𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐏𝐉𝐒
Warning – Graphic depictions of abuse, psychological manipulation, sexual coercion, stalking, confinement, trauma bonding, blood, gun violence, death, and dark themes.
Note – This is a psychological thriller/dark romance depicting an obsessive and abusive relationship. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Genre – Psychological Thriller, Dark Romance, Angst, Horror
Pairing – Psycho!Jay x Fem!Reader
Song Inspiration – "Sweet Sacrifice" by Evanescence
Word Count – 3,400+ Words
Your heart pounded louder than the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood floor.
The apartment was dark, empty—for once.
You clutched the duffel bag tightly to your chest, careful not to knock over the vase on the console or the stack of books he always left messily by the couch.
You had a window. Just one.
A twenty-minute walk to the bus terminal, two transfers, and then a new life.It was supposed to be simple.
But simplicity didn’t exist when it came to Jay.
Your fingers brushed the door handle.
Then everything went black.
You woke up with the taste of iron in your mouth and the cold sting of silk ropes biting into your wrists.
The room swam as you blinked, disoriented.
Candlelight flickered from the kitchen. The rich scent of sandalwood filled the air.
Sitting on the edge of the table, blood staining his knuckles, shirt discarded, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.
He looked at you like he’d found God. And God was bleeding."You’re awake," he murmured. "Finally."
You tried to pull back, but your ankles were bound, too. Panic shot through you like ice."You hit me," you whispered, voice cracked and hoarse.
"You were leaving me."His voice was calm. Like a lullaby. Like a curse.
He stood and walked over, crouching beside you, brushing your cheek with blood-smeared fingers.
"Jay… please. I was scared. I just needed space."He laughed, soft and hollow.
"Space? From me?"You nodded, tears brimming.
Jay tilted his head. "But I gave you everything. My love. My time. My patience.
I let you breathe, baby. I let you live."
"You followed me to work. You read my messages. You put cameras in the apartment. That’s not love, Jay. That’s control."His smile dropped.
For a moment, his face twitched, jaw clenching as he stood to his full height, looming over you.
Then, like a switch, the grin returned."You forgot one thing, baby," he murmured, leaning close. "You belong to me."
You met Jay in a bookstore.He was charming, quiet. The type who read poetry and didn’t brag about it.
He offered to buy your coffee the second time you bumped into him, and from there it spiraled—quickly.
You remember the butterflies when he showed up outside your work with flowers.
The pride in his voice when he introduced you to his friends. How his hand never left your waist in public, like he was claiming you.
At first, it felt romantic. Like someone finally saw you.But then came the little things.
The time you wore a short skirt to brunch and he went quiet for the whole day, then whispered, "Do you want men to look at you like that?"
The night you stayed late for work and came home to find all your drawers emptied, your clothes tossed on the floor.
He said he was "cleaning." But the way he clutched your phone later that night told a different story.
He cried when you forgave him. Said he just loved you too much.
Another time, you wanted to go out with friends and he looked at you like you'd spat in his food.
"You'd rather be with them than me? After everything?"
Because he loved you.Because you thought love was supposed to hurt, sometimes.
Until he told you, casually over dinner, that he’d "taken care of" your ex.
You laughed, thinking it was a joke.
You never saw that ex again.
"I was going to surprise you tonight," Jay says now, pulling a small velvet box from his back pocket.
A ring. Silver, vintage. Your favorite cut."I was going to propose. I even made dinner."You stare at him.
"You were going to propose after knocking me out and tying me up?"
"No," he replies, eyes softening. "I was going to do it before. But you tried to leave."
Tears spill over your cheeks. "Please, Jay. Let me go."He presses the ring into your palm.
He slams his fist into the wall beside you, the plaster cracking under his fury.
You scream, jerking away."You think you can just walk away from me?!" he roars.
"After everything I’ve done for you?!"
"You’re hurting me!" you sob.
Jay kneels again, panting, eyes wild.Then—tenderness. That horrible, terrifying tenderness.
He cups your face. Kisses your forehead."I’m sorry," he whispers. "I get scared. You make me crazy.
I just… I can’t lose you."You close your eyes, broken.
He presses the ring to your finger."You’re mine. Say it. Say you’re mine."
You’d come home late from work. Jay had been waiting. He was quiet, that kind of quiet that filled the room like smoke.
"I donated your clothes," he said.
"You didn’t need them anymore. None of them fit who you are now." He gestured to your closet, now filled only with things he’d bought,
lace, silk, expensive lingerie that barely covered you."I liked those clothes," you whispered.He smiled.
"You liked them when you thought you were ordinary."
Jay rose, walking toward the laundry hamper near the bathroom door.
You barely registered what he was doing until he pulled a pair of your underwear—yesterday’s—from the top of the pile.
He held them delicately, reverently, like they were sacred.
Then he brought them to his face and inhaled.
Your stomach turned. “Jay—what are you doing—”He didn’t answer.
He reached into his boxers, eyes locked on you.
Your face twisted in horror. “Don’t.”He ignored you. In fact, he moaned.
"Look at how fucking gone I am for you."You tried to close your eyes.
"No," he snarled. "Watch."He came into the fabric, gasping your name like a prayer.
Then he crossed the room again, panting, shaking, haunted—and held the ruined fabric up.
"You’re going to wear them.""No—Jay, please—""You don’t get to say no anymore." He grabbed your chin, tilting your head until your eyes met his.
"Because you’re nothing without me. You understand?"You nodded, barely, trembling.
He slid the soiled fabric up your thighs, whispering filth into your ear the whole time.
"This is what love is. This is ours. Say it.""...I'm yours," you breathed, broken."Good girl."
Your throat ached from screaming, from crying, from begging
.Jay's thumb still pressed against your palm where the ring had been shoved.
He looked at you like you'd said your vows, like you were already his bride.And maybe you were.
Not by choice. But by design."You don’t get it," he murmured, crawling over your trembling body like a wolf approaching wounded prey.
"You leaving me… it’s like asking me to die."You whimpered when his fingers reached your face, tilting your chin up.
You tried to turn away—he didn't let you."I gave you everything, and you wanted to run?"
"Jay, please—" "You said you're mine." His breath was warm, shaky. "Say it again."You shook your head, eyes brimming.
"I didn’t mean it. I was scared—"His mouth crashed into yours.
Rough. Desperate. Tasting of blood and hunger and grief. You whimpered, pulling back, but his hand gripped your jaw, forcing you still.
He kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin. Like he’d shatter if he didn’t."You’re mine," he panted against your lips. "Say it, baby. You’re mine."
"No—"He pressed his body to yours, hand sliding between your thighs through the thin fabric of your sleep shorts.
The silk ropes still bound your ankles. There was nowhere to go.
And yet—Somewhere inside you, your body betrayed you.
Because fear and familiarity sometimes wore the same skin. Because part of you remembered the early days—how safe he’d once felt.
He found that flicker and lit it on fire.
His hand was ruthless, practiced. His other held your face like glass."You’re not leaving me," he growled.
"Not after this. I know your body better than you do. You’ll see. You don’t want freedom, baby. You want me."Tears streamed down your cheeks
. He didn’t stop."You’re gonna come for me," he whispered, fingers relentless. "And when you do—you’re gonna say it. Say you’re mine."
You tried to resist.But your body cracked under pressure, your back arching despite your shame.He saw it. Smirked."Say it."
"N-no—"He pinched your throat just enough to make your next breath hitch."Say it."
"That’s right," he crooned, coaxing your climax with terrifying tenderness. "Say it again.""I’m yours—!" you gasped as it hit, humiliation washing over your body along with your orgasm.
He kissed your tears.Then he pulled away. His hand—slick, triumphant—wiped across his chest."Never run away from me"
You wait until he sleeps.His arm is draped over your waist like a shackle. You can feel the rise and fall of his breath against your back.
Carefully, you work at the silk knots with trembling fingers. The ropes slip. Your hands are free.
You hold your breath. Untie your ankles. Slide from under his weight.The floor creaks.
He stirs.You freeze.But he doesn’t wake.
They find you in a gas station bathroom.
Shaking. Hungry. Covered in bruises, both old and new. Your eyes are sunken, your lips cracked, your arms wrapped around your stomach like you're trying to hold yourself together.
You barely register the cashier's scream when she sees you stumble out, blood seeping through your shirt.
You don’t remember collapsing, or the ambulance sirens, or the officer pressing a bottle of water to your lips.
All you remember is his face.You give them his name.They don’t believe you at first.
Jay is respectable. Polished. Untouchable. An entrepreneur. A gentleman.
But when they break down his door, they find the shrine.
Photos. Hundreds. You sleeping. You showering. You crying. You eating.Locks of your hair.
The bloodied shirt from the night you tried to leave.
They find a journal. Page after page of “she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine..."They move to arrest him.
You’re there when it happens. You insist.You want to see him caged.
Jay turns toward you as the red and blue lights flash through the window.
He looks calm. Serene."You promised you’d love me forever," he says.
Then he pulls the gun from behind his back.
Before the officers can react, he raises it.
And shoots you.Once—straight through the chest.
You drop. Cold. Numb. Time stops.
You feel the blood in your mouth, thick and metallic.
Then he turns the gun on himself.
"Forever," he whispers.And pulls the trigger.
The room is silent, save for the frantic shouts of police.
One twisted kind of love.And a forever that ends in blood.Your pulse flutters, faint.
You’re not dead. Not yet.
And as the lights dim, as hands press against your chest, as someone screams for backup and the blood pools beneath you—you remember the way he always smiled after hurting you.
And the last thing you think, before it all goes dark, is
He always said love meant bleeding.
