ghostBURSTer || Gwi-ma KPDH
" I'm exercising demons, got 'em runnin' 'round the block now."
Synopsis: You and your friends decided to play a horror game for Halloween. However, you all had no idea you were inviting a demon. Now, his gaze is fixed on you as his victim.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, DARK THEME, HEAVY SMUT, AU, explicit content, angst, mature language, age-gap, yandere behavior, slight manipulation, possessive behavior, obsession, power dynamics, dub-con, mutual pining, threats, erotic, jealousy, heavy tension, toxic relationship, ownership, male domination, voyeurism, controlling, rough, dirty talk, worshipping, oral (BOTH), PiV, unprotected, breeding kink, knotting, nicknames, riding, markings, dry humping, overstimulation, deflowering, soft-dom Gwi-ma x innocent! Reader
The basement smells of mildew and forgotten laundry, the kind of damp that clings to your throat. Halloween night, 11:47 p.m., and the only light comes from six tea candles you arranged in a sloppy ring around the Ouija board Jake smuggled from his parents’ attic.
The planchette—a cheap shot glass with a smudged fingerprint on the rim sits in the center like a dare. You sit cross-legged on the cold concrete, knees brushing Mia’s. She keeps twisting the hem of her hoodie, knuckles white. Sarah’s already whispering that this is how every horror movie starts, but Jake just grins, all teeth and bravado.
“ Scared of a Parker Brothers toy?” He says, flicking the board’s corner.
“ It’s cardboard, guys. Ghosts don’t pay rent.”
Tyler snorts agreement, cracking his knuckles. “ Exactly. Ideomotor effect. Science, not Satan.”
You roll your eyes, but your pulse is already rabbiting. “ Science doesn’t explain why your mom locked this thing in a box labeled ‘DO NOT OPEN.’”
Jake ignores you, lights another candle. The flame gutters, then steadies.
“ Rules…” He announces, like he’s DMing a campaign.
“ Everyone touches the glass. No letting go. We ask, it answers. We say goodbye. Done.”
Mia’s voice is barely a breath. “ What if it doesn’t want to say goodbye?”
“ Then we burn the board and blame Tyler.” Jake says. Tyler flips him off.
You all place two fingers on the shot glass. It’s warm from the candles, slick with condensation. The basement feels smaller now, the ceiling lower, the shadows thicker. Somewhere above, a floorboard creaks—your parents, probably, but the sound lands like a footstep behind you.
Jake clears his throat. “ Is anyone here with us?”
The glass doesn’t move. You exhale.
Then it twitches. Just once. A millimeter. You tell yourself it’s Jake, but his fingers are steady, eyes wide.
“ Again.” Tyler whispers, leaning in.
Jake repeats the question. This time the glass slides—slow, deliberate toward YES.
Mia whimpers. Sarah’s grip tightens until her nails dig into your wrist.
“ Cut it out.” You hiss at Jake.
“ I’m not doing shit.” He hisses back, but his voice cracks.
The glass circles, lazy figure eights, then stops on H-I.
Sarah’s breath hitches. “ Hi?”
The glass surges. H-I-W-H-O-R-E-S.
Tyler laughs, but it’s too sharp. “ Real mature, spirit.”
The temperature drops so fast your teeth chatter. The candles flare, wicks doubling in height, then sink to blue pinpricks. The glass jerks under your fingers, spelling faster than any of you could fake.
G-W-I-M-A.
Mia yanks her hand away. “ Nope. Nope—”
“ You broke the circle!” Jake shouts.
“ You never—”
The shot glass flips, spins like a coin, and shatters against the wall. The candles snuff out in a single breath. Darkness swallows the room, absolute and humming. Something moves. Not a sound—a pressure, like the air itself inhales.
The Ouija board skids across the floor, stops at your knees. The letters glow faintly, ember-red. Sarah screams first. Footsteps thunder up the stairs—Jake, Tyler, Mia, all scrambling, abandoning you in the pitch black.
You yell after them, voice raw. “ We have to close it! Come back!”
The door slams. The lock clicks. Cowards. You’re alone with the board and whatever just RSVP’d.
Your phone’s upstairs. The candles are dead. You scrabble for the matches, strike one—sparks, no flame. Another. The matchhead crumbles.
A low laugh curls from the corner, velvet and amused. Not human. The scent of copper and jasmine floods the basement, thick enough to taste. You back toward the stairs.
The board slides after you, letters burning brighter. Gwi-ma. The name tastes like a bruise. Heat blooms behind you—no, inside you. A hand that isn’t a hand brushes the nape of your neck, fingers of smoke and hunger. Your knees buckle.
The laugh again, closer, tasting your name on a tongue that isn’t there. You bolt up the stairs, two at a time, shoulder slamming the door. It doesn’t budge. Locked from the outside. Of course. Downstairs, the candles relight themselves. One by one. The board waits, patient.
Gwi-ma is already hard.
…
The first thing you feel is heat—molten, skin-searing heat like you’ve been dropped inside a kiln. Your lungs seize. You bolt upright, gasping, sweat already slicking your spine.
The mattress beneath you is wrong: too soft, too yielding, like flesh giving under weight. You blink, but the dark refuses to lift. It’s red-black, the color of fresh blood under a dying bulb, and the air tastes metallic, thick with incense and something sweeter, overripe.
“ Where—?” Your voice cracks, swallowed by the vastness.
The word echoes back distorted, as if the walls are laughing. You swing your legs off the bed—no, not a bed, a slab, and your bare foot lands on something round and hard. It rolls.
You pitch forward, palms slamming into a carpet of bone. Skulls. Dozens, hundreds, their empty sockets staring up through the crimson haze.
One cracks beneath your knee with a wet pop, marrow dust puffing into the air like grave-dirt glitter. A scream rips out of you, raw and animal. You scramble upright, running blind, arms windmilling.
The floor tilts, skulls clattering like bowling pins. You crash into something solid—warm, alive, smelling of smoke and crushed orchids. Large hands clamp your shoulders before you can fall again.
“ Careful, little mortal.”
The voice is velvet dragged over broken glass. A thumb tilts your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet twin suns—glowing gold, slit pupils dilating with predatory delight.
Gwi-ma. His face is all sharp angles and cruel beauty, horns curling back from midnight hair. His smile shows too many teeth. You shove at his chest—useless, like pushing a mountain and bolt.
Three steps. You slam into him again. He’s already there, blocking the impossible corridor of skulls, amusement flickering in those molten eyes.
“ Fast enough for you?” He purrs.
The world lurches. Red dissolves into familiar shadows—your bedroom. Moonlight stripes the carpet through half-shut blinds. You’re on your own bed, sheets twisted like restraints.
But he’s here too, a silhouette at the footboard, seven feet of lean muscle and shadow made flesh. Candlelight you don’t remember lighting gutters across his bare torso, every line of him carved from obsidian and sin.
You scramble back until the headboard bites your spine. “ Stay away…please—”
A hand—clawed, hot as branding iron that covers your mouth. His growl vibrates against your ear, low enough to rattle bones.
“ Shut it. One more syllable of that name you’re praying to and I’ll carve it off your tongue.”
Tears spill, salty on his palm. You try to speak; the words come out muffled, desperate. He eases the pressure, just enough.
“ I didn’t start the game.” You sob.
“ They locked me in—”
“ But you played.” He snarls, breath scorching your cheek.
“ You touched the glass. You said my name. Now I’m topside, starving, and you’re mewling like a kicked pup.”
His tongue clicks, mocking. “ Waste of good summoning.”
He shifts, knees bracketing your hips, caging you beneath a canopy of heat and muscle. The mattress dips; you sink into it like quicksand. He leans in, nostrils flaring, inhaling along the column of your throat. A shudder rolls through him, visible, hungry.
“ Fuck.” He groans, laugh ragged.
“ Still untouched. Pure as driven snow. What a treat.”
You swallow, throat raw. “ What does that mean?”
Golden eyes slit.
“ Means I’m feeling generous.” He straightens, one hand flicking.
Gold light coils in his palm, solidifying into a necklace—heavy links, a pendant shaped like a stylized eye wreathed in flames. The metal pulses, alive.
“ Wear it.” He dangles it; the chain drips like liquid sunlight.
“ Third eye’s cracked wide now, sweetheart. Every hungry thing between here and the veil will smell you. This keeps the lesser vermin off.” His grin sharpens.
“ Can’t have anyone else ruining my meal.”
You hesitate. He arches a brow, impatient. Trembling, you lift your hair. His fingers brush your nape—deliberate, lingering fastening the clasp.
The pendant settles between your collarbones, warm as a heartbeat. His thumb traces the chain down to the hollow of your throat, pressing just enough to feel your pulse stutter.
“ Pretty.” He murmurs, voice smoke and gravel.
“ Like a brand.”
Heat flares where he touches, spreading south in a treacherous rush. You hate the way your breath catches, hate the way his pupils blow wider, scenting it.
“ Why did you help me?” You whisper.
He chuckles, low, filthy. “ You’ll find out. Our date’s not over.”
His hand cups your jaw, thumb smearing a tear across your cheekbone. “ Sleep tight. Dream of me.”
Then he’s gone—air rushing to fill the void, candles snuffing in a single breath. The necklace hums against your skin, a promise and a leash. Outside, something scratches at the window, slow and curious. You clutch the pendant, heart hammering, and realize the night just got a lot longer.
…
The cafeteria smells of burnt coffee and teenage regret. You recount last night in a rush: the skulls, the heat, the demon who pinned you to your own bed and clipped a glowing leash around your throat. Jake snorts mid-sip of his Red Bull, spraying foam across the table.
“ Hallucinating hard, huh?” He wipes his chin.
“ Carbon monoxide from the basement furnace. Classic.”
Tyler elbows him. “ Dude, shut up.”
Sarah’s voice trembles. “ It’s real. We felt it move. Mia broke the circle—”
“ I said sorry!” Mia squeaks, eyes glassy. “ I panicked!”
Jake rounds on her. “ Because you’re a coward who can’t follow one rule—”
Tyler shoves him. “ Stop calling her names, asshole.”
Jake shoves back. “ Protecting your crush now?”
Sarah wedges between them, palms flat on their chests. “ Enough! We pray, we sage, we fix this. Focus on her, not your dicks.”
Jake’s gaze snags on the gold glinting at your throat. “ Ooh, sugar-daddy bling? The demon must’ve tipped well.”
Tyler growls. “ Jake—”
“ Let him go.” Sarah sighs as Jake struts off, laughing like a hyena with a chainsaw.
Tyler slumps beside you, voice soft. “ He knows he started it. Guilt makes him meaner.”
You shrug. “ Classic Jake.”
Lunch ends. You and Tyler split toward the office tower downtown, fluorescent purgatory of cubicles and dying dreams. Your desk is a paper avalanche. You attack it with the grim determination of someone who once stared into actual hell. Hyun-bin—tall, kind-eyed, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms that should be illegal pauses at your partition.
“ Need a hand?” His smile could power a small city.
Your cheeks ignite. “ I—I’ve got it.”
He drags the spare swivel chair anyway, thighs brushing yours as he sits. “ Independent as ever.”
His arm grazes yours reaching for a folder; static jumps between you. You’re cataloging the exact scent of his cologne when your necklace flares—pendant searing like a brand, glowing crimson in the monitor’s reflection.
“ Hyun-bin, look…it’s glowing—”
He squints. “ Looks gold to me. AC’s busted again; you’re probably overheated.”
Behind him, Gwi-ma materializes—seven feet of coiled menace, horns scraping the drop-ceiling tiles. He stands inches from your manager’s back, arms crossed, golden eyes slitted with murder.
The manager chatters obliviously about quarterly reports. Gwi-ma vanishes. Reappears at your elbow, breath hotter than the pendant.
“ Touch him again and I’ll make that pretty boy piss himself in the elevator. Slowly.”
You flinch. “ Why are you here?”
A dark chuckle vibrates against your ear. “ Always here, pet. Watching. Smelling him on you.”
His tongue flicks the shell of your ear—wet, deliberate. “ Don’t like it.”
“ Get lost.” You hissed through clenched teeth.
Hyun-bin glances up. “ You okay? You’re whispering.”
“ Just…double-checking files.” You lie, voice cracking.
Gwi-ma’s laugh is pure sin. “ Last warning. Hands off my toy.”
His claws trail the necklace chain, tugging until the pendant bites skin. “ Or I play.”
He dissolves into sulfur-scented air. The pendant cools, but your pulse hammers like a trapped moth. Hyun-bin’s fingers brush yours again—accidental, warm and you jerk away so hard the chair rolls.
“ Sorry.” You mutter, cheeks burning for entirely different reasons now.
Hyun-bin frowns, concern creasing his perfect face. “ You sure you’re alright?”
You nod too fast, throat dry. Across the bullpen, the shadows seem to lean closer, listening. Somewhere, something with golden eyes smiles with too many teeth.
…
Nine p.m. sharp, the office exhales you into the night. The city’s asleep, or pretending to be. Streetlights buzz like dying insects, casting sodium halos on cracked asphalt. Your apartment’s six blocks away; walking is cheaper than an Uber and faster than waiting for the late bus. You tug your coat tighter, necklace pulsing warm against your sternum like a second heartbeat.
The first block is quiet. The second, quieter. By the third, your pulse is a trapped hummingbird. Every shadow stretches too long, every alley exhales cold breath. You count steps to steady yourself—twenty-seven, twenty-eight until a wet, hiccupping sob stops you cold. On a splintered bench sits…something.
Human-shaped but wrong—skin mottled gray-green, limbs too jointed, face collapsed inward like a deflated jack-o’-lantern. It cries black tears that hiss where they hit the wood. The head swivels 180 degrees with a wet pop. Empty sockets lock on you.
You run. Sneakers slap pavement, lungs burning. Behind you, the thing skitters—claws clicking, sobs warping into a child’s giggle.
You round the corner and slam into a woman in white. She flickers like bad reception, hair floating though there’s no wind. Her mouth opens impossibly wide.
“ Justice…” She rasps, voice layered with a thousand screams.
“ You saw. You know.”
You spin. The bench-thing is closer, joined by a crawling torso dragging its intestines like a bridal train. More shapes peel from the dark—faces in the graffiti, eyes in the storm drains. Their voices overlap, a migraine chorus: Help me, avenge me, feed me.
You drop to the curb, knees in broken glass, palms jammed to your ears. “ Stay back…please—”
The words shred into sobs. They lunge, mouths gaping, but stop short, as if hitting invisible glass. The necklace flares white-hot; a dome of heat ripples outward, repelling them. They hiss, clawing at the barrier, faces distorting.
Black smoke erupts between you and the horde. It coils, solidifies. Gwi-ma steps out, coat of living shadow, horns scraping the night sky. The creatures whimper and scatter like roaches under a boot. The white lady’s last scream cuts off as she’s sucked into the pavement.
Silence rings.
A clawed hand wraps your upper arm—gentle and inescapable then hauls you upright. Gold eyes glow inches away, reflecting your tear-streaked face.
“ Pathetic.” He murmurs, but there’s no bite in it.
“ That trinket just saved your sanity. Without it, they’d be wearing your skin by sunrise.”
You’re shaking too hard to stand alone. “ I don’t want this. Take it back…close my eye—”
His laugh is soft, dangerous. “ Can’t. Don’t have the keys, sweetheart.”
He cups your chin, thumb sweeping tears with deliberate tenderness. “ Consequences, remember? You rang the bell.”
You try to jerk away; his grip tightens, not painful, just absolute. “ There’s a priest—”
His growl rattles your ribs. “ Step one foot in a church and I’ll crawl inside your dreams every night. You’ll wake with my teeth on your throat and my name on your tongue. No peace. Ever.”
Fresh tears spill. “ You’re a demon—”
“ Observant.” He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“ You summoned me. Deal’s done. I’ll leave when I’m bored or when you stop being interesting.”
His knuckles graze your cheek, mocking a caress. Heat pools low despite the terror. “ Try not to die before then.”
The air folds. He’s gone. You’re alone under the buzzing streetlight, necklace cooling to a dull throb. Somewhere, a dog barks once and falls silent. You start walking again, faster, counting heartbeats instead of steps
…
You fumble the key twice before the lock clicks. Inside, the house smells of adobo and parental concern.
Mom’s voice floats from the kitchen. “ Late again?”
You force a laugh that sounds like breaking glass. “ Deadlines.”
Dad grunts over his newspaper. You bolt upstairs, every step echoing like a countdown. Your bedroom door shuts with a soft snick. The scratching starts immediately—fingernails on concrete, patient, rhythmic. Basement.
You crank your playlist to drown it, but the bass only vibrates in time with the scrapes. Shirt off, jeans halfway down, you’re wrestling with pajama shorts when the air turns syrupy thick.
Black smoke billows from the corner, smelling of myrrh and scorched cinnamon. It coils, condenses. Gwi-ma steps out in a hanbok the color of fresh blood, silk so dark it drinks the lamplight.
The collar gapes, revealing collarbones sharp enough to cut. His horns are polished obsidian tonight, catching the glow like wet stone.
You freeze, half-naked, gooseflesh racing across bare skin. One arm snaps across your chest; the other yanks the shorts up in a frantic hop. His smirk stretches slow, predatory, golden eyes raking from your collarbones to the tremor in your thighs.
“ Perfect timing.” He purrs, voice of a low thrum that vibrates in your sternum.
“ Get out!” The words come out squeaky.
“ I’m changing—”
“ Exactly.” He inhales, nostrils flaring.
“ Smells like fear and warm skin. Delicious.”
“ You’re a pervert.”
He laughs, the sound curling around your spine like smoke. “ Among other things.”
You clutch a pillow to your front like a shield. “ There’s no ghosts here. Why did you show up?”
“ Because I want to.” He saunters to your bed, drops onto it with feline grace.
The mattress dips under impossible weight. Propping himself against the headboard, he folds muscular arms behind his head, hanbok parting to reveal a sliver of inked chest.
“ You have questions. Ask. The clock's ticking.”
“ How do I end this?” You hate how small your voice sounds.
He tilts his head. “ Your little séance rang a dinner bell. Breaking the contract’s…complicated.”
His grin sharpens. “ Entertaining, though.”
“ I’ll get a priest—”
Golden eyes flash. “ Mention that word again and I’ll gag you with it.”
He’s across the room in a blink, looming, fingers vise-tight on your chin. “ I want to play, pet. Don’t ruin the fun.”
You swallow against his thumb. “ You’ll hurt me.”
“ Not the way you think.” His voice drops to gravel.
“ By the way, I’m already inside you.”
Your heart stutters. “ What—”
He taps the necklace; the pendant flares between your breasts. “ The second this touched your skin, I slipped the leash on. You just haven’t noticed the collar.”
You claw at the clasp. His hand clamps your wrist, gentle but iron. “ Protection, remember? Remove it and every hungry thing in a ten-mile radius lines up for a bite.”
“ You spelled me!”
“ Semantics.” He releases you, steps back, spreads his arms.
The hanbok ripples like liquid night. “ You summoned an incubus, sweetheart. Congratulations.”
The word lands like a slap. “ Incubus?”
“ Mm.” He prowls a slow circle.
“ We feed on lust, not just fear. Dreams are our dining room.” His gaze lingers on your mouth.
“ I could drag you under right now…have you begging in languages you don’t know. But this...” He flicks the necklace.
“ Keeps me leashed. For now.”
Your knees buckle. You sit hard on the carpet. “ You can’t—I’m...”
“ Pure?” He crouches, elbows on knees, face level with yours.
“ Exactly why you’re exquisite. Untouched fruit ripens sweetest.” His tongue traces a fang.
“ The restraint is…excruciating.”
Heat floods your cheeks, traitorous. “ Stay out of my head.”
“ Too late.” He rises, silk whispering.
“ I’ll be good. Mostly.”
A claw traces the air an inch from your throat, not touching, but you feel it like a brand. You shove at his chest, palms flat, expecting solid muscle. Instead, your hands slice through cool air, fingers tingling like they’ve passed through a ghost’s breath. Gwi-ma stands unmoved, hanbok fluttering as if stirred by an unfelt breeze.
“ Only me can touch.” He says, voice silk over razors.
“ You? I'm just a wind.” He flicks a claw; the air ripples, and your hair lifts as though stroked by invisible fingers.
“ That’s bullshit.” You snap, cheeks burning.
“ It's Unfair.”
His laugh is low, filthy. “ Eager little thing. Already begging to lay hands on me?”
He leans in, horns casting shadows across your face. “ Willing to spread for a demon?”
“ Never.” The word cracks.
He inhales, nostrils flaring. “ Liar. I smell it, sweet and wet, curling between your thighs.”
His tongue traces a fang. “ Deny all you want. Your body’s honest.”
Your breath snags. He’s close enough that the heat of him ghosts your lips, though nothing touches. The necklace flares, pendant pulsing like a second clit. He toys with the chain, rolling it between clawed fingers, tugging until the links bite skin.
“ My offer still stands.” He murmurs.
“ Remove this, and I’m inside you before you blink. Literally.” His grin is all teeth.
“ But I’m patient. Centuries of practice.”
You swallow. “ You shouldn’t…toy with victims.”
“ Job description.” He shrugs, silk sliding off one shoulder.
“ Hobby, too. Pleasure’s the finest drug. Humans chase it like moths to a porch light, burn up begging for more.” His gaze drops to your clenched thighs.
“ You’re already flickering.”
A phantom hand, his hand, brushes your bare arm. Not quite contact, more like memory of touch, raising gooseflesh in molten trails. You jerk, but there’s nothing to slap away.
“ Tempting.” He sighs.
“ So many before you, none worth the leash.” His knuckles ghost your cheekbone, air thick with the scent of crushed orchids and sin.
“ You? Pure, stubborn, dripping fear and want in the same breath. A challenge.” Pride glints in those golden eyes.
“ Proud of my taste.”
“ I don't want to have sex with you.” You stammer.
He cups your face with both hands, no pressure, just presence, thumbs hovering over your lips.
“ Let me paint it.” His voice drops to a growl that vibrates in your bones.
“ I’d start slow, tongue tracing every inch till you’re shaking. Then deeper, slower, until you forget your own name. I’d ruin you for mortals, have you riding my thigh in your sleep, waking soaked and empty.”
Your knees buckle. You squeeze your thighs together; the friction sparks, traitorous. He watches, amused, pupils blown wide.
“ Look at you…” He coos. “ Clenching like I’m already between them.”
The phantom hand slides lower, skimming the curve of your hip, stopping just shy of where you ache.
“ Ready to shatter and I haven’t laid a finger.”
Heat floods your face, your core. The necklace burns, a warning and a tease.
“ When you’re ready…” He whispers, lips a breath from yours.
“ Snap the clasp. I’ll be there before the chain hits the floor. You’ll scream my name till your voice gives out, then beg with your eyes. No man will ever fill you the way I will. You’ll crave the stretch, the burn, the way I wreck you and piece you back just to do it again.”
He steps back, air rushing to fill the void. The phantom touch vanishes, leaving you swaying, nipples tight against cotton, pulse thundering in your ears.
“ Clock’s ticking, pet.” Smoke curls from his feet.
“ Sweet dreams.”
The room empties. You’re left panting, thighs slick, necklace glowing like a brand between your breasts.
…
Days bleed into each other, each one stitched with Gwi-ma’s shadow. He’s a constant itch under your skin—whispers in the shower, fingers of smoke tracing your spine while you sleep, golden eyes in every dark corner. He drags you to his skull-carpeted throne room just to watch you squirm, voice dripping honeyed filth.
“ One tug, pet. One clasp undone and I’ll ruin you so sweetly you’ll thank me.”
You refuse, teeth clenched, thighs pressed tight. His patience is a glacier—slow, inevitable, amused. Office fluorescent lights buzz like dying flies. Papers avalanche across your desk.
Hyun-bin appears like a lifeline, sleeves rolled, smiling softly. “ Let me help.”
His laugh is warm, teasing; yours answers before you can stop it. You trade jokes about the copier’s demonic possession, shoulders brushing, sparks jumping.
The pen rolls. You both reach. Fingertips meet—warm, real, human. Electricity shoots up your arm. He sets the pen down gently, eyes lingering.
“ You’ve had my attention for months.” He says, voice low.
“ Dinner tomorrow? Just us?”
Your heart cartwheels. Words tangle; you nod, cheeks blazing.
Across the bullpen, Gwi-ma leans against the wall, arms folded. Human guise tonight—tall, sharp-suited, devastating, but the gold in his eyes burns hellfire. His stare could flay paint.
Shift ends. Hyun-bin insists on walking you home. “ It's late and dangerous.”
You try to refuse; he’s already holding the door. The night air is crisp, your laughter lighter than it’s been in weeks. Streetlights paint gold on his hair.
A man steps from the shadows—Gwi-ma, mortal mask flawless except for the murderous tilt of his mouth.
Hyun-bin starts to sidestep. “ Excuse us—”
Gwi-ma’s hand snaps around your wrist like a cuff.
“ She’s taken.” His voice is frosty.
“ I’m the boyfriend. I fetch what’s mine.”
Hyun-bin flushes. “ I…she didn’t mention—”
“ She texted me.” Gwi-ma’s smile is a blade.
“ Before you decided to play knight.”
Hyun-bin stammers apologies, backing away. Gwi-ma’s face flickers, just a heartbeat, horns, fangs, eyes like molten gold.
Hyun-bin screams, a sound ripped from childhood nightmares, and bolts into the dark. You’re alone under the streetlamp. Gwi-ma turns, grip sliding to your chin, thumb pressing your lower lip.
“ Warned you.” He murmurs, velvet menace.
“ Bad girls get lessons.”
You open your mouth to protest. His other hand darts to your throat, fingers hooking the necklace chain. One sharp tug—metal snaps like a wishbone. The pendant vanishes inside his hanbok, swallowed by silk and shadow.
The world tilts. Asphalt dissolves into crimson haze. You’re back in his realm—skulls underfoot, air thick with jasmine and brimstone. He releases your chin only to fist your hair, arching your neck.
“ Mine.” He growls against your pulse.
“ No more games.”
Heat floods you—terror, want, the sudden absence of the necklace’s restraint. His mouth hovers, breath scalding.
“ Been starving for this.”
You whimper. He smiles, slow and terrible.
“ Lesson starts now.”
…
The crimson haze of his realm presses like a fever dream. Skulls crunch beneath your heels as Gwi-ma backs you against a pillar of obsidian, heat rolling off him in waves. His hanbok hangs open, chest heaving, cock straining against silk so blatantly you can’t look away.
“ Say it.” He snarls, voice ragged.
“ Tell me you want this.”
You shake your head, throat dry. He growls, low and animal, pinning you harder. His hips roll once—slow, deliberate and letting you feel the steel length of him.
“ Days...” He rasps against your ear.
“ Fucking days of this ache. Thought I’d lose my mind. That necklace was the only thing stopping me from bending you over the second you blinked.”
His mouth grazes your neck, fangs scraping. You bite your lip bloody to keep from moaning. Bad idea. The taste of copper floods his senses; his grip tightens on your waist, claws pricking skin through fabric.
“ Consent, pet.” He grits out, trembling with restraint.
“ Give it or I walk.”
You’re both panting, sweat-slick, the air thick with musk and brimstone. His thumb circles your hipbone, teasing the edge of your skirt. You whimper.
He curses suddenly in a vicious, ancient syllables, and yanks away. The necklace reappears in his fist, chain glinting. With shaking hands he fastens it back around your throat, the pendant searing cold now.
“ I can wait.” He mutters, more to himself.
A flick of his wrist and the realm dissolves. You’re in your bedroom, moonlight striping the carpet. He paces like a caged beast, horns scraping the ceiling.
“ That little office prick.” He spits.
“ I wanted to split him stem to stern.”
You stand frozen, pulse hammering. He whirls. “ Talk, damn it. Don’t leave me ranting to the walls.”
“ I’m...” Your voice cracks.
“ I’m scared.”
He arches a brow. “ Been haunting your shadow for weeks and you’re still pissing yourself?”
“ Not of you.” You swallow.
“ Of…this. First time. What happens after.”
His expression softens—just a flicker. Then you reach up, fingers trembling, and unhook the necklace. Gold clinks to the floor. His eyes ignite, molten.
“ I want you.” You whisper.
“ But I’m terrified.”
He’s on you in a heartbeat, hands cupping your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks.
“ Listen…” He says, voice rough but steady.
“ I’ll guide every inch. Nothing you don’t beg for. Incubus rules be damned.”
You nod, barely a breath.
He crashes into you. His mouth claims yours—hungry, filthy, tongue sliding past your lips like he owns the taste of you. You moan into it; he swallows the sound, backing you to the bed. The mattress hits your knees and you fall, following a storm of silk and muscle.
“ Gonna worship you.” He growls against your throat, fangs grazing.
“ Start slow…tongue on your clit till you’re sobbing my name. Then I’ll stretch you open, one finger, two, till you’re dripping down my wrist. When you’re ready...” He grinds against your thigh, letting you feel every thick inch.
“ I’ll split you slowly, watch you take me till your eyes roll back.”
You’re already arching, thighs parting on instinct. He chuckles, dark and delighted, sliding a hand under your shirt to palm your breast.
“ That’s it. Let me ruin you for anyone else.”
Your shirt rips like tissue under Gwi-ma’s claws, the sound swallowed by his palm clamping over your mouth.
“ Shh…” He hisses, breath hot against your ear.
“ Eomma and Appa are dreaming down the hall. One squeak and I’ll gag you with your own panties.”
Moonlight slices across your bare chest; his pupils blow wide, gold swallowed by black. He descends, mouth latching onto one nipple, teeth scraping the peak until you arch off the bed. A muffled cry vibrates against his hand. He growls approval, tongue swirling, then bites—sharp, perfect pain. You taste blood where your teeth sink into your lip.
“ Fuck, these tits.” He groans, switching sides, sucking hard enough to bruise.
“ Been starving for this softness.”
A flick of his wrist and the room dissolves. You land on silk the color of spilled wine—his bed in the skull-den, air thick with incense and brimstone. The mattress is vast, sheets cool against your fevered skin.
“ Now scream.” He orders, releasing your mouth.
“ I want every filthy sound.”
He trails south, tongue tracing the curve of your stomach. His hands knead the plush give of it, thumbs digging in.
“ Chubby little belly.” He rumbles, voice reverent.
“ Gonna leave bite marks here later.”
Your panties shred like cobwebs. He inhales, deep and obscene, nose buried in the damp curls.
“ Virgin cunt.” He groans.
“ Smells like sin and honey.”
Claws spread your thighs until the joints ache; cool air kisses slick folds. Then his mouth—hot, wet, relentless. He licks a slow stripe from entrance to clit, eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away. You can’t. His tongue circles, flicks, sucks until your hips buck. Two fingers tease your slit, circling the tight ring of muscle.
“ Relax, pet.” He murmurs against your clit.
“ Gonna open you up nice and slow.”
The first finger breaches—burning stretch, and a foreign pressure. You whimper, thighs trembling. He crooks it, searching, then adds the second. The sting sharpens; tears prick your eyes.
“ Easy.” He soothes, crawling up to hover, lips brushing yours.
“ Breathe. Let me in.”
He pumps gently, scissoring, stretching. Blood smears his knuckles—proof of your innocence. Pride flashes across his face, feral and tender. He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, then shoves both fingers deep and ruthless.
The pace turns brutal—curling, thrusting, thumb grinding your clit. Your back bows; a coil tightens low in your belly, urgent and terrifying.
“ Gwi-ma…stop…I need—” Words fracture into sobs.
He laughs, dark and delighted, biting your lower lip. “ That’s your cunt trying to come, baby. First orgasm. Let it rip you apart.”
You shatter. Pleasure detonates—white-hot and blinding. Your walls clamp around his fingers, pulsing, flooding. He slows, milking every aftershock, then withdraws with a wet sound. His hand glistens at your release, your blood, your surrender.
“ Look at this mess.” He purrs, lifting slick fingers to his mouth.
He sucks them clean, eyes rolling back. “ Fuck, you taste like heaven’s forbidden fruit.”
He smears the rest across your lips, forcing you to taste yourself.
“ Remember this flavor…” He whispers.
“ Next time it’ll be my cock painting your tongue.”
…
Gwi-ma rises from the bed like a dark god shedding mortal pretense. Silk slides from his shoulders, pooling at his feet. The lamplight of his den catches on skin the color of bruised plums, inked with sigils that pulse faintly is an ancient and alive.
Muscles shift under the marks, a map of power and ruin. Your gaze drops lower. His cock springs free, thick and ridged, slapping against his abs with a wet sound. The head glistens, flushed darker, a bead of precum trembling at the slit.
You choke on air. “ That’ll tear me in half.”
He crawls over you, horns casting shadows across your face.
“ Goal achieved.” He purrs, voice gravel and honey.
“ Gonna carve my name inside you so deep no mortal dick will ever scratch the itch. Your cunt’ll remember the stretch, clench around nothing and whimper for me.”
He nips your earlobe. “ Bodies are elastic, pet. You’ll swallow every inch like you were molded for it.”
Before you can protest, his hands grip your hips and flip you. You straddle his thighs, slick folds brushing the velvet heat of his shaft. It twitches against your clit; you jolt.
“ Ride me.” He orders, leaning back against the headboard, arms spread like a king on his throne.
“ Take what’s yours.”
“ I—I don’t know how.”
He pinches your cheeks, squishing them until your lips pout. “ Cute. I’ll teach.”
His mouth claims yours, filthy and slow, tongue stroking yours in promise. Hands roam—palms cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking nipples, then sliding down to knead your ass. He breaks the kiss to latch onto your neck, fangs sinking just enough to sting. A hot bloom of pain-pleasure; you whimper.
“ My mark…” He growls against the wound.
“ Mine. Starting tonight, you will wear my brand.”
He guides your mouth to his throat. “ Bite.”
You obey, teeth clumsy on his skin. He groans, hips bucking, cock smearing precum across your belly. You trail lower—kissing the hard planes of his chest, tongue tracing a sigil that flares under your lips.
His abs flex as you descend, breath ghosting over the root of him. Up close, it’s obscene: veined, throbbing, the head flushed almost black. You hesitate.
“ Hand.” He commands. Your fingers barely wrap half his girth.
He folds them tighter, guiding a slow stroke from base to crown. “ Like that. Feel me pulse for you.”
You pump experimentally. He hisses, head falling back, throat corded. “ Good girl. Now taste.”
He tangles fingers in your hair, nudging you down. You part your lips; the head slides in, salty and scalding. He’s gentle at first—letting you explore the ridge, the slit, the way he leaks when you swirl your tongue.
Praise drips like honey. “ Fuck, yes—suck the tip…flatten your tongue...”
You gag when he nudges your throat. He pulls you off, thumb wiping drool from your chin. “ Breathe.”
Then he’s back, hips rolling, fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts. “ Hand on the base…twist…there we go.”
Your jaw aches, eyes watering, but the sounds he makes him guttural, and wrecked spur you on. His grip tightens, pace stuttering.
“ Close.” He warns.
“ Swallow every drop or I paint your tits.”
You hollow your cheeks. He comes with a snarl, hips jerking, flooding your throat in thick, hot pulses. You gulp, choking, until he’s spent. Slowly he eases you off; his cock springs free, still rigid, glistening with cum and spit. He hauls you up, kissing you deep, tongue chasing his own taste.
“ Perfect.” He murmurs against your swollen lips.
“ Now you’re ready for the main course.”
Gwi-ma lowers you onto the wine-dark sheets like you’re spun glass, but his eyes are molten gold and starving. The mattress dips under his weight; silk clings to your sweat-damp skin. He kneels between your thighs, cock jutting proud, flushed and slick from your mouth.
“ Still good?” He rasps, voice rough with restraint.
You nod, throat tight. He groans in a half prayer, half curse and settles over you, forearms caging your head. The blunt head of him nudges your slit, sliding through wet folds, teasing your clit until your hips jerk.
“ Look at you…” He chuckles, dark and delighted.
“ Already begging with that greedy little cunt.” He drags the length up and down, coating himself in your slick.
“ Gonna ruin this pretty virgin hole. Turn you into a woman…my woman.”
He lines up. The tip breaches in a slow, relentless pressure. A burn blooms, sharp and foreign. You whimper; tears bead at the corners of your eyes.
“ Scratch me.” He orders, guiding your hands to his back.
“ Mark me while I mark you.”
You clutch his neck, nails raking purple skin. He pushes—halfway in, and the stretch steals your breath. Tears spill. He thumbs them away, nibbling your lower lip until you open for him.
The moment your mouth parts, he surges forward, swallowing your cry as the rest of him spears deep. You’re impossibly full, split open, impaled. He stills, buried to the hilt, letting you flutter and clench around the invasion.
“ Fuck.” He breathes against your lips.
“ Tight as a fist. Good girl…taking every inch like you were carved for me.”
“ It hurts.” You sob, nails carving crescents into his shoulders.
“ I know, pet.” He kisses the tears, voice softening.
“ Breathe. Let it melt.”
Minutes stretch—his heartbeat thudding against your chest, your walls easing around the thick intrusion. Pleasure flickers beneath the ache, a spark catching.
His golden eyes search yours. “ Ready?”
You nod while trembling.
He draws back slowly, then glides in gently and deliberately. The drag lights nerves you didn’t know existed. You moan, arching. He repeats, deeper, hips rolling like waves.
“ That’s it…” He praises, voice fraying.
“ Sucking me in like you never want me to leave.”
The pain ebbs, drowned by liquid heat. Your legs wrap his waist; heels dig into the small of his back. He speeds up still controlled, but hungry. Each thrust nudges your cervix, a sweet bruise that makes you gasp.
“ Feel that?” He growls, marking your neck with teeth and tongue.
“ My cock kissing your womb. Gonna flood it, brand you inside out.”
His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight. The rhythm turns savage his hips snapping, bed creaking, wet sounds obscene in the incense-heavy air. You claw his back, leaving red trails that heal almost instantly. He snarls approval, pounding harder, chasing the edge.
The coil snaps. Pleasure detonates the white-hot, blinding. Your walls clamp down, milking him. He roars, slamming deep, and comes in thick, endless pulses painting your insides. A bulge swells at his base, locking you together, knot pulsing as he pumps every drop into your womb.
“ Mine.” He pants, forehead pressed to yours.
“ All fucking mine.”
…
The knot pulses inside you, a living heartbeat locking you to him. Ten minutes stretch like honey, each throb of his cock milking another shudder from your over-sensitized walls. When it finally deflates, Gwi-ma eases out with a wet, obscene sound.
A river of mixed release follows, the pearl-white and crimson-tinged are spilling over your thighs onto the silk. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling like a starving man.
“ Fuck, you smell like mine now.” He rasps, tongue lapping the bite mark he left.
“ Never letting go. You’re my drug, pet. My obsession.”
You stare up at him, chest heaving. Purple skin gleams with sweat; sigils glow faintly across his chest. Horns curve proud and lethal. He’s terrifying and devastatingly beautiful. The devil really does wear a pretty mask.
He catches your gaze and smirks. “ Curious?”
A low purr rumbles from his throat. “ Touch them. They’re sensitive.”
Your fingers tremble as they trace the base of one horn—smooth, warm, ridged like polished obsidian. He shivers, purr deepening into a growl. The sound vibrates straight to your clit. His cock, still half-hard between your thighs, twitches and thickens.
“ Round two already?” He teases, claws skating down your cheek.
“ Greedy little cunt’s dripping for more.”
Heat floods your face and lower. He scents it, nostrils flaring. “ Knew it. Say yes, and I’ll let you ride me till you forget your own name.”
You nod, throat dry.
In one fluid motion he flips you, settling you astride his hips. His length juts up, flushed and slick with both of you. He grips the base, guiding the head to your entrance.
“ Slow.” He murmurs.
“ Take what you can.”
You sink—inch by burning inch. The stretch is easier now, but still overwhelming. When you’re fully seated, impaled to the root, he groans like you’ve punched the air from his lungs.
“ Perfect fucking fit.”
His hands settle on your hips, guiding a tentative roll. You find a rhythm—slow circles, then shallow bounces. Each drop drags his ridge over that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyes. He watches, golden eyes hooded, lips parted on ragged breaths.
“ Hands.” He demands.
You lace fingers with his; he uses the leverage to help you rise and fall. The bed creaks ominously in an ancient wood protesting the abuse. You bite your lip bloody.
He sits up suddenly, wrapping your arms around his neck, chests plastered together. Sweat-slick skin slides; your nipples drag across his sigils, sending sparks down your spine.
“ Scratch me again.” He growls against your ear.
“ Mark your demon.”
You do—nails raking down his back as you grind harder. He snarls approval, hips snapping up to meet you. The coil tightens low in your belly, urgent and molten.
“ Hold on.” He stands, still buried deep, lifting you like you weigh nothing.
Your legs lock around his waist; gravity drives him impossibly deeper. He thrusts slow, deliberate, each stroke nudging your cervix.
“ Feel that?” He whispers, filthy and reverent.
“ My cock kissing your womb. Gonna fill you again…breed you till you’re swollen with me.”
You bite his shoulder to muffle a scream. The pain-pleasure tips you over; orgasm crashes through you, walls fluttering wildly. He follows with a guttural roar, knot swelling, locking you together as he pumps rope after rope of hot seed into your already-stuffed womb. You sag against him, trembling.
He checks your face, thumb brushing a tear you didn’t know fell. “ Still with me?”
You nod, boneless. He lays you down gently, still knotted, arms caging you in a possessive cocoon. Sweat cools; cum leaks around the seal of his cock. The bed is wrecked—sheets twisted, headboard cracked.
“ Sleep.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead.
“ You’re mine now. Every inch. Every drop.”
…
Morning light filters through your curtains, soft and golden, the kind that should feel innocent. You wake on your own bed, sheets tangled around your legs, wearing the same oversized T-shirt and cotton panties you fell asleep in or thought you did.
The golden necklace rests heavy between your collarbones, pendant warm like it’s been sunbaked. You limp to the mirror. No bruises bloom on your throat, no fingerprints on your hips—your skin is flawless porcelain.
Except for the twin punctures on the curve of your neck, tiny and precise, already scabbed over.
A love bite from hell.
Your thighs ache like you’ve run a marathon; your core throbs with every step. Wrecked. Thoroughly, gloriously demon-fucked. You sink onto the mattress, wincing, when black smoke coils from the corner of the room.
Gwi-ma steps out in a hanbok the color of midnight, silk clinging to his frame like liquid shadow. His horns catch the light, polished and lethal. He kneels in front of you, golden eyes soft for once.
“ How’s my girl?” His voice is velvet over gravel.
“ Aching…” You mutter. “ Everywhere.”
He smirks, claws combing through your hair. “ Good. Means I did my job.”
You swallow. “ What happens now? After…that?”
His gaze sharpens. “ Told you...I don’t share. You’re mine. No mortal gets to touch what’s branded.”
He taps the fang marks. “ Especially not that office puppy.”
Your stomach flips. “ We didn’t use protection. What if I’m—”
He laughs, delighted, the sound rumbling through your bones. “ Pregnant? Best fucking news I’d hear all century.”
His palm splays over your belly, possessive. “ But not yet. I’ll know when you’re ripe.”
He pins you to the bed in a heartbeat, mouth at your ear. “ Stay away from Hyun-bin. Or I’ll make him piss himself in his sleep for the rest of his life.”
You clutch his shoulders. “ Don’t hurt him. Please.”
He sucks a fresh mark just above the necklace. “ Be obedient, pet. Simple.”
You hesitate. “ My parents…they’ll freak. You’re a demon. They’ll call a priest.”
His growl rattles the windows. “ That word again.”
“ I’m sorry! But it’s true.”
He sits up, pulling you into his lap so you straddle him. Your sore thighs protest; he steadies you with hands on your hips.
“ I’m a demon.” He says, pinching your cheeks until you pout.
“ I can wear any face. Mortals see what I want.”
His features shimmer—horns recede, skin pales to warm bronze, eyes soften to deep brown. A devastatingly handsome man stares back, human and harmless.
“ See? Your mom’ll swoon. Dad’ll offer me beer.”
The illusion fades; horns return. He leans in, lips brushing yours. “ I’ll do anything to keep my woman.”
He nips your lower lip, growling low. “ Restraint’s killing me with this necklace on.”
His hands dwarf yours as he lifts them, sliding a gold ring onto your finger. It’s warm, etched with tiny runes that pulse faintly. He shows his matching band.
“ Our bond. Wear it, I walk like a mortal. Remove it…” His face flickers to full demonic glory, fangs and all.
“ And I’m back to this. Scary enough?”
Your fingers drift to his horns, tracing the curve.
He purrs, loud and filthy, hips rolling involuntarily. “ Keep that up and I’ll snap the necklace, fuck you on your parents’ couch while they watch TV downstairs.”
Heat floods you—fear, want, surrender. You cup his face, thumbs stroking sharp cheekbones, memorizing the monster who claimed you. He nuzzles your palm, purring louder.
“ Can’t wait to meet Eomma and Appa.” He murmurs.
“ I’ll be an angel. Halo sold separately.” His mouth crashes into yours in a hungry and claiming.
The necklace burns between you, a leash and a promise. Because of one stupid game, you summoned a demon. And that demon owns you now, body and soul.
Author's Note:
Before the spooky season ends, I'll post this one-shot story about Gwi-ma. Enough of Gwi-ma's angst story; I usually upload a heartbreaking story, so I decided to upload at least a freaky smut version. Haha.
I recently read a monster x reader story and was inspired to write one. Anyway, enjoy reading. Stay safe and take care, guys! 🫶🏻♥️