slapping them with a sharp, stinging force. Your hands gripped his shoulders in shock, your nails digging into his flesh as you moaned and whined his name. "Heeseung," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. "Please. Please, don't stop."

He continued to suck and bite, his mouth leaving a trail of marks across your breasts and your collarbone. "Don't worry," he muttered. "I'm not going to stop. Ever."

You trembled in his hold as Heeseung ravished you, his mouth leaving a trail of hickeys and marks across anywhere his lips could reach. His grip on your ass was punishing, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving red marks where he slapped and squeezed.

"Fuck, you're so responsive." With a swift, almost brutal motion, he pulled you towards him, his lips crashing down on yours in a harsh, messy kiss.

When you pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips, which Heeseung licked up, his tongue swirling, his eyes never leaving yours, a possessive glint in his gaze. And then, with a steady motion, he began to lift you up and down, impaling you on his cock.

You gasped, your body arching, hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as you held on for dear life, your body moving in time with his, your hips meeting his thrusts with an almost hungry need.

You kept whining as Heeseung continued to lift and lower you on his cock, the sensation of being stretched overwhelming your senses, leaving you whining and clinging to him.

Eventually, Heeseung manhandled you onto your back, his strength overpowering as he positioned you beneath him. He towered over you, his body a wall of muscle and power.

With a swift, almost brutal motion, he pushed your legs back, spreading you open, exposing you as he began to fuck you deeper, his hips snapping forward. Your mind numbed, your senses overwhelmed, leaving you in a state of a mindnumbing sensation. The room buzzed around you, the sounds of your combined moans and gasps, the wet, obscene noises of your bodies moving together, the sharp, stinging slaps of his hips against your ass, all blending together.

You came suddenly, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you whining, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed through you. In that moment, you swore you felt like your soul left your body, your mind shattering into a million pieces, your reality fragmenting and reforming around the overwhelming sensations.

Heeseung rambled on, his words a low, and slurred but you couldn't make out what he was saying. Your ears rang, the sound a high-pitched, almost painful whine, a result of being fucked senseless, your body and mind pushed to their limits. You felt cock drunk, your body craving more, needing more, desperate for the feeling of him inside you, filling you, possessing you. Your body was a limp and boneless mess, your mind a foggy, disoriented haze.

"You're going to take every drop of my cum," Heeseung murmured, his hips continuing to move. "You're going to look so fucking good with your stomach bulging... I'm going to fill you up so good, so much that you'll be leaking for days."

You could only whine in response.

"I'm going to breed you so good, fill you up with so much cum that you'll be carrying my child..."

Your mind reeled at his words, the promise of his seed, of his claim, of his possession. "Please," you whimpered, your voice a raspy, desperate plea. "Please, Heeseung. Please, breed me. Please, fill me up. Please, make me yours."

"Don't worry," he mumbled. "I'm going to give you everything I have. Every drop of my cum. Every inch of my cock. Every part of me. You're going to be so full of me, so complete with me."

You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Come for me like the good little cocksleeve you are. Come for me and take my cum."

And with a final, brutal thrust, you were pushed over the edge for the millionth time, your body convulsing, each sensation more intense than the last.

Heeseung followed soon after, his hips snapping forward with a few more thrusts before he released himself deep inside you. You could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, his seed spilling into your depths, a claiming so intense it left you breathless. He remained inside you, his cock pulsing as he emptied every last drop, ensuring that you were completely and utterly filled.

As the intensity of the moment began to fade, Heeseung stayed inside you, his body pressing against yours as he moved you closer to him. He adjusted his position, pulling you into his arms, your bodies entwined as you both lay on the bed. You were so tired, so spent, that as he started kissing your face tenderly, his lips soft against your skin, and playing with your hair, your eyes fluttered closed, and you drifted off into a deep, exhausted sleep.

The room was quiet, the only sounds the soft, rhythmic breaths of your slumber and the occasional shift of Heeseung's body as he held you close. You were safe in his arms, protected and possessed, your body and mind finally at peace after the overwhelming sensations.

As you slept, Heeseung's hand gently stroked your back, murmuring soft, almost affectionate words, his voice soothing, ensuring that you knew, even in your dreams, that you were his.

You didn’t run again.

Whether it was exhaustion, fear, or something deeper—something Heeseung had carved into your mind with quiet, patient cruelty—you stayed by his side. Loyal. Prized. His.

The compound called you many things now.

The saved. The chosen. The miracle that came back.

But Heeseung called you something else.

Mine.

No one touched you.

That was sacred.

He made it clear—once, violently, when a follower brushed too close while offering water. The poor man didn’t even see it coming, the punishment swift, public, and brutal. After that, no one dared. You could feel their eyes on you when you walked—soft, curious, reverent—but no one ever reached out again.

Because that was Heeseung’s right. Only Heeseung’s.

He sat on his throne like a king who’d bled the world dry to earn it, and you—his crown, his queen—sat on his lap like you belonged there. Because you did. That’s what he told you. Over and over.

In the dim light of the bunker, followers knelt in rows before you both, murmuring prayers. Praising salvation. Begging for mercy.

And Heeseung?

He kissed your neck gently. One arm locked around your waist, the other tracing shapes over your thigh, possessive and idle.

“You’re so good for me,” he whispered in your ear, voice soft as silk. “So obedient now. So perfect.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and you shivered. “But not too perfect,” he added with a smirk. “You still cry when I ruin you..”

You clenched your fists, breath catching as his hand squeezed your hip beneath the fabric of your dress. His touch was gentle now—but it never stayed that way for long. And you’d learned: pleasure and punishment were two sides of the same coin in his hands. Twisted rewards. Earned devotion.

You were a queen in his eyes, but you were also his possession, his property, his to command and control.

Around the compound, you rarely walked alone. Mostly because… you couldn’t. Your legs still ached most mornings. From the things he’d done. The things he’d proven. So his arm stayed tight around your waist when he led you through Sanctum. Not support. Not comfort. But control.

You were a symbol now. And symbols didn’t get to stumble.

He fed you the finest preserved rations—lavish by apocalypse standards. Fresh fruit, warm broth, spiced rice. He always made sure you ate. Made sure you smiled. Tucked hair behind your ear like he hadn’t broken you just the night before.

“You deserve to feel full,” he said once, pressing a spoon to your lips. “You deserve everything.”

And in his eyes, you were everything.

Not just because he loved you. But because he needed you.

You were his altar, his proof, his possession.

And without you, Heeseung didn’t breathe.

So you stayed.

And he worshipped. And devoured. And whispered, always:

“You’re mine, little lamb. My last holy thing.”

Even in moments of quiet—when the compound basked in sunlight, when the fires weren’t burning and no one was chanting—Heeseung would remind you.

Remind you who held the leash, even when it wasn’t in his hand.

It didn’t take much. A glance. A certain tone in his voice. A question that wasn’t really a question at all.

“You wouldn’t leave again,” he’d murmur, brushing a stray leaf from your shoulder after a walk through the courtyard. “Would you?”

You’d pause—just for a breath too long—and he’d smile.

Not wide. Not kind.

Slow. Sharp.

Like he’d caught the rabbit still twitching under his paw.

Sometimes, he didn’t even need words. Just a touch. A hand on the back of your neck when you passed through the halls, light but final. Fingers tracing the collar still locked around your throat. You’d flinch, sometimes—but he always noticed. And he’d lean in close, lips at your ear. “I like when you remember,” he’d whisper. “What it felt like to run.”

The worst part was how he made you feel it. Still.

That instinct.

That prey-deep shiver under your skin.

Even when you were full and dressed in white, draped in luxury. Even when you were safe.

Because safety was a lie he whispered while baring his teeth.

When others approached—offering prayer, gifts, loyalty—he would keep you close, his hand always low on your waist. Not just claiming you. Daring them.

You learned, over time, that his gentleness was layered like silk over steel. A mask for something far older. Deeper.

Predatory.

Heeseung didn’t need to growl or snarl. He studied you. Waited. Learned every reaction, every sound you made when you were nervous, ashamed, afraid. And then—he’d trigger it.

With purpose.

With precision.

Because to him, power wasn’t shown through violence. It was shown in how easily he could make you remember.

The woods. The leash. The desperate, bloody ache of your escape.

All of it, at the mercy of his voice.

“I don’t keep you because you can’t run,” he said one night, eyes gleaming in the low candlelight. “I keep you because you know what happens when you try.”

You said nothing.

Because the truth was this:

He didn’t have to chase you anymore.

Heeseung already had you. Right where he wanted. Tamed. Trembling. And his.

Heeseung was cruel, but fair.

And he loved toying with you.

Not with violence—no, that was too easy. Too loud. He preferred the slow unraveling. The game. The quiet dissection of your will, one string at a time. He’d give you softness just long enough to make you ache for it—then take it away. He’d hold you in his lap during prayers, thumb stroking circles over your thigh, murmuring praises under his breath… then later, he wouldn’t touch you at all. Wouldn’t even look at you. Would leave you pacing in silence, caged in your own skin, wondering what you’d done wrong.

(You hadn’t. That was the point.)

He made you earn him.

And when you reached for him—when you finally broke, voice hoarse with need, trembling under the weight of his absence—he’d smile.

“That’s better,” he’d whisper, tilting your chin up. “See what happens when you remember your place?”

And you hated that it worked. That part of you needed him to remind you.

He didn’t punish with rage. He punished with control. Silence. Restraint. Precision.

And when he did give you what you craved—his attention, his hands, his voice curling around your name like a prayer—he made sure you remembered.

“You only exist because I let you,” he murmured once, teeth brushing your throat. “You breathe because I allow it. And you stay, little lamb…” His smile darkened. “Because you want to.”

That was the cruelest part.

The part where he was right.

Because by now, you’d stopped counting how many times you could’ve run.

And started counting how many ways he could pull you back.

There had been a day—two, actually—where Heeseung was gone.

Not far. Not abandoned.

Just busy.

A breach had nearly occurred. A horde of Hollowed had shambled too close to the western wall of the compound. Alarms sounded, smoke rose, steel rang against bone. The Sanctum’s guards had fought them off just in time, but the damage to the barricade was enough to send the entire compound into a state of tension.

Heeseung, of course, had gone straight to the perimeter.

He didn’t take you with him.

You weren’t angry. You weren’t even relieved. You simply… waited.

And in his absence, they turned to you.

Because when Heeseung was gone, the throne did not stay empty.

You sat in it—his throne—at the very center of the bunker, high-backed and curved around you like it had been built for this moment. The seat still held his warmth, the scent of worn leather and incense clinging to its edges.

No one questioned it. Because you were the only other living being on earth allowed to sit there.

And oh, how they moved around you.

The moment you shifted, someone was there. You asked for juice—it was in your hand before you could blink. A bowl of fruits? Rested at your side before you even finished the sentence.

They watched your every breath like it held meaning.

Kneeling. Bowing. Smiling with a reverence that made your skin crawl, even as your lips curled in indulgence.

You didn’t need to lift a finger.

When the sun streamed in through the cracks of the compound roof, it kissed your shoulders like even nature obeyed. You reclined into the throne, sipping sweet juice from a silver cup, and the world bent around you.

But still—something in your chest pulsed uneasily. Because even dressed like a queen, even praised and waited on like a goddess… you were still wearing the collar. Still tethered by something unseen. Still waiting for the shadow who never let you out of his grip for long.

And when Heeseung returned—dust on his coat, jaw tense—you saw it in his eyes the second they landed on you.

Pride. Possessiveness. And a flicker of something else. Jealousy, maybe.

Not at the followers. At the throne. Because for two days, you sat in it.

Heeseung stood there a moment, his gaze roaming over you, taking in the sight of you reclining on his throne, dressed in regal attire. The sunlight streaming through the cracks in the roof cast a warm, golden glow on your shoulders, as if nature itself bowed to your presence. The world seemed to bend around you, acknowledging your power and your grace.

With a swift, authoritative gesture, Heeseung dismissed his followers. "Leave us," he commanded. "And do not return until I call for you."

The followers, seated around you, rose silently and filed out of the room, leaving you alone on the throne, confused and uncertain. The heavy steel door clicked shut behind them, sealing you in with Heeseung.

He began to walk towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. As he approached, he gripped the armrests of the throne, leaning over you, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Like a queen. Like my queen."

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through your veins. "Heeseung," you said, your voice a soft, tentative whisper. "What are you going to do?"

His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. "What do you think I'm going to do?" he asked. "I'm going to remind you who you belong to. I'm going to remind you who this throne belongs to."

Before you could respond, Heeseung's hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh with a punishing force. He pulled you up from the throne, his movements swift and authoritative.

With a fluid motion, Heeseung turned and sat down on the throne, his eyes never leaving yours. He patted his lap, a silent command for you to join him. You hesitated for a moment, but the intensity of his gaze left you no choice. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your body pressed against his, your heart pounding in your chest.

Heeseung's arms wrapped around you, one hand gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair, pulling your head back while his lips crashed down on yours in a harsh, demanding kiss, his tongue invading your mouth.

As he kissed you, his hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming, possessing. He gripped your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer to him, grinding you against his growing hardness. You could feel his cock pressing against your core.

You both ground against each other, the friction sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room filled with the sound of your combined moans and gasps.

until Heeseung suddenly pulled back, his breath ragged. "Stand up," he ordered. "And strip for me."

You exhaled slowly, pushing yourself to your feet, your eyes never leaving his. With a fluid motion, you slipped your dress off, the fabric pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your lacy panties.

Heeseung's gaze ate you up, his eyes roaming over your body with a possessive intensity. You could feel his hunger and it left you trembling, your body responding to his silent command.

With a swift, almost brutal motion, Heeseung unzipped his pants, pulling his boxers down just enough for his cock to slip out. He began to jerk himself off, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze intense. The sight of him, so completely in control, left you breathless, your body aching for him.

You stood there, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, your eyes locked on his, unable to look away, unable to break the intense, almost hypnotic connection between you.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you slipped your hands down to your thighs, your fingers brushing against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You could feel the heat of his gaze that emanated from him, and it left you trembling.

Heeseung leans back on the throne, his legs wide, his body taking up space, commanding attention, demanding submission. He bit his lower lip, eyes roaming over your body, taking in every inch of your exposed flesh, every curve, every line, every mark.

And then, with a swift, almost brutal motion, he lashed out, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you towards him, guiding you back onto his lap, your body pressing against his, your thighs straddling his, your core pressing against his hardness.

"You want this, don't you?" he asked as he began to move his hips, grinding his cock against your clit.

You only whimpered, your voice a pleading moan, as you moved with him, your hips grinding against his.

He took his time, his movements as he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your most intimate place to his hungry gaze. "Sit on it," he commanded.

You hesitated for a moment, before you hovered above him, your knees on either side of his thighs, your body poised and ready.

Heeseung positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your folds, then you lowered yourself onto him, your body stretching to accommodate his size. You could feel every ridge, every vein, every inch.

As you took him inch by inch, both of you moaned, Heeseung's was a deep, guttural rumble, while yours was a high, desperate plea.

"Feels like heaven baby," he whined as he leaned in close. "You were made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to please me."

You moaned in response, a sound of pure, unfiltered ecstasy, as you took him deeper, your body adjusting to his size.

"Shit," you gasped, your voice a raspy, desperate plea, as you took the final inch, your body pressing against his, your clit grinding against his pelvis, a sensation that left you dizzy and wanting more. "So big..."

Your words boosted Heeseung's ego, a huge smile stretching across his lips as he grabbed your waist and began to use you, lifting you up and down.

"Mmm, you like that, don't you? You love my big cock, don't you?" he snickered. "You love having a boyfriend who's big, who keeps spoiling you, fucking you so good that you can't walk. You're so lucky, you know that? So fucking lucky."

You could only hold onto his shirt, screaming out, your fingers gripping the fabric with a punishing force, your body convulsing with each deep thrust, your thighs sore from the relentless movement.

"Please," you shouted, your voice raspy as you continued to ride him.

"Love being my good little slut, don't you?" he growled, "you love choking on it. You love getting fucked on it. You're so pathetic. So fucking helpless."

You whimpered, the sensation of him, hard and insistent, filling you completely, leaving you breathless, your body aching, your mind reeling. "Yes," you gasped, your voice a raspy, desperate plea. "Yes, I love it. I love you. I love your cock. I love everything about you!"

Heeseung's hands moved to your ass, his fingers spreading your cheeks, exposing you to his hungry gaze. "Thought so."

As you continued to ride him, you realized you had become accustomed to his size, his length, his girth. It felt like hell and heaven, a cruel limbo of two realms. And there was no escaping that reality.

You lost track of time after that.

You had turned into something shaped by his hands. By his voice. By the way he looked at you like you were the final holy thing left in a world already damned.

Heeseung sat with you often—on the throne, in his bed, in the quiet gardens behind the bunker, where the last flowers bloomed under poisoned skies. His hand always rested on your thigh. His voice always found your ear.

“My perfect little lamb,” he would murmur, brushing his lips over your temple. “They’d all die for you now, you know. Every last one of them.”

You didn’t ask if that included him. You already knew the answer.

Because he wouldn’t die for you.

He’d burn the world for you.

And make you watch.

There was no freedom. There was no before.

Just this: soft silk robes and blood-washed stones, candlelit prayers, your name whispered like it meant salvation. You were loved. You were feared.

You were his.

And one night, as he held you close with your back to his chest, voice low and sleep-heavy, you heard it again:

“You saved them. You saved me.”

He kissed the base of your neck, just beneath the collar.

“And I’ll never let you go.”