“Only I Hurt You”

“Glass Cage: Part 8 – Our Vows, Our Future”

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader | dark romance, private wedding, intimate obsession, hope twisted into devotion

⸻

It starts on a night with no power.

Just wind through the trees.

Candles casting long shadows against the shrine room walls.

Your perfume lingering in the air.

His sketch of you half-finished on the floor, ink still wet.

You sit beside him.

Knees tucked under you.

Your hand resting lightly on his thigh.

“You ever think about it?” you whisper.

He doesn’t look up. “What?”

“Us. Making it… official.”

He stiffens, just slightly.

Then sets the sketch aside.

“Like a wedding?”

You nod.

“A private one. Just you and me.”

He turns to you.

Eyes like midnight storms. “You’d want that?”

You smile. Soft. Honest.

“I already live like I’m yours forever. Might as well say it out loud.”

⸻

He doesn’t answer.

Not with words.

He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

And whispers:

“Then write the vows.”

⸻

That night, you write them in separate corners of the room.

No peeking. No rules. No white dresses or rings.

Just candlelight and ink.

Just love — obsessive, dark, loyal.

And when it’s time—

You both kneel on the floor.

Hands clasped.

The shrine around you.

His name on your thigh.

Your perfume on his collar.

He speaks first.

His voice is low. Reverent. Bare.

“I vow to keep you hidden if the world tries to take you.

I vow to love you so deeply it rewrites who I used to be.

I vow to never ask you to be good, only mine.

And I vow… that if I ever fall apart, I’ll fall apart with you in my arms.”

Your lips tremble.

Then it’s your turn.

“I vow to never try to change the way you love me.

I vow to see every twisted, brutal part of you — and stay.

I vow to never crave freedom more than your touch.

And I vow to want forever, even if the world burns for it.”

He pulls you to him then.

Hands in your hair.

Kisses you like you just gave him eternity.

⸻

The next morning, he disappears into the woodshed for hours.

You don’t ask.

You don’t need to.

You hear hammering. Sanding. The low drag of something heavy.

And when he finally comes back, his shirt clings to him with sweat.

Dirt on his hands. Dust in his hair.

He drops to his knees at your feet.

And whispers:

“If we’re going to be forever… then I want to start building for more than just us.”

⸻

You find the room the next day.

Hidden behind a panel in the hallway.

New. Unfinished.

But you know exactly what it is.

A crib in the corner.

Your favorite color on the walls.

And a tiny drawing — taped to the door.

A child. Holding both your hands.

Your throat tightens.

And when you walk back into the house to find him—

You throw your arms around him.

And say only one thing:

“I want forever. And I want it to look like this.”

———-

It starts with a suspicion.

You’ve been tired.

Sleepy in the middle of the day, hungry at odd hours, emotional over things that never touched you before.

But the thing that tells you—

The thing that confirms it—

Is the way Seong-je starts hovering.

Worse than usual.

You catch him staring at your hands, your stomach, your reflection in the mirror.

And when he presses his lips to your lower belly one night without a word, without explanation—

You know.

You buy a test in the little town.

You hide it in your coat.

Take it in the upstairs bathroom while he’s outside chopping wood.

You watch the line appear.

Clear. Unmistakable.

Pregnant.

And your hands shake.

Not from fear.

From how much you want this.

⸻

You find him on the back porch.

He’s lighting a cigarette — one of the last ones left from his old stash.

You take it from his mouth.

Flick it out into the wet grass.

Then place his hand against your stomach.

He freezes.

“Yours,” you whisper.

Then — quieter — “Ours.”

He doesn’t move.

Not for a long time.

And then he pulls you to him. Wraps both arms around you. Holds you like you’re glass.

And says the first thing that comes to him:

“I won’t let the world touch her.”

⸻

You find out it’s a girl in the next town over.

A tiny clinic tucked between forgotten buildings.

The nurse smiles. “Want to know the sex?”

You nod.

Seong-je stays sitting, hands clenched on his knees.

“She’s a girl.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding it for years.

Then he looks at you.

And something in him shatters.

⸻

The months pass in a strange rhythm.

He won’t let you lift anything.

He paints her room twice, because the first color didn’t feel soft enough.

He carves her name into the side of the crib.

He talks to her when he thinks you’re asleep — whispers things like:

“I’m going to teach you how to fight. How to be soft without being weak.”

“I’ll kill for you before anyone hurts you. Just like I did for your mother.”

“You’ll never have to fear the dark — not while I’m breathing.”

⸻

The labor comes one rainy afternoon.

He drives you into town, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

No music. No sound. Just the road winding through the woods and your hand clamped in his.

The little hospital is quiet.

The nurses kind.

He won’t leave your side.

Not for a second.

He whispers “I love you” between every contraction, every push, every breath.

Until—

She arrives.

Tiny. Red. Wailing.

And everything stops.

⸻

He cries for the second time in his life.

The first was when you came back to him after trying to run.

The second is when they place his daughter in his arms.

He doesn’t say a word.

Just holds her.

Like she’s something holy.

⸻

You name her that night.

No middle names from old families.

No pieces of a past life you’ve long abandoned.

Just a name that fits her.

A name that sounds like warmth and wildfire.

⸻

The drive home is long and soft.

The baby sleeps in your arms.

Seong-je watches the rearview like a predator — like something might still come for you.

But nothing does.

You reach the house.

The lights are on.

The crib is ready.

The fire is warm.

And when he carries her inside — cradled like she might dissolve — he whispers:

“You’ll never know pain. Not while I’m alive.”

You place her gently in the crib.

She makes a tiny noise.

Then settles.

And for the first time, your house is silent — not from emptiness, but peace.

⸻

You sleep that night with her beside you.

With him wrapped around both of you.

His hand resting on her back.

Your hand on his.

And when the wind picks up outside — rattling the trees, brushing the windows — you don’t flinch.

Because your daughter is safe.

Because she has the father the world fears.

And the mother who chose this life, again and again.

———

This is the last part and did take me the longest (the rest were in my drafts so I posted them all at once cause I didn’t want to make y’all wait😘)

“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.

I Know You Missed Me

Dark romance•smut**

Geum seong je x fem!reader

You hadn’t seen him for three weeks.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I never stopped looking.”

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

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

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

You didn’t want to. You tried to lie.

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

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

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

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

You hated how true it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t leave that night.

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

And you knew you would let him.

Every time.

“Just Hold Me”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Reader has gone through a bad day and just needs to feel safe

Genre:fluff

⸻

The day had clawed its way through you.

Everything that could go wrong had. Your phone screen cracked. You failed a test you swore you were ready for. Someone said something cruel, and it stuck to you like tar. Every word today felt louder than usual. Every hallway, more suffocating. You were tired of people talking at you, expecting things from you, watching you.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just moved on autopilot, feet dragging until they brought you to the one place you didn’t have to pretend.

The warehouse was quiet. Familiar.

Geum Seong-je was there, back turned, doing something with his hands—maybe taping up his gloves, maybe cleaning up after a fight. He always had a reason to keep busy. Even when things were quiet around him, his body was never truly still.

You didn’t say anything. You just walked up behind him slowly, like approaching a wild animal. You knew how he was. Touchy. Defensive. Like if you leaned on him wrong, he’d snap and bare his teeth. But today… today you just needed something to anchor you.

So you leaned forward and rested your head gently on his back, arms not even wrapping around him—just laying against him like a ghost of a hug.

He stiffened immediately.

“The hell are you doing?” His voice was sharp, not yelling—but cutting.

You didn’t move. “I’m tired.”

He took a step forward, trying to shake you off. “Go sleep somewhere else.”

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you from sinking. “Just for a second.”

He turned around now, face shadowed, brows furrowed in irritation. “I’m not your damn pillow. Don’t come around me like that.”

You finally looked up at him, and this time you couldn’t stop your voice from cracking. “I just want to be held.”

It came out so small.

So raw.

Like a piece of you broke off and landed at his feet.

He opened his mouth—probably to say something sharp, maybe tell you to go home—but then he saw your face. Not just your red-rimmed eyes or the trembling line of your mouth, but all of it. The weight. The silence. The fight you had clearly already lost with yourself.

His jaw tightened. Then relaxed.

He sighed, turning his head slightly like he was annoyed with himself.

“…Tch. Come here.”

You didn’t move fast—scared he’d change his mind if you did. But he didn’t stop you when you stepped forward. Didn’t push you when you leaned into him again.

This time, his arms came up—awkward at first, like he didn’t know where to put them. But eventually, one arm wrapped around your back, then the other rested lightly on your shoulders. It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t romantic. But it was real.

Warm. Solid. Human.

His hoodie smelled like worn leather and faint cologne. His chest was steady under your cheek. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding for hours.

You didn’t talk.

He didn’t ask what happened.

And that was the best part.

Seong-je wasn’t the type to whisper comforts or tell you things would be okay. But he was warm. And still. And after a few minutes, his hand lifted—hesitantly—and started brushing down your back in a slow, grounding motion.

“You should’ve just said something,” he muttered under his breath.

You smiled weakly into his chest. “I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“…Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think you’d cry on me either, but here we are.”

You weren’t crying, not really—but maybe he said it just to give you permission.

You stayed like that for a while. Long enough for the noise in your head to dull. Long enough for his arms to tighten just a bit more. Long enough to believe—for a little while—that the world wasn’t as cruel as it had felt this morning.

And Geum Seong-je, rough edges and all, held you like maybe he needed this too.

“No One Else” — Part 4: “What We Become”

Genre: Dark romance, psychological tension, co-dependency

Tone: Intimate, intense, twisted comfort

⸻

It started small.

He stopped asking who you were with—because he already knew.

He never said how. You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know if he’d installed something, followed you, or convinced someone to watch for him. It was easier not to ask questions when the answers didn’t scare you anymore.

What scared you more was how safe you felt with him watching.

How, after a few weeks, you started looking at your phone and wanting to see his name flash across the screen. Not because of what he’d say—but because of what it meant:

You were his.

And he hadn’t changed. Not really.

He still hated when you laughed too hard at someone else’s joke. Still gave quiet, chilling stares to anyone who got too close. Still showed up unannounced—sometimes with bruises on his knuckles and blood on his sleeve.

But now, you didn’t flinch.

You just grabbed the antiseptic and asked who it was this time.

You weren’t afraid of him anymore. You were afraid of what you were turning into beside him.

⸻

The first time you did something for him—something dark—you didn’t even think.

One of the boys in your class said something crude about you behind your back. It got back to Geum Seong-je fast, but you were faster.

You cornered the guy in the hallway, right where the cameras didn’t reach. Told him to keep your name out of his mouth, or he’d lose more than just a tooth next time.

He laughed.

So you slapped him. Hard.

When Seong-je found out, he didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten.

He just looked at you like you’d finally become what he saw in you all along.

“My girl,” he whispered that night. “Knew you had it in you.”

You should’ve been ashamed.

You weren’t.

⸻

It escalated from there.

You lied for him. Covered for him. Fed his paranoia and his temper. He pulled you deeper every day, and you let him—because each pull came with a touch, a look, a whisper of affection that felt like a drug.

“I’d kill for you,” he told you once, mouth close to your ear.

You didn’t say anything.

But the terrifying part was—you knew now.

You’d kill for him too.

You weren’t in love.

Not really.

This wasn’t love. This was obsession wrapped in warmth. This was being broken by the same hands that held you through the night. This was letting yourself be re-shaped into someone who didn’t cry when things got ugly—but smiled, instead.

And God, it felt so good not to feel small anymore.

Not when he made you feel dangerous.

“No One Else” — Part 6: “The First Lie”

Genre: Dark romance, angst, possessive unraveling

Tone: Paranoia, emotional cracks, trust bleeding out

⸻

It was a small thing.

An after-school tutoring session. A group project. A few classmates staying late to work on a presentation.

And you lied.

You told Seong-je you had to stay late because your teacher needed help organizing paperwork. Harmless. You just didn’t want him hovering. Watching. Breathing down your neck every second.

You needed air.

That was all.

But the moment you walked out of the school gates, and saw him waiting across the street, back against the wall like always—you knew.

He’d known.

And he’d followed.

You walked toward him slowly.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared with those cold, burning eyes like you were a puzzle he had just realized was missing a piece.

“Was it worth lying?” he asked.

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Not calm—contained. Like something was locked behind it.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

He took a step closer.

“I saw you,” he said. “With him.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I didn’t ask if something happened.”

There it was. That awful, quiet fury. Worse than yelling. It made the air feel tight. Your ribs ache.

“I just wanted—” You hesitated. “I wanted space.”

His jaw clenched. “From me?”

You nodded. Barely.

That was the first time he truly looked hurt.

Not angry.

Not possessive.

Just… hurt.

Like you’d ripped something out of his chest and stepped on it.

And for a second—just a second—you hated yourself for it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped you,” he said, voice flat. “But I wouldn’t have liked it.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

And this time, you did flinch.

That pause… it shattered him.

“You’re scared of me again,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

He laughed once. Bitter. Broken.

“You said you could handle me. Said you wanted this. That we understood each other.”

“I did. I do,” you said, voice soft.

“Then why lie?”

“Because I’m tired, Seong-je,” you whispered. “I’m tired of always looking over my shoulder. Of knowing if I talk to someone too long, you’ll find a way to make them disappear. I wanted to feel normal for one day.”

His eyes were cold. But not unreadable.

No—this time, they looked… betrayed.

“You’re not normal,” he said. “You stopped being that the second you chose me.”

You swallowed.

And then he said it. The words that changed everything.

“So pick. Right now. Do you want normal, or do you want me?”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a test.

And God help you—

You didn’t answer.

“The Side No One Sees”

Yeon Si-eun x fem!reader

Tone: Soft angst + comfort | Slow burn vibes

Setting: Late evening, empty classroom, after a fight

I’ve had this in my drafts for so long 😭

⸻

The classroom was dark, the only light coming from the hallway as it spilled in through the cracked door. You sat on the desk across from him, your knees tucked up to your chest. He was slouched in his seat, back against the wall, breathing slow and deliberate.

His knuckles were raw again.

“You could’ve walked away,” you said quietly.

Si-eun didn’t answer right away. He stared down at his hands like they were foreign to him — like he didn’t quite understand why they always ended up this way. Blood on his knuckles. That distant, cold look in his eyes.

You shifted forward. “You didn’t have to fight back.”

“I did,” he said flatly. “There was no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t snap at you — he never did — but his silence hit just as hard. Still, you didn’t leave. You never did. And maybe that was the problem. Or the answer.

After a long moment, he spoke again, voice low. “I know how this looks. To you. To everyone. Like I’m just trying to be something I’m not.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think it.” He looked up at you then. His eyes, usually guarded and unreadable, were just… tired. “I know how people see me. Some cold, broken kid trying to act like I can win in a world that already chewed me up.”

You slid off the desk and crouched beside him, gently reaching for his hands. He flinched at first — not from pain, but like he wasn’t used to being touched unless it was in a fight.

“You never let anyone see this side of you,” you murmured. “Why me?”

His gaze dropped to your hands wrapped around his. His voice cracked just enough to sound like a whisper:

“Because you don’t look away.”

The silence between you now was different — not heavy, not sharp. It was something careful. Something new.

And in the flicker of fluorescent light, Si-eun didn’t seem like a fighter, or a tactician, or a boy trying to survive a world that wanted to swallow him whole.

He just looked like someone who was finally being seen.

“Cherry Coke & Cigarettes”

(Part 2 !smut!)

⚠️ NSFW / 18+ SMUT

Tags: Dom!Geum Seong-je, sub!innocent reader, first time, fingering, soft corruption, praise kink, possessive dirty talk, slightly rough but caring.

@ashayein

————-

You weren’t supposed to be here again.

You told yourself it was just a one-time thing—the Cherry Coke, the stolen glances, the kiss that nearly took your breath away. But here you were. Standing in Seong-je’s room, heart pounding, hoodie sleeves bunched in your fists.

“You nervous?” he asked, sitting on the edge of his bed, legs spread like he had all the time in the world.

“Yes.”

He smiled, eyes flickering down your body. “Good. You should be.”

You swallowed. “I… want you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You sure?”

You nodded.

“Then come here.”

You walked over, slow steps across the hardwood until you stood between his legs. His hands came up, resting at your waist gently, thumbs rubbing circles over the fabric.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dark eyes devouring you. “Little angel… about to let a guy like me touch you like that.”

“I want it to be you,” you whispered. “Only you.”

Something shifted in his expression. Like the last thread of patience snapped.

He pulled you into his lap, your legs straddling his thighs, your chest flush against his. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

You shook your head, fingers curling in his shirt.

“Then let me show you.”

His mouth was on yours again—hot, deep, and claiming. His tongue slid past your lips, tasting every inch, setting your nerves on fire. You moaned softly, hands gripping his shoulders like he was your only anchor.

“Take this off,” he said against your lips, tugging at your hoodie. “Wanna see you.”

You hesitated, cheeks flushing.

“I’ll go slow,” he said, voice lower now, rough with restraint. “We stop if you say stop.”

You nodded.

You lifted your hoodie over your head. His hands didn’t waste a second—they slid up your bare waist, fingertips dragging over your skin like he was memorizing you.

“Fuck…” he breathed. “You’re perfect.”

You whimpered as his hands cupped your chest, thumbs brushing over your bra. He leaned in and kissed the top curve of one breast, then the other, so tender it made you ache.

“You shaking?” he asked against your skin.

“Yes…”

“I’ll make it feel good, baby. I promise.”

You let him push the straps down. The moment your bra was gone, he stared—quiet, reverent—and then leaned down to press a kiss to your sternum.

And then he bit. Not hard—just enough for you to gasp and cling to him.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

One hand cradled your back as the other massaged your chest, mouth working over your nipple with tongue and teeth until you were whimpering his name.

“Seong-je—”

He chuckled. “There she is.”

His hands slid lower, under your waistband. “Can I touch you here?”

You nodded, breathless.

He pushed your shorts down, slowly, until you were straddling him in nothing but your panties. His fingers pressed lightly over the damp fabric.

“Already wet?” he teased. “Did I do that?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Good.”

He slid the fabric aside and dipped two fingers through your folds. You moaned, hips twitching.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice rough. “You’ve been needing this for a while, haven’t you?”

You buried your face in his neck, nodding.

His fingers circled your clit gently, teasing, never giving you what you really wanted. “You ever touched yourself before?”

“…No.”

That made him groan. “Fuck. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

He eased one finger into you, slow and deliberate. You gasped, tightening around him instinctively.

“Shh… I got you,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “Just feel it.”

He added a second finger, curling them gently as he whispered filth in your ear.

“Feel how tight you are? Gonna stretch you out so good… make you mine.”

Your hips started to roll against his hand, chasing the pressure.

“That’s it,” he whispered, licking into your neck. “Let go for me, baby. Just like that.”

You came with a soft cry, trembling in his lap, clutching his shoulders like you’d fall apart without him. He kissed you through it, slow and deep, letting you ride the high with his fingers still inside you.

When you could finally breathe again, you whispered, “What about you…?”

He chuckled, dark and low. “Don’t worry. I’ll be inside you next time.”

You blinked.

“Oh, yeah,” he smirked. “You think I’m letting you go after this?”

———-

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.