I Need More Geum Seong Je Fics To Read On Here. Ive Done Read Them All😩😩😩

“No One Else”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Genre: Angst, possessiveness, obsession, unresolved tension

Setting: Post-Class 2 events, dark school rooftops and quiet apartments

⸻

You shoved his hand off your wrist for the third time that night.

“Geum Seong-je,” you snapped. “You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to act like this.”

His eyes flickered. Not wide, not surprised—but focused. Too focused. Like a lion watching prey try to limp away.

“Don’t call me by my full name like that,” he said, stepping forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it tightened the air between you.

“Why not? That’s your name, isn’t it? Or should I start calling you what people actually say behind your back?”

He raised a brow. “You think I care what people say?”

“You care when I say it.”

That shut him up, for a beat. And that silence felt more dangerous than any insult he could throw.

You folded your arms, already regretting coming up to the rooftop with him. He’d cornered you at the stairwell after your last class, asking—no, demanding—a word. Always when no one else was around. Always when it would be easier to just nod and let him have his say.

You should’ve said no.

“You were with him again,” Seong-je said finally, his voice low. “You know who I mean.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously bringing this up again? He’s a friend. A normal friend.”

“Normal? You think that guy’s not waiting for you to give him one smile and climb into his lap?”

You stepped back. “You’re out of line.”

He followed, slow and deliberate. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

“Even if you’re not, it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to dictate who I hang out with. You don’t own me.”

That word. Own.

His face twitched. Not angry. Not yet. Just… strained. Tense in that way he got when he was trying not to lose control.

“I don’t want to own you,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise. “I just want you to understand. I’m the one who sees you for who you are. Not them. Not that guy. He doesn’t know how your voice sounds when you’re lying. I do.”

You stared at him, arms still crossed. “That’s not love, Seong-je. That’s surveillance.”

He laughed. Just once. Sharp, bitter.

“Love?” he repeated. “You think what you make me feel is love?”

You paused. The rooftop air felt colder suddenly. And quieter. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I don’t sleep some nights,” he said. “Not because of guilt. I don’t have much of that left. But because I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Who you’re smiling at. If you’re still thinking about me or if you’ve finally decided I’m just another freak with a control problem.”

You didn’t speak. Because he wasn’t wrong. You had thought that. Maybe still did.

“But then you do something stupid,” he continued. “Like laugh too loud in the hallway. Or wear something that makes every guy turn his head. And I realize—they don’t get to see you like that. They don’t get that part of you. Only I do.”

You exhaled slowly. “That’s not love either. That’s obsession.”

He stepped closer again, so close you could smell the faint trace of smoke and mint he always carried. Not cologne—something darker. More dangerous.

“I don’t care what you call it,” he said. “As long as it keeps you away from him.”

You glared at him. “You think I’ll drop my friends just because you said so?”

He leaned in, voice quiet enough that you could feel it in your spine.

“I think you already have. At least a little. Because you’re still here. Because even when I scare the hell out of you… you stay.”

He was right. And that terrified you more than anything.

Because you had a million chances to walk away from Geum Seong-je. From his temper, from the way he made everything a war, from the way his gaze felt like it could skin people alive—but you didn’t.

Maybe because part of you liked how intense he got. How he looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world full of pawns and trash. Maybe you liked being the one exception.

But at what cost?

“You need help,” you whispered.

His head tilted, eyes unreadable. “You make me worse. You know that, right?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. And you make it really hard to breathe sometimes.”

He looked at you for a long time. No smirk. No anger. Just a quiet, razor-sharp stare.

“Good,” he said. “Then we’re even.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was a claim.

Possessive. Bruising. A kiss like a warning.

You didn’t kiss back. But you didn’t push him away, either.

And when he pulled back, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you realized he wasn’t going to let go.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

hi i love your weak hero fanfics 😍😍 could you make something about baek dongha?

Heyy thank you sm for requesting!!!!(srry for taking s long time I was very busy😘)

“Beneath the Smoke”

Pairing: Baek Dong-ha x fem!reader

Genre: Slow-burn romance, angst with comfort, emotional vulnerability

⸻

The rooftop was Baek Dong-ha’s escape.

Most people thought he thrived in chaos—always at the center of smoke and blood, commanding fear like it was instinct. But up here, with the city lights flickering below and the sky swallowing up his silence, he could finally breathe.

And now, you were here too. Sitting beside him, your legs swinging off the edge like you weren’t afraid of anything—not the height, not him.

“I figured I’d find you up here,” you said softly, placing a convenience store coffee beside him. It was the same one he always grabbed. Iced black, no sugar.

Baek Dong-ha didn’t look at you right away. He kept his eyes on the skyline, the cold wind brushing against the bandage on his jaw. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You smiled, not offended. “Neither should you. But here we are.”

He finally looked at you. Not with the sharp, cutting gaze that scared most people away. This one was quieter. Tired. Like he was always bracing for the next fight, even when there wasn’t one.

“Why do you keep showing up?” he asked, voice low. “Even after everything you’ve seen?”

You leaned back on your hands, your shoulder brushing his. “Because you’re more than what people see when they look at you.”

A bitter scoff escaped him. “They see what’s real.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, turning to face him. “I think they see what you want them to see.”

That made him pause. His fingers tightened slightly around the coffee cup. “And what do you see?”

You hesitated, then answered honestly. “Someone who’s hurting. Someone who doesn’t know how to be soft without feeling weak. Someone who thinks being alone is safer—but deep down, doesn’t want to be.”

His throat worked around a swallow. “You think you know me that well?”

“I’m still trying,” you said. “But I’m not scared to.”

Baek Dong-ha didn’t say anything for a while. The wind picked up, carrying the distant sounds of traffic and the echo of something fragile between you.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “You shouldn’t get close to me.”

“I’m already close,” you replied. “And I’m still here.”

He turned his head just slightly, studying you. Like he was trying to find the catch. But there wasn’t one. Just you, stubborn and soft, sitting beside a boy the world had already written off.

Finally, he leaned back against the railing, letting out a slow breath.

“…I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “You just have to let me be here.”

Baek Dong-ha closed his eyes, letting your hand linger. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to run or fight. He just… existed. Right beside you.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

“No One Else” — Part 5: “Collateral”

Genre: Dark romance, psychological drama, emotional fallout

Tone: Dangerous affection, unraveling consequences, possessive tension

(The guy Jun hyuk is a made up character for this fan fic)

⸻

It wasn’t just between the two of you anymore.

People had started to notice.

The way you always sat next to him—even when there were open seats. The way his eyes followed you like a tracking system. The way no one could joke with you anymore without feeling like a shadow was hovering behind them.

You hadn’t meant for it to get this far.

But the deeper you fell into him—the more obvious it became that there was no getting out without a cost.

And people were beginning to pay it.

⸻

It started with Jun-hyuk.

He’d been your friend since middle school. Safe. Easygoing. The kind of guy who knew your mom’s name and brought you snacks during exam week.

He was also the first person to finally say it out loud.

“You’ve changed,” he told you after school, standing just outside the school gates. “You don’t laugh anymore. You watch. Like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped closer. “Is it… is it Seong-je?”

The name made your chest tighten. You hated how much you liked hearing it from someone else’s mouth. Like he was yours, and everyone knew.

You didn’t say yes. You didn’t have to.

Jun-hyuk’s jaw clenched. “He’s not normal. You know that. He’s dangerous.”

“He protects me.”

“No,” he snapped. “He isolates you.”

That made you look up.

And the worst part?

You felt angry.

Because even if it was true—even if you knew it deep down—he didn’t get to say it. Not him.

Not anyone.

⸻

You told Seong-je about it that night.

Not because you wanted him to do anything.

But because you wanted him to know.

He was silent for a long time after you finished. Sitting beside you, eyes on the floor, the silence thick.

Then he spoke.

“Do you miss him?”

You turned your head slowly.

“Do you want me to?”

His gaze snapped to yours. Cold. Controlled.

But something was breaking.

“No,” he said. “Because if you ever do…”

He trailed off. Didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

⸻

Jun-hyuk stopped showing up to school the next day.

Rumors swirled.

Some said he got into a fight and didn’t want to come back.

Others said someone threatened him.

You knew the truth.

And when Seong-je sat beside you in class like nothing had happened—calm, composed, triumphant—your stomach twisted.

But you didn’t say anything.

Because part of you felt safe.

And part of you liked it.

⸻

You were losing things.

But you still had him.

And in the growing silence of your life, that started to feel like enough.

Even if he was a storm and you were just learning how to breathe in the eye of it.

“Glass Cage: Part 10 – The Echo After”

Geum Seong-je x Reader | Trial Aftermath, House Revisit, Emotional Collapse, Deep Angst

⸻

The courtroom was painfully still.

Wooden seats. The sterile smell of old books and polished floors. The silence was the kind that bruised—too thick to breathe through, too quiet to feel real.

Your palms pressed together in your lap, knuckles white.

The jury foreman stood.

“We, the jury, find the defendant—Geum Seong-je—guilty of kidnapping in the first degree… obstruction of justice… unlawful possession of a firearm… harboring a missing person—”

Each word hit like a blow to the ribs. You didn’t cry. Not yet.

You looked at him.

He sat straight. Hands cuffed to the table. But his shoulders were relaxed—not because he was okay, but because he didn’t want you to fall apart.

His eyes met yours.

Soft. Steady.

The kind of look someone gives you when they know they’re about to be taken from you forever.

You almost whispered his name.

You almost ran to him.

But the gavel slammed. And the moment broke.

⸻

Weeks later. Same courtroom.

You’d begged to speak.

Your voice shook at first, but you held it together. You had to.

“They call him my captor. I call him my husband.”

“They say he took me. I say I never wanted to be found.”

“He gave me safety. He gave me warmth. He gave me our daughter.”

The judge stared at you like you were broken beyond repair.

Maybe you were.

The sentence:

25 years. No chance of parole for 12.

You didn’t remember standing.

Or being escorted out.

You just remember turning around one last time, and seeing his head bow forward.

Not in shame.

But in goodbye.

⸻

They gave you a hotel room.

Neutral colors. Government-issued warmth. Fresh sheets you couldn’t sleep in.

Your baby was at your best friend’s apartment, just outside town.

Safe. Fed. Asleep.

Your best friend had seen you through every version of yourself—before, during, after. She never judged. Not once.

“I’ll keep her tonight,” she said after the sentencing. “Go do what you need to do.”

And so you did.

⸻

You drove there on muscle memory. No GPS. Just the tug of your soul pulling you back to where it last knew peace.

The house was unlocked. The investigation team had been through already—swept it for evidence, cleared it out of anything dangerous.

But they left everything else behind.

The living room was exactly how it was the night they came.

Now, that same wine glass lay in pieces beneath the table.

You knelt down, picking up one of the shards.

Your hands shook.

The fireplace was dark.

His slippers still sat by the hearth.

Your hoodie hung over the arm of the couch.

The couch pillow had an indent where his head rested that night—just hours before they stormed in with guns and shouts and flashlights in your baby’s face.

You walked through the house like a ghost retracing its own death.

⸻

And then it happened.

The weight of it.

The silence of it.

The absence of him.

You collapsed to your knees in the middle of the floor.

Blanket still bunched up beside you, wine stain still in the rug, everything exactly where your life had stopped.

You cried so hard it was animal.

It ripped out of you—loud, shaking sobs into the cushion he used to rest his head on.

You punched the floor. Screamed into the blanket.

You shouted his name again and again like if you said it loud enough, he might walk back through the door.

“Seong-je—*Seong-je please—*I can’t do this—”

Your chest heaved, raw.

Tears soaked your shirt. The hardwood. The blanket.

The house didn’t answer.

⸻

It was dark when you heard the front door creak.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Soft steps. Then a familiar voice.

“It’s just me.”

She found you curled on the floor, arms wrapped around the blanket like it was him.

She didn’t say, ‘Are you okay?’

She didn’t say, ‘You need to get up.’

She sat down next to you, pulled you into her lap, and let you cry all over again.

Her voice was soft in your hair.

“You don’t have to explain. I know. I’ve always known.”

You let yourself fall apart in her arms because you knew—deep down—she was one of the few who never saw your love as something twisted.

Only tragic.

-MASTERLIST-

A/N: There will be more!!!! If you want me to write any more kpop groups. Idols. Actors, etc plz ask!!!!(i dont rlly do smut but I will try if you request it😉)

A lot of my fanfic will have songs that you can listen to that give the vibe of the writing but you don’t have to listen to them you can listen to your own music!!

About me!!

She/her, Spanish/Mexican American😛

I don’t really write smut, I do sometimes, only if requested or asked(plz don’t be scared to ask😅)

I love kpop, punk rock, and underground rap/Memphis rap!!!!

I also love love LOVE twilight (team Jacob✊😜) I’m also a big jasper fan😏

—————

But these are the ones I plan on writing(an have written) thus far👇

Weak hero class:

Geum seong je:

No one else pt1, pt 2, pt3, pt4, pt 5

Geum seong je x reader headcanons

Only I hurt you

No One Else (follow up)

Every Time

I Know You Missed Me

The Last Cigarette

Cherry coke & cigarettes

Cherry coke & cigarettes pt 2

Glass cage pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt7, pt 8

Yeon sieun:

The quiet between us

Na Baek Jin:

I Just Want You

Na Baek Jin Headcanons

Kang woo young:

Dirty little secret

Rumors & recordings

Baek dongha:

Beneath the smoke

Strangers from Hell:

Seo moon Jo:

To be loved by a monster

Stray kids:

Nothing yet

P1harmony:

Nothing yet

“Glass Cage: Part 7 – The Key”

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

____

You didn’t mean to do it

Not at first.

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

His hand is heavy on your waist. Like always.

But this time…

You’re not content.

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

That room.

That door.

What does he think will break if you see?

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

But this time you go to the closet.

And you kneel down.

Where he keeps the small fireproof lockbox.

You saw him slip a key into it last week.

The only key you’ve never asked him for.

You open the box.

And find it.

Thin, silver. Cold.

The key to the locked door.

You hold it in your palm.

You don’t even hesitate.

⸻

The hallway is darker than usual.

Like the shadows know.

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

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

You reach the door.

Slide the key in.

Click.

It swings open without a sound.

⸻

The air smells… different.

Dust. Metal. Paper.

The room is dim — covered windows, low light.

You step inside.

It’s not what you expected.

No blood. No chains. No horror.

It’s a shrine.

To you.

⸻

Photos of you, before he took you.

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

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

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

There are journals, too.

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

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

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

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

You stand still.

Not afraid.

Not disgusted.

Just… quiet.

Because it makes sense.

All of it.

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

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

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

And in the back of the room…

A sketch.

Drawn by hand.

You, asleep.

In his bed.

Before he ever brought you here.

⸻

You hear his voice before you turn.

Low. Lethal. Broken.

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

You freeze.

Then slowly, turn around.

He’s standing in the doorway.

Barefoot.

Shirtless.

Key still missing from the box you forgot to close.

You say nothing.

He walks forward, every step measured.

And stops in front of you.

“You disobeyed me.”

“I know.”

“You saw everything.”

“I did.”

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

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

Then—

“Do you hate me?”

You look up at him.

Shake your head.

“I think I love you more.”

His breath catches.

“What?”

You step forward. Place your palm over his chest.

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

He swallows hard.

Then falls to his knees in front of you.

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

Like you just saved him from himself.

⸻

You don’t sleep in his bed that night.

You sleep on the floor of the secret room.

With him curled around you.

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

—

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

Not colder.

Not tense.

Just… exposed.

Like something raw and sacred has been shared.

He doesn’t speak much that day.

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

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

He doesn’t bring up the room.

But he doesn’t lock it again either.

And that night, after he falls asleep—

You get up.

And start bringing in your things.

⸻

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

Then you tape up a photo of him.

Not one he took.

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

You bring your perfume.

A strand of your hair from his brush.

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

And you tape it to the wall.

Right next to his sentence:

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

⸻

He finds you in the room three days later.

Sitting on the floor.

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

He stands in the doorway, stunned.

“…What are you doing?”

You look up.

Smile.

“Making it ours.”

⸻

He walks in, slowly.

Looks around.

Sees the photo you added.

The lipstick heart.

The perfume bottle.

He swallows hard.

“You’re not afraid of this?”

“No.”

He crouches beside you.

“Of me?”

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

His hand trembles as he cups your cheek.

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

You lean in. Kiss the corner of his mouth.

Then say:

“Then give me more.”

⸻

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

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

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

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

This time not from memory.

This time from right here.

Right now.

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

——-

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

HII could you do a kang wooyoung x reader fic 😛😛😛

“Dirty Little Secret”

Pairing: Kang Woo Young x Fem!Reader

Genre: Drama, Angst, Romance, Secret Relationship

Warnings: Swearing, emotional tension, implied possessiveness

Summary: You’ve been sneaking around with Kang Woo Young for months—behind stairwells, in empty classrooms, under shadows. But you’re tired of being a secret. And he… he doesn’t want to let you go, but he won’t let the world have you either.

⸻

You pulled your hand away first.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and Woo Young’s grip on your wrist lingered a little too long before he let go.

“Someone could’ve seen us,” he muttered, eyes sharp as ever, scanning the empty stairwell where he’d kissed you like he owned your lungs.

You crossed your arms, heart still hammering from the way he’d just whispered your name minutes ago like a damn prayer.

“Then maybe we should stop hiding in goddamn stairwells.”

Woo Young’s eyes snapped to yours. Cold. Warning.

You didn’t flinch. Not this time.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, voice low. Controlled.

“It is for me,” you shot back. “Either we’re together, or we’re not. I’m not going to keep being your secret.”

He took a step closer. “You want everyone to know? You want to walk the halls with my name in your mouth like it’s safe?”

You blinked. “Yeah. I want to hold your hand without ducking behind a corner. I want to be seen.”

Woo Young scoffed—bitter, harsh. “You think that’s romantic? You think anyone around here’s gonna let you breathe if they find out you’re mine?”

Your breath caught. Yours.

He wasn’t denying it. He just didn’t want anyone else to know it.

“You’re not protecting me,” you said. “You’re protecting yourself.”

Silence.

His jaw clenched. You watched him war with himself—the need to hold on, and the instinct to push you away. The same look he always wore after a fight: bruised pride and something darker underneath.

“You knew what this was,” he finally said.

You stepped back. “Yeah. I thought it was something worth fighting for.”

You turned, heading back down the stairs, ignoring the way your chest ached when he didn’t stop you.

It had been four days.

Four days since you walked away from Kang Woo Young in that stairwell.

Four days of no calls. No texts. No midnight glances. Nothing.

You hadn’t spoken a word to him. Not in class. Not in passing. Not when he lingered in the hallway just a little too long, waiting for you to look at him.

You didn’t.

And that? That drove him insane.

He never said it out loud. Of course he didn’t—he was Woo Young. Cold, unreadable, untouchable. But beneath the silence, the storm was building.

He watched you laugh with a friend by the vending machines. That smile—the one that used to be just for him—was out in the open now. It made his jaw tighten.

Then he saw it.

Some guy. Tall. Too confident. Reaching for the same drink you did. Laughing. Leaning too close. And worse—you didn’t pull away.

Woo Young didn’t think. He moved.

One second, the guy was smiling.

The next, he was slammed against the wall.

“Back the fuck off,” Woo Young growled.

You spun around. “Woo Young—!”

The hallway fell quiet.

Eyes were on you. On him. On the way his hand fisted in the guy’s collar like he was ready to crack teeth against tile.

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, shoving his arm.

He let go—but his eyes never left yours. Not even as the guy stumbled away, swearing under his breath.

“You’ve got no right to act like that,” you hissed.

“I do,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “You’re mine.”

That word again.

You felt heat crawl up your spine—not from desire this time, but fury.

“You only remember that when someone else looks at me.”

His silence was confirmation enough.

You turned to leave, but his voice—low, ragged—caught you.

“You don’t look at me anymore.”

You froze.

He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t pushing. He just… sounded like something cracked under the surface.

“I see you walking past like I’m a stranger,” he continued. “Like none of it meant anything.”

You swallowed hard.

“You made me your secret, Woo Young,” you said quietly. “Now you don’t get to act like I betrayed you just because I stopped playing along.”

Then you walked away again.

But this time, his hand didn’t reach for you.

Not yet.

Part 3 - Cherry Coke & Cigarettes

———

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

——

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

The apartment was quiet.

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

You were still here.

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

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

You looked up. “You told me to.”

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

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

He stared at you for a long moment.

“You’re not.”

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

His eyes lowered.

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

“Because it makes you lose control?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

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

“Then let’s try something else.”

He looked at you.

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

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

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

“Okay. Then I’ll go first.”

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

That drew the smallest smile out of him.

“You?” you asked.

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

You tilted your head. “Because of school?”

“Because of my life.”

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

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

“No.”

“Why?”

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

He was quiet.

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

His throat tightened at that.

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

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

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

“Not always.”

“You try, though.”

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

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

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

He squeezed your hand once.

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

⸻

Later that night…

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

You were the calm in all his chaos.

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

“Glass Cage: Part 4 – Stay With Me”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, obsession, jealousy, emotional intensity, psychological intensity, first time smut (softly written but obsessive), twisted proposal

⸻

The morning after you broke into his bed, you wake to warmth.

The sun filters through half-open curtains. His scent lingers everywhere — in the sheets, the pillows, the heavy comforter wrapped around your waist. You’re still tucked into his chest, your bare legs tangled with his under the covers.

And he’s already awake.

His hand strokes your back slowly, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine under the shirt you stole from his drawer the night before. It’s far too big for you. He hasn’t said anything about that yet.

You breathe in the moment. Safe. Claimed.

Then his voice cuts through the silence.

“You’re not sleeping downstairs again.”

Your eyes flutter open.

“What?”

“I said you’re staying here,” he repeats, low and certain. “With me.”

You look up at him.

His expression is unreadable, but his arms are locked around you like steel. Like you’re some priceless thing someone might come and take.

“I thought you liked watching me sleep from the chair,” you tease, smiling softly.

His jaw ticks.

“I like knowing you can’t disappear.”

Something about the way he says it — calm, controlled, laced with fear — makes your throat tighten.

You press your palm flat against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods.

But his eyes don’t soften.

⸻

That afternoon, you hear a car.

You’re in the kitchen with him — barefoot, wearing his shirt and nothing else, sitting on the counter as he slices fruit in that quiet, focused way of his.

Then the gravel outside crunches under tires.

You freeze.

His hand stops mid-slice.

No one’s supposed to come here. No one even knows about this place. Not friends. Not enemies. Not ghosts from his past.

Then the knock.

Three sharp raps at the front door.

You see it happen behind his eyes — that switch. The one where his humanity gets buried under instinct. He sets the knife down and steps away from you.

“Stay here,” he says, voice colder than you’ve ever heard it.

“Seong-je—”

“I said stay.”

Then he disappears down the hall.

You wait maybe ten seconds before slipping off the counter and creeping to the corner — just far enough to see without being seen.

He opens the door.

It’s a man. Mid-thirties. Tall. Dressed like a courier, but wrong. Too clean. Too quiet.

“I was told this property was for sale—” the man begins.

Seong-je doesn’t let him finish.

The door slams.

Then a click.

The lock.

The deadbolt.

Then silence.

You duck back just as he comes striding down the hall again. When he turns the corner and sees you standing there, bare and nervous in his shirt, his whole expression breaks.

Not in anger.

But in pure, animal fear.

“You weren’t supposed to come out,” he mutters.

He grabs you — not hard, but fast. Hauls you against his chest and buries his face in your hair.

“I thought maybe you’d vanish,” he whispers.

“Why would I—”

“Because things that don’t belong in this world get taken back.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t know who that man was.

But you know Seong-je would burn this entire forest down before letting anyone near you.

⸻

That night, you don’t ask permission.

You slip into his bed before he even gets there. Curl under the covers, facing the spot where he sleeps, wearing nothing but the scent of him on your skin.

When he walks in and sees you waiting, something in him shatters.

He doesn’t say a word.

He locks the door. Peels his shirt off slowly. Slides into bed behind you.

His hand runs down your arm, then over your hip, then lower — but not rushed. Not greedy. He touches you like he owns you, but worships you all the same.

“You’re mine,” he breathes into your neck.

You whisper it back. “Yours.”

You guide his hand to your thighs. Let him feel how much you want him. Let him know the hunger is mutual.

The kiss he gives you then is not gentle.

It’s permanent.

⸻

Later, you lie on his chest, skin warm and flushed, legs tangled under the covers.

He watches you with heavy eyes, one hand resting on the curve of your waist like a lock.

You whisper:

“I never want to sleep alone again.”

He’s quiet.

Then he nods.

And pulls you tighter.

“No one’s taking you from this bed,” he murmurs. “Not ever again.”

——-

You’re alone in his room when you find it.

He went out to the shed — something about checking the perimeter, tightening the security.

“You’ll be safe here,” he told you before he left, kissing your forehead.

But you weren’t looking for escape.

You were looking for more of him.

The drawer by his bed is usually locked. But tonight it’s not.

Inside: a stack of old photographs. Black-and-white, a little wrinkled.

You pick one up carefully.

It’s a young boy. Sharp eyes, bruised cheek. Standing beside a woman who’s smiling through sadness. Her arm wrapped around him like she’s trying to protect him from the world — and failing.

You know it’s him.

His mother. The pain that shaped him.

Then you find the letter.

Cracked at the edges, folded and re-folded. The ink smudged.

It’s from her.

Just a few lines.

You’re not like him, Seong-je.

You’re not a monster.

Don’t let them make you one.

Your chest tightens.

You hear the door open behind you.

He sees the photo in your hand — the letter.

And he freezes.

⸻

“You weren’t supposed to read that,” he says quietly.

You turn to face him.

“I wanted to understand you.”

He doesn’t come closer. His jaw is clenched. Hands twitching at his sides.

“I’m not a good man,” he murmurs. “I’m just the one who made you love your cage.”

You shake your head, stepping toward him.

“No. You’re the only one who ever saw me.”

His throat works. You’re in front of him now. Close. The photo slips from your hand, floating to the floor between your bare feet.

You reach up.

Touch his jaw. His cheekbone. The scar under his lip.

“I want all of you,” you whisper. “Even the parts you think are unlovable.”

And just like that — he snaps.

⸻

He kisses you hard. Desperate. Like he’s drowning and you’re the air.

You wrap your arms around his neck, his body pressing you back onto the bed. His weight, his heat, his need surrounds you. Clothes come off in frantic pieces, tossed to the floor without care.

You gasp when his hands slide over your skin — slow now, reverent, like he’s touching something holy.

His voice is rough.

“I’ll be gentle.”

You pull him closer. “Don’t be.”

Eyes lock.

Then he sinks into you.

And the world disappears.

⸻

It’s not soft — not entirely.

It’s slow. Intense. His hand gripping yours above your head, his body flush with yours like he’s trying to fuse your hearts. He groans your name like a curse and a prayer, over and over again.

Every movement says:

Mine. Mine. Mine.

And your answer is always the same:

Yes. Yours. Always.

You come undone with his name on your lips.

He follows — chest pressed to yours, burying himself so deep inside you it feels like he could never leave.

Afterward, he doesn’t let you go.

Not for a second.

⸻

Hours later, still naked under the covers, his hand strokes lazy patterns on your back. Your body is still sore in the best way — used, cherished, claimed.

Then he says it.

“I’m going to make you my wife.”

Your breath catches.

He’s not looking at you. Just staring up at the ceiling like he’s making a quiet promise to the sky.

“I won’t ask,” he says. “Because I won’t accept no.”

You stare at him.

“You’re serious.”

He turns his head.

Those eyes — black fire, unwavering.

“You think I’d let anyone else take care of you?” he asks, voice low. “You think I’d let someone walk you down an aisle, hand you over like you’re a gift?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll build the altar. I’ll say the words. And you’ll wear the ring while I keep you locked in the only place you’re safe — right next to me.”

Your pulse is wild.

And still — there’s no fear.

Just heat.

Love.

Obsession.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I’ll be yours.”

His fingers tangle in your hair. He kisses you again — slower now, but just as possessive.

“You already are.”

Every Time

Geum Seong-je x Fem!Reader

Dark Romance · Obsession · Intimate NSFW · Angst & Craving

____________

You hadn’t seen him for three weeks.

You changed your number. Blocked him everywhere. Moved out of your apartment without telling anyone where. But Geum Seong-je had a way of finding things — people — when he wanted them. And he always wanted you.

So when you opened the door to your new place and saw him standing there in the hallway, hood up, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched at his sides, you knew it was over.

“You really thought you could disappear on me?” he said quietly.

You should have slammed the door. Screamed. Called for help. But your heart was already racing — not from fear. From that sick, aching part of you that missed him every night, even when you hated him.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I never stopped looking.”

His voice was low, almost broken. When he stepped into your apartment without asking, you didn’t stop him. When he grabbed your face and kissed you like he was drowning, you didn’t push him away. And when he whispered, “You ruined me, and you think I’d let you leave?” — you pulled him closer.

His jacket hit the floor. Your shirt followed. His hands were rough, desperate — dragging down your back, gripping your waist like he could hold you in place forever.

“Say it,” he growled against your neck. “Say you missed me.”

You didn’t want to. You tried to lie.

But his hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding over your underwear, and your body betrayed you with a soft gasp that only made him smirk.

“Liar,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

He pushed your panties aside, fingers teasing you, slow at first, then harder when you arched into him. Your hands tangled in his shirt, dragging it over his head. His body was tense, inked with bruises and rage, but he let you touch him like you were the only thing that calmed the fire.

“You think I don’t know you?” he rasped. “You leave, you run — and you still want me like this.”

You hated how true it was.

He pushed you back onto the bed, crawled over you like a storm — wild eyes, clenched jaw, every muscle in his body coiled like he was barely holding himself together. He kissed you like he wanted to devour you. And when he finally slid inside you, deep and punishing, you moaned his name like it was salvation.

“I’ll never let you go,” he groaned into your ear. “I’d burn the whole world to keep you.”

His thrusts were rough at first, fueled by weeks of madness — but when your nails dug into his back and your legs wrapped around his waist, he slowed. Not because he wanted to — but because he needed to feel you break for him.

Every time you gasped his name, every time your body trembled around him, it made something darker settle behind his eyes.

“You’re mine,” he said, forehead against yours, breath heavy. “You always fucking were.”

When you came undone under him, crying out, he followed with a hoarse moan and buried his face in your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

He didn’t leave that night.

He held you after — arms wrapped tightly around you, his voice barely a whisper: “Run again, and I’ll come find you. Over and over.”

And you knew you would let him.

Every time.