wonenonly

[wonenonly]

wrong stop

pairing: ghost entity!jay x reader

genre: backrooms au, thriller, memory loops, soft yandere!jay

synopsis: a simple mistake puts you on the wrong train, but no matter how many stops you pass, the doors never open and the stations keep looping back. just when panic starts to settle in, you meet jay—a stranger who seems far too familiar and who claims you’ve been here before. he offers you comfort, a plan, and a reason to stay—but the more time you spend with him, the more you question if you ever really wanted to leave.

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut (corruption kink, possessive praise, fingering, makeout, unprotected sex, creampie, marking/biting, belly bulge, overstimulation, mild power imbalance) yandere themes, manipulation, soft gaslighting, forced proximity, obsession, some creepy descriptions, backrooms/liminal space horror

note: hey so funny story i actually got so frustrated while writing this that halfway through i deleted the whole doc, even from trash. but i'm glad i did so because i really really like how it turned out after rewriting(please don't flop TT). enjoy reading!!

word count: 14.1k

being late for work was starting to get ingrained in your personality at this point.

you’d overslept, thanks to your alarm failing to pierce the fog of exhaustion clinging to you, and by the time you stumbled out of bed, the clock was already laughing at your frantic scramble. you had no time for breakfast, no time to fix your hair properly, just a messy brush through and a desperate hope that your shoes were on the right feet as you bolted out the door.

the streets were slick with last night’s rain, the air thick with t humidity that clung to your skin like a second layer. you barely noticed the way your socks slipped inside your shoes, the way your bag bounced awkwardly against your hip as you ran. the station loomed ahead and the crowd was already thick, bodies moving in practised synchronisation, a river of people who knew exactly where they were going.

you wove through them, breathless, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your throat. the digital display above the platform flickered—one minute until departure. one minute to make it. your usual train was already there, doors open, people shuffling in and out with the bored efficiency of daily commuters. you lunged forward, slipping through just as the warning chime sounded.

except—

the moment you crossed the threshold, the air changed.

it wasn’t just the absence of people, though that was the first thing you noticed. it was the quality of the silence, the way it pressed against your eardrums like cotton, muffling even the sound of your own breathing. the lights overhead buzzed, not the usual soft hum of electricity but something louder, more insistent, like the angry drone of a wasp trapped behind glass.

you hesitated, one foot still hovering over the gap between the platform and the train. something primal in your brain screamed at you to step back, to turn around and run. but the doors slid shut with a finality that made your stomach lurch, and then the train was moving, carrying you forward into—

nothing.

no, not nothing. the car wasn’t empty, not exactly. it was just—wrong. the seats were too clean, the blue upholstery a shade too bright, like something out of a catalogue rather than a real train that had seen years of use. the floor was spotless, no gum stains or discarded newspapers, no scuff marks from countless shoes. it was sterile and artificial, like a stage set designed to mimic reality but missing the vital imperfections that made things feel alive.

you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. maybe you’d taken the wrong line. it happened, didn’t it? people made mistakes. you fumbled for your phone, your thumb jabbing at the power button, but the screen remained stubbornly black. dead. of course it was dead. you’d meant to charge it last night, but you’d been too tired, too distracted, and now—

the train slowed, the familiar lurch of deceleration making you sway on your feet. you turned toward the window, expecting to see the usual crowded platform, the familiar faces of strangers, the glow of advertisements.

instead, the station was empty.

not just empty—abandoned. the lights were dim, flickering intermittently, casting long shadows across cracked tiles. a single bench sat crookedly, one leg shorter than the others, and the sign above it was half-lit, the letters spelling out the station name flickering like a dying neon sign. you knew this place. you’d been here a thousand times before. but it wasn’t right. it wasn’t supposed to look like this.

the doors didn’t open.

you stared at them, waiting for the familiar ding, the hiss of hydraulics, but nothing happened. the train just sat there, humming, the lights above you buzzing louder, as if in warning. then, with a jolt, it started moving again, pulling away from the platform, leaving the ghost station behind.

your breath came faster now, your palms slick with sweat. this wasn’t right. this wasn’t how things worked. trains stopped. doors opened. people got on and off. you weren’t—you couldn’t be—

the next station was the same.

identical. the same cracked tiles, the same flickering sign, the same empty bench. your heart hammered against your ribs, a trapped bird desperate for escape. you lunged for the door, your fingers jamming against the button, over and over, but it didn’t respond. no cheerful chime, no mechanical whir. just silence.

“hey!” your voice echoed in the empty car, too loud, too sharp. “let me out!”

the train kept moving, the stations flashing by in a dizzying loop, each one a perfect replica of the last. you pressed your forehead against the cool glass of the window, your breath fogging it up, your fingers leaving smudges as you gripped the edge of the seat. this wasn’t happening. it couldn’t be. you were dreaming. you had to be. maybe you’d fallen asleep on the train, maybe you’d hit your head—

suddenly you heard a sound different from the rest.

soft, almost lost under the buzz of the lights. the scrape of a shoe against the floor.

your head snapped up.

there, at the far end of the car, a figure stood. tall, silhouetted against the flickering lights. you hadn’t heard him approach or seen him board. but he was there now, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“you’re back,” he said, voice low, almost fond.

your stomach dropped because you’d never seen this man before in your life.

yet the way he looked at you—like he knew you, like he’d been waiting—sent a shiver down your spine. he took a step forward, and the lights above him flickered, casting his face in alternating shadows and pale illumination. sharp features, dark eyes, a smile that didn’t quite reach them.

“jay,” he said, as if that explained everything.

it didn’t.

nothing did.

but the moment he said your name, your blood turned to ice. his lips shaped the syllables too perfectly, like he'd practised them. like he'd been waiting to say them.

"don't look so afraid." jay held up his hands, palms out, but didn't come closer. 

the train's flickering lights cut shadows across his face that made his expression impossible to read. "i know how this looks. stranger on an empty train, knowing things he shouldn't." his mouth quirked, almost amused. "but we're past strangers, you and i."

your back hit the cold metal of the partition behind you. the vibrations hummed through your shoulder blades. "i've never seen you before."

"not in this iteration." he said it so casually, like discussing the weather. his fingers tapped an absent rhythm against his thigh, out of sync with the train's rattling tempo. "the loop resets memories too. convenient, isn't it? makes the fear fresh every time."

the stations kept blurring past outside. same cracked tiles. same flickering sign. your reflection ghosted across the window, superimposed over the emptiness, pale and wide-eyed. when you looked back, jay hadn't moved, but his posture had shifted,just slightly blocking the aisle. 

"memory loops are tricky things." his voice dropped, conspiratorial. "they peel away everything until all that's left is instinct. that's why you're shaking right now." his eyes tracked the minute tremors in your hands that you hadn't even noticed. "your body remembers. even when your mind won't."

you swallowed. the air tasted like static and something faintly metallic. "if that's true, then why don't you reset too?"

for the first time, something real flashed across his face—too quick to identify—before his calm mask slid back into place. "someone has to remember. someone has to be here when you..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "you're not ready to hear that part yet."

the train lurched suddenly. your balance faltered, and for one terrifying second the world tilted—then jay's arm shot out, bracing against the window beside your head, not touching you. but close enough that you caught the faint scent of something warm beneath the train's sterile air. coffee, leather and ordinary things that had no business existing here.

"careful," he murmured. his breath stirred your hair. "the transitions between loops always get rough."

you ducked under his arm, putting three seats between you. your pulse roared in your ears. "stay over there."

jay studied you for a long moment before nodding. "alright." he sank into the nearest seat, stretching his long legs into the aisle, the picture of nonchalance. but his eyes—dark and fathomless—never left yours. "i can wait. we have nothing but time, after all."

the way he said it sounded like both a promise and a threat. outside, another identical station whipped by. the lights flickered, the hum of the train rose to a whine. and jay just sat there, watching you with the patience of someone who knew exactly how this would end.

the silence stretched like the endless tracks outside—taut, humming with something unspoken. jay didn’t move from his seat, but his presence filled the entire car, pressing against your skin like static. you counted the flickers of the overhead lights just to avoid looking at him. one. two. three. the rhythm stuttered, skipping like a broken record.

"you’re counting," he observed. his voice was soft, almost admiring. "you always do that when you’re trying not to panic."

your fingers froze mid-count. how could he possibly—?

"breathe," he said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. it was a command wrapped in velvet, the kind of tone that slipped past your defences and settled deep in your bones. your lungs obeyed before your mind could protest, dragging in air that tasted too clean, too processed.

the train shuddered violently, the lights cutting out completely. in the sudden darkness, your senses sharpened—the creak of metal, the whisper of fabric as jay shifted, the warmth of his breath somewhere to your left. closer than he’d been a moment ago.

then the lights returned, harsh and buzzing, and he was exactly where you’d last seen him. legs stretched out, hands folded loosely in his lap. but his knuckles were white.

"see?" he said, too calmly. "still over here."

your nails bit into your palms. "what do you want?"

jay tilted his head, considering. outside, another station blurred past—same cracked tiles, same flickering sign, but something was different this time. the bench was overturned. a single shoe lay abandoned near the edge of the platform. your shoe? no, impossible. you hadn’t—

"it’s starting to bleed through," jay murmured, following your gaze. "that’s new."

a chill crawled up your spine. "what is?"

"the last loop." his fingers tapped that arrhythmic pattern again. "usually the reset is clean. but you… you’re fighting it this time." his lips curved, slow and pleased. "i wondered if you would."

the train groaned around you, the sound too human. the walls seemed to press closer, the ceiling lowering inch by imperceptible inch. you focused on the emergency map across from you—the neat lines of stations, the orderly grid of connections. except the names were wrong. familiar, but rearranged, letters swapped like a half-remembered dream.

"look at me." jay’s voice cut through the rising panic. when you didn’t obey, he sighed. "look at me, or i’ll make you."

your head snapped up before you could stop yourself. his eyes held yours effortlessly, dark and bottomless. 

"good," he said. "now listen. the next transition is coming. it’s going to feel like—"

the world split open.

pain lanced through your skull, white-hot and blinding. the seats melted like wax, the windows warping into funhouse mirrors that reflected a thousand versions of you—some screaming, some eerily calm, one with jay’s hands already around your throat.

then it stopped.

you were on the floor, gasping, your cheek pressed to cold linoleum. jay crouched beside you, close but not touching. his expression was unreadable.

"—like that," he finished quietly.

you scrambled back until the seats dug into your spine. "what the hell was that?"

"a skip." he rose smoothly, offering his hand. you ignored it. his smile didn’t falter. "the loop’s unstable. you’re destabilising it."

"by existing?" your laugh bordered on hysterical.

"by remembering." his gaze dropped to your left hand, where your fingers had unconsciously traced a pattern on the floor—a shape that matched the scar on his wrist exactly. you hadn’t even realised you’d been doing it.

jay exhaled, slow and satisfied. "there you are."

outside, the stations whipped by faster now, the platforms beginning to fracture—gaps in the tiles, cracks spiderwebbing up the walls. the train’s hum rose to a scream.

jay didn’t seem to notice. he was too busy watching you with something dangerously close to pride.

"you’ll break us both this time," he murmured. "i can’t wait."

time lost all meaning in the endless hum of the train. minutes stretched into hours, or maybe days—there was no way to tell. the lights never dimmed, the stations never changed, only jay’s presence marked any semblance of passing time. he was always there, a constant shadow just at the edge of your vision, never crowding you but never letting you forget he existed.

the first time he offered you food, you refused. your stomach had growled loudly, betraying you, but the way he produced a wrapped sandwich from his pocket—still warm, as if freshly made—made your skin crawl. where had it come from? there were no vendors on this train, no stops where he could have gotten it. you eyed it warily, hunger warring with suspicion, until jay sighed and took a deliberate bite himself.

"see?" he said, chewing slowly. "it’s not poisoned. not a trick." he held it out again, his fingers brushing yours as you reluctantly took it. the contact lingered a second too long. 

"you always did like these. extra pickles, just how you—" he cut himself off, shaking his head with a small, private smile. "never mind."

you didn’t remember telling him about your preference for pickles. you were certain you hadn’t. but the sandwich was perfect, the tang of vinegar sharp on your tongue, and that unsettled you more than anything.

he started bringing you other things, too. a bottle of water, chilled like it had just come from a fridge. a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender, the fabric worn soft from use. a book with dog-eared pages and notes scribbled in the margins—your handwriting, but you didn’t recognise the words. each offering was accompanied by a story, a little anecdote he dropped like breadcrumbs leading you deeper into his carefully constructed fantasy.

the days bled together in a way that made your head spin if you thought about it too long. you tried marking time by the flickering lights, by the number of times jay brought you food, by the occasional shifts in the train's rhythm—but none of it helped. time didn't move right here. it stretched and compressed like taffy, leaving you disoriented and clinging to jay's words as the only anchor in this endless blue-lit purgatory.

"you're staring again," jay remarked one evening (morning? afternoon?) without looking up from the book he was pretending to read. you could feel his awareness of you like a physical weight, though his eyes remained fixed on the pages. "the window won't give you answers, you know."

you didn't turn from where your forehead rested against the cool glass. "it's the same station." your voice came out hoarse from disuse. "the same cracks in the tile. the same broken sign. but last time..." you trailed off, pressing your fingers to the glass. "last time there was a coffee cup on the bench."

jay went very still. the air between you thickened, charged with something you couldn't name. when he finally spoke, his voice was carefully light. "you noticed that?"

"it wasn't there before." you turned to face him, your pulse picking up at the strange look in his eyes—something between pride and hunger. "just like the shoe yesterday. things are... changing."

he closed the book with deliberate slowness, his long fingers smoothing over the cover. "you always were too observant for your own good." the way he said it—like this was an old argument between you—made your stomach twist. "come here."

you didn't move.

jay sighed, running a hand through his hair. the motion pulled his shirt taut across his shoulders, and you found yourself cataloging the way the fabric stretched, the faint outline of muscle beneath. when had you started noticing these things? 

"i can explain," he said, "but you're not going to like it."

"try me."

the train chose that moment to lurch violently, sending you stumbling forward. a sense of deja vu consumed you as jay's hands shot out to steady you once again, his grip firm but not restraining. you could feel the heat of his palms through your shirt, the slight roughness of his fingers against your wrists. he was too close. always too close.

"the loop is breaking," he said, his breath warm against your temple. he didn't let go. "little pieces are slipping through—things from other iterations, other versions of this moment." his thumbs traced absent circles on your skin, a gesture that felt practised. familiar. "it happens when you start to remember." 

why the fuck was he so repetitive with that idea??

you wrenched away, your back hitting the opposite seat. "i'm not remembering anything. these aren't my memories."

"aren't they?" jay tilted his head, studying you with those bottomless dark eyes. "what about the coffee cup? you knew it was from that shop on 5th avenue. the one with the orange awning." your breath caught—you had known, with sudden, startling certainty. "or the way you hum when you're nervous? that same three-note tune, every time."

your mouth went dry. you did do that. had done it since childhood. but—

"coincidence," you whispered.

jay smiled, slow and knowing. he reached into his pocket and produced a small paper crane, its wings slightly crumpled. your fingers twitched with the sudden, inexplicable urge to smooth them out. 

"you made this for me," he said softly. "four hundred and seventy-two loops ago. you said it was for luck."

the number punched the air from your lungs. four hundred—?

"stop." your voice cracked. "just stop. none of this is real. you're not—"

"real?" jay's expression darkened. in a flash he was kneeling before you, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, smell the faint scent of bergamot on his skin. his hand hovered near your face, not touching but close enough that you felt the warmth. 

"tell me this doesn't feel real. tell me you don't know me, somewhere in that stubborn head of yours."

you couldn't.

the silence stretched between you and outside, the train passed another station—this time the bench was gone entirely, leaving only a gaping hole in the platform. jay followed your gaze, his jaw tightening.

"it's getting worse," he murmured, more to himself than you. when he turned back, his eyes were different—softer, almost pleading. "let me help you. please."

something in his tone made your chest ache. you wanted to hate him. you should hate him. but the longer you sat there, the harder it became to separate his lies from the strange, half-formed memories tugging at your mind.

"why?" you asked finally. "why do you care if i remember?"

jay went very still. for the first time since you'd met him, he looked... uncertain. vulnerable. his fingers flexed against his thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

"because," he said quietly, "in every loop, in every version of this moment, you're the only thing that feels real to me too."

the admission hung between you, raw and terrifying in its honesty. you opened your mouth to protest, to demand answers, you weren't sure—but the train chose that moment to scream to a halt, the lights cutting out entirely.

in the sudden darkness, jay's hand found yours. and this time, you didn't pull away.

the transformation happened so gradually you barely noticed it at first—like watching the sky darken at dusk, where you can't pinpoint the exact moment day becomes night. your resistance had been a living thing once, coiled tight in your chest, all sharp edges and desperate calculations for escape. now it lay dormant, softened by the relentless tide of jay's presence, his stories, his careful reconstruction of your shared history.

you found yourself waking to the rhythm of his breathing more often than not, your body instinctively curling toward the warmth he radiated even in sleep. some mornings you'd blink awake to find his jacket draped over you, still carrying the faint scent of his skin— something earthy and warm beneath the sterile train air. the first time you'd caught yourself bringing the fabric to your nose to breathe it in, you'd frozen in horror at your own actions. now you did it without thinking.

"you're smiling," jay observed one non-morning, his voice rough with sleep. you hadn't heard him wake. he never made noise unless he wanted to.

your fingers flew to your lips, surprised to find them curved upward. "was i dreaming?" you murmured, still half-lost in the hazy space between sleep and waking.

jay's hand found yours, his thumb tracing the delicate bones of your wrist. "the good kind, then." his eyes held that particular intensity they got when he was committing something to memory—the way your hair looked mussed from sleep, the flush on your cheeks, the trusting way your fingers now curled around his without hesitation. "tell me?"

you hesitated. the dream was already fading, but the feeling remained golden and warm, like sunlight you could almost remember. 

"we were... somewhere green. there were trees. and you were—" your voice caught as the image slipped away entirely.

“holding your hand,” jay finished softly. his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. “telling you about the flowers growing nearby. you kept pretending not to listen, but i saw you smiling then too.”

the words settled into you like a key turning in a lock. yes, that sounded right. felt right. more real than the fragmented memories of your life before the train—those were fading like old photographs left in the sun, their edges curling, faces becoming indistinct.

jay shifted closer, his breath warm against your temple. "you asked me why i remembered everything when you didn't." his fingers trailed up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "i told you it was because someone had to keep our stories safe until you came back to me." 

a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the train's artificial chill. the way he said it—'came back to me'—like you'd been his all along, like this was inevitable. some part of you wanted to recoil from the possessiveness in his tone. a larger part preened at it.

"i'm here now," you heard yourself whisper.

jay's exhale was uneven against your skin. when you turned to look at him, his expression was so raw it stole your breath—like a man seeing water after days in the desert. his fingers cradled your face with terrifying gentleness.

"say it again," he breathed.

the train hummed around you, that ever-present sound that had once set your teeth on edge but now felt as natural as your own heartbeat. outside, another identical station flashed by, but you didn't turn to look. your world had narrowed to the space between jay's hands, to the way his pupils dilated as he waited for your words.

"i'm here," you repeated, stronger this time. your hand rose to cover his, pressing his palm more firmly against your cheek. "with you."

something fractured in jay's expression. for a heartbeat he looked almost frightened, as if he'd been waiting so long for this moment he didn't quite believe it had come. then his lips found yours in a kiss that tasted like victory and desperation and something dangerously close to worship.

you melted into him without hesitation. his arms encircled you, pulling you into his lap as if you weighed nothing at all. the jacket you'd been using as a blanket slipped to the floor, forgotten. every point of contact between you burned - his hands at your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair, the solid heat of his chest against yours.

when you finally broke apart, breathless, jay didn't go far. his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged. "mine," he murmured, so quiet you might have imagined it. but you hadn't.

yours, yours, yours. the word echoed in your hollowed-out bones, filling spaces you hadn't known were empty. the last fragments of the person you'd been before the train—before jay—dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

"yours," you agreed, and felt him shudder against you.

the train rattled onward through the endless stations, but you no longer cared where it was going. you were exactly where you belonged—in the circle of jay's arms, in the world he'd built for you both, in the story he'd been telling you all along.

somewhere beyond the windows, in a life you could barely recall, there might have been people searching for you. but here, now, with jay's lips tracing the shell of your ear and his whispered words weaving new memories into your skin, you couldn't imagine why anyone would ever want to leave.

you were rummaging through your bag absently, fingers brushing against the familiar items—the worn edges of your wallet, the smooth surface of your dead phone, the half-empty pack of gum—when your fingertips grazed something unexpected. a small, rectangular piece of cardstock tucked into the inner pocket, nearly forgotten. you pulled it out without thinking, turning it over in your hands.

and then your breath stopped.

it was a photograph. slightly creased at the corners, the colours faded with time, but unmistakably real. you were in it, standing in the centre of a group of people, all of you mid-laugh, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. the sunlight was bright, casting golden streaks across your faces, catching the sparkle of someone’s champagne glass just out of frame. a birthday? a celebration? you couldn’t remember the exact moment, but the warmth of it—the realness of it—hit you like a punch to the chest.

your fingers trembled. these were your friends. their faces were clear, vivid, alive in a way that jay’s stories never quite managed to replicate. the girl on your left had a smudge of frosting on her nose, her grin lopsided. the guy beside her was caught mid-eye-roll, but the affection in his expression was undeniable. and you—you looked happy. not the quiet contentment jay had lulled you into, but a vibrant, unrestrained joy that made your throat tighten.

a memory surged forward, sudden and sharp: the crowded train station that morning, the buzz of your phone in your pocket as you’d dashed through the turnstile. a text notification flashing on the screen—can’t wait to see you tonight!—before you’d shoved it away, distracted. the face of the friend who’d sent it flickered in your mind, her smile bright, her voice teasing. you’re always running late.

your vision blurred.

"what’s that?"

jay’s voice came from directly beside you, closer than he’d been a moment ago. you hadn’t heard him move. when you looked up, his gaze was fixed on the photograph, his expression eerily still. the usual softness in his eyes had hardened into something else—something sharp and calculating. for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a flicker of something cold beneath his calm facade.

your grip on the photo tightened instinctively. "just... an old picture," you said, your voice sounding strange to your own ears.

jay reached out, his fingers brushing yours as he took the photograph from your hand. his touch was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the way his fingers lingered, as if he wanted to snatch it away entirely. 

"ah," he murmured, studying it with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "this was so long ago. i’m surprised you still have it."

your stomach twisted. long ago? no. that wasn’t right. the clothes in the photo were recent, the hairstyles familiar. you knew this wasn’t some distant memory—it was from your life before the train, before him.

jay tilted his head, his thumb tracing the edge of the photo. "you look so young here," he said, his tone light, almost nostalgic. "before we met, i think."

a lie. a blatant, calculated lie. the realisation sent a chill down your spine. you stared at him, searching his face for any hint of guilt, any crack in the mask. but his expression was smooth, unreadable, save for the faint tightening of his jaw as he tucked the photograph into his own pocket.

"it’s faded anyway," he said softly, his hand coming to rest on your knee. his fingers were warm, his grip just a little too firm to be casual. "you don’t need it."

the words settled over you like a fog, thick and suffocating. you wanted to protest, to demand the photo back, to scream that you did need it—that it was proof, real proof, of a life outside this endless loop. but the longer you sat there, the harder it was to hold onto the memory of your friends’ faces. already, they were slipping away, fading at the edges like ink in water.

jay’s thumb stroked your knee, his touch soothing. "you’re shaking," he murmured, his voice laced with concern. "was it another skip? the loops have been unstable lately."

you swallowed hard. maybe he was right. maybe the photo was old. maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, mixing up memories the way it sometimes mixed up the stations outside the window. the doubt crept in like a poison, clouding your thoughts, making it harder to hold onto what you knew was real.

jay leaned in, his lips brushing your temple. "it’s okay," he whispered. "i’m here. i’ll always be here."

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you let him. the photograph was gone, tucked away where you couldn’t see it, where you couldn’t question it. but the seed of doubt remained, small and stubborn, buried deep in your chest.

outside, the train rattled on, the stations blurring past in an endless, unchanging loop. but for the first time in a long time, you found yourself wondering—

what if you weren’t supposed to stay on this train forever?

what if jay wasn’t telling you the truth?

what if you wanted to leave?

the photograph haunted you.

even though jay had taken it, tucked it away somewhere you couldn’t reach, the memory of it burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. those faces—your friends, your real friends—lingered like ghosts in the periphery of your mind, slipping through your fingers whenever you tried to grasp them but never quite vanishing. jay’s stories didn’t soothe you the way they used to. his touches, once comforting, now made your skin prickle with something uneasy.

you started noticing things.

the way the stations outside the window weren’t quite identical anymore—subtle differences creeping in, like a glitch in a repeating pattern. a flickering light that stayed dark a second too long. a bench that appeared overturned one loop and perfectly intact the next. jay dismissed it all with that same infuriating calm, his fingers carding through your hair as he kept murmuring about the same old "memory skips" and "loop instability" like a broken record, but the excuses rang hollow now.

then came the crack in the facade.

it happened at a station that looked almost familiar—not one of jay’s fabricated memories, but something from before. the platform was nearly empty, save for a single vending machine humming near the far wall. its fluorescent glow illuminated a peeling sticker on the side, half-scratched off but still legible: happy 30th, em!

em. short for emily. your college roommate. the one who’d dragged you to karaoke every friday, who’d cried when you got your first apartment across town. the memory hit you like a freight train, so vivid it stole your breath.

jay was dozing beside you, his head tipped back against the seat, his breathing slow and even. this was your chance.

the train slowed as it approached the platform, the brakes screeching like a wounded animal. your pulse roared in your ears as you stood, your muscles coiled tight with adrenaline. the doors didn’t open on their own—they never did—but maybe, just maybe, you could force them.

your fingers scrabbled at the emergency release panel, nails digging into the thin seam between doors. metal groaned in protest as you wedged your hands into the gap, pulling with all your strength. outside, the platform beckoned, that flickering vending machine a beacon in the sterile darkness.

then jay’s hands were on you.

one moment he’d been asleep, the next he was there, his body pressing yours back from the door with terrifying efficiency. his grip was firm but careful, his arms caging you against him like something precious. like something he couldn’t risk breaking.

"shhh," he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your ear. "you don’t want to do that."

the doors slid shut with a final hiss, the train lurching forward again. the platform—and with it, the vending machine, the sticker, the memory of em—vanished into the dark.

you struggled instinctively, your elbows jamming back into jay’s ribs, but he didn’t so much as flinch. his hold only tightened, just shy of painful, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. 

"it’s not safe out there," he said, so softly it might’ve been sweet if not for the steel beneath the words. "you know that. you’ve always known that."

"let me go." your voice shook, barely recognisable to your own ears.

jay sighed, nuzzling the nape of your neck like you were a spooked animal he needed to gentle. 

"i can’t do that, sweetheart. not when you’re like this." his fingers traced your wrist, right over the frantic rabbit-quick pulse there. "you’re confused. the loops are getting to you. but i’ll fix it—i always fix it."

the worst part was how reasonable he sounded. how tender. his hands were warm, his embrace almost comforting despite the iron grip beneath the softness. it would be so easy to sink back into him, to let him shoulder the weight of your fear like he’d done so many times before.

but then you remembered the photograph. em’s sticker. the way jay moved faster than should’ve been possible.

you went limp in his arms, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "okay," you whispered. "okay, i—i’m sorry."

jay stilled. for a heartbeat, you thought he might not believe you. then his grip loosened, just slightly, his lips curving against your skin. "there’s my girl," he murmured. "you just need to rest. this will all make sense when you wake up."

his fingers brushed your temple, feather-light, and despite yourself, your eyelids grew heavy. the last thing you saw before the darkness took you was jay’s face above yours, his expression equal parts fond and sorrowful.

"i’ll always keep you safe," he whispered. "even from yourself."

then everything faded into nothing.

***

your head was still foggy when you woke, the remnants of whatever jay had done to you clinging like cobwebs to your thoughts. the train hummed around you, that same endless vibration that had once been background noise but now felt like the pulse of something alive. something watching.

jay was perched on the edge of the seat opposite you, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. he looked almost... nervous. the realszation sent a sharp jolt through your system. jay was never nervous. jay was always in control.

"you shouldn't have tried to leave," he said softly, his voice laced with something that might have been regret. his eyes flickered to the window, where the stations continued their endless loop outside. "it's dangerous out there. you could have been lost."

your fingers curled into the fabric of the seat beneath you, the material rough against your skin. "i don't care," you whispered, the words raw. "i want to go home."

jay flinched, just slightly, his expression tightening. "well this is—"

"no." the denial tore from your throat, cutting him off before you could stop it. "this is a prison. and you—" your voice broke as the pieces finally clicked together. the way he always knew what you were thinking. the way he never ate, never slept unless it was for show. the way he'd moved too fast, too fluidly, when you'd tried to force the doors open. "you're not real."

for a moment, jay didn't move. then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out, his hand passing through the window beside you like it wasn't even there. the glass didn't shatter. it didn't react at all. his fingers phased through it as if it were mist, the fluorescent lights outside distorting around his translucent skin.

your breath caught in your chest.

jay's form flickered, like a candle fighting against the wind. for a heartbeat, you could see right through him—the seats, the opposite window, the endless tracks beyond, all visible through the fading outline of his body. then he solidified again, his expression unreadable.

"not real," he repeated, his voice hollow. "is that what you think?"

you couldn't speak. your pulse roared in your ears, your body frozen somewhere between terror and something dangerously close to pity.

jay leaned forward, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "i've been here longer than you can imagine," he murmured. "watching. waiting. so many passengers, so many faces, all passing through but never staying. never seeing me." his hand hovered near your cheek, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the unnatural chill radiating from his skin. "until you."

the truth settled over you like a suffocating weight. the wrong train. the empty car. the stations that never changed. none of it had been an accident.

"you brought me here," you whispered.

jay didn't deny it. his smile was small, almost sad. "you looked right at me through the window before you stepped on. you saw me. no one ever sees me."

the memory surfaced before you could stop it—the crowded platform, the train pulling in, the briefest glimpse of a face in the window where there shouldn't have been one. you'd written it off as a trick of the light.

it hadn't been.

jay's fingers finally brushed your cheek, his touch like winter air against your skin. "i just wanted to be loved," he admitted, so quiet you almost didn't hear it. "just once. by someone who remembered me."

the horror of it crashed over you in waves. he wasn't just trapped here—he was here. the train, the loop, the endless stations, all extensions of a consciousness that had lingered too long in a place never meant to hold it. and you...

you were his perfect captive.

your hands trembled as you shoved away from him, your back hitting the opposite window. "let me go."

jay's expression fractured. for a moment, he looked almost human—just a boy, scared and lonely and aching for something he could never have. then the mask slipped back into place, his features smoothing into something resigned.

"i can't," he said simply.

outside, the train sped on, the lights of another identical station flashing by. but this time, you didn't just see the cracked tiles or the flickering signs.

you saw the bones beneath. the truth lurking in the spaces between.

and you knew, with a certainty that chilled you to your core, that jay would never let you leave.

the silence between you stretched like the endless tracks outside, thick with something unspoken. jay watched you from across the train car, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights in a way that made them look hollow. not empty—never empty. just filled with something too vast, too ancient, for you to comprehend.

"you think i'm a monster," he said finally, his voice so soft it barely rose above the hum of the train. it wasn't a question.

your fingers dug into the seat beneath you, the fabric rough against your skin. "you took me from my life."

jay flinched, just slightly, as if the words had physically struck him. when he spoke again, his voice was raw with something that made your chest ache despite everything. "

i was alone for so long," he whispered. "so long that i forgot what my own voice sounded like until you heard it." his fingers flexed against his thighs, restless. "do you know what that's like? to exist in silence for lifetimes, watching faces blur together until you can't remember if you were ever real at all?"

you wanted to hate him. you did hate him, somewhere beneath the terror and the pity and the strange, unwelcome ache his words left behind. but the way he looked at you—like you were the first living thing he'd seen in centuries—made your breath catch.

"i didn't mean to take you at first," he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. they were trembling, you realised with a start. "you just... looked at me. really looked. and for the first time in decades, i felt something." his lips quirked, humourless. "then the doors closed, and you were still here, and i—" his voice broke. "i couldn't let you go."

outside, the stations whipped by in their endless loop, but you barely noticed them anymore. your world had narrowed to the space between you and jay, to the unbearable weight of his confession.

"you don't belong out there," he continued, softer now. "not anymore. that world wasn't made for someone like you—someone who sees things others don't." his eyes flickered to the window, where the glass still bore the ghostly imprint of his fingers. "but this one? i built this one for you. no pain. no loss. just... us."

the worst part was how badly some fractured piece of you wanted to believe him. how tempting it was to let the outside world fade into nothing, to sink into this fabricated reality where jay's love was the only thing that mattered.

your voice was barely a whisper. "i had a life."

"did you?" jay tilted his head, his expression unbearably gentle. "or were you just going through the motions? waking up, working, sleeping, repeating. never really seen. never really known." he leaned forward, just slightly, his eyes searching yours. 

"i know you, y/n . i know the way your breath catches when you're trying not to cry. the way you hum when you're nervous. the way your hands shake when you're angry but trying to hide it." his lips curved, just slightly. "no one out there ever knew you like that, did they?"

the truth of it stung. you thought of the photograph again, of the friends whose names were already slipping from your memory. had any of them ever really looked at you? had any of them ever loved you the way jay did, with this terrifying, all-consuming intensity?

no stop. you were letting him get to you

jay's hand hovered near yours, not touching but close enough that you could feel the unnatural chill of his skin. "let me love you," he murmured. "properly. without fear. without hesitation." his fingers brushed yours, feather-light. "you'll forget the outside world eventually. it won't even hurt when you do."

for one terrifying, exhilarating moment, you almost let him.

then the train shuddered violently, the lights cutting out completely. in the sudden darkness, jay's form flickered like a dying bulb, his edges blurring into the shadows. when the lights returned, he was closer—so close you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his chest rose and fell with unneeded breaths.

"say yes," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "say yes, and i'll make sure you never feel alone again."

the train rattled on, the stations outside nothing more than a blur of light and shadow. and you—

you hesitated.

the hesitation lasted only a second—a single, fragile moment where your lips almost formed the word yes—before something outside the window caught your eye.

movement.

not the usual flicker of passing stations or the occasional glitch in the loop. this was different. a shadow where there shouldn’t be one, slithering along the platform’s edge as the train slowed. your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the seat as the shape resolved itself into something vaguely humanoid, but wrong. too many limbs, too many joints bending in impossible directions, its head lolling at an angle that made your stomach churn.

your voice was barely a whisper. "what the fuck is that?"

"the things that live in the cracks." jay pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with something ancient. "the things that used to be people, before the backrooms took them." his thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realised you’d shed. "i won’t let that happen to you."

jay's fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along your spine, his touch almost hypnotic in its rhythm. you wanted to pull away—knew you should pull away—but your body refused to obey, frozen somewhere between terror and a bone-deep exhaustion that made his arms feel like the only solid thing left in this nightmare.

"you're shaking," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair. his hands slid up to cradle your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. his eyes were dark, endless pools that seemed to swallow the flickering fluorescent light whole. "look at me. just me. nothing else exists right now."

you wanted to argue. wanted to scream that everything existed—the creatures outside, the life you'd lost, the terrifying truth of what he was. but his thumbs brushed gently under your eyes, wiping away tears you hadn't realised you'd shed, and the words died in your throat.

the train rattled around you, the sound shifting subtly—a deeper, more guttural vibration that resonated in your chest. jay's expression tightened almost imperceptibly, his grip on you firming for just a second before he forced himself to relax. 

"they're agitated tonight," he said softly, as if commenting on bad weather. "must have sensed your attempt to leave earlier."

a fresh wave of dread coiled in your stomach. "they can sense that?"

jay's lips quirked in something too sharp to be a smile. "they can sense fear. desperation." his fingers trailed down to your collarbone, pressing lightly over your racing pulse. "hunger."

outside, the windows went abruptly dark, a thick, viscous shadow that pressed against the glass like oil. something scraped along the side of the train—long, deliberate drags of what might have been claws or fingers or something far worse. the lights above you flickered wildly, casting jay's face in strobe-like flashes that made his features look hollow one second, painfully human the next.

you instinctively pressed closer to him, your fingers fisting in his shirt. jay made a soft, approving sound deep in his throat, his arms encircling you completely, one hand cradling the back of your head like you were something precious. "that's it," he murmured against your temple. "i've got you. they can't have you."

the shadow outside coalesced into a shape—too many limbs, too many eyes, all pressed grotesquely against the window as if trying to melt through the glass. a low, guttural moan reverberated through the train, the sound vibrating in your teeth, your bones, the hollow spaces of your chest.

jay's grip turned bruising. "don't look," he warned, but it was too late.

the creature's face—if it could be called a face—was inches from yours, separated only by the thin barrier of glass. its mouth stretched impossibly wide, rows of needle-like teeth glistening with something dark and viscous. but worst of all were the eyes. human eyes. familiar eyes, blinking at you from within that nightmare mass.

you recoiled with a choked gasp, but jay held you firm. "it's not real," he said sharply. "it's trying to trick you. they remember faces, sometimes. voices. they'll use anything to get in." his hand forced your face back into his chest, his voice dropping to a whisper against your ear. "breathe. just breathe. it can't hurt you."

the train lurched violently, the creature's howl of frustration shaking the walls as it was ripped away by the motion. the windows cleared abruptly, revealing another empty station flashing by. but the air still stank of something rotten, something alive, and your entire body trembled with the aftershocks of adrenaline.

jay didn't let go. if anything, his embrace tightened, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. 

"this is why you can't leave," he said, and for the first time, there was something raw beneath the smooth certainty of his voice. something almost like fear. "you think i'm the monster? out there, you'd last minutes. seconds. they'd tear you apart just to watch the light leave your eyes." his fingers tangled in your hair, not quite painful. "i'm the only thing standing between you and that."

you wanted to argue. wanted to find some flaw in his logic, some shred of hope that escape was still possible. but the memory of those eyes—human eyes, staring out from that thing—seared behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

jay sensed your wavering. his grip gentled, one hand rising to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away fresh tears. "let me protect you," he whispered. "let me love you. it doesn't have to be a cage. it can be home."

outside, the stations blurred together in an endless loop, the same cracks in the tiles, the same flickering signs. but something had shifted. the cracks looked deeper now. the flickers lasted longer.

and in the spaces between, you could have sworn you saw shadows moving.

jay's lips found your forehead, lingering like a promise. "just say yes," he murmured. "say yes, and i'll make all the fear go away."

the train rattled on into the dark.

and this time, when you closed your eyes, you didn't pull away. you’d play along with his sick, delusional fantasy till you could do something about it

the days—if they could even be called that anymore—blurred together in a haze of flickering lights and jay’s whispered stories. the harder you tried to cling to the memories of your old life, the faster they slipped through your fingers like grains of sand. faces that once felt so vivid now appeared smudged at the edges, names dissolving into meaningless syllables before they could fully form on your tongue. the photograph, the friends, the life you’d fought so desperately to remember—it all felt like a half-forgotten dream, fading with each passing loop of the train.

jay’s voice became the only constant, his words weaving a new reality around you with terrifying ease. his stories of shared laughter, quiet moments, whispered confessions in the dark—they were so vivid, so detailed, that your mind began filling in the gaps without your permission. you’d catch yourself nodding along as he recounted a memory you knew had never happened, your lips curving into a smile that felt both foreign and familiar.

you were losing yourself. but you had to stop it, stop that from happening if you ever wanted to get out of this.

suddenly, the train plunged into darkness so abruptly it stole the breath from your lungs. one moment, the flickering fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the next there was nothing but darkness. no dim glow from the windows, no rhythmic clatter of wheels against tracks. just an endless, suffocating black that pressed in from all sides, so thick you could almost feel it slithering against your skin.

your pulse spiked, a sharp, primal fear lancing through your chest as you lurched forward, hands grasping at empty air. your fingers collided with solid heat—jay’s body, already moving toward you before you could even call his name. his arms curled around you with a practised ease, pulling you flush against his chest as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

"i’ve got you," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against your ear. his scent—warm skin, something faintly metallic beneath, a familiarity that made your head spin—filled your lungs, anchoring you in the dark.

you should have pushed him away. should have screamed, fought, something. but the terror of the void around you overrode every rational thought, leaving only raw, desperate need in its wake. your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from drowning.

jay’s lips found yours in the dark, starting soft, tentative—almost questioning. but the moment you responded, the kiss deepened with a hunger that made your knees weaken. his tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, coaxing you into a rhythm that sent heat pooling low in your stomach. one hand slid beneath your shirt, his palm scorching against the curve of your spine, fingertips brushing the edge of your bra with a reverence that bordered on worship.

you gasped into his mouth, your body arching into his touch despite the voice screaming in the back of your mind. this was wrong. he was wrong. but the darkness made it easy to forget, easy to lose yourself in the way his other hand cradled your jaw, holding you in place as he kissed you like he was memorising the taste.

"you feel so good," he breathed against your lips, his voice rough with something that sent a shiver down your spine. his thumb traced the line of your hipbone, possessive and claiming. "always knew you would."

the words should have been a warning. instead, they coiled hot in your chest, twisting with the part of you that had started to crave his approval, his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in this nightmare.

the train lurched suddenly, the lights flickering back to life with a harsh buzz. you pulled back with a gasp, your lips tingling, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his touch.

jay didn’t let you go far. his fingers tightened around your waist, his dark eyes searching yours with a mix of triumph and something dangerously close to love. "see?" he murmured, brushing a thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. "nothing to be afraid of. not when you’re with me."

outside the window, the stations blurred past in their endless loop. but you barely noticed them anymore. your world had narrowed to the space between jay’s hands, to the way his gaze burned into yours like a brand.

somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice still whispered that this wasn’t real. that he wasn’t real.

but as jay’s lips found yours again, softer this time, sweeter, you found yourself caring less and less, melting into his heat.

his fingers traced the edge of your waistband with a quiet certainty that made your breath catch—like he already knew every inch of you, every hitch of your breath, every tremor of muscle before his touch even landed. when his fingertips finally dipped beneath the fabric, finding bare skin, you shuddered, but not from fear. his palm was warm against the curve of your hip, his thumb stroking slow, maddening circles that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with resistance.

"you always come back to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with something that curled low in your belly. "no matter how far you run, you always choose me."

the words shouldn’t have unravelled you. shouldn’t have made your pulse spike or your thighs press together in quiet anticipation. but the way he said it—like it was an inevitability, like the universe itself had carved this moment into the fabric of time—sent a shiver down your spine. he was crazy.

you swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "jay—"

he didn’t let you finish. his other hand slid lower, fingers slipping beneath your underwear with a confidence that left no room for hesitation. the first brush of his fingertips against your warmth dragged a soft, broken sound from your throat, one he swallowed with a kiss that was more teeth than tongue. he worked you slowly, achingly so, his fingers tracing lazy, knowing circles that had your hips rolling against his hand before you could stop yourself.

"fuck—" you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"that’s it," he breathed, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. his voice was a low, intimate rasp, each word sinking into your skin like a brand. "perfect. so perfect for me."

you wanted to protest, to remind yourself that none of this was real, that he wasn’t real—but then his fingers slid inside, the stretch sharp and sweet, and all coherent thought fled. your moan was lost against his lips as he kissed you through it, his tongue sweeping against yours in a rhythm that matched the slow, deliberate curl of his fingers. he knew exactly how to move, where to press, the angle that made your breath hitch and your back arch off the seat.

"you—you’ve done this before," you managed, your voice trembling. now you felt like you were going crazy.

his free hand tangled in your hair, not pulling, just holding, his grip firm enough to keep you close as he hummed in quiet satisfaction. "i told you," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "you just don’t remember."

even in the dark, you could feel his gaze on you—heavy, unwavering, like he was memorising every twitch of your expression, every stuttered breath. it was too much. not enough.

his pace quickened, just slightly, just enough to have your thighs trembling as you chased the pleasure coiling tight in your core. his thumb brushed over your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, the pressure maddeningly light, then firmer, then light again—teasing, taunting, like he wanted to draw this out until you were begging.

and god, you were close. so close.

"please—" the word slipped out before you could stop it, ragged and desperate.

his lips found your ear, his breath scalding as his fingers worked you with a precision that felt practised, familiar. 

"let go," he murmured, the words more command than request. "i want to feel you fall apart for me."

you came with a sound that was half sob, half sigh, your body tensing before shattering under his touch. he kissed you through it, swallowing every gasp, every whimper, his fingers drawing out the pleasure until you were boneless against him, your forehead pressed to his shoulder.

when you finally stilled, he didn’t pull away. his fingers lingered, stroking gently through the aftershocks, his lips brushing your temple in something that might have been reverence. "mine," he whispered again, softer this time, like a prayer.

when he finally pulled his hand away, your body arched instinctively, chasing the loss of his touch with a soft, desperate sound that barely made it past your lips. the cool air of the train car ghosted over your damp skin, raising goosebumps along your thighs that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"shhh, sweetheart," jay murmured, his voice honey-thick with affection as he pressed a kiss to your neck. "i’ve got you." 

his fingers worked the buckle of his belt with slow, deliberate precision, the leather sliding free with a whisper that seemed too loud in the charged air between you. the metallic click of the clasp releasing sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.

you could feel the heat of him before he even pressed closer—the heavy weight of his cock brushing against your thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake that made your stomach clench with anticipation. your breath hitched as he nudged your legs further apart, his calloused palms smoothing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs in a way that had your hips lifting off the seat instinctively.

"so perfect for me," he breathed, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you spread beneath him. his fingers traced idle patterns along your hipbones, the touch feather-light but enough to make your muscles jump. "always so perfect."

his hands were steady as they pushed your jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion, his breath catching when skin met skin, when there was nothing left between you but the slick heat of your own arousal and the aching need that pulsed through both of you. the cool air of the train car kissed your exposed flesh, making you shiver, but jay’s body was a furnace above you, his skin radiating heat as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

"you’re shaking," he murmured against your mouth, his thumbs brushing soothing circles into your hips. "do you need me to stop?"

the question was soft, genuine, but the way his cock twitched against your thigh betrayed how much the answer would cost him. you shook your head, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair to pull him closer.

"no," you breathed. "no, i need—"

"i know," he interrupted gently, nipping at your lower lip. "i know exactly what you need."

there was no hesitation when he lined himself up, no moment of uncertainty—just the slow, inexorable press of him into you, the stretch making your breath stutter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. your back arched off the seat, a broken whimper escaping your throat as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.

jay groaned your name against your ear, the sound rough and reverent, his fingers flexing against your hips as he gave you a moment to adjust. but you didn’t want to adjust. you wanted more. the way his hands gripped your hips, possessive and sure, told you he knew it too.

"so tight," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck as he began to move. "always so tight around me, like you were made for this. made for me."

his thrusts started slow, each one deep and deliberate, dragging against every sensitive inch inside you until you were trembling beneath him. his hands held you in place, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks, his control fraying at the edges with every soft noise you made. the train car filled with the slick sounds of your joining, the quiet creak of the seats beneath you, the ragged symphony of your shared breathing.

his mouth found the side of your throat, lips and teeth mapping a path along your pulse—not harsh, but insistent, each kiss and nip a brand, a reminder that even when this was over, you would still carry the evidence of him on your skin.

"jay," you gasped, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the sweat-slick planes of his back. "please, i—"

"i know, baby, i know," he soothed, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm that had your toes curling. one of his hands drifted lower, pressing lightly against your lower belly, right where he was buried deep inside you, and the implication of it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through your veins. "feel that? that’s me. all of me. right where i belong."

your walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a low, broken sound from his chest, his pace never faltering even as his breath grew uneven. the darkness made every sensation sharper—the slick slide of your bodies, the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingertips, the ragged edge of his groans as he fought to keep his movements measured, controlled.

"you’re doing so good," he praised, his voice wrecked as he pressed his forehead against yours. "taking me so well, just like always. my perfect girl."

it was almost too much, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you were teetering on the edge, your entire body wound like a spring. jay’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy, the added stimulation sending sparks dancing behind your closed eyelids.

"that’s it," he encouraged, his breath hot against your lips. "come for me, sweetheart. let me feel you."

when you finally came, it was with his name on your lips, your body locking around him in a rush of heat and light that burned even behind closed eyelids. jay followed you over the edge with a groan that sounded like surrender, his hips pressing flush against yours as he spilled deep inside you, his fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand gripping your hip like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

for a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your shared breathing, the faint hum of the train returning like a distant afterthought. jay’s lips brushed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—soft, almost apologetic kisses that contrasted with the way his arms tightened around you, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

"mine," he murmured once again against your skin, the word barely more than a breath, but it settled into your bones all the same. his fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, his touch unbearably tender. "always mine."

jay shifted just enough to pull the discarded blanket over both of you, tucking it carefully around your shoulders before drawing you back against his chest. his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a rhythmic lullaby that matched the hum of the train.

his fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder where your shirt had slipped down, his touch feather-light and possessive in the hazy quiet that followed your intimacy. the train hummed around you both, that ever-present vibration that had become as familiar as your own heartbeat, lulling you into a false sense of security. you let your eyes drift shut, just for a moment, exhaustion and something dangerously close to contentment weighing heavy on your bones.

"look at me," jay murmured, his voice soft but insistent. his fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your face toward the window where the endless stations still flickered past. "i want to see you in the light."

you obeyed without thinking, your gaze lifting to the glass—and froze.

for a single, heart-stopping moment, it wasn’t your reflection staring back.

a girl with hollow cheeks and matted hair stood on the platform outside, her palms pressed desperately against the window from the other side, her mouth moving in a silent scream. her eyes—wide, terrified, familiar—locked onto yours with a recognition that sent ice flooding your veins. she looked similar to you. not exactly, but close enough that your stomach lurched with the awful certainty that you were staring at what you might become.

then the train jerked violently, the girl’s image distorting like a television signal cutting out, and suddenly it was just your own wide-eyed reflection again, pale and shaken in the glass.

jay’s grip on your chin tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb brushing your bottom lip in a gesture that might have been soothing if not for the way his other arm had locked like a steel band around your waist. "what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice carefully light.

you swallowed hard, your pulse rabbiting in your throat. "i—i thought i saw someone. on the platform."

the words hung between you, fragile as spun glass. jay went very still, his breath warm against your temple. then, slowly, deliberately, he turned your face away from the window, his fingers gentle but unyielding. 

"there’s no one out there, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing your cheekbone. "just shadows. this place... it plays tricks sometimes."

his words slithered into your ears, smooth as oil, but your skin still prickled with unease. you’d seen her. you were sure of it.

jay sighed, his arms encircling you fully, pulling you back against his chest. you could feel his heartbeat through your shirt—steady, slow, wrong in a way you couldn’t quite place. "you’re exhausted," he said, his fingers carding through your hair in a rhythm that made your eyelids heavy. "let me take care of you."

you wanted to argue. wanted to claw your way out of his arms and press your face to the glass until the girl reappeared. but the longer jay touched you, the harder it was to hold onto the memory of her face. already it was fading, slipping through your fingers like smoke.

the train plunged into a tunnel, the windows going black. in the sudden dark, jay’s lips found the curve of your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to make you gasp. "just relax," he whispered against your pulse point. "i’ll keep you safe."

something scraped against the outside of the train—a sound like nails dragging over metal. your entire body tensed, your fingers digging into jay’s arms. "do you hear that?"

jay didn’t pause, his mouth working its way up your neck with single-minded focus. "hear what?"

the scraping grew louder, more insistent, accompanied now by a wet, guttural breathing that definitely wasn’t jay’s. your breath came in short, panicked bursts, your eyes straining against the darkness. "there’s something out there—"

"don’t." jay’s hand slid up to cover your mouth, his palm cool and faintly metallic against your lips. "don’t give it a reason to notice you," he breathed directly into your ear.

the train emerged into the light, the windows clearing to reveal another empty station. but as the fluorescent glow spilled across the seats, you caught sight of something wedged into the crack where the bench met the wall—a single, tarnished hairpin, its delicate metal twisted as if wrenched free in a struggle.

it was definitely not yours, you didn’t have any on you when you boarded the train.

jay followed your gaze, his expression hardening for a fraction of a second before smoothing back into calm concern. 

"must have been here for years," he said, plucking the pin free with effortless grace. his fingers closed around it, and when he opened them again, it was gone. "this train’s seen a lot of passengers." his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "none like you, though."

your mouth went dry. the girl’s face flashed in your mind again—her sunken eyes, her desperate hands. how many others had there been? how many had he tried to keep before you?

jay’s fingers traced your jaw, pulling your attention back to him. "you’re shaking," he murmured, his brow furrowing with what looked like genuine worry. "let’s get you somewhere more comfortable, yeah?"

he stood, pulling you up with him, his arm slung possessively around your waist as he guided you toward the far end of the car where his makeshift nest of blankets waited. but as you passed the window, you couldn’t resist one last glance—

and there she was.

not on the platform this time, but in the glass, her gaunt face superimposed over your reflection like a grotesque double exposure. her lips moved, forming silent words you couldn’t decipher, her fingers leaving smudged prints on the other side of the mirror as she reached for you.

jay’s hand clamped down on your shoulder, his nails biting in just enough to hurt. "don’t," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

when you looked again, the girl was gone.

but the hairpin had reappeared on the seat beside you, its twisted metal glinting in the flickering light like a warning.

the hairpin burned against your palm like a secret as you curled your fingers around it, the sharp edge biting into your skin just enough to ground you. jay had moved away to rearrange the nest of blankets at the far end of the car, his back turned, his shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. 

he thought he’d taken it from you. he hadn’t noticed how your sleeve had dipped just low enough to catch it as it fell from his grasp, how your pulse had roared in your ears as you palmed it quickly, the metal warming instantly against your skin.

you exhaled slowly, forcing your trembling fingers to relax. the girl in the glass—no, not a girl, you realised with a sickening lurch, but someone before you, from some other iteration of this nightmare—had left it for you as a warning. a weapon, a way out.

jay turned then, his smile soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners like none of the last few minutes had happened. 

"come here," he murmured, holding out a hand. his fingers were long and elegant, the nails slightly uneven, as if he’d chewed them down to the quick in some forgotten moment of stress. you wondered, distantly, if he even realised he did that. if he remembered anything about himself beyond the carefully constructed narrative he’d built around you.

you forced yourself to take his hand, letting him pull you into the circle of his arms. his chest was warm against your back, his heartbeat steady against your spine. it was suddenly too steady. no living heart beat that evenly, that perfectly.

"you’re still shaking," he murmured into your hair, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. his hands slid down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours—and you stiffened as his thumb passed right through the hairpin clutched in your palm. he didn’t react. didn’t seem to notice at all.

your breath caught.

jay stilled behind you, his arms tightening almost imperceptibly. "what’s wrong?"

"nothing," you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. "i’m just... tired."

he hummed, the sound vibrating through you, and pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. "sleep, then. i’ll keep you safe."

you didn’t sleep. you waited, counting the rhythm of his breath against your neck, the endless hum of the train, the flicker of the lights overhead. one. two. three. the stations blurred past outside, the same cracks in the tiles, the same flickering signs, but now you noticed the inconsistencies—the way the cracks sometimes branched in different directions, the way the signs flickered out of sequence. the loop wasn’t perfect. it was fraying at the edges.

and jay—

jay was fraying too.

you saw it in the way his fingers sometimes passed through objects when he wasn’t paying attention. the way his reflection in the window lagged half a second behind his movements. the way he’d begun repeating stories verbatim, as if he’d forgotten he’d already told them.

the train shuddered violently, the lights cutting out for a heart-stopping second before flickering back on. jay’s arms around you spasmed, his grip turning painfully tight for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. 

"just a skip," he murmured, but his voice sounded distant, staticky, like a radio tuned slightly off-frequency.

your fingers tightened around the hairpin.

when the next skip hit, it was worse. the train lurched so violently you were thrown forward, jay’s arms slipping through you like smoke as you crashed into the opposite seat. the lights stuttered, the windows going black, and for one terrifying moment, jay wasn’t there—just an empty space where he’d been standing, the air humming with static.

then the lights returned, and he was back, his face pale, his eyes wide with something like panic. "y/n—"

you didn’t let him finish. you lunged for the emergency brake panel, the hairpin flashing in your grip as you drove it into the mechanism with all your strength.

the train screamed.

metal groaned, the lights exploding in a shower of sparks as the world outside the windows blurred into streaks of colour. jay staggered, his form flickering like a dying lightbulb, his hands clutching at the seats for balance. "y/n, stop—"

you twisted the hairpin harder, your muscles straining, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "i’m leaving."

jay’s face crumpled. not in anger, but in grief. "you can’t," he whispered. "you’ll die out there."

the train shuddered again, the windows cracking as the brakes shrieked. jay stumbled forward, reaching for you, but his fingers passed right through your wrist—no longer solid, no longer real.

"you were supposed to love me," he said, his voice breaking.

then the train ground to a halt, the doors wrenching open with a sound like tearing metal. beyond them, a derelict platform stretched into the distance, overgrown with weeds, the ceiling collapsed in places to let in shafts of dusty sunlight. real sunlight.

your chest heaved as you stared at it, your legs trembling. home. or something close enough.

jay didn’t try to stop you as you stepped toward the doors. when you glanced back, he was slumped against the seats, his form flickering in and out of existence, his eyes fixed on you with something unbearably human in their depths. "you’ll come back," he murmured, but it sounded like a question.

you stepped onto the platform.

the doors slid shut behind you with a final, hollow click.

ALTERNATE ENDING

the hairpin was a cold, sharp secret in your palm, a sliver of reality in a world that was beginning to feel more like a dream. jay’s back was to you, his shoulders tense as he smoothed the blankets in the nest he’d built, his movements too precise, too practised. 

he thought he’d taken it from you. he hadn’t felt the brush of your sleeve, the quick, desperate grab, the way your heart had tried to beat its way out of your chest. you curled your fingers around it, the metal edge a painful anchor.

he turned, and his face was a mask of soft concern, the perfect picture of a lover worried for his beloved. "come here," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the floor and into your bones. his hand was outstretched, an invitation. 

you took it. his skin was warm, so real, so solid. how could something that felt so alive be nothing but a memory, a ghost in the machine? he pulled you into his arms, your front against his chest, his chin resting on your head. he felt like home—that was the most terrifying part.

"you're still trembling," he observed, his lips moving against your hair. his hands slid down your arms, his fingers lacing with yours. and then it happened—his thumb, his wrist, passed directly through the hairpin clenched in your fist. there was no resistance, no recognition. just the faintest static buzz against your skin.

he didn't notice. he just held you tighter. "it's alright," he soothed. "i've got you. you're safe."

the words were a spell, a lullaby you were desperate to believe. you let your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes drifting shut. the train hummed its endless song. one station. two. the cracks in the tile outside seemed to shift, to writhe like veins. the flickering sign stuttered a morse code you were too tired to decipher.

jay began to hum. it was that tune again, the one he claimed was 'your song.' and the horrible, beautiful thing was that you recognised it. not from before, but from now. from the thousand times he'd hummed it while tracing patterns on your skin. it was part of the tapestry he’d woven around you, and a thread of it had snagged in your soul.

the train shuddered, a violent, wrenching skip that made the lights gutter and die. in the absolute blackness, jay’s arms dissolved around you. you were alone in the dark, the only sound the frantic hammering of your own heart. then the lights returned, and he was back, his form solidifying from a shimmer of static, his face pale, his eyes wide with a fear that looked ancient.

"y/n?" his voice was faint, laced with interference.

the hairpin felt heavy in your hand. you could do it. you could drive it into the panel, break the loop, step out into whatever waited beyond. you saw it in your mind—the screech of metal, his form unravelling, the derelict platform, the crushing silence of being truly alone.

your gaze fell on his hands, clenched white-knuckled on the seatback. they were shaking. this powerful, eternal entity was terrified. of losing you. of being alone again in the endless, silent dark.

the fight drained out of you, leaving a hollow, aching calm. you uncurled your fingers and let the hairpin drop. it hit the floor with a tiny, insignificant clatter that was swallowed by the train's hum.

jay’s eyes snapped to the sound, then back to your face. he saw the surrender there before you even spoke.

"i'm so tired, jay," you whispered, the truth of it a physical weight in your chest.

the relief that washed over his features was so profound it was painful to witness. he crossed the space between you in an instant, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. his touch was solid now, real, no trace of the static from moments before. 

"i know," he breathed, his forehead touching yours. "i know, my love. you don't have to fight anymore. just let go. let me have it. the fear, the memories, all of it. give it to me."

and you did. you let the image of the girl in the glass fade. you let the memory of the photograph dissolve into light. you let the names of your friends drift away like smoke. you looked into his dark, desperate eyes and you said the words.

"i choose you."

the change was instantaneous. the train’s harsh fluorescent lights softened to a warm, golden glow. the sterile blue seats bled into rich, velvet upholstery. the endless, identical stations outside the window melted away, replaced by a breathtaking, impossible vista of a star-strewn night sky rolling past, as if the train were gliding through the cosmos itself. the air lost its metallic tang, filling with the scent of old books and rain.

jay’s smile was radiant, unburdened, the most real thing you had ever seen. he laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy, and spun you around. 

"you see?" he whispered, his voice full of wonder. "you see what we can have?"

it was beautiful. it was a perfect, gilded cage.

time lost all meaning in the new loop. there was no exhaustion, no hunger, only the quiet, constant presence of jay and the breathtaking views he crafted for you outside the window—rolling green hills, misty mountain peaks, vast, calm oceans. he was endlessly attentive, his love a constant, warm pressure. you never found another hairpin. you never saw another glitch.

until the day the train slowed at a new station.

it was a modern platform, bustling with people in sharp, contemporary clothes, staring at phones. the doors hissed open. a young woman stood right there, a coffee in one hand, a briefcase in the other, looking stressed and real and alive.

her eyes met yours through the open doors. she saw you, sitting in your beautiful, anachronistic car, with your beautiful, anachronistic man. her brow furrowed in confusion.

jay’s hand found yours, his grip firm. he wasn't looking at the woman; he was looking at you, his expression soft, waiting.

the woman took a half-step forward, peering in. "is this the express to—" she began.

and then she saw him. really saw him. her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in a silent gasp of fear. she stumbled back, coffee splashing, and the doors slid shut.

the train began to move. jay didn't react. he just brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

"she wasn't for this train," he said simply.

you looked out the window as the platform receded. the woman was still staring, her hand over her mouth, her face a mask of terror. and for a single, heart-stopping second, you saw your own reflection superimposed over hers in the glass—not as you were now, but as you had been that first day. scared, alone and desperate.

then the image was gone, and the view outside shifted back to a silent, snowy forest.

jay squeezed your hand. "it's just us," he murmured.

you looked at him, at this lonely, eternal creature who had built a universe for you, and you squeezed back.

"yes," you said, your voice steady, your smile perfect. "it's just us."

the train sped on into the beautiful, endless night. you were his, and he was yours, and the loop was finally, perfectly, complete. and when the next lost soul glanced into the window, they would see two faces smiling back at them from the velvet seats, forever.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[wonenonly]

SUPERIMPOSE

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, cnc, pwp, ex!sunghoon, unprotected sex, bondage, fingering, crying, slight dacryphilia, sunghoon is a red flag basically, usage of nicknames, squirting, lmk if i missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 1968 words.

SYNOPSIS: You try your best to forget about your ex, but he simply does not wish to leave you alone.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: yoo this is basically a late birthday gift for @evermorehoon <3 hope you like it :3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

You felt restless, even at night.

It started with the sound of glass shifting in its frame, letting out a noise so faint you might as well would’ve mistaken it for the old doors of your apartment building, however, when you roll over in bed, hair sprawled across the pillow, the whisper grows heavier.

You take a deep breath as your heart quickens its pace.

You’d been dreaming of him again—Sunghoon. It’s always Sunghoon, your ex boyfriend. His face has haunted you every night since you left him. That sharp jawline which resembled some Greek statue, his eyes like cold winter despite being the warmest shade of brown, and the way he looked at you was as if you were something he wanted to lock in a box with himself and throw the key away. 

You sighed, thinking the dream hadn’t ended, but then the shadow broke from your window, and the pale moonlight caught his frame. You realized it isn’t sleep dragging you under anymore, and gosh, it’s actually him. He’s here.

“Miss me, darling?” His voice is lower than you remember, an octave deeper, almost even colder than the night itself, and yet so close it could burn into your skin.

You suck in a breath, “Sunghoon? What—”

“Don’t say it.” He said, stepping forward, shutting the window with the quiet efficiency of someone who has practiced this entrance a hundred times in his mind, or maybe, in reality too, “don’t ask why I’m here, baby. You know it.”

You shook your head, but your throat hurt from dryness, from the mere fact that your ex was right in front of you, the prettiest man you’d ever seen, also the very man who was the embodiment of possessiveness and toxicity. He always had this power, bending your silence into some twisted form of submission. 

He walked towards the bed, clad in black from boots to collar. His hair was damp, as if he’d run through rain just to see you, and droplets trail along his jaw, cascading down his adam’s apple. 

“You really shouldn’t—”

“Oh I should,” he cuts in, his tone edged with a groan, “do you think I can just forget you just like that, huh? That I can lie awake in my empty apartment and pretend you don’t exist? Every fucking minute, you’re there—fuck, actually every second, you’re in my head, and you thought leaving would make it better? No. It made me worse than ever.”

Your pulse grows erratic as he reaches the edge of the bed, and you know you should scream, shove him back, but your body refuses to move. His presence suffocates you like a hand already around your throat, scent engulfing your senses. 

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, almost convincing yourself by now, “this really isn’t—”

“Don’t, I swear,” his eyes darken, the pale gleam of the streetlight shining across them, “you fucking want me back, even if you don’t admit it.” He chuckles then, “you’re still in my hoodie.”

You groan, looking elsewhere to deny the truth he just threw your way. It wasn’t right—wasn’t healthy. 

He sat on the bed without asking, the mattress sinking under his weight. His knee brushing against your thigh, the air felt strangled by now, your eyes not looking up at him as he shamelessly stared at you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, reaching up to touch your hair, making you flinch, but he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to look at him, “you’re still mine, hm? No one touches you, no fucking one gets to look at you like I do. You’ll tell me I’m wrong, but your body,” he chuckles, thumb brushes your lower lip, “your body never lies, baby.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, and just like that, he’s rendered you speechless yet again. He smiles faintly, the kind of smile that always meant that he won, that he knows he’s gonna be right no matter what narrative he puts up against you.

“Do you want me to remind you?” He asks with absolutely no intention to wait for an answer.

The rope appears like a magician’s trick, which he pulled from his coat, thin and rough, meant for you. Your breath hitches, fear and something darker tangling inside you, anticipation perhaps? You didn’t wish to admit to it.

“You’ll hate me for this,” he murmurs, almost tender, as if he could see your internal battles like you were an open book, “but you’ll thank me after, right darling?”

His hand closes around your wrist, grip strong which made you gasp and struggle to fight, yet he binds you to the headboard with the ease of someone who’s thought about it too often, each knot precise. Your pulse races, but your legs remain limp beneath the sheets now, goosebumps covering your skin.

“Sunghoon—please let’s—”

“Please what?” His mouth curls at the corner, fang peeking out, “please stop? Or please don’t stop?”

Your silence is answer enough for him, his chuckle is low as he cups your face, pressing his lips upon yours fervently, pulling back the second you give in.

“You’re trembling, always trembled for me, hm? You want me too, you need me. Say it.”

“I—oh!”

His hand slips beneath the sheets, the heat of his palm spreading across the expanse of your stomach. Slowly, he drags the fabric down until your (read: his) sweatshirt is tangled at your waist. The faint moonlight glimmers against your bare thighs.

“Perfect,” he breathes, eyes glued to you, “always so fucking perfect for me.”

He presses his mouth to your collarbone, teeth scraping your skin, sucking into you so hard as a promise to bruise you. His fingers trail lower, grazing the line of your panties.

You jerk up, not being able to move much, “Sunghoon—oh god!”

“Shh,” his lips brush the shell of your ear, “you left me starving, baby, you thought I’d let you go that easily when every fucking inch of you belongs to me, huh? I won’t let you run again.”

The pad of his finger pushes against your clothed slit, drawing a circle so languid it makes your back arch despite yourself. You want to resist, to bite back the sound crawling up your throat, but he notices the way your thighs twitch.

“There it is,” he whispers, proud, “your body knows me.”

With one tug, your panties are shoved aside, baring your folds to the cool night air, to him. His fingers slide between, slick already gathering. He hums, pleased with what he sees, especially the tears forming in your eyes, shame seeping in you of not being able to control yourself, of letting him back into your life just like that.

“Wet for me, even now. You can lie with your mouth, baby, but your cunt stays true to me.”

The vulgarity makes your cheeks burn, but his finger dipping lower, teasing your entrance, steals your protest ever so easily. He doesn’t push in—he circles, presses against you, toys until you’re panting against the sheets, struggling to move. 

Then, suddenly, he pushes in, one slender finger, curling, finding that spot he’s memorized so well. You choke out a sound, writhing against the rope.

“Shh,” he coos mockingly, “the neighbours might hear. Do you want them to know how much you beg for your fucking ex?”

You shake your head, gasping, but his pace quickens. His free hand closes around your throat—not too harsh, but just enough to remind you who controls the air in your lungs.

“That’s it,” he groans, “fucking look at me while I ruin you.”

Your eyes flutter, but he squeezes your neck lightly, forcing your gaze to his. His dark stare pins you to him as his fingers pump deeper. Another digit joins the first, stretching you until your legs shake.

“You’ll cum on my hand,” he says, like a command, “and then you’ll beg for my cock, yeah?”

Your whimpers only fuel him. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing harsh circles while his fingers curl harder. The sensation builds up sharply, your body arching against the restraints.

“You think anyone else can touch you like this?” he hisses, “no one knows how to open you up. No one makes you squirt like I do.”

The words practically slice through you. Your walls tighten around his fingers, the pressure unbearable. His grip on your throat tightens just slightly, pushing you over the edge.

It crashes into you, the unadulterated pleasure, your juices spilling, your thighs shaking, wetness coating his hand. You cry out, strangled, as your body convulses under him.

“Fuck—” he groans, watching the slick drip onto the sheets, “that’s mine, yeah? All fucking mine, baby.”

He withdraws his soaked fingers, holding them up to the light before shoving them into your mouth, “taste it. Taste what I take from you.”

Your tongue obeys despite your mind’s panic, licking the salt of yourself from his skin. He watches, eyes glazed, as if the sight alone is enough to break him, however, he isn’t finished.

He strips his belt, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room. Unzips, frees himself, his cock all ready for you—thick, hard, waiting for your inviting cunt. He strokes it a few times, then lines himself against your soaked entrance.

“Sunghoon—”

“Say you don’t want me,” his tip nudges your hole, parting your folds, “say it, and I’ll leave.”

You try to speak but your breath catches, and silence damns you.

“Exactly, baby”

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you wide. The intrusion burns, but pleasure blurs the pain. He groans low, head falling to your shoulder and you moan out.

“Hoonie!”

“Fuck—you still fit me like no one else. Tight little pussy was made just for me.”

You whimper, ropes biting your wrists as you struggle. He began to thrust, each one deeper than the last, harder, until the bed creaked under each snap of his hips.

“That’s it, take it, baby,” he groans into your ear, “hell, just choke on your own moans. You left me starving—now I’ll fuck the memory back into you.”

His hand returns to your throat, pressing, while the other clutches your thigh wide open. His rhythm is merciless, just how he’d always been, cock slamming against your walls until you cry out again, and again.

“Louder,” he commands, “let everyone hear how much you still want me.”

Tears sting your eyes, but your body betrays you again. Each thrust pushes you higher, clit rubbing against his skin until sparks burst behind your eyelids.

“You’ll cum on my cock,” he snarls, “scream my name when you do.”

The pressure is unbearable by now. He slaps your thigh, thrusts harder, choking you just enough to make your world spin on his axis. Then you shatter—squirting all over him, soaking his length, body convulsing.

“Fuck, yes—” he curses, still thrusting into you, “you’re mine.”

His pace grows wild, brutal almost, and with a final thrust, he buries himself deep, groaning your name as he spills hot inside you.

Silence follows—ragged breaths, your wrists raw against the rope, his chest heaving against yours, little whimpers still leaving your lips, reverberating the room. But then his lips brush your ear, voice a promise, or rather, a threat.

“You thought you left me, but this?” He thrusts shallowly, reminding you he’s still inside as you moan, “this is forever. I’ll be back tomorrow night, and the night after. Until you understand—that you’re fucking mine.”

The room feels colder now, while your heart pounds with dread and something darker you can’t name. And when he unties you, he kisses your wrists softly, reverently, as if the rope burns are vows.

With a last smirk, he kisses you deeply, “mine,” he whispers, smirking, leaving you aching for more. 

And more. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[wonenonly]

OVERPROTECTIVE

who are you── .✧˚ vampire!wonki x reader

SYNOPSIS── ｡𖦹°‧ poor innocent you. . . you didn't realize that guardian beings don't always come as angels. . .

( .✧˚ ) — genre fantasy fluff thriller yandere (if this constitutes?) wc 2.4k warnings suspense, thriller, violence, still fluffy, flirty reblog & comment

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ever since your 16th birthday, you’ve been feeling on edge.

when you were little, your mother told you about all kinds of legends and stories, one of your favorites being guardians. it is said that on a child's 16th birthday, they are assigned 1-5 guardians to help them for the rest of their life, since parents typically become less involved in their kids' lives.

it’s a story all little kids are told to cope with the idea of growing up and one day not being able to rely on their parents anymore. it’s a story everyone but you has outgrown. you want to believe it’s real. being lonely all your life, the idea that someone is always watching over you and making sure you’re okay is comforting; someone is always there to catch you. you wonder what your guardian (or guardians) looks like. you’ve seen a biblically accurate angel before, and they’re quite frightening, so you hope they look a little more. . . human.

you wonder what your guardian does when you sleep. do angels sleep too?

your friends call you childish. “they don’t even exist,” they say, but you choose to believe they do. you have to believe it, or you’ll go insane.

perhaps you also need an excuse for all the crazy experiences you’ve been having since the day of your 16th birthday.

ever since your 16th birthday, you have gotten everything you wanted, so much so that your friends call you the luck generator. as corny as it is, it’s true. you’ve been very lucky since that day.

on the day of your 16th birthday, everything went smoothly. every single person you invited came, even your friends who previously told you they wouldn’t be able to make it. every single one of their important plans was mysteriously derailed or canceled. at first, you thought nothing of this news. why would you think twice? it’s not like you did anything. you were merely a child, what could you have done? but then, the caterers accidentally made extras, the neighbors heard the commotion and gave you 300 dollars in birthday money, and there’s even an extra gift in your pile that no one seems to have any recollection of, which ends up being the best gift of the bunch.

ever since that day, your life has been different.

you ace every exam, you’re a straight-A student, you get gifts all the time, mysteriously showing up inside your locker or in your room; as if it has just physically manifested there, someone is always kind to you, you’re never lonely, and you always have friends. 

your life is perfect. . . 

kind of.

perfection seems to come at a cost, because since that day, you’ve been attuned to the feeling that someone is watching you. it has gone on so long–so persistent and stubborn–you forget it isn’t normal. you’ve gone through hoops and bounds trying to wash this feeling off your delicate skin, yet it lingers. coats the surface in a suffocating, viscous feeling of paranoia. you’re used to it. used to the way your hair stands up in your pores. at this point, the fear simply sits at the bottom of your stomach. nothing you can do, really.

it’s not just that, though.

whenever you get a boyfriend, for some reason or another, whether reluctant or urgent, they break up with you. everyone who wrongs you in some way pays for it tenfold. they come to you scared, apologizing for their lives, completely in ruin. they end up beat up and bleeding, they end up with some sort of physical or psychological trauma,

to the point where it scares you.,

and to drive it all home, whenever these things happen, something even better happens for you. like an act of comfort from no one in particular. 

‘but angels don’t hurt people,’ you think. 

but what other explanation is there? 

it’s not until one night, when the moon is full and the light cascades over your tear-stained face, that you find out what was watching over you all this time.

you see them clear as day, although the room is soaked in darkness and the light seems to cling only to you–seeking shelter and protection in your presence–you see them. they’re staring at you intently. they study you. unmoving. unwavering. 

you had been crying over a friend, one who betrayed you greatly for no reason other than jealousy,being better than you and bringing you down was her virtue, and it made you feel greatly insecure. you don’t have many close friends, unfortunately, so the ones you do have, you keep near and dear. even though you feel like you spend all your time trying to catch up to them, to be as smart as them, as pretty as them, as friendly as them, there’s always something you lack. you sob, so engulfed in your grief, you don’t notice the door opening.

perhaps they thought you wouldn’t see them, but now you stare at them. now, you wanna cry for a completely different reason.

“we didn’t mean to scare you, dear.” the man is blond and broad. his voice is gentle and soothing, but his demeanor frightens you beyond compare. he stands proudly, back straight and chin raised. he has nothing to fear, not even shame. as gentle as he tries to be, his gaze is fierce and focused. determination radiates off of him like heat does the concrete of your sidewalk in summer.

you shiver.

the other one is silent. stares at you with a tightened gaze. he inspects every inch of your being. his eyes don’t judge, but they analyze. his thick arms are crossed over his chest, and his head is tilted, as if to get a real good look at you, deeper and deeper into your soul. he’s thinking, and for some reason, that scares you more. he’s tall–almost freakishly. easily towering over you; even from across the room, he looms like doom and bad intuition. even the way his black hair sits on his head is menacing.

your tears fall as they stalk forward.

“please, don’t hurt me,” you say, meek as a mouse. they stop in their tracks, gazes softening into a puddle of sympathy.

“why would we ever wanna hurt you, darling?” the blond man sits on the foot of your bed gently. he looks at you sadly. your words seemed to have grazed his skin like a misfired bullet.

in all honesty, he is a little hurt, but he understands. you’re not really supposed to meet your guardians, especially not under these circumstances. most humans would be shocked by “uninvited” guests.

he scoots closer to you, and your breath gets caught in your throat. maybe if you stay still, he’ll leave. though you know that’s not the case, it seems like a better option than running. he leans forward ever so slightly. you can barely feel the bed dipping as he does so. he’s careful not to be hasty and scare you with any sudden movements. he knows you better than anyone, even your own parents, and he knows you’re as skittish as a cat. it’s even more apparent when you look at him with those big, glassy eyes of yours, tracking his every movement very carefully. although a bit reclined and guarded, you wait patiently until you make your next move, just like a kitten does with those they’re unfamiliar with. he holds his hand out like one would, like asking for permission to touch you. when you make no further movements, his thumb kisses the tears off of your left cheek, and you jump from the feeling, but you don't run, nor do you reclude any further; he takes that as a good sign. he moves his hand to caress the side of your face and pet you gently.

“see? you’re okay,” he smiles at you warmly, and even in this darkness, you see two gleaming, sharp fangs as white as snow, front and center in all their glory. you sniffle, but he simply wipes your tears again and pets your head to comfort you.

you’re so focused on him, you don’t notice the tall one making his way towards the bed until he’s right next to you. you jolt, a little cry escaping your lips unintentionally, but he says nothing, nor does he react to it. he simply takes his seat right next to you, snaking his arm over your small shoulder and guiding you into his chest. he kisses the top of your head with tender care as his hand slides up and down your side.

“i’m sorry, darling.” his tone is kind, but the bass in his voice startles you. the blond one chuckles at you, so attentive to every little thing you do. he scoots a bit closer to you.

they can both tell you’re a bit overwhelmed, but it’s okay. they know you well enough to ease your racing heart. you’ll fall asleep soon after; they can tell your eyes are already starting to get heavy.

“who are you?” you sniffle, “what do you want from me?”

they laugh at how cliché your question is because they think it’s cute. you’re a bit annoyed, however, at not being taken seriously.

they introduce themselves, and you find out that their names are jungwon and riki,

you also find out that they’re vampires.

you freeze up a bit. you’ve only heard of vampires in folktales and twilight (read: not that often), but from what you do recall, they’re malevolent and vicious creatures that will even kill just for fun.

you wonder how they got in your house, though. don’t they need to be invited in?

so you ask,

“b-but then. . . how did you. . don’t you need. . .” riki laughs into your hair, then reorients himself so that he can look you in the eyes as he speaks.

“we’re your guardians, dear. our bond to you is our invitation.”

guardians? but aren’t guardians supposed to be angels? everyone talks about guardian angels, so you assumed that all guardians are angels. you assumed that everyone dropped the “angel” cause it was a given–why say the whole phrase when you can shorten it? but apparently, that’s just not the case.

the confusion that worms its way onto your face makes them laugh, and jungwon pokes his finger into your cheek gently. you wonder why you ended up with two guardians. isn’t it usually the one? maybe you needed the extra help and adjustment. truth be told, you’ve always felt very lonely. you never really felt connected with your parents, making friends was hard, and life seemed to stress you out a lot, even as a baby. joy and love were not the first concepts you came to understand. instead, you understood distance and conditionality. you were alone most times, and your parents were often gone, whisking you off to some aunt's house, anyone in the neighborhood willing to watch you. any mistake you made was noticeable, and that was a crime. 

you know your parents love you. . . or maybe you’ve just assumed they do because that’s what you were told. parents love their kids, or they get rid of them. your parents are usually nice and supportive when you don’t make mistakes. that’s just the way things are. maybe you feel a bit lonely, maybe you feel scared, maybe you feel like you’ll never be enough. . .but that will go away with time, right? 

“no need to justify it. bad parents are bad parents.” 

can he read your mind?

“they’re not bad parents. . .they just. . .-”

“-are bad?” riki says it bluntly, in a way that cuts clean through your heart. you want to deny it. they love you, so they’re good parents, right?

“love has to be shown, too. not just spoken,” riki states in that blunt tone of his. his words are very matter-of-fact. he leaves you no grace or forewarning; he’s straight to the point. 

but although his words seem harsh, his hands caress your skin ever so softly, as if the skin on your face will tear if he so much as presses his fingertips in a little too hard. he glides his fingers across the side of your face as he pulls you into his chest once again.

“it’s okay. so long as we’re here, we’ll keep you safe, hm?” jungwon looks at you proudly. he does not doubt his ability to protect you. the number one priority for everything is you, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get you what you need and what you want.

“it’s okay if others disappoint you, we’re still right here.”

you begin to feel sleepy.

“you don’t need to worry about anything. we’ll handle it.” 

your brain feels. . . fuzzy. you’re too tired to dispute anything. life is stressful, and you just wanna sleep. the idea of not having to worry about anything anymore is quite alluring right now, and so is your pillow. your ability to think and reason is dissolving right before you, seeping through the folds of your brain. riki grabs your phone, like he’s done this many times before. you try to look up to see what he’s doing, but you’re just so tired. jungwon hushes you, he lays you down further, and brings the blanket up to your chin. you can hear your phone going off, one chime per second, but jungwon’s got all your attention hooked on him like a baby playing peekaboo. 

the distant ringing isn’t enough to bring you back to your senses.  you drown it out, even when riki urges jungwon to leave, speaking of something getting risky. . .“she needs to be dealt with immediately.”

whatever it is, it’s clearly not your problem, because jungwon kisses your forehead goodnight, telling you to get some rest, not to worry about waking up for school. they’ll be back for you in the morning, and you’ll be able to do anything you want, then. and you drift off into slumber as they leave through your window swiftly.

you don’t need to know where they’re going,

or what they're doing,

or who they’re going to see.

no matter how gruesome the crime is, how malicious and vindictive the motive, it’s not something they will ever let you worry about.

after all, it is their life purpose to protect you.

by all means necessary.

[wonenonly]

wife material.

Anonymous asked: Being arranged to jay in a marriage and hes distant at first but notices his new partner who has a nice plush ass, wide hips and plump tits. His brain goes mmm breeding material but youre just an innocent girl with a pornstar body?

WORDCOUNT: 1.1k

NOTE: tumblr wouldn't let me answer it as an ask :/ also, not proofread.

So, you're in an arranged marriage for more than one reason. Rather than being "innocent", you're just a total bimbo. Fr, everything you've ever wanted or needed has been handed to you on a silver platter. Your parents are super protective of you though, mostly out of fear that you'd be taken advantage of, right? right.

So, you've never had a boyfriend, no girlfriend, no friends [outside of the maids and nannies that you spend so much time with.] You were homeschooled, never expected to go to college either, because why work if you're already well taken care of and financially protected?

Your parents suggest an arranged marriage, mostly so they can choose and judge who you will be spending your life with. They don't trust you to go out into the world and find someone suitable, after all, so....why not make an arranged marriage work for the whole family? Jay is the first son of a rich C.E.O and is expected to take over the business sooner rather than later. He's polite, bordering too-stoic, but very much a good man in your parent's eyes. He appears to see the arrangement as a business deal rather than anything else, after all, he was raised much like you were except...he's a man. He has needs, and they are frequently met by using the lovely little black card. He's not looking for love anyway, the late nights to the VIP club lounges is really all he needs. Until he saw you. Until he fucking saw you. What he thought would be a great boost to business and a good little photo op, where you're married to him but both of you just do your own thing....turns into, well-

"Shit, are you a virgin?" Jay shushes you before you can answer. Your little whimper of "It hurts" ringing too loudly in his ears. Still, he feels the nod as he presses your face into the pillows with a hand at the back of your neck.

His eyes roll back in pleasure at your nod. Honestly, with a body like that? A virgin? He'd have figured you've fucked around by now. But you haven't, and that just might be the greatest thing he's heard all fucking day. So, he points his hips with intention now, penetrating deep. If at all because he can't fucking help it.

"Can't believe they're just giving you to me." You can't answer with the corner of the pillow in your mouth and all, but even if you could, you wouldn't know what to say to him. Marriage. Business. He'd support you, wait on you hand and foot? Yes. That's what you expected. Honestly, the idea of sex has been forbidden from you for so long that you half expected your father to keep that rule with Jay too, even after marriage. And here you are, meeting him briefly at his house just a week before the wedding. Your driver had dropped you off, the intention of the visit being to finalize all of the wedding details and put in any last opinions considering neither of you are planning it. You really didn't expect to find yourself face down on Jay's bed, where he ushered you the moment he saw you. Muttering something along the lines of "You're alone? Fucking finally." It's not like you entirely mind either, it's not like he didn't immediately make out with you all the way to his bedroom. It's not like you didn't make out with him right back, even if you were surprised. It's really just the fact that you were totally unprepared to have a cock that big shoved in you for the first time on a Monday afternoon. You've wondered for years what it was like to have sex, anyway, always fumbling around with your fingers and never quite feeling as good or as full as you do now. It's overwhelmingly hot, pleasurable, even. And the fact that Jay is handsome only makes this that much better. You'll be marrying him next week anyway, why does it matter if you're letting him do this right now? After next week, your father will no longer be controlling what you do. It'll be Jay, if he wants to. You can only imagine the amount of sex the two of you will be having after it's official, so...you enjoy it. Moaning, groaning, feeling that pit in your stomach intensify with each push of his cock inside of you, his breath on your shoulder, whispering filth to you between questions to get to know you. To anyone else, it would seem insane. But the fact of the matter is, you've never actually been together alone. Never had the opportunity to really get to know each other. "You want kids?" He had whispered right against your neck, pushing deeper into you and holding himself there. You nod. "How many?" He half-groans. You managed to moan out a "4", which had him moving faster, harder. "Yeah?" He hummed, kissing your prickled skin and well aware that you're going to have him wrapped around your fucking pinky. "You feel that?" And there it is, the feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you, thick ropes of cum shooting deep against your cervix, the promise of pregnancy coming along side the ring he's about to put on your finger. You moan out, surprised by how you can feel it spilling out of you with each sensitive thrust he offers to you, seemingly pushing his cum in and out of you while simultaneously snaking his hand under you to reach your clit. A whine falls from your lips at the sudden orgasm, so so sensitive, a feeling so intense and new because even when you played with yourself, never did you reach climax like this. You shake under him, clenching his spent length through your own orgasm until he gently pulls out and flips you over. He eyes you over, only now able to see you this closely because he finally got you alone without one of your parent's attached to your side. You really are totally his fucking type. And you're all his. "I think this is going to work out." He mumbles, inspecting you even more closely, ashamed that he didn't even get your top off before pressing you down on his bed. Embarrassed that he didn't have you facing him through your first time. He'll make it up to you next time.

"I'll take good care of you, and I'll be more gentle too." He continues, watching you try to regain your balance of breath. "I didn't know you were a virgin..."

You smile, eyes drowsy, suddenly feeling very sleepy...comfortable. Knowing that this will be the very bed you'll be sleeping in soon enough.

"It's okay." You whisper, clearing your throat and then repeating it in a more confident voice. "If I didn't like it, I would just tell my dad."

Jay's eyes widen, fear reaching his expression as he stares down at you, but you're quick to reassure him.

"I did like it, by the way."

[wonenonly]

AFTERMATH

*repost from the old (now) deleted acc*

AFTERMATH

(x)bestfriend!yandere!jake x victim!y/n reader

warnings: yandere content, handcuffed/bound (not sexually), implied smut but not written because I'll screw it even more. Also rushed. (Not edited since last year).

I’ve come back with another short fic and this happens after ‘the professor’ story.  Reblogs and positive comments would be much appreciated. EDIT: I’m back 😃 originally from @jaeneohee which is my old account*

(photo from pinterest)

You were stuck.

There was no escape for you even if you did give in to him. Though you never put up a fight against him, you just knew that you were never getting out of this.

You've seen him angry, you've seen him mad and you don't dare cross the line with him.

"My sweet love" his voice comes out husky as he feels your movements in bed. "Did you get a good sleep?"

"Yes Jakey" your voice came out soft. Your mind has been awake for a good hour but you pretended to sleep just so you wouldn't face him.

He was cuddled up behind your back in his king size bed, with his arms drapped securely around your waist keeping it locked incase you'd try to escape his hold.

The man you thought was your bestfriend, was infact a completely different person after the events with Professor Jongseong happened who had disppeared since that time.

That was 9 months ago.

"Are you sure baby?" he inches closer to your neck causing you to shiver a little when you felt his warm breathe brush against your exposed skin. "Because you’ve been stiff for a while now"

you felt embarrassed like a deer being caught red handed and you were feeling very stiff. Not because you were stuck with Jake but he had your hands cuffed to the bed though it wasn't entirely uncomfortable as the Chains were long enough for you to move around comfortably.

"I swear I'm fine Jake. I just..."

He moves your body turning you around so you could face him. His morning visuals were no joke, Jake was absolutley handsome but you really wished you weren't in this position, so you avoided looking into his eyes.

"You just what, hm? Come on baby tell me whats bothering you" his hand comes up to hold your jaw gently and tilts it up to his forcing you to look at him.

"my wrist hurts" you answered honestly pulling your hands up to see how tight the cuff was on you and you could see red marks starting to appear.

"Baby, you know why you have that on you right?" he looks at you with a soft look and starts to leave kisses on your arms, showing that he cared and did feel bad. You sighed in defeat and nodded.

"You tried to leave me the other night and I had to punish you for that"

"I-I know and I'm sorry, i just wanted to see the night sky" your voice was shaky " just wanted to see the stars"

"Well then you should've been smart and told me about it" his hands come up to your hair caressing it. "You had me scared and worried. Thought maybe that asshole would find you and try to take you away from me again. You understand?"

"I do, I'm sorry"

"I forgive you baby...but these cuffs are still not coming off" he says causing you to sigh in disappointment, all hopes thrown out the window.

"Unless you can convince me to take them off of you" his eyes suddenly became dark and seductive telling you exactly what he wanted.

You definitely weren't in the mood for it right now and for a moment you were considering to keep these tight cuffs on you but you couldn't bare another day of being stuck like this.

"H-How would you like me to convince you?" your eyes looked up to him innocently. Through this small action, he felt his pants become tight and his breathe was slightly caught in his throat.

"I'm hungry, my love" his hands started to roam your body slowly as he kisses all over your face and neck "Let me have you for breakfast"

"Jake..."you whimpered as you felt his fingers approach your private part.

"I bet you'll taste sweet, my love"

***a few hours later***

By afternoon, Jake was over-the-moon satisfied and you earned your freedom from those cuffs. You hated to admit it, but you enjoyed what Jake had done to you.

However it doesn't change the fact that you will forever be stuck with your bestfriend or to him ‘his sweet love.’

[wonenonly]

HIS LITTLE KITTEN

2022 ・ 16+ ・ 7k ・ oneshot — yandere + shock trope

— requested by anon!

warning: severe bullying, abuse, degradation, controlling and sadistic! jungwon, good boy! jungwon gone bad lmao, mild delusion, cursing, pulling hair, slapping, jungwon having a short temper, non-con kissing, jungwon ruining reader's belongings, public humiliation, cursing, cat & mouse game, um someone's head gonna get cut off - descriptive gore scene?

— I'm not a native speaker so I apologize for any grammar errors (I'm still learning!)

Slap!

A stinging pain engulfed your cheeks as you looked back up to meet those same eyes that hold so much innocence and kindness to it, eyes that made you fell into it's lovely depths and wishing nothing but to see more of it — and that was your first mistake, by now you'd wish you have never taken the first step; a dare within your friend group, a seemingly innocent dare to force yourself to gather a courage to walk straight to your crush; him.

Yang Jungwon.

The first time you've ever laid your eyes on him was on the day of your first day of school. The day where your dad had been promoted into a higher position in his job and so this immense luck landing it's grace on your family had you and your mom jumping in the living room with pure bliss after your dad breaks the news.

You've remembered it all very well; the pure happiness adorning your parent's face, the scent of the city and the mesmerising sight of the tall buildings you've never seen before for you grew up in the countryside your entire life, the day when you tried on your new school uniform — spinning around as you looked at yourself in the mirror, happy and contented, the day when you stepped in to your new high school and instantly made good friends, and the day you laid your eyes on him.

The class president, the smartest and the perfect ideal type of every girl; his feline eyes that somehow holds the enchanting melody of a siren, pulling you deeper into its deepest parts inside the ocean. His lush black hair flowing along the gentle breeze under the sunny blue sky while his face constantly switches to numerous kinds of expressions.

Confused, curious, shock, amazement, disbelief and many more you've grown to memorise as you watched him from the distance.

He was ethereal and a piece of canvas that you couldn't dare to lay your hands onto.

It continued on for many weeks till your friends caught on with your hidden but obvious feelings for the class president, and a not so bright but daring idea popped in their head.

You, to say the least, were very taken aback by the game your friends suggested.

Of course, you refused, shaking your head in complete refusal not wanting to embarrassed yourself and possibly stamping your entire life with such a bold and shameless name.

But your friends advice strikes your heart even deeper with the logic in your head, "Your class president won't always be there, better take the chance while it's still free and flying~"

And so, you did it as you proceeded with the dare.

You don't know how you got this sudden outburst of courage but yet, you still did it.

You remember how his feline-like eyes grows into cute boba ones as he takes in your confession. Abashed you were as you voiced out the dare you had with your friends; a small peck on his cheek would suffice the deal as your cheeks heated up with each words escaping from your mouth while your friends' giggles annihilates you like an arrow.

What he said next surprises you, "Sure, a small peck won't hurt anyways."

You were sure your eyeballs were about to pop out when you heard those words but nevertheless you regained your composure, biting your lips every now and often as you lifted yourself up in tiny tip toes to his height.

Taking a quick, chaste peck on his soft cheek. You muttered a thousand thank you while you bowed down for nth time, striding off to your friend with their joyous responses.

How foolish you were as you blushed in a complete mess, taking a one last quick look at him and you swore you almost choked on your saliva when his feline-like eyes were fixated on you and a tiny grin adorning his lips while his friends playfully pushed him.

Ah, was that it?! Have you somehow had pulled the strings within his heart?

Love, love, love — sweet kind of love that everyone dies for! What could anyone else want if not that kind of love?

You thought, that was it. When your eyes were met that soft pink letter laying inside your locker. The owner had his name written below the sweet paragraph, a sweet confession, a sweet epiphany.

— Yang Jungwon.

Your heart exploded in utter happiness, trying to suppress your wide grin with your clenched fists up to your lips.

But why?

What is this? Where's the love story you were hoping to experience in? The rainbows, the soft clouds, the pastel colours surrounding it — where was it?

The stinging burn on your face says otherwise and that same spine-chilling voice you once so much adore echoes inside the empty classroom.

"Have you always been such a slut behind my back? Even before you had met me?"

Why did your angel-like crush turn out to be such a horrible and an incarnate of devil himself?

You couldn't processed everything so quick as in a split second; you were pulled into those warm chests in a harsh approach, actually. Jungwon throws daggers into you as his wrath filled eyes softened and at once he crashed his lips into you for what seems like a hundredth time.

The kiss, his kiss, his lips that you ever so often gazed at and wonder how does it taste like?

Was it soft? Was it caring? Was it love?

Was it capable to even bring you a larger bliss within your heartstrings? To pull and tighten, to push and hold and to strengthen the love you had for this very boy?

Apparently, no.

It hurts you instead — like a handmade scarf that has been meticulously sewed with love all these time, only to be mercilessly torn apart by this thorned love.

The very first time he did that was back then when you came back from home together with your childhood best friend who came to visit you from the countryside, a short visit that is; and a boy that to be exact, and when Jungwon approaches you from the distance with a pair of yogurt in his hands — it was your foolish dumb mistake to miss that sour expression on his face.

You failed to realise that he didn't like it. He didn't like it even for a bit. In fact, it made him bitter. It ruin his supposedly good day. The pair of yogurt in his hands had been crushed into pieces, its contents staining his hands.

It was crystal clear that you two liked each other but due to personal reasons such as you didn't want to be in a relationship first considering you had a strict parents. Talk about your questionable approach that day. .

He respected that even more so with a gentle smile adorning his face and his feline-like eyes raising up in the slightest smiles.

He was so attentive and sweet to you, often listening to your wishes and never complaining. Love was written all over his pretty face as he watches you read a book out loud with the utmost affection, helping you with your homework as a wide big smile never leaving his cherry pink lips.

However that day . . .

That day was the first time you knew what he was capable of; he was pissed. Pushing you into your room harshly with an immense rage written all over his being, it was like he was controlling himself from releasing it on you and so he took it out on your belongings. Ripping your notebooks in pieces, your precious belongings into a dumb broken useless stuff as soon as he was done.

You were weeping, desperately begging for him to stop and when he did — you were taken aback, fear for the first time engulfed your being when he approached you with small steps.

"Fucking slut. That bastard, what was so good in him that you had to let him walk you home rather than me?!"

"You could've ask me. You could've called me. That piece of shit you had in your pocket, you got my number right so why? Why, why, why?"

"Answer me!"

This boy right in front of you and that boy you've often watched from afar was a complete different persona from each other.

And this wasn't the one you had fallen in love with.

"Fuck, kitten. You've become so brave, aren't you?"

From then on, your spring life bathed in soft pink and cherry blossoms has been replaced with a darker shade of petals — roses with thorns, sharp edges that mercilessly graced your once untainted skin with its claws and teeths.

A harsh pull on your hair made you stumble backwards in a swift speed, your butt hitting the floor with a loud thud, making you gasp and looking up to see that same boy you once adore but very much harboured a deep hatred now.

Jungwon's feline eyes hold the same emotion as he had that fateful day, annoyance and bitterness.

"Ah!" you gritted your teeth when his claws aggresively pulled a fistful of your hair to his nose — sniffing it like a mad dog.

"Your hair. . Did you got a new hair shampoo today?" His eyes softened for a bit and you hastily nodded not wanting to anger him further in this once again empty classroom in which most of the students had gone for the lunch break or to their respective clubs. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've bought a new one for you, you know? Shouldn't have troubled yourself to buy cheap ones. ."

His harsh grip on your hair loosens and instead turns into a caring pat, "They don't suit you."

In this very situation, Jungwon doesn't like it the slightest if you don't answer him because he demands you to agree with every single thing he says, obey him and submit yourself to him.

"I-I. .—"

"Oh c'mon, I haven't did anything yet and you're stuttering like a dumb bitch? Fuck, kitten. . Stop being so adorable will you?" Jungwon giggled as he brushed your hair in a caring gesture.

Those giggles that were once a sweet-like melody to your ears now only served as a horror bell ripping your ears apart.

"—But it's not so adorable walking around with someone behind my back. I thought you've learned your lesson?"

Silence.

The dark, eerie atmosphere and the unnerving silence engulfing the entire room had your body ran with goosebumps as the feline boy sighed, fixing his posture and dragging one of the desks to his side.

"Kitten," Jungwon brushed your hair with his fingers, patting your head ever so loving as he helped you get up on your feet — his other hand wrapped itself around your waist.

Helping himself sat on the desk, he pulled you between his legs, further closing the distance between you both as his arms grabbed you in either your side while you couldn't bear to look at him with those menacing and alluring eyes as always.

"You're fucking lucky I'm in a good mood today, or else I would've snap your ear in half considering I saw you with a particular student in the corridor."

Panic arises within your heart, spiraling into your pupils as your eyes widen. "N-no! Jungwon, it's not like what you t-thought! Ah!—"

His soft strokes on your hair suddenly digs its claws in your skin, pulling your face a bit close to him in a swift speed.

"Excuses. Haven't I told you to stop giving me dumb excuses if you still want to keep that sweet tongue of yours, kitten?"

You gulped nervously.

"I don't mind taking it since that would mean you won't have to scream everytime we play a game.."

Shaking your head in desperation as you pleaded with your eyes, you can't bear to get tortured by him again.

"Then beg. Show me how sorry you are."

You hesitated but if this is what it takes to escape his wrath then you have to.

On your knees to the floor as you wrapped your arm around his pants, "Jungwon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you! I just— I just—"

Silence, silence.

"Are you really sorry?"

You nodded in a frantic manner.

Another pure agony of silence ensues but eventually, Jungwon's eyes softens, "Sweet, sweet, kitten. That's exactly what I wanted from you." His hand wrapped itself around your neck making you leaned forward to him.

Once again, his lips devoured yours. The heated moment between the both of you contain so much romance and chemistry as you watched yourself and him in the mirror leaning against the wall.

If only, if only this was all a dream.

You were beyond lucky to have escaped his dangerous little games that day, as it was a rare occurrence for Jungwon to do so.

When he's in a good mood, soft and melodic humming emitting from him and aura brightening with each passing second — this boy was the one you're familiar with.

He was a self composed boy, calm as the water and familiar as the gentle sky — but the truth couldn't be any more uglier when his wrath overtook every inch of him as deep inside him; a sinister darkness spiraled inside the depths of his now rotten heart — which was he said, your very fault.

And when it did happened, all hell breaks loose. You could only pray to the deity above for him to go easy on you.

"Wear this skirt I bought for you, I think it would suit you alot, kitten."

"What's this shit? You could've ask for my help than from others, don't you know how fucking it pissed me off to see you begging around like a dumb slut?"

"(Name)! Look, here's a picture of a cat I took the other day."

"You look so damn adorable with all these scars, darling!"

It's that unpredictable emotions of his that switches on and off that scares you so much. You were lucky he only resorted to slapping you or choking you most of the time, and only then when you were being a brat to him — does the real torture starts;

Jungwon takes a great pleasure in torturing you in every way possible he could think of and everytime it would end with fresh deep scars with blood dripping from it, dark bruises all over your arm. He was sadistic but dramatically romantic at the same time.

Hell, hell it was.

He's the reincarnation of evil itself.

Another hell disguised in a normal day.

You could never escape this hellhole that has this demon lurking inside it, Yang Jungwon.

"Earth to (Name)?" A hand waves in front of your face in a hasty manner and you looked up only to be met with the gentle aura that exudes from this boy.

Sim Jake. The puppy-like boy of this school, with that gentle and polite manners of his that always have been the talk of the town just like Jungwon.

In fact he was among Jungwon friends. Those friends that you often saw around Jungwon during lunch break.

Jake, to say the least, was the one who showed support and cheer for you whenever he passed by. Ever since the day of that bold confession of yours, Jake would randomly appear and strike a short and brief conversation which consists of teasing you and telling bits about Jungwon, something he never fails to do so.

Kinda like your secret wingman.

You've always thought Jungwon was the only one different amongst his friends; kind-hearted and the caring type and that's why it surprises you that Jake was so easy to approach and talk to unlike the typical high school popular groups you often watch from TV shows, expecting them to be very mean and evil.

Evil.

Well, that was before you knew just how Jungwon really was and so you've became extremely wary around his friends, not wanting to form any close nor brief friendship with any of them.

Drowning in your thoughts, you missed Jake's question and his frowning expression were crystal clear that he wasn't letting it pass.

"(Name)!"

"O-oh?" stuttering as the noises of the cafeteria surrounding you brought you back to reality, and back to Jake. Gulping, you pulled your sleeves down to hide the purple bruises on your wrist but your abrupt gesture caught Jake's attention, making his eyes lingered on your covered wrist.

And yet, he just tilted his head — passing it off as a random habits of yours, "So, how's your relationship with Jungwon? Is it all good?"

The way he gleefully say it with that big wide smile splattered on his face made your stomach churned. Was he oblivious to what was happening to you and Jungwon?

"Um. . I guess so?"

"Pfft, that short response is all you got?"

You looked down to your tray of food, "Then what else do you want me to say, Jake?"

"Uhm, anything? Is this only the update you can give to us after that bold dare you did in front of all of us that day? C'mon now, (Name)." Jake whined. "Even Jungwon won't tell us anything about you."

You munched on your food, hoping nothing but for the conversation to end and for Jake to leave at once.

If Jungwon appears and sees you with another guy other than him, it won't end well. But it's not like you could spat out to Jake and tell him to get out of your sight since deep inside you, you still want to talk with him and laugh with him like you used to.

"Didn't it work though? God, have my sacrifices were all a waste, gone to the drain?" Jake pouted, grabbing your arm dramatically which instantly made you flinched in surprise.

"Huh? What's wrong?"

You swore your heart sank due to that abrupt close proximity and because of that, your mind was once again drowning in fear of him. Your head snapped around, looking for any signs of him but there was none and so a sigh of relief escapes your mouth.

"(Name), you're acting like there's a murderer on the loose hunting you down." Seemingly annoyed by your cold response, he just sat down next to you munching on his food — acting like a lost, mad puppy.

The sight made you wanna chuckle but his words made your heart sank for the nth time, he was spot on. If only, he knew what was happening all this time.

If only he knew, would he help you?

You're so fucking tired. You're tired of Jungwon and all the atrocities he put you in through. The comforting vibe this blonde-haired boy sitting next to you made you wanna break down and bawl in tears. You've been keeping it all this time and not even your parents were aware of it.

Jungwon was so good, so good at making you kneel before him and unknowingly letting him manipulate your emotions and it seems like he takes in a great amusement in doing that to you. So to the school, he made it look like you two were lovers but distant just so he can see who would dare to approach you.

Just so he can see who would be bold enough to put themselves right into the mouse trap he created.

And luckily for you, you've managed to avoid some students especially the male students who approached you because you don't want anything to happen to them.

But some were had their life ripped apart from them because of your fault, just like he said.

However, you can't take it anymore. You can't bear to live in this hellhole anymore.

"J-Jake? . ."

Jake scoffed as he munched his food but nonetheless answered, "Hmmm?"

"Can you help me?"

Your heart pounded deep inside your ribs to the point it hurts, you couldn't believe you did it.

You went back to the classroom and bumped into someone's chest, mumbling an apology so quick that you didn't realise it was him.

Your breath getting caught up in your throat, you took a few steps backwards but he immediately grabbed your hand pulling you closer to him in a harsh way.

What is it? Why is he mad again? Did I do something wrong? Please no, let it be not that reason!

Your mind ran a dozen thoughts as his grip on yours grew tighter making you whimper in pain, "J-Jungwon? Agh!"

"Shut up." Jungwon spat out, his face clearly irritated and bitter — you gasped, fear engulfing your body again as you realise those are the same expressions you've seen before. "Why are you talking with Jake, huh?"

"It— it's not what you think it is! W-we were just talking!" You pleaded not wanting to go through the same fate again.

"What could you two be possibly talking about? Do you think I'm fucking dumb to not realise that Jake often met you behind my back?"

"No! We didn't do anything! I swear, Jungwon please get that thoughts off your mind!"

"Fuck, what else do you want me to think? That my girlfriend is going around with my friend behind my back and doing whatever I—"

"You always say the same dumb shit!" You screamed and that made him taken aback. "You're fucking delusional! I've never even agreed to be your girlfriend and so even if we did anything, you don't have the right to control me like this! Why are you doing this to me?!"

Instant regret. Just why the fuck you did it?

Slap!

"Brat."

Slap!

"Seems like I didn't taught you enough, I see."

Slap!

You fell on the floor with a loud thud, cupping your face with both your hand that you were sure had gone deep red due to the repeated, painful slap. Your eyes had endless tears welling up inside it, gritting your teeth in an immense fear and agony.

Bending his height down to your level — his dainty fingers stroke the edges of your face, a complete contrast to what he did a few seconds ago but it didn't last long when he digged his nail deep into your skin, forcing your pathetic eyes to look at his deep ones.

"When was the last time I told you to quit doing that? Are you really trying to test my patience? Trying to see what I am even more capable of doing to you?"

"Is that it?"

You shook your head.

"Is that it?"

Again, you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheeks as your lips were pressed tight.

"IS THAT IT?!" you whimper at his sudden outburst, his veins popping in his neck as his face had bathed in red — again, you shook your head in desperation in hopes to appease his wrath.

"Then, honey?—" his voiced softened in a remarkable pace along with his eyes, "Where did you even get that bratty attitudes of yours? Did someone teach you? Tell me then, I'll give them a lesson in behalf of you."

You shook your head once again, shutting your eyes tight.

"Was it Jake?"

Panic surged inside your veins which instantly had you opened your tear filled eyes. "N-No! It's not him!"

Jungwon tilted his head at your sudden response, "Are you defending him?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You made another horrible mistake.

"Why. Are. You. Defending. That. Bastard?" Jungwon gritted his teeth.

"No! Jungwon! Please!"

Jungwon dragged you to the hallways of the school where all of the students were there, watching you drown in your embarrassment with snickers and giggles escaping their mouth.

No one was helping you here.

"See, everyone. This slut over here is betraying me, do you actually believe it?!"

Loud murmurs and gasps emits from all of them, one of the girls stepped forward with an exaggerated pout, "Then Jungwon-ah? Why can't you just leave this bitch?!"

"Right? She doesn't deserved you!"

"Just leave her! A bitch her like belongs to the street."

"Fuck right."

Your mind was bombarded with all the loud murmurs and insults thrown at you, like a knife stabbing all over your body on repeat — dragging it's tip and ripping your skin open. Your ears felt like it's gonna burst and bleed, you wanted to run, you wanted to escape.

But where?

Where?

Where?!

It felt like an endless eternity for you as you weep silently, weak and helpless as you could do nothing but let Jungwon walked you home, he brought you back to your home with that sickeningly sweet smile splattered on his face as he talked with your parents. Attending to your bruises and softly caressing it with the white towel and a bowl of water on the table.

"It is because I love you that's why I'm doing this." There it was once again, that gentle Jungwon you've always known. Why? Just what kind of bullshit is this? Why was he so kind and so evil at times? It almost makes you cry to your heart again.

"Then please stop doing this to me. ." You cried out, voice so small because inside you, a deep and big fear were lingering.

"What? This is for your own good. Haven't you gone being such a brat, I wouldn't have to go far to that extent." Jungwon raised his eyebrow. "Your bratty attitude fucking pissed me alot, y'know?"

"It's not like I intended to!" You whisper-yelled, a sudden courage burst inside your heart but still wary of your parents downstairs. And you don't know why you're even doing it. "

Jungwon was taken aback by your outburst but stayed silent and so you took it as a chance.

"Jungwon, you're fucking insane! You're insane! This is not normal and I don't know where the fuck your head is but this isn't it! What happened to you? What have happened to you? This isn't you!"

"I'm not m-me?" Jungwon giggled, letting out an amused scoff as he looked down and then back to meet your teary eyes again, "Darling! I think you're the one who's gone insane."

"No! It's not me! It's you! A sane person won't ever do all these bullshit! Yang Jungwon! Just leave me, I fucking beg you!"

Jungwon suddenly grabbed ahold of your jaw in an aggressive manner, forcing you to look at him as he leaned forward — your faces against each other just an inch closer.

"There, there," his other hand tucked in the strands of your hair behind your ear, "You don't know what you're saying so just fucking shut your mouth, love. I know you better than you know yourself."

"Just give it a little time, you'll get used to it. I know you will. Now let me see that pretty smile?" Jungwon's lips tugged up in the brightest smiles, a complete contrast to his lovesick feline eyes.

You were done. You can't bear this anymore, all of these extreme torment and abuse to your mental health. You don't care anymore, you have to run away from this city, away.

Away from him. Whatever it takes, you just have to escape from that boy you once ever so declared to love with your whole heart and gave your whole life to.

Your undying love for Jungwon has ceased to exist, it's painfully gone to ashes.

With the phone in your bruised hand, your being was shivering in fear as you called that one person you only trust right now.

Beep, beep.

Beep, beep.

"Hello? What's up, (Name)?" His voice almost made you bawl in tears due to how safe and comforting it was.

Cupping your mouth to prevent yourself from crying, you spoke up, "J-Jake. . P-please help me."

But why is it?

Just why?

One foot forward, and another.

Here he comes, here he comes.

Didn't you say you wanted to be with Jungwon? That you wanted to be remain by his side and never leave the town? To be the only one who's going to be by his side and show who truly likes him?

To remind you of your very words, the very words that came out from your lips in the very first place.

Here you are inside Jake's house, unsafe you were as you sat on his couch with him sitting on the other side just to make you feel as comfortable as you can.

You appreciated the gesture but really, the damage has been far too done.

"Are you sure you don't want to report this off to the police?"

"Fuck, Jake. Let's just get over it please?" You bit your lip as you frown deeply, unable to look at Jake's eyes. "He's— extremely manipulative a-and it's so fucking tiring to even try to get him back in his senses and whatever we do, he's insane and I just really, really don't want to see him anymore. Please, please. Just please bring me far away from this place, from him."

Jake felt there was nothing to say anymore after hearing your words and so he stood up walking towards you, crouching in front of you as he took your hands and pat it slowly.

"Don't worry, I'll do just that. Wherever you want to go, there we'll stay."

"W-we? What do you—"

"City life fucks my head sometimes too, just want to get a break too but of course I'll get a separate house, haha." Jake's smile widens and it comforted your heart instantly, it almost felt like the situation was never this serious and everything you've experienced before was all just a bad, bad dream; a nightmare you've been forced to live in.

Ring, ring!

"Oh— let me get this call first!" You nodded watching Jake walking over to the other room. And just like that, you took a deep breath sensing a great relief engulfing your body that you were atleast safe right now.

In Jake's house to stay in until everything has settled, there were tight security surrounding his house or mansion considering how wealthy his family is, it's really no wonder at this point. You've kinda felt a bit ashamed to asked for his help but there was really no choice, you've have to take the only opportunity laid in front of you to save yourself . . . From the devil himself.

It has been a few days since you've went to school and even return back to your home. School was one thing but even your so-called home was no longer your safe haven as even Jungwon often break into your room's window and the rest was history.

Everywhere you go, there he was.

A soft chime echoes from the door a few metres away from where you are; the spacious living room. Turning your head to the source of the sound, you pondered for awhile and just a whole good minute — one of the old maid who helped you just now came out, striding too the main door.

Somehow, something was making you uneasy.

Just why Jake's taking so long with the call he got?

Fiddling your fingers and peeling away the skin of the edges of your nails, you sighed dejectedly waiting in patience but just then you heard the maid's voice echoing through the hallway you've just came in through.

A desperate, weak voice that almost reminds you of yours when you were in Jungwon's presence, resembling your voice whenever he was playing his little games that you hated so much, that you grew to fear all this months being with him.

Cat and mouse.

The winner takes the prize.

And the roles was crystal clear, he has always been the cat and you've always been the mouse.

Always had been.

A pair of rubber shoes halted it steps just a few steps away from you — the table being the only object separating you from that person.

"Love, do you think ignoring me is such a good idea? I don't think so."

And speaking of the devil, there he was beside the old lady.

Your heart sank to it's core and your stomach churned as soon as your eyes met with his gaze filled with expressions you couldn't fathom but something you were sure rings the death bell to your life.

You couldn't stand up, your feet were stuck to the ground and your body froze — you wanted nothing but to run but why, why, why. .

Why can't you move? Stand up and run.

It was as if he had cast a spell on you; a poisonous one that pulls you towards him, those same feline eyes that helds a siren-like melody — a melody that sang an approaching bloodbath.

"(Name)—" You didn't even have to look up to see Jake as he too, were shocked to see the feline boy he had been avoiding all this time for your sake. "J-Jungwon? What brings you here? This is rare, y'know? Bro?"

"Why? Am I not allowed to visit?"

"No, of course not! It's just—"

"(Name)?"

Your eyes shoot open when his spine chilling voice called out for you, almost as if your body was acting out of your own will. "H-huh?"

Jungwon reached out his hand with a sweet smile on adorning his lips, "Let's go home. I prepared dinner for you and I'm sure the dishes are getting cold, so let's go?"

Lies. He's fucking lying.

You whimper silently as you pushed yourself back to the couch, "No. ."

Jake immediately went to you, covering you from Jungwon's view. "Just go home, Jungwon. She's not going back with you."

"Hm?"

"You heard me, she's not going home with you so just please—" Jake paused, struggling to find the right words to say, "W-we we'll just talk about this tomorrow, okay?"

Silence.

"Okay?" Jake repeated once again, waiting for Jungwon's response but only a low giggle escaped from his lips.

"Tomorrow? What are you talking about? Do you actually think you still got to live one more day after messing up my fucking plan?"

"J-Jungwon?"

Another scoff, "Honey, why do you keep seducing other bastards? Haven't I done enough for you? Haven't I taught you enough lesson?"

"Just stop it!" You yelled at him as you took a cover behind Jake.

"I hate it when they look at you, so fucking much . . ." Jungwon snapped his head to the old lady beside him and to her utmost fear, everything happens so fast that you and Jake couldn't processed what happen but froze to death.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

"You're all I ever think about, and you fucking dare to run away with someone who wasn't me?!" Jungwon screamed to the top of his lungs as his tight grip on the maid's hair grew tighter, her head breaking open with every fatal blow to the wall — deep red blood dripping from the wall to the furniture.

Run.

As soon as Jungwon was done with the utter mess he created, his head tilted to your direction — his eyes holding nothing but insanity.

"Come here, kitten. Maybe I would go easy on you if you just come over here and beg like I taught you."

Jake shielded you away from the monster's sight as he pushed you backwards, whispering, "Run. Just r-run."

You shook your head as tears formed in your eyes again, gripping Jake's shirt in hopes to pull him with you.

The sight in front of Jungwon made him more bitter, "Fuck, (Name). I don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you. But okay, go ahead and run. I'll catch up to you later. . Just make sure to hide very, very well."

"(Name)! Just go!" Jake pleaded, and your heels spun around taking you away from the both of them.

Why? Why did you even bother to run away from Jungwon in the first place?

You ran far ahead, far away from the monster — you were drowning in immense fear as you hid behind the rooms among the countless of rooms in the vast hallway.

The eerie silence between them was eating Jake alive, his body shivered on its own as he tried to stop it with his other hand.

This boy, this boy wasn't Jungwon.

"J-Just what had happened to you?" Jake cried out.

Jungwon's face remain expressionless but his eyes were holding a thousand words — words that screaming annoyance and bitterness.

"You should've known better. Flirting with what's mine? You must want to die so bad."

It couldn't be more creepier as the lights went off. Darkness engulfed everything leaving the entire mansion into a complete hell and the only thing providing light for you was the moon on the sky, it's bright form hiding behind the grey clouds outside the window.

Your chest rose and fell in hopes of trying to gain your breath back but it was all hopeless as you can't calm yourself down, your lungs only hurting with each passing second and your nails almost breaking as you digged it so deep into your legs.

"Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me!" you prayed silently over and over again as you bury your face in your legs.

Blood dripping from the boy's arms as he took his time to search for you across the hallway filled with countless of doors on his either side. Sighing, he wiped his face over a thousand times somehow getting more and more irritated with each passing second. "Do you think if you ignore me. I would stop following you?"

Your face had gone pale, blood drained from your face when you heard his small voice from the distance, the walls and doors blocking the danger from you.

Another door got crashed with a loud kick.

"Do you think if you would get some help, I would back down and give up?"

A few, soft tsk emits from him.

"Or have you ever thought, if you hide somewhere, I'd never find you in this world?" Another door were kicked in, delivering a ticking death bell towards your direction as you curled your form even deeper in hopes to protect yourself from him.

"Oh no no no dear kitten!" His exaggerated voice made you whimper, there was no turning back — this was the beginning of his game. This was how he starts his game.

Jungwon claps so loud as he throw his head backwards, a series of giggles emitting from him, "Why? Are you scared?"

He doesn't care, if it's fun he will do it. That's why he was looking for you while his other hand lazily grips the dripping head within his claws. "Kitten~"

BAM!

"Are you here?!" a grim giggle soon follows one after another, your breath hitched in utter fear making you cupped your mouth from producing any more sound.

It was obvious by now that he purely enjoys the thrill of hunting you down like a prey waiting to be devoured.

"Let's see. ." His blood-stained fingers slides continuously through the wooden doors.

Silence.

The sound of the empty air and low chimes below the mansion were heard all over the space.

Your body froze when a rush footsteps stride over to to another door, just beside from where your door are. "You're here then?!"

Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.

Your chest rose and fell in a countless times making your heart ache as just then—

BAM!

The entire lights surrounding in and out of the mansion flickers open, except the room you were in and the door to the room you were in bursts opened, revealing the boy tilting his head downwards to take a good look on your weak, petite crouching form on the corner of the room.

"Ah, found you. Kitten."

You felt a surge of goosebumps engulfed your entire body and without realising, you were already bawling in tears — your cries of agony filled the entire room.

Pain, pain, pain.

You knew pain was waiting for you.

If you were lucky enough, if he was lenient enough, you'd be away with some few scratches.

But if you weren't, you'd be sure that you wouldn't be walking away from this place with your legs still attached to yours because you remembered what he said when he brought you back home.

"I don't mind cutting your legs off just to keep you by my side."

But that wasn't the only thing that made your breathe caught in your throat, your cries of agony had stopped instantly when something he threw rolled over to your direction.

You watched it but not being able to comprehend what it was due to the darkness of the room and the light behind Jungwon blinding your view.

It rolls, rolls, and rolls until it halts before you.

Utter disgust.

A surge of scream from you emits in the air and your head threw downwards, vomiting everything from your stomach.

"J-Jake?" You bawl in tears, excruciating pain had you stood up in a frantic manner wanting nothing but to stay away from the dripping head on the floor.

What were you feeling?

Sadness? Anger? Pity? Regret? Guilt?

You couldn't fathom what it was as you keep letting out loud cries of agony, shutting your eyes tight but the gory image before you were etched deeply in your mind.

Jungwon wasn't at all pleased but let out a low chuckle anyways, "Ta-da! Like the gift?"

He slowly approaches you in a leisurely way, taking a good look at the pathetic head laying on the floor before giggling and kicking it off like a soccer ball.

The flesh organ hits the wall, furthering the damage on it's bruised face which results in its eyes popping out.

"Why don't you see it? Fuck. Take a good look at the present I made for you." Jungwon grabs ahold of your jaw, pushing your face to the head of the boy who once promised to look after you. "Look. Doesn't he look nice with all that?"

You cried. Cried and cried. You were incredibly tired but you still cried.

It was your fault, wasn't it?

A spine chilling and low giggle emits from him behind your back. "Yes, it's your fault."

"Haven't you tested my patience, nothing sort like this would've happen but you did, brat." He pushed you so hard towards the ground once again.

Helpless and weak, you didn't look up, only weeping in pure agony.

"Remember when you first did the dare back that day?" A soft giggle emits from him. His chest rose and fell as a satisfied grin adorned his face.

"At first, I was wondering why a girl like you would be so damn brave.. I was more than intrigued." A small pocket knife emerges from Jungwon's pockets, already stained with blood. "But when you told me you'd be by my side for the rest of our eternity, something snapped inside me y'know? When you told me that you'd remain with me even if no one else did, don't you realise just how fucking insane that is?"

Jungwon grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head up to meet his dark and lovesick gaze.

You whimper in utter fear as he stroked the cold tip of the knife on your lips then slowly sliding it down to your neck. "I'm so madly in love with you, kitten."

"You love me too, right?"

You nodded so fast, tears dripping to your cheek down to your jaw and that sight made Jungwon leaned forward, licking and tasting the tears staining your face.

"Now if you don't kiss me, I'll slit your fucking throat."

📣AUTHOR'S NOTE: bruh writing bout jungwon always made me so invested tf. Again, don't confused fiction w reality, this is only meant to satisfy the readers' imagination. I can't stop myself from adding my dose of my craziness in it 💀 I think I should also control myself from writing long fics for a request lmao. As always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! They're the ultimate motivation fuel!

© sweetpieceofnightmarez, 2023 JAN 5.

-> ask blog: @llyzblog

[wonenonly]

P: Hotel Owner!Jake × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Thriller!AU, Obsession, Yandere Behavior, Psychological Torment, Unreliable Narrator, Themes of Isolation and Paranoia, Stalking, Forced Captivity, Chasing, Injury, Violence, Death, Supernatural Immortality, Suicide, Implied Murder, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Supernatural Themes.

Synopsis: A storm leaves you stranded and separated from your friends. Their last call leads you to a secluded hotel run by the unsettlingly charming Jake, who claims they’ve already gone to bed. But the halls shift, mirrors whisper, and your friends are nowhere to be found. As the night drags on, you uncover that Jake’s not what he seems. He wants you to stay. And he’ll do anything to make sure you never leave.

Wordcount: 19,5k

a/n: I love the game At Dead Of Night, so i had to write a fic inspired from it, and of course my love for @gyuuberryy fic Trapped! reblogs and commentary are appreciated

When you agreed to this trip, you didn’t really expect anything major to happen. Honestly, you thought it would end up in that forgotten corner of your group chat history—the “what if” section where all your other half-baked vacation plans went to die. Someone was always broke, someone else had work, school, family stuff, or just life being inconvenient. But during a small get-together—just you and the other four—Mina pitched the idea: a cross-country road trip.

Miraculously, everyone had the same week free. It felt like the universe was giving you a green light.

You thought you'd fly. 

Wrong.

According to Miyeong, flying was a waste of money. "We’ll drive," she said, like gas wasn’t practically liquid gold. Still, you went with it, especially when you offered to take your own car, solo. Jinyeong’s little four-seater couldn’t fit all five of you anyway. You didn’t mind. In fact, it was perfect. More space, more quiet, and complete control of your weird, cursed playlist that no one else ever let you play.

The plan was simple: drive in tandem, meet at stops, maybe even swap cars now and then. The first few days were normal —music, snacks, crappy gas station coffee, and a lot of yelling between cars through open windows. It was fun in that chaotic way you all somehow functioned best in.

Then came the storm.

It wasn’t on the forecast. It rolled in fast—dark clouds swallowing the sun, rain hammering down so hard your windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. You lost sight of the car ahead of you somewhere between winding forest roads and patchy signals.

Then your phone buzzed. Mina’s voice, crackling and broken up: "We found a hotel up the hill. Just—just come quick. We’ll wait for you."

Then nothing. Just static. Then silence. 

You took the next turn they must’ve meant, tires slipping slightly on the wet gravel as your headlights hit a weathered old sign buried in vines:

THE HOLLOW CREST HOTEL— Est. 1892 —

A place that definitely wasn’t on the map, and absolutely felt like it shouldn't still be standing.

You pulled up slowly, your headlights cutting across the overgrown gravel path until they landed on your friends’ car—Jinyeong’s unmistakable little sedan, parked crooked under a crooked lamppost. You parked beside it and glanced around. Nothing but forest, thick and silent, pressing in from all sides. No road signs, no other buildings—just trees and the long stretch of cracked asphalt behind you. You were completely alone. Except for the hotel. 

It rose in front of you like a shadow from the past, massive and towering, its pointed rooflines disappearing into the storm above. Several floors tall, balconies hung crooked, ivy clinging to stone walls as if trying to pull the place back into the earth. The paint was faded, windows clouded, and part of the sign had rotted off—but the warm, golden glow from a few upper windows suggested it was somehow still alive. Amazing it had lasted this long. Even more amazing that your friends chose this of all places.

With thunder rolling above you, you grabbed your umbrella and two bags from the passenger seat. The moment you stepped out, the rain hit like a wall—cold and relentless, soaking your jeans before you even had time to curse. You locked your car with a chirp, shouldered your bags, and sprinted across the moss-slick walkway, nearly slipping on the uneven stone steps. You pushed your hand against the grand entrance door—half-expecting resistance—but it opened smoothly, silently, like it had been waiting.

Warmth greeted you instantly.

The lobby was surprisingly well-kept, if a little too still. It had that vintage charm you’d only ever seen in movies—high ceilings, ornate crown moldings, golden light from old chandeliers. Deep red wallpaper, soft amber lamps, and wooden floors that creaked just enough to make your nerves itch. A large fireplace crackled gently on one side, casting flickering light on faded couches and plush armchairs. It smelled faintly of cedar and dust.

Strangely… inviting.

There was no one at the reception desk. No footsteps echoing from the halls. No sound but the fire and the distant rumble of thunder. Then, from around the corner, someone stepped out. A man—young, tall, dressed far too neatly for this rundown place. Dark hair, a soft smile, and eyes that met yours like he’d been expecting you. “Welcome,” he said, voice warm and smooth. “You must be with the others. They’ve already checked in.” He took a small step forward, extending a hand. “I’m Jake. The owner.”

You eyed him for a moment, cautious but not unfriendly. He was handsome—disarmingly so. You set your bags down, folded your dripping umbrella, and stepped forward to shake his hand. It was bigger than yours—calloused in some places, warm in a way that caught you off guard. Not clammy. Not cold. Comforting, somehow. You wouldn’t admit to yourself that you kind of liked the feeling. He gave your hand a full shake, a genuine one, his grin stretching wider as he did it. His whole arm moved with the motion, and you couldn’t help noticing how his hair bounced with it, slightly messy from the humidity. Cute. He reminded you of a golden retriever—wide, curious eyes, open expression, like every new thing you said would be his favorite sound. “Come on,” Jake said, stepping around to the massive wooden front desk with an easy gait. A small brass bell sat at the corner, and before it lay a large guest book, already cracked open and filled with names in various styles of handwriting.

You leaned over slightly, eyes skimming the page. There they were. Jinyeong. Mina. Miyeong. Soojin. All listed with today’s date. Your tension loosened just a bit. Proof. You weren’t crazy.

Jake placed an old fountain pen on the book. “Go ahead. Your name and the date,” he said with a soft, encouraging smile. You took the pen and signed. The ink was smooth, old-fashioned. The moment your name hit the page, Jake turned around and began sorting through a few loose papers before glancing up toward the massive wall of keys behind him—rows and rows of polished brass hooks, each with an old, engraved room key dangling from it. He scanned the board briefly, then reached up and plucked a single key free. He turned back to you and offered it with a light touch.

504.

“Fifth floor,” he said. “You can take the elevator—it’s just down the hall. Or the stairs, if you’re feeling brave. I do recommend the elevator however.”

You took the key slowly, the metal cool in your palm. “And my friends?” you asked, lifting your gaze.

Jake leaned his elbows onto the desk. “They were really tired when they got in. Long drive, I imagine. They went up to their rooms pretty quick. I didn’t want to disturb them.” He smiled again, so sincerely that it made you feel oddly guilty for questioning him.

“…Right,” you murmured, grabbing your bags from the floor and turning away, still gripping the key tightly. You spotted the elevator at the end and walked toward it, your footsteps soft against the carpeted floor. You pressed the button. The elevator dinged faintly, and the old mechanical numbers above it began to tick downward. 8… 7… 6… You hadn’t even realized the building had eight floors. As the numbers descended, you glanced over your shoulder once. Jake was still at the desk, watching you with a smile. Warm. Polite. Still.

You looked away just as the elevator doors slid open with a gentle, echoing chime. You stepped into the elevator, the floor creaking slightly beneath your feet as you turned to press the worn brass button marked 5. It lit up with a soft glow, and just as the doors began to slide shut, curiosity tugged at you. You glanced back toward the lobby—toward the desk where Jake had been just moments ago.

Empty. No footsteps. No sound. No movement. He was gone.

Peculiar. You hadn't heard him walk away. Your eyes flicked past the desk, back to the towering wall of keys behind it. Now that you were farther away, it struck you more clearly how many keys there were.

Hundreds. Far more than could possibly be in use. And yet… most were still hanging. Polished. Untouched. Only a few hooks were bare. Your stomach twisted slightly. Maybe it was the lighting, the long drive, the isolation gnawing at the edges of your nerves. But something about that wall—about the sheer number of rooms and how quiet the building was—felt… wrong.

The doors slid shut with a soft thud. You were alone in the elevator now. Just you, the hum of old machinery, and your reflection in the faded brass paneling. Fifth floor. It couldn’t come fast enough. You sighed and turned toward the reflective brass panel inside the elevator, catching your own reflection.

Yikes. 

Your hair was sticking out in every direction, flattened in some places and frizzed in others from the rain. Your makeup had clearly given up hours ago—mascara smudged, eyeliner clinging on by a thread. Your clothes clung to your skin, damp and heavy, making you feel like you’d been wrapped in a wet towel. You looked exhausted, uncomfortable, and borderline haunted. A shower. Makeup remover. Dry clothes. That’s all you needed. Then maybe you’d feel halfway human again.

The elevator dinged with a soft chime. You turned just as the doors slid open, revealing the fifth floor. Immediately, you were struck by the contrast. The entire hallway was black. From the wallpaper to the intricate carpet pattern to the dark wood furniture scattered along the corridor—it was all drenched in varying shades of obsidian, charcoal, and onyx. Even the paintings along the walls were monochrome, black and white portraits of places and people you didn’t recognize, each one framed in ornate ebony. Two high-backed chairs sat across from the elevator, like they'd been waiting for someone to come sit in them. They looked untouched, just like everything else. You stepped out cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the thick rug. The air here was heavier, quieter than the lobby. Like the walls were holding their breath. Your eyes flicked to the sign above the elevator buttons.

→ 521–540← 500–520

You glanced down at your key. 504. Left it was. Adjusting your grip on your bags, you started down the hall, passing the occasional door. Each one had a small brass number plaque and an old-fashioned keyhole, the kind you couldn’t just slide a card through. You didn’t pass anyone. No voices. No televisions. Nothing but your footsteps and the soft hum of the light fixtures overhead. You weren’t sure why, but the longer you walked, the quieter the world seemed to get. Like the hotel was swallowing up the sound the deeper you went.

When you finally reached Room 504, you paused, frowning slightly. Each door you’d passed had two keyholes—yours included. One at the normal height, where your key fits easily, and another slightly above it. A deadlock, probably. The heavy-duty kind that could only be turned from the inside. For… safety? Privacy? You slid your key into the lower lock and twisted it. It turned smoothly, and with a soft click, the door creaked open. The room inside was a sharp contrast to the hallway’s gloom—cozy, clean, and surprisingly well-kept.

To your left, a door led to the bathroom. You peeked in first, heart still ticking just a little too fast. The lights flickered on to reveal a simple layout: a pedestal sink with a round mirror, a toilet, and a combination shower and bathtub with a white curtain drawn halfway. Nothing fancy, but everything looked clean and unused. Like it had been scrubbed just for you. Back in the main room, a queen-sized bed sat against the far wall, neatly made with thick covers and stiff, upright pillows. A tall wardrobe stood in one corner beside a cozy two-seater couch facing the bed. There were two wooden bedside tables, each with an old lamp perched on top, and an empty chest at the foot of the bed for storage. Above, an air conditioner hummed softly, its light glowing green as it kept the room just slightly warmer than the hallway.

The only window—tall, narrow, with old-fashioned latches—showed the storm still raging outside. Rain lashed against the glass in sheets, and the occasional flicker of lightning illuminated the trees beyond. The world outside was a blur of black and gray and violent motion. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind you. The click of the lock echoed in the room like punctuation.

It was the kind of room that seemed calm at first glance—but linger too long, and you'd start to notice just how quiet it really was. No children running down the halls. No muffled talking from the rooms next door. No footsteps overhead or in the corridor outside. Just the low hum of the air conditioner and the dull roar of the storm beyond the window.

Too quiet.

You stood in the middle of the room, bags still in hand, unease settling like dust in your chest. Hotels were never this silent—not even the expensive ones. There was always something—a distant cough, a thud of a suitcase being set down, a door creaking open. But here… it was like the whole floor had been vacuum-sealed. Still. Soundless.

Too still. Too suspicious.

You tried to shake the feeling. It was very late, after all. You had lost track of time on the road, and the storm hadn’t helped. Your friends were probably dead asleep by now—especially if they’d arrived even an hour earlier than you. It made sense. Sort of.

Still, you found yourself checking the hallway again. You cracked the door open, peeked out.

Nothing. No flicker of motion. No shadows. Just the long, dark corridor and the faint golden glow of the elevator light far off. You shut the door again, double checked the lock, then, finally, you let yourself breathe. You pulled off your soaked jacket, peeled your damp clothes from your skin, and gathered what little clean comfort you could from your overnight bag—a towel, a change of clothes, the smallest bottle of makeup remover that had survived the trip. You made your way to the bathroom and flicked on the light, peeling off the rest of your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water sting your skin. It felt good, the kind of warmth that made your muscles ache all at once. You stood there longer than you meant to, not moving, eyes closed, letting the sound of water drown out everything else.But even under the rush of the shower, there was something else… A shift. A pressure. Like something had changed in the room beyond the curtain. You stilled. Water dripping. Steam rising. No footsteps. No voices. Just that sense—the way your gut knotted, like you weren’t quite alone. You forced yourself to finish quickly, turning off the tap and wrapping the towel tightly around yourself before stepping out onto the cool tile.

Back in the bedroom, you tossed your wet clothes into your bag, flicked on one of the bedside lamps, and climbed into the bed. The sheets were cold but clean, the mattress soft. You sank into it like you’d been walking for days. You checked your phone. No signal. No texts. No calls. You sighed and set it facedown on the nightstand before laying back against the pillows, eyes tracing the faint cracks in the ceiling above you. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the room with a low, steady drone, and somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled again, muted through the thick glass window.

You tried to relax. Tried to focus on the comfort of clean sheets, the warmth slowly building in your limbs now that you were dry. You shifted onto your side, the sheets rustling softly beneath you. They were heavy, the kind that wrapped around your body just enough to keep you still, held. You exhaled slowly. You hadn’t realized how exhausted you were until now. Your eyes drooped despite your tension, your muscles aching in that dull, worn-out way that only comes after hours of driving and stress. The pillow grew warmer under your cheek, and the storm outside began to sound more like a lullaby than a threat.

You didn’t even notice the exact moment you slipped under. Just that your last thought was about how peaceful it finally felt.

And then… You were asleep.

The room stayed quiet. The key still hung in the door. And outside, in the hall, something walked past—just slow enough not to be heard.

You woke up with a jolt, heart pounding.

A scream. Sharp and panicked, it echoed through the floor before cutting off just as suddenly as it came. You sat up fast, blinking into the darkness, disoriented and breathless. Your hand scrambled for the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on with a shaky touch. You looked around—nothing seemed out of place. Still sealed in that eerie silence. But your pulse wouldn’t slow.

You grabbed your phone. 2:19 AM. Barely two hours since you’d fallen asleep.

The scream replayed in your head, louder now, unmistakable. It had been real. You slipped out of bed, pulling on your shoes quickly. No time to second guess yourself. The chill of the floor hit you as you stepped out into the hallway, door clicking shut behind you. The corridor was dim, darker than before, lit only by small sconces every few feet. You walked slowly, keeping close to the wall, every nerve on edge. Then you heard it—struggling. Muffled sounds. A low voice, muttering. You rounded the corner—

And froze.

There.

Down the hall, lit faintly by one flickering overhead light, was Jake. Gone was the friendly smile. Gone was the calm hotel host. He had ditched his suit jacket, leaving only a crisp white dress shirt clinging to his frame, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His hair was messier now, shadows sharp across his face. In one hand, gripped tight and trembling, was a bat.

In the other— 

He was dragging someone.

You recognized the pants first. Mina.

Jake’s hand was clamped around her wrist, pulling her toward one of the rooms. Her legs kicked weakly, her voice hoarse. She looked barely conscious. Jake mumbled to himself under his breath, voice eerie in its calmness, as if repeating some twisted mantra. “Bad eggs need cracking. They spoil the rest… Can’t let them rot the whole bunch…”

You stood frozen for half a second, just long enough to realize he hadn’t seen you.

Sprinting back, heart hammering in your ears louder than the storm outside. You reached the elevator and slammed the button, over and over. The floor display above ticked down agonizingly slow.

7… 6…

Please, please, please…

5…

A soft ding.

The doors slid open, and you slipped inside, jabbing at G for the ground floor, praying the old thing wouldn’t creak or whine.

As the doors began to close, you stared ahead—afraid to look back. Afraid you’d see Jake standing there. Afraid he'd smile at you like he did when you first arrived—warm, polite, utterly wrong. You clenched your jaw, forcing your eyes forward, not daring to breathe until you heard the soft click of the elevator doors sealing shut.

The descent was slow. Each floor ticked by with a groan of old machinery. 4… 3… 2…

The elevator jolted slightly as it reached the ground floor, a soft chime breaking the suffocating silence. The doors slid open with a faint hiss, and the familiar glow of the lobby greeted you. Your feet moved before your brain caught up. You rushed out, scanning the lobby—empty. Still no sign of other guests. No sign of Jake. No sign of anyone. You hesitated behind one of the armchairs, heart racing. Where do you go? The front door? Your car? Do you call the cops? But there was still no signal. You already knew that. You were trapped in a dead zone—literally. You turned your eyes toward the front desk, something tugging at you.

Move.

You darted behind it, ducking low in case Jake suddenly came back through the lobby. The wood smelled faintly of polish and old paper. Your eyes immediately landed on the rotary phone tucked neatly on the corner of the desk—old, dusty, but still plugged in. You grabbed the receiver with trembling hands, pressed it to your ear.

Nothing.

No dial tone. Not even static. Completely dead. 

You set it down carefully, your chest tightening as you scanned the rest of the desk. That’s when your eyes flicked upward to the key wall behind you. One hook caught your attention—labeled in red text instead of the usual black.

Masterkey 2

Your hand shot out and snatched it before your brain could second-guess you. It was heavier than the others, thicker. Probably opened all of the rooms. You didn’t get a chance to celebrate. Because that’s when you heard a voice. No, voices. High and strained, like a child… then layered by another. And another. Dozens, maybe more.

“Get out…”“Free us…”“He won’t stop… he never does…”“He was locked in here…”

Your blood ran cold. You whipped around to the desk—and there it was. A small, boxy device tucked beside the ledger book. Black, with a few dials and blinking lights, humming faintly.

A spirit box.

It flickered with static, and voices continued to pour out in overlapping echoes, some frantic, others almost resigned.

“Don’t trust his smile…”“We begged him to stop—he didn’t.”“He wants you next.”

You staggered back a step, pulse hammering in your ears. You didn’t know how it worked or why it was even on, but you weren’t leaving it behind. You grabbed the spirit box and shoved it into the pocket of your shorts, feeling its faint vibration against your thigh.

Then you made a break for the front door. Your feet slapped against the cold floor as you reached it, grabbed the antique handle, and pulled hard.

Locked. Of course it was. You dropped to one knee, trying the masterkey in the old-fashioned lock. 

It didn’t fit. The grooves didn’t match at all.

Jake had locked it. He probably had the only key.

You stared at the door, heart pounding, knuckles white against the brass handle. The fire behind you crackled. And somewhere deeper in the lobby, the elevator started moving.

You let go of the handle with a shaky breath, backing away from the door like it might explode if you touched it again. The master key weighed heavily in your pocket, cold against your skin. Useless for now.

The spirit box crackled again, faint and jittery, like it was reacting to something nearby.

“He knows what you saw.”“He won’t let you leave now.”“Hide.”

Your eyes snapped toward the hallway. Too exposed. You ducked behind the front desk again, crouching low, the back of your head pressed to the wood, breath shallow. The warmth of the fire couldn’t reach here—it was colder. The kind of cold that sank into your bones and made your teeth want to chatter. Or maybe that was fear. Real, paralyzing fear.

Ding.

You froze.

Moments later, footsteps padded across the lobby. Slow. Uneven. Not rushed, not searching—just wandering. And then you heard it.

Breathing.

Heavy, shaky inhales through the nose. Out through the mouth. Over and over. Like someone trying not to snap. You clamped a trembling hand over your mouth, willing your body to be smaller, quieter, invisible. Your other hand curled around the cold metal of the spirit box in your pocket, silencing its crackling static with a subtle twist of the dial.

Then came the voice. Low. Muttering. Jake. He moved in front of the desk, only inches from you on the other side. “They always sneak around… always ungrateful,” he said, voice breathless, rising and falling like a song out of tune. “I give them comfort, shelter, peace. And they still run. Always run. Like I’m the villain.”

He chuckled. Soft. Raspy. “I didn’t want to use the bat again. I was trying to be good this time.” A pause. “She saw too much… that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Your heart beat so hard it felt like it might echo off the wood. The spirit box in your pocket let out a faint crackle. You pressed your hand against it through the fabric, desperate to muffle the sound.

Jake shifted on his feet. “Maybe she went back to her room… yes. That’s it,” he murmured, voice distant and strangely gentle. “She’s tired. The hotel will settle her. Like it always does.” Another step. Then another. And then, mercifully… the sound of retreating footsteps.

Back toward the hallway. Back into the dark.

You didn’t move. Not yet. Not until the sound faded completely. Not until the only thing you could hear was the whisper of the fire and the frantic pounding of your own pulse.

When you finally dared to breathe again, your breath came in sharp, silent gasps.

And in that breath, the spirit box clicked on again.

“Room 313… Hurry.”

You waited another few seconds, straining to hear anything—a creak, a whisper, the low scuff of Jake’s shoes on the old floor. But there was nothing. Just the crackle of the fire, the hum of blood in your ears, and the storm pounding against the hotel’s windows like it was trying to warn you too. You stood up slowly, every joint in your body stiff from tension. The lobby looked just as it had before—quiet, elegant, deceptive. You grabbed the masterkey from your pocket, holding it tight, and stepped around the desk.

No sign of Jake.

You padded quietly toward the stairwell instead of the elevator this time. You pushed the heavy stairwell door open and slipped inside, the sound of it closing behind you muffled but final. The stairs wound upward, dimly lit by dusty sconces. You took them two at a time, careful not to make a sound, your breath catching in your throat every time one of the old steps creaked beneath your weight.

Second floor… third.

You stopped just before the door to the third floor, catching your breath as you slowly pushed it open. The hinges groaned, metal grinding like a warning. As you stepped through, a rush of warm, stale air greeted you. The hallway here was red. Everything was drenched in the color of dried blood: faded crimson wallpaper, deep maroon carpet, burgundy curtains drawn tight over grimy windows. The patterns once meant to be elegant now looked like they were bleeding. The wallpaper was peeling at the edges, curling like old skin, exposing strips of cracked plaster underneath. Dust coated everything, the air dense with it. Even the lightbulbs overhead flickered erratically, struggling to stay alive as if the electricity here resisted being used. This floor wasn’t just forgotten. It had been left behind. On purpose.

Your fingers curled tighter around the masterkey as you stepped deeper into the corridor, footsteps muffled by the thick, faded carpet. You walked slower now, trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to think too hard about what might be behind each door.

307… 309… 311…

The hallway seemed longer than it should’ve been. Stretched. You glanced at each door as you passed—old brass numbers dulled with age, some barely hanging on.

And then you saw it. At the very end. Tucked beneath a dim, flickering bulb that barely cast enough light to read the number:

313.

The air grew colder the closer you got. Your ears began to ring faintly, a high-pitched pressure like the silence itself was closing in. You reached the door and stood still, staring at it. The wood was darker than the others. Older. It looked almost scorched in places, warped at the edges like it had been exposed to heat. The number was scratched in, barely readable. No plaque. No shine.  Just 313, etched like a scar.

You hesitated for only a moment. Then, gripping the masterkey tightly, you slowly inserted it into the lock. It turned with a heavy, reluctant click. The door creaked open, slower than the others. Like it didn’t want to be disturbed.

Darkness spilled out. A pressure in your chest. A whisper in the back of your mind.

Come inside. See it for yourself.

You stepped over the threshold into Room 313. And the door groaned shut behind you. The moment you stepped inside, the air hit you—warm, heavy, and far too familiar. Not musty like the rest of the hotel. Not forgotten.

Lived in.

The room was neat, unnervingly so. Bed made, corners tucked with care. A faint smell of cologne still lingered in the air—earthy, sharp, expensive. A white shirt was folded loosely at the end of the bed, sleeves rumpled like someone had taken it off in a hurry and meant to wear it again. On top of the pillow, perfectly centered, lay a small dog plushie—faded and worn, one of its button eyes missing.

It was the kind of room someone came back to every night.

You took a slow step forward, every inch of you tense. Your eyes scanned the room quickly. There was something wrong with the mirror above the dresser. The glass was shattered—not cracked, but completely ruined—as if someone had punched it over and over until their reflection disappeared forever. Jagged shards still clung to the frame, some missing entirely, others tipped downward like sharp teeth.

You didn’t want to see what it had reflected. 

Your hands moved on instinct now, searching through drawers and cupboards. You weren’t sure what you were hoping to find, but if this room belonged to who you thought it did, there had to be something. Anything.

And then you found it.

Tucked beneath a stack of folded, ironed handkerchiefs in the bedside table drawer was a small wooden box, worn at the corners. You opened it with hesitant fingers.

Inside was a photograph, yellowed with age. A young boy, smiling wide, standing beside a tall woman with her arm wrapped around him. The boy's eyes were bright. Happy. Familiar.

Jake.

The woman’s face had been burned. Not blurred, not cut out—burned, deliberately. The edges were blackened, crinkled like scorched paper. Someone had taken a lighter to it and held it there just long enough to destroy her smile but not the rest of the photo. Just long enough to hurt.

You stared at it, heart thudding. 

This was his room. And this… was someone he wanted to forget. Or someone he couldn’t. Beneath the photo was something small wrapped in old cloth. You unwrapped it carefully, revealing a ring box. Inside sat a simple, delicate wedding ring, dulled slightly with age but still gleaming where the light hit.

The spirit box in your pocket suddenly crackled back to life, the voices now quieter. Sadder. You didn’t touch it. You didn’t move. But it buzzed softly against your thigh like it had something it needed to say. The voices this time were different—quieter, not frantic, not angry. Just… tired. Like echoes aged in grief.

“I tried to help him…” A woman’s voice, gentle but worn with time, like a memory that's been wept over too many times. 

“He wouldn’t let her.” Another voice—older, male, full of regret. Heavy, like he’d seen too much. 

“He was too strong.” A sharper tone, bitter and resigned. A man, maybe mid-thirties, the kind who knew what it meant to lose. 

“We reaped the consequences.” This voice was hollow. Broken. More than one life behind it.

“Now he lives on in punishment…”“He can’t leave…”“He can’t die…”“He’s eternal.”

You glanced around the room again—the carefully folded shirt, the untouched plushie, the cracked mirror, the scorched photo, the ring that never made it to a finger.

This wasn’t just a room. It was a tomb of everything Jake had lost—and everything he couldn’t forget. A part of you—deep down, buried under the adrenaline and fear—wanted to pity him. To believe there was something still salvageable in him. But another part of you—the smarter part—knew he wouldn’t want that pity.

The spirit box in your pocket buzzed sharply again, and before you could reach for it, a small voice whispered through. 

“Basement…” A girl’s voice. Young. Faint. Almost drowned in static.

You froze, eyebrows knitting. Basement? You pulled the device out and held it up, whispering, “What basement? What’s down there?” But the voice was gone. Just white noise. Broken static. You let out a shaky breath, thumb flicking the switch to silence it. “Great,” you muttered, sliding it back into your pocket. “Cryptic ghost riddles. That’s helpful.” You approached the door carefully, turning the lock with slow, steady hands. Then you leaned forward and looked through the peephole.

Nothing.

Heart pounding, you cracked the door open, just enough to slide out into the hallway. You paused again, listening, your breath shallow and your limbs tensed to run at the slightest sound.

Still nothing.

The air in the red hallway felt even thicker now. Heavier. Like the walls were holding something in. You pulled the door shut behind you and began moving down the hall, toward the stairs. Each step was cautious, calculated, every nerve in your body tuned to the silence around you.

Then.. a voice. It rang out from deeper down the hall, distorted slightly by the shape of the corridor. Sharp. Sweet. Mocking.

“Where are you…?”

Panic surged through you like fire. Without thinking, you grabbed the knob of the room beside you—309—shoved the masterkey in, and twisted. The door clicked open, and you threw yourself inside, yanking it shut behind you just as footsteps echoed around the corner.

You fumbled with the lock—click—then quickly leaned forward, eyes pressed to the peephole. For a moment—nothing. Just that same, stretching red hallway. Silent. Still.

Then he suddenly walked into view like a phantom stepping out of a nightmare. His hair was wild now, sticking up like he’d been dragging his hands through it over and over again. His white shirt was untucked, partially unbuttoned at the collar, and smeared with something dark across his shoulder. Blood. And in his right hand, he still clutched the bat, knuckles white around the handle. He walked past your door slowly, his boots dragging slightly against the floor, like he wanted you to hear him. “You don’t have to be afraid…” he called out softly, voice sing-song. “You could’ve just stayed. It would’ve been nice. I would’ve been nice.” He didn’t stop. Just gave your door a passing glance. No pause. No second look.

You didn’t even breathe.

Jake’s silhouette grew smaller in the peephole as he continued down the hall, still muttering to himself—softly, tenderly, like he was talking to a memory rather than a person.

You waited. Counted. Five steps. Ten. Fifteen. When the sound of his footsteps finally faded, your legs buckled slightly as the adrenaline came crashing down, leaving you lightheaded and cold. You gripped the edge of the nearby chair to steady yourself, chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.

Too close. He had been too close.

You stood there, frozen, for another minute—afraid that if you moved too soon, he’d somehow hear you. Somehow know. Jake wasn’t just wandering blindly. He was hunting, and he was enjoying it. 

You took a slow breath and crept back to the door, pressing your eye to the peephole once more. Empty.  You unlocked the door carefully, pausing before stepping out slowly, easing the door shut behind you, and began moving down the hall again— feet soft against the thick carpet. The stairwell was just ahead. Just a few more steps, and you could make your way back down.  You reached the stairwell door and pushed it open just a crack, peering inside. Dim. Silent. Clear. You slipped through and closed it gently behind you.

The air in the stairwell was colder now, heavier. Like whatever was beneath you was reaching up, waiting. By the time you reached the ground floor, your nerves were coiled so tightly they felt like they could snap. You moved quickly across the lobby, eyes sweeping the walls. Then you saw it. Tucked just past the check-in counter—almost hidden in the shadows—a narrow hallway you hadn’t noticed before. You stepped toward it, cautious, glancing behind you to be sure the lobby remained still.

The hallway was narrower, older. The wallpaper here was flaking and water-stained, the floorboards creaking louder than they should under your steps.

There were doors. Three of them.

You tried the first on the left—locked. The second on the right—locked, too. Your fingers hovered over the masterkey, but something told you to keep going. The final door at the end gave when you twisted the handle. It opened slowly with a groan, revealing a stairwell leading down. Dark stone walls. No windows. The air that rose up from the steps below was cold and damp, tinged with something sharp—like mildew and rust.  You swallowed hard, one hand trailing against the rough, damp wall as you descended one step, the other hand hovering over the railing.

Then—click. Your fingers brushed against a switch, old and rusted, embedded in the stone.

You flipped it up. A single overhead bulb sparked to life at the bottom of the stairwell, casting a harsh cone of light. And standing in it, perfectly still, was a little girl. She couldn’t have been more than seven. She wore a faded nightgown, dirty and torn at the hem. Her hair hung in limp strands around her pale face, and her eyes—wide and glassy—were locked directly on yours. You gasped, stumbling back a step up the stairs. Your hand gripped the wall hard enough to hurt.

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

The light overhead buzzed sharply, strobing once— And she was gone. 

You stayed frozen, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes glued to the space where she had stood. A cold sweat slid down the back of your neck. You pulled out the spirit box, hesitated, then flicked the switch. Static. Soft at first. Then building.

You swallowed. “Is… anyone there?” you whispered, voice barely louder than a breath.

For a moment—nothing. Just the crackle of airwaves, cold and empty. Then, a faint click, followed by a small, delicate voice:

“I’m here.”

You stiffened.

“Who are you?” you asked, gripping the box tighter.

A pause.

“Seoha... I’m nine.” The voice was clear, small, and almost unsure—like she wasn’t used to being heard. Your heart ached. “Seoha… why are you in the basement?” There was another pause. The static hissed like breath. Then she answered. “The boy locked me in. He told me it was a game. I believed him.” Your throat tightened. You stared down the stairwell, imagining her standing in the cone of light again. Small. Alone. “At first he was nice,” she said softly. “He gave me candy. Told me stories. But then… he started being mean.” Your grip on the spirit box tightened. “He pulled my hair,” she continued. “He poked at my dress and laughed when I got mad. I told him to stop. I told him he was being bad. He didn’t like that.” Her voice dimmed with the last sentence, like she was remembering it in real time. A shiver rolled down your spine. “He started yelling at me. Called me names. Said I was ruining everything.”

You tightened your grip on the spirit box, heart thudding.

“…Then what happened, Seoha?”

There was a pause. A shaky breath crackled through the static. “It got worse.” Her voice broke. A soft, wet sniff followed, like she was crying. “He started chasing me around the hotel. He said it was a game. He—he separated me from my parents. Locked doors. Turned off lights. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know how to get out…” You pressed your back to the cold stone wall, legs weakening. “I was so scared,” she whispered. “He kept following me. Said it was a cat and mouse game.” Your breath hitched. Wasn’t that what Jake was doing to you now? 

Seoha continued, her voice growing smaller, more bitter. “I hated him! He made my life miserable here! I wanted to tell my parents, but he always acted like an innocent angel in front of them.” There was silence. Then her voice dropped—full of something colder now. “And his mother… She always protected him. Said I was lying. Said he was just lonely. Said he didn’t mean it.” The static buzzed like a pulse beneath her words. “But she didn’t see him when no one else was looking.”

You looked down the stairwell again. The bulb at the bottom still glowed, painting the stone steps in sickly yellow light. You opened your mouth to ask something else—anything else—desperate to keep that fragile thread between you and Seoha alive.

But the spirit box crackled sharply, cutting her off. Back to static. “Seoha?” you whispered, adjusting the dial, tapping the side. “Are you still there?”

No reply. Just that low, empty hum. You waited. Nothing. 

You sighed softly, the weight of the silence settling in your chest like ash. With a reluctant flick, you turned it off and slid it back into your pocket, the warmth from her voice already fading. You took the last few steps down the stairwell, your hand skimming the cold stone wall for balance as you reached the bottom. The air here was thicker, harder to breathe. Like something down here hadn’t been disturbed in a very, very long time. The light overhead swayed slightly on its cord, casting long, crooked shadows along the floor.

The basement stretched out in front of you in jagged sections—each corner darker than the last. To your right, a row of rusted lockers, their doors hanging open, hinges creaking as you passed. You peeked inside a few—empty. Dust. Cobwebs. Nothing useful. Farther in, you found a massive boiler room, the hulking machine at its center groaning quietly, as if still alive somehow. Pipes lined the ceiling and walls like veins, dripping occasionally with something too thick to just be water. Two more doors waited at the back—both sealed shut. One had a reinforced handle and a rusted chain looped through the lock. The other looked warped from heat or time, its paint bubbling, the doorknob refusing to turn even a fraction.

You rattled it, kicked at it lightly—nothing budged. Whatever was behind them was staying there. Frustrated, heart heavy, you turned back and made your way out of the basement, your footsteps echoing louder now that the fear had settled into your bones. You retraced your steps through the narrow hallway, back to the lobby where the fire had long since died out, casting the room into flickering half-darkness. You crossed the cold floor to the elevator, jabbing the button with a bit more force than necessary.

A moment later, the familiar ding echoed through the lobby, and the doors slid open. You stepped inside. Pressed 5. And watched as the numbers ticked upward.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5.

The elevator gave a soft chime, and the doors slid open to reveal the fifth floor—quiet, still, drenched in that suffocating black interior.  You stepped out cautiously, shoes silent against the thick carpet, eyes darting side to side. Still no sign of him. Clutching the masterkey in one hand, your other instinctively moved to the necklace around your neck, fingers wrapping around it tightly. You didn’t even know why—maybe for comfort, maybe out of habit.

You began moving down the hallway toward your room, footsteps light and careful.

“Run, run, little bunny…”

Your breath hitched. You froze. That voice was too close. You spun, barely catching a glimpse of him at the end of the hall—Jake, stepping out from one of the shadows like he’d been waiting there the whole time. His smile was off, stretched too wide, too pleased.

You didn’t think. You ran. Heart slamming against your ribs, you darted toward the nearest door, fumbled the masterkey into the lock with shaking hands, and threw it open. You barely got inside before slamming it shut behind you, twisting the locks as fast as you could. Your breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as you stumbled back, then slowly crept toward the peephole, dread curling in your gut.

And there he was. Just outside the door, walking past slowly, gaze flicking to each door like he was trying to smell you out. Jake’s steps were unhurried—leisurely, like this was his evening stroll. His hand dragged along the wall as he walked, fingers trailing the dark wallpaper like he was caressing the hotel itself. Like it would whisper back which door you were behind.

You pressed your eye tighter to the peephole, heart thudding so hard you thought it might shake the door. You didn’t breathe. Not even a whisper of air escaped your lips until his humming began to fade. That same soft, melodic tune—twisted and gentle, like a lullaby hummed too many times. It grew quieter, fainter, until it was just an echo down the corridor.

Only then did you let out the breath you’d been holding. And that’s when you realized he’d gone the way you were supposed to go. Down the hall. Toward your room.

Shit.

Your heart pounded faster as your fingers moved to the lock. You hesitated. Then an idea sparked—risky, desperate, but your only shot. You slowly, silently unlocked the door, cracked it open just barely. Just enough to lean close and take a deep breath.

“I’m here, Jake!” Your voice echoed sharply down the hall. You slammed the door shut again, twisting the lock with shaking fingers, heart beating like a drum against your ribs.

And then you waited. A second passed. Two. Then—footsteps. Heavy, pounding footsteps.

You rushed to the peephole just in time to see him sprint past your door, going the opposite direction, toward the end of the hallway. His movements were frantic now, messy, all traces of composure gone.

You waited—counting each second—until the sounds faded again, replaced by the building hum of silence, only then did you slip out of the room, as quietly as you could, not daring to glance toward the way he’d gone.

And then you sprinted toward your room. 

You fumbled with the key—twist, click, shove—and slammed the door shut behind you, locking it fast. For a moment, all you could do was breathe.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You leaned against the door, hands on your knees, lungs burning with effort as adrenaline poured out of you in sharp, ragged gasps. Every part of you trembled, your nerves frayed to the edge. But you couldn’t stop. You forced yourself upright, legs unsteady beneath you, and began to search the room—really search it. No longer just seeking comfort or a place to hide, but looking for answers. For weapons. For clues.

You rifled through drawers, pulled cushions from the couch, yanked the bedding off the mattress. You checked under the bed, behind the curtains, every crack and corner of the room. And in the third drawer of the wardrobe, buried beneath a neatly folded stack of what looked like old towels, you found two things. A small, rusted key labeled in tiny etched script: “Deadlock – 504” Your eyes widened. You recognized it immediately—it belonged to the upper keyhole on your door. An extra layer of protection. You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed it tight and ran to the door, jamming it into the deadlock. It turned with a heavy, solid click.

Now the door was really locked. Jake wouldn’t be able to open it—not unless he broke it down. Feeling a little more in control, you returned to the drawer to examine the second object.

A piece of old rope, frayed at the ends. At first you thought it might’ve been discarded accidentally, but then you saw the stains. Dark. Dried. Too deep to be dirt. Too high up to be nothing. You touched it hesitantly. The rope was stiff in places. And the stains… they were red-brown, soaked in spots where the fibers had absorbed too much.

Your stomach turned.

This wasn’t just rope. It had been used. You dropped it like it burned, stepping back, hand over your mouth as bile rose in your throat. The room spun for a moment but you caught yourself against the side of the wardrobe, your skin clammy and your heart pounding like it was trying to break through your ribs.

Then the light flickered. Once. Twice.

You turned instinctively toward the ceiling, and when you looked back down—

She was there. Seoha. Standing in the middle of your room.

Your whole body jolted backward, slamming into the dresser behind you with a dull thud. She didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there under the stuttering ceiling light. Her skin was pale, almost gray beneath the yellow glow.  But it was her wrists that sent a chill down your spine.

Rope.

Rough, old, and tightly wound. Her hands hung useless in front of her, too small to ever break free. The rope dug into the delicate skin of her arms, and under the light you could see the bruises that bloomed like purple flowers along her forearms.

The lights strobed once, twice—

And she was gone.

Your breath caught. You staggered forward, pulling the spirit box from your pocket like it was your last lifeline, flipping the switch with trembling fingers. A beat of static. Sharp and cold.

“Seoha?” you called, voice hoarse. “Are you here?”

“I’m here.”

You let out a breath, shaky and tight. “The rope… it was used on you, wasn’t it?”

A pause. You could almost picture her nodding, tiny and quiet. 

“Yes.”

Your throat tightened. “Why? What happened?” There was a long silence, just static crackling softly in your palm.  “He took my teddy.” Her voice was distant, like she wasn’t speaking to you, but reliving it. “It was mine. Mommy gave it to me. He took it and ran, and I told her. I told her he was being mean.” Another pause. A little sniff. “He didn’t like that... He laughed, said I tattled. That I was a stupid baby. So he tied my wrists. He said it was a joke! A game! And then…” Your stomach dropped. “He poured something on my teddy... It smelled funny. And he lit it.”

You went still. Completely still. “He made me watch it burn, made me sit and watch the whole time!” You sat down hard on the edge of the bed, vision blurring. “Seoha…” you breathed. “What happened after that? What… what did you do?”

“I ran after he called me a rat with tangled hair…  Said I looked ugly when I cried. I didn’t care! I just wanted my Mommy... I thought I heard her calling me.”

You were barely breathing. “…And?”

“I ran to the staircase. I wanted to find her. But… someone was behind me.”

Your entire body tensed.

“They pushed me.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “You… you fell?”

“Yes. I fell down the stairs. It was loud. I couldn’t move and it hurt so much. My arm… my head… everything. And then…” Her voice faded. “Nothing.”

You closed your eyes, your grip on the spirit box tightening. The small device buzzed faintly in your hand, the static gently rising and falling like a heartbeat. It was the only sound in the room aside from your breathing—shallow, uneven.

Seoha hadn’t just suffered. She had died. Alone. Afraid. Broken. And no one believed her. Not her parents. Not Jake’s mother. No one had protected her. No one had listened. Your eyes opened, glassy and stinging. You looked around your room—the familiar corners now suffocating, the shadows heavier, thicker. The deadbolt still locked. The rope still on the floor where you’d dropped it. You swallowed hard and raised the spirit box again, voice rough. “Seoha… are you still here?”

There was a pause. “Yes.” Quieter. Fragile.

You took a breath, sitting forward on the bed, your voice steadying just enough. “I’m not going to let him hurt anyone else.”

More silence. Then, her voice, softer this time—almost like a whisper of wind across your shoulder: “He doesn’t want you to leave.”

You nodded slowly, more to yourself than to her. “I figured.”

“He’ll try to trick you! Like he tricked me! Like he tricked all of us.”

“All of us?” you asked gently.

There was a pause. A longer one. You waited, holding the spirit box close, expecting her soft voice to return—fragile and afraid, but honest.

But nothing came. Just static. 

The box crackled once, and then the sound changed—sharper, distorted. A high-pitched screech like metal grinding on metal suddenly tore through the speaker, shrill and violent. It filled the entire room like a siren, like something being dragged through your skull. You dropped the spirit box with a choked gasp as your hands flew to your ears. The sound screamed. Echoed. Vibrated through the air like it wanted to tear something out of you.

And beneath it—

A voice.

Low. Hungry. Over and over again.

“He wants you.”“He wants you.”“He wants you.” “He wants you.”

The voice grew louder, overlapping with itself, twisting into something desperate and guttural, as if the walls were saying it, the carpet, the mirror—everything.

“HE WANTS YOU.”“HE WANTS YOU.”

You staggered back, hands clutching your ears, trying to push the voice out, trying to stop the noise from crawling under your skin. You dropped to your knees and reached for the spirit box, fingers fumbling with the switch. It felt like it took forever—like the air itself resisted you.

Then—

Click.

Silence.

The room went still.

You gasped for breath, ears ringing, heart hammering so hard you thought you might pass out. You stayed there for a long second on your knees, eyes wide, staring at the now-motionless box in your hand. A shudder rolled down your spine. You didn’t say it aloud, but you knew. He knew where you were now.

Your grip on the spirit box tightened, slick with sweat. The silence that followed was heavy—thick and unnatural. Like the whole hotel was holding its breath.

Rattle.

You froze.

Keys.

You heard them fumbling in the lock, jingling urgently—fast, frustrated. Your pulse spiked so hard it made your vision blur. You scrambled to your feet, backing away from the door, hands out in front of you like you could somehow stop him from getting in with just panic.

The lock clicked once. Then again.

But the door didn’t open.

The deadlock. You had found the key earlier. You had turned it. He couldn’t get in.

He wasn’t expecting that. 

THUMP.

The whole door shook.

“Open it!” he roared, voice no longer sweet, no longer calm. Just raw and unhinged. “OPEN THE DOOR!”

You stumbled back farther, staring wide-eyed as the door rattled in its frame under the force of his blows.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The walls vibrated with every slam of his fists, his screams growing more violent, more guttural with each passing second.

“You think you’re safe?! You think that little lock will stop me?! I took care of worse than you! I let you walk around!” You clutched the edge of the dresser, your legs trembling.

“YOU BELONG TO ME!” 

Another slam.

“Let me in.” His voice dropped suddenly, low and desperate. “Please…” That was the worst part. That sudden switch. Like he was trying to crawl back under your skin. You didn’t answer. You didn’t move. He went quiet for a moment. Then one final, bone-jarring bang against the door. “Fine.”

Silence.

You held your breath, straining to hear.

Footsteps. Fading.

You began to pace.

Back and forth. Back and forth. The same five or six steps across the worn carpet, your arms folded tightly over your chest, breath still shaky.  You couldn't just sit. You couldn’t sleep. 

You turned sharply on your heel again, pacing to the other side of the room, eyes flicking to every corner like something might suddenly reach out and grab you. The spirit box lay on the bed now, silent and still, but heavy with the weight of everything Seoha had told you.

You exhaled, shaky.

Her story. Her end.

A child mocked. Driven away. Killed.

You bit your lip, hard, grounding yourself in the sharp sting of pain. You didn’t want to believe someone like Jake could do that. That he’d done it before. And yet… you’d seen what he was capable of. So you couldn’t stop now. There was more to find. More to uncover.

Jake was unraveling. That much was clear. He was losing control of the game—and maybe that gave you an edge.

You stopped pacing and turned toward the desk in the corner, mind racing. There were still locked rooms you hadn’t opened. Still whispers you hadn’t followed. Your fingers grazed the masterkey in your pocket. Whatever secrets were buried in this hotel, you knew one thing for sure.. You weren’t done yet.

You crossed the room slowly, quietly, every board underfoot threatening to betray you. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out. The light above buzzed faintly, flickering now and then, but you barely noticed. Your attention was fixed solely on the door.

You stopped just in front of it. Held your breath. Pressed your eye to the peephole.

The hallway outside was dim, painted in the same eerie stillness as before. Not a sound. Not a shadow. No Jake pacing, no whispering, no bat dragging across the floor.

You waited another moment, just to be sure.

Still nothing.

With one last deep breath, you turned, grabbed the spirit box from the bed, and slid it into your pocket. Then, quietly, you twisted the deadlock, then the handle. The door opened with a soft creak. You slipped out, and pulled the door shut as gently as possible. Now you were back in it. You crept down the hallway, heart racing, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Everything felt stretched, like the hallway had grown longer just to keep you inside. But you didn’t stop.

The elevator was ahead. Still. Silent. Waiting.

You pressed the button and flinched at the faint ding that followed, praying it hadn’t echoed too far. The doors opened. You stepped in quickly, turned, and pressed the button for the top floor—floor 8. You watched the numbers light up one by one as the elevator climbed, the familiar hum of old gears and grinding metal filling the silence.

6… 7… 8.

With a final ding, the elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors creaked open slowly.

This floor was… different.

Gone were the peeling wallpapers and flickering lights. Instead, you were met with rich golden tones, warm and glowing like candlelight. The carpet beneath your feet was plush and patterned with deep crimson accents, trimmed in ornate swirls of black and bronze. The wallpaper gleamed faintly, textured and expensive, like real silk.

Your footsteps were almost too loud in the hush of it. Every closed door you passed was beautifully carved, the numbers inlaid in delicate gold leaf. No scratches. No dents. Not even dust. This must’ve been the luxury wing—for rich guests, high society travelers, the kind who paid extra to be kept far from the noise below. 

You came to a stop at one of the doors.

Room 803.

You glanced behind you—still alone. Then slid the masterkey from your pocket and fit it into the lock.

Click.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside.

Oh… A suite.

Spacious, gleaming. Nothing like the modest room you’d been given. The walls were a warm cream, lit by wall sconces shaped like flower petals. A chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly. There was a fireplace along the far wall, cold and dark, but lined with marble. A queen-sized bed sat in the center of the room, draped in blood-red velvet, with polished nightstands on either side. A sitting area was arranged neatly by a tall, curtained window—two armchairs and a carved coffee table that looked more decorative than functional.

You wandered deeper into the suite, your footsteps soft against the thick carpet, eyes scanning every polished surface, every glint of old money luxury that felt so out of place in this hotel of rot and whispers. A mirror hung near the entryway, gilded and tall, its surface pristine despite the age of everything else. You glanced at it instinctively—

Then did a double take.

That wasn’t you.

The figure staring back at you was a teenage girl, tall and graceful in a vintage white dress with delicate lace sleeves, like something from a forgotten decade. Her hair was long, dark, curled loosely around her shoulders, and her skin looked almost porcelain—beautiful, in an eerie, frozen kind of way. But that wasn’t what made your stomach turn. It was her neck. Twisted at an unnatural angle, jutting sharply to the side, skin stretched too tight over the bend of bone. Bruises bloomed around her throat like purple vines, and her head rested against her shoulder in a way that defied everything human.

She just stood there in the reflection, watching you. Her expression wasn’t angry, or even sad—just… empty. Hollow. Like she’d accepted what had happened to her long ago.

You spun around, heart leaping to your throat, but the space behind you was empty. Just the room. Just silence. Slowly, cautiously, you turned back to the mirror.

She was still there. Still staring. She lifted one hand slowly, fingers trembling slightly… and pointed.

To the far wall.

Your eyes followed the motion toward a tall, narrow cabinet set against the wall near the fireplace. Unassuming. Ornate. You looked back at the mirror.

The girl was gone. Only your reflection remained—wide-eyed, pale, and utterly shaken.

You turned toward the cabinet, breath shallow, heart tapping at your ribs like a warning you couldn’t quite ignore. Every step toward it felt heavier than the last, as if the room itself was reluctant to give up its secrets. The cabinet loomed—tall, antique, with carved floral details curling up its sides like ivy. You reached for the handle and slowly pulled the door open. The hinges groaned softly in protest.

The main compartment was empty. Dust settled inside, undisturbed, as if no one had opened it in years.

But still you spotted a small drawer near the bottom. You crouched and tugged it open with gentle fingers. Inside was a single folded piece of paper, yellowed slightly with time. You hesitated, then picked it up and carefully uncurled the edges.

It was a love confession.

Neat, handwritten lines of delicate cursive filled the page—soft, aching words of longing. There were phrases underlined twice. A name scratched out. Ink smudges where someone had pressed too hard. You read it in silence, eyes tracing each vulnerable word. It didn’t say who it was for. But it was clear the person who wrote it had been deeply in love.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the spirit box, thumb brushing the switch. You hesitated a breath, then turned it on.

Static. Low at first.

“…Is anyone here?” you asked gently.

“I’m here.” A girl’s voice. Young. Clear.

Your breath hitched. “What’s your name?”

“…Minji.”

“Minji,” you repeated, glancing down at the letter again. “Did… did you write this?”

There was a pause—long enough that you thought maybe she’d vanished like Seoha.

“Yes. It’s from me.”

You held the paper carefully, like it might disintegrate. “Who was it for?”

Another pause. A softer shift of static. Then her voice again—quieter this time.

“Someone who made me believe I was special.”

You swallowed. The air in the suite grew colder, as if her sorrow had seeped into the velvet and gold. The sorrow in Minji’s voice lingered like perfume in the room—sweet, mournful, and impossible to ignore. You hesitated, then asked gently, “Minji… what happened?” There was a brief silence, like she was weighing whether to trust you. Then her voice returned, soft but proud. “We came here for a break. Just me and my parents. My father… he got us the best suite on the top floor. This suite. My father treated me like a princess. Gave me everything I asked for. I had dresses, jewelry, and chocolates brought up in silver trays.”

You said nothing—just listened. Let her paint the picture.

“But he couldn’t give me what I really wanted.” That made you tilt your head slightly, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?” A pause. The static buzzed faintly under her breath. “I fell in love,” she said wistfully. “With the hotel owner’s son. He was handsome. Polite. He smiled at me like no one ever had. He’d tease me—hold the elevator doors open, call me pretty names, lean in close when no one else was looking. I thought… I thought he was mine.”

You didn’t even have to ask who she meant. The puzzle pieces clicked easily now. “Jake.” The spirit box crackled. A small, affirming hum. “I wrote him little notes. Left chocolates on his desk. I swore he felt the same... So I confessed.” You braced yourself, already sensing the turn. “But he rejected me, said he could never love me.” The pitch of her voice rose, sharp with buried anger. “He humiliated me! Like I was just some stupid little girl with a crush!” Then just as quickly, her tone fell—quiet again, heavy with grief. “I asked my father to speak to his mother. I thought if they talked… maybe we could be together. But it didn’t work! She said Jake didn’t want to see me anymore.”

You found your voice then, cautious but firm. “Minji… you can’t force someone to love you.” She was silent for a moment. Then a breathy, bitter huff echoed from the box. “I know that now. But I was seventeen. In love for the first time. I’d never been told ‘no.’ Not once in my life. And I hated it.” Your throat tightened. The energy in the room felt different now—suffocating and sad, like the air itself had been wrung out. “I tried to tempt him,” she continued. “Flirting. Dressing up. Getting close. But every time… he’d push me away.”

You sat on the edge of the velvet-draped bed, heart aching even as unease spread deeper through your bones. “What… what did you do, Minji?” There was silence. Too long.

“I did something despicable.” The static thinned out, her voice now just a whisper curling through it like smoke. “I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to be rejected again. I didn’t want to feel small. Powerless. So I waited until my parents were asleep. I took one of my silk scarves. The red one he once complimented.” You felt your stomach twist. “And I used it to kill myself.” The air in the suite dropped to ice. “My father found me the next morning.” You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. The chandelier above gave a faint creak. Somewhere beyond the closed curtains, the wind howled softly—like the hotel itself was mourning her.  “I wanted him to regret it,” she added faintly. “To carry it with him.”

You sat frozen in the golden room—gilded, rich, and unbearably sad—as Minji's voice fractured. “I just… I just wanted a boy to love me,” she said suddenly, her voice trembling. “Just once. To be looked at the way they do in stories… like I was someone worth chasing.” You felt your chest tighten. “But I wasn’t good enough,” she whispered. “Not for him. Not for anyone.” You gripped the spirit box, your voice soft, hesitant. “Minji… that’s not true. You were just—just young. He didn’t deserve that kind of devotion.” There was silence. Then a quiet, almost bitter murmur. “I’m not you, sadly.” That made you pause. A cold breath settled in your lungs. “…What do you mean?”

The spirit box crackled with faint energy—then Minji’s voice returned, quieter now. Delicate. Sharp as a blade wrapped in silk. “He looked at you. I saw it. When you stepped through the door, soaked from the rain… his cold heart slammed in his chest. His eyes lingered. He started… yearning. Longing. Needing.” Her words made your stomach twist into knots. You stood, slowly, one foot shifting backward on instinct. Part of you wanted to gag. Another part felt… something else. You shoved that part down fast.

“He doesn’t even know me,” you whispered. “He’s… he’s hunting me, Minji. That’s not love.”

“But it started that way,” she said, voice hollow now. “I felt it. I watched it happen.”

Your pulse thudded hard beneath your skin. You needed to turn this around. Focus. Learn more. “What happened after your father found you? Static hummed in the space between. “He was destroyed,” Minji finally whispered. “He blamed the hotel. Blamed him. Said he’d corrupted me. He tried to sue the hotel for negligence. Tried to charge the boy with coercion… even murder.” Your jaw tightened. “But it didn’t work. They called it suicide. Confirmed it. There was no evidence of wrongdoing… Everything was dropped.” Then her voice shifted. Darker. “That drove my father mad. He wanted revenge.”

Your throat went dry. You glanced at the door uneasily. “What… what did he do?”

No answer. Just static.

“Minji?” you called out. Still nothing. You stood slowly, unease curling like ice in your belly. You turned toward the door and jumped back. 

She was there.

Minji stood just inches away, directly in front of the door, her figure faint and translucent, but real enough to make your blood run cold. The same delicate white dress. The same soft eyes—only now glassy, distant, vacant. And around her neck…

The red silk scarf, tied tightly, painfully. 

Her lips parted. “Room 319.” The lights above flickered. And she vanished. Gone, as if she’d never been there at all. Your fingers felt numb as you slid the spirit box back into your pocket, grounding yourself with the cold, familiar shape of it. Then, slowly, you crossed the suite to the door. You leaned in, heartbeat thudding loud in your ears, and peered through the peephole.

Nothing. Just the still, golden hallway. Silent and undisturbed. You unlocked the door carefully, holding your breath with every tiny click, then eased it open and stepped out, shutting it quietly behind you. The plush crimson carpet muffled your footsteps as you walked down the corridor, past the grand doors, toward the elevator. You kept your eyes low, focused on the rhythmic movement of your feet, the soft sway of your arms, trying to stay calm—trying to feel normal. But something deep in your gut tightened. You looked up. And your blood turned to ice.

A shadow moved at the end of the hall. Then he appeared. Rounding the corner like something out of a nightmare. He looked completely unhinged. His hair was a mess, sticking to his forehead like he’d been sweating—or pulling at it again. His white shirt was rumpled and untucked, the top buttons undone, sleeves half-rolled like he’d forgotten about them entirely.His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, glistening with something between madness and desperation. And when he spotted you his entire face lit up.

That grin. Too wide. Too sharp. Like he’d just found the answer to a question that had been haunting him. “There you are…” His voice echoed down the hall—low, almost purring. His eyes raked over you, slowly, hungrily—taking in your bare legs, your simple tank top, your sleep-rumpled clothes. “God… you’re beautiful like this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Like a dream I don’t wanna wake up from.”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

He stepped forward, dragging the bat behind him, that grin never fading. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, tilting his head. “Don’t run this time.” But that was all you could do.

Run.

You didn’t just run. You fled. Like prey in the woods, like a rabbit hearing the hunter’s breath on its neck. Your feet hit the carpet over and over again, legs burning, chest tight, the fabric of your tank clinging to your back with sweat. Every inch of the hallway blurred—gold and crimson smearing into streaks of warped elegance around you.

Behind you, Jake’s boots thudded heavy and fast, closing in. “That’s it, bunny! Run! Let’s make it fun!” His voice cracked with something unhinged. Excitement. Obsession. He was enjoying this. Every second.

You glanced back once—just a flash—just enough to see his silhouette tearing down the hall after you, his grin carved deep, eyes lit up like he was chasing something precious he’d misplaced. You pushed harder. Your breath came out in ragged bursts as you darted down a side hallway. Your shoulder slammed into the wall as you turned too sharply, nearly falling. You saw the stairwell door. 

Hope.

You lunged for it, shoved it open, and stumbled into the cool, damp concrete stairwell.  The metal door slammed shut behind you, and for a heartbeat, there was silence. Your lungs heaved. Your palms burned.

Bang.

The door behind you burst open again. 

“I said don’t run.” His voice was a growl now. Frustrated. Starving.

You took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping as you pushed upward with everything you had. You burst through the door on the next landing, barely aware of the number above it—Floor 4—and launched yourself into the hallway beyond.

Doors.

Room numbers blurred past you—407… 409… 411… You grabbed the masterkey, shaking fingers finding the first lock your feet carried you to—Room 412. You shoved the key in.

Click.

You threw open the door, dove inside, and slammed it shut behind you. Your lungs burned. Your legs ached. Your heart beat against your ribs like it wanted to escape before you could. But you didn’t get a chance to rest. 

Because behind you—the sound of keys. A soft clink. Then the unmistakable sound of metal sliding into the lock. Turning.

Your whole body went rigid. He had a key. Of course he did. It was his hotel. Panic surged through you, sharp and dizzying. With no time to think, you bolted for the bathroom across the room, flinging the door open and diving inside. You slammed it shut behind you, locking it with trembling fingers just as the room door opened. 

“Sweetheart…” Jake’s voice slid through the air like oil, slow and sticky. “Come on now, I saw you… I know you’re in here.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying to quiet the way your breathing rasped through your chest. “You scared me, you know that?” he continued, voice cracking slightly—something between frustration and… something almost tender. “I thought maybe you'd left me for good.”

You took another step back. Your spine pressed against the cold tile. The room was dim, a single cracked bulb humming above you like it might give out at any second.

The silence from the other side of the bathroom door was brief. Too brief.

The handle twitched. Then twisted harder.

That’s when everything shifted.

A moment of silence, then a sudden, brutal BANG against the door that made the frame quake and the mirror above the sink rattle like it might fall. “You think this little door’s gonna keep me out?!” Jake snarled from the other side, his voice no longer playful, no longer teasing. Just pure rage.

You backed into the corner of the bathroom, knees buckling under you, hands over your ears as the pounding grew louder, more erratic. Each slam shook the hinges, and it felt like the air itself was vibrating.

“Let me in, dammit! Let me in—LET ME IN!”

Your body trembled. Tears streaked down your cheeks, silent at first, then spilling with your sobs. “Please! Leave me alone!” you screamed, voice cracking. “Stop this—let us go! Let my friends go! What do you WANT from us?!”

The moment the words left your mouth, everything stopped. The banging ceased. No more rattling.

Silence.

You could hear your own breath, broken and fast, echoing off the tile.

His voice returned. But different. Lower. Colder. 

“Leave…?” The words rolled through the crack in the door like fog, and the temperature dropped in an instant. The air turned heavy, wet with dread. “I can’t let you leave now. Not after everything. Not when I’ve finally found you.”

You clutched your knees tighter, tears still falling, your chest squeezing painfully with every breath.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, and the softness in his voice made it even worse—worse than shouting. “You walked through that door and everything changed. I felt it—here.” A dull thud against the door, like he’d pressed a fist to his chest. “All this time… this place… it’s been rotting, and so have I. But then you came. And you—” Another pause. You could hear the smile behind the words. “You make it feel like breathing again.” You stared at the door in horror. His devotion sounded more like a death sentence.

“So no, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You don’t get to leave. Not when I’ve grown so fond of you.”

You stared at the bathroom door, your body trembling so violently it made your teeth chatter. His voice slithered through the air like smoke. There was no trace of the golden retriever smile you once met in the lobby. This wasn’t a boy with a crush.

This was a man possessed.

“You’re the only good thing to walk through that door in years,” Jake murmured. “They don’t understand. Your friends, the others—they were just passing through. You? You’re different. I see it. I feel it.”

You pressed yourself tighter into the corner, arms wrapped around your knees, fingers digging into your skin. The spirit box in your pocket buzzed faintly, as if it, too, was suffocating under the weight of his voice.

“You belong here with me.” Another slow, twisted clunk of the handle. “I’ll keep you safe. Better than anyone ever has. You won’t have to run anymore. You won’t have to be alone. I’ll give you everything you need.” Then, softer—almost fragile. “Don’t make me break the door.”

Your heart dropped. He meant it. He would tear it down if you didn’t open it. You know that now. You rose to your knees, shaking like a leaf. “Please,” you whispered through the door, voice raw. “Please, Jake… you don’t have to do this.”

“But I do, sweetheart.” A soft thud. Another. He was pressing his forehead to the door now. You could hear it—the low scrape of his breath against the painted wood. “I’ve already done too much. So if you leave…You’ll never look at me the same again.” Your stomach turned. Because he was right. You never would. “But if you stay,” he whispered, voice trembling now, “I can fix it. We can make this work. You’ll learn to love it here. To love me.” Another beat of silence. Your tears wouldn’t stop. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he said, and this time, there was genuine sorrow in it. But also a promise. A quiet, final kind of promise. The type people don't come back from. 

You had to get out.

Not just from the bathroom.

From the hotel. From him.

You didn’t respond. Because deep down, you knew there was nothing you could say to stop him. So you stayed silent—and you moved. You peeled yourself off the cold bathroom tiles and scanned the room through tear-blurred vision. Your hands were slick with sweat, your heart hammering so loud it almost drowned out his breath on the other side of the door.

But not quite.

You tiptoed toward the counter, hands feeling blindly around for anything. A razor. A shard of glass. Something. The only thing in sight was a metal towel rod above the toilet. You didn’t hesitate—you grabbed it with both hands and yanked hard. Once. Twice. Clank! It came loose with a jolt, the ends still screwed into bits of drywall and tile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“…What are you doing?” His voice was low. No longer tender. It was fraying now, the edges sharpened with suspicion. “Are you… are you looking for something, sweetheart?” The doorknob rattled harder. “You’re not—” his tone twisted into something darker, tighter. “You’re not planning to fight me, are you?” You backed toward the bathtub, clutching the makeshift rod like your life depended on it—because it did.

“You think you’re scaring me?” he shouted suddenly, fists slamming into the door so hard it shook again. “I let you run. I let you breathe! I told you I loved you, and you’d rather arm yourself like I’m some kind of monster?” The wood groaned with each hit. You could see the cracks forming at the hinges, splinters curling at the edge like paper under a flame. “You want to see a monster, baby? Keep. Testing. Me.” The next slam was the worst yet—so loud it echoed in your teeth.

BANG.

 The sound rattled your skull like a gunshot.

Then another.

 BANG.

The wood cracked. The hinges groaned in protest. You clutched the metal towel rod like a lifeline, backing into the corner near the bathtub, barely able to breathe.

SLAM.

The lock gave a final cry—metal twisting, splintering—

CRACK.

And the door burst open.

You screamed, arms instinctively raising to shield your face from the flying shards of wood and metal. The door didn’t fall off—no, it exploded inward, chunks crashing against the tiled wall behind you.

Silence fell for just a breath. Then you opened your eyes.

He was there.

Standing in the broken doorway like a nightmare carved in flesh and bone. His chest was heaving, shirt soaked with sweat and torn at the collar. His sleeves were half rolled, half ripped, and in his right hand—his bat, clenched tight like a second limb. His eyes locked on you like a starving animal that had finally found the thing it’d been chasing in the dark. He was panting hard, a vein pulsing in his neck, but he was smiling. Grinning. That same, too-wide, unsettling smile that didn’t belong on a human face anymore. His tongue dragged slowly across his bottom lip. “Peekaboo…”

You stepped back without meaning to, your knees nearly giving out as your back hit the porcelain of the tub. The cold bite of it snapped something inside you into full awareness.

You had to fight. Or he’d never let you leave this room alive. 

Jake took a single step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. “You run so well,” he murmured, like a compliment. “But you look even prettier cornered.” 

You tightened your grip on the towel rod, chest heaving. “Stay back,” you warned, voice breaking. He stepped further into the bathroom, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. “That little thing?” he scoffed, eyes dropping to the towel rod gripped in your shaking hands. “You really think that’s gonna save you from me?” His voice was gentle now—mocking. Cruel in how soft it had become. He sounded like he was talking to a frightened child. “I told you, sweetheart,” he said, crouching slightly as he stepped over the broken doorframe. “You don’t need to fight me. I’m not your enemy.” His smile cracked wider. “I’m your home now.”

That snapped something inside you. A rush of rage surged into the terror. You raised the towel rod with both hands, holding it up like a spear even as your arms trembled. “Don’t come closer,” you said, firmer this time. Jake paused. His eyes flicked to the rod. Then back to your face. And then—he laughed. Low. Breathless. Unstable. “God, you’re perfect.” Then he lunged.

You screamed and swung the rod with everything you had, metal connecting with his shoulder in a sharp thwack. He grunted, staggered—but didn’t fall. He just laughed harder. “That’s my girl.” You tried to swing again, but he caught your wrist this time—gripped it hard enough to make your fingers go numb. The towel rod clattered to the floor. You fought, kicked, thrashed, but he shoved you back against the wall, his bat dropping beside him as his hand pinned your arm and the other gripped your chin too tightly. 

“Stop fighting me,” he hissed, forehead nearly touching yours now. His breath was hot and ragged.  “You don’t get it—I’m not trying to hurt you.” Your tears fell hot and fast. “You already are,” you choked out. His expression twitched. For just a second, the smile faltered. “I’ll make you understand,” he whispered, voice trembling with intensity. “You’ll see… we were meant for this. For each other.” His eyes burned with something wild. Something eternal. And just then the spirit box buzzed softly in your pocket again. “Room 319… run…”

Jake paused, just for a breath, his gaze flicking to the strange noise leaking from your pocket. Then he reached down and ripped the spirit box from you, holding it up between you, examining it like some strange toy. “So that’s where that went…” he murmured with a hum, tilting his head.

That was your opening. 

Without thinking, you reeled your leg back and slammed your knee up into his stomach—hard.

“Gnh—!” He groaned, doubling slightly. You kicked again, trying to knock him off, but this time his reflexes caught up. He growled, grabbed your arms, and shoved you back with brute force.

Your shoulder hit the tile hard, pain jolting up your spine. Before you could scramble away, he was on you. Over you. His knees pinned either side of your hips, one hand pressing your wrists down beside your head, the other still gripping the spirit box. His breath was ragged—his face flushed with fury. “You should’ve just listened…” he growled, lowering his face to yours.  “Just hold still, baby. This won’t hurt.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Tears slipped down your temples onto the cold floor as your chest rose and fell in terrified heaves. This was it. This was—

S C R E E C H.

A sound like metal grinding on bone, like dozens of voices shrieking in unison, burst from the spirit box in his hand.

Jake screamed, recoiling instantly, dropping the box and slamming his hands to his ears as he stumbled back from you, eyes wide with agony. “MAKE IT STOP—!”

That was your chance.

You gasped, chest heaving, and scrambled to your feet, barely registering the pain in your side as you snatched the spirit box from the floor and ran. The moment your fingers curled around it, the screeching stopped—cut clean. And in the silence, you heard Jake’s snarl rise behind you. “GET BACK HERE!” You threw open the door to the room and bolted into the hallway. 

You reached the elevator—stabbed the button with shaking fingers— Too slow.  You didn’t even wait to see if it opened. Instead, you threw yourself toward the stairwell, pushing the heavy door open with a grunt and bolting down the metal steps. You were already on the fourth floor, but every step felt endless, every heartbeat like it would give out before your feet stopped moving. You could still hear him behind you, his footsteps pounding down the halls above like a hunter stalking its prey. You didn’t dare stop.

Room 319. Room 319.

You burst into the hallway and scanned the room numbers flying by—

311… 313… 315…

Your legs ached, your breath tearing through your throat.

319.

You practically slammed into the door, fumbled with the master key, and twisted it hard. It clicked—open—and you flung yourself inside, yanked the door shut, and locked it. Your back hit the door as your knees buckled. You collapsed to the floor, gasping, sweat pouring down your temples, the adrenaline making you shake violently. You held the spirit box like a holy relic, trying not to sob from sheer relief. 

For now—you were safe.

You slowly got to your knees and crept toward the peephole. Your eye pressed against the cool glass, heart still hammering in your ears. A few long beats passed.

Footsteps. Fast. Thunderous. Jake stormed past the door, head whipping from side to side. But he didn’t stop.  Didn’t look at your door. Too far behind. Too furious to notice.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and sagged to the floor again, hand pressed to your chest, trying to slow your heartbeat. But you didn’t let yourself rest long. You got up and scanned the room with fresh, desperate eyes. You were too far in now. There had to be something.

You opened drawers, checked the closet, peered under the bed. The room was old but still eerily clean, untouched. But tucked in the back of the nightstand drawer, behind a crumpled handkerchief and a faded postcard, you found something cold and metallic.

A handgun.

You stared at it. No rust. No dust. Polished. Heavy. You picked it up slowly, pulse jumping with hope, but the moment you checked the chamber, that hope sank like lead in your chest.

Empty. No ammo. No clip. Just a lifeless shell of defense. Still… you placed it on the bed beside you, just in case. As you kept searching, you found something else—hidden behind a loose panel in the wardrobe. A small iron cross, simple but old, with edges worn from time. You laid it beside the gun on the bed and stared at them both, trying to make sense of what the hell kind of place this was. That’s when you heard it.

Drip.Drip.Drip.

The sound came from the bathroom.

You turned slowly, a chill creeping up your spine. With each step closer, the air grew colder, heavier. You pushed the door open gently and froze. The light above flickered once. Then again. And there—standing in front of the mirror—was a man.

Water pooled at his feet, running down his soaked suit like he’d just stepped from a storm or a lake. His face was flushed, eyes bloodshot with rage. “I hate him,” the man muttered, voice low and strained. “I hate that boy…” He gripped the edge of the sink tightly, knuckles white, shoulders trembling. “She was all I had left. And he took her from me.”

Another flicker of the light. Then he was gone. No splash. No sound. Just vanished—as if he had never been there. But you were already moving, your hand reaching into your pocket for the spirit box. You switched it on, the familiar buzz filling the air like static breath. You cleared your throat, heart still pounding. “Is someone there?” you asked quietly.

A pause. Then a man’s voice, bitter and tired. “Unfortunately.” You swallowed. “Who are you?” Another pause. A heavy one. “…My name is Eunwoo. I’m—”  A rough exhale crackled through the speaker. “I was Minji’s father.” You sat on the edge of the bed, the spirit box buzzing softly in your hand, and looked toward the old gun again—cold, empty. You glanced at the cross beside it, the sharp metal glinting faintly in the dim room. “What was the gun for?” you asked quietly, not expecting much of an answer. Eunwoo’s voice came through the speaker—worn, low. “I used it to threaten him. The boy. I… I never meant to pull the trigger. It wasn’t for harm. Just fear.” 

You looked at the weapon again, understanding now. It was a bluff. A cry for help from a man already drowning. “He wasn’t afraid,” Eunwoo added. “He just laughed. Like it was a game.” You swallowed. “And the cross?” you asked. There was a pause, then a bitter chuckle. “The cross… I used it on him. Held it to his skin. Thought maybe… maybe whatever evil lived inside him could be cursed out. Banished. But it didn’t work.” His voice dipped into something bitter. “It only made him angry.” You stared at the object now with new weight behind it. Symbolic. You hesitated before asking your next question, but it had been clawing at the inside of your mind. “What happened after? After Minji…”

There was a long pause on the other end. The static grew louder, rougher, like it was breathing. Then Eunwoo answered. “He started taunting me. Pulling sick jokes. He left messages in her handwriting. Played recordings of her laugh through the vents..” Your hand covered your mouth. “I tried to get him arrested. Begged the police. But there was never evidence. Nothing to hold him accountable. He smiled through every lie.” His voice began to tremble—less with sadness, more with rage. “He’d smile at me in the lobby. Bow politely. Act like nothing had happened. Like he wasn’t the reason my daughter was dead.”

You could feel the grief bleeding from his words now, thick and suffocating.

“And then my wife…”  A pause, wet with sorrow.  “She couldn’t bear it. She killed herself in our home three months later.” You felt your throat tighten. You didn't dare interrupt him. “I remember how quiet it was. That’s what hurt the most. The silence. It used to be full of her laughter. Then it was just… still.” The next words were soft. Final. “So, yes,” he answered your unspoken question.  “I did it too. Filled the tub with water. Laid down in it. And waited.” Your hand covered your mouth, the cold from the gun and cross still lingering on your skin. “I waited,” Eunwoo whispered.  “Until I couldn’t breathe anymore.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even breathe. You just sat there, eyes glued blankly to the wall across from you. The old wallpaper blurred. Your limbs felt cold, hollow. The weight of everything pressing down on your chest was unbearable. Through the hum of static, Eunwoo’s voice continued. “You have to make him remember.” Your eyes flicked toward the mirror across the room, its reflection catching only the pale shadow of your own terror. “Remember what?” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “What he did,” Eunwoo answered, voice low and rumbling with old hatred. “What he caused.”

You furrowed your brow, forcing yourself to focus. “You mean… Jake? You want me to make Jake remember?” A beat. “Once. A boy. A lonely, angry child. But not anymore.” The spirit box hissed, the static curling like smoke. “Now he’s a curse.”

Your blood ran cold. “A curse?”

“Doomed to live on,” Eunwoo continued. “Trapped in this place, bound to it. To us. To his sins.” You blinked slowly. Your voice was barely a whisper. “What does that mean?” The static grew louder again, and for a moment, you thought the connection was gone. 

“He can’t die.” Your blood ran cold. “He can’t die,” Eunwoo repeated, voice grim and low. “Not until the guilt returns. Not until he’s forced to feel it. Every scream. Every life taken. Every soul he’s bound to this place,” Eunwoo said softly. “His mother helped him—protected him. Kept the guilt out. It’s buried deep, but it’s still there.”

You rose slowly, your limbs stiff, as if the weight of Eunwoo’s words had sunk into your bones. He was a curse. A boy who couldn’t die… not until he felt the guilt again. You walked to the door on unsteady legs and pressed your eye to the peephole. Nothing at first—just the dimly lit hallway, silent and unmoving. Then, somewhere in the distance, faint and distant, came the echo of Jake’s voice. It was distorted by the walls and space between you, but unmistakably him. “Where are you, sweetheart…?” Your breath hitched. You stayed frozen, waited. Counted. He was far away.

“Eunwoo,” you whispered, stepping back from the door, lifting the spirit box to your mouth again. “How do I make him remember?” Silence. “Eunwoo?” Still nothing. You waited longer, biting your lip, but the silence stretched out too long. Too empty. He was gone. You sighed, a frustrated breath escaping your chest as you turned the box off and shoved it into your pocket again. Of course. That’s how they always vanished—just when the next piece was about to fall into place. You turned toward the door and unlocked it with slow, quiet fingers, then cracked it open just enough to peer into the hallway again.

No footsteps. No bat dragging. No whispering. You slipped out silently, the door clicking softly shut behind you, and began making your way down the corridor. No time to think. No time to rest. You needed to move before Jake circled back.

You spotted the stairwell at the end of the hall and broke into a quiet jog, your heart slamming in your chest as your bare feet padded over the old carpet. You reached the door, pushed it open and disappeared into the stairwell’s cold, echoing dark.

You felt like you were losing your mind.

Your legs ached. Your breath came in uneven gasps. Every creak of the floorboards behind you sent your body into a jolt of fight-or-flight panic. You had been wandering—no, running—through the hotel for what felt like an eternity. From floor to floor, from room to room, spiraling deeper into this endless labyrinth. Always searching. Always chased.

There had been close calls. Too many. Once, you’d hidden behind the curtains of a suite, pressed so tightly against the wall you thought your ribs would crack from the pressure. You could hear him breathe, hear him muttering things under his breath as he walked by, dragging that damn bat across the walls. 

Another time, you had ducked into a laundry chute, slipping through the narrow opening just as his shadow spilled around the corner. His fingers had brushed your ankle.

And every time you escaped, every single time, he grew more furious.

But you were running out of places to hide.  And worse—you were getting nowhere. No matter how many rooms you tore through, no matter how many drawers you searched, wardrobes you opened, mirrors you dared to glance into—there were no more clues.

No more whispers from the spirit box. No more ghosts appearing in mirrors or doorways.

Just you.

Alone.

Exhausted.

Frantic.

You stood in the middle of yet another unfamiliar hallway, the wallpaper curling at the corners, the lights dim and flickering. You didn’t even know what floor you were on anymore. Your hand trembled around the spirit box, and when you turned it on—nothing.

Just static. No Seoha. No Minji. No Eunwoo.

You turned in a slow, anxious circle, heart hammering, panic creeping in like black ink in water.

What now? Where do I go?

You stood there—still, trembling, breath caught halfway between a gasp and a sob—when something moved at the edge of your vision. 

Your eyes snapped up.

At the far end of the hallway, bathed in the flickering yellow light of a failing sconce, a woman passed by. Graceful. Slow. Dressed in an old-fashioned dress that swept the floor, her posture stiff and elegant. You couldn’t see her face—just a pale neck, dark hair pinned in a severe bun.

Your heart jumped to your throat. Someone. Finally. Without a second thought, you sprinted down the hall, ignoring the ache in your legs, the stabbing in your ribs. You rounded the corner where she had gone—

Empty. She was gone.

No doors had opened. No footsteps. No sign of where she could’ve gone in such a short second. You yanked the spirit box from your pocket and flicked it on, static humming in your ears as you clutched it close. “Is someone there?” you asked, voice shaky, eyes scanning the corridor. For a moment—silence. Then the static dipped, twisted, and a woman’s voice came through. Elegant. Controlled. Cold. 

“I am present.”

Your mouth felt dry. “Who… who are you?” Another pause. Then her voice again, softer this time—more intimate. As if she was standing right behind you. “I am his mother.”

Your stomach dropped. You stared down at the spirit box in your hand, pulse hammering in your throat.

His mother.

The static curled beneath her voice like smoke, but it didn’t drown her out. Her tone was sharp, precise—like someone used to control, and unwilling to let it go even in death. You swallowed, throat dry. “You mean… Jake?”

“He wasn’t always called that. But yes.” Her voice felt colder now. A warning in its smoothness. You glanced around the hallway, suddenly unsure of whether to speak or run. “…What happened to him?” There was a beat of silence, so long you thought maybe she was gone too, like all the others who disappeared just before the truth. But then she spoke again, voice lower. “He was mine. My son. And the world tried to twist him. Break him. Blame him.” Your brow furrowed. “Blame him for what?” 

“For what he couldn’t control,” she said, and there was a rising heat in her words now. “He was different. But he was beautiful. Brilliant. The other children didn’t understand. They were cruel. Jealous.” Your blood chilled as you realized—she didn’t sound protective.  She sounded… delusional. “They tried to take him from me. Tried to shame him. Scold him. Hurt him.” You took a slow step back, still clutching the spirit box. “So I protected him,” she hissed. “I shielded him from guilt. From shame. I carved it out of him.” 

You froze. “…You made him forget.”

“Of course I did. Why should he remember pain that was not his fault? Why should he suffer for the weakness of others?” You stared down the hallway, heart pounding, rage and sorrow tangling inside your chest. “You made him like this.”

There was silence. Then—she sighed. A sound so delicate and soft, it almost sounded motherly. Almost. “I only wanted to protect him,” she said, voice fading into something distant and cold. “But I… failed.” You frowned, your voice quieter now. “Failed how?”

Another pause. A longer one. When she finally spoke again, her voice was flatter. Strained. “I couldn’t protect him from his father.” Your fingers clenched around the spirit box as her words echoed in your mind. “He wasn’t always… like this,” she continued. “He was a sweet boy. Curious. Lonely. But his father… his father saw something else.” She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. Her voice thinned with something bitter—regret, maybe. Or something darker, like denial bleeding at the edges. “He thought he could beat it out of him. Turn him into something else.” You could hear it now—hidden under her composed tone. 

The cracks.

“I should have left,” she whispered. “I should have taken him and run. But I didn’t. I thought I could manage it. Fix things.” Another breath. A sad, broken exhale. “And by the time I realized… it was already too late.”

You swallowed thickly, the image of Jake—twisted, grinning, obsessed—flashing through your mind. He hadn’t been born a monster. He’d been shaped into one.

You stood in the silence that followed, breath shallow, heart hammering. The golden lights above you flickered once, twice—then steadied again. But the air had shifted. You could feel it. Something fractured inside you. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was understanding. “You made him forget the truth,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “The pain. The cruelty. The people he hurt. You didn’t just protect him—you erased him.” 

The woman didn’t answer right away. Then her voice came, low and tired. “Wouldn’t you do the same for someone you loved?” You looked down at the floor, jaw tightening. “No,” you whispered. “I’d help them face it. Help them heal from it. Not… turn them into this.” 

A silence stretched on the other end of the spirit box. “I couldn’t let the truth destroy him,” she had said softly. “So I became the one who did it instead.”

Those words… they clung to you, heavy and strange. You brought the spirit box back to your lips, voice low. “What do you mean?”

You could almost hear her breathing through the static. “I took the truth with me in death,” she whispered. “I burned it. I thought if I destroyed it… it wouldn’t hurt him anymore.”

You didn’t answer. 

And she must’ve taken your silence as permission to continue. “He started changing when he was still small. After… after his father found out. He became cold. Withdrawn. Then angry. So angry. And I thought—maybe if I made it all go away, he could be himself again. My boy. My sweet boy.” Your heart pounded as the weight of her words sank in. “So I used what I had,” she continued. “And I burned the truth with me. In our room. On our bed.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “What was the truth?”

She hesitated again. Then, finally—quietly, like a confession. “A letter… A single letter from a man who was not my husband. A man who’d stayed at the hotel one summer. He wrote to me… after he’d gone. He wrote of that one night, and how it stayed with him. How he always wondered if something more had come of it.”

You stood there, heart sinking as realization crept over you like a fog.

“It did,” she said. “It resulted in Jake.” The static deepened, like the hotel itself was holding its breath. “And I—selfishly—I kept it to myself. I thought it didn’t matter. I thought love would be enough to erase that choice. But my husband was suspicious. He ordered a test behind my back. And when he found out the truth, something inside him snapped… He began to see Jake not as his son… but as a mistake. An outsider. A lie.” Her voice dropped, barely a whisper now. “He treated him like something he could punish. Something he could mold. Something he could own.”

You felt cold down to your bones. Everything began to piece itself together in your mind like broken glass. A child who never knew where he belonged.

“I was too late,” she murmured. “Too late to protect him. Too late to stop him. So I erased what I thought was the poison. But you can’t erase rot by setting fire to it.”

The spirit box crackled once, then fell silent again.

"Talking to the dead, are we?" 

The words slithered down the hallway like smoke, curling into your ears before your body even turned to face him.

Slowly, cautiously, you turned and there he was.

Jake.

Standing at the end of the corridor, half-sunken in shadow, the dim wall light casting his face in sharp relief. He didn’t look furious this time. Not crazed. Not like the rabid thing that had hunted you for hours. No—he looked… amused. A crooked smile tugged at his lips. His hair was a mess, shirt still rumpled and stained from the chase, but his posture was unnervingly relaxed, like a man leaning into the final move of a long game. His eyes flicked down to the spirit box in your hands, then back to your face. “They always liked to talk, even after they stopped breathing,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. “Especially the ones who couldn’t move on.”

He took a slow step forward. “Did she tell you everything?” he asked. “My sweet little mother. Always so desperate to be forgiven.”

You said nothing.

Jake’s gaze narrowed slightly when you didn’t flinch, didn’t run. He tilted his head, his voice lowering just a bit. “She was wrong, you know. About saving me.” He took another step forward, more deliberate now. But his grin faltered at the edges. “The truth didn’t break me,” he muttered. “They did. The way they looked at me… the way they treated me when they thought I was something unwanted.” Jake’s grin twitched—then shattered into something wild. His eyes gleamed, pupils blown wide with something sharp and unstable.

He suddenly flung his arms out, and the bat crashed against the wall with a sickening clang, chunks of plaster exploding from the impact.

You flinched hard, your body snapping back on instinct, heart pounding in your throat as you stumbled a step away from him.

Jake kept coming. Each step echoed down the hallway like a countdown, and there was something almost theatrical in the way he moved—like he was performing for you, his own twisted monologue spilling from his lips. “The truth didn’t break me,” he growled. “They did. The looks. The whispers. The lies.” Another step. His eyes never left yours. “They said I was less. Treated me like I was less. Not his real son. Not good enough to be loved.”

The bat dragged along the wall now, a slow scrape that made your skin crawl. “But I got stronger,” he spat. “Smarter. I don’t need anyone. Not those clingy little love-fanatics. Not my sweet, grieving mother. Not that coward of a father. Not the man who thought he could hit me into being something else.”

You glanced around in a panic, your hands scrambling blindly across a side table in the hallway. You found a decorative vase, heavy and cracked at the top—and threw it.

It shattered against the wall near Jake’s shoulder. He didn’t even blink. In fact—he laughed. A broken, manic sound. “Yes!” he barked, stepping faster now. “Fight me! Throw it all, baby, throw it all!” Your hand found something else—an old picture frame—and you hurled it. Jake dodged it lazily, grinning wider. “She thought dying would save me. Thought her death would wash it all clean. But guess what?” he sneered, eyes glowing with some grotesque joy. “She cheated. I knew. I found out.” 

His voice cracked—rage and glee tangling in his throat. “My father drank himself stupid after she died. He started whispering about it. Called her a whore in his sleep. He used to hit me harder when he was drunk. One night, he let it slip.” The bat hit the ground with a heavy thud, then scraped forward again as he dragged it. “And I remembered everything. Every word. Every bruise. Every time he said I was someone else’s mistake.”

You backed into the corner, your hands shaking, your throat too tight to breathe.

Jake’s eyes met yours, wide and fever-bright. “So I made myself unbreakable,” he said, voice lowering, lips trembling into a manic grin.  “I made myself something no one could forget.” He stepped closer, bat rising—slowly. “And now that you know all of it…” He tilted his head. “…what do you plan to do, little rabbit?”

Tears welled in your eyes as your back hit the wall, breath catching, chest rising and falling in panicked gasps. You raised your hands instinctively to push him away, palms pressed to his chest. But he was faster—stronger. His hands shot forward and grabbed your wrists, pinning them up above your head in one swift, practiced motion. The sudden slam of your arms against the wall made you flinch, a choked sob escaping your lips.

He leaned in, so close now you could see the flecks of madness in his eyes. His breath ghosted over your face. Jake tsked softly, his mouth curving in a smile that wasn’t quite right. “What’s wrong?” he murmured. “Left you speechless?”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. You glared at him through your tears, trembling, throat raw from crying. “What are you going to do to me?” you finally asked, voice low but steady enough.

Jake paused. And then, his grin deepened—less taunting now, more possessive. He leaned in further, and you turned your face away with a wince, body tense. But he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he breathed you in. Deeply. As if you were something warm he hadn’t smelled in years. Then he groaned, voice thick and low in your ear. “I’m going to keep you.”

Your heart stopped.

“I don’t need anyone else,” he whispered, his grip on your wrists tightening, like he feared you’d vanish. “Not them. Not her. Not the past. Just you.” You shook your head, trying to twist away—but it was like trying to move stone. “You don’t get it yet,” he murmured. “But you will.” He pulled back just enough to look into your face, eyes filled with something dangerous and desperate all at once. “You’re mine now. You were always going to be mine.”

“No,” you whispered, the word breaking free from your throat like splintered glass. “I’m not.” Your voice trembled, but your eyes held firm, even through the blur of tears.

Jake blinked at you. For a second, he looked almost… hurt. Like the rejection physically struck him deeper than any weapon could. He tilted his head slowly, the sadness in his expression twisted, warped by the madness still flickering in his eyes. “You can’t deny me now,” he said softly. Almost gently. “Not when you’re already part of the family.”

You stared at him, breath caught.

“Our sick little family,” he added with a crooked smile, voice turning colder. “You belong here now. With me.”

You opened your mouth to speak—to scream, maybe. But he suddenly leaned back just a little, giving you the space to breathe, and that’s when you saw it.

The bat.

Raised high over his shoulder, gripped tight in his hand. His expression split into a wide, gleeful grin. His eyes sparkled with something unhinged. “Sweet dreams, bunny,” he whispered. 

And before you could even move, even flinch—

He swung. 

A burst of white pain. Black. Total. Swallowing. Endless. No sound. No breath. Just the echo of that last, delighted laugh as everything slipped away.

Your skull throbbed, each heartbeat a cruel reminder that you were still alive. You groaned, wincing as pain flared bright behind your eyes. Everything was blurry, the room swimming in humid shadows and dim yellow light. The air felt suffocating, smelling of earth, rot, and something metallic. 

You blinked. Hard. Then again. 

Your vision slowly began to focus. Sand. Dirt. Dust. The floor beneath you wasn’t tile or wood—it was earth, packed and uneven, like something dug out and forgotten.

A faint groan escaped your throat as you pushed yourself upright, your arms trembling. You could barely stand. Your legs wobbled like they no longer belonged to you, but you forced them to move.

You were in a basement, that much was clear. A room underground, but not like the rest of the boiler rooms or corridors you’d seen before. This place was older, more primitive, like a part of the hotel that had never been renovated. Forgotten for a reason.

To your right, a rusted metal door stood closed, a set of keys dangling from the lock.

To your left, an open doorway, black as pitch.

You turned toward the metal door, every step like dragging dead weight, your fingers twitching toward the keys, when suddenly, behind you, a light snapped on. The open doorway filled with yellow, buzzing light, casting your long shadow forward—

And casting another shadow.

Your blood froze. 

You turned, heart already in your throat.

Jake stood there in the doorway, arms relaxed, shirt now stained with sweat and dirt. His hair clung to his forehead, and his grin was soft. Too soft. “There she is,” he said sweetly. “Finally awake.” He stepped inside, his boots crunching faintly against the dirt. “You scared me,” he continued, voice light like conversation over tea. “Thought I hit you too hard. I mean, I meant to, but…”  He shrugged. “Glad you're still in one piece.”

You staggered back a step, pressing your palm to the side of your throbbing head. “Where…” you rasped. “Where am I?”

Jake’s smile grew. He spread his arms, voice rich with pride. “Welcome,” he said warmly. “Welcome… to my graveyard.”

You blinked, confused—until you looked down. Really looked. The floor beneath you wasn’t just dirt—it was disturbed. Three separate mounds, uneven and clearly hand-dug, rose from the floor in precise rows. Each one shaped like something buried beneath it. Three bodies.

He saw your stare. “Yeah,” Jake whispered, stepping beside you now. “My dad. My mom. And… him.” His eyes darkened. “The man who thought fists could raise a child.”

You stared at the makeshift graves, your breath hitching, bile burning your throat.

Jake crouched beside one of the mounds, brushing some loose dirt off the top with the tips of his fingers like he was dusting off a trophy. “They earned this,” he said quietly. “All of them. They tried to break me. And they did. But only so I could put myself back together the way I was meant to be.” He looked up at you, eyes shining, that unnerving softness back in his expression.“And now you get to stay. With me. Above them.”You took a step back. Then another. But Jake just smiled. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you better than they ever did for me.”

a/n: yeah so im gonna end it there, its up to you if you stay with him or escape :)

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[wonenonly]

P: Werewolf Alpha!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (NSFW 18+)

Warnings: Predator/Prey Dynamics, Semi-Consensual Tension, Power Imbalance, Scent Kink, Rough Sex, Overstimulation, Chasing, Breeding Kink/ Impregnation Themes, Knotting, Dirty Talk, Dubious Aftercare, Rut Cycle, Marking/Biting, Size Difference, Mind Break, Belly Bulge, Inflation, Slight Body Worship, Mating Press, Obsession, Dacryphilia, (Monster Anatomy,) Sensory Overload, Dumbification, Subspace? Messy Head, Manhandling, Oral Fixation, Messy And Wet.

Synopsis: Each full moon, a sacrifice is left in the woods for the beast. This time, it’s you. But Heeseung doesn’t want your death. He wants your fear, your heat, your body—and he wants to chase you first. You run. He hunts. And when he catches you, he doesn’t stop until you’re knotted, claimed, and too wrecked to escape again.

Wordcount: 11k

a/n: one thing about me.. im a sucker for predator/prey dynamics :D reblogs and commentary are appreciated!

It’s always someone unmarried. Someone young. Someone untouched.

The beast, they say, likes innocence. But not in the holy sense. Not in the pure sense.

In the raw, untouched, untouched-by-anyone-but-him sense.

So he could spill the fresh blood. So he could touch unmarred, soft skin — the kind that bruises easily beneath claws, that parts sweetly under teeth, that shakes when it realizes this isn’t a sacrifice.

It’s a claiming.

You thought you wouldn’t be chosen. After all, there were plenty of sweet, unmarried women in the village. Girls softer than you. Girls who flushed easier. Girls who looked like they’d beg to be kept.

You weren’t one of them.

You were quiet. Tired. Too curious for your own good. You looked at the woods too long when no one else would. You didn’t tremble in fear when they whispered the beast’s name, you leaned closer. So when the knock came just before dusk, and you opened the door to find the village elders standing in shadow — one of them holding red silk…

You realized. You were chosen this time.

You spent the rest of the night staring at the ribbon. It sat on your table like a curse — or a promise. Rich red, soft to the touch, but too heavy in your hands. The kind of red that meant blood, or love, and in this village, the difference had long since blurred. You didn’t eat. You didn’t sleep. You just sat there, legs pulled to your chest, eyes never leaving the silk. It felt warm against your fingers. Or maybe that was your skin. Your fear. Your shame. Or something else.

When the wind howled through the cracks in your walls, you flinched. But that wasn’t the sound that froze you.

It was the other howl. The one farther off — too low, too deep to belong to any normal animal. The kind that crawled beneath your skin and pressed against your ribs.

The full moon was close. And he was already calling.

You curled tighter, burying your face in your knees. Like you could block it out. Like the walls would keep the howl from reaching your bones. But it wasn’t a sound anymore. 

It was a pull. Low. Heavy. Stretching down your spine, threading heat between your thighs, making your stomach knot in a way that wasn’t just fear.

Something was waking up inside you. Something that wanted to be caught.

You hated it. You hated the way your body responded — the way your skin prickled, the way your legs pressed together, trying to hide the pulse building there. But the howl had found its way beneath your skin.

You could still feel it echoing through the night. Feel him. Not a myth. Not a monster. A man, maybe. Once. Now something else entirely. Something older. Starved. And for whatever reason, something in him had decided you were his.

You didn't sleep. You didn't cry. You just listened. To the woods. To your heartbeat. To the distant sound of something big, something hungry, pacing the edge of the trees. Waiting.

The night of the full moon arrived faster than you could have imagined. One moment, you were sitting on your bed, knees pulled tight to your chest, panic blooming in your lungs— and the next, you were standing in the middle of the village, barefoot and silent, surrounded by eyes that wouldn’t meet yours.

Someone had knocked. Someone had spoken your name. You couldn’t remember how you got here—only that you were walking, and they were watching. You were brought to the house of the village healer. Not a single word was spoken as the women guided you inside. They moved around you like shadows—practiced, calm, like this wasn’t the first girl they’d stripped bare beneath the full moon.

Your shift fell to the floor in a hush, and warm hands guided you to sit on a woven mat. Then the oil came. Hot. Heavy. Fragrant.

It wasn’t just rubbed into your skin—it was poured, worked into every inch of you. Your thighs, your stomach, your chest. Behind your ears. Between your legs. They touched you like it was sacred. Like you were being anointed for slaughter or seduction.

The oil didn’t just sit on your skin. It clung. It sank in. It sweetened your scent into something ripe, something ripe and ready. It made you soft. Glowing. Touched by heat and jasmine and honey and sin.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t breathe too hard. Because if you did, you feared you might shatter.

Your hair was pulled into a tight braid—neat, elegant, nothing for him to grip unless he chose to. The gown they slid over your body was white, thin, and clung like second skin.

Then came the red silk.

First around your waist—low, tied like a ribbon that could be yanked loose with one tug. Then your thighs—soft, suggestive, as if framing what was his. And finally, your wrists—just tight enough to suggest surrender, just loose enough to invite escape.

You were wrapped like a gift. A gift in sin. A body made to be opened. Mouth parted in silence. Thighs shining with oil. You didn’t know what time it was. Didn’t know how long you had. You only knew the door would open soon. And they would lead you into the forest.

Into the clearing. Into the moonlight. Into his arms.

You were then guided to the outskirts of the woods. The gown clung to your thighs with every step, the red silk trailing behind you like a leash of blood. The women who walked beside you — your escorts, said nothing until the trees were close enough to cast long shadows across your path.

You tried not to cry, tried not to look back, but your fingers twitched in their bindings, and your breath hitched every time the trees got closer. They brought you to the very edge of the forest—where green meets black. Where warm air turns cool and damp and wrong. Where the roots rise from the ground like twisted fingers, waiting to snare.

That’s where they stopped and stepped back. One of them—a woman whose name you didn't know but whose hands had oiled your thighs—placed a palm to your back. “This is as far as we go.” Her voice was quiet, but not unkind. Like someone mourning you before the grave had been dug. “You keep walking now. You keep moving… for the safety of the village. For the sake of everything that keeps us alive.”

You swallowed hard. 

She stepped away. The other followed. And then… they left you. Alone. Standing at the threshold of something ancient. Wrapped in silk and soaked in sweetness, body soft and throat tight.

You stared at the path ahead. Dark. Endless. Whispering. And slowly, one trembling foot in front of the other, you stepped into the woods.

The air changed the moment the trees closed in behind you — from open breath to choking silence, from soft village winds to something colder, thicker, soaked in moss and memory and blood that had dried decades ago but still clung to the bark like a warning. The moonlight filtered through the branches in thin, shaking strips, painting your skin in silver and slicing the dark like blades, but even that light felt borrowed — hesitant, as though the moon itself feared what lay ahead. 

The path wasn’t marked, and yet you knew where to go. Your body moved as though pulled by thread, as though your feet remembered steps your mind had never taken, and still your chest ached like something sacred was being torn apart within it, not because you feared the thing waiting in the woods, but because some traitorous part of you, buried and starved, was beginning to ache for him.

The deeper you walked, the quieter everything became — no crickets, no leaves, not even the sound of your own breath. It was like the forest had swallowed your presence whole, as if it were holding itself still for the one who hunted within it.

And yet… you kept walking.

The red silk at your waist clung to your hips like a noose dressed in perfume, the oil on your skin still warm despite the cold, still clinging to you like it had been made not to protect you, but to make you softer, sweeter, easier to taste. And you could feel it now. The heat. Low and crawling between your thighs, humming in your blood, tightening your chest with every step closer. Not arousal, not yet — but the ghost of it. A hunger beginning to mirror the one you knew was already tracking you.

He was close.

You didn’t hear him. You didn’t see him. But your body knew. Knew the way prey always knows the shadow of the thing that’s about to claim it.

You bit your tongue and kept walking, and in the distance, deeper than your senses could reach, a low growl stirred. 

It slid beneath your skin like cold water. Instantly, your body obeyed a fear older than thought — stiffening, pausing mid-step, your bare foot sinking just slightly into the damp earth as if even the ground beneath you was warning you not to move. You turned your head slowly, eyes wide, straining to see through the thick dark, but the trees had closed in tighter than before, their trunks blackened, reaching, their branches whispering secrets in a language you couldn’t understand.

The growl had come from the left—low, guttural, not close, but not far. It hadn’t sounded like anything human, but it hadn’t sounded like a beast either.

It sounded like want.

Your eyes darted through the shadow-cloaked underbrush, searching for the shape that didn’t belong, the flash of gold, the shift of breath between the leaves.

But you saw nothing. Just the trees. Just the dark. Just the silent windless forest waiting like it knew what would happen next. Your heart thundered in your chest, so loud you wondered if he could hear it. If he could taste it. If he was listening.

Another rustle behind you—too fast to be the wind, too fluid to be prey.

You turned again. Nothing.

But you could feel him now. Not just near. Watching. Stalking.

Something about the way the woods wrapped around your skin made you realize you weren’t alone anymore. That you hadn’t been, not since your first step across the treeline. That he'd been there, somewhere, the whole time. And worse than that — worse than the fear crawling through your veins was the heat starting to bloom in your belly. A deep, steady ache, made worse by the silence. By the waiting. By the way your skin suddenly felt too tight, too exposed, like the oil on it had begun to glow beneath his gaze. Like he was already touching you — with nothing but hunger and heat.

You took another step, your breath shallow in your throat, the silk at your wrists brushing your thighs as your hands trembled slightly. You tried to tell yourself it was the cold. It wasn’t.

And then… the bushes in front of you moved.

Not a rustle. Not a breeze. But a deliberate parting, as though the forest itself made way.

You froze, mouth slightly open, heart slamming in your chest like it wanted to escape before you could.

Branches shifted. Leaves sighed.

And then— two golden eyes opened. Not glowing like fire, but burning like something alive — molten, endless, pinned to you like a blade to flesh. Watching. Unblinking. They hovered just above the ground, still shrouded in shadow, low and wild, and for one aching second, that was all there was.

Gold. Darkness. Him.

The forest didn’t breathe. Neither did you.

The eyes didn’t blink, but they moved, tilting slowly, tracking the rise and fall of your chest, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your lips parted around a breath you forgot to take.

He saw everything. And somehow… you knew he liked what he saw.

Then — another shift. The sound of something massive exhaling. 

A shape began to rise from the underbrush, towering and quiet, body moving with inhuman grace — tall, lean, the faintest shimmer of skin catching moonlight through the trees. Bare chest. Broad shoulders. Hair wild and dark. Something animal in the way he moved, in the way he stalked, slow and hungry, toward you.

But those eyes never left yours.

You didn’t move.

Because that wasn’t a man standing before you.

That was the thing the village feared. That was the beast they’d wrapped you up for. The myth, the monster, the god with blood beneath his nails. And he had found you.

He stepped into the light like he belonged to the night itself. Locked on you like you were already beneath him, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, watching you the way a starving thing watches a plate it’s already decided is its last meal.

Your legs were locked, not by fear alone, but by the weight of his gaze, the heat in your belly, the bone-deep realization that whatever was standing there wanted you. Not as a sacrifice. Not as a fleeting thing. But as something to take. To keep.

And then he spoke.

Low. Rough. Velvet dragged over teeth. “You’re prettier than the last one.” The words hit your skin like heat, like shame, like hands you hadn’t earned but already ached to feel.

He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. “They dressed you up nice,” he said, head tilting, voice like honey gone sour. “All that silk and oil… but that scent underneath? That’s you.” His nostrils flared slightly. His eyes darkened. “You smell like fear,” he whispered. “And something sweeter underneath it.” Another step. “Want.”

The air collapsed between you. Your lips parted, a soundless breath escaping, as if your body was trying to answer him before your mind could form a thought. 

Heeseung smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Hungry. “Do you know what happens next?” he asked. You shook your head before you could stop yourself. Your voice had long since left you. He clicked his tongue once, softly, like he was disappointed — but not surprised. “You run.” Another step. “I chase.” He was close enough now that you could see the veins in his throat, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was holding himself back. “And if I catch you—” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “—you’re mine.”

The word settled into your chest like heat. Like a promise. Like a brand. “So go ahead,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “Run.”

The second the command cut through the dark, you didn’t hesitate. You ran. 

Your feet tore through moss and damp leaves, lungs heaving, adrenaline screaming through your veins. The silk clung to your skin, tugged at your ankles, fluttered behind you like a flare — like a signal screaming here I am. Take me.

Branches scraped your bare arms, dirt coated your legs, your hair snagged in the low limbs overhead — but you didn’t stop.

If you slowed down, he’d catch you. And gods, what would he do then? 

But what you feared more—what sent a sharper pulse of panic through your chest—was that you couldn’t hear him.

No footfalls. No breath. No growling behind you. Just your own frantic gasps.

Until—

A thud. To your right.

You flinched, nearly twisting your ankle on a root, glancing toward the sound. Nothing. You ran harder, heart a war drum in your throat.

Then— a branch snapped directly to your left. You stumbled again, nearly losing balance, eyes wide and wet. Still nothing. And then you heard him laugh. Low. Smooth. Cruel. It echoed through the trees like it belonged here — like the forest itself bent to it. “You run so pretty,” he called. “Like you know it won’t matter.” 

You whipped your head around, eyes scanning the dark — too dark — trying to see anything. Trying to see him. 

Nothing.

But your body was already reacting. Your thighs were shaking. Your breath catching. Not just from exhaustion. From heat. The silk at your waist clung tighter, soaked through from sweat and oil and something worse — something needier.

“You're dripping,” his voice whispered again, this time behind you, close enough to taste. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You cried out, a sound ripped from your throat, and broke into a faster sprint. You didn’t care where you went. You just needed distance. You needed to run.

The trees closed in around you, branches grabbing at your arms like they were helping him, not you. Your foot caught a root. You fell hard — palms slamming into earth, knees scraping, a whimper bursting from your lips as you scrambled back to your feet.

Then — a flash of movement. 

Too fast. Too low. Too close.

You screamed, turned again — and he was there, just far enough away to keep your panic sharp. Half-shadowed. Shirtless. Barefoot. Grinning. 

He didn’t run. He walked. Slow. Like a wolf circling prey already too tired to make it interesting. His eyes glowed with something dark and delighted. His chest rose slow, his tongue darting out once, wetting his lips as he drank in the sight of you. “Keep going,” he said, voice low and hot and dangerous. “I’m not done playing yet.”

You ran again. Tears blurred your vision now. Your breath was gone. Your legs barely held you. And still, you ran. But you weren’t fast anymore. You weren’t quiet.

And he was right behind you.

You heard his feet this time, heavy steps through the brush.

You pushed harder, tried to force your body to give more.

And then—

A blur.

Suddenly he was in front of you.

You screamed, skidding to a stop — but he didn’t touch you. He just smiled. Tilted his head. Eyes glowing like embers beneath the moonlight. “Go,” he whispered.

So you ran. Again. And again.

Every time you thought you could hide, he found you. Every time you thought you gained ground, he appeared ahead of you, toying with your direction, herding you where he wanted you. Until finally, your foot gave out and your body collapsed. You couldn’t go any farther.

You crawled a few feet, sobbing, trembling, dirt streaking your thighs.

And then—

A hand around your ankle.

“Caught you.”

You barely gasped before you were yanked backward, dragged through dirt and leaves with a strength that didn’t hesitate. He flipped you effortlessly and suddenly your back met the cold earth, bare thighs parted, red silk clinging to your skin like a second, sinful breath.

Dirt kissed your spine. Oil gleamed on your collarbones. And he was all over you. Knees planted on either side of your hips, body caging yours, forearms braced in the soil beside your head. His chest rose once, shuddering — not from exertion, but from restraint. His nostrils flared. His eyes locked to yours, pupils blown wide and burning gold.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick and low, like it hurt to speak. “You smell like heat and fear… and something sweeter I haven’t tasted yet.” His tongue slid over his bottom lip, slow, greedy. Then he dipped his head, brushing the tip of his nose down your throat, inhaling like your scent was something sacred. “Still going to pretend you didn’t want this?” he whispered, voice curling into your ear like smoke. “That you weren’t soaked the second you saw me?”

Your lips parted. To lie, maybe. To curse him. To scream. But you didn’t get the chance. Because his tongue was already on your skin. He licked a long stripe up your neck, groaning softly — not like a man, but something wilder, deeper, as though you’d just given him water in a desert. And while your body tensed beneath his, caught between panic and a heat you didn’t want to name—

His fingers slid between your thighs.

The silk there was soaked. You knew it. So did he.

His growl vibrated against your neck as he spread you open with a single hand, your legs falling wider without resistance. “You ran so well,” he breathed, dragging his mouth lower. “Now let me show you what you get for losing.” His fingers slipped beneath the red silk, slow at first, dragging the fabric up your thighs like he was unwrapping something he’d been starved for. Your skin burned under his touch, slick with sweat and oil and the heat pooling thick between your legs. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough with restraint. “Laid out for me like this… fuck, you’re shaking.” He smiled, not mockingly — adoringly. Like this was what he’d waited for. Like you were what he’d waited for. He pushed your legs wider. You whimpered, hips twitching, breath catching in your throat as the silk tightened around your wrists, pinned beneath you. “Don’t hide,” he growled softly. “Not after you ran so well.”

And then he went lower.

His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he leaned down until his breath was hot between your legs. He didn’t touch you yet. He just breathed you in, groaning like it hurt to wait. “God,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I can smell how badly you want me. Sweet little prey dripping all over herself, all for me.”

Your head tipped back, chest rising in quick, shallow bursts. His grip tightened as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh — gentle, almost loving — then another, higher, closer, teeth grazing but not biting. “I should make you beg,” he muttered. “Should make you cry for it.” Another kiss, right above your slick heat, tongue flicking out just to taste your skin. “But I’ve waited long enough.”

Then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Messy. Devoted.

He groaned the moment his tongue touched you — a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your thighs as he licked a long, slow stripe through your folds, pressing his face in like he was starved.

He didn’t start gently. He didn’t give you time. 

He devoured you.

Tongue flicking, swirling, sucking your clit into his mouth with unholy precision, hands holding your thighs down as your body arched off the forest floor.

You sobbed, hips bucking. He didn’t budge. He growled low — warning you to stay still — and licked harder. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger between sucks. “Give it to me. Let me taste how pretty you sound when you break.”

Your legs twitched beneath his grip, and he only tightened his hold — pinning you down with strong hands on your thighs as his tongue dragged slow, deliberate strokes through your soaked folds, each one rougher, deeper, hungrier than the last.

You moaned, high and wrecked, trying to close your legs, trying to twist away, but he growled deep into your cunt and forced them wider.

“Don’t even think about it,” he rasped against your skin. “You ran. I caught you. Now you take what I give you.” His tongue pressed in again, swirling over your clit, flicking and sucking and teasing just enough to keep you aching, not letting you fall apart too soon — not yet.

Heeseung wanted you desperate.

You cried out again, breath catching in your throat, fingers clawing into the dirt. The silk at your wrists dug tighter into your skin as your body thrashed beneath him.

“That’s it,” he moaned, mouth slick against your cunt. “Squirm for me. Try to run with your legs shaking like that, see what happens.”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. The pressure was building, sharp and hot, dragging you toward a climax that felt too heavy to survive.

“You’re gonna come,” he murmured, voice feral, tongue relentless. “I can feel it. I can fucking taste it.” He pressed his face harder between your thighs, his nose brushing against you, his moans vibrating through your clit until your vision blurred.

Your hips jerked. Your thighs clamped — or tried to.

He growled and shoved them wider, the sound vibrating through your whole core. “Come,” he snapped. “Now.”

And you did.

You shattered like glass under his mouth — body convulsing, breath punched from your lungs, tears in your eyes as pleasure crashed through you so hard it left you sobbing.

Heeseung didn’t pause, didn’t relent—not when your body shuddered through its climax, not when your thighs quaked uncontrollably, not when your voice splintered into desperate whimpers. His tongue, wicked and unrelenting, moved with a hunger that felt ancient, as if he’d been starving for you across lifetimes.

“So fucking sweet,” he growled, his voice raw and wrecked, pulling back just enough for the words to spill out. His jaw glistened with your arousal, his dark eyes glinting with feral satisfaction as they locked onto yours. “Dripping for me. Ruined already, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” The crude edge of his words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, your body betraying you with its eager response.

His tongue returned with devastating precision, lapping at your oversensitive folds, delving deep to taste every inch of you. Each stroke was deliberate, dragging through your slickness, teasing the edges of your entrance before plunging back in, curling against your walls in a way that made your hips buck involuntarily. His fangs—sharp, dangerous—grazed your tender flesh, the faint sting blending with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. The sensation sent raw, primal need surging through your veins, your fingers scrabbling uselessly against the forest floor, desperate for something to hold onto.

With a sudden motion, Heeseung’s claws tore through the remnants of your gown, the delicate fabric shredding like paper under his strength. The red silk cinched around your waist and thighs followed, ripped away in one fluid motion, leaving you utterly bare to the cool night air. But there was no chill—his body was a furnace, radiating heat as he pressed himself closer, his broad shoulders forcing your thighs wider. His claws dug into the soft flesh of your legs, holding you open, vulnerable, and entirely at his mercy.

Heeseung’s mouth was a ravenous beast, devouring you with a focus that bordered on obsession. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and teasing before sucking it gently between his lips, the pressure sending white-hot sparks through your core. He alternated between soft, languid licks and firm, relentless suction, keeping you teetering on the edge of another climax. His growls vibrated against your skin, a primal symphony of hunger and possession that made your head spin. His ears, pressed flat against his head, signaled his singular focus—his world had narrowed to the taste, the scent, the feel of you.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasped, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the earth beneath you. He pulled back just enough to let his words sink in, his breath hot against your slick folds. “So fucking responsive. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be mine.” His fingers joined the assault, one thick digit sliding into you, curling against your walls as his tongue returned to your clit, lapping greedily. The stretch was slow, deliberate, his finger pumping in time with his licks, coaxing more slickness from your body until the obscene sound of your arousal filled the air.

Heeseung’s eyes never left yours, fierce and unyielding, drinking in every gasp, every shudder, every broken moan that spilled from your lips. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction as he added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you further. “Dripping all over my hand, my face. You’re a fucking mess for me.” His thumb brushed your clit as his tongue dove back in, licking a slow, torturous path from your entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves, savoring every drop of you.

The pleasure was overwhelming, building faster than you could process. Your thighs trembled, trying to close around his head, but his claws held you firmly in place, forcing you to take everything he gave. His fingers thrust deeper, curling just right, while his tongue flicked mercilessly, pushing you toward a precipice you couldn’t escape. “Come for me again,” he growled against your skin, the command laced with a primal edge. “Let me taste it. Let me feel you fall apart.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, the coil in your core snapping as you came undone. A scream tore from your throat, your back arching off the ground as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your walls clenching around his fingers, your hips grinding against his face. Heeseung groaned, the sound almost pained, as he lapped up every pulse of your release, his tongue relentless, prolonging your climax until you were a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him.

Even as you shuddered through the aftershocks, he didn’t stop. His fingers slowed but didn’t withdraw, his tongue still teasing your oversensitive folds, drawing out every last tremor. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less possessive. “Give me everything, baby. You’re mine to ruin.”

Your hands pushed weakly at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to create some distance, to catch your breath, but he was immovable—a wall of heat and muscle pinning you to the mossy ground.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice a rough caress that vibrated against your skin, sending shivers through your already trembling body. “I have to prepare you. You’re so fucking tight, and I need to be sure you can take me.” His words were both a promise and a threat, laced with a possessive edge that made your pulse race. His fingers pumped in and out, the slick sounds filling the air as he worked you open, stretching you with a precision that felt almost clinical yet devastatingly intimate.

Your gaze flickered downward, drawn by the sight of his hand moving between your thighs. His fingers glistened with your arousal, coated in a sheen that caught the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. The sight was obscene, undeniable, and it sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, your body clenching around him involuntarily. Your eyes drifted further, catching on the tattered remains of his jeans. The fabric was shredded, barely clinging to his powerful thighs, a testament to his wild, untamed nature—a creature of the forest, unbound and feral. But it was the bulge straining against the ruined denim that stole your breath, a thick, hard ridge that seemed impossibly large, promising both pleasure and pain in equal measure.

A gasp slipped from your lips, half shock, half anticipation, and Heeseung’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and knowing. “You see it, don’t you?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure you’re ready.” As if to punctuate his words, a third finger joined the first two, the sudden stretch making you moan—a sound caught between protest and pleasure. Your body arched off the ground, adjusting to the fuller invasion, your mind reeling as the sensation pushed you closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice a guttural snarl as he watched your reaction, his eyes glinting with feral satisfaction. “You’re so fucking tight. I don’t know if I can wait much longer.” His fingers moved faster now, plunging deeper, curling against your walls with a skill that made your thighs tremble. His thumb found your clit again, circling it with relentless pressure, the rhythm perfectly synced with the thrusts of his fingers. 

You pushed at him again, your hands weak and trembling, but he only pressed closer, his chest rumbling with a low growl as he licked a slow, deliberate path through your folds, savoring every drop of you. “Stop fighting it,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot and teasing.

His weight pinned you down, a heavy, unyielding cage of muscle and heat that left no room for escape. His body was a furnace, radiating primal desire, marking you with every press of his skin against yours. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path up your chest, drooling over the sweat and oil that glistened on your body, his lips leaving a trail of wet heat in their wake. He lapped at your skin, savoring every inch, his rough tongue dragging across your collarbone before dipping lower to tease the sensitive curve of your breast.

“Shit,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through your core, making your thighs tremble. “You taste so fucking good. I could eat you up.” The words were raw, possessive, and they sent a fresh surge of arousal pooling between your legs, your body responding even as your mind struggled to keep up. His fingers never stopped, pumping in and out with relentless precision, curling against your walls to coax more slickness from you. The obscene wet sounds filled the air, mingling with your desperate whimpers and his guttural groans.

“Need to get you wet and ready for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with hunger, his breath hot against your skin. “Open you up so you can take every inch of me. So you can take my knot. So you can take my cum.” Each word was a promise, a claim, dripping with crude possessiveness that made your head spin. Your body betrayed you, clenching around his fingers, the tension in your belly coiling tighter, ready to snap. His thumb circled your clit with punishing accuracy, pushing you closer to the edge with every pass, your moans growing louder, more frantic, as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

When it hit, it was cataclysmic. Your body convulsed, a broken sob tearing from your throat as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your nails digging into his shoulders, scraping against his skin as you clung to him for dear life. Your vision blurred, your walls pulsing around his fingers, slickness coating his hand as your release overwhelmed you. Tears streamed down your face, the intensity leaving you trembling, gasping, utterly undone beneath him.

But Heeseung wasn’t done—not by a long shot. His eyes darkened, a feral glint flashing as he watched you fall apart, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. With a low, dangerous growl, he forced a fourth finger into you, the sudden stretch ripping a shriek from your throat. Your body arched off the ground, torn between protest and surrender as it adjusted to the overwhelming fullness. The sensation was too much, too intense, your mind reeling as your walls fluttered around the intrusion, struggling to accommodate him. “That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Take it. Open up for me, baby. You need to be ready for what’s next.”

His fingers moved faster now, relentless, stretching you further as his tongue returned to your clit, licking and sucking with a hunger that made your head spin. “You’re going to take me,” Heeseung growled, his voice a low, dangerous promise that sent shivers racing down your spine. “Every inch of me. And you’re going to love it.” His words hung heavy in the air, laced with a primal certainty that made your core clench despite the overwhelming sensations already consuming you. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you nodded quickly, unable to form words. The night sky above was a distant blur of stars, their light faint and hazy, your world reduced to the man between your legs—the one who promised to ruin you in the best, most devastating way.

Your body was still trembling from the relentless onslaught of his fingers and tongue when he suddenly pulled his hand free, leaving you achingly empty. A whine of protest rose in your throat, but it died the moment his tongue returned, licking a long, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. His spit mingled with your slick, soaking you further, the wet heat overwhelming as it coated your already sensitive folds. The sensation was too much, a heady mix of pleasure and pain that tore a shout from your lips, echoing into the empty forest air. Your body convulsed as another climax hit, unexpected and brutal, waves of pleasure crashing through you with such force that you screamed, your hands tangling in his hair, gripping tightly as you held on for dear life.

Your vision swam as you came down from the high, your body shuddering with aftershocks, your breath ragged and uneven. Blinking through the haze, you looked down at Heeseung, and a gasp caught in your throat. His face was a glistening mess, your release coating his lips, his chin, dripping down his jaw in an obscene display that sent a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through you. But it was his eyes that stopped your heart. Once sharp and golden, predatory in their intensity, they were now a deep, glowing red, like twin embers burning in the darkness. They locked onto you with a ferocity that was both thrilling and terrifying.

Heeseung’s lips curled into a slow, predatory smirk as he licked his lips, savoring the taste of you, his red eyes never leaving yours. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, almost unrecognizable in its primal edge. “Falling apart for me, screaming my name. You’re so cute, aren’t you?” His claws tightened on your thighs, keeping you spread open as he leaned in again, his tongue flicking out to tease your oversensitive clit, drawing a broken whimper from your lips. Your hands pushed weakly at his head, a futile attempt to slow him down, but he only growled, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending another jolt of pleasure through your trembling body.

He rose slightly, his massive form looming over you, the tattered remnants of his jeans barely clinging to his thighs. The bulge straining against the fabric was even more pronounced now, a thick, intimidating promise of what was to come. His hand moved to the waistband, claws tearing through the last of the shredded denim with a single, savage motion, freeing his cock. It sprang free, heavy and thick, the sight making your breath hitch, a mix of fear and anticipation twisting in your gut.

Your fingers clawed at the mossy ground, nails digging into the damp earth as you tried to crawl away, a desperate bid for a moment’s reprieve. But Heeseung was too quick, too strong, his reflexes honed by something far beyond human. His hands gripped your waist, claws sinking into your soft flesh just enough to sting, anchoring you in place. With a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you over, forcing you onto your knees and elbows. The cool forest air hit your exposed skin, your ass lifted high, vulnerable and trembling under his gaze. His hands moved with purpose, pulling your hips up to align you perfectly, positioning you exactly as he wanted—open, helpless, his.

A low growl rumbled from his chest as his hand pressed down on the back of your neck, pinning you to the ground with a strength that felt like iron shackles. The pressure was unyielding, your cheek pressed into the moss, the earthy scent filling your lungs as you gasped for breath. You could feel the blunt tip of his cock nudging at your entrance, the sheer size of him already stretching your slick folds, a mix of anticipation and fear knotting in your chest. Your body, still reeling from the relentless pleasure he’d wrung from you, trembled beneath him, caught between surrender and instinctual resistance.

“Wait,” you choked out, your voice a broken whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your own heartbeat. “Wait, please—” Your hands scrabbled at the moss, fingers curling around the soft green strands as if they could ground you, give you some semblance of control in the face of his overwhelming presence. But Heeseung only tightened his grip, his claws pricking your skin, a silent command to stay still.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sent shivers racing down your spine. His red eyes glowed in the darkness, fixed on you with a predatory intensity that made your heart stutter. “No waiting. You’re ready for me. You’re fucking made for me.” His free hand slid down your spine, tracing the curve of your back before gripping your hip, holding you steady as he pressed himself closer. The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, the stretch already intense, your body straining to accommodate his size even with the slickness coating your thighs.

You whimpered, your breath hitching as he began to push forward, slow but relentless, the thick length of him forcing its way inside. The burn was immediate, a sharp mix of pleasure and pain that made your vision blur, your fingers digging deeper into the moss. “Heeseung—too much—” you gasped, your voice breaking, but he only growled in response, his hand on your neck tightening just enough to keep you pinned, his hips inching forward with unyielding determination.

But your words were cut off as he slipped inside, the stretch overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you screaming. But your scream was drowned out by the loud howl he let out. He kept pushing himself in, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you out fully and raw, your body adjusting to the invasion, your mind reeling from the sensation.

Heeseung’s relentless advance didn’t falter, his thick length pushing into you with a slow, unyielding determination that stretched you impossibly wide. The burn was searing, a dizzying blend of pleasure and pain that tore sobs from your throat, your vision blurring as tears spilled down your cheeks. Your fingers clawed deeper into the moss, the damp earth crumbling beneath your grip as you tried to squirm away, desperate for relief from the overwhelming fullness. “Heeseung—too much—” you gasped again, your voice fracturing, but his hand on your neck tightened, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he yanked you back, pinning you firmly beneath him.

“Mate,” he snarled, the single coherent word cutting through the haze of his feral sounds, heavy with possessive intent. His red eyes burned into you, glowing with an intensity that made your heart stutter, the beast within him fully in control. With one final, deliberate thrust, he sank fully inside you, the stretch so profound it stole your breath. You were so wet, slick with your own arousal and the precum that coated your insides, easing the way but doing little to dull the sensation of being utterly filled. The sheer size of him was beyond anything you’d ever experienced—no amount of his earlier preparation could have readied you for this.

A broken cry escaped your lips, your body trembling as it struggled to accommodate him, every nerve alight with the intensity of his claim. Heeseung was incoherent now, his growls and whines filling the air, raw and primal, his hips pressed flush against yours as he held himself still for a moment, letting you feel every inch of him. His claws dug into your hips, the faint sting grounding you even as your mind reeled, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so completely, impossibly full. You couldn’t blame him for losing himself—you weren’t faring much better, your sobs mingling with breathless moans, your body torn between surrender and the instinct to flee.

“Fuck… so tight,” he managed, his voice barely human, a guttural rasp as his head tipped back, his red eyes glinting in the moonlight. His hands tightened, one still pinning your neck, the other gripping your hip as he began to move, slow at first, each shallow thrust dragging against your walls, sending shocks of pleasure-pain through you. You whimpered, your body shuddering with every movement, the slickness making each slide easier but no less intense. His precum continued to spill inside you, warm and thick, adding to the overwhelming sensation, your core clenching around him involuntarily.

Your body was a trembling mess beneath Heeseung, every muscle slack and surrendered to the relentless onslaught of his thrusts. His hips snapped against yours with a brutal, unyielding force, each collision driving him deeper, stretching you to your limits. The wet, filthy squelch of your combined arousal filled the forest air, a lewd symphony that underscored his primal need. Your gasps had dissolved into broken whimpers, your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, your senses consumed by the overwhelming presence of him. His nose pressed into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, as if your scent was the only thing tethering him to reality. “Mine,” he growled against your skin, the word a possessive mantra, his breath hot and ragged.

“Stop,” you gasped, your voice a frail whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart and the obscene sounds of your bodies. “Heeseung, slow down!” But your plea went unanswered. His tip kept slamming into your cervix, each thrust a mix of agony and ecstasy that left you hiccuping, your body convulsing with every punishing impact. You repeated the silent scream in your mind, begging for him to cum, to knot and finish, to end the overwhelming intensity. But Heeseung was lost to his instincts, his red eyes glinting in the moonlight, his growls and whines incoherent as he chased his release.

“More, more, more,” he grunted, his voice a guttural chant as his hips drove into you with a force that stole your breath. Your walls, slick and stretched, clung to him, making each thrust slippery yet impossibly intense. The pressure was unbearable, a constant stretch that kept you teetering on the edge of breaking. You tried to squirm, to ease the overwhelming fullness, but his claws dug into your hips, pinning you in place, his grip unyielding.

Then, abruptly, he pulled out, leaving you gaping and empty, the sudden void almost as excruciating as the fullness had been. A whine tore from your throat, your body aching with need despite the strain. Before you could process the loss, Heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs, flipping you onto your back with a swift, powerful motion. Your body, pliant and exhausted, complied without resistance, your legs falling open as he spread them wide, lifting them up, up, up until they were nearly pressed to your head. The burn in your thighs was sharp, the stretch of your muscles screaming, but it was nothing compared to the raw, pulsing need in your core.

Heeseung loomed over you, his red eyes locked onto your exposed, glistening pussy, the hunger in his gaze so feral it made you shiver. His tongue darted out, licking his lips, drool dripping down his chin in a blatant display of his arousal. “Mmmh so beautiful,” he muttered, his voice a low, guttural rumble as he stared at you, his cock twitching against his stomach, slick with your combined fluids. “So fucking perfect. All for me.” Without warning, he pushed back inside, the sudden fullness ripping a moan of relief from your lips. The stretch was immediate, your walls clenching around him as he filled you completely, the sensation grounding you even as it overwhelmed.

Your moan spurred him on, and he started thrusting without pause, his hips snapping against yours with a force that left you breathless. He leaned over, pressing your legs closer to your head, his full weight bearing down on you, caging you beneath him. The angle drove him deeper, his growing knot grinding against your walls with every thrust, sending shocks of pleasure-pain through your trembling body. “Fuck…” he growled, his voice thick with need. “Gonna knot you so full. You’re gonna carry my cubs, be so fucking big and round. Gonna be a good momma, my perfect mate.”

Your body went slack, every ounce of resistance drained as his words washed over you, crude and possessive, igniting a primal heat despite your exhaustion. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red welts, but the pain only seemed to drive him wilder. His hand slid to your stomach, pressing down firmly, as if he could already feel the swell he promised. “Feel that?” he rasped, his eyes dark and feral, locking onto yours. “That’s where I’m gonna fill you. Gonna stuff you so full, you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

The pressure built, unbearable and all-consuming, your body teetering on the edge of another climax despite the ache. His knot swelled further, catching at your entrance with every thrust, the stretch so intense it made you sob. “Heeseung—please,” you whimpered, unsure if you were begging for mercy or for more. His nose buried in your neck again, inhaling deeply, his growls vibrating against your skin. “Come on baby,” he snarled, his teeth grazing your throat, the threat of a bite sending a jolt through you. “Gonna breed you, keep you full of me.” The thought seemed to drive him wild, his hips grinding harder, more insistent, chasing that final connection, his knot swelling and catching with every movement.

But you were too far gone to process his words now, your world reduced to the overwhelming sensation of him. Your eyes rolled back, lids fluttering uselessly, your mouth slack and drooling as small, broken gasps spilled from your lips. Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated and pliant, every nerve alight with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts. The room spun, your senses drowning in the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, the way he seemed to consume you entirely.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, spilling over and streaking down your cheeks, a silent testament to the intensity that had you teetering on the edge of oblivion. You barely registered the shift in his movement until you felt the warm, rough slide of his tongue against your cheek, lapping at the tears with a guttural groan. His lips lingered on your skin, tasting the salt of your tears as his thrusts grew more erratic, his knot pressing harder against you, demanding entry. He was relentless, his groans vibrating against your face as he chased that final moment, his body shuddering with the effort. “Just a little more,” he growled, his teeth grazing your jaw. “You can take it, can’t you?”

You were too lost to answer him, your mind a blissful haze where nothing existed but him—his scent, his voice, his consuming presence. Shaking and trembling, your body was stuck in a limbo, every thrust pulling you deeper into euphoria. Your mouth hung open, drool pooling at the corner, your eyes half-lidded and unseeing as you surrendered to the sensation. Overstimulated beyond reason, your thighs quaked, slick with arousal that coated him, easing the tight slide of his knot as he worked it deeper. Tears streamed down your cheeks, not from pain but from the overwhelming intensity, and Heeseung kept lapping at them, his tongue warm against your skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped. “Crying for me, taking me so well.”

Heeseung’s gaze roamed over you, dark and worshipful, as if you were a divine offering laid bare for him. “God, look at you,” he murmured, his hands tracing your trembling form, fingers splaying over the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, before settling on your stomach. “So gorgeous, so wet for me. You’re dripping, baby, making it so easy for me to claim you.” 

His words stoked the fire in your core, your body responding with another gush of slick that made his knot catch, then slide fractionally deeper. He groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, sweat-slick and burning. “That’s it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your parted ones, stealing your broken gasps. “You’re perfect, so fucking mine.” Then, with a subtle shift, he changed his angle, his hips tilting just enough to drive himself deeper, the size of him stretching you impossibly further. The new angle made your belly bulge faintly with each thrust, a visible outline of his length pressing against your skin. Heeseung’s eyes darkened at the sight, a primal growl rumbling in his chest. “Oh, look at that,” he said, his voice low and reverent, one hand sliding down to trace the slight swell, his fingers pressing lightly against the bulge. “You’re so full of me, baby. So fucking stuffed.” The pressure of his hand intensified the sensation, sending a fresh wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him involuntarily.

Heeseung’s gaze stayed fixed on the faint bulge in your belly, his hand still pressing gently against it, feeling the way his length moved inside you. His other hand slid lower, his thumb finding your clit with deliberate precision. He circled it slowly at first, the pad of his thumb slick with your arousal, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves until your hips bucked involuntarily.

“God, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper that seemed to vibrate through your core. “Dripping all over me, taking me so deep. You love this, don’t you? Love being stretched out, stuffed full of my cock.” His thumb pressed harder, rubbing tighter circles, and the wet sound of your body responding filled the space, mingling with your ragged breaths. Your thighs trembled, slickness coating his hand as he coaxed more from you, his words unraveling you as much as his touch. “I can feel you squeezing me, baby. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

The heat built unbearably, your body alight with sensation as his thumb worked relentlessly and his thrusts grew deeper, more purposeful. Each stroke dragged against your walls, the overwhelming stretch making you gasp, your arousal slicking down your thighs. Heeseung’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, wild and hungry, his pupils blown wide. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice primal. “Gonna knot you so much you’ll feel me for days.”

The promise sent a jolt through you, your body clenching around him instinctively. He hissed at the tightness, his pace faltering for a moment before he drove himself deeper, the base of his cock swelling more and more. “Fuck, it’s coming,” he rasped, his grip on your hips tightening, fingers digging into your skin. “You ready for it, baby? Ready to take my knot?”

Your head lolled back, a broken moan spilling from your lips as his thumb pressed down on your clit, sending you spiraling. “Yes, please,” you gasped, your body trembling on the edge. The knot caught at your entrance, teasing, not quite slipping in yet, and the anticipation made you whimper. Heeseung leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot. “You’re gonna take it all, aren’t you? Let me lock you up, fill you till you’re dripping with me.”

With a final, deep thrust, the knot pushed past your entrance, stretching you impossibly wide before settling inside, locking you together. The sudden fullness ripped a scream from your throat, your body seizing as the sensation overwhelmed you. Heeseung threw his head back, a feral howl tearing from him, echoing into the night as he surrendered to the primal urge. His cock pulsed inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your womb, the heat of it spreading through your core. Your own release crashed over you, your vision whiting out as you clenched around him, milking every drop, your body shuddering uncontrollably.

Heeseung’s howl faded into heavy pants, his forehead pressing against yours as he trembled above you, still locked tight inside. “Fuck… you’re perfect,” he whispered, voice raw, his hand sliding up to cradle your cheek. You could feel the knot holding firm, his cum still warm and heavy inside you, and the intimacy of it left you breathless, clinging to him as you both came down from the high.

Heeseung’s breaths were still heavy, his body pressed close as the knot held you locked together. Slowly, with a tenderness that contrasted the primal intensity of moments before, he eased your trembling legs down from where they’d been hooked around him. They fell limply to the ground, your muscles spent, your body pliant beneath his weight. He stayed close, his warmth enveloping you, his softened gaze tracing over your flushed skin as he began to care for you.

His rough tongue lapped gently at your skin, starting low on your abdomen, the texture sending a shiver through your oversensitive body. He moved upward, dragging his tongue along your chest, tasting the salt of your sweat. When he reached your nipples, he paused, his lips closing around one, suckling softly. The sensation pulled a pathetic whine from your lips, your fingers twitching weakly against the ground, too exhausted to do more than tremble under his touch. He hummed against your skin, the vibration intensifying the feeling, before releasing your nipple with a wet smack, the sound echoing in the quiet.

Heeseung’s nose brushed along your collarbone as he moved higher, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, savoring your scent, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice husky, reverent. The intimacy of it made your heart stutter, but before you could process the warmth of his words, his hand slid to your head, gently but firmly tilting it to the side, exposing the soft curve of your neck.

Without warning, his teeth sank into the tender flesh, sharp and possessive, the sting melding with a surge of pleasure as he ground his hips into you. The movement, sudden and deep, forced the knot to shift inside, pressing against your walls, and another hot spurt of his cum flooded your womb. You gasped, your body arching instinctively, a broken moan spilling from your lips as the sensation overwhelmed you again. His bite tightened briefly, marking you, before he released, licking the tender spot soothingly, his tongue rough yet careful.

Your body twitched lightly on the ground, a soft shudder running through you as the aftershocks of his bite and the knot still locking you together pulsed in your core. Heeseung’s eyes softened at the sight, but his instincts urged him to keep you close. With a gentle yet firm grip, he slid his arms beneath you, lifting you from the cool earth. The sudden movement jostled the knot inside you, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain through your oversensitive walls. A gasp tore from your lips, your nails scraping against his chest as you instinctively clung to him, your head shaking back and forth in a futile attempt to ground yourself.

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, vibrating against you as he settled you on his lap, your legs splayed weakly around his hips. His knot, still swollen and firm, pressed deeper with the new angle, making you whimper as your body trembled uncontrollably. Heeseung’s hands steadied you, one splayed across your lower back, the other cradling your neck as he dipped his head, his rough tongue finding your chest again. He licked slowly, deliberately, cleaning the sweat, dirt, and oil from your skin with long, warm strokes, the texture both comforting and overwhelming.

You whined, your gasps hitching as his tongue trailed higher, lapping at the hollow of your throat, tasting the salt of your exertion. Each swipe sent shivers down your spine, your hands gripping his shoulders weakly, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “T-too much,” you stammered, voice broken, but he only hummed in response, his tongue unrelenting, soothing and claiming all at once. “You’re perfect like this,” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your jaw. “All mine, all messy and sweet.”

Heeseung’s words lingered, soft and possessive, his lips still grazing the sensitive skin below your jaw as he held you close. His knot, still locking you together, began to gradually shrink, the intense pressure inside you easing ever so slightly. The shift allowed you to catch your breath, your body slowly reclaiming sensation as the overwhelming haze started to clear. Your chest heaved with shallow pants, but as you tilted your head downward slightly, a strange realization hit—everything past your chest felt completely numb, save for an uncomfortable, heavy feeling stirring in your stomach.

Curiosity and unease compelled you to glance down, your eyes trailing over your body. What you saw made your breath catch in your throat, a wave of shock and horror washing over you. Your stomach was visibly bulging, swollen in a way that made you look pregnant already. The curve was unmistakable, taut and rounded, as if his release had filled you beyond capacity, leaving a surreal outline against your skin.

Your hands trembled as you instinctively reached down, fingers hovering over the swollen curve, afraid to touch it. “H-Heeseung…” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper, your wide eyes flicking up to meet his. He followed your gaze, his expression shifting from tender to something unreadable, a mix of awe and primal satisfaction. His hand slid down to rest lightly over the bulge, his touch warm but grounding, as if to reassure you.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, though it did little to quell the panic rising in your chest. “So full of me… you’re holding everything I gave you.” His fingers traced the swell gently, almost worshipful, but the weight of his words and the sight of your distended stomach left you reeling, caught between disbelief and the undeniable reality of your body’s transformation.

Your heart pounded as you stared at the impossible bulge of your stomach, Heeseung’s hand still resting gently over it, his touch warm but doing little to ease the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The knot had shrunk further now, enough that you could feel the subtle shift of his length inside, but the heavy, overstuffed sensation in your womb remained, amplified by the surreal sight before you. Your fingers twitched, finally daring to brush against the taut skin of your belly, the pressure beneath it foreign and overwhelming.

“W-what… what is this?” you whispered, voice trembling, your eyes locked on the swell as panic clawed at your chest. You felt stretched, claimed in a way that was both intimate and unnerving, the reality of being so visibly filled by him sinking in.

Heeseung’s gaze softened, though the primal glint in his eyes didn’t fade entirely. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath steady as he spoke. “It’s me, baby,” he said, voice low and soothing, though it carried a possessive edge. “You took all of me, every drop. Your body’s just… showing it.” His hand moved in slow, comforting circles over your swollen stomach, as if to ease your shock, but the gesture only heightened your awareness of the unnatural fullness.

You shook your head slightly, a shaky breath escaping as you tried to process it. “It’s… too much,” you managed, voice cracking. The numbness below your chest was starting to fade, replaced by a dull ache that made the bulge feel even more pronounced. You shifted slightly in his lap, and the movement sent a ripple of sensation through you, the lingering slickness and warmth inside making you gasp softly.

Heeseung shushed you gently, his lips brushing your temple as he held you closer, his other hand cradling the back of your head. “You’re okay,” he murmured, his tone firm yet tender. “You’re perfect. So fucking strong for taking me like this.” His words were meant to comfort, but they stirred something else in you, a strange, reluctant pride at how your body had responded to him.

He shifted beneath you, careful not to jostle you too much, as he carefully shifted you both, easing you back onto the mossy ground. The cool, damp moss pressed against your overheated skin, grounding you in the moment even as your mind swirled with conflicting emotions. His knot had softened enough for him to move, but the trickle of warmth leaking from where you were still joined sent a flush of embarrassment burning through you. His words came low and steady, a soothing cadence laced with possessiveness. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, his hands guiding you with deliberate care. “You were made for this. For me. No one else gets this soft, messy little body. Ever.”

The words hit you hard, and a sob broke from your chest, raw and unbidden. The sensation of his cum shifting inside your swollen womb was overwhelming, a constant reminder of how deeply he’d claimed you. 

But as you lay there, trembling under his gaze, you noticed something else—Heeseung was still hard. Impossibly, undeniably hard, his length pulsing inside you, ready for more despite everything.

Panic surged, and your instincts kicked in. You squirmed, trying to pull away, desperate to put some distance between you and the overwhelming intensity of him. Your hands pushed weakly against his chest, your legs twitching as you tried to slip free before he could fully withdraw. But Heeseung was faster, stronger. His hands clamped down on your hips, pulling you back with a firm tug, keeping himself buried inside you. “Where we going, baby, hm?” he cooed, his voice dark and teasing, though there was an edge of warning beneath it. “Why do you wanna leave now? We aren’t done.”

You whimpered, shaking your head, but he only groaned, his hips grinding into you with a slow, deliberate motion that sent a fresh wave of sensation rippling through your oversensitive body. The stretch, the fullness, the way his cum sloshed inside you—it was too much, and a cry tore from your throat, sharp and broken. Heeseung’s hand shot up, gripping your chin firmly, forcing your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. His eyes were wild, pupils blown, a predator’s intensity burning in them. “Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “I want to see you break when I start again.”

Your sobs caught in your chest, your body trembling as he held you pinned, his grip unyielding. He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’re all mine now, baby. Let me show you how much you belong to me.” With that, he began to move again, slow and deliberate, his hard length dragging against your walls, and your cries filled the air as he pushed you toward the edge once more, his gaze never leaving yours.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Perm taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny @dollyyun

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos @yenienha

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash @renjiishot @demigodmahash

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@vvenusoncasual @bamguetismee @cristy-101 @lynreiii @fancypeacepersona

@mrsjohnnysuh @jessie-grech

[wonenonly]

Finale

Warnings: Hints of somnophilia, kidnapping, yandere 😏, dazed and confusion, mentions of reader being drugged (prescription drugs), there’s a little bit of a Timelapse and can be a little confusing so make sure you read/re-read part one before reading this.

Authors notes: Yeah, so fairy tale series is no different from the traditional acts and content of yandere obsession and love that is featured in a lot of my work…so please only read if you don’t find the content disturbing or discomforting.

“I feel so…weak…tired…like all my energy being drained from me. I can barely keep my eyes open…how is this…”

Your body sinks into the comforter—the small prickle on your fingertip tingles you to sleep. In deep slumber, your mind is enveloped by a passionate dream—one you’ve never had before. You didn’t know who he was or why he was there, but he seemed to hold the key to paradise. Sweat stains the silk satin sheets as you fade in and out, feeling him pumping and thrusting slow and sometimes fast. He’d go hard and deep—other times he’d tease you by rotating just the tip of it in the opening—probing and puncturing as he breathes into your neck and growls into your ear. It felt so real—so everlasting.

At a cyclic rate, the same dream went on and on. It felt eternal, and the pulsating sensation of your womanhood creates a tight knot in your gut. Your hips roll and dips into the mattress, you swore you opened your eyes and awoke, but it only lasted for a second and you’d fall right back into his arms as he picks up where the dream left off and ravishes your body once more. Tainting your body, he marks it inside and out—you’ll forever be ruined.

Your hands grip the sheets as you feel the cool air freezing those beads of sweat decorating your skin. Your heart skips a beat whenever he whispers into your ear…

“Yeah? Right there? Is that the spot, baby? Keep telling me how much you like it…”

You swore you responded and begged him to stop, but he kept going—much to your deepest gratitude. There were moments where his tongue, hands, and lips felt too good—moments where you couldn’t stand it any longer and felt yourself screaming internally. God, what a feeling…it’s indescribable.

“Stop…please no more…”

He ignores your pleading and keeps going. He fills you, pumps into you, and stuffs everything he’s got deep into the center of your core. You hate to admit it, despite your begging, you love that he kept up his momentum and continues. This feeling of being owned—belonging to one who claims you and shows you who is in charge…it was like…like…

“Wake up, baby.”

You hear his voice beckoning. Your smile fades as you feel yourself being pulled away from the vanilla environment. Instantaneously, the silk, candlelight, and cinnamon air disappears and a different sensation hits you. Your eyes slowly open and grogginess takes over. “Mm…huh?”

Fully awake, your eyes stinging from the beaming light in your face. “Wh…what is—“

“It’s quite alright, relax. I’m going to listen to your heartbeat, take deep breaths for me.”

You do your best to abide but struggled. In and out you overhear the voices above you.

“She’ll be alright. Just keep giving her the medication prescribed and limit her movements. Have her continue with bed rest.”

You force your eyes to open through a series of blinks. The blurry image of your surroundings finally becomes clear, and you raise a brow once you realize that the entire room was unrecognizable. Skin sore from the IV needle securely taped over the back of your hand—your mouth slightly dry and lips chapped. “Wh-what is—“

“Shh—relax, baby.”

Baby?

You squint your eyes shut once more to ease the stinging. Finally, they adjust to the bright lighting and you can fully make out the room. Beige tapestry, vanilla colored silk sheets, and cinnamon scented candles.

You hear the voices come to a minimum and the door shuts. Gentle footsteps grow closer and a strong hand caresses your cheek.

“I really don’t want to keep you on those medications, but if you’re still in pain then I guess we can have you take them for just a bit longer.”

Confused and scared, you find your voice to question the young man before you. It came out cracked and incoherent, to which he was kind enough to prop you up and help you drink water from a fine glass. He had a slender build but was strong—you could tell by the lean muscle and the veins that trailed his forearms. His face was well defined yet soft. He was the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, yet you’re unsure if his looks were enough to ease your discomfort. “Who—who are you?”

He smirks. His jawline becomes more defined and his slick brow raised, taking his level of attraction to a devious one.

“What was the last thing you remembered, baby?”

“S-stop calling me baby…who are you? And why am I here?”

He frames his fingers around you chin and forces you to look into his sharp gaze. “What do you remember?”

You gulp. A sense of fear hits you when he looks at you so sternly, and you don’t know why. You’ve never seen this man before. “I…I was dropping my little sister off at her friends house. I…I went home and I fell asleep as soon as I got in.”

He continues to smile, which further exacerbates the fear within you. “Oh baby, is that all?”

“What do you mean is that all?” You stir a confused look in his direction. He ignores it as he reaches over to a small dresser and fishes out an article. Lovingly, he lays it out on your lap and sits beside you, much to your chagrin. He pulls you in closer—cradling you to his side. “Are you coherent enough to read on your own?” He asks you. The tone in his voice came off tender yet teasing. You ignore it and begin reading. A few sentences in and your heart drops. “What the hell is this?” You look over and question the young man. He chuckles with a small bit of blush tainting his cheeks. “Keep reading and you’ll find out.”

The more you read, you shook your head in disbelief. “No…no…that’s not…I—I…”

At a loss for words, you wondered about your house, your parents, and your younger sister. Do they have any idea where you’re at? So they even know?

“I…no!! I was at home!”

He smirks against your cheek as he pulls you in. With a tender kiss, you felt the thin layer of saliva coat your skin, which you rubbed off harshly as you pushed him away. “Get me out of here!! I want to go home!”

He smiles once more. “You are home. In fact, this has been your home for over a year.”

“What?” Your voice cracks once more, only this time it was out of shock. “What the hell are you saying? I’m telling you dammit! I was home! I was just home earlier today!”

He shook his head, once again, his display of tenderness comes off more demeaning than loving, despite the adoration glazing his eyes. “Na-uh. Look at the date baby.”

You scurried the article and peered at the date. “Yeah? That’s today’s date.”

He smiles as he takes his phone and pulls up the date and current time. “Don’t think so babe. You’ve been heavily induced with all those medications, you don’t even realize just how much time has passed. My poor sleeping beauty, good thing I’m here to take care of you.”

The pain in your chest soars and it almost felt like it was going to explode any moment. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be. Your eyes begin tearing up. “No…no…no because my finger…my finger I remembered my mom—I hurt my finger in the rose thorn in the sink!” You force a smile as the tears flourished your skin. Holding your hand up, you point to your fingertip explaining the wound you incurred. You tried to tell yourself the truth despite what you had just read. Just when you presented the last bit of evidence to your name, you felt your skin go cold when he shakes his head and gently takes your hand in his.

“Was it really in the kitchen sink, baby?” His words were gentle and almost sympathetic as he kissed your finger. But then…a small flash back hits you. A subtle bit pierces your brain and leaves as fast as it came. Right after you rejected your friend's offer to attend a party…when her words brought you back to a time when you were in high school…

“What do you remember, baby?” He asks as he pets your hair. You begin explaining not to enlighten him, more so to backtrack your steps as you walk yourself through the events after you dropped your sister off…

“My friend…I told her I didn’t want to go to this party and she said something that reminded me of a time in high school…someone left me a rose while I was napping in the project room…”

“Oh but was it what she said that reminded you of that rose?” He interjects. You snap your head and look into that sharp gaze once more. The way he looked you over—up and down, there was nothing but adoration and love…so deep and dangerous, it was the stuff nightmares were made of. “Or was there something else that made you think of that time? Something inside the car?”

A gulp nestles in the center of your throat. And suddenly you remember…what had really happened. What was disclosed in the article. The view of the stars laid in the night sky like diamonds on black velvet, and displayed before you through your windshield. You were on the phone with your longtime friend, and her voice echoed as something on the floorboard of the passenger seat caught your eye. You reach down to grab it—“ouch!”

You remember harshly sucking your finger as you admired the deep red rose. It looked very much like the one left in your grasp in the projection room.

“Oh so you do remember my gift—both of them.” He happily delights as you froze. “You?…You’re the one behind the two roses? How? I don’t even know you…”

He wasn’t bothered by your harsh statement, instead, he delicately removed the IV needle and helped you up. “I’m sure you’re hungry, and we should get a bath ready for you.”

“No…no! Explain everything to me!”

He looks at you with a feigned look of surprise. “You already know. You saw the rose in the car and—well…everything is just what the article says.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Please…please tell me…what is all this? Who are you? Why? Just why?!”

You collapse and he catches you. He was charming, fluid with his motions to protect and shelter you…in other words, he was every girls dream, but to you, he was a nightmare. “Let me go! I want to go home!”

He hugs and tenderly kisses you once more, but this time you push him off and stumble over to the window. Hanging onto the curtains, you relied on them as your strength hadn’t fully recovered. Opening them, your mind goes blank upon seeing a brick wall…not a glass window, just a brick wall. “There's no way out—at least not that way. If you’re good, much like how you were when the doctor filled your system up with those medications, I can take you out. You’ll at least get to remember and enjoy the sunlight this time around, instead of being asleep.”

You look over to see a wheelchair stationed by a secured door. This couldn’t be! One by one, you opened up each curtain, all six of them lined up beautifully, only to find that they were merely for decoration. Each one covering a mirage of bricks—stacked and concreted into the wall. You slowly figured the room was secured underground. So deep underground.

You slowly turn around, and saw him standing. Unbuckling his belt, he walks over and wraps it around the backside of your waist—pulling you into him. You were too stunned to think or do anything. Were you really here this whole time? The dreams? Everything…the article explaining the “devastating car crash”—your car crash. How your body was never found but the car was found bursting in flames…over a year ago. That bit of you arriving home, pricking your finger over the kitchen sink…all of it was a dream. You did fall asleep…after you pricked your finger in the car. Whatever was laces on those thorns—it seeped into your bloodstream once it punctured skin. There you laid asleep, and up for his grab in the middle of the road before abandoning the car.

Yet something in your gut told you that the dreams that followed suit—the feigned paradise of cinnamon and vanilla…that wasn’t so much of a dream…to your worst fear…you explored the possibilities of his ravishing being a reality. Especially when you began to feel the bit of his essence drip down your thigh as he tugged the belt tighter—squeezing it out of you. This man…while you slept. The worst part was that you had enjoyed it—did that peer through your sleeping status? All those times when you bit down on the pillow case and gripped the sheets—begging him to stop but thanking him when he kept going…did he see all that? Was that all real? Looking up at his handsome face and seeing how he adored you…how he tenderly moved pieces of your hair from your face…yeah…something tells you that part was real.

“Don’t worry Sleeping Beauty. You’ll never have to worry about anything…just sleep. Sleep as much as you want. I’ll take care of you…I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you. Just sleep to your heart’s content.”

Sleep?…sleep…strange…you were always so tired…always felt so restless and succumbed to those moments throughout the years in school and took every opportunity to nap. However, now…to your disadvantage…you felt wide awake.

Taglist: @strxwbloody • @nshmrarki • @aquariushiiiii • @addictedtohobi • @nuriicata • @lilyuwon • @aanniikkaa •

[wonenonly]

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

[wonenonly]

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.

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.”

And you—warm, quiet, and no longer trembling—closed your eyes.

Because maybe that was the ending.

Not an escape. Not a rescue. But a throne you could never leave.

And a god who never stopped worshipping you. Even as he broke you into something divine.

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[wonenonly]

P: Cult Leader!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (NSFW 18+) PART 1

Warnings: Apocalypse!AU, Manipulation, Religious Trauma, Gaslighting, Emotional Control, Stockholm Syndrome Themes, Power Imbalance, Obsession, Forced Isolation, Mental Deterioration, Symbolic Ritual Practices, Fear-based Obedience, Public Worship, 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, Sensory Deprivation, Emotional Conflict, Physical Punishment, Violence, Sadistic!Heeseung, Angst, Corruption, Smut, Clit Play, Unprotected & Rough Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Squirting, Dumbification.

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: so.. this is a fucked up fic, but you know? its only the tip of the dark romance meter :) trust me, if i had the guts to delve deeper, the warnings would be much longer. so enjoy this guys :) commentary and reblogs are much appreciated!! MDNI!!

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

They said it started in the lungs. A dry cough, a headache. Nothing alarming until people stopped speaking and started snarling.

Hospitals filled first. Then morgues. Then the streets.

The virus didn’t kill fast. That was the horror of it. It rotted the mind before the body. People still looked like themselves. Still walked, still cried, still reached for their loved ones, until they tore them apart.

They called them Hollowed. Not quite dead. Not quite human. Just sick with something that chewed through memory, speech, and mercy.

Governments collapsed under the weight of their own panic. Cities turned to ash. Broadcasts faded into static.

And slowly, the world eroded—quietly at first, like a sickness you pretend isn’t there. Humanity dwindled, breaking down into little more than hollow-eyed shells stumbling through dust-choked streets. Dead, yet alive. Driven by one thing only: to spread.

They wandered until their flesh gave out. Until their bones cracked under their own weight and their jaws unhinged from overuse. Until their hands fell off, fingers clawed to the tendon from scratching at barricades, doors, skin. A mindless disease with a heartbeat.

You still remember the day the outbreak began. Still remember the sound of sirens that didn’t stop for three days. Still remember the look in your mother’s eyes as it shifted. Still remember your friend’s trembling hands turning feral. How they lunged for your throat. How their teeth snapped inches from your skin. How you ran, sobbing, as the people you loved turned into something else.

You survived. Somehow. By sheer force and luck, you managed to claw your way through the end of the world. You’d always find groups—ragtag clusters of hopefuls, wanderers, people desperate not to die alone. But they never lasted long. Some got bitten, turned overnight while everyone slept. Some died from wounds, infection, starvation. Others just… vanished. No screams, no blood. Just a bedroll left behind, cold and undisturbed.

So eventually, you stopped trying. Stopped hoping. You learned it was better to stay moving. Alone.

One bag. One weapon. Covered skin, quiet steps, head down. You learned how to strip a house clean in minutes. You wrapped yourself in torn fabrics and old military gear, kept your skin covered at all times. The Hollowed hunted by scent and sound, but they responded to skin like moths to flame. You got good at staying invisible. Good at putting them down before they got too close. Good at not thinking about who they used to be.

It wasn’t life—not really. But it was survival. And in this world, that counted for something.

Without survival, you’d be lost. But since you had no one left, you were never really found to begin with. No roots. No attachments. Just footprints in the dirt that vanished with the wind and blood that washed off easier when you didn’t know the name behind it.

You didn’t mourn anymore. Didn’t flinch when the Hollowed screamed. Didn’t hesitate to drive a blade through what was once someone’s brother, sister, child. You stopped asking how long you’d last. Stopped looking for purpose. All you had was the next hour. The next shelter. The next breath.

Loneliness didn’t hurt when it became habit. Silence didn’t sting when you forgot what laughter sounded like.

You stopped needing sound. Stopped expecting kindness.

The sky was just beginning to bruise with morning light, a cold, pale pink stretched over skeletal trees and dust. Dawn always felt quieter, like the world was still deciding whether or not to wake up.

You were low on drinking water. Your canteen had barely two mouthfuls left, and your tongue felt like paper. Still, you moved like always—silent, cautious, untrusting. The road had long since turned to cracked asphalt, and ahead, the jagged outline of a busted-down supermarket sat in a puddle of shadow.

That’s when you saw them.

A group. Five, maybe six. Faces half obscured by scarves and visors, silhouettes sharp with weapons and armor salvaged from every corner of the dead world. But what stopped you weren’t them. It was the wagons.

Stacked with crates. Full water jugs. Canned food. Tools. Blankets. Like they’d hit a supply cache untouched by ruin. Or like they’d taken it from someone else.

Corpses littered the area around them, some still fresh—torn, gnawed, drained. Hollowed or not, it didn’t matter. Death always looked the same in the end.

Your grip tightened around your weapon. Instinct said walk away. But as you turned, your shoulders sinking back into the comfort of withdrawal, one of them looked up. And just like that, it was too late. Their gaze locked with yours. No words. No movement. Just that slow, eerie stillness that always came before something broke.

Then another turned. Then another.

You backed up a step, foot crunching broken glass, and a voice finally cut through the tension—low, cautious, but not unkind.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” the man said, palms raised, his voice rough from disuse but steady. “You look like hell.”

You said nothing, not yet. Let him speak. Let him reveal more than he meant to.

Another figure, smaller, leaned slightly to the side to get a better look at you. “Are you bitten?” they asked sharply, hand twitching toward their belt.

You shook your head once. “No.”

They didn’t lower their guard, but they didn’t raise their weapons either. The man who had spoken first gave you a nod and motioned toward the cart.

“We’ve got more than enough to share.” Too generous. Too fast.

You didn’t move. Your eyes scanned past them instead, and that’s when you saw it. One of the group—taller, hood drawn low—was spray-painting something on the supermarket’s crumbling outer wall. Bright crimson against grey concrete. The lines were careful. Precise. Rehearsed.

A sheep’s skull. Haloed in gold.

Your stomach turned.

You’d seen it before—on road signs, carved into abandoned homes, smeared in blood near old campsites. Some survivors called it a mark of safety. Others avoided it like plague.

From what you'd heard, it belonged to a group that called themselves The Sanctum—a so-called community, closed off from the infected zones, safe behind fortified gates and high walls. A place of peace. Of healing. Of rebirth.

They were said to take in lost souls and guide them back to something better. You’d heard whispers from strays, half-mad with hope or starvation, swearing they'd seen it. Touched it. Called it paradise. But even paradise had its price. And that symbol—it never looked like hope to you.

It looked like a warning. A brand.

And now it was fresh, bright, and drying in front of you.

They hadn’t just passed through. They were marking territory.

You swallowed hard, finally speaking.

“Where’d you get that symbol?”

The man blinked at you. Then smiled—slow, knowing.

“From the only place still worth living.”

And deep in your chest, something cold began to coil.

You didn’t reply. You just stared at the still-dripping symbol on the wall—the red too bright, too deliberate. The way it seemed to stare back at you.

The one who’d spoken stepped forward—not close enough to threaten, but enough to make his presence solid. “We’ve got clean water. Real beds. We’ve got medicine. Weapons, too. Things that work. It’s not like the stories. It’s better.”

He smiled like he meant it. Like he’d been saved.

“You won’t have to sleep with one eye open anymore. You won’t have to kill just to eat.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t blink.

Another spoke up, this one softer, a woman with a pack slung over her shoulder and cracked lips. “You look like you’re running on nothing. You don’t have to keep doing this. Not alone.”

Still, you said nothing.

Because it was always like this—soft words, open palms, promises that felt too smooth. You’d seen how quick kindness could turn the second you stepped out of line. The world didn’t run on generosity anymore. It ran on leverage.

You didn’t care how gentle their voices were. No one offered peace without a price.

You adjusted your grip on your weapon and took a small step back, just enough to signal distance, not threat. Their eyes tracked the movement. Careful. Calm. Measured.

You were too tired to fight, but not tired enough to be pulled into something you couldn’t crawl out of.

Your gaze flicked back to the mark on the wall.

Some said it marked safe zones. Others said it was a warning. You weren’t sure what you believed anymore. But the more you saw it, the more it felt like a trail—and you didn’t like where it led. Especially not now, when it felt like it was starting to follow you.

The woman didn’t push. She just gave you a sad sort of smile, like she’d already buried the conversation in her head. You recognized that expression. You wore it often.

The group exchanged a few quiet words among themselves before the one in charge reached for the cart. He pulled out two water bottles and a vacuum-sealed ration pack, then set them gently on the ground a few feet from where you stood.

“Take it,” he said. “Even if you don’t come with us. Doesn’t mean you have to die thirsty.”

And then they left.

No pitch. No pressure. Just the soft crunch of boots and the fading creak of cart wheels as they disappeared down the road, leaving the symbol drying behind them like a stain.

You stared at the food they left behind. You didn’t touch it. Not yet.

The wind shifted.

You scanned the empty road, the skeletal buildings, the horizon bleeding with early light. No sound. No movement. Still, a prickle crawled down your spine, like something unseen had taken a step closer.

You exhaled slowly, hand still clenched around your weapon.

Then, without a word, you knelt and grabbed the food and water. Quick. Efficient. No time to hesitate—hesitation got people killed. You didn’t trust where it came from, but survival didn’t give room for pride. You’d gone longer on less.

The sun had risen higher now, climbing to its brutal peak, casting warped shadows across the crumbling streets. Heat shimmered against broken pavement. Dry air clung to your skin like dust.

Midday was a gift.

The Hollowed were slower in the light. Not blind, but weaker—dragging, twitching things that hated the sun, retreating into shadows and tunnels when the rays were at their brightest. You had a few good hours before the world shifted again, before the wind picked up and the sky turned that dead, yellow-grey that meant dusk was crawling in.

You kept walking.

Boots crunching glass. Backpack heavier with the weight of borrowed mercy. Eyes flicking to every rooftop, every alley, every unmoving silhouette in the distance that might be watching.

You didn’t head anywhere specific. There was no destination anymore—just forward. Always forward. Toward the next sliver of rest. But as you walked, something gnawed quietly at your thoughts.

The way the group hadn’t begged. Hadn’t pleaded. Like they knew something you didn’t. Like they weren’t really offering you a choice—just time.

And behind it all, that symbol. Still glowing in your mind, fresh and red like it had been burned into you. You’d seen it more and more lately. Always in places you were about to pass. Never places you’d already been. It felt too deliberate. Too much like a trail laid just for you.

A pattern carved into the ruins.

Once or twice, you’d tried to backtrack—turn around, veer off-course, take paths through tighter alleyways or over rooftops where the Hollowed wouldn't follow. But no matter how far you veered, how carefully you moved, the mark always reappeared. On old cars. On collapsed walls. Carved into the bark of dead trees with a precision that made your skin crawl.

It never looked rushed. Never smeared. It looked prepared. As if someone knew the direction you’d take before you did. At first, you told yourself it was coincidence. Or superstition. The human brain finding patterns in the chaos just to feel something.

But the human brain also knew when it was being watched.

And lately… you felt it. That itch just beneath your skin. That sensation—fleeting, maddening—like someone was always just behind you, just out of sight. The kind of feeling that didn’t go away when you turned around. It only settled deeper in your spine.

But it was crazy. You were going crazy, right? There was no one out here. No footsteps but yours, no shadows that didn’t belong to dead trees or crumbling buildings. Just silence. Endless, suffocating silence.

You told yourself that again and again as you walked. There’s no one here. There’s no one watching. There’s no one waiting for you to slip. But the thought never stuck for long. Because sometimes the wind carried things it shouldn't. A hum. A scrape. A soft shuffle that didn’t belong to your steps. Once, you swore you heard someone breathing in the same room. You held your breath, frozen behind a broken fridge, heart thudding so hard you thought it would give you away.

But there was nothing. Always nothing. Just your reflection in shattered glass, eyes hollowed by hunger and paranoia.

You started questioning everything. Did you leave that door open? Did you really use that last bullet, or did someone take one while you slept? Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe the infection didn’t need to bite you to rot your mind.

You thought about speaking. Out loud. Just once. Just to hear your own voice and remind yourself it was still yours.

But you didn’t. Because if something was out there… you didn’t want to let it know you were afraid. You didn’t want to give it the satisfaction of hearing you crack.

So you stayed silent. Kept walking. And tried to pretend you weren’t already unraveling. Even though every day, it felt a little less like you were alone, and a little more like something was walking just a step behind. Waiting for you to stop. To rest. To give up.

You didn’t see any of the Sanctum members again, not for a few weeks, at least.

By then, you’d moved through two towns and a stretch of hollowed farmland, surviving off scavenged water, dried meat, and whatever luck hadn’t run dry. You didn’t think about them anymore. You told yourself they were just another strange group in a world full of strange people. You had passed. They had left. That should’ve been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

You were scavenging a dead mall on the outskirts of a collapsed city when it happened. The place had already been picked over years ago, but you still moved quiet, cautious—always check the corners, always look up, always keep your blade out.

There had been a few stray Hollowed inside. Twitchy ones. Slow. You’d killed them quickly—no hesitation, no wasted motion. They dropped like they always did. Easier than breathing.

But to your disappointment, the mall didn’t have much left. Some loose ammo in a locked case you couldn’t pry open, a few crumbling shelves, half-rotted snacks that would make you sicker than the Hollowed ever could. Another dead building full of dust and ghosts.

You were about to move on when you heard it.

Gunfire. Sharp, rapid, controlled.

It wasn’t far—maybe two floors below. You froze, instinct kicking in, and slipped behind the broken glass counter of what used to be a jewelry store, eyes locked on the entrance, heart thudding once, then steady.

Then silence.

You waited. Watched.

And just as you peeked through a broken display, movement caught your eye, figures moving between the escalators and smashed storefronts. Six of them. Same group.

Their silhouettes were unmistakable—patched armor, carts in tow, confident strides. One of them stopped to spray something onto a wall near a pile of Hollowed corpses. Red paint. Familiar shape.

The skull. The halo.

Sanctum.

They hadn’t seen you. Not yet.

You counted their weapons. Noted the distance. You could leave. You should leave. But still, you stayed behind the counter a moment longer, breath tight in your throat.

They didn’t move like they were in danger. They moved like they owned the place. Confident. Unbothered. One of them—tall, wide-shouldered—gave a dramatic bow to an invisible crowd before pretending to wrestle a Hollowed corpse for laughs. Another laughed and kicked over a display case, glass crunching under their boots.

Goofing off. Loud. Careless.

But not all of them.

You watched the group start to split—three staying near the center, two drifting to opposite wings of the mall, their steps quieter, eyes scanning the upper floors. You told yourself they wouldn’t find you. You were tucked in deep, crouched behind a busted counter, shadows cloaking most of your figure. You’d done this before. Survived worse.

So you waited. Breath held. Fingers wrapped tight around the grip of your blade.

And that’s when you felt it. That same prickling crawl down your spine. Like someone was already there.

You turned—

And your blood froze.

One of them stood a few feet away. Quiet. Still.

You hadn’t heard them approach. Not a footstep. Not a breath. They just… appeared, like they’d been standing there the whole time, watching. Their mask covered their face—smooth, featureless, like porcelain carved to erase identity. The gold markings were faint in the low light, but you saw the halo etched along the forehead.

A Sanctum sentinel.

They didn’t raise their weapon. Didn’t speak. Just tilted their head, slow and deliberate, like you were something fascinating. Something expected.

You rose quickly, weapon up and aimed at his chest, finger hovering just above the trigger. The movement was instinctual—fast, sharp, practiced. You didn’t need to think about it anymore. Survival had long since become muscle memory.

But he didn’t flinch. Matter of fact, he didn’t move at all. Just stared at you through that blank, expressionless mask, head still tilted, body still relaxed—like the gun in your hands didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter. Or maybe… like he knew you wouldn’t pull the trigger.

And then you heard it. Boots. Soft, scuffing. Surrounding you.

You didn’t have to turn. You felt them before you saw them. That subtle shift in the air, the slight pressure of eyes digging into your back. You swallowed and finally glanced to your left—another figure stood a few feet away, gun slung low, not aimed. Another to your right, leaning lazily against the wall. One behind you—close enough to hear them breathe.

They hadn’t chased you. They hadn’t shouted. They had simply closed in. As if they’d planned this. As if they’d been waiting for this moment all along. And you—so careful, so used to staying two steps ahead—hadn’t even noticed the circle tightening until it was already closed.

Still, you kept your weapon up.

The one in front of you tilted their head back the other way, slow and deliberate, then finally spoke—voice low, muffled by the mask but clear enough to make the hairs on your arms rise.

“You’ve been walking for a long time.”

You said nothing.

He took a step forward—not threatening. Not fast. Just… steady. “You look tired.” Another step. “You don’t have to keep running.”

Your jaw clenched. You adjusted your grip.

Another voice spoke behind you, softer, almost amused. “They always act like this at first. Like they think they’re still alone.”

Your heart hammered in your chest.

They hadn’t touched you. They hadn’t even raised their weapons. But somehow, it felt like they already had you. They didn’t touch you. Didn’t force you. Just kept talking. Little things.

“We have food. Real food.”

“You don’t have to sleep with a blade in your hand anymore.”

“There’s hot water. Blankets. Walls.”

“You won’t have to fight every single day just to breathe.”

And gods, they said it gently. Soft and measured, like a lullaby worn down from repetition. Like they’d done this before. So many times before.

Your grip on your weapon stayed firm, but your arms… didn’t.

You were so tired. The kind of tired that went deeper than bone. The kind that lived in your thoughts, your silence, your hollowed-out nights. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d eaten something warm. The last time your shoulders didn’t ache from sleeping against concrete. The last time someone spoke to you like you were human.

You told yourself this was a trick. You knew it was a trick.

But when one of them handed you a canteen—extended it without a word, no demand, no smile—you didn’t knock it away.

You drank.

And when someone else passed you a sealed ration bar, you didn’t question what might be in it. You ate. Slowly. Eyes still scanning their masks, their hands, their formation.

You were still afraid. But the hunger was louder. So was the ache.

When they turned to leave, they didn’t invite you. They didn’t gesture or coax or wait. They just walked—quiet, steady, purposeful.

And before you realized what you were doing, you were following.

One step. Then another. Weapon still in your hand, but heavy now. More like habit than threat. No one spoke again.

And as the sun dipped lower across the ruined mall’s shattered skylight, your shadow joined theirs. Long and silent and already forgotten by the person you used to be. After all, you were human. And the promise of constant shelter—of something stable, something soft—was too tempting. Not just walls and rations and hot water. But people. Voices that didn’t scream or beg. Laughter, even if it didn’t quite reach their eyes.

You hadn’t heard laughter in months.

You told yourself you’d just stay the night. Eat. Rest. Keep your distance. You’d leave in the morning, maybe the day after. Before they could dig their claws in.

So you followed them.

Through wrecked streets and collapsed intersections. Past bloodstained buildings, half-collapsed churches, the twisted remnants of lives long abandoned. Through alleys lined with corpses too decayed to rise again, and others too fresh to have a story.

You didn’t ask where you were going. Just followed. They knew the way. You didn’t.

They moved like they’d walked this path a hundred times, steps falling in rhythm, even their silence coordinated. The carts rolled behind them without a sound, like even the wheels had been trained not to betray a single creak.

None of them spoke to you, but none of them ignored you either. One would occasionally glance back—check that you were still there, still walking, still breathing. Another handed you a protein bar without a word. You took it. Ate it. Didn't say thank you.

You weren’t sure how many hours passed after that. Time slipped strange when you weren’t actively running for your life. Just walking. Just following.

Eventually, the ruins thinned out. The bones of the city gave way to dense, overgrown wilderness. Roots cracked through asphalt. Trees swallowed road signs. The deeper you went, the quieter it got—no wind, no birds, no Hollowed. Just the rhythmic crunch of boots on dirt and gravel, and the occasional low murmur of a private conversation you weren’t invited into.

And then you saw it.

Massive walls, reinforced and welded from scavenged steel and concrete slabs. Watchtowers. Armed guards. Floodlights hidden high in the trees. Everything camouflaged to blend with the forest—almost invisible unless you were led to it.

A fortress.

The gates didn’t open with a creak or groan. They opened smoothly. Silently. Like they’d been expecting you.

And on the other side—

Warmth. Light. Life.

A courtyard filled with the hum of voices and quiet laughter. Makeshift homes built from reclaimed wood and salvaged sheet metal. Lanterns strung between rooftops. People—real people—walking, tending to gardens, repairing walls, passing food and water like the world hadn’t ended years ago.

A woman smiled at you as you passed. A child waved. Someone handed one of your escorts a bundle of cloth—clothing, you realized. Clean. Folded. Fresh. The contrast was dizzying. Too perfect. Too calm. You paused just inside the gates, staring. Disoriented. Suspicious. You had prepared yourself for violence, for control, for something sharp and bloody waiting behind their eerie masks.

You hadn’t prepared for a welcome.

A man passed by carrying a basket of bread and paused beside you, offering a kind smile. “You’re safe now,” he said gently. “You’re home.”

The word made your stomach twist. Home. You hadn’t heard anyone say it in months, not since the world went silent and survival became your only language. It sounded too soft now. Too intimate. Like a hand brushing against something you didn’t know you still protected.

You didn’t respond. Just nodded stiffly and kept your hands near your weapon out of habit, even though no one here looked like they wanted to hurt you.

They all looked… grateful. Like they believed in something. Like they belonged. That was what unsettled you most. Not the guards. Not the walls. The people. They weren’t afraid. They weren’t hardened. They smiled like they had nothing to run from anymore.

And as your guide led you deeper into the compound, past fire pits and neatly stacked supplies, the strange stillness of it all began to settle in your chest like dust. Everything was too orderly. Too quiet. Like a place that had forgotten what fear was.

Your footsteps echoed softer here, swallowed by the sound of distant murmurs and crackling fire. You passed more people—smiling, nodding, carrying baskets of food or tools or folded clothing. All of them looked at you not like a stranger, but like someone expected.

Eventually, a woman joined your side. Older, draped in robes stitched with gold thread, her steps unhurried, her expression calm. She walked close but not too close, her presence practiced, like she’d greeted a thousand others before you. “He’ll want to see you soon,” she said.

Your eyes narrowed. “Who’s he?”

She turned her head slightly, smiling like it was the easiest answer in the world. “Our leader. Our savior.”

You stopped walking.

She did too, as if she’d been waiting for the pause. Her gaze never wavered. “He built all of this,” she said. “Sanctum was nothing before him. Just ash and fear. He gave us purpose. Gave us peace. We’re safe because of him. Alive because of him.”

You stared at her, trying to read beneath the kindness in her voice. Trying to find the cracks. “And what does he want with me?”

She tilted her head, expression softening. “He saw you. Long before you ever saw us. He’ll explain everything when the time is right.”

Her hand reached out—not touching, just hovering slightly above your arm. “You’ve been wandering for so long. You deserve to stop running.”

You didn’t answer.

Something in her voice made your stomach twist—sweet, rehearsed, full of belief so deep it had hardened into fact. Not a lie. Not a threat. Just truth, as they knew it.

She didn't press you further. No one did. They just kept moving, and you followed, eyes flicking to every corner of the compound, every exit, every pair of eyes that lingered on you a moment too long.

You were shown the gardens first, rows of crops surprisingly healthy for the world outside. Then the sleeping quarters, where cots were lined in perfect rows, personal belongings tucked neatly beneath. The kitchens, where a large metal pot simmered with something warm and rich-smelling. Children played in the distance, laughter trailing behind them like smoke. It didn’t feel real.

Too quiet. Too clean. Too controlled.

They spoke gently as they walked you through, their words full of kindness. But no one answered your unspoken questions. No one explained the symbols on the walls. No one talked about the outside.

Eventually, they led you to a separate building tucked into the hillside. Reinforced steel and concrete framed the entrance, half-swallowed by moss and roots. A bunker. Guarded, sealed—different from everything else you’d seen.

The robed woman paused beside it, then keyed in a code without hesitation. The door hissed open, heavy and cold, and you stepped into something else entirely.

No warmth here.

The air was cooler. Thicker. The walls were smooth, sterile. Too intact for something built in a crumbling world. You moved past flickering overhead lights, the buzz of old generators humming beneath the floor.

To your left was a wall lined with weapons. Cleaned, arranged, and locked in place. Guns, knives, even tasers and modified tech you hadn’t seen since before the fall.

To your right was a single secure door. Reinforced, sealed tight with biometric locks. No handle. No keypad. Just a smooth black panel that pulsed faintly.

And in the center of the room—

A chair. No, not just a chair. A throne.

Raised slightly off the ground, forged from repurposed steel. The back curved high, arching over like it was meant to crown whoever sat there. Not built for comfort. Built to be seen. The kind of seat no one dared to occupy unless they’d already convinced the world they belonged in it. The kind of seat that didn’t invite people to kneel—it commanded them.

Even empty, it filled the room.

And then— a sound behind you. Soft. Measured. Like a boot scraping lightly across the floor. You turned fast, weapon instinctively half-lifted— and froze.

A figure stood just inside the doorway. Tall. Broad shoulders wrapped in a long, dark cloak that dragged slightly across the concrete. The hood was pulled low, casting the face in shadow. Stillness clung to him like a second skin. He said nothing, did nothing—just stood there.

Watching.

Your breath caught. Muscles tensed, body ready to spring— until he moved.

Not toward you. Past you. He walked right by, unbothered by your weapon, your tension, your presence. Like you were already a part of this place. Already his. Then, without pause, he stepped up onto the raised platform and sank down into the throne—long legs stretching out in front of him, one arm slung lazily over the armrest, the other resting against his knee, fingers curled loosely.

A picture of effortless dominance. Relaxed. Unshakeable.

And then—slowly—he raised his hands and pulled back the hood.

Your breath hitched.

Dark hair framed a sharp face—angular jaw, defined nose, full lips that looked like they hadn’t smiled in years but could ruin you with one if they tried. His eyes, deep and dark, swept up and down your body slowly.

Evaluating.

Like he was reading your history without asking a single question. Like he already knew the answers. He didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at you, gaze settling somewhere just below your collarbone, then back up to your eyes. And then he spoke—low, calm, smooth as silk with an edge that made your skin prickle.

“So,” he said. “You finally made it.”

His voice was deeper than you expected. Steady. Certain. It filled the space like the throne had. He leaned back slightly, one hand tapping thoughtfully against the armrest. “I’m Heeseung,” he said simply. “Leader of Sanctum.”

A pause.

“Or, if you prefer…” His lips curved, just slightly. “Your new beginning.”

The words sat heavy in the air, too knowing. You didn’t answer—just stared, trying to piece together the disconnect between everything you’d heard, everything you'd feared, and the man now lounging before you like this was all already decided.

His presence filled every inch of the room. Not loud. Not aggressive. But settled—like he owned the floor beneath your feet and was waiting for you to realize it.

His gaze lingered on you, slow and unreadable. “You look tired,” he said, not unkindly. “Starved, actually.” He gestured casually to the empty space before his throne, like he was inviting you to sit—not beside him, not across from him. Below.

You didn’t move.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, studying your silence. “You know, most people try to act braver than they are when they first meet me,” he mused. “But not you. You already know what this is, don’t you?”

His voice was soft, but there was weight behind it. A pull. Something in the cadence that made your spine straighten even as your instincts screamed to turn and run.

But where?

Back into the wasteland?

Back to empty nights, hollowed screams, and the ghost of his voice already buried in your dreams?

No.

That part of your life had ended the second you stepped through those gates.

“You’ve been walking alone for so long,” Heeseung said, almost gently now. “Fighting for scraps. Running from things you don’t even believe you deserve.” He leaned back again, legs still sprawled, arms resting like he had all the time in the world. “You don’t have to do that anymore,” he said. “I can give you purpose. Safety. Devotion.” Then—just a beat, barely above a whisper: “Obedience.”

Your jaw tensed, fingers twitching at your sides. But you still hadn’t stepped back. Still hadn’t spoken.

Heeseung smiled again, slow and dangerous. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Sanctum doesn’t break what it loves.” Then his gaze sharpened—subtle, almost imperceptible, but you felt it in your chest like a blade pressed flat. Not piercing. Just there. Waiting. Testing how long you could stand still beneath it.

You didn’t speak. The weight of him—his voice, his presence, that throne like a stage designed only for him—was already pressing down, slow and steady. And he hadn’t even touched you.

Heeseung leaned forward again, hands clasped loosely between his knees, and this time, when he looked at you, it was different.

Hungrier.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re still telling yourself this is temporary. Just a place to rest. Somewhere to take from before disappearing again.” He let that hang in the air. “But that’s not why you’re here.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to argue, maybe just to breathe—but he held up a hand, fingers relaxed, commanding stillness with nothing more than a gesture.

“You didn’t come for food. Or safety. Or shelter.” He stood then, rising from the throne like gravity didn’t quite apply to him. Every movement was precise, restrained, like he was capable of so much more but didn’t need to show it. Not yet.

He stepped down from the platform. His boots echoed once, then again. Each footfall sounded like finality. “You came,” he said, voice lowering, “because something in you was already breaking.” Another step. “And you wanted someone to notice.” He stopped in front of you—close enough to feel his heat, but not close enough to touch.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your hand hovered near your weapon, fingers twitching—but he didn’t flinch. Just watched. Patient. Amused.

“You’ve been surviving,” he murmured, gaze still locked on yours. “But you’ve never belonged. Not anywhere. Not to anyone.” He let the silence stretch, let the words fester where they hit. “Until now.”

He tilted his head slightly. The corner of his mouth curved—not into a smile, but into something older. Deeper. A knowing carved into bone.

Then, softly—so soft it barely felt like a command at all: “Come. Join us.” Not shouted. Not barked. Offered. Gently. Like he already knew you would. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And the terrifying part? It felt like it was.

You didn’t move. But you didn’t step back either. Something in you was shifting. Not broken, not yet—but bending. Quietly, slowly, without resistance.

Heeseung’s gaze flicked to your fingers—still near your weapon—and he let out the faintest breath of a laugh. “You’re still deciding,” he said. “That’s fine. I like watching people come to conclusions on their own.” He leaned in, brushing a thumb gently across a smudge of dirt on your cheek. Just a touch. Barely anything. But it stole the air from your lungs. “You don’t have to live like that anymore,” he whispered. “Not if you choose me.” He straightened, eyes burning steady and low. “I offer you peace,” he said. “Not chains.” Then, after a beat—quieter, sharper, more honest: “Unless that’s what you want.”

And in the thick silence that followed, something inside you cracked—not shattered, not screamed, just shifted.

Like the first soft crumble before the cliff gives way. And you realized..

He wasn’t just waiting for you to fall.

He was pulling you down.

You stayed.

One day turned into two. Two turned into five.

The food was good—real. The beds weren’t just cots; they were warm, layered with thick blankets. You worked hard, trying not to draw attention. Tasks were simple: hauling supplies, sorting rations, tending to the gardens or cleaning the communal spaces.

People treated you well. Smiled. Nodded. Spoke to you like you belonged. You learned names. Faces. Patterns. You kept your head down. Stayed useful. Stayed quiet. And maybe it would’ve stayed that way, if not for one thing.

At first, you didn’t notice it. You were too tired. Too focused on earning your place, avoiding Heeseung’s gaze when it lingered too long, ignoring how your name seemed to already be known by people you hadn’t met. But eventually… you realized something strange.

Every night, around the same time—just after dinner, when the fires were dying down and most people retreated into their homes—the compound would start to feel… wrong. Too quiet. Not like sleep. Not like rest.

Empty.

At first you thought it was just coincidence. People turning in early. A long workday. You shrugged it off—until you noticed it happening every night, like clockwork. Around 11.

By 11:03, the paths were empty. By 11:10, the lanterns were dimmed. By 11:15… it was like the entire compound had vanished.

You started watching from your window. Counted heads at dinner, tracked movements. And then you realized—people weren’t in their homes. They weren’t sleeping.

They were gone. Every night. And always in the same direction. Toward the bunker. The one carved into the hillside. The one no one ever mentioned unless Heeseung wanted them to. The one with a sealed door and a dark pulse behind it.

You tried to ignore it. You told yourself it wasn’t your business. That you'd seen worse in the outside world. But something about it… gnawed at you. So you waited one night. Stayed out late. Hid behind one of the garden walls, breath shallow, heart thudding. And you saw them. Not all at once. Not in a line. But in twos and threes, slipping silently into the trees, toward the reinforced door. Robes pulled tight. Heads bowed.

No one spoke. No one looked up. They just disappeared into the bunker, swallowed one by one into its mouth of steel and stone.

You stayed frozen, watching until the last figure passed through.

And then you were alone. Truly alone.

The compound—so full of life by day—was nothing more than an echo at night. And that door? It stayed closed until morning.

You tried to let it go. Tried to tell yourself that whatever happened behind it wasn’t your concern. You weren’t a follower. You weren’t theirs. But curiosity had a way of becoming hunger, and hunger never stayed quiet for long.

The whispers you’d heard from other survivors before you’d arrived—rumors of Sanctum, of what they did behind locked doors—began to churn in your mind like rot. You remembered what they’d said in low, terrified voices: “It’s not a safe haven. It’s a trap with gold-painted walls.”

And maybe you should’ve believed them.

But you were too curious for your own good.

One night, when the last fire had burned down and the last footsteps faded into the trees, you acted. You slipped into the shadows, heart hammering as you crept to one of the drying lines and plucked a robe off its peg—plain and soft, stitched with the Sanctum symbol over the back. It was looser than you'd expected, smelled faintly of ash and something sweeter, something strange.

You pulled the hood over your head and made your way toward the bunker. No one stopped you. No one looked. As if the compound itself had already accepted your trespass. The bunker door opened without resistance. Inside, the air was colder. Still. The kind of stillness that didn’t belong to sleep, but to something waiting.

The throne room stood just as you remembered it—dimly lit, humming low with unseen power. The throne itself sat empty, looming. But your attention snapped to the far side of the room, where the sealed door was now open. Just a sliver. But open.

You didn’t hesitate.

You stepped through.

The air beyond was different. Closer. And what waited wasn’t another room—it was a maze. Corridors stretching in every direction. Doors. Hallways. Turns that led to more turns. Some paths narrowed so tightly you had to twist sideways to pass. Others opened into long, yawning corridors of concrete and silence.

You walked. And walked. And walked.

Dead ends. Rooms that looked like storage but held nothing but dust and claw marks along the walls. Other doors led to mirrors. Some to nothing at all. More than once, you turned a corner and found yourself right back where you’d started. It didn’t make sense. The building shouldn’t have been this big. This deep.

The air began to feel heavier. Warmer. Like breath on the back of your neck. Still, you didn’t stop. Because the deeper you went, the more it felt like something was leading you. Like a pull, but not the kind that came from fear. The kind that came from fate.

You turned one last corner and froze.

An open door.

Dim, flickering light spilled out into the hallway, casting long shadows that swayed like breathing things. You stepped forward, soundless, heart clawing at your ribs as you leaned just close enough to see—

There they were. The people.

Rows of them, seated in silence, hoods up, backs straight on long wooden benches facing a stone altar at the far end of the room. The air was thick with incense and devotion, suffocating and warm. Candles lined the walls, wax dripping like blood over rusted sconces.

And there—at the altar—stood Heeseung.

He was no longer cloaked. He wore black, tailored to fit, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows. The top few buttons undone, revealing the delicate line of his collarbones, a thin chain resting against his throat. His voice filled the room—not loud, but commanding. Smooth. Rhythmic.

“…We were given chance after chance. Warnings dressed as disasters. Fire. Flood. Famine. And still, humanity worshipped itself.” He turned slightly, pacing the front of the room like a preacher before a pulpit. “So the sickness came. Not a punishment,” he continued, tone reverent, “but a correction. A sacred undoing.”

Your breath stilled in your chest.

He raised a hand slowly, gesturing out as he spoke. “The virus stripped away the illusion. Turned man into hollow flesh—reminders that without humility, without order, without faith—we are nothing more than meat.”

The room stayed silent. Not a shuffle. Not a cough. Only rapt, devoted stillness. And that was when it hit you.

This wasn’t sanctuary.

This wasn’t salvation.

This was a cult.

You felt it in the pit of your stomach, cold and sinking. It was one thing to hear the rumors, another to see it, to feel the weight of worship pressed into every breath of this place.

Because they weren’t just listening to him. They were following him. Believing him. Loving him.

Heeseung—beautiful, terrifying, divine—wasn’t a leader.

He was their God.

And in that moment, you knew you had to leave. Now.

You took one step back. Barely a shift of weight on your heel. Ready to melt back into the shadows, pretend you were never there—

Then his voice rang out again. Only this time, it wasn’t to them. It was to you. “And look…” His voice curled through the air like silk, low and warm and sweet with something wrong. “…my newest sheep has found their way home.”

You froze. Eyes wide. The room was still, every head turned in your direction, as if his words had snapped them into a new position. Like puppets pulled by the string of his voice.

“I was starting to wonder,” he continued, stepping down from the altar, his steps unhurried, deliberate, “how long you’d keep pretending you didn’t feel it. That pull. That ache to be seen.”

You backed up another step. But it was too late.

Hands grabbed you from behind. Two figures—hooded, strong, silent. You thrashed, elbowed, kicked, teeth bared, panic curling through your chest like smoke. “Don’t touch me—! Get the fuck off—!”

But nothing deterred them. They didn’t even speak. They just moved like they knew this dance well, like they'd done this before.

You were dragged forward, heels scraping the ground.

“Bring her here,” Heeseung said smoothly.

And they did.

In one breathless moment, they shoved you down. Your knees hit the cold floor hard. A sharp pain shot up your legs as your wrists were yanked behind you, bound in rough cord that bit into your skin.

The hood fell back. Exposed. Vulnerable. Kneeling.

And before you could spit another curse, your eyes rose and met his.

Heeseung stood before you, arms loose at his sides, head tilted slightly in quiet amusement. Like this was funny to him. Like this had been the plan all along, looking down at you like a king before a sacrifice. Or a god before a gift. Amused. Pleased. Hungry.

He stepped forward, the soft clink of his boots the only sound in the room, until he stood just above you. A shadow swallowed in candlelight. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he murmured, voice curling over the sharp edges of your fear. “Even the lost always find their way back to me.” His gaze swept over you slowly—leisurely—taking in your face, your clenched jaw, the flush of rage and shame blooming across your skin.

His eyes lingered at your throat, then down further, tongue running briefly along the inside of his cheek like he was savoring the way you looked on your knees.

You wanted to scream. To lunge. To spit in his face. But your wrists were bound. Your pride was burning. And his presence was everywhere.

He suddenly knelt down, one knee nearly brushing yours, and his fingers came up to tilt your chin, firm but not harsh. Just enough to make it clear: he was in control. Always had been. “You’re angry,” he said, as if it delighted him. “Good. It means there’s still a little of the outside left in you.” He leaned in, so close his breath grazed your lips, warm and patient and possessive. “But don’t worry. Sanctum will fix that.”

The room was still deathly quiet behind you. You could feel all their eyes. The congregation. His flock. Watching. Not with pity. Not with judgment. With expectation. As if this was a ceremony. And you were the offering.

“You thought you were just passing through,” he whispered, thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. “That you could walk in, take what you needed, and leave.” His smile widened just enough to show teeth. “But sheep don’t leave the flock. They come home.”

He let go of your chin at last and rose to his full height, looking down on you like you were a thing he’d already claimed, just waiting for the rest of you to realize it. “You think you’re different,” he murmured, circling you slowly now, his voice smooth. “But all sheep stray. And all sheep bleed the same when they resist.” He paused behind you. “And before they can serve the flock… they must be molded.”

A soft metallic click.

“Trained.”

You barely had time to flinch before something cool slid around your neck, a band of supple leather that cinched snug, but not choking. Just enough to remind you.

You jerked in shock, but the collar had already been secured.

Black. Smooth. Slim. At the front, where your throat rose and fell too fast, a single ornament glittered under the candlelight, a delicate heart-shaped jewel, small and glassy, mocking in its gentleness.

Your stomach turned.

Then—

Another sound. A clasp. A leash.

And before you could twist away, the slack was pulled taut. You gasped as the collar tugged tight against your throat, your body jolting forward just an inch—but enough. Enough for him to lean in, fingers still on the leash, knuckles brushing your jaw as he spoke.

“See?” he murmured. “Already closer.”

Your bound hands tightened into fists behind your back. “Get the fuck off me!” you spat, rage and panic pouring from your throat. “You’re sick—you're fucking insane—” But before you could finish, a cloth was shoved into your mouth—soft, thick, gagging you mid-curse. You tried to shake free, but it was knotted fast, rough fingers behind you securing it without a word. You writhed, every inch of you burning with defiance and humiliation.

Heeseung only smiled, tipping your chin up, forcing your teary, furious eyes to meet his. “There it is,” he whispered. “That fire.” His thumb stroked the jewel at your throat like it was something sacred. “Don’t worry. I’ll tame it.” He stepped back, leash still coiled in his hand. “And when you kneel for me next time…” His smile deepened, slow and certain. “You’ll do it because you want to.”

Your breathing was ragged behind the gag, jaw aching from how hard you were clenching it. The collar bit softly against your skin every time you moved, a silent, constant reminder. You pulled against the line between you and him, but Heeseung didn’t even flinch.

He simply stood there—serene, patient—like he’d already won. And in a way, he had. Not because you’d given in. But because he knew you wouldn’t last forever.

He tugged lightly on the leash again, dragging you forward one more step until you were kneeling directly between his legs. You glared up at him, eyes burning with fury and something else—something shakier.

You hated that your body betrayed you. That even now, with the gag in your mouth and the collar snug around your neck, your pulse still jumped beneath his gaze.

And worse—he saw it.

Still seated, still composed, Heeseung reached out and curled the leash tighter in his hand, drawing the slack in slowly until your neck strained upward to keep the pressure from cutting deeper.

Then he turned—casually, as if this wasn’t a performance—as if your kneeling body wasn’t posed like a centerpiece before his altar.

He faced the congregation again.

“As I was saying,” he began, voice smooth and reverent, “humans were given everything. Freedom. Choice. And what did they do with it?”

He glanced down at you—just briefly—but the weight of that look scorched down your spine like heat from a fire too close.

“They built empires of greed. Worshiped flesh. Spat in the face of grace.”

You struggled again. A twist of your shoulders. A jerk of your wrists behind your back. But your bindings held firm, and the moment you shifted forward—

Snap.

The leash tugged tight.

You choked, breath stuttering against the cloth in your mouth as your head jerked back, throat catching under the pressure of the collar.

Heeseung didn’t even pause.

“But the virus… the virus was a blessing. A cleansing.”

Your knees scraped the stone floor as you writhed again, desperately trying to lean back, to shift away from the humiliating position between his legs. But the leash yanked again, sharper this time, dragging you flush against him.

A hum of amusement left his throat. Low. Quiet. Just for you.

“Some of us were chosen to remain untouched,” he said, addressing the room, but his hand came down then, resting heavy atop your head, fingers threading through your hair like a benediction. Like a claim. “To lead. To guide.”

Your breath came fast through your nose, jaw clenched as you refused to look up—even as his grip tightened ever so slightly, encouraging.

“You all have your roles,” he said, stroking his thumb over the crown of your skull. “And this one…” His voice dipped, soft and intimate. “…was made for something greater.”

A shudder ran through you. Not from fear. From how much you hated that tiny flicker deep in your chest, the one that wanted to understand what he meant. The one that needed to know why it felt like you were sinking into something bigger than yourself. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Just confusion. But the warmth crawling under your skin didn’t feel like panic. It felt like recognition.

Heeseung’s hand still rested on your head, firm and unyielding. Not cruel—just present. Just there. Like he knew what that flicker meant. Like he’d been waiting for it to take root. “Even now,” he said quietly, not to the room anymore, but to you, “your body is starting to understand what your pride can’t.”

Your fists clenched behind your back. You shook your head as much as the leash allowed, trying to pull away, to deny him the satisfaction.

His grip on your hair tightened, gently but with warning. “You want to run,” he murmured, voice low and maddeningly kind. “But you came here. You put on the robe. You stepped into my sanctuary. And now you found your way to your knees.”

You whimpered through the gag, a guttural sound filled with rage and denial, and the smallest, sickest trace of something you couldn’t name.

Desire?

No. You refused that. Bit down on it until it bled.

But Heeseung only smiled, tilting your head upward with the leash so your eyes met his. And there it was again. That pull. Not magnetic. Not tender. Inevitable.

“You don’t need to understand yet,” he said softly, reverently. “You just need to stay. Let go. Let yourself be led.” He traced a finger along the edge of your jaw, his touch light and reverent—like he wasn’t punishing you, but preparing you. Like you weren’t being broken down. You were being reborn.

Behind you, the congregation remained silent. Watching. Waiting. Like witnesses to a ritual that hadn’t yet finished.

Like they knew— This was only the beginning.

And deep in your chest, that flicker—that cursed, trembling flicker—burned brighter.

They locked you away after that.

A cold, windowless cell somewhere beneath the compound—far enough from the others that your screams wouldn’t echo through the halls. You couldn’t tell how deep underground it was. Couldn’t count the days. You were chained at the ankles, wrists bound to the headboard of the narrow bed. Gagged. Blindfolded.

Time lost all shape like that.

You heard footsteps sometimes but no one ever spoke. No one ever opened the door.

Except him.

Heeseung.

You always knew when it was him.

Not from sound—his steps were too careful. Not from scent, though sometimes he carried that familiar trace of smoke and earth and something darker. You knew it was him because your body knew. Something in your chest tightened the moment the air changed. Like the room recognized him before your mind could. Like your skin had learned his presence by instinct.

He’d enter silently. Close the door. And then his voice would cut through the dark like silk drawn across a blade.

“Are you ready to be good for me today?”

You flinched every time. Not because it startled you. Because it didn’t. But because part of you hated how relieved you felt hearing him speak.

And then he’d begin.

The testing.

Simple things at first. Commands spoken low beside your ear.

"Lift your head."

"Open your mouth."

"Say yes, even if you can’t speak it."

If you obeyed, he rewarded you. Cool water tipped gently to your lips. Food, real food—soft bread, warm broth. His fingers stroking along your jaw after, murmuring, “Good. That’s my girl.”

But when you resisted—when your head shook or your body tensed—he punished you.

Not always with pain.

Sometimes it was silence. Leaving you bound and aching with nothing but your heartbeat and the drip of water behind the walls to keep you company.

Other times, it was worse.

His voice would sharpen, his grip firm but never violent—controlled. Always in control. A slap against your thigh. Teeth against your shoulder. The twist of your hair as he bent you forward and made you listen. Until you trembled. Until you cried. Until your body surrendered even when your mind still screamed.

And after?

After came the worship.

His voice soft again. Hands gentler. Brushing across your stomach. Your thighs. The curve of your back like you were something sacred.

“You take it so well,” he’d whisper, mouth against your skin. “Even when you think you don’t want it.”

He never undid the blindfold. He never let you see him. But you felt him. Every inch. Every breath. Every praise muttered like prayer as his fingers pressed into your hips, or his lips mapped a trail up your throat.

It was maddening.

Mind-numbing.

It didn’t feel real. And yet, it was the only thing that felt real. No time. No sun. No world outside the cell. Just the sound of his voice. The taste of his approval. The pain when you resisted. The worship when you broke.

That was your world now.

And Heeseung knew it.

Every time he returned, he took a little more from you, but not with violence.

With care. With consistency. With soft words, slow touches, warm food placed at your lips when you were too weak to lift your head.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he’d murmur one night, thumb stroking gently across your cheek. “But you do this to yourself, you know. You push. You run. And look where it brings you—right back to me.”

You shook your head, gagged and silent, but he just smiled.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed, brushing his knuckles down the curve of your jaw. “I know it’s hard. But we’re getting there. You’re almost ready.”

Ready for what, he never said. And maybe that was the worst part. Because the longer you stayed like this—bound, blindfolded, stripped of time and identity—the more your mind twisted around the silence between his words. Your thoughts ran in circles, trying to fill in the blanks.

Ready to be released? Ready to kneel? Ready to break completely?

You didn’t know. And he never rushed.

Heeseung was careful with you. Meticulous. Every visit was deliberate—measured touches, chosen words, like he was sculpting you piece by piece. He broke you down slowly, kindly, until you could no longer tell the difference between his cruelty and his care.

“You’ve come so far,” he whispered once, as he fed you water from his fingertips. “The first night, you bit me. Do you remember that?”

You flinched.

“I liked it,” he added with a quiet laugh. “But I like this more.” His hand cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking softly behind your ear as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “You’re learning to trust me. To listen. That’s all I ever wanted.”

But you hadn’t agreed. You hadn’t given anything. Not really. You were still resisting—at least in your mind. Still telling yourself this wasn’t permanent. And yet… your body didn’t flinch when he touched you anymore. Your throat didn’t tense when the leash tugged. Your breath didn’t hitch when he whispered your name.

“Almost ready,” he said again one night, his voice closer than usual, like he was bent right over your chest, watching every tremble of your ribs. “Then you’ll see what I’ve built for you. What we are. No more hiding. No more pretending you don’t belong.” His fingers brushed your lips over the gag, slow and reverent. “You’ll understand soon.”

You didn’t cry anymore. You didn’t scream. You just lay there, heart a trapped animal, praying that when “ready” came you’d still remember who you were before Heeseung made you forget.

You didn’t know how long you’d been under.

Time had unraveled weeks ago, bled out through the cracks in your thoughts like water from a broken vessel. But that night… something changed.

The chains at your ankles were unfastened. Your wrists were still bound, but not to the bed anymore. And for the first time in what felt like forever, they lifted you. Rough hands under your arms. A voice—calm, too calm—saying, “Don’t struggle.”

You didn’t.

Not because you obeyed. Because your limbs barely worked anymore. You were dragged. Carried. Walked like an offering down an unseen path, your bare feet brushing cold stone, then soft rugs, then something warmer.

Then they stopped.

You were lowered again, gently this time, onto something soft.

A bed. No—a mattress. Luxurious. Silken. Wrong.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

Then—click.

The sound of shackles again. Cold metal. One at your ankle. One at your wrist.

Secured. Exposed.

And then the cloth was lifted from your eyes.

Blinding.

You blinked hard. Tears pricked instantly. Your vision blurred and burned, white and colorless at first. Then slowly—too slowly—it began to return.

Shapes. Figures. Shadows.

Dozens of them.

All kneeling in rows, heads bowed, hoods drawn, bodies still.

Chanting. Low and rhythmic, the language unfamiliar—guttural and reverent, like prayer spoken through centuries of dust. The light above you was golden and soft, like candlelight poured through stained glass. But it did nothing to ease the cold bloom of dread unfurling in your chest.

You were dressed—something white, something soft. A dress. He had dressed you in it, you realized distantly, sometime between punishments. Between “rewards.”

And they were staring at you. Not with lust. Not with malice. With devotion. You were strapped down on a bed like an offering on an altar. And every single one of them was worshipping. Before you could scream, before you could tear your gaze away, he appeared.

Heeseung.

Stepping through the crowd, slow and steady, like the center of gravity itself. His black clothing sharp against the light, eyes locked on you like a priest seeing a vision for the first time.

He didn’t say anything.He simply walked to the foot of the bed. Paused. And then—before your breath could return—he knelt.

Right there, in front of you.

His hands slid up, fingers curling reverently in the fabric of the dress he had chosen for you. His head bowed low, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you—like you were too holy.

And then, his voice. Low. Shaking.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “My fallen angel.”

You trembled.

“Dragged from the wasteland. Touched by fire. Broken open for truth.” His hands gripped the edge of the bedframe now, holding it like a sacred relic, his voice nearly cracking. “They thought they could cast you out,” he whispered, lifting his gaze finally—hungry, shining. “But you were always meant to rise. And we—we were always meant to worship.”

A soft murmur rose behind him as the followers continued their chant, voices growing louder, harmonizing into something sickly sweet and ancient.

Heeseung leaned forward, lips brushing the inside of your knee through the sheer fabric. “Don’t be afraid,” he breathed, kissing higher. “This is your awakening.”

His hands didn’t grope. They glided.

Up your legs, over the soft, sheer fabric he had chosen. Fingers pressing gently into your thighs—not possessive, not rushed—devoted. As if touching you was a privilege. A ritual. A holy act only he was worthy of performing.

His lips followed.

Kisses laid like offerings, slow and reverent, tracing the skin just above your knee, then higher. His breath warm. His words warmer.

“I starved for this,” Heeseung whispered against your skin. “I watched you fight so hard to stay alone. Watched you drag your body through hell. But you didn’t need to. You were never meant to suffer out there.”

His voice wrapped around your head like silk and smoke. Like poison disguised as scripture. Every syllable slithered into your skull and twisted—slowly. Carefully. “You were meant to be seen,” he murmured. “Tended to. Adored.” He kissed your hip through the thin dress. His hands caressed your waist, your ribs, brushing up the curve of your body as he stared at you like you were a god descending through ash. Like you were purity wrapped in ruin.

“I would burn the world to keep you here,” he said. “Don’t you understand? They kneel because you’re salvation. I kneel because I’m yours.”

Your fingers twitched in their binds. Your chest heaved with each trembling breath. Tears spilled freely now—silent at first, then louder. You sobbed, the sound broken and involuntary. Your mind couldn’t hold the contradiction. Couldn’t reconcile the nightmare with the hands worshipping you. Couldn’t explain the way he touched you like you were holy and filthy all at once.

What the actual fuck was this?

Heeseung didn’t stop. If anything, your sobbing seemed to encourage him. His hands pressed gently over your stomach, his thumbs stroking in soothing circles like you were a child in pain. His lips brushed your sternum. His voice dropped to a hush—too soft to belong to someone this dangerous. “You’re overwhelmed. I know,” he whispered. “That’s what love does when you’ve never had it right.”

You shook your head, choked on the gagging sobs, but his grip only grew more tender.

“Shhh,” he crooned, kissing the damp trail of tears down your cheek. “It’s okay. Feel it. Break, if you need to. Cry. Hurt.” Another kiss. Another stroke of his thumb across your trembling lip. “I’ll put you back together after.”

He wasn’t just breaking you. He was rewriting you. Page by page. Tear by tear. He kissed your forehead—soft, reverent. Then your temple. Then your lips—light and slow and aching with praise.

Not lust. Not hunger. Worship.

The kind of kiss that made your skin forget it was yours. The kind that said mine without needing to speak it.

Your sobs stuttered, caught between the confusion and the calm. You didn’t kiss back—but you didn’t pull away. His touch burned and soothed at once, like he knew exactly how to undo you from the inside out.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, breath brushing across your damp cheek. “Even now. Even shaking like this, you’re still so... divine.”

You wanted to scream. To curse him. To disappear. But instead you whimpered, body wracked with too much emotion to contain.

His thumb traced your jaw like he was sketching a memory. “That’s why they kneel,” he murmured. “Why they pray. Because they see what I see.” He leaned in again—kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower, over your throat, your collarbone, every touch slow and tender, every word dragging you deeper into the trance.

“You think I’m the one corrupting you,” he breathed. “But sweetheart… this is who you’ve always been.”

A soft bite. A sigh.

His teeth sank lightly into the edge of your jaw—just enough to make you gasp, to make your back arch against the restraints. He soothed it a moment later with a kiss, as if to apologize for drawing blood he hadn’t spilled.

“You were made for this,” he whispered against your skin. “Made to be seen. To be touched. To be claimed.”

Your wrists tugged weakly at the cuffs above your head, body trembling from the weight of too many emotions collapsing into one: confusion, despair… and something darker.

Desire, twisted and forced into devotion.

“I didn’t make you this way,” Heeseung said, lips ghosting over your cheek. “The world did. When it abandoned you. When it left you starving, begging to be chosen.”

Another kiss. This one to your throat, where your pulse jumped wildly beneath the collar he’d never removed. “I just picked you up where they dropped you,” he said. “And I gave you purpose.”

You sobbed again, but this time it was quieter. Numb.

“You’re not crying because you want to escape,” he murmured, his hand sliding over your ribs, thumb brushing the trembling rise of your chest. “You’re crying because a part of you knows I’m right.”

He drew back just far enough to look into your eyes, and the way he gazed at you—like a worshiper beholding his god—made your stomach twist.

He wasn’t asking for love. He was building it. Out of fear. Out of isolation. Out of need.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said softly. “As long as you let me.” His thumb dragged slowly across your lips, wiping away a tear that had clung there. “You just have to let go of everything else.”

And you did nothing.

You just laid there—helpless, trembling, eyes red and wide—while he worshipped you like you were something fallen from the stars. His hands never left your skin for long. His lips followed the trails of his fingers, leaving soft, haunting kisses.

Your chest still shook with the remnants of your sobs. Your arms still ached from being bound. And your body still trembled under the weight of it all—

But you laid there.

Unmoving. Bare. Adorned in white. Offered.

Like some sacred relic that had already been broken open and blessed.

The chanting softened.

The kneeling followers began to rise, their robes rustling quietly as they bowed once—first to you, then to Heeseung—and slowly filed out. One by one. Silent. Devout. Dissolving into the shadows like they'd never been there at all.

Until the vast room was empty.

Just you, still trembling, chained to the altar-bed. And Heeseung, kneeling at the edge like a man who had gotten everything he’d ever wanted and still wanted more.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you.

With something too vast to be called love, too sharp to be mercy. It wasn’t lust in his eyes—it was certainty. Like he had always known it would end this way.

Slowly, gracefully, he rose to his feet.

He stepped closer, boots soft against stone, and sat gently beside you on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out, trailing down your arm, then to your hip, anchoring you there—like you might float away if he didn’t keep you tethered.

“I knew you’d look beautiful like this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Unburdened. Finally seen.”

You didn’t answer. at least not with words. Not with thought. Your mind felt like gauze soaked in warmth and fear and something dangerously close to surrender.

He leaned over you again, his body brushing the edge of yours, his hand cradling your jaw as he tilted your face to meet his eyes.

“Now,” he whispered, “we begin.”

And there was no audience. No witness.

Just you. And the man who had turned your captivity into a kingdom, and crowned himself your king.

Heeseung's hands, calloused and commanding, trace the length of your arms, lingering at the restraints that bind you. His touch both gentle and firm, a paradox that leaves you breathless. As his lips meet yours, you surrender to the kiss, a desperate dance of tongues and breaths mingled.

His fingers deftly work the fabric of your dress, sliding the straps down your shoulders with deliberate slowness. The cool air of the room meets your skin as he pulls the dress down, revealing your body inch by inch. He tosses the garment aside, his eyes never leaving yours.

You lie there, exposed and vulnerable, the weight of your chains a constant reminder of your position. Your mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, fear and desire intertwined. You know the rules, the unspoken laws that govern your existence here. Struggle, and you invite his wrath. Obedience, and you earn his favor.

Heeseung's gaze roams over your body, a silent appraisal that sends shivers down your spine. His hands explore your curves with a possessive touch. "Perfect," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates through you. "You are perfect."

You remain silent, your body a canvas for his exploration. He moves with a slowness, spreading your legs wide, making room for himself between your thighs. Your restraints allow this much, a cruel mercy that leaves you exposed and open.

His touch is gentle as he parts your folds, revealing your most intimate self. You gasp, the sound torn from your throat as his tongue finds its mark, tracing a long, slow line from your entrance to your clit. The sensation is electric, a shock that jolts through your body, leaving you trembling.

You can't help but arch your back, a silent plea for more, even as your mind races with the reality of your situation. He takes his time, his tongue exploring your depths, tasting you, teasing you. Each stroke designed to elicit a response, to draw out your pleasure.

Your hands, bound above you, clench into fists, the only outward sign of your inner turmoil. 

Heeseung's tongue continues its relentless assault, each lick a claim of ownership, each flick a promise of pleasure and pain. You squirm beneath him, your body betraying you, arching into his touch. But he is merciless, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you, his mouth and tongue exploring every inch of your most intimate place.

Suddenly, he teases your folds with his fingers, spreading you open with a slow, deliberate motion, exposing you to his hungry gaze. You gasp, the sensation a mix of vulnerability and anticipation, your body trembling with a desperate, almost hungry need. He leans in, his tongue licking a long, slow stripe up your slit, a cruel, teasing promise of what's to come. You can hear him moan, a low, primal sound of pleasure and satisfaction, as he savors your taste, your essence, your very being.

"Mmm, you taste so fucking good," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr, as he slips his pointer finger into you, thick and long, thrusting it in and out with a relentless, unyielding rhythm. "Oh, baby... I'm going to wreck you... Make you drip for me..."

You whimper, the sensation of his finger filling you, stretching you, claiming you, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

He quickly adds another finger, joining the first, stretching you out deliciously, his fingers moving in and out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You can feel every ridge, every knuckle, every inch of him, filling you, stretching you.

"You're going to take this," his voice a low rumble against your sensitive flesh. "Every fucking lick, every fucking bite. You're mine to do with as I please." And he proves it, his teeth grazing your clit, a sharp sting that has you crying out. You try to hold back, to swallow your sounds, but he won't allow it. His hand comes down hard on your pussy, a sharp slap that leaves you gasping, tears stinging your eyes.

"Bad girl," he taunts, his voice laced with sadistic glee. "You know better than to hold back. I want to hear you, I want to feel you. Every fucking sound, every fucking tear."

He bites down again, harder this time, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he sucks your clit into his mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you sobbing, your body convulsing as he brings you to the edge of orgasm, only to pull back, leaving you teetering on the brink.

He knows your body better than you do, knows how to play you like an instrument, pulling you between ecstasy and agony. His tongue flicks and teases, his fingers plunging deep, only to retreat, leaving you aching.

You bite your lip, swallowing your cries, your moans, your pleas. You won't give him the satisfaction, won't let him hear the desperation in your voice. But he sees it, sees the way your body betrays you, the way your hips buck, seeking more, seeking release.

"Fucking stubborn," he growls, his breath hot against your skin. "You think you can hold out? You think you can keep this up?"

He pulls back, his fingers glistening with your wetness. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're going to beg," he says, his voice a low rumble. "You're going to beg and plead and scream for me. And I'm going to make you wait, make you suffer. Until you're nothing but a whimpering, begging mess."

His hand comes down hard on your pussy again, a sharp slap that leaves you gasping. He does it again, and again, each strike a punishment. He wants to break you, wants to shatter you, wants to hear you beg.

You grit your teeth, your body shaking with the effort of holding back. But he won't let you, won't let you hide. His tongue finds your clit, his teeth grazing, his fingers plunging deep. He fucks you with his fingers, his tongue, his teeth, a relentless assault that leaves you sobbing, your body convulsing, your mind shattering as his fingers keep hitting that sweet spot that makes your eyes roll back.

As his fingers fuck you relentlessly, he shifts his position, his mouth finding your nipple, his teeth grazing, his tongue swirling.

You gasp, the sensation of his mouth on your breast, his fingers deep inside you, almost too much to bear. He sucks hard, pulling your nipple deep into his mouth, his fingers matching the rhythm, in and out, in and out, a relentless, merciless pace. "Fuck," he growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. "You're so fucking wet. So fucking tight. You're going to come all over my fingers, aren't you?"

You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. But he won't let you come, not yet. He pulls back, his fingers slowing, his mouth releasing your nipple with a wet pop, leaving you aching and empty. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with amusement and delight. "How is it.." he taunts, his voice a low, mocking drawl, "..that you haven't begged to come yet? I thought you were more desperate than this."

You glare at him, your eyes filled with tears and defiance. It's a weak attempt, a futile gesture, but it's all you have left. You won't give him the satisfaction, won't let him hear the desperation in your voice.

His laughter is cruel, a mean sound that echoes in the room, bouncing off the walls, mocking your pathetic attempt at resistance. "It seems your fire is still alive," he says, his voice a low rumble. "But I think it's time to put it out."

His hand moves quickly, his fingers finding your clit, pinching, squeezing. The sensation is overwhelming, a sharp, electric shock that jolts through your body, leaving you screaming, your back arching, your body convulsing.

"Fuck!" you cry out, the sound torn from your throat, raw and desperate. "Fuck, please, stop!"

But he doesn't stop, doesn't relent. His fingers continue their relentless assault, pinching, squeezing, teasing. "Beg," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Beg for me to let you come. Beg for me to stop. Beg for me to do whatever the fuck I want."

You try to resist, to hold onto the last shreds of your dignity, your defiance. But Heeseung is relentless, his words a cruel, mocking taunt. "No one's coming to save you," he says, his voice a low rumble. "No one's here but me. No one but your king, your master, your god."

His fingers plunge deep inside you again, a brutal, claiming invasion. You gasp, the sound torn from your throat, a raw, desperate plea. He kisses you harshly, his lips crushing yours, his tongue invading your mouth, a brutal, punishing kiss.

His other hand comes up, wrapping around your throat, his fingers digging into your flesh, pressing, choking. You can feel the collar around your neck, a constant reminder of your captivity, your submission. He uses it, his fingers pressing against it, cutting off your air and your voice.

Heeseung's eyes never leave yours as he continues to finger you, his movements deliberate, calculated. He watches every twitch, every tear, every desperate gasp, savoring your reactions like a connoisseur. "You're so beautiful when you cry," he murmurs, his voice a purr. "So fucking perfect. Look at you, so desperate, so needy. Begging for my touch, my mercy. It's pathetic."

You cry, your tears streaming down your face, your body shaking with sobs. You're so close, so fucking close to the edge, your orgasm building, your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

And then, suddenly, he stops. His fingers pull out, leaving you empty, aching, desperate. You cry out in pain, a raw, desperate sound, your body convulsing, your mind shattering. "No, please, don't stop," you beg, your voice a sobbing, desperate plea. "Please, I need it. I need to come. Please, Heeseung, please."

He watches you, his eyes dark with delight. He knows he has you, knows he's broken you, knows you're his to command, his to pleasure, his to punish. And he savors it, savors your desperation.

"You want to come?" he asks, his voice a low, mocking drawl. "You want to come so bad, don't you? You want to come and scream and beg for more. You want to come and know that you're mine, that you belong to me, that you live for me."

You nod, your body shaking, your tears streaming. "Yes, please, yes," you sob, your voice a desperate, begging plea. "Please, Heeseung, please make me come. Please, I need it. I need you."

Heeseung grins widely, a cruel, mocking curve of his lips that sends a shiver down your spine. He hums, a low, satisfied sound, before leaning down, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?" he taunts. "All you had to do was surrender." And then, suddenly, his mouth and fingers and tongue are on you, his tongue flicks and teases, his fingers plunge and stroke, his teeth graze and nip. He moans into you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body, leaving you screaming, whining, begging for more.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he growls, his voice a desperate rumble. "So fucking perfect. I could eat you out all day, make you come over and over again."

You scream, your voice raw, your body convulsing, your mind shattering. You whine, a pathetic, needy sound, your hips bucking, seeking more, seeking release. You beg, your voice a sobbing, desperate plea, your hands clenching into fists, your nails digging into your palms.

"Come for me."

Your body responds to his words, your muscles tensing, your breath hitching, your heart racing. You can feel the orgasm building, your pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to explode. And then it does, your body convulsing, your mind shattering. "I'm coming, I'm coming, fuck!" you cry out, your body bucking, your hips grinding against his face, seeking more.

Heeseung moans into you, his tongue and fingers work in perfect harmony, his touch both gentle and firm, his movements calculated. He licks you clean, his tongue lapping up your wetness like it's his last supper, his moans a low, satisfied rumble. You can feel his hunger, his insatiable need for you, his desire to devour you, to consume you, to own you completely.

You try to pull away, your body overwhelmed, your voice a sobbing plea. "Please, stop," you beg, your tears streaming down your face, your body shaking with sobs. "Please, Heeseung, I can't take anymore. Please, stop."

But he doesn't stop, his hands grip your thighs, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your flesh, bruising, claiming. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a cruel, mocking curve to his lips. "Shh, you can take more angel," he growls, "you can take everything I give you. Everything I want to do to you. Everything I want to make you feel."

And he does, he makes you feel, he makes you feel pleasure and pain, need and desperation, submission and surrender. He makes you feel alive, makes you feel owned, makes you feel his.

You come again, your body convulsing, your mind shattering, your voice a raw, desperate scream.

That makes Heeseung finally pull away, his mouth glistening with your wetness, his fingers slick and shining. He licks them clean, savoring your taste, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your pussy is red, swollen, clenching and unclenching, your clit throbbing, a testament to his insatiable hunger.

You watch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, your body aching and sensitive, as he starts to undress. He pulls off his shirt, his muscles rippling, his skin glistening with sweat. He unzips his slacks, pulls down his boxers, his cock springing free, big and leaking, angry and hard. You can see the veins pulsing, the head glistening with precum.

Drool drips from the corner of his mouth, a needy sound escaping his lips as the drops hits your thigh. He spits on his hand, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He gives himself a few jerks, his hand moving up and down his shaft, his eyes never leaving yours, then suddenly, he's pushing into you, his cock stretching you out, filling you up. You shout in surprise, the sound torn from your throat, raw and desperate, not expecting the stretch, the burn, the fullness. Your body tenses, your muscles clenching, your breath hitching, your mind shattering.

Heeseung's hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, he cusses, a low rumble. "Fuck, you're still so tight," he growls. "So fucking delicious. Better than anything in the world. Better than everything."

He starts to move, his hips thrusting, his cock plunging deep, his body claiming yours, his pleasure your only purpose. You can feel him, every inch, every pulse, every thrust. He fucks you hard and deep and fast, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, his teeth grazing your skin, his cock plunging so deep that his tip hits your cervix, a sharp, intense sensation that leaves you gasping, your eyes rolling back. You can feel him, every inch, every pulse, every thrust.

A claiming, a conquering, a devouring.

Pornographic sounds leave your mouth, a mix of moans and screams and whimpers, a symphony. You can't control them, can't hold them back, can't do anything but take what he gives, what he demands, what he takes.

He rambles on, his words jumbled, cut off with groans. "Fuck, you feel so good.. fucking perfect... I want everything from you. Everything. You're going to take my cock, my cum, my pleasure. You're going to take it all. You're going to take it and love it..."

His teeth graze your skin, your neck, your breasts, your nipples, a sharp, intense sensation that leaves you gasping, your body convulsing, your mind shattering.

"You're mine," he groans, "mine to fuck, mine to own, mine to break. My everything." And you are, you're his world, his everything, his all. You're his to command, his to pleasure, his to punish. And he will, he will do whatever he wants, whatever he needs, whatever he desires. And you will take it, all of it, every thrust, every touch, every taste, every sound, every scream.

As Heeseung continues his relentless assault, your eyes cross, your vision blurring, your body convulsing as another orgasm tears through you. You scream, your body bucking, your hips grinding against his.

He fucks you through your orgasms, your body a sobbing, shaking mess, sweat and tears and drool coating your skin, your hair, your face.

Suddenly, one of his hands comes up, wrapping around your throat, his fingers pressing, choking you, controlling you, owning you.

Your mouth opens and closes, small, desperate wheezes escaping your lips, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Your body convulses, your mind shatters, your vision blurs, your world narrowing down to the sensations, the sounds, the screams.

Heeseung's lips are hot and wet and hungry, his tongue invading your mouth, a brutal, punishing kiss that leaves you gasping.

As he kisses you, his hand slips down from your throat, his fingers trailing a path of fire and ice down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You can feel his touch, hot and demanding, as it moves lower, his palm pressing against your mound, his fingers finding your clit and he twists it, rolling and pinching the sensitive nub with a skilled intensity. You gasp into the kiss as your pleasure explodes, your body squirting with a force that leaves you shaking and gasping, your wetness coating him, dripping down your thighs, leaving you a proper mess.

Heeseung pulls back from the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes gleaming with a mix of cruelty and arousal. He looks down at you, a mocking smile playing on his lips, as he takes in the sight of your spent, shaking body, your thighs slick with your release, your chest heaving with each desperate gasp.

The room is thick with the scent of your pleasure, a heady, intoxicating aroma that hangs in the air, a testament to the intensity of your shared passion.

He groans, a low sound that rumbles from deep within his chest, as he leans his head back, running his hand down his face in a gesture that's equal parts exhaustion and satisfaction. When he looks back down at you, there's a twisted grin on his lips and a crazed look in his eyes, a wild, almost feral intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Fucking hell, baby," he murmurs, his voice a dangerous purr, laced with a possessive intensity. "You came so hard. I'm so flattered."

You hesitate, your mouth opening slightly as you try to form a response, but before you can utter a word, Heeseung starts thrusting hard again, his hips snapping forward with a relentless, unyielding intensity.

"Shit!" you shout in surprise, the sound a mix of pleasure and pain, as you struggle to keep up with the brutal rhythm of his movements. Your body moves harshly back and forth, the force of his thrusts leaving you gasping and choking.

Heeseung chuckles, a low, dangerous sound, as he continues to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with a wet, obscene sound. "That's it, baby," he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Take it. Take every inch of me."

Suddenly his body tense up, his muscles coiling, you can feel it as he spills into you, filling you up. It's a sensation unlike any other, a raw, and overwhelming invasion.

His cum is hot and thick, a relentless flood that coats your insides, marking you, branding you, filling you to the brim, spilling out, dripping down your thighs.

His voice is wrecked, his words slurred, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his body shaking. "Fuck, yes," he moaned.

After that night—after Heeseung had claimed you in every way a man could claim something— you were never alone again.

He kept you close like a second skin.

During inspections, you walked just a step behind him, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist or resting at the small of your back like a reminder. Not to guide. Not to comfort. To possess.

He paraded you through corridors filled with loyal followers who never questioned it. Their gazes never lingered on you, not out of respect, but fear. You weren’t just his anymore. You were sacred by proximity. Untouchable. An extension of their prophet.

And when he sat upon his throne—the same throne that had first made you tremble—you weren’t kneeling before it anymore.

You were on it. On his lap. Curled against his chest like something fragile and adored. His arms wrapped around you like armor, his fingers constantly tracing circles against your thigh, your hip. His lips brushing your temple. His voice, low and steady, whispering things only meant for you.

“You were always meant to sit beside me,” he’d murmur, letting his fingers toy with the chain that still connected to your collar. “You look better here. Where everyone can see who you belong to.”

You were never out of reach. Never out of his sight. Even when he wasn’t touching you, you could feel the weight of his gaze, watching you like something precious and breakable. Something that might slip through his fingers if he didn’t keep holding on.

He bathed you himself. Dressed you himself. He fed you when he wanted. Rewarded you when you were obedient. And when you weren’t? He reminded you gently. Firmly. Sometimes through punishment. Sometimes with nothing but silence—cold, stretched, and endless until you begged for him to speak again.

You slept in his bed, wrapped in his warmth, in his breath, in the weight of his control. He’d hold you tight against his chest, lips at your ear as you drifted off.

“I see you now,” he’d whisper. “And I’ll never look away again.”

And you knew he meant it. Because wherever Heeseung went, you followed or were dragged.

He would stand before the congregation, bathed in golden light, voice ringing with divine conviction as he spoke of sin.

Of how humanity’s downfall had been written long before the first infected ever rose. How the virus wasn’t a curse—it was a reckoning. A purging.

“Sin,” he would say, voice steady, eyes burning, “is not just action. It’s desire. It’s weakness. It’s forgetting who you belong to.”

They hung onto every word. You sat silently at his feet, head bowed, hands folded in your lap, the perfect picture of devotion. Of obedience.

But when the sermons ended. When the followers filed out with their heads lowered and chants echoing behind them.

Heeseung would sin. Sin for you. And he never pretended otherwise.

His hands would be on you before the door even fully closed, gripping your chin, your hips, the back of your neck, dragging you into his lap or pinning you to the velvet-draped altar where moments ago he’d been preaching salvation.

“You’re my punishment,” he’d groan against your skin. “My favorite sin.”

There was nothing gentle in it. Not anymore. He worshipped you the way fire worships wood—consuming, cracking, devouring. His mouth left bruises in places no one else would ever see. His hands forced you into poses of submission, control, and praise all in one.

He corrupted your mind with whispers of scripture laced with filth. He corrupted your body with touches so exacting, so possessive, you forgot where your pain ended and his worship began.

“You think you’re clean?” he’d sneer, dragging the collar tighter around your throat. “Look at you. Shaking like a heathen. Letting me use you like this. My perfect little contradiction.”

And you let him. Not because you believed in his divinity. But because you had no self left to cling to. He made sure of that—slowly, thoroughly, night after night. Until the sermons began to blur with his gasps. Until you couldn’t hear “salvation” without feeling his hands on your skin. Because Heeseung didn’t just preach with fire. He burned it into you. And by the time night fell, and the candles burned low, and the chants had faded into silence… you weren’t just his follower. You were his altar.

He would drag you to your knees in the same room where people prayed for mercy, and he’d show you none. He’d press you against the walls where holy symbols had been carved, and make you feel anything but pure.

“You know why they worship me?” he’d whisper, breath ragged, voice thick with heat. “Because I carry the weight of their sins.”

And then, as his hands spread you open for him, his lips hot against your ear—

“And you, my love… you carry mine.”

You never knew where the sermon ended and the desecration began. Because to Heeseung, there was no difference.

You were tired. Weak. A breathing shrine to Heeseung’s work. He had broken you open and rebuilt you with trembling obedience, every breath shaped by his voice, every thought fogged with his touch. He made sure you remembered how easily he could overpower you. How simple it was for him to take what he wanted, and how much worse it was when you disappointed him. Even when he was gentle, you knew it was to keep you docile. Even when he praised you, it was to remind you how fragile that praise could be.

Your mind buzzed with static now, clouded by rituals and rules, yeses you hadn’t meant and noes that had died in your throat.

But then— One night, it happened.

The opportunity. Freedom hidden in plain sight.

The compound gate stood cracked open just wide enough, just enough for a scavenging party of six to slip out into the darkness, tasked with finding supplies from what remained beyond the treeline. The guards were distracted, slouched around a crate playing cards, laughter low and careless.

And Heeseung?

He stood just in front of you, half-turned, speaking quietly with someone beside the gate. The leash in his hand was taut as always, a reminder at your throat… But the clasp.

It was right there. One movement. One flick of your fingers. And you’d be free. But were you ready?

Your heart beat so fast it hurt. Because the truth sank in before you even moved—

You were scared. Terrified. Not of the world outside, but of him.

Of what he would say if he caught you. Of what he would do.

And worst of all— Of disappointing him.

Because Heeseung didn’t just punish. He devastated.

And still—

No.

You couldn’t keep living like this. You weren’t his pet. His disciple. His goddamn altar. With shaking hands, you reached up. Fingers found the clasp.

Click.

The leash came free. The collar still hugged your neck, but the chain was gone. You took one step back. Then another.

No one noticed.

You reached the threshold. Your hand brushed the edge of the open door. The forest was waiting. Cold. Dark. Free.

And then—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your blood froze.

You turned.

Heeseung stood there, still as death, the leash dangling from his hand like a severed chain. His voice was low, furious, betrayed. His eyes burned. Unforgivable.

You didn’t wait. You ran. Bolted into the trees, the branches tearing at your legs, your breath ragged, panic splitting through your ribs. Behind you came the sound of chaos—shouting, feet pounding, someone screaming your name like it wasn’t a name at all but a claim.

“GET HER!” “DON’T LET HER LEAVE!” “BRING HER BACK TO ME!”

Heeseung’s voice cut through the night like a whip—fierce, commanding, possessed. A voice that once soothed now scraped down your spine like a threat.

You didn’t look back. Branches lashed at your face. Roots caught your feet. You stumbled once—twice—but didn’t stop. Your chest burned, lungs clawing for air, tears streaking down your cheeks as you choked on sobs you didn’t even feel until they were pouring out of you.

You were out. You were really out. For the first time in weeks—months? You didn’t even know anymore—there was no leash, no hands on your body. Just the wind. Just the night. Just you.

“Thank you,” you gasped, breath hitching between sobs, legs aching. “Thank you—thank you—thank you—”

You didn’t know who you were thanking. The trees? The stars? God?

Leaves crunched behind you, voices shouting somewhere in the distance, but farther now. Fainter.

You were fast. Faster than they thought. Faster than he ever let you be. You reached a ridge, legs buckling as you collapsed behind a thicket, heart hammering against the cage of your ribs. You pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound of your breathing, the sobs still threatening to slip through.

And for a moment... just a moment, there was only silence. No footsteps. No voice whispering your name like a prayer. Only the distant echo of his rage, carried on the wind. And for the first time since Heeseung claimed you—

You were alone.

It didn’t take long for you to arm yourself again.

The forest was merciless, but it wasn’t empty. A half-collapsed outpost, overrun with moss and bloodstains, gave you your first break, a fallen soldier slumped near the rusted perimeter, the hollowed-out remains of a jawless infected twitching beside him. His dog tags were gone, but his gear remained.

You stripped the white dress off your body without hesitation. It fell like a shroud to the dirt, soaked with old tears, old submission. You didn’t look at it again. Instead, you dressed in his tactical gear. It was too big, stiff and scratchy—but it fit in all the ways that mattered.

You took everything. Ammo. Knives. A handgun with two clips. A faded canteen. Even a rusted map with scribbles on it.

And you kept moving.

You never stayed anywhere longer than a night. Not even when it rained. Not even when your muscles ached so badly you could barely stand. The idea of stopping, of sleeping too deeply—it wasn’t just dangerous.

It was terrifying.

Because in the quiet, in the stillness, that voice always returned.

I will find you again.

So you didn’t rest. You ran on scraps, cans of food you found in crumbled gas stations, berries you knew wouldn’t kill you. You boiled river water in a bent metal cup, filtering it through your scarf to keep the worst of the dirt out.

And when the sun fell each day, you chose high ground. A rooftop. A tree. An attic with only one way in.

You slept with your hand on the trigger. You never dreamed.

But in the silence between your breaths—when the wind died down and the night got too quiet you could still feel it.

That pull.

Like something invisible was dragging you backward, whispering for you to come home. Like a leash without a chain. And every time it tightened, you reminded yourself:

You're not his anymore.

You're not.

But even with a gun in your hand and a knife strapped to your thigh, it still felt like Heeseung was just one step behind you.

It didn’t help that you weren’t able to take the collar off.

You’d tried. God, you’d tried.

The moment you found a piece of shattered mirror, you sat in the corner of a collapsed shack and dug your fingers behind your neck, trying to find the clasp, the seam—anything.

But all you found was cold metal.

It had a keyhole in the back. Small. Precise. And worse—it was tight. Too snug to twist or shift, no matter how hard you pulled. It dug in when you moved your head too far, a constant reminder.

You were free. But not completely.

You were still wearing his mark. Still dragging the symbol of his claim with you wherever you went. Some nights, you’d claw at it until your skin went raw. You’d cry—not from the pain, but from the humiliation. Because every time you saw your reflection, every time you drank from a stream and caught your distorted image in the water, you didn’t see a survivor.

You saw his sheep.

His voice haunted you even in silence:

“You wear it so well.”

You wrapped scarves around your neck to hide it. Tried to forget it was there. But it chafed when you ran. It pressed into your throat when you slept. It reminded you that no matter how far you got, no matter how armed, how fast, how strong... Heeseung was still on you.

The collar wasn’t just leather. It was a vow. A leash waiting to be reattached. And the worst part was that sometimes, in the dark—when you were shivering, when the world felt too big, too empty—you caught yourself touching it.

Like it was comfort. Like it meant someone still wanted you.

And you hated yourself for that more than anything.

You didn’t see any trace of Sanctum for a while.

No symbols. No robed silhouettes. No whispers of scripture floating on the wind. It lulled you into a false rhythm. A rhythm that felt dangerously like hope. You started sleeping longer. Slower to draw your weapon. You even let yourself breathe.

But you shouldn’t have let your guard down. Why did you? Because now, they were here.

You heard them before you saw them—footsteps, soft and synchronized, never rushed. They didn’t panic when you ran. They followed. Like wolves.

The first time you recognized one, your stomach dropped clean through you. It was someone who used to serve you tea. Someone who once draped blankets over your shoulders after long nights beside Heeseung’s throne. Someone who bowed when they passed you in the halls.

Now?

Now they sprinted after you with a blade in one hand and rope in the other, eyes crazed with purpose.

They didn’t shout. Didn’t call your name. They didn’t have to. You knew what they were there to do.

Bring you back. Alive and breathing.

It happened again. And again.

Sanctum members appearing in the woods. At the edge of abandoned towns. In the shadows of gas stations and watchtowers.

Once-loyal sheep turned silent, ravenous hunters. And no matter how fast you ran, they didn’t give up.

Sometimes you lost them by luck. Sometimes a group of Hollowed would cross your path—lurching, groaning, blind with infection and they’d scatter, trying to avoid a bite.

But not always.

You had bruises now. Cuts you didn’t remember getting. A knife gash on your thigh that slowed you down more than you wanted to admit.

You stopped counting the days. You stopped hoping for silence.

Because silence always ended with the sound of someone stepping on a twig behind you. With a voice you hadn’t heard in days whispering:

“There you are.”

They did everything in their power to bring you back. Sometimes they succeeded. Sometimes you weren’t fast enough, weren’t careful enough. They’d ambush you in the night, drag you down in numbers, hands clawing at your limbs like vines. They’d wrestle your knife away, pin you to the earth, as they tied your wrists with torn robes and scavenged cords.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” they’d murmur. “He’ll forgive you. He always forgives you.”

You’d be bruised. Bloodied. Shaking. But they never expected what came next. They didn’t expect the sharp piece of rock you kept hidden in your boot. They didn’t expect how fast you could move when panic kicked in. They didn’t expect you to scream until your throat tore, to slam your head back into someone’s nose just for a split second of slack in the bindings. They didn’t expect you to run through the Hollowed, screaming, bleeding, letting the undead claw at your attackers just so you could break free.

And they never expected the traps.

The shallow pits lined with spikes. The rigged branches that swung like blades. The makeshift snares fashioned from wire and vines. You learned fast. You had to.

You weren’t fighting to win. You were fighting to not be brought back.

To not see him. To not be on your knees again, not have that leash click shut again, not feel his hands stroking your hair while his voice praised you for being “so strong, even when you lose.”

You fought with everything. Even when you were starving. Even when your body screamed for rest. Even when every inch of you was bruised and aching, a map of lucky escapes and narrow victories.

Because you knew what waited if you failed.

Heeseung’s voice—sweet, patient, cold—in your ear:

“I always forgive you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t teach you a lesson.”

So you kept running. Kept bleeding. Kept surviving.

But even as you prepared for everything—the Sanctum’s scouts, the Hollowed, the cold, the hunger— you weren’t prepared for him.

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.

--

READ PART 2 HERE

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[wonenonly]

ཊ˃̵ ⑅ ཉ little lamb [sim jaeyun] 𓈒ིུ𖥨᩠ׄ݁

⋆ summary: you meet a man in the middle of the night, so charming and so alluring.. but something about this man seems so.. dangerous. ━╋ pairing: killer!jake x fem!reader. (horror au)

⌗ warnings: reader is very naive, jake is a murderer in this omg. blood, weapons such as a knife & crow bar, etc but not used on reader. horror and thriller au please read with caution. mdni. smut. pwp, inexperienced reader, dom!jake, size kink bcuz i can’t not write bigdick!jake agenda, dark jokes/humor (?), unprotected sex, oral (f&m rec), fingering, multiple positions (2 smut scenes lol), dacryphillia, car sex, motel room sex, rough sex. yandere jake (?), mention of god once, mentions of murder with descriptions.

word count: 6.3k

⪩⪨ lee’s note: i’ve never written something like this before so pls bare with me if it’s bad 😣 enjoy the halloween special :D ur thoughts are appreciated as always <3

★ find my other works here + post queue

“Don’t go wandering ‘round a time like this.” The police officer warns you. “I’d be very devastated to see another report of another young individual being murdered in the streets this late at night.” There had been a recent report of a murder happening to a student your age in town. Around a time like this, a lot of crimes occurred, and you couldn’t avoid it since it was local.. near you.

You insisted to your friends that you were ‘okay’ to get home by yourself after the gathering you had at a nearby club. Luckily, that officer caught you at the right time to warn you and escort you back home safely.

“I hope I don’t see you out this late when I’m patrollin’ the area again.” The officer speaks to you once at the entrance of your apartment. The area you lived in wasn’t too bad, with a locked and secured apartment building. But there were always crimes that occurred; robberies, stabbings, theft, etc. Murder was not a common thing on your street. Bidding you a good bye, you enter the code to get inside the apartment building.

As the elevator door opens, you lock eyes with a man holding a big black duffle bag, walking out of the building in a rush. He was beautiful. The way that man stood with confidence radiating all over his body, and that small smirk he threw at you when you scanned his figure. But the left side of his cheek had a scratch and mark with what is now dried blood. You wanted to know more about this man. You should’ve found his presence suspicious, but you dazedly ignored it. Your apartment was small where everybody on every floor level knew each other, and yet you’ve never seen this man before. That was a warning itself you once again ignored.

Following his path, but slowly, you see him walk into a dimly lighted alley. Seeing a slightly dented, dull colored white car, the man opens the trunk as you see this all unwinding as you get closer. You walk your steps lightly with curiosity plastered all over your face. He opens the trunk, and an item falls out of his bag, a blood covered silver metal crow bar. Your eyes widen, you can’t move. Or you don’t want to. You find yourself standing a good arms reach behind the man, your conscious screaming at you to ‘run run run!’ but all of that is ignored when the man turns to you, another smirk tugging on his face when he sees it’s you. “You know.. you shouldn’t be out here this late doll, especially when you’re wearing this cute little outfit with such a pretty face.” He speaks.

You don’t respond, instead your gaze is still fixed on the crow bar that was in his hand. He finds it amusing, by now, a normal person would’ve ran away. But you stand there, completely still. He doesn’t see fear in your eyes. You were entranced by him, a few seconds of eye contact and here you were; a dimly lighted alley with who knows what could happen to you, many things.

He decides to speak again, his eyes not hiding his predatory gaze and scan of your figure, deliberately checking you out.

“What brings your pretty face here this late of a night—?” Dropping the crow bar back into his duffle bag, zipping it up and closing his trunk. He wipes the blood on his face with the back of his hand, leaning against his trunk, hands going in the pocket of his jacket as he waits for you speak up with an answer. His smirk never leaves his face, chewing on a piece of mint gum obnoxiously.

“I don’t know.” You voice soft, eyes looking down at his worn out shoes. The man lets out a loud laugh, walking towards you, hands still in his pocket, as taller figure leans over you, looking at you as if he was gonna eat you up alive. “You shouldn’t be wandering around here so late at night. Any predator would’ve gotten you as their prey by now, little lamb.” You jump at his words a bit, riiight. You now remember the warning that cop gave to you, but you can’t help but say what comes out your mouth. “You don’t happen to be a murderer.. Do you—?"

Another loud laugh leaves the man’s mouth. No way you really just asked him a question like that. The answer was obviously yes. But he wouldn’t say that out loud, “Those were just props, doll. You would’ve been dead by now if I was a murderer.” You let out a sigh of relief. It was so sad to him at how easily you can believe lies.

No response from you once again, “The name’s Sim Jaeyun. Jake or Jaeyun, whatever you want pretty.” He winks at you, one hand moving out of his pocket, you don’t flinch or feel fear still. Allowing him to move strands of your hair behind your ear. You easily melt into the touch of this stranger man’s hand. “Jaeyun.” You repeat, the irises in his eyes darken at the way you said his name, hand moving to hold the side of your cheek.

“I’m Y/n.”, Introducing yourself, his hand moving away from you and going back in his pocket. Jaeyun wasn’t going to kill you.. He wanted you. “And what are you still doing here, Y/n?” Jaeyun’s voice deep and filled with fake curiosity. You don’t know what had gotten into you, you felt bold, you wanted to be out there more. “I want to get to know you..” Straightening yourself up, fixing your skirt that was slightly rising up. “Get to know me? Huh. How interesting..” Jaeyun chuckles again.

“Well I feel the same way too, sweetheart.” He adds on. You smile, so unknowing of all the things this man has done prior to now. “Why don’t I take you for a little drive —? I have a spot I’ve never shown anybody before.”

The word ‘No’ should’ve came out of your lips, but instead you quickly nodded, taking in his offer of being in his passengers seat.

“Is this spot in the middle of a forest..” Your voice fades as you notice how for the past five minutes, Jaeyun is driving down a dark path with nothing but trees. You thought you must’ve been the funniest person in the world, because with almost anything you said to Jaeyun, he would laugh at you. But it wasn’t that, it was the fact you were so gullible. “Trust me darlin’. We’re almost there.” He reassured you, a hand resting on your thigh.

Jaeyun wasn’t going to harm you. And that was a hidden promise he kept in his head to himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of there being a single scratch on you.

“So what is this spot, Jaeyun—?” Your eyes light up at the view of a huge field of grass by a small lake. Getting out of the passengers seat, you grab Jaeyun’s hand, walking along the grass, you were practically skipping. “This place is somewhere I get all of my things done.” He replies to you. You fidget with the bottom hem of your skirt as you’re reminded of his black duffel bag and the crow bar with blood on it. It was as if he could read your mind, “Nothing’s bad going to happen to you , Y/n.” He brushes off your doubt, the way your name effortlessly rolled out of his lips made you feel weak in the knees.

He was right, you both just simply sat in the blades of grass that went on for miles, talking about yourselves, getting to know each other; “I’ve always wanted to someone this special place of mine.” Jaeyun’s face was happy with content, now that what he said has finally happening, relaxing his back flat on the grass.

Admiring the view of the lake, and the man himself, “It’s such a beautiful place here, Jaeyun..” There goes your soft voice again, and your eyes of adoration. Jaeyun felt like he could become a mad man by any minute now, he felt the desire to keep you close to him, and he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

That’s how you found yourself straddling his lap on the drivers’ seat of his car. His lips devouring yours, claiming you as his. You whine against his lips when you feel one of his hands move down to cup at your clothed heat. You hear him let out a deep chuckle as he pulls his lips away, leaving you to feel confused.

Realization hits you like a truck. You were about to sleep with a man you barely know. Despite feeling a deep connection and attachment to Jaeyun, you don’t fully know who he is at all.. Or what he does, despite talking for a couple hours by on the field of grass. “Something on your mind?” Jaeyun hums, his lips trailing along the soft skin of your neck, harshly sucking and marking dark purples spots that can be seen by others.

“Wait Jaeyun—!” You pull yourself away from him. “Hm?” — “What if someone sees us?” Hesitation in your voice at the idea of that. It’s not like you a virgin by any means.. You just haven’t had sex many times. And especially not at a place where people could see you, even if Jaeyun’s windows were tinted. “Doll. Only murderers would be at a spot like this, late at night. But no one’s here. And it’s just you and me.” Jaeyun coos.

You felt weirdly comforted by his words. Easing into his touch, placing your lips over his, it’s much rougher this time, his tongue dances his way into your mouth, it was so sloppy as the smacking sounds filled Jaeyun’s car. “Want more Jaeyun..” You pant, the sound of Jaeyun ripping your panties apart filling your ears. Gasping as your arms wrap around his neck, falling forward slightly as he handles you to where he wants.

“You want me to show you what’s in my disgusting, twisted mind? To ruin you and keep you to myself? Because baby, once I do all that, you can’t leave me.” He warns you, allowing you to rethink your doubts. But you want it all. You don’t care that you’ve met this man a few hours ago, an unknown man in your highly secured apartment, and how it’s 2:37 am in the middle of the night. You wanted to do something for yourself for once, even if deep down, you knew there had to be more to Jaeyun, he doesn’t seem anything like a saint.

You nod rapidly, “Give it all to me Jaeyun. Show me your world.” Your response makes Jaeyun let out a deep laugh at how easy it was to convince you with his words. But, he wasn’t lying in anything he said, Jaeyun was going to make sure you stay by his side, forever. You were easy to read, you were the type of girl that had loyalty painted all over her face. You needed someone to lead you in life, Jaeyun was the perfect person to do that for you. He wouldn’t lay a single hand on you.

“Have you done something like this before?” Jaeyun raises an eyebrow at you, his cold digits tracing along your folds, collecting your wetness making your breath hitch at the contact. “Only a few times.. and not anywhere outside either.” You admit, eyes shying away from his. Jaeyun’s free hand pulls up your chin to look at him again, “Was he good—?” Jaeyun’s eyes darken at the thought of there being another man before him.

“Mmph—! No! Not really—!” You shriek to reply when you feel one of his fingers plunge into your tight cunt, the warmness of your gummy walls clamping around his singular digit making the cold leave his skin. “Can barely take one finger..” He comments, fingers finding a pace comfortable for you. He adds a second finger in, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll show you what it feels like to be fucked reaaaal good you’ll forget about all of the other times and only remember me.” Emphasizing that one word.

“S’ so good Jaeyun!” You cry out, nails digging into his shirt covered shoulders, the pain giving pleasure to him. You feel him quicken his pace, his thick fingers dragging along your tight warm walls, already having your head spinning and seeing the clouds. “Taking it like such a good girl..” He smiles, feeling his bulge strain through the tight confinements of his boxers and jeans at the sounds that left your lips. You tighten around his digits impossibly tighter when his thumb finds its way to rub at your clit, a sensation you’ve never really experienced before, and you surely want to feel this again.

“Feels good huh—?” Jaeyun asks, a smirk ghosting over his face at the sight of tears rolling down your face. Nothing but pure pleasure coursing through your entire body, and he hasn’t even stuck his dick into you yet. “You’ll always be mine.” Possessiveness filling his tone as he scissors and twists his digits, a whimper leaving your lips at the feeling of pure ecstasy, burying your face into the crook of Jaeyun’s neck to conceal your sounds.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me.” He growls, the free hand that placed on your waist moving to tug at your hair, pulling your face away from his neck. “M’ close Jaeyun please—!” You plead, rolling your hips slightly, feeling his fingertips hit right at that one spot so good.

“Let go for me, darlin’. Show me how good I make you feel.” That was a demand that you didn’t mind to follow; body shaking slightly as you calm from the intensity of your orgasm; body flopping against Jaeyun’s chest. Tapping the side of your exposed thigh, pulling your skirt up; “Don’t get all tired on me doll. I’m not done with you yet.” You sit up, pulling your shirt over your head to leave you only in your bra, tits spilling out of the cups.

Jaeyun curses at the sight, hand moving to the back of your bra, unhooking it effortlessly and tossing it to the passenger seat. “So fuckin’ perfect.” He comments, hands moving to fondle with your sensitive tits, thumbs rubbing roughly over the erected nubs, making you few new sensations, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted the real thing, the million dollar prize, his cock inside you.

It was as if he read your mind, his hands leave your tits, making you let out a needy whine with no more contact on your body. Jaeyun tsks at your desperation, hands unbuckling his belt and pulling down his boxers along his pants. You freeze in place, thick cock shiny in glory in the poorly dim lighted car. Pink mushroom tip throbbing angrily, precum oozing out and down along his length.

Jaeyun just really can’t help but laugh at you. He was a predator engrossed into his prey, the way your eyes had a slight sparkle from the moment you locked eyes with him, to now; Eyes blinking nervously at the sheer size of him. “You can take me, can’t you, doll—?” Jaeyun asks, noticing the subtle shift of your gaze, as you slowly nod.

He moves his arms to rest behind his head, leaning back on the drivers seat, giving you a glance to make a move. “Jaeyun..” — “What’s on your mind doll—?” You take a deep breath, hands resting on his chest, “I’ve never really done this..” You feel embarrassed again, but your eyes don’t leave Jaeyun’s this time. “I know, baby. I just wanted to see if you could do it yourself.” “Can’t do it without your help, Jaeyun.” You frown, hand moving down to grip at his thick length, your hand not being able to fully wrap around it. Jaeyun hisses at the contact. Moving his hands to move your loose strands of hair behind your ear, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, brushing the side of your face. “I got you, doll.”

Holding your hips to hover your sopping cunt directly over his mushroom tip, your hands holding onto his shoulders for dear life. His placement on your hips allows him to circle your entrance over his tip, collecting your wetness with dripping along his thick length. You look down, not sure if you’re gonna be actually able to take it.

“Oh shiiit—! You’re still so much fuckin’ tighter than what I thought.” A long groan leaves Jaeyun’s mouth as he slowly pumps his cock into you, you feel every ridge and vein rubbing against your silky walls, bottoming out eventually. Fresh batches of tears cloud your vision as you’ve never felt anything this big stuffed into you, and Jaeyun was definitely bigger than that ex of yours that went down on you in the past. “S’ so big.” You whimper out, burying your face into Jaeyun’s neck and moaning against his soft skin. You could feel his tip prodding so deep inside you along with the slow strokes he gave you.

The first few thrusts he gave you were soft and tender, but Jaeyun reminded himself that he wanted to ruin you, to show you what it’s like to actually feel good from him only. “Oh goddd—!” You moan out when Jaeyun thrusts his hips up harsher, feeling him in your stomach as a small bulge is poking through your gentle skin.

“I’m far from being god, doll.” Jaeyun smirks, knowing he could quite literally be the devil. “Scream my name. Who’s the one making you feel like this.” He grins at your disheveled figure, desperately holding onto his shoulders as if you’re afraid to crumble and break apart. You’ve never felt like this before, his hips pistoning in and out of you at such a animalistic pace, you’re not sure if you could last longer, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by cumming too quickly. Screams of you saying Jaeyun’s name rings in his ear, he is overly joyed with your state.

He handles you like a rag doll. Hands on your hips, pulling you and down along his thick length, a white ring forming on his cock as you cream and convulse around him, feeling your orgasm approaching soon. “You close, doll—?” He asks, teeth nipping one of your ears. A mantra of yes’ leaving your mouth along with your heavy pants as you pathetically attempt to move your hips to meet his movements. The sound of your soft shrieks along with Jaeyun’s harsh grunts filled the car.

His movements not stopping or changing as you allow the coil in your stomach to snap, coating his cock in your creamy white essence, sobs leaving your mouth as you ride out your orgasm.

“Hold it out a little longer f’me doll.” You dive headfirst into overstimulation, Jaeyun continuously bucking his hips up to chase his own orgasm, hips stilling as he shoots thick strings of his cum deep into you. Resting his forehead over yours as you both take a moment to catch your breath. “Did so good for me.” Jaeyun sighs, pulling you off of him, leaving you now empty.

Jaeyun helps you put your clothes back on, but you have no panties. You frown, feeling his cum drip down your thighs. “Are you on the pill—?” You nod yes. Jaeyun sighs in relief, he couldn’t hold himself back today, pulling you back in for a kiss, a string of saliva connecting to the two of you when he pulls away.

“Jaeyun. How am I going to go back to my apartment with no panties..” You did not want the other residents to see Jaeyun’s seed drooling down your legs.

“You just keep your legs closed.” He laughs, spinning the ruined piece of article around his finger.

A week has gone by. There’s a pattern you start to notice. You only saw Jaeyun as soon at it hits dark, the familiar car parking at the alley across your apartment building. You never see him during the daytime.. And you still don’t know a lot about him. You’re drawn to him like a magnet, your friends don’t understand you at all.

“It sounds suspicious Y/n, I don’t know. You only see him at night?” Belle tells you, sipping her drink. You and your small circle of friends constantly ignored the warnings on the news for young adults to avoid roaming the streets past 8:00pm. All of your figured since there were a couple guys in the group, you guys would be safe.

“You don’t understand.” That’s what you say everytime any of your friends would comment on whenever you talked about Jaeyun to them. You felt frustrated, but they were only looking out for you, and you didn’t realize that. “We care about you, Y/n. But, it’s just the fact you’ve never seen this man in broad daylight..” Sungchan says, carefully picking his choice of words.

You guys were wrapping up this gathering to go home. Julie suggests Sungchan to walk you home as there had been an increase of stabbing reports happening around your street, double of the usual numbers. You accept the offer, since after all, Sungchan was only a friend to you..

“Are you sure you don’t need me to go up with you..?” Sungchan double checks, there are no other people around the area, and the cops are making their rounds at the neighboring streets. You nod, because you knew that Jaeyun would be here around this time and he would be the one protecting you incase anything happened.

“Alright then.” Sungchan waves a goodbye, hands in his pockets as he walks across. You turn, away, pressing the security code to enter the building.

What was not known is that Jaeyun is watching from afar, his blood boiled to see another man so close to you. He felt a primitive instinct to do something.

Your ears ring when you hear a familiar shout so loud, as if that person was pleading for help, you’re quick to turn, the security code to the apartment only having half of the numbers entered. Your hand flies to cover your mouth in shock at the sight across you; watching your own friend slowly fall to the ground, a knife lodged straight into his heart, pushing through his chest.

Whoever wanted to kill him, was quick to do it. Because there were no traits, and Sungchan couldn’t have been the one to stab himself. But Jaeyun happened to walk out, and Jaeyun just happened to be taking off black latex gloves and a mask and scanning the surroundings around him, not even amused at the fact there was a now dead body near his feet. Jaeyun simply just brushes it off and grins widely when he sees you across the alley. It was clearly also him who did that to Sungchan, and possibly Mr. Han on the fourth level, who had been actively trying to pursue you. It wasn’t a coincidence.

Tears flowed past your eyes as you froze. You were nonverbal as you simply started to sob into the killer’s arm. And you still weren’t convinced that Jaeyun did it, though the facts were so obvious. “Shhhh. Luckily I came here just in time to be here for you, doll.”

“He just— He— What if he walked up with me..” You cried, tearing soaking onto Jaeyun’s shirt. “You can’t control what happens to people, doll. I’m lucky that nothing happened to you.” Jaeyun responds, a smirk creeping up inside of his head knowing that he has you wrapped around his finger.

“Why are we going out of town—?” You ask Jaeyun, looking out of the windows of his car a couple hours later. You packed a mini suitcase with some clothes as Jaeyun instructed, telling you he wanted to take you to a place to spend some ‘quality time’ for the weekend.

It should’ve been alarming to you that you guys were practically in the middle of nowhere. “Doesn’t it feel so suffocating to be in such a busy city, surrounded by so many people sometimes?” His hand that was resting on the top of your thighs dragging over. It was pitch black, the headlights of his car being the only thing lighting up the road. “It’s just.. I only see you when it’s late at night. How come you never come to see me during the daytime?” Jaeyun sighs, speeding up the car a bit, jaw clenching tightly. You notice the way his jaw loosens once he turns around to glance at you adoringly.

“I’m a busy man, doll. But I always make time for you, don’t I?” Lies continue to pour out of his mouth, yet you never caught onto any of them, simply abiding anything he initiates without questioning.

There’s a radio in the run down motel room. The building is so outdated, it’s quite baffling how such a beat down place is still running. You don’t mind how shabby it is.

'Unsolved Murders in Seoul that are believed to be connected to each other-' Jaeyun shuts off the radio.

“That’s ridiculous.” He laughs, walking towards your figure that was standing where the radio was playing. “You’re so pretty.” Jaeyun mumbles, watching as tears pulled at your eyes, the radio reminding you of how you witnessed your friend slowly dying, and you did nothing.

The image still played in your head, how the blood on his wound oozed out, his weak pleas for help. And all you did was stood there frozen until you saw Jaeyun.

“Still thinking about earlier?” Jaeyun asks, fingers swiping the tears that poured down your cheeks. He was fake sympathizing with you, he didn’t actually care that you lost one of your closest friends, because he was the one that did it, and you’re blatantly choosing right now, to ignore all of the obvious keys.

“What if instead, I called for help? He probably would still be alive right now. And that’s all my fault. ” You stammer, body jumping as you felt Jaeyun’s large hands roam around your body, grasping at your breast through the thin material of his oversized t-shirt you were going to wear to bed, eventually pulling it off your body. “It would’ve been you dead instead. And I wouldn’t want it to be that way. I love you.”

Love? You’ve barely known Jaeyun for a good two to three weeks and yet you feel your heart swirl at the use of that word. You were sure you felt the same way he did. He held a possessive nature you couldn’t quite get a grasp on, but he gave you what you wanted. You were weak to his actions, there was no way he wasn’t the one who killed Sungchan, or was at least suspicious.

“I love you too..” You whispered, lower lip get caught between your teeth when Jaeyun places his lips over the soft skin of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist from behind. “Let me make you feel better. Make you forget all that guilt you have in your head.” He mumbles.

Turning you around, you stand on your tip-toes to place your lips over his, Jaeyun hungrily gaining control and devouring your lips, tongue licking up into your mouth, tangling along with your tongue. You whine against his lips feeling him bite your lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but it was rough enough for a reaction.

“So needy.” He laughs, watching the way your hands traveled under his shirt, attempting to pull it off over his head. He pushes your shoulder down, indicating what he wants you to do. You feel so tainted at how quick you were to sink to your knees, eyes looking up awaiting.

He had the eyes of a killer, how his eyes turned so dark when he had someone in the control of his hands. “What are you waiting for? It’s not gonna get sucked by itself.” Pulling down his boxers, his hardened cock springs out, tip pink and leaking with arousal. He watched amused as your eyes trailed to his, then back to his large veiny cock. Carefully placing your soft lips to envelop the thick mushroom tip, nasty sucking sounds filling the room as you slowly push your head forward to take in more of him, choking when you feel his tip hit the back of your throat when your a little over halfway. Loud groans leave Jaeyun’s mouth, not hiding the pleasure from you.

“Just like that shit. Let me fuck that cute mouth of yours huh?” You whine around him, nodding in agreement. You were being used like a toy, Jaeyun’s hands placed on both sides of you face as he pushed his hips forward, chasing for his own pleasure and finding satisfaction in the way you just took anything he gave you.

“God I love how nasty you’ve become for me.” He laughs, pulling out briefly to glance at your ruined state. Your eyes red, full of tears. And one of your bra straps falling off your shoulders, along with your hair all messy from Jaeyun’s grip earlier. “Please Yunnie.” You plead, hands pawing his thighs for him to do something about your own arousal that was leaking through your panties.

The way that nickname flew out of your mouth and into his head made Jaeyun a possessed man, gesturing for you to open up your mouth again, you whine but obey. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll give you everything you want after you let me fill up that little mouth of yours.” Slapping his heavy cock on your tongue before thrusting back deep into it, throwing his head back at the warmth of your mouth, and how you sucked his base perfectly.

“I’m gonna cum, fuckkk. Such a good girl.” Jaeyun praises, hips battering sloppily as you feel him twitch in your mouth, filling your throat deep with his release, his cum spilling out the sides of your mouth, Jaeyun brings his thumb to swipe at the cum spilling out the sides of your lips, pushing his thumb in for you to suck. Opening your mouth afterwards to show him you swallowed every drop he gave you. A smile of approval on Jaeyun’s face.

Hovering above you on the bed, your neck is littered in dark purple bruises, soft sighs of content leaving your lips when you feel your breast being freed from the confines of your bra, panties peeling off quickly from Jaeyun’s hand as he kneels to be eye level with your dripping cunt. “Please Jae..” You whimper, fingers lacing through his dark brown hair strands, massaging his head slightly as your hooded eyes looking below your spread legs. You didn’t wait for too long when you feel him lick a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“mmmh—!” You mewl out, nails digging into Jaeyun’s head at your head throws back against the bed’s pillows. Your sounds along with the nastiness of Jaeyun’s tongue darting around your dripping cunt, almost burying his face against it, groaning at your sweet taste as he pushes his tongue past your entrance, the warmness of your walls wrapping around his tongue.

His groaning against your cunt sends vibrations and pleasure travelling all over your body, eyes closing as you try to contain your sounds with the thin walls of the run down motel, feeling Jaeyun’s tongue explore every part of your lower half. Your legs start to clamp around his head tightly, feeling how he held the bottom your thighs to keep your legs spread for him, all exposed.

It was as if he was a starved man, devouring you as if it was his last meal, relishing in your wails and cries of the sensations of his tongue along with the pleasurable pain of your nails digging into his head. You were close, and Jaeyun knew that, bye the way your thighs started to slightly shake around his head, the way your fingers tugged chunks of his hair as you tried to ground yourself as your body gives out, finishing all over his lower face.

Your face tints a soft shade of pink as Jaeyun rises up from his eye level position, your release painted all over his face, watching how he used his backhand to wipe it off and lick it, moaning at your sweet taste.

“You can take more of me right?” He asks as he peels off his remaining clothes, looking at the way you rapidly nodded your head, strings of pleas leaving your lips to feel him on you again. A small place is placed on your lips, tasting yourself against your tongue.

You feel yourself being flipped onto your front, the cold sheets sending shivers over your body as Jaeyun handles you to the position he wants, back arching and presenting your continuously dripping cunt, hole clenching around nothing as you feel his hands travel around your lower half, hands squeezing at the soft flesh of your ass, aligning himself to your entrance and pushing in roughly and fast. “Shiiit. Still so tight.” Jaeyun hisses, allowing you no time to adjust, already setting a rough pace that had him lodged in you deep.

“Jaeyun—! Slower!” You moan, the pleasure of his thick cock already making you feel another orgasm approaching, not wanting to pathetically cum too quickly. Feeling him push against the back of your head into the pillows, not listening to you as his pace fastens, tip hitting your cervix repeatedly as all you could is just lay and take it all.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much.” Jaeyun teases, feeling the way your walls clamped around his thickness with each stroke of his harsh thrusts, wet sounds of his cock repeatedly sliding in and out of you filling the room. Your push your own face harder into the pillows, trying to contain your sounds as Jaeyun’s relentless pace didn’t stop, even as you finished around him for the second time, going into overstimulation as his hips continuously smacked against your thighs.

“More Jaeyun.” You whisper, turning your head slightly, even though you deemed yourself done, a part of you still wanted to take more, feeling yourself being flipped onto your back. God, you were such a sight for Jaeyun. Your doe glossy eyes meeting his darkened irises, silently begging for him to stick his cock back in you.

“Hold your thighs up for me.” He tells you, guiding you to make that happen. You were nearly folded in half, your puffy pussy on display, hole pulsating and begging to suck Jaeyun back in. A loud moan that other guests probably heard leaves your lips as Jaeyun re-enters you, this new position making him hit deeper in your cunt.

“Shitshitshit—!” You cry out, trying to hold yourself up as Jaeyun wanted as he relentlessly jackhammered his cock into you over and over again. He lets out a string of low groans, along with your high-pitched moans, feeling how tight you clenched around him. “Feels good huh?” A smirk plastered on his face as he looks down at the way his cock slid in you so deep, keeping up with his rough and fast place, moving to place one of your legs over his shoulders. Your head lolled to the side, overwhelmed with pleasure seeping into your body.

“M’ gonna cum again ‘Yun.” You whimper, feeling his tip make a small bulge against your stomach as your palm presses down against it. “Hold or f’me a little doll.” He grits his teeth, thrusts becoming more sloppy as he’s only focused on chasing his own release. Holding your hips so tight, you were sure there would be marks by the time you woke up in the morning.

“Good fuckin’ doll.” Jaeyun sighs, thick strings of his cum filling you so deep, as he helps you ride out your orgasm, shuttering around his cock. Your eyes are giving out, feeling Jaeyun crash his body to the open space beside you on the mattress. The darkness in his eyes was gone, only full with what you saw as love and affection. He mumbled another promise to you that had your heart racing naively.

“I will always take care of you, doll. No matter what it takes, I will do anything for you.” And he genuinely meant what he said, even if it took such unorthodox ways to keep you by his side.

The news broadcast on the television plays, the sound of the water running in the bathroom as Jaeyun is taking a shower. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, lazily standing close to the television as you’re eating breakfast from room service. You’re half paying attention to what the news anchor is saying. But then you pause when you hear Sungchan’s death being mentioned again.

More details are added on, along with blurred footage of Jaeyun’s figure from hours ago, in the exact outfit you ran into him wearing, his face is covered by the mask. But you knew it was him. You couldn’t be naive to this.

Jaeyun is a murderer. And you were on the run with a wanted man that you were in love with.

Your jaw opens, dropping the fork, and eventually the plate with your food, nothing bothering to clean the mess up as you watch the news explaining more detail. You felt so stupid, not even noticing Jaeyun’s presence in the room as you stood there lifelessly trying to process this ‘newfound’ news.

And for once as your eyes meet Jaeyun’s, they’re filled with fear. His pupils dark and filled with wickedness. A sly grin is plastered on his face as he stares at you.

“Well well well, the little lamb has finally realized she’s fallen into the arms of its predator.”

— @00kittenz @pshbites @selleprotection @p4ranormaluv @slutforjaeyun @jaeyunsbimbo @faithnsstuff

note: thank u so much for 460+ followers 🥹🥹!! i appreciate all the support you guys give on my posts 🤧🤧🫶🫶

[wonenonly]

The Pressure Point - Kim Sunoo x F!Reader

It was like you couldn’t get rid of him. No matter how hard you tried to avoid him, he always found a way to be close to you. Sunoo didn’t understand boundaries.

cw : dark!sunoo, noncon to dubcon, and reader gets drugged.

word count : 4.7k

It was like you couldn’t get rid of him. No matter how hard you tried to avoid him, he always found a way to be close whether it was sitting next to you in class or suddenly joining the debate team, the one you were captain of. It became so unbearable that you quit all your clubs, hoping he’d finally back off. But it didn’t work.

Sunoo didn’t understand boundaries.

At first, it was subtle. His fingers brushing your thigh under the desk. His hand sweeping your hair aside when you were trying to take notes, murmuring something meaningless just to make you flinch. You tried to be gracious. Tried to tell yourself he was just overly friendly, maybe socially awkward. Still, your skin would crawl every time.

Then he asked you out. You said no, as kindly as you could. Told him you weren’t looking for anything right now, hoping he’d take the hint and leave you alone. But he didn’t. If anything, the rejection made things worse.

The light touches became pinches. Sometimes, he’d dig the end of his pen into your thigh when no one was looking. The soft strokes in your hair turned into sharp tugs that left your scalp sore. He was smart about it, always careful, always watching for when no one else was paying attention. You tried to report it. You asked to move seats and told your teacher what had been happening. But she didn’t believe you. “Sunoo isn’t like that,” she said, her tone almost pitying. “You’re probably just misreading the situation.”

But you weren’t.

“Okay, guys!” Mrs. Choi yelled over the noise, finally getting the class to quiet down. “It’s time to talk about your end-of-term project. It’s worth 55% of your final grade, so I suggest you listen up.” It was supposed to be important something you should’ve been paying attention to but you couldn’t. Not with Sunoo sitting beside you, his hand constantly brushing against your thigh again, fingertips tapping too close, too deliberately. You shifted away, but he only leaned in further. Then his fingers slid higher. That was it. You snapped.

Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist and slammed it down hard against the desk. The sound echoed in the stunned silence, and you stared him dead in the eyes. “Fucking stop it,” you hissed. You didn’t even realize how loud you’d been until Mrs. Choi called your name from the front of the room. “Is everything… okay?” she asked, eyebrows raised, the whole class now staring at you.

Heart racing, you quickly let go of Sunoo’s wrist and muttered, “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” Mrs. Choi didn’t press further. “Alright, then. Back to what I was saying it’s a duo project, and you’ll be working with your desk partner.” Your stomach dropped. You turned slowly to look at Sunoo—but he was already staring at you, a slow, eerie smile creeping onto his face. “This is going to be so much fun,” he whispered, voice low and unsettling.

You were counting down the seconds to the final bell, watching the clock like your life depended on it. As soon as the shrill ring echoed through the halls, you shot up from your seat, grabbing your bag in one swift motion, hoping to slip out before Sunoo noticed. You didn’t even make it out of your desk before his hand shot out and grabbed your upper arm, stopping you cold. His grip was firm, fingers pressing just a little too tight.

“Let’s head over to your house,” he said casually, “get started on the project.” You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sunoo… can we start working on it tomorrow?” You needed time. Time to talk to Mrs. Choi again. Time to figure out anything that might get you out of this situation. Sunoo smiled that same sweet smile that made everyone believe he was harmless. An angel. “No,” he said shortly, his tone clipped. “Let’s go now, okay?” He nodded once, like the matter was settled. You tried again, standing your ground. “Sunoo, I can’t today. Let’s do it tomorrow, I have tutoring later.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head slowly. “I never took you for a liar,” he said, his voice dropping as he stepped closer. “And a terrible one at that.” Your stomach dropped. “What?” you asked, already regretting it. “You quit tutoring last week, didn’t you?” he said with a laugh, sharp and too loud for the nearly empty classroom. Your eyes widened. “Sunoo… how do you know that?”

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Because I pay attention to things that I like,” he whispered. The way he said it made your insides twist. The words weren’t sweet. They weren’t romantic. They were wrong—possessive and cold, like he truly believed it. “Okay,” he said, standing up straight again, smile returning like a mask sliding back into place. “If you’re done with your little performance, let’s head to your house, yeah? Right, love?”

And just like that, he walked out of the classroom. You stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to do. Your mind screamed at you to run, but your body moved on autopilot, trailing after him in silence.

The hallways were mostly empty now, echoing with the distant slams of lockers and a few lingering voices. He held the door open for you like a gentleman, like none of the past ten minutes had happened. The sun was already beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Everything looked normal. And yet it wasn’t. As you stepped outside, the breeze hit you, warm and sticky. You could hear the chatter of a few students still hanging around the front gates, the roar of a distant engine, the hum of summer insects in the trees.

It should’ve felt like freedom. But every step away from the school felt heavier. Sunoo didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence beside you said enough. And when you glanced up, you realized with horror that he wasn’t checking for directions. He wasn’t waiting for you to lead. He already knew the way. He took every turn effortlessly. Walked with purpose. Like he'd done it before. How many times has he followed me home? you wondered, a sick feeling blooming in your stomach.

Your skin crawled as your house came into view, and you still didn’t know what you were going to do. But it was already too late. He was two steps ahead.

You thought you were going to throw up by the time you reached your front door. Your hands were shaking as you reached for your keys, but Sunoo stepped to the side, letting you unlock it like a gentleman, like he hadn’t just cornered you into this. Before you could even dig your keys out of your bag, the door swung open from the inside. Your mom stepped out, purse on her shoulder and keys in hand. Relief hit you hard. She’s home. For a brief, flickering moment, you thought maybe things would be okay. Sunoo wouldn’t try anything with her here.

“Hey, love!” she said brightly, leaning in to give you a quick hug. “I just got called in for work total emergency. I won’t be home tonight. I left money on the coffee table if you want to order pizza or something, okay?” My breath caught in my throat. She didn’t notice. She kissed your temple and turned toward the car, already halfway down the porch steps.

You opened your mouth to say something, to stop her, to beg her to stay, but before you could get a word out, she paused and glanced back toward the door. “Oh!” she said, eyes landing on Sunoo. “Is that your boyfriend?” You spun around, panic in your chest. “No—” “Yes,” Sunoo cut in smoothly, smiling with perfect ease. Your mom laughed, visibly delighted. “Finally! I thought she was going to turn twenty without ever having a boyfriend.” She winked at you like it was a joke, like she hadn’t just handed you over to a nightmare.

He laughed softly, as if there was nothing wrong with any of this. Your eyes stayed wide, unblinking. “Okay! I’ve really gotta run,” your mom said, stepping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “You two have fun, okay? Don’t burn the house down.” And just like that, she was gone. Off to work, completely unaware of the terror curling inside your chest. As her car disappeared down the street, Sunoo turned to you with that same slow, knowing smile. “Looks like it’s just the two of us tonight,” he said.

Then, without waiting for an invitation, he brushed past you and stepped inside—like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like he lived here. You stood frozen in the doorway, heart pounding in your ears. Oh god was all your mind could muster.

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you—but didn’t lock it. Just in case you had to run. Paranoid? Maybe. But being alone in a house with Sunoo made your skin crawl. You didn’t trust him. Not even a little. He wandered casually through the living room, picking up framed family photos like he belonged there. “Wow,” he said with a faint smile, examining one of them. “There’s so many of you... You looked so cute here.” His finger brushed the glass, lingering too long, before he gently set it down and turned to face you.

You hadn’t moved from where you stood by the door. “Let’s get started,” he said lightly, then without asking, headed up the stairs.

Your body went rigid. Where is he going? You rushed to follow. “Sunoo—where are you going?” He didn’t answer. When you reached the top of the stairs, you found him standing in front of your bedroom door. There was nothing on it. No nameplate. No decorations. Nothing to suggest it was yours. Your stomach dropped. How does he know? Before you could even voice the question, he opened the door and walked in like it was the most natural thing in the world. You followed him slowly, unease prickling at the back of your neck.

He was already seated on your bed, fingertips ghosting over your pillows like he was savoring the feel of them. Trying to ignore the nausea curling in your gut, you sat at your desk your back to him and pulled out your laptop. “What topic do you want the project to be on?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. You didn’t dare turn around.

There was a pause. Then a soft “Hmm...” And the creak of your bed as he stood up. Even without looking, you could feel him creeping up behind you. You felt it. The temperature in the room shifted. A bead of sweat slid down the back of your neck as your breath caught in your throat. And then his hands were on your shoulders.

“Not so fast, we should talk a bit first.” he whispered, his voice too close. You snapped. You grabbed his wrist—again. This is becoming a habit, you thought bitterly. “Get your hands off me, Sunoo,” you said, sharp and steady. “I’m not interested in you like that. Can you take a hint, please? Stop—and let’s just focus on the project.”

His smile faltered. For a second, his eyes darkened, jaw clenching like he might do something. But then… he blinked, and it was gone. Replaced by that same sickly sweet grin. “Okay,” he said too easily. “Whatever you say.” You stood up before he could speak again. “I’ll go get us some water and snacks,” you muttered, needing a reason to leave the room. To breathe. You didn’t wait for a response.

You walked down the stairs quickly, gripped the edge of the kitchen counter with both hands, and tried to steady your racing heart.

You stood in the kitchen, the cool hum of the fridge doing little to quiet the thud of your heartbeat. Your fingers fumbled as you grabbed two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. Your chest heaved, each breath dragging through the weight of fear. Just a project, you reminded yourself. Get through this. Keep your head down. Don’t give him anything else to twist. You opened the drawer and pulled out a bag of chips, hands shaking slightly as you tried to reseal the drawer as quietly as possible.

You didn’t want to go back up there. You didn’t want to see what he might be doing while you were gone. With one last deep breath, you forced yourself to move. You padded toward the stairs, each step heavier than the last, bottles gripped too tightly in your hands.

The door creaked open, and your body locked up on instinct. Sunoo was standing by your bookshelf, holding something in his hands. As you stepped closer, your heart skipped, he was reading your diary. He hadn’t even noticed you come in. Without thinking, you snatched it from him. “Don’t touch that. It’s personal.” He turned slowly, feigning innocence. “Oh, I didn’t know.” But the way he said it made your skin crawl, you could tell he was lying. Not wanting to escalate things further, you took a small step back, clutching your diary. “Let’s just get to work.”

The two of you finally sat down and, after two painfully long hours, managed to settle on a project topic: culture. You were halfway through drafting the introduction when you finished typing the last line: “That’s why it’s important to learn about your culture and connect with your family.” You sighed, uncapped your water bottle, and took a sip. “I’ll be right back—just going to the bathroom.”

You were only gone for three minutes. When you came back, you sat down at your desk again, leaning back in your chair and taking a longer drink this time, hoping it would help settle your nerves. You turned slightly toward Sunoo, ready to say, We can stop here for today… when your vision suddenly blurred. Your mouth went dry. Your limbs felt heavy.

Something was wrong. You blinked hard, trying to focus, but everything was spinning. Your eyes struggled to stay open as a wave of nausea hit you. From somewhere behind you, Sunoo’s voice drifted through the fog in your head. “That was fast…” You couldn’t hear the rest. Your fingers slipped from the armrest as your body collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud. You tried to focus, to speak, but your tongue was thick and the darkness crept in fast. 

The first thing you noticed was how cold you were. You didn’t see it. You felt it, hands moving slowly over your skin, light enough to raise goosebumps. You heard a voice near your ear say, “So soft,” and that jolted you awake. A groan slipped out as you opened your eyes, and what you saw sent a shock straight through your body. Sunoo was kneeling between your thighs. His hands were on you, touching you where no one should be. You screamed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

You tried to sit up, to shove him away, but your arms didn’t move. That was when you realized your wrists were tied and a cold wave of fear crashed over you. Pink ribbon bound your hands to the bedpost. Your breath caught. Did he bring those with him? Sunoo didn’t look surprised or guilty. He didn’t even flinch at your screaming. He just looked up at you with that same smile—the one that always fooled everyone else. “I thought this would help us get closer.” he said simply. And in that moment, the fear fully set in. He’d planned this. All of it.

You were too stunned to speak. You didn’t know what he had planned and you didn’t want to find out. So distracted, you didn’t even notice his hands rubbing your thighs, moving toward the belt of your jeans, undoing it. You tried to buck him off, but he pinned your hips to the bed, staring at you with an evil gleam in his eyes. "If you try that shit again, you won’t like it," he warned. You were paralyzed in place, heart pounding. He smiled, as if he hadn’t just threatened you, and returned to the waistband of your jeans, slowly sliding them down your legs almost like this was some romantic scene between lovers.

You finally manage to slide them off, his fingers trailing gently up the length of your legs. “So soft,” he murmurs, like he’s been imagining this moment forever. When his eyes meet yours, they are full of reverence, a quiet hunger wrapped in wonder. You flinch, breath catching. “Sunoo…” His name comes out shaky, like saying it might stop what’s coming. But his hands are already on your waist, steady and sure. He pulls you down just a little just enough to take what he wants next.

“Relax,” he says softly, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. You tense, instinctively clamping your thighs shut. His gaze flicks up. “Don’t,” he warns, his voice calm but edged with command. You swallow hard, fear choking your words. “Sunoo, this isn’t right. Stop… please.” His lips barely brush your ear. “You don’t get it, do you?” he says sweetly. “I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. You were always going to be mine.” You’ve always known Sunoo liked you, maybe a little too much. But you never imagined it would turn into this. You try to speak, to make him hear you, but he isn’t even looking at your face. His eyes are fixed lower, hands already working to strip away your last line of defense.

His hand presses against you through the fabric, firm, deliberate, and you gasp. You squirm against his touch, trying to twist away, just enough to pretend you still have control. “You can say no all you want,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers along your thigh. “But I can feel how wet you are. Your body’s already telling me yes.” His fingers hook into the top of your underwear, starting to tug it down. You instinctively clamp your thighs together, desperate to protect what little you have left. But then—Crack. Your head snaps to the side from the slap, sharp and sudden. “That was your fault,” he says, calmly. “If you had just listened, I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

You stay silent this time. Your mind slips away, retreating into a cold, distant place where nothing hurts, where you can watch without feeling. The room grows hazy around the edges, and your body moves on its own, trapped in a nightmare you can’t wake from. You aren’t risking pushing him further. You aren’t even sure you’re really there anymore.

No matter how much I tried to detach from the situation, I wasn’t prepared. His fingers were inside me, moving slowly, working me open with an achingly deliberate rhythm. I bit my lip, trying to stay quiet, trying not to let him know how much he was affecting me. But he did . “You don’t have to be quiet,” he says, voice low and unbearably calm. It doesn’t feel like a suggestion. It feels like he’s already made the decision for you.

You turn your face away, unsure if it’s shame or hesitation. His hand follows. Fingers leaving you just long enough to tip your chin toward him again, thumb brushing your jaw. “No, no,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I need those pretty eyes on me.” And you look. Not because you’re ready. Not because you want to. But because it’s easier than pretending you don’t feel this. Easier than pretending your body isn’t betraying you.

Then his fingers are back, deeper this time, his thumb pressing against your clit with a softness that undoes you more than anything else could. Your body tenses, thighs trembling. You’re trying to hold it in, you really are. But he feels it. The way your breath shudders. The way your hips twitch. “You’re close,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Yes, baby… fall apart for me.” And you do. Whether you meant to or not. You fall apart with his name caught behind your teeth.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, leaving you feeling suddenly empty. The absence made you clench instinctively, a whimper caught in your throat before you could stop it. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought those same fingers to his mouth—sucking on them like you were something sweet, something he meant to savor. His gaze dropped to you, to the mess he’d made, and his smirk deepened.

You tugged at the restraints around your wrists, testing them again even though you already knew it was useless. You were bound, and he wasn’t going to let you go. His hand moved to your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. With one sudden, sharp motion, he tore it open, buttons scattering to the floor. Your bra offered little protection, and he wasted no time tugging the cups down, exposing you fully. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, hands cupping your breasts, kneading them slowly. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching and playing until they stood hard and flushed. You shivered beneath his touch, every nerve ending heightened, your breath coming faster than you wanted to admit.

Before I could breathe, he leaned down and kissed you. As if you were lovers. As if he wasn’t a madman with his hands all over you, your wrists tied and your body trembling from what he'd already done. His lips lingered on yours like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. It felt… wrong. You didn’t kiss him back. Your body was already spiraling, and you didn’t trust yourself to move.

But then, without warning, he pinched your nipple hard. You gasped. He took that chance. His tongue pushed past your lips, deep and demanding, forcing you into a kiss you didn’t want. He devoured you with heat, and you could only whimper as he dominated the space between your mouths. When he finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva still connected you.

He sat back on his knees, breathing a little heavier now. Your eyes drifted downward, and that’s when you saw it—he was hard. So hard it strained against the fabric of his pants. He followed your gaze and chuckled.

“Yes, love,” he said, unbuckling his belt with one hand. “This is what you do to me.”

He freed himself, thick and flushed, precum already glistening at the tip. He moved closer, his hand guiding himself until the head was gliding slowly along your slit. You gasped when he tapped your clit with the head once, then again, slow and cruel. Each touch sent heat slicing through you, your thighs twitching, trying not to close around him. 

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Shivering for me already.”

You couldn’t stop the way your body was reacting. No matter how much your mind tried to hold on, your body had already betrayed you, arching into his touch, clenching around the promise of him, aching even as you told yourself you shouldn’t. He noticed, of course. “Don’t worry, babe,” he murmured as he positioned himself at your entrance, his voice low and almost softly. “I’ll be gentle… I swear.”

And then he pushed into you. Slow and steady. Your breath hitched, your back arching instinctively as your hips tried to twist away though you weren’t sure if it was to escape or to meet him halfway.

He caught your hips, holding you still, firmly. When he was fully inside, he didn’t move. He stayed there, breath shaking, as if overwhelmed by the feel of you wrapped around him. “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning over you, his forehead resting against yours. “You feel… too good. Too damn good.” You could feel his breath on your lips, the warmth of it, the intimate in a way that made your heart stutter.

“I wanted to be gentle,” he said softly, like it was a promise he wished he could keep. “But the way you’re squeezing me right now…” He trailed off. And then he began to move. Slow at first—deep, measured strokes that still made you gasp with each press of his hips. He wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t giving you a chance to forget who was in control, either. Your hands pulled against the restraints, more from instinct than hope.

A whimper slipped from your lips as he shifted his angle, tilting your hips with both hands, lifting you slightly. “There,” he murmured. “Right there…” And when he found that spot inside you that made your entire body tighten, he groaned softly, his pace picking up. And it left you trembling.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. Not like this, not with your wrists bound, your body exposed, and the sound of his hips meeting yours filling the air in a unsteady rhythm. But he was watching you. “God,” he muttered, his voice low, full of heat, “your tits look so fucking pretty bouncing like that.” He didn’t break his pace deep, unyielding strokes that left your breath catching with every thrust. Each movement sent a ripple through your chest, your skin flushed, nipples tight from his earlier attention. You turned your face away, but you felt the weight of his gaze dragging over every inch of you. Just hungry. Like you were something he’d waited too long to have and now that he did, he wasn't letting go.

You felt the shift in him before he even changed pace. His movements growing faster, deeper, more desperate. Your breath caught. You knew what was coming. “Sunoo… don’t come inside,” you gasped, the words spilling out on instinct, laced with tension you couldn’t hide. He looked down at you, eyes hooded and breathless. For a moment, he didn’t answer.

His voice dipped low, teasing. “We’ll see.” Your chest ached. It was not what he said, but the ease in his voice. The calm that wrapped around you while your body trembled beneath his.  You tried to move, a slight shift of your hips in protest, but it only drew him in deeper. Your body clenched around him, traitorous and too responsive. Your body tensed, then surrendered. The climax dragged you under, hot and absolute. He stayed steady, watching, feeling you lose control around him. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, voice low and reverent, “that’s it, baby… just like that. Cum for me.” He kept going, working you through the aftershocks with slow, deep thrusts that made your thighs tremble. But you could feel him getting closer too. “Please,” you whispered, barely able to catch your breath, “don’t come inside…” He groaned, his hips faltering. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Alright. Not this time.”

And with a shaky breath, he pulled out. The moment he slipped out, your body mourned the loss. You barely had time to react before his hand closed around himself, movements quick and full of intent. Release came seconds later, warm and thick across your skin, your chest and stomach covered in the evidence of him. The afterglow wrapped around you like silk.

You lay there, still bound, skin flushed and cooling, his release sticky on your chest. Your breathing hadn’t even settled yet, and neither had your thoughts. Everything felt disjointed like your body and mind were still trying to catch up to what had just happened. He leaned over you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. His touch was oddly gentle, almost tender, and that made it worse somehow.

"Next time," he said, voice soft and sure, "I’ll stay inside. I want you to remember me with every step you take." His words crawled under your skin like heat and ice all at once. You swallowed hard, trying to say something. Anything. But he was already fixing himself up humming softly to himself, the sound casual… almost cheerful. You blinked up at the ceiling, wrists still bound, heart still thudding. And it hit you then. This wasn’t over. You weren’t done. You were just his now and he hadn’t even needed you to say yes.

“Let’s continue the project tomorrow, okay?” he said, turning toward you with that same smile, the one that looked too gentle to belong to someone who had just unraveled you. You nodded slowly, unsure whether he was talking about the assignment… or you.

[wonenonly]

HIDE-AND-SEEK

Pairing: Jungwon x fem!reader

Summary- Wanna play hide and seek with your obsessed boyfriend? Too bad. He never loses. And you always do. Maybe try hiding better this time.

Mentions- Yandere behavior, psychological fear, dark manipulation, toxic obsession, rough sex, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, talking through orgasm, eating cum, sadism.

Author's note: Hi! This is my second time writing a fanfic, so please show a lot of love.♡Please ignore any grammatical mistakes, as English is not my first language. If you don’t enjoy this type of fanfic, please kindly back off. Hate comments will be deleted!

Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction and is not intended to reflect reality. The characters depicted here are fictional versions and do not represent their real-life personalities or actions. Please don't take this too seriously—it's all for fun and delulu purposes.

For better experience play this playlist♡

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Here we go again — another little game of hide and seek. Y/N always runs, always hides… but Jungwon always finds her in the end. No matter how many times she tries to escape, he catches her. Every time. And now, it’s happening again. She’s hiding. He’s coming for her — just like always.

"Looks like we’ll have to start the game all over again." Jungwon's voice is calm — almost teasing — as he steps closer, closing the distance between y/n and him.

He’s close. Too close.

Jungwon moves slowly, as if savoring the moment. Y/n feels the warmth of his breath before y/n feels his touch — his fingers hovering near y/n's waist, not quite touching, but letting y/n feel the weight of his presence.

His lips brush just beside y/n's ear, and then he leans in whispering, “You really thought you’d get away this time again?" Jungwon chuckles lowly, the sound deep and unsettling.

“That was cute. Really. The way you ran barefoot through the hallway, trembling with every step while I was right behind you…- chasing u".

Jungwon clicks his tongue mockingly.

“But baby, come on. You know how this ends. It always ends the same — with me… and you… right back here.”

A pause. A breath. Then—

“Hide better this time, baby… ’cause last time?” He smirks, voice dripping with menace. “You lost way too quickly.” His hand finally lands on y/n's waist — firm, possessive.

“Let’s make it fun this time, yeah?” “Run. Scream. Beg.” Jungwon leans even closer, lips almost touching y/n's skin. “I’ll still find you.”

"Now go. Run." His voice drops to a whisper. "Before I change my mind and catch you right now." "And just remember — never let me catch you. Because if I do… You won’t like what happens next."

Y/n freezes. Her instincts scream. Run.

Y/n sprints. Heart pounding.

Y/n didn't look back.

Y/n never look back.

He’s counting now. Slowly. Calmly.

Y/n darts into the hallway, breath catching as she stumbles over herself, adrenaline pumping so loudly in her ears it almost drowns out everything else. Her bare feet slaps against the cold floor, her body trembling as panic grips every muscle. She doesn't look back — she can’t. Looking back means losing time, and with him, every second counts.

Y/n finds the dusty storage room — dark, forgotten, and suffocating. She slips inside, nearly tripping over an old rug. The air is thick with dust, her breath ragged and shallow as she ducks behind a corner of stack of boxes and moth-eaten curtains. Y/n's arms wrap tightly around her knees, trying to make herself small. Invisible.

THEN—

“Shall we start, my love?” Jungwon says sweetly.

“10…

9…

"Don’t pick the kitchen again, Y/n. That’s too easy. Just like last time. You always think the obvious places are safe. But I know you too well for that,” Jungwon says while laughing softly.

8…

7…

"I hope you’re trembling already.”

6…

He begins humming. It’s gentle. Childlike. Innocent. The lullaby is not meant to comfort y/n. It’s meant to terrify her. To remind her that no matter where she hides — he’s coming for her.

5…

4…

"Maybe try the attic. Or under my bed,” Jungwon muses, almost fondly. “I love when you crawl."

3…

"You know I can feel you, right? Even when I don’t see you, I know exactly where you are."

2…

1…”

His voice lowers to a dangerous whisper.

“Ready or not… here I come, angel.”

Y/n clamp a hand over her mouth. Her whole body trembles — shoulders tight, knees drawn to her chest, heart beating so hard it echoes in her ears.

A distant door creaks open. Then another.

Each sound slices through the silence like a warning. He’s getting closer. Moving slowly. Patiently. Like a predator savoring the fear of its prey.

Y/n didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to breathe too loud. Because she knows — he’s not just looking for her. He’s listening to her— her breathing, her heartbeat.

Jungwon’s voice calls out, cheerful and almost sing-song, “Where are you, love? Come on, don’t be shy now. Make a sound for me, why so quiet? You asked for this. Make it easy for me." He laughs — low, amused — the sound crawling under y/n's skin and sending chills down her spine.

Then his tone shifts, playful yet cold.

“Hide and seek is such a simple game. You hide. I find. But in our version… you never get away. Not really.”

His footsteps echo as he walks past the storage room. Y/n holds her breath, every muscle in her body tightening, praying he doesn’t double back.

He pauses. Hears a creak. Comes back.

Jungwon’s voice slips through the silence, soft and dangerously close, just outside the door y/n is hiding in.

“You breathing fast already? I love that,” he murmurs, the amusement curling in his tone like smoke. “It means your body knows I’m close… even if your mind keeps lying to you. Pretending you can escape.”

The door creaks open slowly.

He steps inside — deliberate, silent, confident. Like he already knows where y/n is.

Y/n bites her tongue hard, the taste of iron blooming across her mouth as she tries not to make a sound. Not a breath. Not a sob. Nothing.

“Hmmm…” he hums, pretending to search. “Maybe here? No? Or here…”

Y/n hears him opening a cabinet. Then the scrape of fabric as he slides under a table. Every movement is precise. Controlled.

He’s not really searching. He doesn’t have to. He’s hunting. And worst of all — he’s enjoying it. Because he already knows exactly what corner y/n is curled up in. He’s just letting the fear sink in a little deeper.

"You always hide so cute. All curled up, breathing hard. I bet you're already sweating, aren't you?" Jungwon’s voice is soft — teasing. He’s savoring this — Her panic, Her fear of getting caught.

The way Y/n's body trembles even when he hasn’t touched her yet. "You’re shaking, aren’t you?" he continues, voice dropping lower. "I haven’t even laid a hand on you… and you’re already trembling."

A cruel chuckle slips past his lips.

He loves this part. The part where you still think you can hide from him somehow.

His voice drops lower — smooth and dark

“Where are you, love?” There’s a mockery of tenderness in his voice, like he’s genuinely enjoying this. He chuckles softly.

“Always running… always trying to slip through my fingers.” Footsteps echo softly as he moves like he's just dragging out the moment to watch y/n squirm.

“But you forget, love…” he continues, his tone dropping to a near-whisper, “…I always catch you in the end.”

He’s not rushing. He doesn’t have to. Because this isn’t a chase to him. And knows he always has the upper hand.

“You were so quick today. I’m impressed.” Jungwon’s voice is laced with mock disappointment, teasing. “It’s almost like you don’t want to be found.” A quiet laugh follows, casual—cruel. “But you do, don’t you? You want me to find you. You need me to.”

Then—clang. Something drops. Metal on tile. The sound is sudden, jarring. Y/n nearly screams. Her heart stutters.

“Oops.” His voice is soft, dangerously calm now. “Did I scare you?”

He’s right outside the room. So close y/n can hear the weight of his breath. Then—nothing. Silence. Thick and suffocating.

He’s waiting. Listening. Like a predator crouched in the dark, grinning at the helpless sound of her breath.

“I can hear you, angel,” he murmurs through the wall. “You should’ve stayed quiet.”

A pause. A low, cruel chuckle.

“But then again… I like it when you make it easy for me.”

“I hope you’re hiding somewhere smart, love…” Jungwon said, his voice soft — almost fond, but laced with a dark promise that made y/n's blood run cold. “Because once I start looking, I won’t stop.”

A beat passed. Then his tone dipped lower, more possessive. “Not until I have you again.” Y/n pressed herself tighter into the shadows, heart pounding, lungs aching to stay quiet. But deep down, she knew — he’d already started. And Jungwon always founds her.

Jungwon hummed softly, the sound eerily gentle as it floated through the hallway. “You know… I love when you do this,” he said, almost like he was reminiscing. “Running… hiding… pretending like you don’t want me.”

The silence between each of his footsteps was worse than the sound itself — heavy, stretched, threatening. He was close. Too close. Then he stopped. Right outside the room y/n is hiding in.

Jungwon’s voice dropped to a thoughtful murmur. “Hmm… maybe you’re in this room?” A beat passed. “No… maybe,” he chuckled darkly, fingers brushing the doorknob, “or yes.”

Jungwon’s voice floated through the tense air like a lullaby laced with venom. “Knock knock… is my little dove hiding behind here?” he called out, his tone light and playful — a predator cloaked in sugar-sweet words.

Y/n didn’t answer. She didn’t dare.

“That’s fine,” he murmured, just loud enough to reach your ears.

And then — slam — the sound of a door being yanked open echoed like a gunshot down the hallway. But not your door. Not yet.

Silence followed, heavy and suffocating, before his voice returned — a soft chuckle slipping through his lips. “Ah… you tricked me,” he said, amused. There was no real frustration in his voice — only anticipation, and that edge of darkness that always bled through when he was enjoying the chase.

“That’s alright,” he whispered, footsteps resuming — slow, calculated, savoring the moment like a wolf circling its prey. “You want to make this more fun, huh? Then I’ll play along. I’ll let you think you’re winning. That you’ve outsmarted me.”

He stopped again, breathing quiet. The air around you stilled. “But just remember, Y/n…” he added, voice dipping lower, more dangerous. “The longer you hide, the worse it gets when I finally catch you.”

Jungwon’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “You know what’s funny, baby? All the people in the world… and you’re the only one I ever wanted. The only one who belongs to me.” His tone softens, almost loving — almost. “And yet… you still run. Why? What are you so scared of? Me?”

He stops. Something sharp clatters— sudden, deliberate. “You should be in this room only,” Jungwon mutters, low.

His footsteps echo across the dusty storage room floor, slow and steady, and when he speaks again, it’s soft — eerily tender.

“Are you here?” he whispers. “Come on, baby… this isn’t fun anymore if you stay quiet. Say something. Anything. Let me hear you breathe.”

Y/n presses her lips together, trembling. A single bead of sweat slips down her temple.

“You’ve gotten better at hiding,” Jungwon says, his voice echoing faintly as his footsteps approach, slow and deliberate. There’s a taunt in his tone, a cruel sort of praise. “But not smart enough.”

Y/n presses a trembling hand over her mouth, heart hammering so hard it. The walls seem thinner now, every creak amplified, every breath a risk.

“I gave you a head start,” he continues, his voice drawing nearer with each step.

“A full countdown. Ten to one. That’s love, isn’t it? I even hummed for you this time.”

He chuckles — low, mocking, cold.

“But you still chose the same pathetic corner of this house. Again.”

Y/n didn't dared to move. Not even a twitch. His voice drops to a soft murmur, almost tender, almost loving — and somehow that’s worse.

“Why do you do this, Y/N? Why pretend you don’t want this? Don’t want me?”

The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until he whispers again — this time so close, so precise it feels like he’s close to you, really close.

“Are you scared right now?” Then A pause. A breath. “Good. Fear makes your heart beat so beautifully.” His words are laced with twisted affection. “I can hear it.” “I wonder… how long it’ll take for you to accept that you belong to me?”

Jungwon’s voice floats through the thick silence. His footsteps draw closer with every word, slow and heavy, as if he has all the time in the world. As if he enjoys stretching out the fear from inside y/n's body.

“Did you really think these stack of boxes and moth-eaten curtains would keep me away?” he asks, his tone shifting into a mockery of warmth. “My love… I built this house for you.” His words echo, crawling along the floor and up the walls until they reach y/n. “There’s nowhere in here you can hide that I don’t know about.”

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to disappear into the shadows. But it’s useless. Y/n can feel him — the weight of his presence into the room.

A pause. Then —

The curtain rips away. There he is.

Towering above you. His expression is soft — disturbingly soft — like he’s gazing down at something fragile, precious.

He kneels, not like a man offering comfort, but like a hunter admiring his prey. A slow smile curves on his lips as he tilts his head.

“Found you,” Jungwon whispers, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind y/n's ear.

Y/N screams — raw, panicked.

She twists, pushing off the floor, legs scrambling beneath her as she tries to bolt. She doesn’t think. She just runs.

But she barely makes it two steps.

A hand wraps around her wrist — fast, unrelenting.

Jungwon yanks her back with ease, and her body slams against his chest.

“You really thought you could run now?” he growls against her ear, breath hot, voice laced with cruel amusement. She kicks, struggles, but he just laughs — low and dark.

"Shhh… it’s over now. You’ve played enough. You always fight when I get close…" Jungwon whispers, his voice a soft, chilling lullaby as his fingers curl tighter around y/n's arm, drawing her in like she was never meant to leave.

Y/n's body stiffens, panic clawing up her throat, but she can’t move — not with him holding her like this. His lips brush her ear, breath hot and deliberate. “I’ll make sure you never even think about hiding again.”— a promise more than a threat.

“No! Let me go! Please!” Y/n cries out, voice laced with raw desperation, thrashing in his grip. Her hands push at his chest, her nails dig into his wrist — but nothing loosens his hold.

Jungwon’s eyes darken, a smirk playing on his lips. “Let you go?” he repeats, almost mockingly. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

He leans in, his breath brushing against y/n's skin as he whispers. “I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

"Why are you doing this?" Y/n says with a trembling voice

"Because no one else gets to have you. Because I love you too much. Because I know what’s best for you. And if I have to break you to prove it… then I’ll break you. Gently. Lovingly. Over and over again. Until you stop running and hiding," Jungwon says, voice laced with obsession.

He pulls back slightly, just to look into y/n's eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dark and wild. His smile is sweet—too sweet. Deadly.

Y/n turns her face away, trying not to let him see her tears. But he notices. He always notices.

"Don’t cry, love. It makes me angry. Not at you… At the world. For making you think you needed to run from me," Jungwon says while gently cupping y/n's face.

"Jungwon—please… this isn’t you!" Y/n begs. "Oh Y/n… This is exactly me. This is who I’ve always been. You just… didn’t want to see it," Jungwon laughs darkly.

“This—” he breathes, eyes glinting with the satisfaction of someone who’s already won, “—this part of me is what keeps you mine."

"See, you’re not even trying, love. I told you to hide better,” Jungwon says mockingly. "Let me go! Just let me GO!" Y/n begs. "Let you go?" Voice turning eerily calm. He tilts his head. "That would mean losing the best part of me." A long pause. "And I don’t lose."

Jungwon leans in slowly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into a whisper. “ Now Tell me, love… why do you keep running from me?”

He doesn’t sound angry — he sounds curious, like he genuinely wants to understand.

“Do you not like the way I take care of you? I keep you away from everyone who doesn’t deserve to touch you. Isn’t that what you wanted? Someone to love you completely?”

Y/n’s voice breaks, panic laced in every syllable. “You don’t love me… You own me. You’re not protecting me — you’re suffocating me!”

Jungwon pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression unreadable.

Then, his tone shifts. Calm. Detached. “Wrong answer.”

“If your brain refuses to understand in word we’ll try a method.” A smile tugs at his lips. “A method your body won’t forget. Maybe then you’ll finally stop hiding.

Without warning, Jungwon grabs Y/n by the waist and lifts her effortlessly onto his shoulder. Her world flips — stomach pressed down against him, hair falling forward, legs dangling behind him, trembling violently. Every breath feels like it might crack her ribs from the inside.

"Put me down!" Y/n cries, voice already fraying at the edges. “Jungwon, what are you doing? please—just stop!. But he keeps walking — slow, steady, unbothered by her panic.

“What am I doing?” Jungwon chuckles darkly, shifting Y/n slightly on his shoulder so he can speak closer to her ear.

“I’m giving you a method,” he says slowly, — each word edged with unsettling calm.

“One — so you won’t run from me.”

“Two — so you won’t hide.”

“Three — so you won’t even think about escape.”

“Four — so the idea of leaving me never dares to enter your pretty little head.”

“Because I’m done with your games, love. All that running, all that screaming... and for what? Just to end up right here again". He says coldly.

Y/n struggles weakly, but it only makes his grip firmer, more possessive. Her legs shake harder now, the adrenaline crashing into exhaustion, her body giving up before her mind can.

As jungwon kicks the bedroom door open and walks in, throwing y/n gently onto the bed. He looms over her, his body language both dominant and seductive. He leans down, one hand on either side of her head, trapping y/n beneath him. "Missed me?"

Before y/n can respond, Jungwon captures her lips in a sudden, intense kiss. It's demanding, almost aggressive - a clear display of his dominance. His hands roam over her body possessively as he deepens the kiss, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

He breaks the kiss leaving Y/n breathless.

“You made it farther this time. I’m proud of you.” Jungwon says proudly

“But you still don’t get it, do you?” His tone drops, colder now. “This isn’t about winning or losing. This is about you belonging to me. No matter how many times we play… the ending is always the same.”

Then jungwon begins to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, his lips and tongue leaving a burning path. He nips at her collarbone, her chest.

His voice drops dangerously low as he feels her turning her face away —trying to resist him. "Looking away from me my love?"

“ You know? I'm wondering…” Jungwon murmurs. “Should I Strip away every piece of who you used to be? Turn you into someone better for me?"

Hearing this, Y/N finally looked at him, her eyes glassy with emotion. Her voice trembled, but she spoke anyway.

“I didn’t love you for all this, Jungwon…” she whispered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

Jungwon’s expression shifting into something darker.

“Then why…” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and broken. “Why did you make me fall in love with you… if you didn’t want to be mine?”

Jungwon’s smirk faded slowly as he studied her face.

“No answer, huh?” he said, voice quiet, almost mocking. “It’s okay, baby…”

He leaned down again, lips brushing her cheek as his hand slipped behind her neck.

“If you weren’t mine before…” his voice dropped, dark and possessive, “then I’ll just make you mine now.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, but she didn’t move. Her breath trembled against his skin, her hands curling into the bedsheets.

“You can’t just—” she tried to say, voice shaky.

“Oh, but I can,” Jungwon whispered. “And you’ll let me. Just like you always do.”

Then jungwon pushes her legs apart further with his knees, his fingers slick from her arousal. He leans down to whisper in her ear, his voice dripping with dominance. "You're dripping wet for me." He slides two fingers inside her, pumping slowly. "If you didn't want to be mine...then why is your pussy so fucking eager for my touch?"

His eyes darken with satisfaction as he curls them against her walls. "See?" He pulls his fingers out and shows them to her, glistening with her arousal. "Your body knows who it belongs to."

He sucks his fingers to his mouth and wipes them clean, his tongue lingering on each digit to ensure he gets every last drop of her essence. "Fuck, always so sweet especially when you're scared and shaking in fear for me." His voice is low and dangerous, filled with amusement and satisfaction.

"I wanna taste your fear, wanna taste you, wanna taste how you tremble for me, all of it." He starts with soft, gentle kitty licks on her inner thighs, working his way up until he reaches her core. Without warning, he tears through her clothing, revealing her to him completely.

He dives in, his tongue parting her folds and delving deep into her core. He licks and sucks, tasting every inch of her as he promised. His hands grip her hips tightly, holding her in place as he feasts on her pussy, making her scream and shake beneath him.

His tongue circles her clit before plunging back into her entrance, fucking her with it like he would his cock. He can feel her trembling, hear her breathless moans and screams filling the room.

"No, no, no..." She whimpers softly as he continues his relentless assault on her sensitive pussy. Jungwon suddenly stops licking and bites down hard on her inner thigh, making her scream louder than before.

"If you don't like my Tongue, then how about my Cock? Will that work for you, huh? I should just Fuck you with my Cock instead".

"Mmmf," She lets out a muffled moan as Jungwon pulls his pants down roughly he positions himself at her entrance. Her pussy lips part easily around his thick head, already stretching to accommodate him without any lubricant needed. She's so wet from his tongue work already that he slides in smoothly.

She gasps loudly as he pushes deeper into her wet pussy without warning or mercy. Her nails dig into his shoulders, leaving moon marks on his skin She's so tight around him, squeezing every inch like she never wants him leave. Her head falls back, mouth open in silent scream of pain and pleasure.

"I'll fuck this pussy till you're not making those damn sweet moans for me," Jungwon growls, increasing the speed of his thrusts. The room fills with wet slapping sounds. "I'm not gonna stop until u won't stop hiding from me again. Get that into your fucking senses."

As Jungwon watches her, the realization slowly sinks in — she’s not being responsive to his words, to his aggressive love-making. Completely still. Not fighting. Not speaking. And somehow… that unsettles him more than anything else.

He pauses. His expression unreadable. Then, in a fluid motion, he reaches behind her and lifts a pair of black headphones.

Y/N’s eyes widen. “Jungwon… what are you doing?”

Before Y/N can react, he gently places them over her ears. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slips the headphones over her ears, gently.

A slow, distorted melody begins to play. It’s haunting — almost familiar. And beneath it… his voice. Looped. Whispered.

"You belong to me… You belong to me… You belong to me…”

Y/N jerks, trying to shake them off, panic building. The sound clings to her — wraps around her mind. But Jungwon is already holding her down — not with violence, but with a terrifying gentleness. His hand slides to hers, pinning her wrists with ease.

She claws at the headphones, trying to rip them off — “Stop it! Jungwon, stop—”

“No, no,” he says with a faint smirk. “Listen. This is how you learn, baby. Every time you hear those words—you belong to me—I want them to echo inside you. I want them to sink into so you always that remember you’re mine."

Tears fill her eyes as she screams his name — her voice desperate, trembling. She begs him to stop. But her cries only seem to satisfy him. His breath fans over her lips, He leans in, pressing his forehead to hers, and smiles.

“Now that’s more like it,” he whispers. “All your screams… all your tears… they’re all for me. That’s how I know you’re still mine.”

She sobs, but he only tilts his head in fascination, like almost proud. As if he's admiring her pain like observing a masterpiece.

“So breakable,” he whispers. “But I’ll fix you. Piece by piece. Strip away all the parts that don’t serve me. And what’s left?”

as His fingers trail along her cheek. he leans in closer, his breath brushing her ear, "YOU, exactly how I want you."

Y/N’s body trembles beneath him. Her breath is shallow, choked with sobs. The twisted melody still hums in her ears — "You belong to me… You belong to me…"

Her strength is gone. Her resistance, shattered. And all that’s left is the fear.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice barely audible. Her eyes fill with tears again, spilling down her cheeks. “Please… just stop… please, I-I can’t take it anymore.”

Her voice breaks.

“I’m begging you, Jungwon. Please… no more.” She looks up at him, eyes wide and full of defeat. “If this is what you wanted… fine. You win. Just… stop hurting me like this.”

“I won’t hide… and I won’t run,” Y/N says, her voice trembling, eyes locking with Jungwon’s despite the tears in them.

Jungwon's voice was low, laced with mock sympathy.

"Aww, my baby is apologizing now? How cute…" He brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face, a smirk playing on his lips.

"But you’ll really be sorry once I fuck you and bring you back to your senses."

He tilts his head, that twisted smile. He leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching, his voice a whisper.

"Now, if you're truly sorry..." he leans closer, voice dropping, "...then spread your legs for me. Wider."

Y/N trembled beneath him — from fear, from his words, from the suffocating reality that no matter how far she ran… he always found her.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered, “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to keep you. Forever.”

“And just like I said…” he continued, “you’ll always end up right here. With me, because no matter how many times we play this game, Y/N… the ending never changes. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

A single tear slid down her cheek — and he smiled, brushing it away like it was precious.

“Now No more running. No more hiding. Just us. Always.” He says softly.

Also, a huge shoutout to my bestie for helping me out with the smut part — couldn’t have done it without you. Your dirty mind saved the day🤭

ACC TAGLIST

@sun4kiss @ceramini @ikeukiss @wemalyri @swiftjay23 @mayisreadingrightnow @beecakescafe @elikajinnie @rikihyph @luvdumpling @puddingkittypawzz @icepshrince @bamboobibi @slut4hee @sheepsgf @yourstrulyjjong @624sun @hkkeww @giannan04 @rsier @y-vening @wintersgf1 @jungwonxies @enha2fearless @doigottathough @wonely @cherryw0n @wonwon1e @jungwonyoii17 @secret-moonstruck

TAGS

[wonenonly]

slide into me | pjs

synopsis: in which your night shift ends in the backrooms and the only way out is through him.

genre: backrooms au

pairing: entity!jay x afab reader

warnings: dubcon, very weird descriptions of places, descriptions of flesh, mean dom!jay, gaslighter!jay, mocking, teasing, invisible binding, oral (f. rec), fingering, clit slapping, spitting, manhandling, overstimulating, dirty talk, degrading, dacryphilia, unprotected p in v, jay has a demon dick!!!! lowkey a breeding kink sprinkled in there, creampie, i think that’s it..

wc: 9.1k

a/n: look who’s back…anyways i felt inspired after reading @gyuuberryy ‘s fic ‘don’t look back’ so i decided to write one w a bit of my own twist. this is such a fun concept of writing i feel like i should write more horror esk concepts even though this is very tame. anyways..enjoy. comments,reblogs and notes are always appreciated!

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

you took the job because it was supposed to be easy.

midnight shifts, half-asleep mall rats, and a paycheck big enough to cover your rent and leave you just enough for junk food and gas. it was supposed to be quiet. boring, even. which it was—until tonight.

the mall had always been unsettling after hours. too quiet. too still. the overhead fluorescents hummed above you like a dying animal, and the janitor's closet on the second floor always reeked of bleach and something else you couldn't place. but still, nothing that screamed danger. nothing you couldn't handle with a flashlight and a firm tone.

until tonight.

it starts with a sound. soft and distant. like the scuff of a shoe on the squeaky floor tiles of the place.

you pause by the entrance of the food court, your flashlight flicking over darkened storefronts and plastic chairs stacked like bones. the noise comes again, this time sharper—like fingers dragging across metal.

your stomach tightens.

you pull your walkie to your mouth, whispering a check-in to your partner on the other end. but no response comes back, just static.

okay, you tell yourself. don't be dumb. don't go towards it. you're not in a horror movie.

you step back. your sneakers squeak on the floor, loud in the quiet. you turn on your heel and start walking the other way, fast. maybe it's a rat. maybe it's some idiot hiding in the dark and doing one of those '24 hours in the mall challenge' from 2016, or maybe it's nothing.

whatever it is, you just want to get to the office, call it in, and get the hell out.

but the air shifts.

it feels... wrong. heavy. thick, like walking through water. the hum of the lights grows louder, buzzing at a pitch that makes your jaw ache. something flickers in your peripheral. you spin, flashlight jerking toward it—nothing.

your knees suddenly give out.

no warning. no pain. just a dizzy, stomach-dropping sensation like the floor disappeared beneath you—and then black.

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

when you wake, everything is yellow.

the world smells like mold. not fresh mold—old, dead mold. the kind that's lived too long in dark spaces and grown stale with time.

you're lying on cold carpet, face pressed into a nauseating mix of damp fibers and dust. fluorescent lights above you stutter and blink, buzzing in intervals that sound almost... rhythmic.

you sit up fast, heart slamming in your chest as your eyes struggle to adjust to the stale brightness of the unknown place.

this isn't the mall.

you're in a hallway. no windows, no doors. just endless, repeating yellow wallpaper—peeling in places, patterned with some ugly 90s texture—and identical hallways stretching on in every direction.

you push yourself to your feet, head spinning.

"hello?" you call out, voice cracking. nothing. just the hum. you turn a corner. then another. and another.

it feels like walking in circles, except every hallway is just different enough to make you doubt it. a different stain, a different pattern in the ceiling tiles. but always the same walls. the same lights. the same sickly yellow glow that makes your skin look waxy.

where the fuck are you?

you start to run. but the halls go on. and on. and on.

and somewhere behind you, a shadow moves. you've been walking for what feels like hours.

your legs ache. your throat is dry. and the lights—god, the lights—never stop humming. they flicker sometimes, almost rhythmically, as if reacting to your breathing.

you gave up calling out 20 minutes ago. the silence that followed every "hello?" was worse than nothing. it felt... intentional. like something was listening. choosing not to respond.

you stop to rest against a wall. the wallpaper peels beneath your touch, crumbling like dried-out skin. the carpet squelches faintly underfoot. it's damp now. damper than before. it didn't start out that way—you're sure of it.

you close your eyes. just for a second. then you hear it.

click.

a tiny, impossible sound. like a nail tapping on glass. you spin around fast—nothing behind you. just more yellow, more humming.

you swallow hard and start walking again, faster this time.

the whisper comes a few minutes later.

faint. garbled. like a voice behind a wall.

you stop cold, "...can you hear me?"

you whip around—heart hammering, chest heaving—but the hallway is empty. it sounded so close. like someone just on the other side of the wallpaper, lips pressed to the wall, whispering into your ear.

"don't run."

your breath catches and you take a step back. then another.

a low, almost inaudible rustle drifts from behind you, like fabric dragging along the floor. you don't look back this time, you run.

you sprint down the endless corridors, turns blurring together. every wall looks the same. every shadow stretches too long. the humming of the lights becomes deafening, almost sentient—rising and falling in sync with your panic.

and then—a corner.

you turn it too fast, shoulder slamming the wall. and there he is.

a boy.

he's standing halfway down the corridor, backlit by the same yellow haze, dressed in black and hunched slightly, like he's been walking for days. he looks up, his eyes hollow and lifeless.

you freeze.

he looks just as scared as you. "wait—" he says, breathless. "you're real?"

your heart nearly caves in your chest.

finally—finally—someone else.

you don't know that he's been waiting here for you. you don't know that the whispers were his. you don't know that he's the reason you're here at all.

you only know relief and that's exactly what he wants.

he's standing in the middle of the corridor like he's been waiting there forever. just... still. as if he knew you were coming.

your feet skid to a stop, sneakers dragging against the damp carpet, chest heaving from your sprint. his head lifts slowly. your eyes meet.

he's beautiful.

not the kind of beautiful you expect in a place like this—no, he looks too clean, too human, too painfully real. black hair falls across his forehead, his eyes wide and startled, like he hadn't seen another living thing in years. his frame is lean, shoulders hunched slightly with tension, a black jacket clinging to him like a second skin. he looks tired.

his mouth parts, stunned. "you're... real?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you don't answer at first. you're still frozen. still trying to figure out if this is a hallucination. if the place has finally cracked your mind open and spilled delusions into your skull. but he takes a hesitant step forward, hands raised as if to show he means no harm.

"i—i heard someone running. i didn't think... i thought i was alone."

you nod, slowly. your throat is too dry to speak. he sees it in your face, that fractured look of someone at the edge—and his features soften.

"hey, it's okay. i'm not gonna hurt you," he says gently. "you've been here long?"

your voice finally stirs. "i don't know. not long. maybe an hour?"

he winces. "i've been here days," he says, lowering his gaze. "maybe weeks. it's hard to tell."

you want to ask where is this and how do we get out, but the words collapse in your mouth. he seems just as lost. just as scared. and if there's one thing you know about surviving fucked-up situations, it's that panic spreads like a disease. and right now, he's the only person tethering you to something human.

"what's your name?" you ask, voice hoarse.

he smiles faintly, "jay." you give yours in return. and somehow, it feels sacred. the first time you've said it aloud since waking up here. it tastes real again.

you walk together.

not aimlessly—jay says he's mapped a bit of the place out. that some corridors loop, some don't. he tells you he's found areas with flickering lights and strange noises. some that smell like burnt plastic. some that feel colder than others, like they're not finished forming.

"sometimes i hear things," he says, tone hushed. "but i try not to listen."

"you hear them too?" you ask, something cold settling in your bones.

he glances at you. then gives the smallest nod. "they whisper your name, don't they?"

you don't answer, but your stomach twists.

you keep walking. you try not to notice the way the lights don't flicker around him like they do when you're alone. how his shadow always falls in the right direction, no matter where you turn. how his footsteps are too quiet—too synchronized with yours.

you try not to notice how his eyes flick toward your throat when you speak. how he never really seems out of breath. how the carpet never squelches beneath his feet the way it does yours.

he keeps asking you things.

where you're from. how you got here. what you remember.

and every time you answer, he watches you like he's cataloging each word. storing it. savoring it. but his smile is kind. his laugh—quiet, sweet, disarming. it feels like warmth in this place where nothing is warm.

hours pass. well, you think.

the corridors have started to change. the wallpaper grows darker the deeper you go, browner. as if stained by time or something else entirely. the lights flicker longer now and shadows linger too long at the edges of your vision.

you want to stop walking, but jay touches your arm—gentle, reassuring—and murmurs, "we're close. i think i found something a while ago. it might be a way out."

your chest stutters with cautious hope.

"really?"

he nods. "i didn't go alone. i was scared. but with you—" he breaks off. his voice turns soft, "—i feel safer with you here."

you look at him. he seems so genuine. eyes big, expression honest. he says it like it's a confession. like he needs you. you nod. "okay. lead the way."

and so you do. deeper.until the lights above flicker one final time—and die.

time doesn't pass here the way it should.

you think it's been days. maybe a week. maybe more. but there's no sunrise, no clocks, no hunger cues to guide you. only the flickering lights and the ever-stretching corridors—yellow fading into brown, into olive, into something sickly gray.

but you stop counting the days. because now, you have jay.

he stays close. always at your side, quiet but attentive. sometimes he hums under his breath—soft, tuneless notes that lull your nerves. sometimes he tells stories about his old life: a little apartment with too-thin walls. a sister he hasn't seen in years. a favorite café with mismatched mugs. things that feel so vividly real you almost forget where you are.

you learn his quirks. how he hates the buzzing lights more than the silence. how he taps his fingers on his thigh when he's thinking. how he always walks slightly ahead of you, like he's trying to shield you from whatever comes next.

"you know," you say one 'day' as you walk together through a hallway tinged orange by dying fluorescents, "if you weren't here, i think i'd have lost my mind already."

he glances back at you, lips quirking into a small smile. "same."

"really? you seem like you've got it together."

"nah," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "i'm just good at pretending."

you don't think about it much. but the next time the lights go dark for a stretch of corridor, it's his hand that finds yours. warm. solid. grounding.

and you don't pull away.

you have moments like that now. tiny, precious ones that feel stolen from reality.

he finds a corridor with walls covered in strange drawings—childlike scribbles in charcoal, some of them humanoid, some not. you sit with your backs to the wall and pretend you're at a museum, whispering critiques and giving the "artists" fake names.

you laugh together. it's a rusty sound at first—too loud in the quiet—but jay laughs too, soft and real.

sometimes, when it gets too quiet, he'll ask about you.

your job. your family. the place you grew up. and he listens—really listens—with his whole body, eyes fixed on you like you're telling him the most important story in the world. when you falter, he encourages you. when your voice cracks, he gently changes the subject.

and when you dream—because you do, sometimes, in flickers and fits—he's always in them. guiding you through endless rooms. catching your hand. pulling you close before you fall.

you wake up and he's right there, watching you with a worried expression like he's been guarding your sleep.

"you talk in your sleep," he says once, voice quiet.

"oh god," you groan, rubbing your eyes. "what'd i say?"

he pauses. smiles faintly.

"you called my name."

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

somewhere around day fourteen—or what you think is day fourteen—you stop hoping for a way out.

not because you've given up, but because this, whatever this is, doesn't feel unbearable anymore. you eat the ration bars from your security belt. you sleep curled near jay in corners that feel less watched. you follow his lead because he always seems to know where to go, which halls to avoid, when to turn around.

you stop asking questions.

and you start looking at him longer. watching the way his profile softens when he's not speaking. how his hair falls into his eyes. how he always reaches for you first when the shadows flicker too close.

he never tries anything. never crosses a line. he treats you like something breakable.

so you start crossing those lines yourself. a teasing shoulder bump when he's zoning out. lingering touches when you pass him supplies. once, you fall asleep with your head on his thigh. when you wake, he hasn't moved an inch.

"you could've shifted me off," you mumble groggily.

"i didn't want to."

but still... there are moments. strange ones.

times when the lights flicker a little longer when he walks through. when the hum syncs to his steps. when he looks ahead into the darkness a beat too long, his expression unreadable. once, you see something in the wall—a smear of something dark, a shadow stretching toward you—but jay turns his head at the exact moment and it disappears.

you blink. it's gone.

and he's already holding his hand out to you again, voice soft. "this way."

you take it. you always take it.

"i think we're close." jay's voice is quiet, but it cuts through the murky silence like a flare.

you blink up at him, wiping the sleep from your eyes. your back aches from the floor. the light above your heads flickers with that same electric buzz, only softer now—like it's struggling. failing.

"close to what?" you murmur, throat dry.

he glances down the corridor ahead. you follow his gaze.

it's different here. the walls have changed again—duller, the yellow wallpaper turning jaundiced and blistered, warped like water damage has soaked through the structure itself. the ceiling is lower, and the light is dimmer. there's a smell now. faint. metallic. wrong.

"a way out," he says softly. "or... something. i don't know. i didn't go in before. i found it a while back, but i was alone."

"but you didn't try?"

he shakes his head. "i was scared." his voice wavers, just a little. you look at him closer, and it feels like the most human you've ever seen him—shoulders slightly hunched, jaw tight, eyes dark with something you can't place.

"but i'm not now. not with you."

you believe him. how could you not? after everything, all the ways he's kept you calm, grounded—safe.

so you follow.

the deeper you go, the more the backrooms begin to rot.

the wallpaper falls away in strips, revealing a glistening material beneath—like old flesh or wet clay. pipes jut from the walls now. some of them drip. the air is heavy, saturated with warmth, as if something is breathing in these corridors right along with you.

"do you hear that?" you ask quietly.

jay tilts his head.

there's a sound behind the walls. a low thrum. a rhythmic thud-thud-thud—like a heartbeat. like footsteps. but not yours.

you grip his sleeve.

"don't worry," he says. "just a little farther."

the hallway finally ends in a door.

not a real one—just an opening. the trim is darker here, almost black. the light inside pulses faintly, like it's trying to lure you in. and the smell intensifies.

when you step through, you find yourself in a new chamber.

this one is wide, circular. walls curved and smooth, lit by a single humming bulb that swings slightly above your head. in the middle of the room are three slides—long, slick, and strangely out of place, like they were built into the floor of a decaying playground.

one is white, polished like marble. one is red, chipped at the edges, with a faint dark smear down the middle. one is black, dull and velvety, almost absorbing the light around it.

you stare at them. "what... is this?"

jay exhales next to you. "i don't know. i found this place once before. didn't stay long enough to figure it out."

"you said it could be a way out."

"i think it is. maybe."

his voice is unreadable.

you turn to him. "do you know where they lead?"

he shakes his head slowly. "no. but we have to choose. eventually."

you look back at the slides. something deep in your stomach curls. they feel alive somehow. waiting. "what if it's a trap?"

he doesn't answer right away. then softly says, "then we face it together."

you look at him. he looks calm, soft-eyed—safe. just pick one, you think. you're not alone. he's here.

your eyes fall to the slides again. white. red. black.

your fingers twitch toward the black one. the surface almost shimmers. you step toward it.

and jay smiles. not sweet. not warm. sharp.

but you don't see it, not yet. the moment your foot touches the black slide, it shudders beneath you.

not visibly. not violently. but it reacts—subtle, like something flexing beneath its skin. the surface isn't hard plastic like you expected. it's soft. pliable. warm. like flesh left out too long.

but jay is right behind you. watching. and something in your chest tells you to keep going.

so you sit and push off.

the slide isn't straight. it twists. drops. swells and curves like a throat swallowing you whole. the walls are too close—pressing in—and the material isn't smooth. it pulses. you think you feel something breathe against your shoulder.

your hands sink slightly as you try to brace yourself. a slick, wet sound echoes all around you. like something digesting. and then—black.

pure, absolute black. no light. no air. no sound but your own blood roaring in your ears.

you try to scream—but nothing comes out.

you fall forever.

and then—you land.

hard.

but not on carpet, on something alive.

it shifts beneath you, twitching like muscle memory. the ground is slick and damp, lit by dim red bioluminescence leaking from the walls like infected wounds. it smells like copper. salt. something rotten and sweet.

you stumble to your feet. the slide behind you is gone. there's no way back.

you're alone. or—you think you are. until you hear his voice. "you chose it, you know."

your head snaps toward it.

jay.

but he's standing different now—spine straight, head tilted at an unnatural angle, like his neck is made of wire instead of bone. he's watching you. not with the wide, soft gaze you've grown used to.

with something else. something ancient.

"you could've picked any of them," he says quietly, stepping forward. "safety. death. or this."

you shake your head, backing away. "what are you talking about?"

"you picked me." his voice is still warm. still familiar. but too steady. too calm.

"i don't—this isn't—what the fuck is this place?"

"it's mine," he says simply. "or, more accurately... i am of it."

your stomach turns, "i don't understand—" he smiles. soft. so soft. but something ripples beneath his skin, like muscle twitching beneath stretched fabric.

"i made it easy for you," he murmurs. "you wouldn't have followed me if i wasn't kind. if i wasn't... safe."

your knees nearly buckle, "you're lying."

"no. i've never lied to you. not once." he pauses, his mouth curling into a cruel smile, he steps closer. "you just never asked the right questions."

your heart is in your throat now. the walls pulse with it—thump-thump-thump—like they're echoing your fear.

"this isn't real."

"it's more real than where you came from," jay says, almost tender. "you just don't want to admit it."

"what are you?" you whisper.

his smile widens, just slightly. his teeth look too white. too straight. too perfect.

"hungry."

you've never felt cold in the backrooms. until now.

the air is still warm—wet and clinging to your skin—but your body is shaking. not from temperature. from something else entirely. from the kind of fear that curdles in your gut and hollows you out.

you stagger back, but the ground beneath your feet pulses with every movement. it's not carpet. not even earth. it's... him. it's part of him. you don't know how you know that, but you do.

jay stands in front of you, his expression peaceful. soft. like this isn't a reveal—like it's a gift.

"you were always going to end up here," he says gently. "i just helped you make peace with it."

you shake your head slowly, the world pitching around you. everything's wrong. everything's been wrong.

his kindness. his patience. his restraint.

"you lied to me."

"i didn't," he replies, stepping closer. "you just believed what was convenient." and that, that—breaks something open inside of you.

because he's right. you never questioned him. not once. not when he always walked ahead of you, somehow always knowing where to go. not when his eyes flicked toward the shadows before you noticed them. not even when he told you "i feel safer with you here" and never let you see him afraid.

you wanted to trust him. you needed to.

and now you realize: you told him everything. your childhood, your family, your fears, the dreams that had started to fray in the real world. every scar. every vulnerability. you poured yourself out like an offering because he listened. because he looked at you like you mattered.

but what did he tell you?

his name. that he had a sister. a favorite café.

things you can't prove.

"i asked you what you did before this," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "you said it didn't matter anymore." you could feel a stream of tears begin to pour down your face like a facet, and you could only imagine how ridiculous you looked right now.

"because it didn't."

"you said you couldn't remember how you got here."

"i didn't lie."

you can't breathe.

you remember how he always turned questions around on you, how he always made you feel like the one in control. and you fell for it. every time. he played the perfect companion, the kind stranger, the fragile survivor. but he was leading you. grooming your trust. guiding your hand to this exact moment.

and you never saw it.

"you were watching me this whole time."

his smile doesn't change. "since before you fell. you were marked the second you stepped out of your world."

you try to move, to turn, to run—but the room itself responds. the walls bulge inward, not closing, just guiding you back toward him. toward the center.

and now, behind jay, the ground shifts, ripples, and 3 new openings emerge from the flesh-like floor. 3 more slides, each one glistening in the low red light.

white. red. black. again.

but this time, they're not clean. they're not innocent. they're organic—like veins, like tongues, like they've grown from the very bones of this place.

"you made me choose," you whisper. "back then."

"i had to. i needed your consent. your fear. your longing." you flinch at his words, your body twitching with fear.

"you could've picked safety," he continues, voice low. "you could've chosen death."

"but you picked me."

you can't speak. you can barely stand. the pressure in the room is like a hand on your throat.

"and now," he says, walking toward you slowly, reverently, "i'm giving you a second chance."

he gestures to the slides behind him, and you realized what each colour had represented.

white is safety. "you'll wake up in your home. you'll think that this is all a dream and if you tell anyone they'll never believe you."

red is death. "not metaphorical. not symbolic. ending. i promise it will be quick."

black is to stay. "with me. not just in this place. part of it. bound. fed. worshiped."

your knees nearly give out, "why me?"

he stops. looks at you—really looks at you.

"because you were lonely," he says softly. "you needed to be wanted. i felt it when you fell in. all that ache, all that heat under your skin, how badly you needed something to hold you down, claim you, keep you."

he tilts his head.

"i just answered the call."

you want to scream. you want to cry. but deep down, under the panic, under the betrayal, under the spiraling horror— a part of you remembers how safe he made you feel.

how warm his presence was. how seen you felt when he looked at you. and that part of you doesn't want to leave.

jay sees it. he senses it.

he steps closer, close enough for you to see the subtle shifts in his face—something beneath his skin twitching, pulsing, like he's holding back something monstrous, waiting to be chosen.

"i'll let you go," he whispers, "if that's what you really want."

you stare at the slides.

white. red. black.

you step toward one of them and your fingers brush the edge. behind you, jay's breath hitches. soft. hopeful. and you fall forward—into white.

you don't land. you arrive.

the slide disappears beneath you the moment your body releases into it—no momentum, no tumbling drop. just a blink—

and then you're standing, a chamber breathes around you.

walls of dark, glistening flesh, lit by a muted, red glow that pulses like a living heartbeat. the air hums. it tastes of copper and warmth. there's no door. no light above. no escape.

you turn in a slow, stunned circle.

what is this? where is he?

and then you hear, "you picked well." jay's voice cuts through the silence like silk dragging across bone.

you whip around. he's behind you. standing too close.

his features are familiar, still mostly human, but they don't move like they used to. his limbs are too fluid. his eyes glow faintly with something primal and ancient. there's no tension in his body now, no hesitation—just the unshakable stillness of a predator who has already won.

your chest tightens. "what is this place?"

he just smiles. not cruel. not mocking. patient. "home."

you stare at him, heart thudding, breath shallow. your mind races back to the moment at the slide. how he'd waited. watched. how he hadn't even followed. he knew.

"you said... you said it was a choice."

"and you made one."

"but the others—" your voice cracks. "white was supposed to be safety. red was death."

his expression softens ever so slightly in faux sympathy, "white was suppose to be home, this is home."

you step back like you've been struck, "you said—"

"i never said which realm," he interrupts gently. "i just said they were options."

you feel like you're floating—adrift in something sick and sweet. "then why—why offer a choice at all?"

he tilts his head, gaze tracking you as you retreat another step. the chamber pulses around you, sensing your panic. the walls twitch with each heartbeat. the floor beneath your feet trembles in response to your breath.

you are not in control.

"because you would've run, if i hadn't made you feel like you had a say." his voice is calm. steady. "but this way—" he closes the distance in a single, quiet step, "it's consensual, isn't it?"

your breath stutters. "you tricked me—"

"no. i led you. there's a difference." he begins to circle you.

his movements are slow. languid. like he's savoring your fear. not in a sadistic way—but with intimacy. like he's memorizing every tremble, every shake of your breath.

"i listened to you. i protected you. i let you tell me every little thing that made you feel small. and when it was time to choose... you chose me."

the walls around you shiver. something stirs beneath the floor.

"there was no way out," you whisper, horrified.

"no," he confirms. "but if i told you that from the beginning, you wouldn't have been ready for me."

"you used me."

"i wanted you," he corrects softly. "and i waited until you wanted me back."

he's right in front of you now. you want to scream, but it catches in your throat. not because of fear.

because somewhere, deep down—beneath the betrayal, beneath the horror—you still remember how it felt to be seen by him. how safe you felt when he looked at you like you were worth something.

"you never had a choice, little one," he murmurs. "but the moment you believed you did... you became mine."

you don't run. you can't. your feet won't move, no matter how loud your brain is screaming. because it's not just fear anymore.

it's confusion. it's betrayal. it's the bitter taste of something that once felt safe now turning rotten in your mouth.

your breath stutters, but jay doesn't move. he stands there, gaze quiet, composed—like he's waiting for you to catch up. like he wants you to take your time. let it all sink in.

and oh god, it does.

your thoughts tumble out in a frantic stream:

he never told you anything real. he always let you talk first. he dodged questions with smiles. he cried once, remember? but his face never wrinkled. not really. he held your hand when you were scared, but his skin never sweated. never shook. he never ate. he never slept. but you trusted him anyway.

you think of the stories he told—the apartment, the sister, the café with mismatched mugs—and how vivid they seemed at the time.

but now?

you realize... none of them had names. not the street. not the city. not the sister. just placeholders. just enough to fill the silence you gave him.

you built him. you projected goodness onto something hollow.

and he let you.

"i thought you cared about me." your voice is hoarse, barely audible.

"i do," he says.

and it sounds real. but so did everything else.

you stagger back a step, and the floor beneath your feet shivers—soft, slick, and alive. you suck in a breath, but the air's too thick, syrupy and humid. every inhale feels like it costs you something.

your body is overheating.

you can feel your heartbeat pounding behind your eyes. your chest. between your legs. like the atmosphere itself is stroking your nerves raw.

"why does this feel like—"

you cut yourself off, horrified. because it feels good.

your body—traitorous, stupid—responds to his closeness. the heat, the scent of him. the pull. and it disgusts you. it shames you. but it also excites something low in your gut that you can't name.

jay sees it.

of course he does.

"the backrooms don't just shift for anyone," he murmurs. "they respond to what you feel. what you want."

you shake your head, frantic. "no. i didn't want this. i didn't want—"

"didn't you?" he steps forward again, slow, like he's taming a wounded animal.

"you followed me. you chose me. you let me in."

your vision sways. your breath shortens. because some part of you is still clinging to the way he held you when you were scared. the way his voice calmed you. the way he never pushed. never demanded. he earned your trust and now he's twisting it in his palm like a flower's stem, bending until it snaps.

you sink to your knees, shaking.

you can feel the pulse of the room rising—thump-thump-thump—the walls breathing with you, the floor cradling your body like it wants to hold you. trap you. keep you soft and helpless and pliant.

jay crouches in front of you.

he doesn't touch you, not yet.

his voice is quiet.

"you can cry. you can scream. but it doesn't change anything." he continues, "you're here now. with me. where you were always meant to be."

your vision swims. the fear twists into something else. something hotter.

is it adrenaline? arousal? both?

you hate it but you want more. and that, more than anything else, breaks you.

because now you're not scared of jay. you're scared of yourself.

"you can't move, can you?" jay's voice is soft. breathy. too close.

your limbs won't respond—your legs twitch, your fingers curl—but you're locked in place. not harshly. not like restraints.

like... longing.

your thighs ache to part. your back arches just slightly. it's like your body is moving on instinct, reacting to him.

he circles you slowly, steps silent. the walls pulse with a deep, ambient thrum, responding to the rise in your breathing.

"look at you," he murmurs from behind, his palm dragging down your spine. "so sensitive. like your skin's just waiting to be touched."

you shudder under his hand, eyes fluttering closed. you want to deny it, you should—but all you can do is feel.

heat. tension. craving. your own body is betraying you.

"you think it's just arousal, don't you?"

he appears in front of you, crouching. his eyes glow faintly in the red light. there's something predatory in the way he watches you—like he's savoring a secret.

"you think it's just the moment. adrenaline. fear. me." his hand slides beneath your chin, tilts your face up."it's not."

he smiles, slow and indulgent. "you're already bound to me. you just haven't noticed yet."

your breath catches. "what are you—"

but you stop because you feel it now—subtle threads under your skin, like the gravity in the room is focused only on you. like something invisible is holding your wrists, your thighs, your breath, and telling it to stay. to obey.

"you gave yourself to me the second you believed in me," he whispers. "and now you'll let me take everything."

his hand falls between your thighs, and your knees instinctively try to close—but they don't. you're wide open. exposed. desperate.

he chuckles low in his throat. "see? not even trying anymore. your body knows who it belongs to."

you gasp as his fingers stroke the inside of your thigh, slow and torturously light.  he leans in, pressing his mouth to the shell of your ear. "you don't want gentle, do you?"

his other hand rises. fingers grab your jaw—firm, but not painful. he turns your face toward him. you meet his eyes and almost flinch. they're burning.

"you want filthy. you want my hands on you. my spit in your mouth and my cum slipping out of your cunt. you want to be ruined by something that doesn't even pretend to be human anymore."

you whimper, but your hips rock forward—helpless, aching. he grins. a flash of something sharp behind his lips. "good girl."

then—he spits. right between your parted lips.

you choke on your breath, stunned, but you don't pull away. you can't. you swallow without thinking, dazed, flushed from the heat crawling across your skin.

"that's it," he breathes. "so easy now. so eager."

he pushes you down, palms skimming your thighs as you sink. you don't even realize you've dropped to your knees until you're looking up at him, blinking like you've come undone.

the floor pulses under your skin. the room is watching.

his hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing gently at your lip like he's wiping you clean—but you both know better.

"no one's ever gonna take you like this. no one else could," he murmurs. "you were made for this. for me."

his voice is velvet-wrapped venom. his gaze pins you in place.

and you? you're no longer sure if you want to be free.

"that's what i thought."

jay sinks down in front of you—slow, deliberate, like he's descending into worship or war. his knees press into the pulsing floor, and your breath catches the moment he pushes you back and his hands come to your thighs.

his eyes trail down. he grabs the waistband of your pants—your last piece of dignity—and pauses just long enough for the panic to rise in your chest. then he rips them down, dragging your underwear with them in one fluid movement.

you gasp, hands moving to cover yourself—but something catches your wrists and forces them above your head, pressing them down into the floor.

the bindings return. invisible, pulsing. your arms are trapped, held still by nothing you can see — just the air around his body thick with power, with control, with him.

"still crying a few minutes ago, weren't you?" he murmurs, voice low and cruel. "sobbing about trust and betrayal and 'how could you do this to me, jay?'" he mimics your tone mockingly, a smirk curling his lips.

you turn your face, burning. but he grabs your chin—firm, sharp fingers tilting your gaze back to his. "look at me when i speak to you."

your breath stutters. his hands slide downward again, slow over your thighs. your skin trembles beneath him. and when his fingers graze over the soaked heat between your legs, he lets out a laugh—soft, delighted, mean.

"oh, sweetheart..."

he drags two fingers slowly through your slick, watching the way your hips twitch, how your mouth parts on instinct.

"you really let me break you that fast?"

you squirm, but the invisible binding tightens. you're not moving unless he allows it.

"so wet for the monster who lied to you," he taunts. "the same one who's been watching you, stalking you, baiting you since the moment you stepped through that yellow door."

he presses his fingers against your clit—just enough pressure to make you gasp. "and now look at you."

he leans in, lips brushing your cheek. "so needy. so fucking ruined."

his free hand grabs your thigh and pulls you open wider, like he's claiming more of you by the second.

"don't you dare pretend you don't like this. your body's too honest, baby."

he spits again but this time low, messy, right where you're dripping—then drags his fingers through it and back onto you, rubbing it in like something unholy.

"i should keep you like this," he whispers. "on your knees. dripping. trembling. always ready for me." your head drops back, a moan torn from your throat.

"that's it. make those pretty little sounds—show me what a filthy thing you are now."

his mouth replaces his hand and he devours you. he licks a thick strip up your slit, enjoying the way your body twitches when he slides over your clit. he ditches the teasing fairly quickly, his mouth engulfing you whole.

not gently. not lovingly. like he's starving and this is what he's been made to eat. his tongue drags through every inch of you, relentless and skilled, and you can feel his power tightening around your limbs every time you twitch or buck.

he's not holding you down with strength. he's holding you down with want. and you can't fight it anymore, you don't want to.

not when he pulls back and looks up at you, mouth wet, eyes gleaming with something dark and endless.

"say it." his voice drops to a growl. "say you want to be mine."

your lips tremble, your chest heaves, and all that comes out is a whimper—but you say it.

"yours."

his smile is all teeth, "that's my girl."

"pathetic little thing." jay's voice is rich with amusement, a low rumble in the thick air around you. he's still crouched between your thighs, fingers gliding lazily through your slick heat, but he's not focused on pleasuring you—he's toying.

his hand moves away. you gasp at the loss, but he's already reaching higher.

"take this off."

you blink through the haze. "what?"

he leans in. slow. terrifying. "your shirt. now."

your hands move on instinct. you tug it up, trembling, but your fingers fumble and you wince when the fabric catches. your eyes blur with tears —again.

jay clicks his tongue. "unbelievable." in one swift motion, his hands are on you, tearing.

the sound of fabric splitting echoes like a scream in the pulsing room. your shirt is gone in seconds, shredded, forgotten and he tosses it aside like trash.

"you can't even get undressed without crying?" he laughs, shoving you back. the warm, fleshy floor catches you like a cradle. "were you always this helpless, or do i just bring it out of you?"

his hand grabs your jaw. not hard enough to bruise, not yet—but enough to make your breath hitch. "you were so loud before. crying about betrayal. sniffling like i ruined your life." he leans in. voice dropping. "but your nipples are hard and you're soaking through your panties. want to explain that to me, baby?"

you turn your face, humiliated. his grip tightens, "look. at. me." you do. your eyes sting. your bottom lip trembles. you hate this. you love it.

he sees everything, "you don't get to hide anymore."

he leans back on his heels, gaze raking over your fully bare body, and groans like he's witnessing something sacred.

"fuck, look at you. trembling. dripping. thighs shaking like you've been begging for this since the day you met me."

your face burns. you try to squeeze your legs together but he slaps your inner thigh.

not hard. not painful. but enough to sting. to make your hips jolt. "spread. them."

you don't obey fast enough so he grabs your knees and forces them open. "you want to cry again? go ahead. i like the way your tears look when they roll into your mouth."

you let out a shaky sob, frustration and arousal eating you alive, but jay just leans down and licks the tear from your cheek.

"sweet little mess," he breathes, lips ghosting over your skin. "this is what you were made for."

he kisses down your neck. your chest. your stomach. his teeth graze your hip. "tell me you want it, or i'll stop."

you squirm, humiliated, raw, "say it."

"i want it," you whisper.

"say it louder."

"i want it."

he smiles. mean. sharp. perfect, "good girl."

he presses his mouth to your heat again. tongue flat, slow, claiming. and this time, he doesn't stop. his tongue slides over your center like he's savoring something expensive.

slow. wide. cruel.

you arch under him with a soft cry, body already raw from how he's stripped you down—not just physically, but completely. nerves exposed. pride shattered. his now, and he knows it.

"mm," jay hums against your core, licking you again, slow and deliberate. "sweet little thing... this what betrayal tastes like?"

your thighs twitch. his grip tightens.

"thought you hated me just ten minutes ago. now you're dripping like you've been waiting your whole life for my mouth."

you whimper, hips twitching. he doesn't give you relief—just more pressure. too slow. too controlled. like he's building something just to tear it down.

he pulls back, licking his lips lazily. his mouth shines.

"you gonna cry again? huh?" he coos, one brow raised. "go ahead. doesn't matter how much you sob, this pretty cunt's still begging me to fill it."

you suck in a breath as his fingers trail back down between your legs. he teases you—barely brushing the slick entrance with two fingers, then pulling away.

again. and again. you try to buck your hips and move your arms but the invisible bindings at your wrists tighten.

"stay still." his voice darkens. and something shifts in the air.

he presses two fingers in—finally—but only halfway.

your eyes roll. your mouth drops open. he watches you, eyes filled with amusement. "that desperate for my fingers? not even halfway in and you're already squeezing like a whore."

you squirm as he thrusts them deeper. the stretch is overwhelming, so sudden after being teased for so long, and the heel of his palm grinds down against your clit until your vision blurs.

"feel that?" his voice is right in your ear now—he's everywhere. "that's your body saying yes while your head's still pretending to be innocent."

he curls his fingers just right and you scream. he grins like the devil himself, "there she is."

he thrusts faster now, fingers soaked, the sound of it filthy in the quiet, pulsing space. his palm slaps against your clit with every movement. your thighs shake, your hips jerk—but you're bound. you're stuck.

"how long do you think you'll last?" he murmurs. "how many times can i make you cum before you forget your own name?"

you whimper, breath hitched. "please, i—"

"please what?" he slows. again.

you almost sob.

"please let you come? please wreck you harder? or maybe you just want to be filled up like a good little toy."

you moan, body straining. the bindings tighten again—not painfully, but enough to remind you that you're completely his.

he leans in, fingers still deep, curling slow and mean. "you're not cumming until you admit it."

"admit what—?"

"that you like this."

you freeze. breathless.

"say it. say you like being used. being ruined. say you like being owned by the thing you were so scared of."

you hesitate, so he stops. fingers still buried inside you, but unmoving. "say it or i leave you here. trembling. soaked. aching."

you bite your lip. humiliated. soaked. desperate. and then you whisper it, "i like it."

"louder."

"i like it. i like being ruined. i like you owning me."

he smiles and fucks you hard with his fingers, curling, thrusting, his mouth back on your clit as he laps at you hungrily. you feel a foreign feeling build in the pit of your stomach, your body shaking and twitching.

you cum fast. loud. messy. completely undone. your body shakes, back arching, a loud sob tearing from your throat as he holds you through it—mouth locked to you, tongue relentless, fingers fucking you through the aftershocks.

and when you collapse?

he doesn't stop, "you thought i was done with you?"

jay's voice is thick with amusement, warm breath fanning over your thighs as he stays buried between them. his fingers don't stop moving. his tongue is still licking.

slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world.

you're shaking. sobbing. your thighs twitch with every tiny stroke to your clit, and your hips jerk helplessly, but you still can't move—not from exhaustion, not from the invisible force that keeps your wrists pinned above your head.

"don't squirm," he mutters, licking a long stripe up your oversensitive center. "you said you liked being ruined. so now i'm going to ruin you right."

you choke on a moan, head thrashing. "too much—"

he laughs. "too bad." his fingers thrust again—deeper, meaner now. the squelch of your slick, the wet drag of his knuckles, the obscene slap of his palm against your clit—it's all loud now. deliberate. degrading.

"listen to that," he sneers. "your messy little cunt can't even pretend to fight me anymore. soaked. swollen. like it's been waiting for me for years."

you gasp, mouth open in a silent cry as he flattens his tongue against your clit again. but this time, it's not slow. this time, he devours you—relentless, tongue dragging tight circles, fingers curling into that sweet, ruined spot that makes your whole body seize.

"you're gonna cum again," he growls into you, voice muffled by your skin. "don't care if you're ready. don't care if you're crying. this little pussy's mine now, and i decide when it stops."

your eyes roll back and you can feel it—already. your legs shake violently, breath catching in short, high-pitched gasps as you spiral toward a second orgasm.

"that's it. you're close, aren't you? fuck, look at you—" he slaps your clit once, sharp, just to watch you jolt. "—so easy now. so fucking weak for me."

you scream. you thrash. but the bindings hold.

"you gonna cum again, baby? gonna soak my hand like the needy little hole you are?"

your voice breaks, "jay—please—"

"beg louder."

"please! please, i—" but you never finish.

he fucks his fingers into you deeper, thumb circling your clit, tongue flicking across your folds like he's marking you with every stroke—and it tips you over.

the second orgasm crashes into you like a wave of white heat. you scream—louder than before—head thrown back, thighs quivering, tears spilling freely as your body locks and trembles and pulses around his fingers.

and he doesn't stop.

"yeah, that's it," he growls, watching the way you break apart beneath him. "fucking cum for me again. make a mess. cry about it. you're not leaving this floor until i'm finished with you."

your chest heaves, mind blank.

and jay? he's just getting started.

"look at you." jay's voice is velvet-coated filth. he's above you now, body heavy between your thighs, pinning you to the pulsing floor with casual, crushing dominance.

you can barely see him through the blur of tears. your face is hot, your lips swollen, your chest heaving with hiccuped sobs—and he's smiling. like your wreckage is beautiful. like your suffering is his reward.

"crying again, angel? didn't i just give you everything you begged for?" he reaches down—grips himself—and your breath stops.

because that's not human. not anymore.

you hadn't realized when he got the chance to slip off his pants, your eyes immediately zeroing in on what was clenches between his fist.  his cock is thick. veiny. too hot. it pulses in his hand like it has a heartbeat of its own, the head flushed darker than the rest, slightly curved, the base wrapped in ridged muscle you've never seen on anyone living. it looks designed—to stretch, to bruise, to own.

"don't pretend you're scared now," he huffs, pressing the thick head against your drenched entrance. "you begged for this. cried for it. soaked my face like a desperate little whore."

you whimper as he shoves in the tip.

your back arches, and your mouth drops down to an 'o'. "too big?" he mocks. "what a shame." his hand clamps down on your waist. you try to pull away—reflex—but he drags you back down like your body belongs to him. because it does.

"this body's not made for anything soft anymore." he pushes deeper and you scream. it burns. it stretches. he's so much, and you're still raw, still trembling from the last orgasm—and he knows it.

"so fucking tight," he grits. "like you were waiting to be split open."

he bottoms out and you sob again and jay laughs. "god, you're crying again. what's wrong, baby? can't handle being filled by what you gave yourself to?"

your fingers claw the air, wrists still bound, whole body shaking as his hips start to move—slow at first, dragging every ridge and vein against your walls, pulling back just enough to make you feel the loss before slamming back in deep.

"this pussy's mine now." he pounds into you again, "say it."

"j—jay—"

he grabs your jaw, forces your mouth open. "say it or i'll cum inside you and keep you full forever."

your cunt clamps down on him tight and he groans, low and dangerous. "fuck. you liked that, didn't you? thought you'd hate being ruined, but now you want it dripping down your thighs."

you choke. your legs are shaking again. your mind is gone. he keeps fucking into you—hard, brutal, possessive.

"i'm gonna fuck you until you forget you ever had a name. until the only word you know is mine."

your body convulses and another orgasm hits you, this one violent and sharp—rips through you as his cock drags over every spot that shouldn't exist inside you. it's like he's built to keep you on edge, to ruin you forever.

and when you cum, crying, broken, babbling nonsense—he smiles. "good girl."

he thrusts once. twice. and then he growls, a sound inhuman and deep, filling you with a rush of heat so intense your whole body trembles.

his cock pulses. deep inside. and he doesn't pull out. you could feel yourself dripping with him, your cunt clenching pathetically around him like a vice.

"mine now," he whispers into your ear, licking the sweat from your temple. "forever."

you don't respond. you can't.

and jay? jay just watches you twitch beneath him, a satisfied god feasting on the wreckage he made.

▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬ ▬▬

no one finds her.

not the mall staff. not the cops who skim the grainy security footage with bored eyes. not her family, who post missing posters no one reads.

there's no door. no sound. no sign.

just static on the feed where her flashlight dropped. just silence in the halls where she vanished.

but sometimes—if you're unlucky— if you wander too far past where the lights flicker and the walls feel too soft you might hear something.

a voice.

a moan.

a laugh, low and sweet and wrong.

or maybe you'll see something flash by—dark hair, bare feet, eyes too wide, a figure slumped against yellow walls with something crawling beneath her skin.

you won't know if she's alive.

you won't know if she's alone.

and the worst part? she might smile at you.

soft. slow. dreamy.

like she's waiting. like you're next.

because the backrooms keep what they're given. and they remember every sob, every scream, every second of surrender.

and somewhere inside them, in the red-lit heart of something ancient and hungry—he's still fucking her open. still whispering in her ear.

still asking the same question, over and over again: "do you want to be mine?"

and maybe—just maybe..

she said yes.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[wonenonly]

red lights

pairing: psycho guard!jungwon x reader

genre: squid game au, thriller, smut

synopsis: you enter the games to escape your debts, only to realise you're being kept alive for someone else's obsession.

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut (fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex, dirty marking/biting, powerplay, possessive/dom!jungwon), yandere behaviour, obsession, manipulation, stalking, slight coercion, degradation/praise mix, mentions of death and gun, not proofread.

note: this was requested! it's based on the first season since i haven't really watched the other two. this is prolly the fastest ive written a fic hehe i hope you like it!

word count: 3.4k

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

you knew you weren’t going to win.

the moment you stepped into the games, surrounded by hundreds of desperate strangers in green tracksuits, you felt it deep in your bones.

you weren’t the fastest. you weren’t the smartest. you didn’t have anyone to form an alliance with, no tricks up your sleeve, no reason to believe you’d be the one to walk away from this alive. you entered because you had no other choice. the debt collectors waiting outside your door had made sure of that.

still, even as the guards shuffled you into the towering playground that would host the first round, you kept telling yourself to stay sharp, to fight. maybe you wouldn’t win, but maybe you could survive. maybe you could make it just a little further than the next person. that’s what survival was here, wasn’t it? not about skill or power, just about making sure someone else fell before you did.

the first game was simple: “red light, green light.” you’d played it as a kid, but here, the stakes weren’t bruised knees and scraped palms. here, the doll didn’t chant instructions for fun. its voice echoed over the yard in a flat, mechanical rhythm, and every time it said “red light,” players who moved even a fraction of a second too late were gunned down where they stood.

the sound of the first gunshot made your stomach flip. the second made your knees buckle. by the third, your heartbeat was so loud you couldn’t hear anything else.

you wanted to cry. you wanted to turn and run, but you knew what would happen if you did.

so, you forced yourself forward on shaky legs, moving in short, stiff sprints every time the doll called “green light.” you could feel the weight of its gaze even when you weren’t moving.

sweat clung to your temples. your limbs ached from locking in place. every step felt like it could be your last.

you were halfway across the field when it happened. you miscalculated the timing, legs too slow and your reaction too sluggish. you stumbled, your foot catching on uneven ground, and you pitched forward as the doll called “red light.” you weren’t supposed to fall. now you were not going to survive this.

you landed hard, your palms scraping against the cracked asphalt. you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the gunfire. your breath caught in your throat as you waited.

but nothing happened.

the silence stretched on, broken only by the distant shuffling of other players. you lifted your head slowly, your heart still hammering in your chest, and looked around. you could feel the doll’s sensor locked on you. you could feel the way the air thickened around you, like the system was holding its breath.

the gun never fired.

you scrambled back onto your feet, legs shaking violently, and forced yourself forward again.

the rest of the game passed in a blur. your ears rang, your vision swam and when the final countdown ended, and the doors slid shut behind the last surviving players, you barely registered that you’d made it. you just stood there, gasping, your hands trembling at your sides.

the others whispered about system glitches. about how sometimes the doll missed a player by accident. about how maybe you were just lucky.

you wanted to believe it too, but you knew it deep down that you hadn’t been fast enough. you hadn’t outsmarted anything. you should’ve died. the doll’s sensor had locked onto you. you saw it.

someone or something had spared you.

you noticed him that night in the dorms, one of the masked enforcers standing near the exit. his uniform was the same as the others, but something about the way he watched you felt wrong. his head tilted slightly when you caught his eye, his posture shitfinh when you moved past him, gaze lingering too long.

it wasn’t just that he was watching. it was the way he was watching. like he was studying you. like he was waiting for something. like he already knew you.

the next day, you overheard two players whispering in the corner, their heads bowed low. they were talking about the guards. about how some of them had special clearances. about how one in particular was known to move differently, to linger in the control rooms when no one else was allowed. a guard connected to the vips. someone with access. someone dangerous.

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. until it did.

you should’ve died again.

when you broke one of the rules in the second game—a mistake so obvious that a guard should have dragged you away immediately—no one moved. the others stared at you, waiting for the punishment, but none of the guards reacted. none of the guns fired. you stood there, frozen in place, breathing too fast, waiting for the consequences that never came.

it didn’t make sense.

the same masked enforcer—the one who lingered too long—was stationed near the control panels this time. his hand rested near the emergency override key. his head tilted toward you, almost like he was waiting.

almost like he wanted you to see him.

the next game, you slipped during the tug of war, your grip loosening, your body tilting dangerously backward—but somehow, the rope didn’t pull you down. the other team lost their footing at the last second, their weight shifting inexplicably in your favour.

you barely held on and your team barely survived. when you stumbled off the platform, the same masked enforcer stood near the exit, watching you.

you didn’t know his name. you couldn’t see his face. but you knew. it was him. it had to be.

you began to realise you weren’t surviving because you were clever or strong. you were surviving because someone wanted you alive. someone was bending the system around you. someone who didn’t follow the same rules as everyone else.

you caught him again after the fourth game. it was subtle. a moment where his hand brushed the control panel too casually, where the timer extended just long enough to save you, where a guard hesitated when they should’ve pulled the trigger. you saw the way his head turned toward you, as if he could feel your eyes on him, as if he wanted you to notice him.

the rumours grew bigger, spreading around like hot tea. it was about guards with ties to the vips. about ones who didn’t have to follow protocol, who could break the rules if they wanted to.

you had dismissed them before. but now you weren’t so sure.

you didn’t know why he had chosen you. you didn’t know what he wanted. but you could feel it pressing in on you now—the weight of his attention. instead of feeling lucky, you felt more trapped

whatever this was, it wasn’t over. you weren’t safe. you were being kept alive for a reason.

a reason that didn’t feel like mercy.

you noticed little things after that. little cracks. the way his hand would twitch near his weapon when other players got too close to you. the way his breathing would hitch when you stumbled, like the idea of losing you—even by accident—rattled him in a way he couldn’t quite hide. you caught him staring too long, standing too close, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides when someone else spoke to you.

there was something desperate about it which felt very off.

it built and built until you couldn’t take it anymore. you needed answers. you needed to see him. not the mask. not the uniform. the real him.

you waited until the halls thinned out and the guards dispersed, slipping away from the dorms under the buzz of half-working lights.

your bare feet slapped softly against the cool floor as you moved through the empty corridors, your heart pounding hard in your chest with every step. you didn’t know what you were walking toward, but you knew you wouldn’t stop until you found him.

you slipped past the security gates you weren’t supposed to cross, toward the back rooms—the ones you’d heard about in snatches of conversations, where the control feeds were hidden from the players. only select staff with connections to the vips were allowed here apparently.

you caught him in a maintenance room, just beyond the restricted zone. the door was cracked open, just enough for you to see his back, the pink uniform still clinging to him like a second skin.

you stayed frozen in the doorway, your breath catching in your throat as you watched him slowly lift the helmet from his head.

his hair was dark, matted slightly from sweat, sticking to the nape of his neck. he set the mask aside and flexed his shoulders, rolling the tension out of his muscles like he didn’t know you were there.

but he did.

he turned toward you, calm, steady, and met your wide-eyed stare with a small, knowing smile.

you didn’t recognise him. you had never seen his face before. he was just a boy—a stranger.

but it didn’t feel like you were meeting him for the first time. his eyes held something familiar, something that made your skin prickle and your lungs seize. it was the same weight you’d felt pressing on you during every game. it was the same suffocating attention you’d carried since the first round.

“you found me,” he said, his voice soft like it was meant for you alone.

he didn’t sound surprised or worried. it was like he’d known you would come.

your throat went dry, body locking in place. you wanted to run, but you couldn’t make your legs move.

“you’ve been…” you forced the words out, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “it was you.”

his smile deepened, a slow curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“you’re safe because of me,” he said simply, as if it was obvious. “i’ve been protecting you since the beginning. i didn’t want you to die.”

your stomach twisted painfully. you didn’t know him. you didn’t understand him. but the pieces had already snapped together in your head, each impossible survival, each glitch in the system, each unspoken warning—he’d been behind all of it.

“why?” your voice cracked, barely audible. “why me?”

he stepped closer, slow, unhurried, like he was giving you time to run, knowing you wouldn’t.

“because you’re mine,” he said, his tone so calm, so sure, it left no room for doubt. “i couldn’t let them take you.”

you could feel the panic building in your throat, but you stayed rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.

his hand lifted to touch your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone. his touch was warm, careful, almost reverent.

“you only made it this far because i wanted you to.”

his words settled over you like a trap snapping shut, but there was no malice in his eyes. only certainty.

you didn’t know what scared you more—the way his touch felt almost gentle, or the way your body leaned into it despite the roaring alarm in your head.

his touch was slow, careful, but not gentle. it felt like the kind of patience that could snap at any second. like the stillness before something dangerous finally broke loose.

his fingers dragged along your waist, slow and deliberate, tracing circles over the thin fabric of your uniform like he was burning your shape into memory. his gloves pressed firmly into your skin, just tight enough to remind you that you wouldn’t be walking away from this.

your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away.

maybe you should have. maybe you could have. but your body didn’t move. you told yourself it was fear. but the truth settled heavier than that. the truth tasted like surrender.

“you don’t even realise what you do to me,” jungwon murmured, his voice low, frayed at the edges. “how long i’ve been watching you.”

“you were… watching me?” your voice came out small and shaken, heart hammering against your ribs.

his hands slid up your sides, pausing just beneath your ribs, holding you there like you were something fragile. his grip tightened, a silent warning, his thumbs pressing in hard enough to sting.

“you didn’t think you were surviving this on your own, did you?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “you didn’t really believe that, right?”

“i…” your throat closed up. “at first i thought i was lucky.”

he let out a dark laugh, his breath hot against your skin. “you weren’t lucky. you were mine.”

his grip moved lower, guiding you backward until your thighs bumped against the edge of the console table. when he lifted you onto the cold metal surface, his palms didn’t leave your body, his hands sliding down to your hips, caging you in place like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“look at you,” he breathed, his voice slipping, his composure fraying. “so perfect. so soft for me now.”

“please,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. “i don’t… i don’t understand what you want from me.”

his thumb dipped under the waistband of your pants, teasing the skin there, but he didn’t pull them down yet. he just stared at you, his eyes drinking in every tiny tremble, every shaky breath, every small way your body leaned into him despite yourself.

his other hand came up to cup your face, tilting your chin until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“i’ve seen every part of you,” jungwon whispered, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “you didn’t know i was watching, but i was. always.”

his voice cracked a little on the last word.

“i watched you when you slept. when you cried. when you begged to be saved.” his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. “and you always will be. you’ll always be safe with me.”

you whimpered, your lips closing around his thumb without thinking, your breath trembling as you looked up at him.

“you’ll let me take care of you now, won’t you?” his voice softened, but it wasn’t a question.

“yes,” you whispered around his thumb, shame heating your cheeks.

his breath hitched, like that tiny, broken word shattered whatever fragile restraint he had left.

“that’s my good girl,” he whispered, withdrawing his thumb just long enough to grip your jaw, his touch rougher now, his desperation bleeding through.

“you’re always so sweet for me.”

his other hand finally moved, dragging your pants down slow and deliberately, savouring the reveal like he’d waited too long for this moment to rush it. when his fingers slipped between your thighs, he groaned low in his throat at the first brush of your slick against his glove.

“fuck,” he breathed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your jaw, his voice breaking. “you want this. you’ve always wanted this.”

“i… i don’t know,” you gasped, your hips jerking into his touch.

“yes, you do,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “your body knows. you’re already so wet for me.”

his fingers moved slowly at first, spreading your arousal, circling your clit in soft, measured strokes that made your stomach knot and your legs tense. he worked you open with dangerous patience, dragging two fingers through your folds, pushing them inside you until you gasped.

“say it,” he breathed, curling his fingers inside you just right. “say you want me.”

“i…” your voice trembled, your fingers fisting in his uniform. “i want you.”

his breath faltered. “again.”

“i want you,” you whispered, shame and pleasure sinking deep into your bones.

his thumb pressed firm, steady circles over your clit while his fingers curled inside you, coaxing desperate, shaky sounds from your throat. your hips rocked into his touch without thinking, the pleasure drowning out your guilt, your fear, your logic.

“that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave it stinging. “just feel me. don’t think. just let me have you.”

“it’s too much,” you whimpered, your walls tightening around his fingers.

“you can take it,” he growled, his breath heavy against your skin.

his breathing frayed as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his control slipping with every heartbeat. when you tightened around his fingers, trembling, he didn’t stop. he didn’t give you space to pull away.

“mine,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “you’ve always been mine.”

when you came, your body clenching around his fingers, your cry breaking the silence, jungwon’s eyes snapped wide, his pupils blown out like something inside him shattered.

“you’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, dragging his slick coated fingers across your lips. “taste.”

your lips parted before you could think, your tongue flicking over his fingers as he watched you with a trembling, starved gaze.

his composure cracked.

he tugged your shirt over your head with shaking hands, his mouth already moving across your skin, licking, sucking, biting along the soft curves of your chest, his desperation sharp and barely contained.

“the rest of you think i’m just an enforcer,” he whispered against your ribs. “but i have access the other guards will never have. i can override the system. i can pull you from the games whenever i want.”

his mouth worked hot, wet kisses over your stomach, his hands clutching your waist like he could anchor himself to you.

“you’ve heard the rumours, haven’t you?” he breathed, his hips grinding into your thigh. “about the ones who can bend the rules. the ones the vips can’t control.”

“what are you?” you choked out, your heart slamming against your ribs.

he kissed lower, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just above your hips.

“i’m the one who kept you alive,” he whispered. “i’m the one who’s going to keep you forever.”

his voice dropped, “i can break you. i can keep you. and no one can stop me.”

he pressed his cock against your entrance, dragging the tip through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. the slow tease made you writhe, your hands gripping his shoulders, your thighs pressing against his hips like you couldn’t decide whether to pull him in or push him away.

“please,” you breathed, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “please, jungwon…”

“please what?” he coaxed, his voice thick with amusement. “please stop? or please fuck you?”

you sobbed, your hips tilting forward despite yourself. “please fuck me.”

his eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your waist like he wanted to snap you in half.

“that’s my girl,” he growled, dragging you down onto his cock in one slow, brutal thrust that stretched you to the edge of pain. you cried out, clinging to him as his hips began to move in relentless, claiming thrusts.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he groaned, driving into you harder. “so tight around me. you were made for me.”

“you’re too deep,” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“you can take it,” he snarled, his teeth grazing your ear. “you’ll take all of me.”

he fucked you harder, each snap of his hips brutal, desperate, like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

“you’re mine,” he gasped, his voice unravelling. “i’ve waited so long for this. i’ll keep you. i’ll never let you go.”

“you’re not supposed to—” you whimpered, your legs shaking.

“you belong to me,” he growled, dragging your legs higher around his waist, slamming into you so deep you sobbed. “you belong here.”

his rhythm never faltered, every thrust deep and claiming, every kiss desperate and filthy. his cock split you open, the obscene, wet sounds of your bodies echoing through the room.

“you’re so messy for me,” he groaned, watching your slick coat his cock. “so wet, so fucking perfect.”

“jungwon, i can’t—” you sobbed, your body teetering on the edge.

“yes, you can,” he growled, his hips snapping harder. “cum for me. now.”

when your second orgasm hit, your body clenching around him, your release washing over you in sharp, overwhelming waves, jungwon groaned into your skin, his rhythm stuttering as he spilled inside you, his cum hot and heavy, dripping out as he rocked into you through the aftershocks.

his arms stayed locked around you, his lips pressing frantic, desperate kisses to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder like he could carve his place into you.

his voice trembled against your skin, a soft, dangerous promise.

“you’re mine. forever. i’ll keep you safe. i’ll keep you forever.”

and the worst part about all of this was the part that made your stomach twist—you believed him.

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