I See Red pt2
Pairing: dark! Geum seongje x female reader x (ft hyuntak)
Warnings:NONCON, violence, nonconsensual recording, blackmail, degradation, humiliation, stalking, obsession.
Summary: He came for revenge.He stayed for you.
Sensitive content ahead
The world had not ended. That was the cruelest part. The sun still rose, school bells still rang and life, in its mundane, relentless way, demanded you move through it. But you moved as a ghost, a hollowed-out echo of the girl who once took shortcuts through alleys.
Six weeks have passed. The scar on your wrist had healed into a tight, pink disc of shiny alien skin. You wore bracelets over it every single day, a ritual as necessary as breathing. The bracelets were a shield, a denial. If you couldn't see it, maybe you could pretend the memory of the searing pain, the smell of your own flesh, was just another nightmare. But the bracelets themselves became a brand. A signal to yourself, and to anyone who looked too closely, that something was wrong.
Sieun was your shadow. A silent, grim, protective shadow. He walked you to your classroom door every morning, his presence a wall between you and the crowded hallways. He was there at lunch, not eating, just sitting with his back to the room, scanning every face that passed. He met you after your last class, his eyes doing a quick, diagnostic scan of you before he nodded, falling into step beside you. You never spoke of it. What was there to say? ‘Thank you for being my guard dog because your enemy raped me?’ the words would shatter the fragile, glass-like peace you both pretended to maintain.
He had become sharper, harder. The quiet intensity that always defined him had curdled into something colder, more lethal. He slept even less. You'd hear him pacing in his room at 3AM, the floorboards creaking under a weight that had nothing to do with his body. Sometimes, you'd catch him staring at his hands, flexing them, a look of profound self-loathing twisting his features before he schooled them back to blankness.
Hyuntak tried. God, did he try. He’d catch your eyes in the hallway, his own gaze bruised with a guilt so heavy it seemed to bend his shoulders. He'd open his mouth, take a step toward you, but you'd flinch back so violently he'd stop as if struck. The one time he managed to corner you near the lockers, his voice a low, pained rasp. “Y/n.. i-I'm so sorry. Please, just let me..” you didn't scream. You just stared through him, your eyes glazing over until you were looking at a spot on the wall behind his head. The silence became so loud, so suffocating that he finally backed away, his jaw clenched so tight you could see muscle jumping.
You knew he and sieun talked in hushed, urgent tones when they thought you were asleep. You heard the word ‘seongje’ hissed like a curse. You heard the dull thud of a fist hitting a wall. But no plan was formed. What could they do? Go to the police? The video existed. The humiliation would be public, permanent. Fight him? That’s what started this. You were the living, breathing proof of why that was a catastrophic idea.
Your body was a traitor. It remembered the violation in sickening detail. The feel of rough concrete. The sting of his slap. The shocking, overwhelming fullness. The heat of his release inside you. In the shower, you scrubbed your skin raw, but you could still feel the ghost of his hands, his mouth. You stopped looking at yourself naked. The body in the mirror was a crime scene.
Then there were the other memories, the ones that filled you with a shame so profound it made you nauseous.The way your back had arched against your will when he pinched your nipple. The choked, pathetic moans that had escaped your lips. The wetness between your legs that he'd so cruelly pointed out. Your body had reacted. It had responded. In your darkest moments, that felt like the ultimate betrayal, a proof that some deep, rotten part of you was exactly what he said you were.
Geum seongje watched. He was a patient hunter. He'd see you in the distance, a small figure swamped in oversized clothes, trailed by your grim brother. He'd watch hyuntak's failed attempts to reach you, and a slow, ugly smile would spread across his face. The video on his phone was his most treasured possession. He didn't just watch it for arousal (though it certainly proved that). He watched it for the power. He'd pause on the frame where your face was contorted in terror as he entered you. He'd zoom in on the fresh burn on your wrist. He'd listen, volume low, to your broken “thank you.”
He owned you. The thought was a drug. He'd taken something no one could ever give back. He'd stamped himself on your body and your psyche. And the ownership, to a creature like geum seongje, came with privileges. The privilege to revisit his property whenever he wished.
The opportunity came on a rainy Thursday. Sieun had been held after school by a teacher for a missed assignment. You waited outside the classroom, back pressed to the wall, trying to make yourself invisible. The hallways were nearly empty, the silence broken only by the drumming rain and distant voices.
“Look who's here? All alone?”
Your blood turned to slush in your veins. You didn't need to look up. You knew that voice. It had poisoned your dreams.
Seongje leaned against the lockers opposite you, looking immaculate in his uniform, glasses perched on his nose. Two of his friends loitered a few lockers down, snickering. “Where's your guard dog? Get tired of babysitting?”
You pushed off the wall, aiming for the stairwell. You had to find sieun.
“Ah, ah, ah.” One of his friends–the one who'd held the camera–stepped into your path. “Seongje's talking to you.”
“Move.” You whispered, the word barely audible.
Seongje pushed off the lockers and closed the distance in two strides. He didn't touch you. He just stood too close, his cologne invading your space, making your stomach lurch. “You look like shit.” He observed, his voice conversational. “Not sleeping? Thinking about me?”
“Leave me alone.” it was meant to be strong, but it came out as a plea.
He chuckled. “See that's the thing. I can't. You're stuck in my head. That little tight cunt of yours….fuck.” He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. You froze, paralyzed. “I've been dreaming about it. About dumping another load in you. Seeing if i can get you pregnant this time. Imagine that–Sieun's little sister carrying my kid. He'd probably blow his own brains out.”
The vulgarity, the casual cruelty of it, stole the air from your lungs. Tears of pure terror welled in your eyes.
“Please.” You choked out.
“Please what?” He mocked. “Please fuck you again? Please breed you? You gotta be specific, slut.” His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist–the burned one–right over the bracelets. You cried out, the old pain flaring bright and new. “Still tender? Good. You should always remember.”
The classroom door opened, and sieun stepped out. He took in the scene in a nanosecond. You, pinned by fear and Seongje's grip, his friends smirking. Sieun’s face usually so controlled, went utterly, terrifyingly blank. It was the calm before the hurricane.
“Take your hands off her.” Sieun said, his voice low and flat.
Seongje smiled, slow and wide. He released your wrist, but gave you a slight shove that sent you stumbling back. “Just catching up with my favourite girl. We have a…special connection, you know?”
Sieun moved so fast he was a blur. He didn't go for Seongje. He went for the friend who'd block your path, the camera guy. A brutal fist to the solar plexus doubled him over, followed by a knee to his face that landed with a sickening crunch. The boy dropped, blood gushing from his nose.
The other friend lunged, sieun sidestepped, grabbed his arm and used his momentum to slammed him face-first into the lockers. He slid down, dazed.
It left sieun and Seongje facing each other in the suddenly silent hallway. The violence had been efficient, brutal and utterly silent from Sieun.
“You touch her again,”Sieun breathed, the first crack of emotion–white-hot rage–showing in his eyes. “and I will kill you. Not fight you. Kill you.”
Seongje's smile didn't waver. He adjusted his glasses. “Promises, promises. But you see, Yeon Sieun, you don't get to make the rules anymore. I do. I own what's between her legs now. Every time she closes her eyes, it's me she feels. Every time that limp-dick friend of yours looks at her, he knows I was there first. I'm in her head, in her body….I'm in your life. Permanently.”
He glanced past Sieun at you, his eyes raking over you with vulgar ownership. “I'll be seeing you soon, kitten. We're not done. Not by a long shot.” With that, he stepped over his groaning friend and walked away, whistling.
Sieun stood trembling, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. He turned to you, the rage dissolving into a agony so raw it hurt to look at. “Did he hurt you?”
You just shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself, the phantom feeling of Seongje's breath on your ear making you shudder.
~
The confrontation lit a fuse in Hyuntak. The guilt had been eating him alive, but the sight of Sieun's barely-contained fury and your shattered silence after the hallway incident pushed him over the edge. He couldn't protect you then, he would try to avenge you now.
He found Seongje two days later, smoking behind the abandoned shop near school. Seongje was alone, which Hyuntak took as a stroke of luck. It was a catastrophic misjudgement.
“You piece of shit.” Hyuntak spat, storming up to him.
Seongje took a leisurely drag, exhaling smoke through his nose. “The white Knight arrives. A little late, don't you think? The damsel’s already been thoroughly distressed.”
“I'm going to make you pay for what you did to her.” Hyuntak growled, squaring up.
Seongje laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. “You? You are going to make me pay? That's cute.” He dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. “You couldn't protect her. You can't even look her in the eyes now. You see my face when you look at her, don't you? You wonder what she sounded like when I was buried in her.”
With a roar, Hyuntak charged. He was strong, fueled by righteous anger, but he was brawling. Seongje was something else. He was calculation and cruelty distilled. He moved with fluid, frugal elegance, dodging Hyuntak's wild swings. He let Hyuntak expend his energy, a matador with a clumsy bull.
Then he struck. A sharp jab to the throat that made Hyuntak gag. A knee to the gut. As Hyuntak bent over, seongje grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the brick wall. Once. Twice. A third time.
Hyuntak crumpled, blood streaming from a split eyebrow, his nose clearly broken, his lips busted. He tried to push himself up, his vision swimming.
Seongje knelt beside him, not even breathing heavily. He grabbed Hyuntak’s hair again, forcing his head up. “Look at you.” his voice, a vulgar whisper. “You wanted to be her hero? This is what heroes get. They get their face smashed in while villains fucks the girl they love.” He leaned closer, his mouth almost touching Hyuntak's ear. “And I did. You know, I fucked her so deep I came inside her. Filled her up. She might be carrying my kid right now. How's that for a happy ending?”
He released Hyuntak's head, letting it thump back to the ground. Standing up, he wiped his hands on his pants as if touching Hyuntak had dirtied them. “Stay away from what's mine. Next time, I won't be so gentle.”
When hyuntak stumbled into gym later, face a mask of purple and crimson, Sieun didn't need to ask. The answer was written in the brutalized flesh, Hyuntak met his eyes, and the shame and the defeat that was worse than the blood. “I'm sorry.” Hyuntak mumbled, through swollen lips. “I…..I couldn't.”
Sieun just handed him a clean towel, his own silence a heavier condemnation than any words. The message was clear, direct confrontation was suicide. Seongje was always three steps ahead, and he fought with an emotional savagery that matched his physical one.
~
The second time happend because Seongje was a creature of symbolism and obsession. He didn't just want you again, he wanted to defile a place that represented your fragile attempt at recovery.
It was the school library, after hours. You worked there twice a week for extra credit, a quiet predictable routine. Sieun had reluctantly agreed to because the librarian, a stern, older woman, was always present. Tonight, however, she'd left early with migraine, trusting you to lock up. You'd texted Sieun you were on your way home.
You were in the secluded history stacks, putting away a cart of books, the only sound the hum of the fluorescent lights. The feeling of being watched was so sudden, so intense, it felt like a drop in temperature.
You turned.
Geum Seongje stood at the end of the aisle, leaning against a bookshelf. He was out of uniform, in dark jeans and a black jacket. He looked you up and down, a predator assessing its cornered prey.
“Cozy,” he said, his voice echoing softly in the silent space.
Panic, cold and sharp shot through you. You dropped the books in your hands. The exit was past him. Your phone was in your bag at the front desk.
“The door was open?” You stammered, backing up until you hit the shelves behind you.
“I have a key,” he said, simply taking a step forward. “Janitor's a friend of a friend. Told him I left my phone in there.” Another step. “But we both know what I really left here, don't we? My claim.”
“Sieun's waiting for me.” You said, voice trembling.
“He's across the town, getting chewed out by his homeroom teacher for skipping classes to follow you around. I made sure of it.” His smile was a razor cut. “It's just us. And all these dead people.” He gestured to the books. “They can watch.”
He closed the final distance. You tried to duck under his arm, but he caught you around the waist, slamming you back into the shelves. Books tumbled around you. His hand clamped over your mouth, stifling your scream.
“None of that.” He hissed, his face inches from yours. His breath smell of mint and something darker like, nicotine. “You're gonna be quiet this time. Or I'll make sure the whole school finds that video on their phones tomorrow. You want that? You want everyone to see you come on my cock?”
The threat was more effective than any physical restraint. You went limp, the fight draining out of you, replaced by a cold, drowning despair.
“Good girl.” He purred, the term obscene. He removed his hand from your mouth, but his eyes warned you. He grabbed the collar of your sweater and yanked, the fabric tearing with a loud rip. The sound seemed to excite him. He tore it down the front, buttons pinging off the wooden shelves. Your bra followed, shredded by his rough hands.
“Still so pretty.” He mused, gripping your bare tits, his thumb rubbing cruelly over your nipples until they peaked painfully. “Bet they are more sensitive now, huh? Remembering me.”
You turned your head away, tears streaming silently. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes while I ruin you.”
He spun you around, facing the shelves, he bent you over the lower stacks, your cheek pressed against the cold spines of books. You heard his belt buckle, the zip of his jeans.
“No please….not here.” You sobbed, the violation of space, the sheer vulgarity of it, breaking through your silent resolve.
“Especially here.” He grunted, yanking your skirt up and underwear down. The air was cold on your exposed skin. “This is where you try to be normal. To forget. I'm here to remind you.” He spat into his hands, a crude wet sound and rubbed it between your legs. “You don't get to forget.”
He entered you in one brutal thrust. You cried out, the sound muffled by the books. It was dry, painful sensation that made you see stars. He didn't care. He set a ruthless, punishing pace, his hips slamming into yours, driving you into the sharp edges of the shelves with each movement.
“This is what you are now.” He growled in your ear, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “A hole for me to use. A warm, tight dump for my cum. You think you're Sieun's sister? You're my fucking cocksleeve.”
His words were non-stop, a filthy stream of consciousness meant to shatter whatever dignity you had left. “you take it so good, you worthless whore. Bet you're getting wet again, aren't you? Bet traitorous body love this.”
You hated him. You hated yourself more. Because amidst the agony and the humiliation, a shameful, unwelcome heat was coiling in your belly. Your body, conditioned by the first violation was responding to the brutal stimulation. A choked sob that sounded suspiciously like a moan escaped you.
He heard it. He fucking heard it. “Yeah!” He laughed, a triumphant, vicious sound. “There it is! You love it! Say it! Say you love your owner's cock.”
You shook your head, weeping.
He shifted his angle, hitting a spot that made your legs tremble. A sharp, electric jolt of unwanted pleasure shot through you. You gasped.
“Say it or I'll call the whole school in right now to see you like this.”
The words were torn from you, a ragged whisper against the book spine. “I….I love it.”
“Louder.”
“I love your cock.” You whimpered, the confession tearing your soul into two.
“Whose cock?”
“Your cock….Seongje.”
“Good fucking girl.” He groaned, his pace becoming frantic, erratic. “Gonna breed you right here, in this shithole library. Gonna pump you so full you'll feel me dripping out of you for days. Maybe this time it'll take. Maybe I'll put a baby in this slutty little baby.”
The idea of being tethered to him forever by something as monstrous as a child conceived in hatred and violence, unleash a new wave of terror. You thrashed weakly, but he held you down, his body covering yours completely.
“Take it.” He commanded, his voice guttural. “Take my fucking seed! It's all you're good for!”
With a final, deep thrust he came. You felt the hot, pulsing release flooding inside you, a vile, intimate brand. He held himself there, grinding, making sure it went as deep as possible. You hung limp, utterly broken, the smell of old paper, his sweat and sex filling your nostrils.
He pulled out slowly, the wet, lewd sound making you gag. He tucked himself back into his jeans, zipped up. He left you bent over the shelves, exposed and dripping.
He leaned down, kissing your tear-streaked cheek. “See? We have dates now. The rooftop. The library.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with a mock tenderness that was more violating than his slap. “I'll think of somewhere special for next time. Maybe your bedroom.”
He picked up his jacket and walked away, his footsteps falling into silence. You slid to the floor, amidst the scattered books. The sticky wetness between your legs was physical testament to your defeat. He was right. He owned you. He was in your body, in your mind and now he had defiled one of the last safe places you had.
You don't know how long you sat there. Eventually, you pulled your torn clothes around you and stumbled out of there. You didn't lock the library. You just walked home in the dark, the rain masking your tears, feeling his cum slowly leaking down your thigh with every step–a permanent vulgar reminder.
You made it home. The walk was blur of wet pavement, shuddering streetlight and the phantom sensation of him, between your legs. You let the rain wash over you, hoping it could scour the memory from your skin, but all it did was make you cold. A different kind of cold. The kind that settles in the marrow of your bones.
Sieun wasn't home yet. The fight with his teacher, Seongje’s setup, must have taken longer than planned. The empty apartment was cavern of silence and the silence was full of echeos–the rip of your sweater, the slap of skin against skin, his guttural groans in your ear. You stood in the entryway, dripping onto the floor, your torn clothes clinging to you like a second skin of shame.
A buzz silted through the quiet. Your phone, in your ruined bag. You flinched so violently you almost fell. It buzzed again. And again. Not a call. Messages.
Your hands were trembling, clumsy with cold and shock, as you fumbled the phone out. The screen glowed in the dark hall.
Unknown number:
Did you get home safely, kitten? I worry you.
A picture loaded beneath it. A blurry, dark shot of you walking in the rain, taken from behind, just a few blocks away. He'd follow you.
Your stomach lurched.
Another message:
Forget to give you a souvenir from our library date.
A video file this time. Thumbnail; a distorted, close-up image of leather belt loop and the worn spine of a book. Your blood turned to ice.
You didn't want to open it. You needed to burn the photo, to throw it into the deepest part of the river. But your finger moving on its own volition, tapped the screen.
The video played, sound low but clear. It was a POV shot, shaky from behind. The camera was clearly hidden, angled down. You saw the back of your own skirt, hiked up. You saw his hands, pale and strong, gripping your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. You saw the relentless, brutal motion of his thrusts, the way your body jolted forward with each one.
The audio was the worst part. Your sharp, pained gasps mingled with his low grunts. The video ended with a final shuddering groan from him and a whimper from you, then went black.
You dropped the phone, it clattered on the hardwood floor, the screen still glowing up at you like a single, accusing eye. You backed away until you hit the wall, then slid down it, hugging your knees to your chest. The sobs came then. You cried until your throat was raw and eyes burned. The realization dawned upon you now he has more material to blackmail you.
The front door opened, Sieun stepped in, his hair damp from rain, his face drawn with exhaustion and simmering anger. He took in the scene; you on the floor, soaked and shivering in torn clothes, your phone lying few feet away, its screen a dim rectangle of horror.
“Y/n?” his voice was rough with concern. He rushed over, kneeling infront of you. “What happened? Your clothes..” His eyes darted to your phone. He saw the lit screen, the open messages thread.
A terrible understanding dawned on his face, slower than it should have, because the truth was too monstrous to accept immediately. He reached for the phone.
“No!” You rasped, but it was too weak, too late.
He picked it up. The video was still open. He stared at the frozen, horrific thumbnail. His thumb hovered over the play button. You saw the conflict war on his face–the need to know, warring with the knowledge that seeing it would destroy something in him forever.
He didn't press play. He didn't need to. The preview was enough. The sender's words. –”forget to give you souvenir from our library date.”–were enough.
A sound escaped Sieun's lips. It wasn't a word. It was the sound of something breaking deep inside a person. The phone fell from his suddenly limp fingers. He didn't look at you. He stared at the wall, his breathing shallow, his entire body vibrating with a rage so absolute it had passed beyond fury into something still and deadly.
He had failed. Again. His protection was a joke. His presence was a taunt. Seongje was not just a bully to be fought, he was a force of nature, a plague that could not be quarantined. He was in your phone, in your body, in your safe spaces. He was in Sieun's head now, too.
Slowly, so slowly Sieun turned his gaze to you. The agony in his eyes was worse than any anger. It was the look of a man watching his world burn and knowing he lit the match.
“Where?” He asked, his voice a hollow scrape.
You could only shake your head, fresh tears spilling. The word “library” stuck in your throat, too awful to speak aloud.
He understood. He closed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. When he opened them again, they were dead. Bereft of the last flicker of hope.
“Go take a shower.” He said, his words flat, automatic. “I'll….I'll make tea.”
But as you push yourself up, legs wobbling and shuffled towards the bathroom, you both knew no shower would be hot enough. No tea ever warm the chill he had installed in your soul.
Geum seongje had promised he wasn't done. And as you leaned your forehead against the cold tile, weeping silently under the spray. You knew with a certainty that felt like your own death sentence.
He was just getting started.
