“No One Else” — Part 5: “Collateral”

“You Don’t Know Me, But You Will”

Geum Seong-je x Younger Reader(by three years)

Genre: Dark Romance / Obsession / Psychological

Geum seong je finds himself stalking and following her. Memorizing her schedule. Knowing where she lives. It doesn’t bother her. It makes her fall more…

⸻

She didn’t know his name.

You had passed by him maybe once—twice, if fate was being funny. You didn’t even look up when it happened. Just another boy in the background. Another blurred face in the messy canvas of school and city and bus rides.

But to him, you were everything.

Geum Seong-je noticed you the first time you passed his crew on the back street near the old convenience store. Your uniform was neater than the others’, your head lowered like you didn’t want to be seen. But he saw you. He always sees what others don’t.

That day, he followed you.

At first, just a block. Then two. Then every afternoon. You always took the same way home, headphones in, oblivious to the shadows you walked past. He memorized your routine. 4:07 p.m., you left school. 4:15, stopped for bubble tea. 4:38, turned the corner by the florist and disappeared into that tiny house with the rusting gate.

He didn’t know why it started. It didn’t matter.

There was a pull, like something primal. You were younger—three years, maybe more—but it didn’t register as a problem in his mind. Age didn’t mean anything. Not when he’d already decided you were his. Not when he felt something raw and alive clawing at his insides every time he saw you.

You smiled at a classmate once—some boy your age—and Geum Seong-je gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He didn’t like that. You didn’t even know him, but he burned with possessiveness anyway.

He watched you through windows. From rooftops. He learned your schedule better than you knew it yourself. Some nights, he followed you all the way to your tutoring sessions. Once, he even stepped into the same bookstore just to hear your voice when you asked the clerk about a novel.

Your voice made his fingers twitch. He wanted to own that softness. Trap it in a glass jar and never let anyone else hear it again.

You didn’t know it yet, but Geum Seong-je had already chosen you.

And he was just waiting for the right moment to make you see him too.

Lately, you’ve felt it.

A shift in the air. A weight behind your every step, like someone’s gaze is stitching itself into your spine.

It started small. The hair on your arms rising when you turned the corner near the convenience store. The feeling of eyes pressing against your back on the bus, even when no one was looking. You chalked it up to stress, to weird dreams and too many late nights reading horror stories.

But now?

Now you’re not so sure.

Today, you swear someone followed you.

Not with footsteps. Not anything obvious. Just that pull again — the sense that someone’s always a few steps behind, never touching, never close, but there. Breathing the same air. Watching.

And the weirdest part?

You’re not scared.

You should be. Any sane person would be. But instead… there’s something else curling in your stomach when it happens. A strange calm. A chill that makes you walk slower instead of faster.

It feels like something’s waiting for you. Like he’s waiting.

You don’t know his name. But you’ve seen him — tall, maroon jacket, eyes like they’ve seen too much. He’s always on the edge of your world. Near the bus stop. Outside the boba shop. Once, you saw him in the reflection of a window… just standing across the street, his gaze slicing straight through the glass like he could see inside you.

You don’t know him.

But you feel him.

Like he lives beneath your skin. Like something buried deep in your chest recognizes him, even if your mind doesn’t understand why.

It’s not love. It’s not fear either. It’s something in between. Something darker. Something magnetic.

From across the street, Geum Seong-je watches you pause. You turn your head like you can sense him. His breath catches. You feel him, don’t you?

He knew you would.

He smiles.

You’re almost ready.

“Glass Cage: Part 5 – Almost Normal”

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

⸻

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

So he surprises you.

“I’m taking you out today.”

You turn, startled. “What?”

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

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

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

He looks up. Eyes soft, unreadable.

“I want to give you something.”

You ask what.

He answers without words.

Just freedom.

⸻

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

You eventually take it.

And he lets you.

⸻

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

It’s perfect.

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

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

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

But something about it makes you smile.

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

And vanish around the aisle.

⸻

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

“ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sʜᴇ?”

His voice.

Sharp. Controlled. But underneath it — panic.

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

You step out. “I’m here.”

His eyes snap to yours.

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

“You don’t leave my sight.”

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

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

He stares at it. Then at you.

Then walks away with it.

You follow him, heartbeat still fast.

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

He never asks if you want them.

He just buys them because you touched them.

Because if you want it, it’s yours.

⸻

The ride home is different.

You’re not looking out the window anymore.

You’re looking at him.

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

This time, you do.

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

He turns his head, surprised. “What?”

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

“What is?”

“I feel… happy.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment.

Then he says, without looking at you:

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

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

That gets him.

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

⸻

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

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

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

You ask him things you were scared to ask before.

He answers all of them.

Not because he’s suddenly soft.

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

⸻

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

He kills the engine.

The forest is quiet.

And you whisper, “Thank you.”

He looks at you.

Really looks.

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

His thumb brushes your cheek.

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

Just… grateful.

⸻

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

Not the basement.

Not a guest room.

His.

Because this is your life now.

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

———

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

He opens the strawberry shampoo.

Sniffs it. Blinks slowly.

Then holds it out to you.

“You like this?”

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

He says nothing.

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

He placed it next to his expensive soap.

Side by side.

Like you’re already one thing.

⸻

He brushes your hair out on the bed.

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

“Why are you doing that?” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then:

“Because no one ever brushed mine.”

The silence settles like mist.

You twist to look at him.

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

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

His jaw twitches.

He kisses the top of your head.

⸻

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

You lie there a long time.

Not because you’re scared.

But because it feels like home.

⸻

You cook breakfast together.

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

“Let me help—”

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

You laugh.

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

But with you?

He’s relaxed.

And with him?

You’re whole.

⸻

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

“I don’t miss my old life.”

He blinks. Slow. Turns to face you.

“You mean that?”

You nod.

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

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

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw.

“I’ll always choose you.”

Then he adds — lower, darker:

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

And you believe him.

⸻

You go to sleep that night in his bed.

His arms.

His world.

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

Forever.

—————

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

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

You even started keeping your own mug by the sink.

You started calling it “home.”

He didn’t correct you.

And you thought — maybe the world forgot you.

But the world has a memory like a knife.

⸻

It happens on a Sunday.

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

Footsteps.

But they’re not his.

You freeze.

Then — a voice:

“…[Y/N]?”

You turn.

And time stops.

It’s your friend. From your old life.

The one who cried when you vanished.

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

You whisper their name.

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

You open your mouth.

But the truth dies in your throat.

Because behind them—

Silent. Still.

Like death itself—

Seong-je.

⸻

Your friend doesn’t see him yet.

You do.

His expression is unreadable. Not furious. Not loud.

Cold.

Lethal.

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

You pull back.

They freeze.

“…What?”

You glance behind them.

“Leave.”

“What?”

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

That’s when your friend finally turns.

Sees him.

And takes a step back.

But it’s too late.

⸻

He doesn’t touch them.

Doesn’t speak to them.

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

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

And you take it.

In front of your friend. Without shame.

“You chose him,” they whisper.

You nod once.

“Always.”

⸻

He lets them leave.

No chase.

No threat.

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

You don’t care.

You go inside with him. Sit on the couch.

You’re silent for a long time.

Then:

“You’re angry.”

“No,” he says. “I’m reminded.”

“Of what?”

He turns to you, fingers tightening around yours.

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

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

“I told them the truth.”

His jaw flexes.

You kiss it. “I chose you.”

He nods.

“I’ll always choose you.”

⸻

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

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

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

————

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

Part 4- Cherry Coke & Cigarettes

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

——

He didn’t call it a date.

You knew that already. He wouldn’t.

He just texted:

“Be ready at 6.”

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

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

You blinked. “Uh… yeah? Why?”

A pause.

He looked away. “You look good.”

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

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

⸻

At the Ramen Spot — Late Evening

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

“You’re staring,” you said, playful.

He didn’t deny it.

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

You nearly choked on your spoon.

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

He smirked. “Is it working?”

You leaned forward a little. “Maybe.”

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

Then, quieter:

“I’ve never done this before.”

“What, flirt?”

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

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

“Running. Fighting. Keeping people out.”

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

He looked at it, then at you.

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

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

⸻

Walking Home – Under Dim Streetlights

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

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

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

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

He took a breath, eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

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

“To who?”

“Myself. Mostly.”

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

He stopped walking.

You turned toward him.

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

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

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

“Well. I would’ve missed you.”

That did it.

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

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

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

Sup! Love your content

You shouldn't do this one if it makes you uncomfortable.

Could you do a si-eun and/ or seong je x reader where they find out about readers sh scars?

Xx

“No Need to Hide”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x fem!reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm scars, emotional vulnerability, soft Geum Seong-je

A/n: if you are going through this just know you are not alone. Coming from someone who has been in that spot it can be hard especially if you feel alone, but everything will be ok in the end just keep your head up! Just take your time and remember everything will pass. There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. Luv y’all🫶🏻

⸻

The rain outside painted the windows with a steady rhythm, soft and calming. Inside the small apartment, the lights were low—just the warm glow of the lamp near the couch where you and Seong-je were tangled up together. His arm was around your waist, your head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while a random movie played on the TV neither of you were watching.

It had been a long day, and you were finally letting yourself feel safe.

You had taken off your hoodie earlier, now just in a loose tank top and shorts. You didn’t think about it when you raised your arms to stretch, your body relaxed for once.

But when you reached for the blanket beside you, Geum Seong-je’s eyes caught something he hadn’t noticed before.

Scars.

Faint but unmistakable, etched gently along the soft skin of your upper arm.

Your breath hitched when you saw him looking. You tried to pull the blanket over yourself quickly, to cover up, to hide, but his hand gently caught yours.

“Wait…” he said quietly.

Your heart pounded. You looked away, suddenly cold even in the warmth of his arms. “Don’t.”

“Y/N…” His voice was soft, so different from how he usually spoke to the world—sharp, cold, intimidating. But this wasn’t the gang leader now. This was your Seong-je.

He sat up, carefully taking your hand, fingers brushing against the faded scars like they were something delicate. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You swallowed hard. “Because it’s not something I want people to see. It’s ugly.”

His jaw tensed, eyes flicking up to yours. “Don’t say that.”

You gave a hollow laugh. “Well, it’s the truth.”

But then he did something that made your chest tighten—he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your arm. Right over one of the old scars.

“You lived through it. That makes it anything but ugly,” he said. “You’re still here.”

You blinked quickly, eyes stinging.

He held your face in his hands then, looking into you like he could read every part of you. “You don’t have to hide from me. Not ever.”

“I didn’t want you to think less of me,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper.

“I think more of you,” he said without hesitation. “A lot more. You went through something and you’re still standing. Still laughing. Still loving. That’s strength, not weakness.”

You bit your lip, the tears falling now—slow but real.

Seong-je pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly, protectively. His voice was lower now, soft against your hair. “Next time you feel like hiding… come to me instead. I’ll hold it with you. The weight, the pain, all of it.”

You nodded into his chest, unable to speak, just clutching onto him like he was the only solid thing in the world—and right now, he was.

He stayed like that with you for a long time, whispering soft things, reminding you that he wasn’t going anywhere.

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

——-

The rain outside was still falling in slow waves, casting soft shadows through the window. Geum Seong-je had his arms around you, and you stayed tucked into him for what felt like forever—safe, warm, and finally breathing without the weight of shame pressing down on your chest.

Eventually, he leaned back a little, his hand still holding yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding.

“You hungry?” he asked, voice low. “I can make you something. Or order from that place you like.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I just… wanna stay like this. With you.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a second, and then gave a quiet, almost shy smile. The kind of smile not many got to see from him.

“Then we stay like this,” he said simply.

You both shifted to lie back on the couch, your head now resting on his chest while one of his hands played with your hair and the other wrapped securely around your waist. It was quiet, but the kind of quiet that felt good—like healing.

“You know…” you said after a moment, your voice soft against his shirt, “I used to think no one would ever love me if they saw all of me. The broken pieces. The dark parts.”

Geum Seong-je didn’t answer right away. He just ran his fingers slowly down your back and whispered, “Then they didn’t deserve you.”

You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were already on you—serious, soft, filled with something deeper than just affection. Something like devotion.

“You’re not broken,” he continued. “You’re just… still healing. That’s different. And I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You mean that?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

You were quiet for a second, overwhelmed by how gentle he was being with you—this boy who so many feared, who had blood on his knuckles and scars of his own, was handling you like glass but never treating you like you were weak.

“I’m scared sometimes,” you admitted.

“So am I,” he said. “But I’m not scared of us.”

That broke something open in you. You leaned forward and kissed him—soft, slow, your hand resting against his cheek. He kissed you back with the same tenderness, like this moment was something sacred.

When you pulled back, he looked at you with so much warmth, his forehead resting against yours.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered. “Not for anything else. Just to hold you properly.”

You nodded.

In his room, the sheets were warm from the dryer. You slid under the covers, and he pulled you into his chest, wrapping himself around you like he never wanted you to leave.

You rested your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat again.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

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

“Control”

Pairing: Na Baek Jin x fem!reader

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

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

(I’ve had this in my drafts also😭)

⸻

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

The moment the door clicked shut, something shifted.

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

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

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

“Like you want me to lose control.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Then show me,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

“Baek Jin.”

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t just sex — not with him.

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

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

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

The silence after was heavy with heat and heartbeats.

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

You nuzzled into his neck, smiling softly.

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

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

“No One Else” — Part 3: “Downhill Doesn’t Feel Like Falling”

Genre: Angst, dark romance, mutual obsession

Tone: Slow-burning surrender, dangerous comfort

⸻

You should’ve left.

You should’ve screamed. Slammed the door. Blocked his number. Told someone.

Instead, you let him in.

Not just into the building. Into your room. Into your space. Into that quiet, aching part of you that had grown used to his presence—his chaos—his control.

He didn’t smile when you opened the door.

He didn’t need to.

The moment you stepped aside, the silence between you both said everything.

You sat on the floor beside your bed. He followed, without a word. Shoulder to shoulder. Close, but not touching.

It was almost worse than touching.

“You scare me,” you whispered. The words burned your throat.

He didn’t flinch.

“Good,” he said again, voice low. “Then we’re still real.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him. His profile was all shadows and sharp lines. Beautiful in a way that hurt to look at too long.

“You don’t scare me like a stranger does,” you said. “You scare me because… you feel like home sometimes. The kind of home that locks all the doors behind you.”

His eyes shifted toward yours. “I told you before. You make me worse.”

“And I told you,” you murmured, “you make it hard to breathe.”

Neither of you moved. But something between you did. A pull. A surrender. A sick kind of trust.

“Then don’t breathe,” he said. “Not if it means walking away from this.”

You should’ve fought it.

But your hand moved. Found his.

Not because you forgot what he’d done. What he could do. But because no one had ever made you feel so seen. Even when he hated your freedom, even when he tried to cage it—he saw you.

And you were so tired of feeling invisible everywhere else.

“I think I hate you sometimes,” you whispered.

He smiled. “That means it’s real.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. And he finally, finally breathed out like he’d been waiting hours for that single moment.

Like your head there was the missing piece in a puzzle made entirely of jagged edges.

“Promise me something,” you murmured.

His body tensed beneath you.

“Anything.”

“Don’t ever lie to me. Hurt me, break me, scare me—fine. But don’t pretend this is something sweet. Don’t call it love when it’s something darker.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then:

“I won’t lie. This isn’t sweet. It’s twisted. It’s wrong.”

His hand tightened around yours.

“But it’s ours.”

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time in days… you slept.

Wrapped in danger. Wrapped in obsession. Wrapped in the one person you knew would burn down the world just to keep you for himself.

And part of you?

Part of you liked it.

⸻

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

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

⸻

It’s the only night he doesn’t come.

You wait.

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

You stare into the dark, heart drumming.

He’s never missed a night.

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

But not tonight.

You wait another hour.

Nothing.

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

Hunger.

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

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

But he forgot something this time.

You’re not scared anymore.

You want to find him.

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

Click.

The lock gives.

Your breath catches.

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

Not even him.

You move barefoot through the corridor.

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

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

Third — locked.

Fourth — another guest room. Clean, unused.

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

His room.

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

Then push.

It opens with a soft creak.

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

And then — him.

Geum Seong-je.

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

You freeze.

You’ve never seen him like this — unguarded.

He looks so young. So tired.

So… human.

Something inside your chest twists.

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

You slip beneath the covers.

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

The moment you touch him, he stiffens.

Then —

“…You picked the lock?”

His voice is quiet. Half-awake.

You don’t answer right away.

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

A beat.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t respond.

But he holds you tighter.

⸻

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

Not from the chair.

But from inches away.

His eyes are open now. Awake. Silent.

Like he still can’t believe you chose this.

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

His voice barely breaks the dark.

“You’re mine,” he whispers.

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

HEY GURL, can you write a story with geum seong je x reader, where the girl is the complete opposite of him, she is sweet, smiling, kind, does not smoke or drink and is a not very sociable girl and does not like to go out. They could meet at a party where she was forced by her friends, where she will only drink a cherry coke and read bluelock scans (don't judge) Afterwards I don't have too many ideas but it could be a romance where she is innocent (like +++) and will be a kind of entertainment for seong je. Tysm (your biggest reader)

He's so fine shibal

“Cherry Coke & Cigarettes”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Innocent!Reader

You never wanted to come to this party.

You made it very clear to your friends—parties weren’t your thing. The music was too loud, the people too fake, and the smell of alcohol and weed made your head spin. But here you were, pressed into a corner of someone’s overpriced rooftop apartment, sipping Cherry Coke from a red solo cup and pretending not to exist.

The only thing keeping you sane was the Blue Lock chapter you were rereading on your phone, thumb swiping slowly while chaos swirled around you.

“Yo,” someone drawled beside you, voice low and smooth, like a cigarette dragged too slow.

You didn’t look up at first, assuming he wasn’t talking to you. Nobody here ever did.

“Cherry Coke?” the voice asked again, closer now. You raised your head.

And there he was. Geum Seong-je. Rumored gang leader. Smoky eyes, lazy smirk, tattoos peeking beneath his sleeves. He looked like every bad decision you avoided on purpose. The kind of guy whose stare alone could unravel someone like you.

You blinked at him. “…Yeah?”

He cocked his head, eyes scanning you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet. “You’re the only one here not getting wasted or sucking face with someone dumb.”

“I didn’t want to be here,” you replied honestly.

That made him grin, slow and wolfish. “Neither did I. But now I kinda do.”

Your cheeks burned. You looked down quickly, pretending to scroll, trying to steady your voice. “You should probably talk to someone else. I’m not very fun.”

“I don’t like fun girls,” he said, exhaling smoke through his nose. “They’re boring.”

You glanced up. “I’m the definition of boring.”

“Nah,” Seong-je said, stepping closer. “You’re entertaining in a different way.”

He plucked the phone from your hand and squinted at the screen. “Blue Lock? Seriously?”

“It’s good,” you mumbled, trying to take your phone back. He didn’t let go.

“I don’t read, but if it gets you that focused… maybe I should.”

You met his gaze then, and it felt like falling. Sharp eyes, but something behind them—curiosity, maybe. Or hunger.

“You shouldn’t flirt with girls like me,” you whispered.

He leaned in, voice a low purr. “Why not?”

“Because I’ll believe it.”

For a moment, the smirk faltered.

Then he handed your phone back and stepped even closer, cherry smoke mixing with your soda scent. “Good. Believe it.”

——-

There will be a part 2 later😜😜

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