Chapter 1: Maintain a quiet and welcoming space
Chapter Text
Sunghoon had always loved silence. The comfortable kind that settled when the sun went down. But not the kind that always came back, whispering every thought he didn’t want to hear. Or the sound of his sobbing. But his life was full of it.
He grew up in a neighbourhood where the buildings peeled at the edges and where the flickering lights had given up. His mother died giving birth to him. Something no one said out loud, but everyone remembered. When his father was still living with Sunghoon, he made sure Sunghoon never forgot that he was the one responsible for her death.
So Sunghoon learned early not to expect love or kindness. He didn’t have siblings or a warm childhood to fall back on. What he had was work, and school, and an endless loop of both that filled his days just enough to keep him distracted.
Keep him alive.
But what for?
Jake was probably the closest thing he had to a “friend”, though that word felt like an overstatement. They didn’t hang out, and they didn’t talk much. But at school, they always ended up in the same group for projects. Jake was efficient, and Sunghoon didn’t mind following his lead. It was Jake who told him about the job. His parents owned a fancy casino hotel —two stars or something like that.
“You’re quiet and you follow orders," he’d said with a shrug. “You’ll fit right in.”
And he did. He started when he was barely sixteen. At first, he started by doing laundry runs and mopping the staff corridors. Now he was in uni, still juggling classes and night shifts. A matter of survival. Every weekday, he got up before the sun, grabbed the bus downtown, earphones in and hoodie up, moving as exhausted as he looked. He sat by the window, staring out at Seoul’s early morning blur: grey and dull buildings, neon signs fading into daylight, people already moving too fast.
The Sim luxury hotel-casino was wrapped in polished red marble and blackened steel. From afar, it looked like a jewel. It was sleek and modern, a monument to high society’s power.
Inside, it was a symphony of warm tones. Burgundy velvet panels framed the elevators, soft crimson carpeting muffled every footstep, and delicate golden trim hugged the edges of ceilings and tables alike. Low ambient lighting gave everything a slight amber haze, flattering skin, smoothing imperfections.
Guests walked past with their expensive coats and shopping bags, never sparing a glance his way. Which suited him fine, because he liked being invisible.
The hotel staff wore tailored suits with scarlet accents, pocket squares, neckties, and waistbands. Even Sunghoon’s uniform, composed of a crisp white shirt tucked into dark trousers with a wine-red vest, was designed to blend into the aesthetic like furniture.
Most days, he cleaned rooms. Sometimes suits. Sometimes VIP lounges. He didn’t talk to clients unless he had to. No one cared if he skipped lunch or finished work with bruises on his hands from scrubbing tiles. He did his job, clocked out, and left.
Occasionally, when the staff were short or someone called in sick, he took butler shifts for the VIPs. He didn’t love it, but it paid better. Even if it meant dealing with people who treated him like he was part of the carpet.
He had a system. Clean, fold, wipe, reset. Smile if needed. Disappear. Don’t get noticed. Don’t get attached. Don’t think. Everything to survive each day.
Sunghoon was halfway through folding towels in the linen room when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Butler on floor 12 called in sick. VIP client waiting. You’re next on the list. Room 1208. Uniform required. Now.
He sighed, then shoved his phone back into his pocket and made his way down to the staff locker room. His limbs were already sore from pulling a night shift, but he couldn’t refuse it, did he? Not when they paid nearly double the rate for VIPs. One shift like that could cover half a month of groceries.
The locker room smelled like sweat and overused cologne, mixed with cheap detergent. He changed there quickly, folding his old hoodie into his locker and pulling on the stiff black tuxedo they kept for service staff.
The trousers were always too tight at the waist, and the collar choked him if he buttoned it all the way. Still, he did it. Tied the bowtie, smoothed the jacket, and slipped on the white gloves. He stared at himself for a second in the mirror above the sink, then took off his glasses, cleaned them carefully with the corner of a towel, and slid them back on his nose.
Meanwhile, two cleaning ladies were chatting near the doorway, their voices low but not low enough.
“Poor kid. He got assigned to room 1208.”
“You're joking. That’s Nishimura’s suite?”
“Apparently. And you know how he is. The last butler cried in the bathroom after the shift. Only Jinyoung-sshi knows how to deal with Nishimura’s temper.”
Sunghoon stilled, brows furrowing. He didn’t know who Nishimura was, but judging by the way they said his name, it was someone important… and a diva.
“He’s a dancer, right? Owns one of those big studios in Gangnam. Rich, young, and angry at the world. Heard he fired a whole set crew just because they brought him sparkling water instead of still. Scarry. Dangerous even…”
“Not to mention the girls and boys. New one every night. Who does he think he is? God’s gift to earth?”
Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, turned his back to them, and straightened his cuffs.
It couldn’t be that bad. He’d dealt with screaming kids, rich CEOs who clicked their fingers like he was a dog, and an old actor who made him clean a glass table three times in a row with a toothbrush. One more spoiled client wasn’t going to kill him.
And the pay made up for it. He reminded himself of that again as he walked to the service elevator and hit the button for the twelfth floor.
The ride up felt slower than usual. The closer he got, the more his stomach twisted. It wasn’t exactly from fear but from apprehension. He barely noticed the surroundings, all his efforts focused on keeping himself calm.
He could do it.
He could.
He had to.
Room 1208 was at the far end of the corridor, past the suites with gold plates and frosted windows. The hallway red carpet softened every step, muffling the sound of his shoes as he reached the door and knocked.
For a second, there was no answer. Then a voice.
“Enter,” said a deep male voice.
The kind of voice that was low and quiet but used to command. It sent shivers down Sunghoon's spine. He hesitated only half a breath before twisting the doorknob and stepping inside.
“Good evening,” he said respectfully.
It’s only then that he noticed that the suite was... extravagant. A dark décor, velvet furnishings, silver ornaments, huge windows half-covered by black curtains. Dim lighting and the low thump of music playing from somewhere further inside the suite. The air smelled like something expensive. Was it cologne layered with something sweeter? Perhaps wine?
And then he saw him.
Nishimura Riki.
Sunghoon found himself looking at a tall man sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing loose black trousers and an unbuttoned silk shirt. His dark hair was still wet, brushed back like he’d just stepped out of the shower. He was effortlessly attractive, with sharp and angular features, pouty lips, and collarbones on display, accentuated by silver jewels. His posture was lazy, arms spread behind him, like he owned the room, the hotel, the casino, hell, the air itself. A startingly striking man. The type of man Sunghoon could go for. He had eyes, and hot was hot. And Riki was hot.
Sunghoon froze when Riki looked up from his phone, eyebrows lifting as if just now noticing him. Sharp dark eyes, almost arrogant, were studying Sunghoon carefully. Sunghoon felt like he was melting under this intense gaze, his mind a fog of incohesive and impulsive thoughts.
“You’re not the usual one,” he said, voice smooth, casual.
Sunghoon snapped out of his thoughts and bowed slightly.
“I’m here to replace the assigned butler for today. He caught a cold,” he explained.
Riki made a non-committal hum and leaned back further, stretching like a feline.
“Fine. You’ll do. I need the bathroom cleaned. Don’t touch my suitcase. And make sure the mirrors are spotless. Last time there were streaks, and it gave me a migraine.”
A migraine? Is he OCD?
Sunghoon nodded once.
“Understood, sir.”
He moved to the bathroom without another word. He’d done this a hundred times before, but somehow his skin was prickling. He could feel Riki’s eyes on his back as he crouched down to spray the tiles.
A moment later, he heard the door click shut behind him. He stilled. Then the sound of a woman’s laugh.
No. No way.
Voices. Movement. Then the rhythm of the bed creaks. The kind that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Then moans —hers— and low grunts —his.
Sunghoon’s hands tightened around the sponge.
He didn’t move. He didn’t react. Not visibly. But his throat was dry, and his ears burned. His eyes were fixed on the corner of the mirror he was wiping. Then he scrubbed harder to cover the noise, but not too hard, because he didn’t want his presence to be noticed.
The suite was clean. Impeccably so.
Sunghoon tossed the used gloves into the waste bin, straightened his jacket, and stepped out of the bathroom with hesitation. He didn’t want to interrupt anything.
Thankfully, the woman was gone. The air was quieter now, but thicker. Heavy. With that specific smell of post-coit. Sunghoon grimaced.
Riki was lying on his stomach, sleeping, bareback stretched across the sheets like some Romanticism painting. The duvet barely covered his lower half. His hair stuck to the nape of his neck, messy and damp, and one hand hung lazily off the edge of the mattress.
Sunghoon gave him a sideways glance as he passed. Couldn’t help it because the man looked ridiculous. Ridiculously beautiful and smug and insufferable all at once.
Sunghoon clenched his jaw, heading for the door. Every part of him wanted to slam it behind him, but he kept it professional and painfully polite.
He took the elevator down in silence, fingers digging into the inside of his palm.
But when he got back to the manager’s office and picked up the sealed envelope with his name on it, everything else melted. He opened it, counted quickly. And his chest loosened. He could buy proper food this week, and not just rice and vegetables or instant noodles. Actual food. Like meat. Maybe even something sweet, like tiramisu, if he budgeted right. He stared at the bills for a moment longer, folded them carefully, and tucked them deep into his coat. He smiled. A smile that reached his eyes.
Alright, he thought. This was worth it.
A few days later, he was called again. Same shift. Similar message.
Client in Room 1208 requested the same butler from last time. Please confirm availability.
He stared at the text for a long second.
Requested...?
He didn’t remember being particularly friendly. He barely said five words to the guy. If anything, he almost cursed at the customer. And now he wanted him back?
But since he was getting paid handsomely for it, Sunghoon sighed and texted back.
On my way.
In the locker room, he changed into the uniform again. He tied the bowtie with practised fingers, slipped on the gloves, and this time, didn’t even pay attention to the murmurs from the cleaning staff. He was already well aware of Riki’s personality.
He stepped into the service elevator and braced himself as it climbed back to the twelfth floor. He knocked on the door.
"Enter."
Same voice. Same words. Still smooth.
The room looked the same, though a bit messier this time. There were clothes and underwear tossed onto chairs, an open bottle of red wine left half-full on the counter, used condoms and sextoys scattered on the floor. Sunghoon had to bite his cheek to contain a sigh.
Riki was sitting on the sofa this time, his hair dry and unstyled today. It was falling on his forehead, almost covering his eyes. And he was wearing torn jeans and an oversized sweater. He looked younger, somehow. Less untouchable.
His eyes flicked up, lazy as ever.
“You again.”
Sunghoon bowed slightly.
“You requested me, sir,” he said.
Riki smirked.
“I did, yeah. I don’t like changing butlers. Gets annoying explaining things again.”
Then Riki ordered Sunghoon to clean the bathroom again. And just like the previous weekend, at some point, the door clicked shut behind him, and Riki started fucking someone in his bedroom. Just like last time, Sunghoon scrubbed harder, trying to drown out the moaning of whoever was getting laid.
He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of sick person did that while a butler was cleaning their freaking bathroom. Maybe Riki liked knowing that someone who wasn’t supposed to hear him was right there, listening as he emptied his balls.
And it went on like that for weeks.
Sunghoon had expected Riki to eventually get tired of this twisted form of imposed voyeurism. But he didn’t. And Sunghoon thought he would grow numb to it, that it would eventually stop affecting him.
But it didn’t.
Sometimes, to his shame, Sunghoon found himself hardening. It felt so wrong. Completely inappropriate. But he couldn’t help it when the screams echoing from the other room were that loud, that lewd.
One night, during a spring evening, Sunghoon arrived to clean Riki’s room. By now, it had become mechanical. He was used to it. Almost conditioned to the routine.
He’d knock. Wait for Riki’s permission to enter. Bow politely in greeting. If Riki was hungry, Sunghoon would order food, refill the minibar, and then head straight to the bathroom. He’d start with the shower, then the mirror, then the sink.
Usually, Riki would close the bathroom door as a signal that he was about to fuck. And Sunghoon would quietly scrub the walls and floor until they were spotless. By the time he finished rinsing the last surface, Riki was usually done too. Then Sunghoon would leave.
But this time, Riki never shut the door.
Sunghoon didn’t know if it was a mistake or if Riki had forgotten. Maybe it meant nothing at all. Sunghoon had always been so quiet and so discreet that he may as well have been invisible. It wouldn’t have been that surprising.
And then he heard laughter. To Sunghoon’s surprise, it wasn’t a woman’s voice. So Riki was into men, too.
As much as he hated it, the thought gave Sunghoon butterflies. But he didn’t dwell on it. He kept brushing the marble tiles like nothing was happening.
“I—Is there someone in the bathroom?” the voice asked.
“Don’t worry, it’s just my little house-elf. It won’t bother us,” Riki replied.
Sunghoon clenched his jaw. Being dehumanised like that, being called a house-elf, and referred to as “it”, made his blood boil.
“Lubricants’s in the top drawer of my desk,” Riki said. “Prep yourself.”
Wow. Sunghoon already knew Riki wasn’t the type to offer flowers and kisses, but this? He was only using people like dolls, just to fuck. It felt deeply insulting, even though he wasn’t involved. Sunghoon scrubbed harder, not even realising he was bruising his fingers against the roughness of the brush. He just wanted it all to stop; he wanted to stop hearing.
But soon enough, the room was echoing with screams. And it drove Sunghoon insane. He wanted to slam the door shut, but he didn’t know how Riki would react. Maybe it was some sort of unspoken rule: hear everything, say nothing.
“M—More, Riki! Aah..! P—Please!” the man stuttered.
“Shut the fuck up, you cunt," Riki grumbled.
The words weren’t even directed at him, but Sunghoon instinctively felt the urge to be silent, to shrink into himself.
Then came the wet clapping sounds of Riki’s cock moving. Sunghoon could tell, just by the slickness of it, that the pace was increasing. Harder. Faster.
Something else felt off. Sunghoon was aware that Riki liked lighting scented candles during sex —to avoid having his partners’ perfume linger on the sheets, he told him. But this time, the scent in the room made Sunghoon light-headed. Dizzy. Like the air itself was spiked with something. Maybe he was just overwhelmed.
He had never felt more embarrassed in his life. Or more turned on.
“Touch your cock,” Riki ordered, his voice slightly breathless but otherwise in perfect control.
And without thinking, Sunghoon’s hand moved on its own. He did as he was told, wrapping his fingers around himself, stroking slowly at first… then harder, almost in sync with the rhythm of Riki’s thrusts pounding through the air.
Fuck. What am I doing?
“Fuck,” Riki moaned. “Your hole was made to take my cock.”
That snapped him out of it.
Sunghoon froze, breath catching in his throat. His hand stilled, then dropped, as if burned. Shame came crashing over him like a wave. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What am I doing?
He wasn’t part of it. He wasn’t supposed to be part of it.
With trembling hands, he rinsed them, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t look at himself. Not like this.
The rest of the cleaning passed in a blur. He tried not to listen, but his brain filled in the sounds even when he couldn’t hear them clearly anymore. When the door finally creaked open and he heard footsteps, he knew the stranger had left.
And just like always, Sunghoon left the room quietly. As if nothing had happened.
But the ache followed him home. He tried to sleep. Tossed. Turned. And eventually, he gave in. In the darkness of his room, under his sheets, he reached for his cock again. His mind was filled with Riki’s voice, echoing relentlessly like a siren song. With the scent of those goddamn candles. With the sounds of hard thrusts and breathy moans.
It didn’t take long.
When Sunghoon came, he lay there, empty and disgusted. He had come thinking about Riki.
He curled into himself, feeling used, even though Riki hadn’t touched him. He had been brainwashed. And he hated how much he’d liked it.
The following weekend arrived with the scent of wisteria still clinging to the breeze, but the flowers were beginning to fade. Spring was slowly slipping away, chased by longer days and the promise of summer. The sun stayed up a little later now, casting gold on the city’s windows well into the evening.
But Sunghoon couldn’t enjoy any of it, as he still felt ashamed. The guilt from the week before hadn’t left him. It clung to his skin like sweat, made him fidget in his seat during meals, and made him avoid his gaze in the mirror.
Still, he forced himself to go to work. He wasn’t about to call in sick just because he’d let himself fall apart in Riki’s guest bathroom. No matter how awful he felt, no matter how much the memory haunted him at night, he’d made a decision. And now, he had to live with it.
When he arrived in front of the room, the heavy front door opened before he could knock twice.
Riki looked… radiant. Rested. His usual smirk softened into something borderline charming.
“Good evening.” Riki greeted, stepping aside so Sunghoon could enter. “You’re early.”
Sunghoon only nodded, keeping his head low as he stepped in. He didn’t trust himself to speak. And thankfully, Riki didn’t seem to notice his mood —or if he did, he didn’t care. He was shirtless, as usual, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His skin still held the glow of a post-shower warmth, and his hair was damp.
Sunghoon hated how attractive he found him.
He kept his gaze on the floor.
“Bathroom needs the usual,” Riki added casually, walking toward his bedroom. “Oh, and the minibar’s empty.”
Sunghoon gave a silent nod and got to work. The motions were familiar now. He could move on autopilot. He just made his way towards the minibar, quietly checking what needed restocking, what glasses had been used, what surfaces needed wiping.
Behind him, Riki spoke again.
“Did you get what you wanted with the last pay?”
Sunghoon paused, only briefly.
“Excuse me?”
"The money. Did you buy yourself some tiramisu?”
Sunghoon’s shoulders tensed. How did he know? But he didn’t turn or answer. So Riki answered with a chuckle.
“Guess you did.”
The silence stretched again. Sunghoon could feel him watching, scanning him from head to toes, and it made him feel uncomfortable. Self-conscious.
He never saw what Riki's partners looked like, so he didn't know anything about the man's taste. Did he like them with hourglass-shaped bodies, tanned or milky white skin? Dark or blonde hair... Sunghoon almost slapped his cheeks. He was delirious. That was none of his business.
Just a few hours. That’s all this was. A few hours of cleaning, silence, and pretending the client wasn’t the type of person who thought talking about someone’s salary was casual conversation.
But something like a hunch told him that with Riki it wouldn’t be that simple.
Sunghoon moved in silence around the suite, placing a few fresh towels near the bathtub and picking up an empty wine glass left on the carpet. He hadn’t said a word since he started cleaning. He liked it that way. The less interaction, the better.
But of course, Riki couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Are you always that stiff?”
Sunghoon didn’t look up.
“I’m working,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
He kept folding, smoothing the corners of the towel, hoping that Riki would stop talking if he didn’t answer.
“So… How old are you, butler boy?” Riki muttered before leaning back with a sigh.
“Old enough to work legally.”
“Okay, fair.” Riki tilted his head. “Do you do this full-time? Or are you in uni or something?”
Sunghoon straightened, walked past him with a bin liner, and crouched by the low coffee table.
“I’m sorry but… I’d wish to keep my private life private.”
Sunghoon could feel Riki’s gaze studying him, calculating.
“You don’t talk like most staff here. I bet you’re single… and a virgin. Do you even have friends?”
What a bastard… It amazed him how this man could talk without any tact, as if he were speaking about the weather. But then, Nishimura Riki was his customer, he had to take care of.
“I guess I don’t.”
“So you’re not gonna answer anything?”
“I’m answering. Just not the way you want.”
Riki smiled, obviously amused.
“What about your parents? What kind of work do they do that they cannot provide you with enough money, so they force you to work there?" he asked.
And that's when Sunghoon froze mid-movement. Then slowly, he stood up, fixed the cushions with precision, and turned to him. His expression was neutral. His voice, not so much.
“I’m sorry, but I’d like to not get there...” he answered, his voice colder and harsher than intended.
“Ohh, we're getting all bossy, aren't we?”
“Mr. Nishimura, you were just about to cross a line.”
Riki raised both hands.
“Alright. Damn.”
The silence that followed was thick. At this point, Sunghoon was scared that he would be fired for talking back to a VIP customer, so at least he hoped Riki would let it settle. But he didn’t.
“What would you be willing to do for money?”
Sunghoon blinked, genuinely caught off guard by the question.
“I mean." Riki continued, eyes studying him like he was just another curiosity, “If someone offered you ten times your paycheck, enough for you to eat tiramisu at every meal, would you sell your body? Like… sex, or whatever.”
Sunghoon stared at him. He wasn’t upset. He felt that kind of exhaustion you only get after hearing one too many ridiculous things in a day that was already too long. He walked over to the service trolley, wiped his gloves slowly on a cloth, and exhaled through his nose.
Then he said calmly, “Out of respect for you, I'm not going to answer your immature questions. You're used to people getting down on all fours to stroke your ego. But I'm not one of those people.”
He turned to Riki fully now, not caring if he sounded too harsh. Not caring if it cost him the shift.
“I just need to get paid for what I’m working for. Which, by the way, doesn’t include talking to you.”
There was silence. The kind that cut through the air like a blade. Riki stared at him, jaw slightly clenched. His smugness cracked just enough to show behind his expression that Sunghoon’s words stung.
Sunghoon didn’t wait for him to respond. He packed up the trolley with a clean sweep, rolled the bin liner shut, picked up the supplies and left. He didn’t slam the door. But it felt like he did.
It was the biggest mistake of his life, but Sunghoon didn't realise it yet.
The next night, Sunghoon was summoned to Jake’s parents’ office. If he was being called in for a direct conversation with the big bosses of the casino, it probably meant he’d done something seriously wrong… Like rudely speaking to a VIP client.
“Listen, Sunghoon, we know he’s not the nicest customer, but he has a lot of influence. As the choreographer for loads of celebrities and someone with partnerships with major idol companies, we can’t afford to make an enemy of Nishimura Riki,” Mr Sim said.
Mrs Sim stepped closer and gently placed a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder.
“He… contacted us and made it clear that if we don’t correct your attitude, not only will he ruin our reputation, but he’ll make sure you never work again.”
Oh. So now he was blackmailing them.
That was so unfair. But Sunghoon had known it since he was a kid. People with money and influence had the power to do whatever pleased them. And since he was at the bottom, he had no choice but to stay quiet and endure it.
“Mr Jinyoung, his assigned butler, had to undergo major surgery. A sore throat that turned out to be ganglion cancer… Thankfully, the doctors caught it early enough to treat it. He’ll be back in a few months. In the meantime, we’ll raise your salary to compensate for Nishimura’s temper. And if needed, we’ll also cover therapy sessions.”
Sunghoon wanted to scoff, but on second thought, it didn’t sound like a bad offer. So he nodded, apologised for causing them trouble, promised it wouldn’t happen again, and thanked them for their understanding
The following weekend, Sunghoon dragged his feet on the way to room 1208. The whole week had been painful. He’d had to hand in assignments and sit exams. He was confident in the results, but it had cost him hours of sleep. To give himself a bit of courage, he reminded himself that with this paycheck, he could finally buy a brand new pair of headphones to block out the noise.
As usual, Sunghoon went to his locker. He changed into his uniform and made his way to the 12th floor with his cleaning trolley. Once he reached the door, he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he knocked. He prayed nothing bad would happen this time.
“Enter.”
Sunghoon pushed the door open and wheeled the cleaning trolley in before quietly closing it behind him. Riki was sitting on the bed, a laptop on his thighs. Sunghoon almost gawked. The man looked like he’d just stepped off a photoshoot. His makeup was flawless, making his eyes stand out even more. Something Sunghoon hadn’t thought possible. He was wearing baggy jeans and a tank top that showed off his biceps. He had no right to look this good with such a shity personality.
“I hope Mr and Mrs Sim gave you a good lift.”
They’d been very kind when they spoke to him, but Riki didn’t need to know that. So Sunghoon simply nodded, doing his best to keep his breathing steady.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your—” he paused, quickly correcting himself. “—for hurting you. My words were inappropriate, and my attitude was unfit for addressing a client of your status.”
He stepped away from the trolley and bowed deeply at a 90° angle. He hoped it would be enough.
“It’s all right. That’ll do." Riki said, before his tone shifted, laced with something darker. “But just know... I wasn’t joking. If you ever dare talk back to me with that insolent mouth again, I’ll fuck it until you can’t speak”
Sunghoon’s eyes widened in shock at the violence of the words. He nearly flinched, and Riki saw it. With a satisfied smile, Riki glanced back down at his screen. It took Sunghoon a few seconds to start moving again. He followed his usual routine: first checking the minibar. He refilled it with a bottle of water, a few beers, and some soju. Then he headed to the bathroom.
What he saw next made him jump.
Blood.
There was blood in the sink. And a blade resting on the edge of it. Sunghoon froze. His brain shut down. He hadn’t seen something like this in a long time.
It happened when Sunghoon was sixteen. He’d just returned from ice skating training. It had been such a fun day. One of the girls had celebrated her birthday, and her mother had prepared a little party with snacks: cookies, ice cream, sweets, cakes. It was the only time Sunghoon ever got to eat anything like that. His father always said it was too expensive, too childish, and refused to buy him snacks.
When he got home, he was surprised to find the house completely dark. It wasn’t even that late. Maybe his father had gone out, either to drown his sorrow with alcohol or just for a walk. Sunghoon knew he sometimes went to sit on the bench where he’d first dated his late wife, Sunghoon’s mother.
Sunghoon dropped his bag and rushed to the bathroom. Whenever his father wasn’t home, he liked to sneak in a hot shower, even if he wasn’t supposed to. His father always told him he didn’t deserve hot water. It was only for good boys, and Sunghoon had been a bad one. But after eating so much ice cream on the rink, he craved that warmth. He wanted to be comforted.
But as soon as he opened the door, he saw a tall figure by the sink. A shining blade in hand, slicing into his wrist.
His father was mutilating himself again.
Sunghoon ran to him, used to the sight by now, and instinctively reached to take the blade away. But something was wrong. This time, his father didn’t let go. Instead, he shoved Sunghoon, and in the process, the blade slashed across Sunghoon’s palm. Sunghoon winced at the sharp pain and held it to stop the bleeding.
“You know,” his father began, his voice dripping with an eerie melancholy, “maybe we should both put an end to this miserable life.”
“D—Dad, you’re scaring me.”
“Don’t worry. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said softly. “We’ll get to see your mother again. You’ll love her. She’s beautiful, warm like the sun. Such a pretty voice…”
His eyes looked glazed over, like he wasn’t really there anymore.
“Son, give me your forearm.”
Sunghoon pulled his arms in tightly, shielding himself.
“Please be a good boy,” his father warned, his tone sharper. “Or you won’t go to the same place as your mother.”
In one swift movement, he grabbed Sunghoon’s forearm and sliced it.
Sunghoon screeched in pain. Acting on instinct, he shoved his father with all his strength and bolted from the bathroom, out of the house, crying and screaming for help.
It was a particular kind of pain to call for help against your own blood.
After that, his father was sectioned, and Sunghoon was placed with a new family. It only lasted two years, until he was old enough to live on his own, and asked to do just that.
“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me a full-grown man can’t handle the sight of a little blood…”
Sunghoon felt dizzy. His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the floor, his mouth flooding with saliva as nausea made him sick. The memories still flashed before his eyes, vivid as if they’d happened just yesterday.
He pulled up his sleeve to check his forearm. The mark was still there, slightly pink, a stark contrast to his pale skin. It wasn’t bleeding, but the scar remained like a haunting reminder of what his father had done to him.
He felt Riki crouch beside him, his warm breath brushing against his ear, which made him shiver in disgust. It was overwhelming. Too much.
“Mr and Mrs Sim were far too kind for my taste. They didn’t scold you nearly enough. So I took matters into my own hands... I hope this helps you remember your place, fucking slut. Now go clean that mess.”
Sunghoon’s eyes widened. So Riki knew about his conversation with Mr and Mrs Sim. He probably didn’t know about his past, but just like that, it already felt like Riki was everywhere. Like he knew everything. Omnipresent. God-like.
Beads of sweat gathered on Sunghoon’s forehead. It felt like a fever dream. He felt sick.
“Oh, by the way. It was fake blood. I’d never ruin my body over something so futile.”
Sunghoon's stomach churned. His body was screaming at him to leave. And so he jumped to his feet and ran away. Fuck this. Fuck everything.
And just like that, Sunghoon knew that Riki had his whole life in his hands and that he would never be able to escape.
Sunghoon woke up. He’d had terrible insomnia and had probably only slept forty minutes before his alarm clock rang. He’d spent the whole night replaying what had happened in room 1208. He could bottle up a lot of things. It was the only way he knew how to keep going. But this was getting too hard.
As Sunghoon tried to get out of bed, his phone buzzed. He expected a usual promotional message, but instead, it was one from work. He was asked exceptionally to go to room 1208 instead of cleaning the regular hotel rooms.
Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat. A bitter taste coated his tongue as he jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. When he reached the toilet, he threw up. He hadn’t eaten anything in hours, so the acidity of the gastric juice burned his throat.
He wanted to request a sick day. Take a hot shower, crawl back into bed, and forget the world existed. But the pile of unopened mail on his kitchen counter stared back at him and made him feel guilty.
He sighed, dragging himself over, and began to sort through it without much energy. Ads. A water bill. Something official-looking. He frowned, flipping the last envelope in his hands. His name was printed in rigid black type, no return address. It was from the building’s management office. He opened it.
Due to urgent repair work required on your floor’s heating system, we regret to inform you that your share of the cost will be deducted from your next rent statement. Payment is due in full. No deferral options available.
The exact amount was underlined in red ink.
Sunghoon’s heart dropped. That wasn’t “a bit more” at all. It was a third of what he had left to live on this month.
He stared at the paper, hoping the numbers would magically rearrange themselves. But they didn’t. His stomach twisted again when he realised he had no backup plan. No more savings. No one to borrow from.
He sank onto the couch, the envelope crushed in one fist. And for a few long minutes, he just sat there, his mind absent. Then, he reached for his phone, staring at the message he just got earlier.
He didn’t really have a choice, did he?
The hotel loomed in the distance, glowing with the lights of the Sim Casino. Sunghoon was exhausted. His body moved on autopilot, feet carrying him through the familiar corridors to the changing room.
He opened his locker. Then he froze. Instead of his usual butler’s uniform, a soubrette’s outfit was folded neatly inside. A wave of panic flooded through his chest. He slammed the locker shut instinctively. Fortunately, the changing room was empty at this hour.
Heart racing, he slowly opened it again, as if hoping the uniform had been a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation. But it wasn’t. The outfit was still there. This time, he noticed a small note sticking out of the apron’s pocket.
If you come wearing another outfit, I’ll make you regret it.
Sunghoon bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming. This was so humiliating, but did he really have a choice? Maybe this was what he deserved, reaping what he had sown.
So, with trembling hands, Sunghoon took off his clothes and put on the uniform. The cold air brushing against his bare legs made him shiver. He grabbed his trolley and prayed he wouldn’t run into anyone on the way. And to his immense relief, the lift stayed empty.
The red carpeting looked like dried blood beneath flickering overhead lights. The crimson wallpaper, once warm, clung to the walls like skin stretched too tight over bone. That beautiful burgundy now choked the air —thick and oppressive, like it carried secrets.
Room 1208 stood in front of him once again. He hesitated. His palms were sweaty, his cheeks burning with shame. Maybe he could still back out. Maybe Riki’s threat was just a bluff. But a small, cruel voice inside told him otherwise. Riki had enough influence to get an entire cleaning team fired and pressure Mr and Mrs Sim to summon Sunghoon directly.
So Sunghoon took a deep breath. And knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
Sunghoon obeyed, pushing the trolley inside and closing the door behind him. He couldn’t even lift his eyes —too ashamed of the outfit he was wearing. He didn’t need to see it to feel Riki’s gaze on him, stripping him bare with just a glance. God. He wanted to disappear.
“Good boy. You actually read the note and dressed up for me. So pretty.”
He shouldn’t have reacted to the praise. But he did. Something fluttered in his chest. But it was unwanted, because it was humiliating.
Then, Riki gestured for him to come closer. From the drawer, he pulled out a box.
“A gift.”
Sunghoon’s stomach twisted. A gift from Riki couldn’t mean anything good. And he was right. Inside the box was a plug. Pink. Small. Sunghoon stared at it for a moment too long. Even if he were a virgin, he wasn’t naïve. He knew exactly what Riki wanted him to do with it. Didn’t mean he was willing to.
“This is going too far,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I—I told you I was sorry. I truly am. I shouldn’t have talked to you the way I did. But don’t you think this is a little... excessiv—”
A punch. Straight to the stomach. The breath was knocked out of him. A burning pain spread through his core as he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.
“That’s right, bitch.” Riki’s voice was low and controlled, every word deliberate. “That’s how you thank me for this gift. On. Your. Knees.”
His foot pressed down on Sunghoon’s bare thigh, reminding him again of the degrading sourbrette uniform he’d been forced to wear.
Sunghoon trembled, frozen in place and fear paralysing him. Humiliation choked him and made him feel helpless. He wanted to cry out for help. But who would come to his rescue? He had no family, no friends to look after him. Even if Mrs Sim and Mr Sim had shown compassion, why should they sacrifice their reputation for someone like Sunghoon, whom they could easily replace? Like a puppet. A thing. And that made him incredibly lonely.
What a pitiful life.
Trying to reason with Riki was useless. So he stayed like that, unmoving and quiet, fearing for his life. Anticipating the next blow.
“You really pissed me off the other day." Riki continued. “Standing there all tall, arrogant. Biting the hand that feeds you. Who do you think you are to talk back to me? Do you think that you’re smarter than me? Mightier than me?”
“I—I’m sorry…”
“Yeah, you better be.” He scoffed. “But words mean shit. If you're really sorry, prove it. Actions speak louder than words, they say.”
Riki kicked the box closer, the plug gleaming beneath the soft light.
“So go ahead. Be a good whore. Shove this pretty little thing into your cunt before I really get angry.”
No.
No.
No!
Sunghoon startled, his nerves exploding silently. It was all happening too fast. Sunghoon wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stand up and leave. It was a bad idea. He should’ve stayed home. Look for another job. Anything but being here.
Before he could even think of it, a knife was digging into the hollow of his throat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Riki warned him, whispering into his ear.
He dug the blade deeper into Sunghoon’s neck, the sharp burn waking him wince. Fuck. He was bleeding. His stomach dropped. He had no way of getting out of it. He was screwed. He thought that maybe he could reduce the damage, why not do as Riki ordered? He had to make it through to stay alive.
“Fine!” Sunghoon finally spat, the words feeling bitter on his tongue.
Shove this pretty little thing into your cunt…
Sunghoon was going to be sick, and to think, nothing had even happened yet.
“Get on the bed.” Riki finally said. “Can’t have your knees overused, now. Not yet.”
There was a hint of a smile in his voice, like he was amused by his own cruelty. But Sunghoon obeyed. He forced his body up, unsteady on his feet. His chest was still tight from the hit. Riki didn’t say a word for a moment, simply watching him like an animal in a zoo.
The sheets were cool under his palms as he climbed onto the bed, his hands shaking slightly. His eyes stayed low, never daring to meet Riki’s. He could feel the man watching him from the couch beside the bed, lounging like a predator who already knew the outcome of the hunt.
Every move felt humiliatingly slow.
He reached for the waistband of his boxers, his fingers twitching as he slid them down. The air hit his skin, and he shivered, feeling completely exposed. Riki’s gaze seared into him, making his body heat up and his mind melt. His hand reached for the plug. He hesitated. Then, biting down on his shame, he brought the tip to his entrance and tried to push it in.
A sharp sting made him flinch. It was too dry. He winced, trying again, his throat tightening from the pain. But the discomfort only made him more aware of the silence in the room.
Riki stood. In one smooth movement, he crossed the short distance between them and plucked the plug from Sunghoon’s shaking fingers. Then he gripped Sunghoon’s jaw, forcing his face upward.
“Open.”
Sunghoon hesitated for a fraction of a second. But he obeyed. His lips parted, and Riki pressed the plug onto his tongue. The soft, silicone surface sat warm from his hand, and then warmer still as it rested against Sunghoon’s mouth.
Sunghoon’s head spun. Riki was using his saliva as lube. It shouldn’t have made his body react. It shouldn’t have done anything. But it did. He was losing his mind, and Riki knew it. There was a low, satisfied sound in his throat as he returned to the couch, as if nothing had happened. Except that Sunghoon’s cock was now shamefully hard.
He sat still for a second, staring at the toy now slick in his hand. Then he turned around. His back arched slightly as he reached behind himself, and he positioned the toy again. This time, the warmth of his saliva clung to it, contrasting with the toy’s remaining chill. It slipped in more easily now.
A gasp broke from his throat. The sensation was strange. It wasn’t exactly painful. But it wasn’t comfortable, either. He moaned low, his head foggy with embarrassment.
“Make sure to push it as deep as possible.”
Sunghoon swallowed his bitter bile and did as he was told. And the moment it was fully inside him, his limbs weakened. Something buzzed, and his breath caught. Vibrations spread through him, gentle but direct, pulsing against his prostate. His thighs clenched involuntarily. He realised that Riki had pulled out his phone and was controlling the plug through an app.
A wave of guilt surged inside him… followed immediately by pleasure and a wicked heat curling in his stomach he hadn’t asked for.
“Since you’re not paid to talk to me," Riki said coldly, not looking up from his phone. “Do what you’re here for.”
Riki using his own words against him was a blow to his pride. Sunghoon blinked, slowly gathering himself. He slid off the bed on shaky legs, adjusting the skirt of his maid costume and forcing himself to move.
Trolley in hand, he began his routine. He dusted the shelves, gathered glasses, polished surfaces, checked the towels in the bathroom, folded blankets and picked up discarded clothes. All these actions were familiar, and muscle memory guided him. But at the same time, nothing about it felt the same.
The plug inside him throbbed with every step, every bend. Each time he crouched, it pressed deeper. Each time he stretched, it teased him cruelly. His body kept reacting, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. His cheeks were flushed, his breath uneven.
He didn’t dare look at Riki again, because he knew fully well that he was being watched.
Every second. Every movement. Every flicker of discomfort or pleasure.
Riki didn’t need to say a word to break him apart; he was just controlling him from afar.
The room was silent, save for the buzz of the plug inside him and the hum of the air conditioner. Sunghoon kept moving mechanically, wiping the last glass on the tray, his fingers slightly trembling. His body was working. But his mind was not.
He couldn’t focus. Not with that thing buried inside his hole, not with Riki seated there like a king, one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand. From the corner of his eye, he could see the faintest tilt of Riki’s lips every time he flinched or faltered. The plug wasn’t that bad; it was just a little uncomfortable. Sometimes in a good way, and he hated it.
And yet Sunghoon kept going. He bent to retrieve a fallen towel. The moment he did, a wave of vibration coursed through him, more intense this time. It made his breath hitch and his knees nearly buckle. He had to steady himself against the edge of the counter. But the glass slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.
"Do your job properly, Snow White.” Riki didn’t raise his voice.
He was using a pet name, but Sunghoon could hear the condescension.
“I’m sorry…”
He clenched his jaw from fear, picking the glass back up with shaking hands. He forced himself to breathe evenly, though he felt his face becoming warmer, his whole body clenching around the plug in him involuntarily.
Focus. Focus. But how could he?
Every breath reminded him of the pink toy pushing against his prostate. Every step was a reminder that his body wasn’t under his control. It responded to someone who wasn’t touching him, and yet touched him more deeply than anyone else had before.
And that’s when it hit him. This punishment was just a reminder of Sunghoon’s position. Riki didn’t need to raise a single finger to dominate him. He didn’t need to shout or scream. Every single time Sunghoon shivered or flinched at the vibrations, he handed him a little more power. Sunghoon had handed it over. Bit by bit.
With every rule followed, with every apology whispered against the floorboards. He was being crushed under Riki’s power.
He couldn’t let it happen. What if Riki orders him something worse? He had to find a way out of this. And not only out of this room, but out of this whole situation. But at that moment, he couldn’t think about anything because the plug in his asswhole was really distracting.
Suddenly, the vibration stopped. His breath escaped in a shudder.
Across the room, Riki rose from the couch. Sunghoon stood frozen in place, holding a glass cloth in one hand, the edge of his skirt trembling with him. Riki approached slowly, circling him like a wolf testing how tired the lamb had become.
Then a hand slid up the back of Sunghoon’s neck. Riki leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You think too much. I can see it in your eyes. I don't know what you're up to, but don't even think about escaping.”
His fingers tightened around Sunghoon’s neck, not choking, just enough pressure to remind him who was in control.
Sunghoon’s lips parted. A breath caught in his throat, but e didn’t answer because deep inside, he didn’t know what the answer was anymore. He didn’t know if he was sorry for obeying or sorry for liking it. And that scared him more than anything.
Riki’s hand didn’t move from his nape. In fact, he let it trail lower, fingers grazing down Sunghoon’s spine with an agonising slowness until they reached the small string peeking from beneath the hem of the skirt.
Then, without warning, he gave it a sharp tug.
"Ah—!"
Sunghoon’s knees almost gave out. The plug slipped from his body with a wet sound that made his ears burn. His whole clenched around the sudden emptiness, pulsing around nothing.
He whined. He couldn’t help it. It escaped his throat before he could catch it, before he could bury it.
Riki inspected the plug casually, holding it between two fingers as if it were nothing more than a used utensil. “Clean it. Then you’re free to go.”
The words echoed in his mind more than they should have.
Free. Would he really be?
Sunghoon’s hands trembled as he took the toy back, skin brushing against Riki’s finger. He turned on his heel and went slowly to the sink. The maid's outfit brushed against his legs, mocking him with each step.
As the water ran, he scrubbed the silicone clean. The sight of how obediently he had taken it, how easily he’d complied, made his stomach twist. He wanted to puke.
He rinsed it one last time and placed it on the edge of the sink. His eyes flicked up to the mirror by mistake. His reflection didn’t lie. His cheeks were flushed deep red. His lips were slightly parted as he was panting. Sweat glistened at his temples. His pupils were blown wide, devouring the brown of his irises. He looked feral, like someone drunk on something they didn’t understand.
What the hell am I doing..?
He turned off the tap, grabbed his things, and crossed the room in silence. Riki didn’t stop him. He barely looked up from his phone, as if he knew Sunghoon wouldn’t dare to disobey again.
Sunghoon stepped out, the door shutting softly behind him. The hallway was colder than it had any right to be. And immediately, the anxiety washed back over him like a wave. His hand shot down to tug at the edge of the skirt, trying to pull it lower, to cover more of his legs, but it was useless. Every step he took felt exposed and vulnerable. Like he was walking through the building naked.
People could be around any corner. Staff. Guests. Strangers. And the walls felt tighter, and his breathing sounded too loud, too shaky.
The worst part wasn't even the clothes. It was the feeling that he had given something away too easily, without even trying to protest. He blamed it on fear, on the fact that he didn't want to be hurt and didn’t want to ruin his future and his life. All of it because he was too weak and had always been.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Riki sat slouched on the edge of the bed, one leg dangling, phone in hand, unread messages piling up. Business, family, the agency. All white noise. The only thing that kept him entertained lately was watching Sunghoon fall apart under his commands.
He liked the way Sunghoon hesitated at the door. Liked the way his pretty lips parted before speaking. Liked even more when he realised he wasn’t allowed to speak.
“Y–You wanted me?” Sunghoon asked, staring up at him.
“Yes.”
Riki didn’t even glance his way when he answered. He was still staring at his phone. A message from Jay had popped up.
They’d worked together on the same boy group recently: Jay on production, Riki on choreo. He liked Jay’s mind. Dark and twisted in a way that resonated, though distinct enough from his mind. One Riki in this world was enough. He’d have killed Jay otherwise.
Jay
Can I come by to get my USB stick back?
Riki
sure
[Real-time location link]
Riki shoved his phone onto the couch beside him and finally looked up.
“Come over here. Use your mouth.”
Sunghoon hesitated, but only a beat. Then he crossed the room, dropped to his knees, and fumbled with Riki’s waistband. Riki didn’t move to help. Just watched and assessed, like he always did. And when Sunghoon finally freed his cock, Riki was already hard. He slid a firm hand into Sunghoon’s hair, like someone handling an object that belonged to them, or a leash disguised as a touch.
“You’re only good for this," Riki muttered, low and distant, almost like a bored mantra. “Pretty little face. Warm mouth. Empty fucking brain.”
He saw the flicker of shame in Sunghoon’s eyes. The way his breath caught. God, it was addictive. That expression. Fragile. Breakable. And pathetic.
“Get on with it.”
So Sunghoon got on with it, with a tentative at first, licking the head of his cock like it was a lollipop or something foreign. Like he needed to get used to it. Riki rolled his eyes. Sunghoon was a virgin, so it was no surprise. Still, he was so goddamn slow Riki could feel the irritation crawl down his spine.
He clicked his tongue.
“This isn’t rocket science.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve never—”
“I know,” he cut him. “But you’re not brain-dead, are you? So hurry up and suck.”
That look on Sunghoon’s face came back, that crushed and trembling look. The exact thing Riki needed to see to feel alive.
Sunghoon tried to use his hand for leverage, wrapping tentative fingers around the base, but Riki brutally caught his wrist mid-motion.
“Did I say you could use your filthy hands?” he warned Sunghoon, his voice sharp and cutting like a blade. “I thought I made myself clear when I said ‘Use your mouth’. Only mouth, cocksleeve. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Sunghoon whimpered. His cheeks flushed deeper, red blooming high across them. Riki’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, and there he noticed them for the first time. Those long and sharp canines. For a second, he felt jealous of them. With such long and pointed teeth, he could only imagine the marks he could leave on Sunghoon's milky skin. But he brushed the thought of it.
Though if those teeth grazed him even once, Riki would have them filed down. He could already picture Sunghoon muzzled and tamed. Just the way he liked them.
Finally, Sunghoon got back to work. And fuck! he tried. Took him too fast, choked on it, drooled all over himself. Riki’s fingers curled harder in his hair, pulling him down, making him gag. He didn’t care. Sunghoon looked better like this: eyes watering, lips stretched raw, nose pressed into Riki’s pelvis like he’d found religion.
“That’s it, fucktoy. Moan for it. Let me hear how desperate you are.”
Sunghoon whimpered around him, the sound vibrating straight down Riki’s cock. He bucked into his mouth, shallow and rough.
Every second was a power trip. Every breath Sunghoon took was one Riki allowed. And it still wasn’t enough.
Then there was a knock on the door.
“Enter,” Riki said.
Sunghoon’s eyes widened. He tried to pull off the cock, but with a heavy hand, Riki pressed his head to prevent it.
“Keep sucking,” he murmured.
Sunghoon stared at him indignantly, his body turning red with embarrassment. But he did as he was told and went back to sucking. Which made Riki smirk, content with belittling Sunghoon to the state of a cock warmer.
“Nice,” Jay commented idly and took a moment to look at Sunghoon. “Can you share, Riki? I could use a mouth around my cock, too.”
Riki tensed. He was used to lending his things to Jay, the same way Jay lent his things to him. Materiel, clothes, money, even people. That wouldn’t be new. But it made his blood boil, and he buried his fingers in Sunghoon’s hair and struggled slightly to make him look up. He studied him intently.
“Should I lend you to my friend Jay?” Riki asked.
He wasn’t asking for his permission, though; he was just wondering aloud. But he could read in Sunghoon’s eyes. His whole face was begging him and was saying “No, please no!” looking at Riki from under his lowered eyelashes. Long, dark, pretty, like a porcelain doll’s.
Riki’s nostril flared. It was a power trip that messed with his head and made surface his possessive inner beast. He pushed his cock back into Sunghoon’s waiting mouth.
“I paid the owners of the casino a fortune for his service”, he said, his fingers burying in Sunghoon’s hair and pushing him onto his cock.
“I hope that you’re aware that I earn almost as much as you. But don’t worry, I’m not into men anyway.” Jay said casually.
“The USB stick is in the drawer. Help yourself.” Riki pointed, his gaze remaining on Sunghoon, not sparing Jay a glance.
Jay opened it, rummaged through it and pulled out the USB stick. Riki expected him to leave right away, so he shut his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of having his cock moving inside Sunghoon’s mouth, stretching his lips wide. It felt warm. Fuck. So warm.
But then Jay’s voice broke his trance. He was leaning against the wall, USB stick twirling between his fingers, gaze lingering on the scene a little too long.
“You know… It’s actually the first time you’re not willing to share," he said, his voice laced with that curious undertone.
“You just said you weren’t into men…” Riki started to lose patience.
“I know what I said, but if I closed my eyes, a hole’s just a hole.” Jay laughed, his eyes on Sunghoon. “Besides, what's wrong with him? Isn't he a bit tall for your taste? Taller than me. Thought you liked them petite.”
Riki didn’t respond at first. His jaw flexed, eyes fixed ahead, expression unreadable. But it was already an answer in itself, so Jay smirked.
“You usually toss people out before the sheets even cool. Why do I feel like you’re treating this one like… a pet?”
Riki turned his head slightly, finally meeting Jay’s gaze. His voice came controlled and calm, but laced with anger.
“You came for the USB. Take it.”
Jay raised a brow, noting the clipped tone.
“Sure,” he said, pushing off the wall and slipping the stick into his back pocket.
He glanced at Sunghoon once more, then back at Riki.
“Careful, though. You keep something too close, sometimes it stops being yours,” Jay said.
There was a beat of silence. The air tightened. Riki smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Nothing is ever taken from me.”
Jay gave a short nod, the unspoken tension acknowledged between them.
“Alright. See you around.”
He let himself out without another word. The door clicked shut behind him. Then Riki exhaled slowly, sinking back into the bed, head tilting to the side as his gaze found Sunghoon again.
“Let’s stop there, this motherfucker made me lose my boner… You can wash your face and go home.”
Sunghoon didn’t speak. He stood up, bowed, and disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of water running faintly in the background. When he returned, he stopped a few steps from the bed, waiting. Exactly how Riki wanted him to behave.
If he were being honest, he would’ve thought it would take longer to tame Sunghoon. But he guessed that threatening and blackmailing someone who had no means to defend himself was an easy thing to do.
It contrasted a lot with the man who had once stood tall, daring to stand up against him, telling him he had a big ego. And well... It wasn’t wrong, but Riki didn’t need someone from the bottom of the ladder pointing it out.
The anger boiling in his veins killed his libido a little more.
“You can leave." Riki sighed.
And so Sunghoon did.
As he watched him leave, Jay’s words echoed in his mind. “Isn’t he a bit tall for your taste? Taller than me. Thought you liked them petite.”
He was right. Sunghoon looked like he exercised a lot. Riki was seized by the need to make those muscles melt away. He didn’t need to lose weight, though. His wasp-like waist was already thin enough. The simple thought of having his hands wrapped around it, of wrecking him, could make him hard again.
Now that the thought had taken root, Riki had to put his plan into action. Otherwise, what was the point of his money and influence, if not to abuse them to fulfil his desires?
_ _ _ _ _ _
For the first time in months, Sunghoon had two weeks of silence. No calls. No orders. No humiliating late-night summons. Riki had left the country, touring as a backup dancer for a major artist, and just like that, Sunghoon could breathe, at least a little.
But the relief was tainted, because even with that brief freedom, he couldn’t sleep. Not properly. His body was still on high alert, as if Riki’s hands could reach across oceans to drag him back. He’d lie in bed staring at the ceiling, chest hollow, limbs heavy with fear and anxiety. He felt used. Dirty. Like his body didn’t belong to him anymore. It was just a tool, worn and dirtied, and the thought of it made him want to peel his skin off.
He started searching. Desperately. Night after night, after the final shift at the hotel, he curled up on the floor with his laptop and scoured the internet for answers. How to escape a powerful abuser. How to legally cut ties. How to disappear. But every idea led him back to the same wall. Riki had already covered his tracks. He was too rich, too well-connected, too untouchable.
Everything he found made it worse. There were testimonies, not quite like his —some models, some trainees, a few dancers— but their stories were similar enough. They were all manipulated, threatened with subtle violence and control. Riki always knew where to hit hardest. But what horrified Sunghoon more were the comments.
“They just want clout.”
“Jealous nobodies, trying to drag a successful man down.”
“If they didn’t want it, they could’ve said no.”
“Gold diggers. They deserved worse.”
Each reply felt like a slap. It didn’t matter what Riki had done. The world was ready to defend him. The system would protect him. That’s when Sunghoon found out that Riki had an older sister working as a high-profile lawyer, and a younger one studying journalism, of course. He came from a chaebol family. It all made sense now. Still, he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t go back to that. Not again.
There was only one person he could think to turn to. Jake.
Jake listened in silence. His eyes, usually warm, were clouded with pity. He didn’t ask for details. He didn’t need to. Sunghoon looked like a shell of himself already.
“You can’t do this alone," Jake said. “Document everything. Make a file. If there are others like you, maybe... maybe it’ll be enough to make the police listen. And if they don’t… You could just leave the country. It’s not as if you had attachment here, don’t you?”
Jake was right; he didn’t. But it was too much of a radical change for him.
So for the next ten days, Sunghoon gave himself no rest. He skipped dinner, pushed through class, and spent every minute outside work sending messages, DMs to strangers whose posts hinted at something, anything. Most ignored him. Others told him to let it go. They had already tried and failed. They were tired. They didn’t want to be dragged into it again.
But then something changed. The replies started coming. One by one, people sent anonymous emails. Pictures. Videos. Voice notes. Proof. Undeniably proof of who Riki was when no one was watching.
Sunghoon stared at his screen, heart pounding. His hands trembled as he opened the files, each one more damning than the last. Tears pricked at his eyes, not sadness, not fear, but hope. Maybe he could be free.
Sunghoon transferred everything onto a USB stick and walked to the nearest police station. His chest was tight with anxiety —he wasn’t used to dealing with authorities —but still, there was a flicker of hope inside him. It felt like he could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, and for once, he allowed himself to believe in it.
But things didn’t unfold the way he had imagined. The officers listened to his report with disinterest, their expressions flat, almost bored. As soon as he mentioned Nishimura Riki’s name, something shifted. Their tone changed. The air grew heavy with suspicion, and it was not toward the man he was accusing, but toward him. They got aggressive.
“People like you should be ashamed, trying to ruin a man’s career like that. Just because he’s successful doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart.”
Sunghoon’s lips parted in disbelief. And what about his heart? What about the people Riki had broken, used, discarded, humiliated? A man with a heart wouldn’t blackmail someone into doing the kinds of things he had endured. But none of that mattered. It was clear in the officers’ eyes: they had already chosen their side.
No one was going to help him. So he left the USB stick behind, on the desk like a piece of trash. Hours and hours of messages, screenshots, videos, files, evidence. All for nothing. He didn’t even have the strength to cry. His body was numb.
And in that moment, he finally understood why the others had stopped fighting. Why they refused to speak out. Why they said it wouldn’t matter. Because it didn’t matter. The world didn’t care. Not about people like him. Not against someone like Riki.
The system was designed to protect the powerful. And Riki, who was born into wealth, surrounded by influence, untouchable, was the power personified.
So he moved to the last desperate option Jake had suggested: run.
Riki was due back in Seoul in a few hours, and Sunghoon was determined to disappear before then. He scoured Reddit, searching for threads about fake passports, fake visas. Anything. People had often mistaken him for Chinese, and for once, he hoped that worked in his favour. He didn’t care where he ended up, as long as is was far from Riki. Even prison sounded more peaceful than another day in Riki’s grip.
Eventually, he got a contract. Just a name and a place. That was all he needed.
He showed up at the rendezvous point with nothing but a backpack and a shaky breath. He didn’t look back. He was ready to leave, to vanish, to burn the old life to the ground. But no one came. Minutes passed. The alley grew colder, the world quieter.
And then, a sudden rush of movement. Hands. Cloth. Darkness. Someone covered his eyes, arms seized him, and his body was restrained. His wrists were tied, ankles bound, and before he could scream, something heavy pressed against his mouth.
He kicked, writhed, begged, "Please, please help me", but it was useless.
No one was going to help him.
After a while —minutes spent being jostled in a vehicle— Sunghoon was finally pushed out and forced to sit on something soft. A bed, maybe. His arms were still tied, his eyes still covered, but he could feel the mattress beneath him. He sat still, breathing quietly, ears straining. He heard voices drifting from another room, muffled slightly. There was probably a door between them. But he could recognise that voice among a thousand.
Riki.
And the second one… less obvious, but familiar.
Jake.
Why on Earth would the two of them be talking? Why would Jake even be there, wherever he was? Sunghoon tried to focus, to catch every word.
“You went too far, Riki. This isn’t revenge anymore. You’re not punishing him, you’re traumatising him. He already has a complicated life. Don’t make it worse for him," Jake said.
“Then he should’ve chosen his words more wisely," Riki replied flatly.
“I know you’re not into feelings at all, but could you show some compassion? I think he’s learned his lesson. He won’t do it again. For fuck’s sake, Riki! He’s never going to work at that hotel after this. Not if you keep him locked here!”
So Sunghoon was in the Sim hotel. At least it was a place he was familiar with. Also, Sunghoon hadn’t thought Jake cared that much. They weren’t particularly close, but the way Jake defended him warmed Sunghoon’s chest.
“Why do you care so much about him? I thought you were already seeing Heesung?”
“How do you… It’s not the subject! Riki, you’re doing to Sunghoon the same thing your uncle did to you—”
“Don’t you dare bring that old dead man to the table.”
Sunghoon held his breath. What did he mean by that? What did Riki's uncle do to him that he was doing to Sunghoon?
“You’re clearly not over him and about what he had done to you. Rightfully so.”
“Don’t push your luck, Sim Jake,” Riki said, his tone now dangerous.
Sunghoon had shivers without even seeing his face.
“It’s not because we grew up together that it means that you know everything about me,” Riki added.
“But I know enough to say that you don’t wanna do that.”
“So what exactly do I want?”
“You want power. You didn’t have it when you were elev—”
Sunghoon flinched when he heard a loud thud and someone falling to the ground. Then he heard a spat.
“Don’t you dare come close to this room, and don’t you even think about freeing Sunghoon. And I swear that if you bring that again, I won’t be so kind next time,” Riki clicked his tongue, annoyed.
Sunghoon’s entire body tensed when he heard the door creak open. It was faint, almost soft, but in the heavy silence, it sounded loud.
He hadn’t expected them to talk so loudly right next door, about everything. Their words were muffled by the walls, but still clear enough for him to understand each one. And Sunghoon hadn’t known these things about Riki. And as much as hatred still boiled inside him, each revelation made something in him click. The puzzle pieces were falling into place, but instead of providing clarity, they only deepened the pit in his stomach.
Sunghoon couldn’t breathe. Not because any of it could help. None of this information gave him a way out. But at least, knowing was better than waiting in blind ignorance. Right?
The footsteps grew louder. Closer. He panicked. His chest rose and fell faster. He tried to keep it in, to steady his breathing, but it was no use. And the blindfold made everything worse. Without being able to see, he couldn’t predict where the blow would come from, nor could he read Riki’s expression. His muscles screamed to run, to hide, but he was frozen in place.
“So,” Riki’s voice cut through the silence. “You tried to run away, didn’t you? Bad, bad boy.”
Sunghoon flinched. The tone shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Something about those words twisted around his ribs, choking him. Maybe it was because it sounded so familiar. Like his father, back when he still existed in his life. Back when scolding came with fists.
His heart kicked violently in his chest, blood rushing to his ears. His hands trembled in his lap.
“Who told you I was done punishing you?” Riki went on, the smile audible in his voice. “I was just away for work, and while the cat’s away… the mice will play.”
A sigh. And then the blindfold was yanked off.
Sunghoon blinked rapidly, bracing for harsh light, but there was none. The room was shrouded in a flickering gloom. He was in room 1208. Back to square one.
The only source of light was the fireplace crackling in the corner. He realised that he had never seen it lit before. His eyes latched onto it. The glow of the flames. The sparks leapt into the air. The hiss and pop of burning wood. He focused hard, so hard, as if the fire could swallow him whole and take him away from here.
He focused all his attention on it. Anything would do. As long as it wasn't on Riki. He didn't want to look at Riki. Didn’t want to acknowledge the hand now fisting his hair. Didn’t want to feel it yank him to the floor, forcing him to kneel. Pain shot down his spine, sharp and burning, but he barely registered it over the pounding fear in his skull.
“I read you lost your mother at birth,” Riki said lazily, as if discussing the weather. “And your father’s in an asylum now. No wonder you turned out like this. No manners. No education. No future.”
Sunghoon bit his lip hard. What was he supposed to say? Riki wasn’t wrong. The truth cut deeper than any lie.
“So,” Riki continued, his voice almost gentle now. “I’m going to do you a favour. I’ll be your master. I’ll educate you. Like a pet. Like a wild animal that needs to be tamed.”
Something shattered inside Sunghoon. His lungs refused to fill. Tamed? His mind raced through horrible images: being made to crawl, bark, beg. Or worse. Much worse. Was Riki going to humiliate him? Torture him? Flog him like livestock?
Sunghoon's skin grew cold despite the fire. His face was drained of colour, as sweat covered his temples.
“And we’ll start right away,” Riki added like a promise.
Or a threat. A sentence.
Sunghoon swallowed. But it felt like drowning. He flinched as Riki approached, the sound of his footsteps muted by the thick rug covering the floor. The bindings around his wrists and ankles had been unceremoniously removed, leaving bruises where they had been. But the sudden freedom wasn’t comforting. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff with no safety net.
“Undress,” Riki said simply, as though asking someone to take off their shoes.
Sunghoon hesitated. His hands trembled as they hovered near his shirt hem. He hated this. Every inch of it. The cold air against his skin as he stripped down. The way Riki’s eyes trailed over him was like he was studying something on display. He felt shame crawl beneath his skin like fire ants.
Riki handed him the garments. A pastel pink jumper, soft and oversized, and a pair of delicate white lace panties. Everything about them screamed fragile and feminine.
Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted metal. He didn’t want to put them on. But even worse than the humiliation was the heat curling in his stomach, something he couldn't rationalise no matter how hard he tried. It made him hate himself. Hate the way his body responded when it shouldn't.
“Put them on,” Riki said, voice low, calm, almost kind. “You’ll look perfect.”
Sunghoon obeyed, teeth clenched. The fabric of the jumper draped over him like a second skin, far too soft for the situation he was in. He refused to look at himself, refused to acknowledge the part of him that trembled not just from fear but from anticipation. It disgusted him.
“There. Much better,” Riki said with a smile.
Then he moved to a nearby drawer and opened it, his movements slow and deliberate. From within, he pulled out a bundle of lilac ropes.
“You ever heard of shibari?” Riki asked casually as he walked back toward him. “It’s an art form. I learned it when I was bored in Japan.”
He began wrapping the ropes around Sunghoon’s waist, each pull firm but careful, guiding them with ease.
“You’ve got such a small waist. Like a doll’s,” Riki murmured, almost to himself. “Delicate. Easy to shape.”
Sunghoon stood frozen, his breathing shallow. Each knot was a reminder of how helpless he was, how little control he had. But the way Riki moved his fingers, the gentleness of it, only made it worse.
Riki continued, working his way lower, binding with intent. The ropes bit into Sunghoon’s skin between his legs, rubbing his cock and balls, grounding him in a moment he wished he could vanish from.
Sunghoon felt humiliated by how warm and cosy the soft jumper made him feel in such a situation. It clung to his skin. And that shame burned deeper than any of Riki’s words or doings. He gripped the sleeves tightly, hands completely swallowed by the fabric. Sweater paws —a habit he had since childhood, something he would do when he felt shy or embarrassed.
A small, broken whine escaped him as he lifted his arms to cover his face, hiding behind the only thing he could. He hated how good it felt. How he didn’t want Riki to take it away.
When Riki finally stepped back, he tilted his head with admiration, like a sculptor looking at his finished piece.
“You see?” he said softly. “Isn’t this better?”
Sunghoon didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His voice was buried somewhere deep in his throat, trapped beneath layers of fear, self-loathing, and something else he didn’t dare name or acknowledge.
Riki struck him sharply, and Sunghoon flinched, eyes going wide.
“When I ask you a question, you answer.”
“Y—Yes, it is…” Sunghoon managed to stammer between ragged breaths.
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, Riki?”
“Riki? ” he repeated, laughing. “And who exactly do you think you are, calling me by my name?”
Without warning, Riki yanked on the rope somewhere behind his back. Sunghoon couldn't see where, but the sudden pull cinched everything tighter, sending sharp pain radiating through his lower body, between his legs. His breath caught, a low sound escaping his throat. Pain and heat tangled until he couldn’t tell which one was worse.
“I—I’m sorry, I—” he stammered.
His thoughts scrambled, blurred by discomfort and an avalanche of conflicting emotions: pain and pleasure, guilt and need.
“I’m your Master,” Riki said, lips curling into a smug smirk. “Make sure you remember that.”
A shiver crawled down Sunghoon’s spine. So this was how it was going to be now. His body felt like it could collapse at any second. His knees were trembling beneath him, his mind worn thin from the failed escape and the fear. All for nothing.
He wanted to cry. It felt like crying might somehow crack the pressure building in his chest, from the stress, the shame, and the long-buried exhaustion from months of holding it all in. But nothing came. He was too used to worse. Too trained in silence and in survival. And he didn’t know how Riki would react if he let it all go. That uncertainty alone forced him still, knees on the ground and back straight.
“Y—Yes, Master…”
He had never felt so small. So stripped of anything that had once been his. So emasculated.
“Now, get on the bed and lie on your back.”
Sunghoon complied with the orders given to him. He could feel Riki’s intense gaze tracking him, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for it to move exactly where it should. So, he lay on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, wondering if closing them would make the situation feel any less real.
“Fuck, you look like a wet dream. Just for me,” Riki purred.
Sunghoon's heart tightened at the praise —was it even praise? His mind felt sluggish, struggling to process everything, twisting things he should despise into something he found pleasurable. His arousal intensified, creating discomfort as the ropes were tied tightly, leaving little room for his erection to grow. And Riki noticed and grinned before joining him on the bed, which sagged under his weight.
“Lift your legs for me.”
Sunghoon did it. Thanks to the ice skating classes he had taken since childhood, he was flexible enough to lift them effortlessly. Sunghoon realised too late that it shouldn't have been so easy for him to lift his legs; he should have pretended to struggle.
“Look what we have here?” Riki chuckled. “So flexible and pliable, only with words. Fuck.”
He could tell from Riki's tone that the man was already contemplating some devious ways to exploit the situation.
As Riki gripped Sunghoon's legs, he didn’t immediately realise that Riki had crossed them. Then he heard the sound of a zipper being undone. In the next moment, Riki pressed Sunghoon’s legs together, and he felt something hard and warm between them.
Gosh, Riki was using his thighs as a cock-sleeve to get off.
It should have felt more humiliating and mortifying, but instead, it only turned Sunghoon on even more. He had made it happen; Riki was aroused by him. The rush of excitement was overwhelming, causing his head to spin, and he let out a low, shameless noise.
The bed began to creak ominously, though not enough to drown out his moans.
Riki, with a deft and practised hand, skillfully slid Sunghoon's panties down, liberating his entangled cock from the restrictive knots and ropes. His movements were swift and sure as he grasped Sunghoon's throbbing length, stroking it with a quick, rhythmic motion that seemed to echo the pulse of the room.
“I—I… I’m going to—”
He was going to come, but Riki halted abruptly, leaving him teetering on the precipice, edging him, like he didn’t even deserve to orgasm. The punched-out noise that left his lips didn’t even sound like him, his eyes closing.
“That's what happens when you act all high and mighty in front of me.”
With a rough tug, Riki flipped him onto his hands and knees. With a remaining length of rope, Riki deftly wrapped it around his legs, binding them tightly together, just above the knees. Sunghoon could feel the coarse fibres biting into his skin, a stark contrast to the smooth heat of Riki's cock pressing against his thighs. Each brutal thrust sent waves of sensation crashing through him, the messy, desperate bucking growing more feral with each passing moment.
Teeth bit him on his neck so hard that Sunghoon cried out from exquisite pain-pleasure.
“Ahh, it h—hurts!” he gasped out, his fingers clenching the bedsheets.
But Riki ignored his words, sucking nasty hickeys all over his neck. Each pull of his lips left a nasty hickey blooming across his milk-like skin. They dotted his throat like bruised petals, a testament to Riki’s disregard and dominance. Sunghoon felt the wet heat of each mark seeping into him as he trembled. It was all-consuming. Vicious bites of pain mixed with a strange thrill.
Sunghoon was shaking, whines leaving his mouth and embarrassing sounds he couldn’t hold anymore. His fingers gripped tight at the sheets tightly. His knuckles turned white as he tried to ground himself in something.
“I’m going to bite you,” Riki said lowly, each word a threat and a promise. “Mark your body so that you always remember who you belong to. Who you should always obey.”
Then he bit into the soft skin of Sunghoon’s neck again, teeth sinking in hard. Sunghoon choked on a gasp, struggling not to flinch as the pain bloomed under his skin. His body jolted involuntarily, hips twitching, desperate to move, to escape. Yet he stayed in place, obedient.
“Do you understand me now, Snow White?” Riki asked, his voice coaxing and cruel.
Sunghoon tried to speak. He really did. But no words formed, only just broken breaths, a silent battle between his fraying mind and the overwhelming sensations. Guilt twisted in his gut, warring against the wrong, sick pleasure he couldn’t seem to stop feeling.
It wasn’t right. It was so wrong. And yet, his body didn’t listen to his mind. His thoughts were a blurred mess of shame and submission, and still, that awful, guilty warmth kept creeping up his spine.
Riki leaned in close, his fingernails digging into Sunghoon’s waist, brushing his lips just beneath Sunghoon’s ear.
“Answer,” Riki ordered him.
Sunghoon’s lips trembled. He felt like he might fall apart if he said it. He would only confirm the power Riki held over him. And still…
“…Y–Yes… Master.”
“Fuck, such a good boy, doing as he’s told,” he said with a chuckle.
The cold air, the heat of skin, the creak of the bed beneath them... Everything after that came crashing down in slow motion, but Sunghoon’s mind barely registered any of it. The only thing echoing in his ears was that single word. "Master". The way it tasted in his mouth, and the way it sealed his fate.
Riki set a faster pace that rendered Sunghoon helpless, as his cock was sometimes fricting against Sunghoon’s. He wanted to come so badly, but he didn’t want to either.
His thighs and legs started to weaken, threatening to make him buckle under his weight. And Riki must have seen it or felt it, as his hands handled Sunghoon to straighten his back.
“Come on, don’t ruin it now, I’m almost there. Gonna come. You’re going to make me come, Snow White. So good to me. Such a good slut.”
And those words were a caress and triggered something in Sunghoon’s mind. They felt more satisfying than any praise he had ever received in his life. They twisted something deep inside him, convincing him that —for once— he was being useful. Not a burden, not a dead weight. Not a parasite. Not an unwanted presence. For the first time, he felt like he had a purpose. Like he was worth someone’s attention, worth someone’s approval.
Riki fucked him through his orgasm; each thrust becoming messier and messier until every movement grew sloppier and until he finally went boneless between Sunghoon’s legs. He was covered in Riki’s come.
Sunghoon slumped when Riki violently pulled out, his limbs so weak and his thighs trembling.
Then, suddenly, Riki pulled away. The bed shifted as he got up, zipped his trousers, and left without a word. Just like that. Like Sunghoon was disposable, to be discarded after use.
The only sound left in the room was the fire, still crackling on the other side of the bedroom. Sunghoon lay there, unmoving, shivering in the cold, the warmth of Riki’s presence gone. Then he slumped when Riki violently pulled out, his limbs so weak and his thighs trembling.
He hated how empty he felt, how wrong it all was.
Then a sense of horror, of realisation, crashed into him like a tidal wave. What just happened? Why was this happening to him? What could he have possibly done to deserve this?
He wanted to smash his head against the wall from how shameless he was, because despite everything, some part of him whispered it wasn’t enough. He felt a strange, unbearable need. He wanted more, and he was disgusted with himself for craving touch. His touch. The one who had turned his world upside down.
Another rush of nausea hit Sunghoon, making him gag, but there was nothing for him to spill, as his stomach was empty. He was only left with an overwhelming sense of guilt.
He hated Riki.
It was only a few minutes later that someone unlocked the door and stepped inside. Sunghoon tensed, expecting another stranger, but his heart stopped when he recognised the hotel uniform. The very same charcoal-grey with the gold-stitched emblem on the chest.
His stomach twisted violently.
It was one of the junior staff members from the housekeeping team. He had seen her before, maybe twice in the staff lounge, though they’d never spoken. She looked barely younger than him. And worse, right behind her came another figure: a male staff member, this time, someone he had spoken to once or twice in passing.
Neither of them looked at him with recognition.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Sunghoon instinctively tugged at the hem of the pastel jumper he’d been left in, desperate to cover his bare thighs. Shame came crashing in like a tidal wave. He felt so vulnerable, like an animal trapped in a cage.
The staff didn’t say a word; their expressions remained professional. They moved as if this were just another room, just another guest. As if he weren’t Sunghoon, a colleague they had crossed paths with in the staff corridors.
The girl knelt silently beside him, beginning to untie the ropes that still clung to his wrists and ankles. He flinched at the first touch. His skin was red and sore. But it wasn’t pain that made him want to vanish. It was the odd intimacy of the moment, contrasted with the eerie detachment in her movements. It felt like he wasn’t a person, just a pet, or another task on her checklist.
Then, without a word, she began cleaning him. Wiping away the stickiness of Riki’s cum that still clung to his thighs. Sunghoon wanted the ground to open beneath him. It was mortifying. Worse than anything he’d imagined.
When she was done, she handed him a fresh shirt. White, oversized, high-quality cotton. The kind only VIP guests could afford. The hem was slightly frayed. It was either a fashion choice or from years of use, he couldn’t tell. It hung loosely on him, leaving his legs bare.
A doll. He looked like a fucking doll. Or someone who had just been fucked and borrowed their partner's oversized shirt. Either way, it was messed up.
Not long after, another staff member entered. This time, with a silver tray balanced in his hands. The scent reached Sunghoon before he even registered what it was. Food. The staff member quickly left after giving the tray to Sunghoon, and then he locked the door.
He hadn’t eaten since late morning. He had skipped lunch entirely, too busy running around trying to flee the country. Now, he was starving.
On the tray was a perfectly plated meal: a steak cooked medium rare, resting atop a bed of smooth mashed potatoes laced with truffle oil. Roasted vegetables arranged with surgical precision. A tall glass of sparkling water with condensation beading down the side. And a glossy, jewel-like slice of dessert. Some kind of raspberry-chocolate mousse, rich and elegant, the kind of thing he’d only ever seen in the restaurant kitchen while bussing plates.
For a moment, he just stared. But then, hunger won. He devoured the meal like he hadn’t eaten in days. It was so good it almost hurt.
When he finished, his stomach wasn’t even full, just less hollow. But he didn’t dare ask for more. He didn't have a say in this anyway.
After a while, he got out of bed. His limbs were unsteady, his skin still prickling, but he needed to move, walk, breathe. Prove to himself he still could, that he was still in control of his actions.
The room was nothing like the staff rooms or the regular guest suites he cleaned every day. This was luxury. Discreet, cold, expensive. The bed was a king-size with a sleek, modern frame and crisp, high-thread-count sheets in deep charcoal. The curtains were heavy blackout velvet, drawn shut to the world outside.
He crossed the room on silent feet, eyeing the minimalist shelves built into the far wall. Dozens of books lined them, their spines clean and untouched. Decorative. Not for reading.
In one corner, there was a compact but pristine vanity. Just enough to live, but never really feel at home. Sunghoon wondered how Riki could spend so much time in the same room.
He reached the window, cracked it open slightly, and saw the city lights blinking far below. He didn’t know what time it was. There was no clock. No phone. No watch. Just the hollow silence of a hotel room that didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone.
That’s when it hit him.
He was being kept here. Not as a guest. Not as an employee anymore either. Just a thing behind a locked door. And no one —not Jake, not the other staff, not the police —was coming to save him.
It felt like a prison disguised as a suite.
Sunghoon pressed his fingertips against the cold pane.
And without him knowing, it was part of Riki’s plan to shape Sunghoon, to mould him and weave a bond so deep that Sunghoon would grow dependent on him.
Chapter 2: Conditional care
Notes:
Hellooo dear readers, sorry for the delayed update!
Without giving spoilers, I just have to mention that there's a 'device' scene and a mention of cock piercing that were inspired by Love Prism by Toji Asami.
Also, this chapter is shorter than the last one, but I hope you enjoy reading it! 💙
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next day, Sunghoon stayed in bed all day. The only indicator of time he had was the sun outside.
Out of boredom, he eventually pulled a book from the shelf and started to read.
His thoughts wandered back to the day before. Everything that had happened. He shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t stay here. More than being dangerous, it was madness. Nishimura Riki’s madness. He’d been threatened, used, and locked up like property. His life wasn’t safe. His future didn’t exist in this room. Logic screamed at him to find a way out, to run the second he got a chance.
But his body told a different story, as his muscles weren’t tight with exhaustion, at least not like usual. His chest didn’t feel like it was caving in. There was a sort of peace in his body that he hadn’t felt in months, maybe even years. No stress grinding at the back of his neck.
No deadlines to remember. No bills to pay. No noise. Just silence. Yeah, it was all peaceful. But he hated that it felt good, like a break, that the room smelled like something expensive and soft, the faint scent of Riki still clinging to the sheets. That the mattress hugged him just right. That he had actually slept. For once, it hadn't been the light, anxious dozing he usually survived on.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was a prisoner, but for some reason, his body had started to act like he was finally safe.
By the end of the day, as the sun set, he had finished the book and was starting to get hungry. He tried not to think about it and barely moved to save energy. Instead, he took a nap. He hadn’t slept much over the past few months, so he figured he might as well catch up.
He woke to the sound of something metallic and the feeling of something cold around his wrists.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Riki. He flinched, but there was resistance. He turned his head, only to realise his hands were cuffed. Sunghoon’s eyes widened in shock. He hadn’t seen it coming.
“W—What are you doing?”
He pulled against the restraints with all the strength he had, not knowing what was happening, but nothing budged.
Riki had tied him to the bed, both hands secured above his head, and they were already starting to go numb.
Sunghoon gritted his teeth.
“Please, let me g—”
His words were cut off when Riki crushed his mouth with one hand, pressing so hard it almost drew blood inside his lip. Sunghoon had barely woken up, but already every sense was assaulted, his wrists burning. Riki's eyes were dark and intense, and looked threatening.
“Who gave you permission to speak?” Riki said, his voice unnervingly calm.
His hold on Sunghoon’s mouth grew even harsher as he spoke. Sunghoon barely managed to keep it together, scared to death that if Riki applied a little more strength, it would actually crush his skull or break his jaw. He didn’t know Riki very well, but somehow he could tell that his patience was way thinner than usual.
“You’re not allowed to speak unless I ask you to. Are we clear?” Riki asked, his grip tightening.
“Hm!” Sunghoon answered quickly with a muffled noise.
“Good,” Riki hummed into his neck.
Finally, Riki released his hold but paused, his gaze shifting between Sunghoon’s exposed legs and his hands. After a brief moment, his hands moved above Sunghoon’s head. Sunghoon heard faint metallic sounds, and he could still feel the coolness of the cuffs around his wrists, though there was no remaining tension. While his hands remained cuffed, Riki had released him from the bed.
“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I wanted to fuck you right away, but now I want to fuck this defiant little mouth of yours.” Riki grinned. “And we were interrupted last time...”
And so, for the second time in his life, Sunghoon had to have his mouth around a cock. This time, he didn’t feel as sick as the first, but his nerves were exploding into panic again. His senses were all still sluggish from just waking up from a nap; his mouth felt dry and pasty, as he didn’t get a chance to grab a glass of water.
He forced his body upward with shaky legs, then back down to his knees, in front of the bed, in exactly the same spot as last time.
“Good boy.”
The words made something behind his skull tingle and caused his heart to squeeze. His cheeks burned with apprehension.
“Just like next time, don’t move your hands unless I tell you otherwise.”
Riki’s stare was like a touch across his skin; he wanted nothing more than to brush it off, as he generally preferred to remain out of the spotlight. And so he nodded silently, and he squeezed his hands together into fists, praying that it would be quick.
“I might give you some food if you keep this up”
Sunghoon almost gasped, realising the heavy implication of what he knew was going to happen if he didn’t behave. Now he had to do it if he wished to eat. If he didn’t do it, he would probably madden Riki and end up being beaten to death if not worse. And he would be left starved.
He was so hungry. Oh! so, so hungry, he could do anything to get food.
Biting the inside of his cheek, he forced himself to remain still.
“Go on.”
He unzipped Riki’s trousers and then slid his boxers down. Right in front of him, just centimetres from the tip of his nose, Riki’s hard cock. It still impressed him how massive it was. Lips quivering, he did as he was asked, even if his body was screaming at him not to.
“Such a good slut,” Riki said, his fingers tightened in his hair to the point of pain. Again with the pet name. He hated it so much, and hated even more how his body reacted to it, shivering. “If only you could see yourself right now.”
How humiliating it would be to see himself suck Riki’s cock.
Don’t imagine it. Don’t think about it. Just don’t.
He tried to focus on anything else. On the way, his lips were stretched wide to accommodate the girth of Riki’s cock, the way the friction stimulated his mouth, the taste and the texture. Sunghoon was so hungry, he wanted his stomach to be full. He realised with baffled embarrassment that he was wondering if come could fill it.
“Oh, I have a way to fix that…”
Sunghoon wasn't quite sure, but he noticed Riki grabbing his phone. He couldn't ignore what was happening right in front of him, especially after hearing that chirping noise, which meant he was being recorded.
He was eerily quiet as he fucked Sunghoon’s mouth. Only the unevenness of his breathing showed he was enjoying it. That almost made Sunghoon feel a little shiver of excitement, knowing he was the cause of Riki’s pleasure. Almost.
The first time, things were a bit awkward, but Sunghoon was starting to learn what worked best, finding the right rhythm and angle. He tried to ignore his nerves and just focus on moving his head steadily.
“Fuck,” Riki finally let a quiet groan escape. “So wet and so open for your master.”
Without a warning, Riki snapped his hips forward, his cock jamming into the back of his throat with a single thrust. Sunghoon’s throat spasmed, and his hands instinctively moved to support himself against Riki's hips. But...
“Don't even think about it,” Riki warned him. “Put your hands down.”
Sunghoon reluctantly lowered his hands, but he wasn't sure what to do with them, so he stapled his fingers together. Riki wrenched his face in close, forcing him to swallow more of his length, to take him deeper and deeper. His jaw ached from the strain.
“Your mouth is so warm, so perfect, so mine.”
Riki’s hip drew back before that cock was back in his mouth, harder and deeper. The pace was brutal and punishing. Riki’s cock was plunging into his mouth over and over.
Then, he thrust hard one last time and came deep in Sunghoon’s throat, so hot and slick. So much, Sunghoon coughed but swallowed everything without knowing exactly what he just did. Disgusting. But he was too scared to make a face, so he stayed expressionless.
His mind went blank when Riki grabbed his face and gently pulled at the corner of his mouth to open it wider. As if to check that Sunghoon had indeed swallowed everything. Sunghoon’s stomach twisted, and a shiver of fear ran down his neck.
“I want you to touch yourself.”
Sunghoon blinked, confused about what he had just heard.
“A reward for how well you behaved,” Riki murmured.
Sunghoon tried to settle his breathing, refusing to believe what Riki had just ordered him to do. That wasn’t a reward. Not at all. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do that. That was so wrong. Because it was one thing to be used like a toy to make Riki come. But it was another to jerk right in front of him.
A little twisted voice inside his head told him that he had already jerked, thinking about Riki, weeks ago. That it shouldn’t be hard.
However, the rational part of his mind, which, surprisingly, was still functional, was telling him that it was wrong, inappropriate. Because it happened way before Sunghoon knew Riki wasn’t just a spoiled client with voyeurism kink, but was a freaking psycho with intentions to hurt him. Because now his body was repulsing it heavily. It made his stomach churn.
And because he could feel that once he opened Pandora's box, there would be no way to close it.
“N—No,” he finally said, knowing fully damn well that he was going to regret this. But he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.
“No?” Riki repeated, his eyes narrowing.
Sunghoon barely had time to process what Riki said before the door clicked shut again. Just like that. He was gone.
And somehow, that was worse than being cursed at or hit. The absence of cruelty provoked Sunghoon more anxiety, as he was anticipating that Riki was going to prepare something worse to make him suffer. So Sunghoon stayed there, dumbfounded, a hollow pit in his stomach and a sharper one in his chest.
That night, no one came. No footsteps in the hallway. No tray of food. No water.
As the hours dragged by, his body began to feel hollow. His insides were folding in on themselves. His stomach cramped so tightly it made him curl up in bed, aching. His lips were dry, painfully dry, to the point of cracking every time he shifted them. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Heavy.
He tried to sleep to shut it all out, hoping the discomfort would dull if he could just drift off.
The next day bled into the last, like time was repeating itself, only worse. He woke with the sun again, weak and light-headed, his head throbbing like a slow drumbeat behind his eyes. His limbs felt heavy. He tried to read, grabbing another book from the shelf, desperate to distract his mind, but the words blurred on the page. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t remember what he’d just read.
The cuffs were starting to drive him insane. Every time he tried to move, shift, or even scratch an itch, the cold metal tugged at his wrists, the bruise constantly reminding him that he couldn’t move freely. They weren't so heavy, but just always there. No matter how still he lay, they pressed into his skin like Riki’s presence itself, always deciding what he could or couldn’t do.
And the hunger was slowly consuming him, and the thirst was even worse. It made him dizzy, made it hard to breathe. His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. The cracked skin on his lips had started to bleed at the edges. He touched them and winced. Panic soon mixed with exhaustion.
He remembered reading somewhere that a human could last about a week without food or water, but that didn’t feel true. He felt like he was already dying, piece by piece.
Desperate, Sunghoon stumbled to the bathroom and turned the tap. Nothing. Just a pitiful cough of air. He stared at it, willing something —anything— to come out. But it didn’t.
He staggered back to the bed, but couldn’t sleep, not like this. His mind was too alert, too loud, clinging to the fact that his body was shutting down. He was being left here to rot.
So he got up again. Tried the door. It was locked. Then the window was also locked, sealed tight.
That’s when the panic really hit.
“Hello?” he called, voice cracked and hoarse. “Is anyone there? Please! I’m being locked up! Room 1208!”
He slammed his fists on the door, then the walls, then anything he could reach. The wood. The bathroom tile. Even the floor.
“Please!” he shouted, again and again. “Someone!”
But nothing. Not a footstep. Not a voice. Not even an echo. It was as if the room were soundproof. As if all the rooms near his were empty. As if he were the only person left alive in this goddamn hotel.
His heart pounded wildly, erratically, and he could barely breathe through the panic. If no one came soon, he didn’t know what would happen. But he was certain of one thing: if he stayed here much longer, he’d lose his mind.
It was only when the sun began to set that he finally heard the click of the door unlocking. Riki entered. He wore a black cap pulled low and a matching mask, as if he didn’t want his face to be seen. Cargo pants, a green sweater. Casual and comfy.
Sunghoon instinctively pressed himself against the headboard, putting as much space as possible between them without even realising it.
“So, are you going to obey me today?” Riki asked, his voice carrying a hint of weariness, like Sunghoon had been disappointing him over and over again.
He dropped his bag like he had the day before, then crossed his arms and leaned against the wall facing him, waiting. But Sunghoon’s brain was too fogged to form any proper thought, let alone a reply. All he could think about was water. Food. Just that. Nothing else mattered.
“P—Please,” he said. “Can I have some food? A—And water?”
Riki sighed through his mask.
“And what exactly have you done to deserve them? You’ve been lying there all day, haven’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. “I only asked you to touch yourself yesterday. That’s all. Was that so hard?”
Sunghoon shut his eyes in defeat. It was useless to beg. He knew it, but had to try. The only way to get what he needed was to give Riki what he wanted. And it should’ve been easy, shouldn’t it? Wasn’t it part of the job? Obey the client. No matter what they asked.
And so he recited it silently like a mantra. Clean. Fold. Wipe. Reset. Smile if needed. Disappear. Don’t get noticed. Don’t get attached. Don’t think.
He’d lived like that for years. This was just… another thing to add to the list: Do what pleases Riki.
But he couldn’t. Not yet. His thoughts were slow and loud all at once, tangled in hunger and pain and fear.
“If you’re not going to do it,” Riki said, pushing off the wall, “then I’ll leave. I’m not wasting any more time.”
“Please don’t leave! Please, M—Master!”
The word scraped out of him, unfamiliar. Sunghoon stared at his palms. It wasn’t about whether he could. He had to. He needed to eat. He needed to drink. Just make it through one more day. And maybe tomorrow, with a full stomach, he could think of a way out. But right now, he had to shut his mind off.
Don’t think. Do what pleases Riki. Get food. Get water.
Don’t think. Do what pleases Riki.
Do what pleases Riki.
“I—I’ll do it,” he whispered.
“Good boy,” Riki murmured, a perverted satisfaction curling in his voice. “Take off your panties.”
Sunghoon’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t risk Riki walking away. He slipped his fingers into the waistband and slowly pulled them down his legs.
“Now your t-shirt.”
With trembling hands, Sunghoon slowly and carefully took off the oversized shirt. The cold air struck his bare skin, and he shivered, feeling now exposed and humiliated in a way he’d never been before.
“I shouldn’t have asked the staff to give you clothes,” Riki said, eyeing him. “You look much prettier naked. Such a lovely, beautiful body, Snow White.”
Sunghoon’s ears turned red. No one had ever said anything like that to him. Not about his body. He didn’t know how to respond. His brain was shutting down, overwhelmed and scattered, like everything inside was starting to melt.
“Now, lean over the bed.”
And so Sunghoon did as asked. His hands were still bound, and the chains made a clinking sound as he leaned forward, resting on the bed and waiting.
Riki noticed it and released Sunghoon from the handcuffs. Then he opened the drawer to get a bottle of lubricant and tossed it onto the bed, right in front of Sunghoon.
“Prep yourself.”
He had heard those words before, which had already bothered him at the time, even though they were not directed at him. But now, it was even more upsetting.
But once more, Sunghoon listened to him. With trembling hands, he applied some lube to his fingers. He hastily prepared himself, his fingers working themselves open. He was struggling to keep quiet. He was holding himself back, intentionally not granting himself pleasure, probably to repress lewd noise.
But Riki must’ve noticed it and stepped in.
Sunghoon let out a gasp when Riki pulled his fingers out of himself, forcing him to arch his back. He inserted his index and middle fingers without a warning.
“Ow!” Sunghoon yelped.
As Riki dug his fingers deeper, Sunghoon was losing his mind and swallowed audibly. Sunghoon stiffened the moment he felt the cold press of metal brush against him. Riki didn’t take off his rings —thick silver bands from Chrome Hearts, heavy with jagged etchings and sharp motifs, the kind that bit into the skin just enough to be felt. The metal scraped faintly as it pushed past the entrance of Sunghoon’s hole, the textured relief catching on the tender, pink skin. The edges dragged just enough to burn, making Sunghoon curl his fingers into the sheets.
Riki eased his fingers in, going slow, keeping control. And then he set a fast, punishing pace. He bit back a sound, not wanting to let Riki hear that he was on the verge of giving up on himself.
Until Riki slid three fingers.
Sunghoon hiccuped from that pain-pleasure, not able to hold moans anymore.
“Gosh, you’re so tight, even with the plug inside you a few days ago.”
Sunghoon flinched. The moment Riki’s fingers began to move, another moan slipped from his lips, unbidden and humiliating. He hated how little control he had: his mind blank, his body responding like it belonged to someone else.
“That’s right. Moan for me. Touch yourself now.”
And that was it. He had no choice. His breath caught in his throat, his lashes lowering as he gave in. Resigned, he pressed the heel of his palm against his cock and began to stroke. It felt surreal. His body aroused, needy, but his mind screaming to run. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to come. He wanted to shove Riki away and bolt. But he couldn’t. He was trapped.
Don’t think. Do what pleases Riki.
He forced himself to focus on the sensations: the slick wetness of precum coating his hand, the hunger gnawing at his insides that blurred into the desperate pulse between his legs, the heat curling low in his belly. He picked up the pace, stroking faster, trying to get it over with.
Instinctively, he tried to lift his free hand to cover his mouth, to muffle the humiliating sounds spilling out of him. But the cuffs bit into his skin, reminding him he was still restrained.
“Yes, Snowflake. Show me how bad you want it. Come for me, pretty.” Riki’s whisper was soft, coaxing, and it sent something sharp and shameful through him. Guilt and pleasure mixed in a sickening wave.
It reminded him of those nights, alone in his room, needing to come but terrified of being caught, because his father never let him close the door. That memory hit him just as the orgasm did, sudden and overwhelming. His back arched, a loud moan ripped from his throat, and his legs buckled. His head knocked against the edge of the mattress, his body trembling.
It felt like a freefall, lifted by pleasure one second, then plummeting. Riki brutally pulled his fingers out without warning, and the crash of reality hit like a slap. Shame. Revulsion. Nausea curled in his stomach, threatening to spill.
What have I done?
Sunghoon’s body trembled. He wanted to tear off his own skin, to crawl out of a body that no longer felt like his.
Behind him, Riki laughed, and the sound alone made Sunghoon’s insides twist. He wanted to hit him. To make him pay back. But how could he? He didn’t have the strength. Or the power. He was nothing but miserable. Pathetic. Naked, dancing in the palm of Riki’s hand. He had just given him exactly what he wanted.
He hated him. Hated him so much for turning him into something he couldn’t even name.
“Good job, slut,” Riki finally said.
Fuck you, Sunghoon wanted to snap, but the words stuck in his throat, as if his body already knew he’d regret saying them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riki pull out his phone and dial a number.
“Room 1208. Tell the crew to come,” he said. A pause. “Yes, the whole crew.”
Riki moved to the couch, lounging there with his arms crossed, eyes still fixed on Sunghoon like he was a circus animal. Sunghoon felt sick with shame for putting on a show. But did he really have a choice?
He stayed frozen, unsure of what to do, unsure if Riki would even allow him to move. He wanted to disappear.
Moments later, the staff entered the room. Sunghoon instinctively grabbed the bed sheet, trying to cover himself, burning with shame. It was the same team as last time. One of them helped him up and guided him to the bathroom, settling him into the bathtub, all under Riki’s watchful eyes. Riki leaned in the doorway, scrolling casually through his phone, occasionally glancing up to look at him.
The girl turned on the tap.
Water.
The sight of it nearly made Sunghoon lose control. He had to summon every ounce of restraint not to lean over and drink straight from the tub.
He forced himself to focus on the sensation of the warm water slowly rising. The girl put on a wash mitt and began to scrub his body. Sunghoon flinched when she took hold of his arm.
“I—I can do it myself.”
But the girl recoiled sharply, as if his words were toxic, as if she wasn’t allowed to be touched, or even addressed.
“I told her to pamper you, since you behaved so well,” Riki said, his voice grating. “So just enjoy it.”
Sunghoon clenched his teeth but obeyed. He was so close to getting food. So close. He couldn’t risk ruining it now.
The girl slowly approached him again, starting to rub his arms with practised movements. Then his back. His legs. Finally, she lathered shampoo into his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp in steady circles.
“Don’t forget to clean between his legs,” Riki said casually, not even looking up from his phone. “There’s lube there, too.”
Humiliation slammed into Sunghoon like a punch. His whole body tensed. He forced his eyes away, but not before they met the girl’s for a fleeting second. The shame hit him tenfold —hers, for having to follow that order, and his, for being the subject of it. He wanted to apologise, to vanish, to crawl out of his own skin and hide. Everything about this was disgusting.
When she finally finished, she let the water drain, then helped Sunghoon to his feet. His legs wobbled, weak from exhaustion, but he managed to steady himself. She dried him off, head to toe, in silence.
Then another staff member emerged, whom he hadn’t even noticed before, who’d been standing behind Riki the whole time. The man stepped forward to dress Sunghoon in clean boxers and pyjamas. Real ones this time. Not a flimsy oversized t-shirt, but soft cotton that actually covered his legs. It should have brought some comfort. But Sunghoon remained on high alert, shoulders tight, always bracing for the next one of Riki’s twisted whims.
When they were done, the whole group moved back to the bedroom. The moment Sunghoon stepped inside, a strong smell hit his nose: rich, savoury, and mouthwatering. Food. His stomach growled.
“Sit on the bed,” Riki ordered.
And Sunghoon obeyed.
Seconds later, one of the servants placed a silver tray on his lap. On it, an elegant meal: glazed meat sliced thin over a bed of steaming rice, grilled vegetables arranged artistically, a folded napkin, a glass, and a sealed bottle of mineral water. It looked like it was made for a member of the royal family: refined, fragrant, and way too excessive.
He was about to dig in when Riki’s voice cut through the room like a whip.
“Wait.”
Sunghoon froze. His stomach clenched with desperation. His throat was dry, raw. Every cell in his body screamed to move, to drink, to do something. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
He stared at the tray, unmoving.
He waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four…
He started counting to distract himself.
Three minutes.
And still nothing.
Just silence and the weight of Riki’s gaze.
Then, finally—
“Okay.”
Sunghoon snapped.
He lunged for the bottle and drank greedily, downing it in a single breath. But he still felt thirsty. He set the empty bottle down with trembling fingers and grabbed the food, shoving it into his mouth so fast he barely chewed. He choked almost instantly, coughing violently as pieces of rice and meat caught in his throat.
Riki stepped in, gently patting his back.
The touch made Sunghoon recoil. His whole body stiffened. Even that —especially that— he hated. Riki’s hands were a violation, no matter how soft and caring they pretended to be.
Once Sunghoon had finished eating, his hands dropped to his lap, trembling. He didn’t remember the taste. He didn’t remember chewing, just the feeling of shame, the hunger and his survival instinct kicking in.
Riki took the tray from his lap without a word and placed it on the nightstand. Then he stood in front of Sunghoon for a moment, observing him like one would a wounded animal. Curious, satisfied, maybe even a little amused.
When he was done eating, they were back in the bathroom, and they brushed his teeth. Because of his height, he had to sit on the edge of the bathtub so the girl could reach him. That detail struck him, the absurdity of it. The way they fussed over him now, gentle and meticulous, as if he were a prince, or precious.
And then it hit him.
He was being groomed like a show animal, a pet. It was never really about making him comfortable or taking care of his needs. It was more about reducing him.
Riki pulled the covers back and gestured to the bed.
“Lie down,” he said.
Sunghoon obeyed. He didn’t have the energy to fight, so he slipped under the blanket, curling slightly on his side, arms wrapped around his stomach. The sheets were soft, freshly washed, warm from the food and from the bathwater still lingering on his skin. He hated how comforting it all felt, how his body responded to it.
Riki sat on the edge of the bed and reached out. His fingers combed gently through Sunghoon’s damp hair, slowly, rhythmically. It was almost tender. Almost. But Sunghoon knew there was no love in this touch. It was only ownership and possession.
He clenched his teeth to keep himself from jerking away. Every stroke of Riki’s hand made his skin crawl.
“Good boy,” Riki whispered, brushing one last strand behind his ear before getting up.
He walked to the switch by the door and turned off the light. The room fell into silence and darkness, heavy like a tomb.
Alone, Sunghoon lay there, his stomach twisting. The food he’d just devoured now sat like a stone in his gut. It turned sour, rising into his throat with the bile of regret and anxiety. He thought he might vomit, but he was too tired. Too spent. Too hollowed out.
He pressed his forehead to the pillow, trying to focus. Think of something. Anything. A way to get out. But his thoughts were fuzzy, slipping through his fingers like sand.
He didn’t even notice when his eyes closed. The last thing he felt was the phantom weight of Riki’s hand still tangled in his hair. And then, finally, sleep claimed him.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
From the outside, Riki’s life looked enviable.
The alarm buzzed at 7:00. Riki was already awake. He always was, these days, because rest didn’t come easily anymore. Not when his mind raced the way it did, his days filled with choreographies, meetings, schedules, and lately… a certain pair of brown eyes that refused to leave his thoughts.
He rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck before stepping out of bed. His morning routine was like clockwork: smoothie, a protein bar, and black coffee. And then the gym. He couldn't let himself become lazy or not take care of his body. In this business, showing up and being confident was as much physical as it was mental.
By 10:00, he was in the studio. Today’s schedule was the usual grind: working on a choreo for an upcoming boy group debut. The track had a strong hip-hop base. He moved through the routine with ease, body syncing effortlessly with the beat. But as per usual, parts would need to be adjusted. These idols weren’t him: they didn’t have the training, the stamina of a professional dancer. Most of them could barely hold a note while hitting the floor.
So he dumbed it down, removing some jumps and quick footwork. He slowed the transitions during vocal lines. Same results, less artistry. But he didn’t complain. He was paid well and still got recognition for it. And when the stars aligned, his moves went viral on social media.
When he left the studio late in the afternoon, he wasn’t surprised that a group of female trainees hovered by the exit, with nervous laughs and fluttery glances. One of them gave him a wave, brushing her hair back with innocence. Riki didn’t even look her in the eye. He knew exactly what she wanted. What they all wanted. He wasn’t interested.
He didn’t need to feed his ego with attention by flirting for fun. It was a waste of time and energy. He knew his worth. People begged for his approval in the industry, bowed their heads, and asked for favours. He didn’t need desire. He had power.
So when he did flirt, it wasn’t random or meaningless. It had a purpose. Every person he’d ever invited into his bed had been someone who strongly believed they were the top of the world, either confident, loud, entitled, or arrogant. He enjoyed watching them crumble, unravel under him, and end up pliable, desperate, whispering his name like a prayer.
The real reason he’d entered the industry was not for fame. It was because the entertainment world had become one of the strongest pillars of modern South Korea’s economy. Within it, powerful people could move freely, bend rules, and come out unscathed. Those were the privileges Riki craved. It was a world of networks, influence, and leverage. A place where the right connections meant never having to beg, never having to suffer again.
Because he remembered what it was like to be defenceless.
He was eleven the last time he’d felt that small.
His parents were always working, too busy, too important to raise a child. They’d left him in the care of his uncle, his father’s youngest brother. He’d seemed kind enough at first. The “cool” uncle. No wife, no children, no real responsibilities. Just Riki.
At the beginning, it was fun. It felt like a little freedom, a little chaos.
Until it wasn’t.
That same year, Riki’s teacher had suggested something during a parent-teacher meeting. She said Riki was unusually quick to learn, deeply curious, and prone to hyper-fixations. He was obsessed with Michael Jackson. He might be gifted, she’d said. Maybe high potential. She advised his parents to get him tested, not just for intellectual aptitude, but for possible autism too, since he struggled to connect with kids his age.
The diagnosis confirmed it: Riki was on the spectrum. He analysed others intensely, mimicking their behaviour to blend in. He’d even learned to use it to his advantage, twisting the system of social cues to manipulate the other kids to get what he wanted.
But when his uncle heard the news, he didn’t see the intellect. He didn’t see a unique mind. He saw weakness.
He started treating Riki like he was broken: something to fix, to mould, to discipline. At first, it was harsh words. Then bruises. Then sexual abuse.
Riki never spoke of it. He never would, because back then, he didn’t know it wasn’t normal. But the scars on his mind and body didn’t fade, and his hatred grew bigger day after day.
For months, he planned to kill him. Out of hatred, but also necessity, for his survival. It was the only way out. The only way to stop the pain and the humiliation. He studied everything, from his uncle’s routes, his habits, to his weaknesses. He knew exactly how he would do it.
But fate had other plans.
One rainy morning, a phone call shattered everything: his uncle had died in a car accident.
That day, Riki cried. Not because the bastard was gone, but because he hadn’t been the one to do it. It wasn’t justice. It wasn’t enough. It was unfair.
Now, as an adult, those memories lurked like ghosts. He didn’t flinch from them; he used them. Every person who had tried to control him, belittle him, or use him had paid the price. He made sure of it, because he couldn’t bear the thought of someone looking down on him ever again.
That’s why people feared him, why he broke them before they had a chance to do the same to him. Anyone who thought they were smarter than him, stronger, or more important was reminded exactly what he was capable of.
There was also one thing that helped him a lot. Riki had two sisters: Konon, the eldest, and Misora, the youngest. Konon had been away at boarding school when it all started, living in the dorms of her prestigious middle school, while Misora was still too little to stay anywhere without a full-time nanny. Their parents hadn’t meant any harm when they sent Riki to stay with his uncle. They genuinely believed he’d get along well with him, that he was safe. After all, he always smiled when his uncle was around. He didn’t complain. He was quiet, well-behaved. A good kid.
He’d been trained to be.
When the truth came out, everything shattered. Their parents were crushed, guilt-stricken. Konon was furious. Misora was too young to understand all the details, but old enough to feel the shift in the household. Old enough to know that something had broken in her brother.
From that moment on, both girls made promises. Konon decided to become a lawyer. She said no one would ever hurt her brother again, not if she could fight the system for him. She studied like her life depended on it. Misora, still in school, declared one day she’d become a police officer to protect people like Riki, to protect him.
They were the only people he ever really kept close. And yet… he used them. He learned very early that pulling the victim card worked well, especially on family. If he wept, they’d comfort him. If he said he couldn’t talk about something, they wouldn’t press. If he made a mistake, they’d call it trauma. Pain. Lingering wounds.
He told himself he was just surviving. But he just manipulated them and weaponised their love. He exploited their soft spots to cover his tracks when he started doing things he shouldn’t: playing with people and crushing them.
Konon always cleaned up after him. She’d spin it as a misunderstanding, a lapse in judgment, someone exploiting his vulnerability.
And Misora? He wrapped her around his finger. She worshipped him. She’d do anything for her beloved older brother, who’d suffered so much and still stood tall.
They meant well, they really did. But Riki had stopped trusting good intentions a long time ago. And if love could be used to his advantage, then so be it. He wasn’t going to end up on the floor again. Not like when he was eleven. Not ever.
Usually, he never stayed still for too long after classes. The moment he was done with his last class, he’d towel off the sweat, toss on a clean hoodie, and step out as if he were going home like everyone else. But more often than not, his feet carried him to the same familiar street corner. Out of habit.
That evening was no exception. Riki found himself parked just outside the university Sunghoon used to attend, which happened to be Jake’s too, like he had countless times before. The routine had become a deeper part of him. He watched from the shadows as the boy stepped out, followed him silently to his part-time job at the Sim hotel, memorised his pace, his posture, his way of carrying the weight of the world on slim shoulders.
But things had changed now. Riki no longer needed to track Sunghoon’s every move to feel close to him. He was right where Riki had wanted him all along, waiting and obedient.
Still, old habits die hard.
Riki unlocked his phone and tapped through the interface of the surveillance app. A couple of swipes, and Sunghoon appeared on the screen, lying quietly on the bed and reading. The camera quality was good enough to catch the crease between his brows, the way his fingers turned the pages.
A book Riki had intentionally left there. If Sunghoon was going to read, he might as well learn something useful through educational books that he had carefully selected.
Riki smirked. Always improving, even when you don’t know it, he thought.
It was satisfying in a way. Watching him like this and knowing exactly what he was doing, what he was thinking. Just Sunghoon, in his space, where he belonged. Where Riki could keep him for himself.
By the time Riki returned to the Sim Casino’s private hostel, the sky outside had sunk into that muted indigo that made the city lights feel like stars. He slipped through the side entrance, hoodie pulled low, hands in his pockets. The guards nodded at him. The staff stayed back, and everyone knew they weren't supposed to ask anything.
For Sunghoon, things were different. Riki had known him long before Sunghoon started working as his butler.
It started with a headline. Just a brief story in a local paper he’d picked up out of boredom. A tragedy. A father who had tried to end his life and take his son with him. The boy had survived. The father hadn’t. At least, not fully, as he now rotted away in a psychiatric ward.
That boy was Park Sunghoon. He was 16 and Riki was 13.
Most people would’ve turned the page. Maybe felt a pang of sympathy. Then moved on.
But Riki couldn’t.
Something about the article stayed with him in his mind and didn't leave. The more he thought about it, the more he needed to know. Needed to understand how someone with such a miserable backstory, how someone who had faced that kind of abandonment and trauma, could still keep functioning. Still wake up, eat, breathe, study, and go to work. How?
Was he like me?
Or did he survive it differently?
How much can he handle before he breaks?
For someone like Riki, prone to hyperfixations, Sunghoon quickly became more than just a curiosity. He became a special interest, like a puzzle, or maybe a mirror.
Riki started with the basics: online research, news articles, and public records. The usual trail of breadcrumbs. But it wasn’t enough.
So when he gained the freedom to move as he pleased, he began following him. At first, just to observe from a distance, but gradually, it became routine, a ritual. He studied the way Sunghoon lived —or rather, survived. Where he went, who he spoke to, what time he left home each morning, and when he came back. He noted everything: his birthday (the same number now written on the door of the room where Sunghoon was held), his favourite dishes, the café he stopped at when he had coins to spare, the way he stretched his legs before stepping onto the ice at the rink.
Even the details of his body, from the constellation of moles across his skin to the changes in his posture as he grew. Riki knew it all.
Every movement. And almost every secret.
He told himself it was because he needed a connection. That maybe, in this wreck of a world, there was someone who had also touched rock bottom but crawled back up. Someone who might understand him.
Before returning to Room 1208, Riki made a detour to the one next door, Room 1209, which had quietly become his new residence. He had a perfectly fine house of his own, but convenience and secrecy required him to stay at the Sim hotel. The truth was, keeping the room adjacent to Sunghoon’s meant no one would ever suspect what was going on. Who would ever imagine someone was being held against their will just across the wall, in a hotel of this standing?
The reality was, Riki hadn’t started all this out of rage or revenge. He had simply been bored.
His obsession with Sunghoon had reached a point where watching from a distance was no longer enough. Riki no longer wanted to be a passive observer. He wanted in. He wanted to be part of Sunghoon’s life.
It became an experiment, a game, a challenge to see just how far he could push Sunghoon before he broke.
So, months before their first face-to-face encounter, Riki had made his move. He chose this particular hotel because it belonged to Jake’s family. He stayed as a long-term guest and was so particular and difficult that he needed a personal butler to take care of him. And he’d done his research well. The regular butler had a history of absences. Riki simply waited for the right moment.
The day he booked his stay was no coincidence either. It was the exact day both the regular staff were unavailable, and the only one left to take on the role was Sunghoon.
The timing and the manipulation had all been orchestrated by Riki. A little nudge here, a small trigger there, all to push Sunghoon to the edge, to make him snap. Riki needed a reason to act, to retaliate. and to insert himself. And once the chain of events had been set in motion, there was no way to stop it. No way to stop him.
What Riki hadn’t expected, however, was the way Sunghoon would speak to him.
“I’m sorry but… I’d wish to keep my private life private.”
“I’m answering. Just not the way you want.”
“I just need to get paid for what I’m working for. Which, by the way, doesn’t include talking to you.”
He acted so proud and defiant.
And that was the moment everything changed. Because now, Riki didn’t just want to break Sunghoon as part of his little psychological experiment.
He wanted to punish him, not just for being interesting, but for daring to think he was better than Riki.
A double win, in the twisted calculus of Riki’s mind.
And now, he finally had his rat in a cage.
Riki stepped inside Room 1209 and shut the door behind him. The room was as tidy and bare as he liked it, which meant impersonal and functional. He crossed over to the bedside table and picked up the book he’d left there earlier: a thick, annotated copy of Conditioned Reflexes by Ivan Pavlov. He thumbed through the pages before settling back onto the bed, propping the book open on his lap.
He didn’t need to read it because he already knew it by heart. But tonight, it wasn’t so much about learning something new; it was more about getting himself ready, like sharpening his tools.
Pavlov’s theory was simple, really. A dog hears a bell. Then it’s given food. The dog hears the bell again. It gets food again. After a while, the bell alone is enough to make the dog salivate, even if the food never comes. That’s what they called classical conditioning. A learned response to a repeated stimulus.
Riki had lived it firsthand. His uncle had trained him the same way: reward for obedience, punishment for defiance. And now, it was Sunghoon’s turn. To be reduced to something manageable, something controllable.
He didn’t only want to lock the boy up physically. He wanted to control his thoughts, his instincts and feelings. He wanted Sunghoon to look at him and feel like he needed him, whether for food, water, love, or approval.
Every act of care, every bath, every meal, every moment of softness, was calculated. Sunghoon might believe he was being treated better now. But it was only a leash in disguise.
The goal was co-dependency: to make Sunghoon incapable of functioning without Riki’s approval, just like a dog waiting for its master to decide when it could eat, or sleep, or exist.
Soon enough, Riki hoped, Sunghoon wouldn’t want freedom, because freedom would feel like starvation.
He smiled faintly, shutting the book. He would make sure Sunghoon associated him with safety, even if that safety was a cage.
Riki reached for his phone, still sitting on the edge of the bed in Room 1209. The screen lit up with a quiet click, immediately unlocking to his custom dashboard. One swipe brought him to the hidden app, masked behind a dull calculator icon. Inside was a perfectly categorised, colour-coded agenda, planned weeks in advance. Every hour accounted for. Every trigger, every manipulation, every breakdown precisely scheduled.
He scrolled slowly, savouring the order. He copied it from a website that explained how to train a wild animal. He thought it was funny because there were similarities, so he decided to leave it just as it was.
Phase One: Maintain a quiet and welcoming space. ✅
Phase Two: Conditional care. In progress.
Phase Three: Earn its trust. In progress.
Careful : Avoid getting too close to it : it is important to remember that they are wild animals, so you can’t always interpret what they’re thinking or how they’re feeling.
His finger hovered over the entries listed for the coming weeks.
Silent treatment and reward after compliance. Edging. False hope scenario. Mirror exercise (shame test). Verbal degradation + grooming combo. Cock piercing (how to?). Catheter. Swing (how to install it in a hotel?). Chains. Corset. Reenacting the last time he saw his father + sexual twist.
It was a collection of physical and psychological knives, each more elegant and cruel than the last. None of them, including him actually fucking Sunghoon. He wanted him to ask for it, to beg for it, because rape would be too easy.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and amused, like he was watching the preview of a film he already knew he’d love. It was art.
Riki didn’t see himself as a monster. Monsters were reckless when he was methodical. And also curious. He just wanted to see what shape Park Sunghoon’s cracks would take. Would he beg? Would he fight? Would he finally snap and scream that he belonged to Riki? Would he still have pride, or would that disappear with his freedom?
Just the thought of it made Riki’s pulse rise, and it made him hard. A nervous excitement filled his chest. It was like standing in front of a blank canvas, brush ready, knowing that the very first stroke would make everything different.
He let out a breathless laugh, sharper this time.
"You're going to be beautiful when you fall apart," he murmured, locking his screen.
And then, with eerie calm, he stood up, ready to return to Room 1208.
_ _ _ _ _ _
At some point (he didn’t know when) Sunghoon had stopped counting the days. The calendar in his mind had blurred long ago, days bleeding into nightfall. Monday or Thursday, morning or night... There was no difference anymore. Everything melted into a mess, interrupted only by the moments of pain, of silence, of cold hands forcing him back into shape just enough, so the whole thing could start all over again.
Again and again and again…
He didn’t know how long it had been. A few weeks? A month and a half? Maybe more. But it didn’t matter. He had stopped hoping for a clock to tick him back into reality.
Now, there was only one truth: Riki was everything. If he wanted to eat, he had to listen, obey, speak softly and lower his gaze. If he rebelled —if he dared to raise his voice, or worse, fight— Riki would remind him exactly who was in control, by withholding food and water, and occasionally refusing even a glance.
Sunghoon had gone three whole days once, trembling and weak, until he caved and crawled to Riki’s feet, and said what needed to be said:
"Please… I’ll be good. Please, Riki. I’ll do anything."
He hadn’t cried when he said it. He couldn’t anymore. He didn’t remember what it felt like to have enough left inside to cry.
Every time he was punished, it felt like the end. The blows. The bruises. The split skin. But it never was. Because Riki would always fix him just enough to stand, to move, to breathe. Just enough to be useful again. And then it would start over. The pain. The praise. The punishment. The fake proof of affection.
Again and again and again and again and again and—
He stopped thinking of his body as something that belonged to him. It was a vessel now. Something Riki touched, tore apart, controlled, and mended. His mind was no better. Some days, he felt like a ghost trapped in the corner of his skull, watching himself obey orders he used to swear he never would.
He used to scream. He used to fight. Now he just waited. He waited for the door to open. For the footsteps. For the next test. The next humiliation. The next quiet, cruel smile from the man who held the key to everything.
He’d tried to escape. Once. Twice. More. But Riki always caught him. Sometimes, before he even reached the hallway. Sometimes, after dragging him back from the stairs by the collar like a dog. It didn’t matter how clever he tried to be —Riki was always three steps ahead. It was like he could read his mind.
So eventually, Sunghoon stopped trying. Not because he wanted to stay. But because there was nothing left in him to resist. Every fight drained him more. Every punishment pushed him deeper into the numb, heavy fog that dulled his fear, dulled his thoughts.
He was tired. Tired in his flesh and bones. Tired in his soul. And resilience wasn’t a strength anymore. It was just inertia, a quiet surrender to a reality that no longer made sense, where nothing belonged to him. Not his body. Not his choices. Not even his name, some days.
He didn’t even flinch when Riki called him "good boy."
He didn’t ask why he was rewarded with dinner or warmth.
He didn’t cry when he was chained to the radiator to “think.”
He just breathed.
And waited.
Sunghoon lay on the bed, motionless, the cold sheets tangled beneath him. The weight of the restraint still clung to him. It was a cruel little device Riki had fixed on him days ago, allowing him to piss, but meant to prevent him from coming, to build tension, to keep him right on the edge without ever letting go. It was often used by people with premature ejaculation.
It wasn’t because he had a problem. He didn’t. He could hold himself back when he needed to, but that was never the point. Nothing Riki did was ever about practicality. It was about control and about claiming every nerve in Sunghoon’s body as his own, until even relief became something he had to beg for.
And he had begged. Every night. Quietly at first, then louder. Then on his knees. The ache had become unbearable.
Sunghoon curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his stomach as if that could somehow dull the throbbing pain. It had started as discomfort, tight and frustrating pressure that came and went like waves. But now it was sharp, constant, and relentless. His whole body pulsed with it, like his blood itself was starting to revolt in his cock.
He couldn’t tell how many days it had been. Five? Six? Maybe longer. Time didn’t mean anything anymore.
He’d tried everything: breathing through it, ignoring it, tensing every muscle in his thighs to stop the spasms. But the body wasn’t meant to be trapped like this, kept in a state of denied relief, teased just enough to keep the pain fresh. Every time Riki touched him, even just a brush of his fingers down his spine, his whole body betrayed him with a rush of heat or a twitch of anticipation. But then nothing.
By now, he couldn’t even sleep properly. The pressure woke him in the middle of the night, making him whimper without meaning to. He’d cried once, silent tears soaking the pillow because the tension was so bad it made him nauseous.
So tonight, as soon as he heard the sound of the lock turning, he sat up quickly, acting on desperation. When the door opened, and Riki stepped in like clockwork, Sunghoon’s voice trembled as he tried again.
“Please… please take it off tonight”, he croaked, his voice cracking. “Please… I can’t— I can’t anymore. It hurts.”
The figure in the doorway stayed still. Riki stepped inside slowly, calmly, like he hadn’t just heard Sunghoon begging. He always made a point of taking his time. Sunghoon hated how he still reacted to the sight of him —how even now, in pain, he wanted something from him.
He lowered his head, not daring to meet Riki’s gaze, fingers clenching the sheets.
“You win. You made your point. I promise, I learnt my lesson. Just… take it off. Please,” Sunghoon begged.
There was a pause. Sunghoon felt the tension stretch like a taut wire. And then slow footsteps crossed the room. And finally, a hand brushed his jaw.
“So polite tonight,” Riki murmured. “What changed?”
“It hurts!” Sunghoon whispered, whining. “I—I feel like I’m going to explode. It’s not— I can’t even think anymore. Please. Please Master.”
Riki hummed a pleased sound, like he was watching his favourite scene play out. “You’re learning.”
He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. But his fingers ghosted along Sunghoon’s hip, light and deliberate. Testing. Measuring.
Sunghoon’s breath hitched.
He didn’t even care if it ended in more pain. If it was another trick. If it made things worse tomorrow. Right now, all he wanted —needed— was for it to stop.
Just for a moment. Just long enough to remember what it was like not to be owned by the ache.
Riki didn’t say a word at first. He simply moved with control, never unsure of what he was doing. Sunghoon could barely breathe as he watched him crouch beside the bed, the low light catching the slight glint of metal in his hands.
The cold Riki’s hands made Sunghoon flinch. His pulse raced as Riki worked methodically. There wasn’t even the hint of hesitation in his touch. He had done this many times for sure, and knew exactly where to press, how much pressure to apply, and what angle would keep it from hurting more than it already did. And yet, pain still buzzed through Sunghoon’s lower body, far too familiarly now.
Every brush of Riki’s fingers was a reminder of what he was and what Riki had turned him into.
Sunghoon's instinct was to lean in, to collapse into something that resembled comfort. Anything warm, anything human. His arms lifted on their own, weak and shaking, but before his fingertips even grazed the fabric of Riki’s clothes, something in his spine seized up.
He remembered. “Pets don’t have hands.”
The rule that was written on the back of his eyelid echoed so loudly in his mind that his whole body froze. His arms held still in the air, then slowly fell back down to his sides. Feeling ashamed, a painful tightness spread across his chest. His eyes started to sting.
He sat perfectly still, like a statue carved from obedience and desperation.
Riki noticed. Of course he did. A small smirk appeared on his face, showing Sunghoon he had him right where he wanted: bent down, silent, and scared.
“There we go,” Riki murmured. “Good boy.”
The mechanism clicked and finally, he device was gone.
And with it, Sunghoon came hard, spilling with a single discreet cry. His body jerked violently, convulsing as he couldn’t hold back anymore. Pain blurred into relief, and for a few seconds, he felt like he might black out from the force of it. He gasped, shaking, overwhelmed by sensation.
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate Riki. I hate myself even more.
And Riki, so calm, so composed, just stood and watched him come. His intense, dark eyes closely watched every little movement, every shallow breath, as if he were examining his favourite experiment.
When it was over, Sunghoon collapsed into the sheets, shaking, sadly not from pleasure or satisfaction. He felt empty, like a hollow space inside him had just spread a little more.
He knew it wouldn’t stop here, that there would be a new game, a new way to see how far he could go, test his limits, even though he had already reached that point a long time ago. But he just couldn't bring himself to admit it.
Sunghoon heard the sound of a lighter.
Since when does Riki smoke?
But the next second, he could hear the fire crackling to life in the hearth. A few minutes later, it cast a flickering orange glow across the room. Shadows danced on the walls, and Sunghoon’s heart began to race the moment he saw Riki kneel beside it, calm as if this was just another part of their routine.
Sunghoon didn’t ask questions anymore. Didn’t plead the way he used to. Not unless Riki wanted him to.
“Knees on the floor. Hands behind your back,” he said.
Sunghoon quickly followed commands, moving down onto the bed and looking at the ceiling instead of Riki's hands. He didn't need to look. He knew what was coming. The cuffs were always somewhere nearby. They were never tucked too far out of reach.
Click click.
It wasn’t the usual metal cuffs. It was leather. The straps were warm when they closed around his wrists, as if they’d been resting by the fire, waiting too. Riki tightened them methodically, ensuring there was no slack, no room for resistance.
Sunghoon's breath hitched, barely. He kept his arms relaxed, stretched outward, palms open against the sheets. His heart beat faster, but his face stayed blank. Still, he didn’t dare move, didn’t want to give Riki a reason to tighten the cuffs further.
Riki lingered by his side for a moment, hand resting gently on Sunghoon’s sternum like a silent command: Stay.
He didn’t need to say it aloud anymore. And Sunghoon did. As always.
The next second, a cloth was pressed into Sunghoon’s mouth.
“Bite,” Riki said, soft as smoke. “Unless you’d rather use your tongue.”
Sunghoon obeyed. He always did now. And the taste of linen filled his mouth, dry and bitter. His eyes welled, his body tensed, shoulders rigid, breath short and ragged.
Riki set a metallic object in the flames glinted once, briefly, before vanishing into the embers. Sunghoon couldn’t see the shape clearly. He could smell the heat and burning iron already in the air. The quiet between them felt almost unbearable.
He waited.
“Don’t move,” Riki said, voice smooth as polished glass. “It’s going to burn a little.”
Burn?
Sunghoon turned his head, slow and reluctant, only to catch sight of what Riki was holding —an iron tool, wickedly thin, elegantly curved, with the initials NR etched into its tip in stylised calligraphy. It wasn’t large. That somehow made it worse.
His breath caught. His heart slammed against his ribs, thundering in protest as his mouth broke away from the towel Riki had shoved between his teeth. Panic roared through him like wildfire.
“What—What is that? Riki, please… no. Don’t. Please don’t.” His voice cracked. “I’m begging you, this is too far. Please, please, I—I don’t want it!”
His words spilt out shakily and chaotically, frantic and out of control. But Riki was not sympathetic or gentle; all he showed was annoyance: he kicked him right in the stomach, causing a shocking pain that made it hard to breathe.
“I told you not to call me by my name,” Riki hissed, crouching low, his face inches from Sunghoon’s now. “Why is it so hard to educate bitches like you?”
Sunghoon gasped, choking on his sob as pain coiled in his gut. His wrists strained against the cuffs. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His body tried to writhe, to escape, to disappear. But it was too late. The moment had come.
“Please, stop. P—Please! I don’t—”
Then he felt it: a white-hot lightning bolt tore through him, from the small of his back straight into the marrow of his bones. He screamed, or tried to, but the sound that escaped his throat wasn’t even human. It was more like a strangled animal noise. The fire didn’t stay on the skin on his left chest, just above his heart. It invaded him. It sank beneath every layer of flesh, searing into his nerves, his mind, his memory. It felt endless. He had a difficult time processing information, had trouble forming anything beyond the simplest of sentences, and was completely unaware of how bad the burn was.
When the iron was lifted, the pain didn’t fade. It pulsed furiously and constantly. His body shook, sweaty, and the area continued to burn, scalding, leaving it looking red, dry, and pulled tight. From there, it will bubble, blister, or even split open and bleed. Tears streamed down his face, blinding him. Then a smell of raw, foul meat splashed onto his face, making his eyes water even more.
Riki’s eyes traced the fresh brand, a thin curl of smoke still rising from Sunghoon’s skin. Riki admired it with a satisfied smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if he’d finished a piece of art.
“Look at that,” he muttered, dragging the iron tip across the air as it cooled. “You wear it better than I thought. ”
Sunghoon didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His body was slack, collapsed against the sheets now drenched with sweat. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. And his lips moved, but no words formed. Just shallow breaths that caught in his chest with each wave of pain.
“You know what that mark means, don’t you?” Riki leaned down, voice now soft and poisonous like sweet venom. “You’re not a person anymore. You’re mine. Inside and out.”
He ran a hand through Sunghoon’s hair, almost gently, before gripping it tight and yanking his head back to meet his gaze.
“No one’s ever going to love something this broken and used,” Riki whispered. “But I’ll keep you. You’ve finally become something useful. A thing I can mould. A body that listens.”
Sunghoon’s eyes didn’t react. They didn’t flicker or fight.
Because inside, something had gone quiet. His formless and slow thoughts floated like smoke in a sealed room. The pain was still throbbing in his body, but more like a distant drum.
He no longer cared if he lived or died.
He didn’t even remember what caring had felt like.
There was only silence now. And somewhere, a voice in the back of his mind whispered: It won’t ever stop. Not unless you do.
Something in him cracked, right then. Something vital.
Please, just kill me. He wanted to beg. But even that, he couldn’t do it.
So he sat still, humiliated, empty.
Branded.
Owned.
Notes:
Huh— so, yeah, I think I manifested something with D:U's photo concept. I wrote that branding iron scene weeks before the photos were released. Call it fate or luck, but either way, I feel like I've been spoilt, and now I have new material for mood boards. 🙂↕️
Anyway, thank you for reading this chapter and for your support! 🤗 It means a lot to me since this is the first time I have written DDDE. Although I've read lots of books, there's always a difference between reading and writing. It's even harder as English is not my first language, but hopefully it's still readable 😂
As per usual, feel free to hit me up on X ( singulalarity). I'm always open to discussing the stories I write and the writing process in general, and I'd love to hear any feedback you have!
Chapter 3: Avoid getting too close to it
Notes:
Hi! I cried while writing this chapter lol
This chapter is more emotionally/psychologically charged than the previous ones. It deals with issues that may be disturbing to some of you. So please, take a moment to read the tags/trigger warnings below carefully. And if you are sensitive or triggered by any of the subjects listed, it's OK to skip or take breaks if you need to (or stop reading this ff at all).
⚠ TW/CW :
- Sexual violence/non-consensual acts : implied rape and sexual coercion
- Graphic physical injury and blood loss
- Eating disorders/starvation
- Severe body dysmorphia and self-loathing
- Depression and suicidal ideation/attempt
- Emotional and psychological manipulation
- Childhood abuse
- Trauma reflection and trauma bonding
- Revenge, control, and power abuseThese themes can be deeply distressing, and they are not meant to glamorise or romanticise suffering. They are included for narrative realism and emotional weight. Please prioritise your emotional safety! 🤍
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There were days, or maybe weeks, that bled into each other like the bruises on Sunghoon’s body. He had stopped counting time. It meant nothing anymore. Morning didn’t mean safety, and night didn’t mean sleep either. Hunger came and went, and pain was constant, like a part of him now, like a bitter thread laced through his body and everything he was becoming.
Sometimes, he could hear the echo of his own scream when the iron burned his skin. Even though Riki wasn’t there, even though the fireplace was cold, the memory was seared into his flesh. He didn’t need to look at the wound to feel it. It pulsed under his skin, like a cruel reminder of the name carved into his body, both a signature and a claim.
The staff treated it diligently with gels, gauze, cooling creams, and bandages that cost more than Sunghoon probably ever had in his pocket. The skin should’ve healed… but it didn’t. Not properly, because he didn’t let it.
Every time the wound started to scab, he tore it open again, digging his nails into it until the skin bled anew, over and over, hating how clean the lines were. Because it reminded him that Riki had done a perfect job marking what was his.
He couldn’t stand it because letting it scar meant he belonged to him. And he didn’t. He didn’t.
But his body didn’t agree, as it obeyed when Riki commanded despite himself. It flinched when he entered the room, and lay still when he reached for him. And worst of all: Sunghoon had started needing him, too. Not in love, and certainly not in trust. But in survival, because when Riki was gone, the silence was worse. And because the silence meant remembering, and the silence meant thinking. And at that moment, it was unbearable.
Sometimes the panic would take over without warning, triggered by only just a sound, a shadow or the scent of antiseptic. And suddenly he was back there, tied down, breathing smoke, his chest blistering under the heat.
He would claw at his skin, desperate to ruin the brand, to peel the layers off until he no longer saw those letters; until they were covered in blood; until his chest stopped belonging to someone else. He scratched it until it left him raw and bleeding. Yet, it still wasn't enough.
Other times, he rammed his forehead into the walls, over and over, until he tasted blood in his mouth and forgot, for a moment, why he was crying. The sting of open wounds became a rhythm because the physical pain made him forget about his emotional distress. It became something to hold onto; something he chose, when everything else had been taken from him.
He was losing it.
No. He had actually lost it.
His mind wasn't his anymore. His thoughts were tangled up in fear, longing, and despair. Sometimes he wanted Riki to come back, just so he wouldn’t be alone. Other times, he wished he had the strength to kill him. But he couldn’t even lift a fork without shaking.
Desperation lived under his skin like a parasite now. Always there and always hungry.
He couldn’t even cry like he used to; not like someone mourning. Now, when he cried, it sounded like someone dying.
Because maybe he was. Maybe he already had.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Room 1209 was neat, almost clinical. There was no trace of warmth or life, except for the faint hum of machinery coming from the laptop on the desk, pushed against the wall. The screen showed different angles of the room next door: 1208.
Riki sat on the edge of the sleek leather chair, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes never left the central frame, the one showing Sunghoon curled up on the bed, motionless, like a marionette left behind after a performance.
He should have been pleased.
Sunghoon wasn’t screaming anymore. Wasn’t resisting. But Riki felt... off? Empty, somehow. As if his triumph had arrived too early, or in the wrong way.
He leaned back slightly, one leg bouncing restlessly.
“You break something just enough to make it dependent,” he murmured to himself. That’s what his uncle used to say.
He hadn’t realised how much of that had stayed with him, nor how much of it had shaped him, until he met Sunghoon.
The monitors buzzed again, adjusting to the dim light in the room. Riki’s gaze softened for a second. Not out of care, but out of fascination. Sunghoon was unlike anything he had ever encountered. He was strong, obstinate, proud, and beautiful in a way that made Riki feel like he had to ruin it just to understand it fully.
“Why did you have to be like this…” he whispered, as if Sunghoon could hear him through the walls.
He had planned it all months in advance. Every move, every interaction, every manipulation had been scripted like a play. And yet, Sunghoon kept reacting in ways that went out of Riki’s control.
There were moments, even though they were fleeting, absurd ones, where Riki wasn’t sure who was really winning. He had the leash… but also the obsession.
The firelight from the small chimney flickered across his expression. A faint smile twitched at the corner of his lips. The brand healed faster than he thought it would, despite Sunghoon frequently scratching it. His staff had been efficient.
“I made you mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet. Admit it, ask me to fuck you and I’ll let you go.”
He reached for a small, dark notebook resting beside the monitors. Pages filled with notes, routines. There were diagrams, sketches of posture, tiny scribbled lines noting the way Sunghoon’s voice would shake after certain stimuli. It looked scientific and detached, like a scientist making observations.
But the way Riki held it... was anything but detached.
He didn’t need more data. He just needed the reaction. The moment when Sunghoon would give in, that would be the endgame.
But Riki noticed that Sunghoon no longer flinched when the door creaked open.
He no longer begged, nor cried, nor asked “why.” Those had been reactions of someone who still hoped for mercy. It was as if that version of himself had been peeled away, layer by layer, until nothing remained but raw nerve and defiance.
On the monitors, he could see Sunghoon pacing the room like a caged animal, teeth clenched so tight his jaw would ache. His fists would slam into the walls, into the door, into the floor. Anything. Anything to let the rage bleed out before it consumed him.
And when Riki stepped inside the room, Sunghoon watched him like a wounded and betrayed animal: silent, alert, dangerous. The smallest sound could ignite him.
One night, as Riki reached for the towel draped over the chair, Sunghoon lunged. He moved like a shadow, too fast for the bruises to slow him down. His fists connected with Riki’s chest, his forearm crashing into his jaw. Sunghoon was acting out of desperation. He screamed as he hit him, his words distorted by rage, by days of silence held in the back of his throat.
“You think I’m scared of you?” he spat. “You think I care what you do to me now? There’s nothing left for you to take!”
He spat the words like venom, even when his throat was raw, even when the bruises bloomed darker the next day.
“I hope you rot,” he snarled once, wrists tied too tight behind his back, eyes blazing. “I hope whatever you’re doing this for, it fails. I hope your uncle haunts you! I hope he drags you down with him.”
Riki overpowered him, of course. But he felt like he wasn’t stopping someone afraid of pain; he was trying to pin down someone who had stopped caring about it.
Sunghoon didn’t react to the bruises blooming under his skin. He didn't scream when his head was slammed against the floor. He only laughed in the silence.
“You’re not in control,” he hissed. “You’re just terrified I’ll stop playing your game.”
There were days when Sunghoon refused to eat. He’d stare Riki down and let the food go cold. Spit water out in front of him.
“You don’t get to touch me and pretend you’re not a monster,” he hissed, after one of the early times Riki tried to soothe him, gently, as if he hadn’t hurt him. “You don’t get to act like any of this is normal.”
In those moments, it felt like he didn’t care if Riki punished him. He gladly welcomed it, as if pain was better than silence, and anger better than despair.
Riki had to restrain him again. Wrists bound, ankles secured. But even that didn’t work like it used to. Sunghoon didn’t freeze anymore. He thrashed. Bit. Spat. Cursed him without filters. Every word that came out of his mouth was now meant to cut deep.
The control Riki had carefully constructed was starting to slip. Sunghoon had nothing left to lose, and that made him unpredictable, dangerous, and unbreakable.
So Riki went back to his room and quickly thought things over. If he kept going like this, he might completely lose control over Sunghoon. So, what could he do? Riki needed Sunghoon to stop moving and being aggressive and to listen.
Right now, Sunghoon was like a candle, letting the rage burn and consuming him. If Riki didn’t do something fast, there wouldn’t be anything left but ashes.
Crushing his spine would be too extreme, because then Sunghoon wouldn't be able to move at all, and that wasn't what Riki wanted. He just needed a temporary way to keep Sunghoon still.
Then it hit him.
He remembered hearing about a drug used to silence women’s bodies, paralyse them, while they were still aware.
Riki managed to get hold of this drug and forced Sunghoon to drink it.
Not too long after, Sunghoon stopped fighting, not because he had given up, but because his limbs wouldn’t respond. At this point, his head should feel too heavy for his neck, his body distant and quiet, like it belonged to someone else. He should only be able to hear things and feel Riki’s presence.
This time, Riki didn’t bring chains or harsh commands anymore. He pulled a chair to the bedside and sat with him like a visitor at a hospital. He stroked the mess of dark hair on Sunghoon’s head, twirling a strand between his fingers like he was trying to memorise its texture.
“You’re calmer like this,” Riki whispered one night, fingers brushing the curve of Sunghoon’s cheek. “So much easier to be around.”
He waited for a response he knew wouldn’t come. But he asked anyway.
“I used to think I needed to destroy you. That if I broke everything inside you, I’d finally be able to understand you, and help you realise no one else ever cared enough to want every part of you. Even less the ugly, broken bits.”
He leaned forward, his voice low.
“But the truth is that I’m wondering… how did you keep going, Sunghoon?”
He said his name gently now. Like a secret.
“I read about the things you went through. I saw the reports. The hospital notes. All of it. So tell me, how did you survive it back then? What made you stay alive when everything around you wanted you gone?”
The silence stretched, filled only by the quiet hiss of the heating.
“I need to know,” Riki murmured, softer now. “I need to know where your edge is. The real one. Not just the bruises and cuts. I need to see the moment you stop fighting to understand.”
He rested his head briefly against Sunghoon’s side, like he was a child seeking comfort. The hand in his hair never stopped moving.
“Maybe I want closure too. Maybe I want you to choose me, not just obey me. But you won’t, will you? Not until I find your last line and erase it.”
He stood, brushing down his jacket. Sunghoon’s eyes fluttered, barely tracking the movement.
“I’ll wait,” Riki said, stepping back into the shadows. “And I’ll keep waiting until you’re ready.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Sunghoon stayed completely still, unable to move even a finger, but deep inside his foggy mind, something twitched. And it was because he was afraid, but because he understood now. And it made Sunghoon want to cry.
Not because the words were cruel, but because, truly, they weren’t. And it wasn’t either because of the pain. But because part of him recognised something in Riki’s tone that terrified him.
Compassion?
No. That couldn’t be it! Not him. Not Riki. Not the one who had taken everything, reduced him to a shell, carved initials into his chest like he was branding cattle. Why would someone go to such violent lengths only to then sit by his side and ask about his pain?
It didn’t make sense… And yet, it actually did.
Riki knew. Somehow, without asking or without being told, he knew. About the past, Sunghoon never spoke of. About the way he’d clawed his way through life just to stay breathing. Riki knew everything, as if he’d already read every page of Sunghoon’s past. And they were accurate. Horrifyingly accurate.
Sunghoon felt seen. Not pitied. Not sympathised with. Understood.
And that, he refused to admit. So when he wasn’t under the drug’s effect anymore, he got up out of bed. Then he stared at himself, blank-eyed and pale under the bathroom’s flickering light. He looked down at his body —at least what was left of it.
Bones he hadn’t noticed before now carved sharp lines into his skin. His collarbones jutted like blades. His hips were hollow. His thighs were almost too narrow to support anything of substance. The bruises didn’t shock him anymore. The bruises had faded in some places, but the scar didn’t. It never would. A permanent reminder that even if he left, he’d never truly escape. Who would want someone like this? Marked and branded with someone else’s name.
He wasn’t his own anymore. And the mirror didn’t lie, but Sunghoon wished it would, because his own reflection made his stomach twist with disgust.
His fingers trembled as he pressed them to the edge of the sink. What had he become? When had he stopped recognising the person in the glass?
He hated this body. Not because of how it looked, but because of what it represented: a vessel that had no say, no defence, no voice. A body that could only endure.
Maybe I should’ve gone with him.
He winced at the memory of his father, arms outstretched, eyes full of false promises, a bloodied blade in one hand. Sunghoon had said no and run away back then, convinced he was protecting himself, because he didn’t want to die yet. Convinced there was something better ahead if he just held on.
But now… all that strength, all that resistance. What had it been for, really?
All those years I worked so hard.
All those nights, I came home from my shift and still studied till I passed out at the desk. For what?
To end up like this?
He had no one. No model to follow. No warm voice to guide him, to scold him when he made mistakes, to hug him when he deserved to be praised. He’d carved a life out of sheer will, because no one else had ever done it for him.
And now he was here. Naked and bruised. Reduced to less than a person.
The thought came softly at first, like a breeze through cracked glass:
Maybe I was not supposed to live this long.
Maybe that was the mistake. Every time he fought to survive, maybe he was just dragging something out that was never meant to last. Maybe the universe had tried to tell him, gently at first, through loneliness and hardship. And now it was yelling.
He slowly lowered himself down the wall, resting his back against the cold tiles, shrinking as if he wanted to become invisible.
The problem was that Riki wouldn’t let him die. He even forced Sunghoon to take drugs so that he would stop hurting himself.
Then something clicked into place, followed by a numbness that spread through him. What if I stopped thinking? What if he just gave in? Let the current take him where it wanted. He was so tired of swimming upstream, barely having his head above water.
Riki never asked him for much, but to obey and to stop fighting. When Sunghoon didn’t comply, Riki punished him. But when he did… there was pleasure. A guilty one, because it felt like addictive softness under the violence. As if his body had learned to respond, despite his mind.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Sex didn’t hurt as much as starving. And being touched was better than being ignored. And if surrendering meant he’d never have to worry about rent, or tuition, or facing the outside world again… wasn’t that a kind of peace?
It’s not shameful, he told himself, numb.
Maybe this was the only way left. Riki was cruel, but he never left. Riki saw him. And maybe if Sunghoon stopped resisting, stopped trying to escape, he could find something like safety… And maybe some form of love.
And even if Riki gave him back his freedom, unlocked every door, handed him a suitcase and said “go”, he would still carry this. He would still wake up feeling like property for the rest of his already pitiful life. Who would want a branded body and a broken mind like his?
He closed his eyes.
And in the dark, he surrendered.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
“P—Please, fuck me.”
Riki almost had to blink and pinch himself to make sure he heard right.
All of a sudden?
The room was quiet, save for the storm raging behind the windows. Neither of them spoke as Riki closed the door. Sunghoon flinched but didn’t move away. His shoulders were drawn up like he was bracing for another round of physical or psychological abuse.
“Please, M—Master, fuck me,” Sunghoon muttered. His voice was hoarse but not broken.
Riki didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, staring at the stiff line of Sunghoon’s back, jaw clenched, breathing measured like he was holding something in.
The silence lingered on, feeling uncomfortable, like thorny wires between them. Then, slowly, Sunghoon looked him in the eyes.
“You told me you need to see the moment I stop fighting. This is the last line, and I’m giving up. So p—please fuck me,” he said, almost whinny.
Riki stepped closer. Didn’t stop him when a hand reached out, fingers curling lightly around his wrist. They stared at each other, their eyes both unreadable. The tension between them was dense, sharp like ice.
Sunghoon’s voice dropped, quiet and stripped bare. “I need you,” he whispered. “Please.”
It was desperation disguised as defiance, the only language he had left.
“I know.”
Riki should’ve felt triumphant, victorious, like he finally won this war. He should’ve felt on top of the world. This was what he’d wanted, right? Sunghoon reaching for him, needing him. Finally! But something in Riki’s chest felt wrong and made his stomach turn.
Sunghoon was looking at him like he was the only thing left to hold onto. He had wanted to crush Sunghoon’s ego, push him to his limit, and watch him shatter. And as Sunghoon had said, this was the last strand he was clinging to, and now, he was finally letting go. This was everything Riki had ever wanted… but not like this. Not when it tasted like grief.
Riki should’ve been proud. Should’ve felt like he’d won.
But instead, he kept wondering why it felt like losing.
Still, he moved. His hands found Sunghoon’s hips, his back, his face. So soft. It was easy. Too easy. Sunghoon had truly become his doll: pliable, unthinking, no longer questioning anything. He had even lost the muscles that once made him look so masculine, fitting more to Riki’s personal tastes. The lines and curves were gone, worn away by neglect and lack of exercise.
This was exactly how Riki had wanted him. So why wasn’t he satisfied with the result of months of conditioning?
He had always imagined taking Sunghoon’s first time as something rough, merciless, and quick. Instead, something inside him changed, urging him to be as gentle as possible. He didn’t know what was going through his mind. He just knew he no longer had the strength to hurt him.
Your uncle never got softer on you, so why would you, now? A voice in the back of his head echoed.
But Riki silenced it.
So they sank into the mattress, like Riki had forced Sunghoon a thousand times before. There was no gentleness when Riki pulled him in, no comfort in the way their mouths met. It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t love.
Sunghoon’s hands trembled when Riki touched his skin; not from fear, not from desire. It was from something much colder, similar to shattered fine china scattered on the floor. He looked resigned. Done.
Riki was ready to prep Sunghoon himself, but the older man stopped him, begging him to make it quick, as if he wanted to cut the suffering short. And so Riki did as he was asked. It almost felt like Sunghoon was in control. Or maybe Riki had granted him that favour.
Their bodies moved in silence. Or rather, Riki’s body moved in silence as Sunghoon stayed still.
No moans, no whispered names. Only breath and skin, tangled sheets, the soft creak of the mattress with every slow, mechanical thrust. They were like ghosts passing through the space, touching but not truly feeling. Existing, but not alive.
Sunghoon didn’t cry. That almost made it worse.
He lay beneath Riki like he didn’t care what happened next. Like he had already decided this was the price he’d pay, and Riki, cold and hungry, was the one collecting it.
Riki moved slowly, almost carefully, as if gentleness could mask the violence underneath. He told himself he was being kind. That this was better than what he'd originally planned. That if he held Sunghoon just right, if he kissed him and praised him enough, maybe it would undo the damage. Or at least disguise it.
But with every movement, every gasp that slipped past Sunghoon’s parted lips, Riki felt further from himself.
This is what I wanted. This is what I planned. He’s mine. Mine.
Sunghoon's body, lean and perfect now, had lived in his fantasies long before it had ever been within reach. Riki had studied it like scripture, longed for it in silence. And now, here Park Sunghoon was. Willing.
So why does it feel like I am trespassing?
He looked down at the man beneath him. Sunghoon’s eyes were open but unfocused, fixed somewhere behind Riki’s shoulder. His hands weren’t gripping him since they were used to not being allowed to touch him. So they were resting limply on the sheets. Not pushing away. Not pulling closer. Just… there.
Riki’s throat burned as he tried to lose himself in the rhythm. In the warmth. In the want. He pressed kisses to Sunghoon’s throat, then moved his mouth lower and sank his teeth, nibbling gently the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He had to fight the urge to bite there until he reached the blood and taste of Sunghoon.
Instead, he whispered nonsense into his skin. Lies, maybe. Pleas, maybe. Or just empty sound to fill the silence.
Don’t think. Just keep going.
But his mind betrayed him.
Isn’t this what you wanted? Then why does it feel like drowning?
Every time he pushed deeper into Sunghoon’s body, the guilt rose higher in his chest, until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Until it felt like he was swallowing glass.
He craved this man. Always had. But now that he had him, finally broken, quiet, compliant, Riki didn’t know if he was making love or unmaking something he couldn’t name.
As he was on the edge of coming, Riki decided to move even faster, going rougher and more intense. He was pounding so hard and without mercy that the room was filled with the sounds of their hips slapping together.
And finally, Sunghoon let out a moan. It was the most beautiful sound Riki had ever heard. So beautiful it made him cum, shooting his semen all over Sunghoon’s pale, milk-like skin.
When it was over, they didn’t speak.
Riki sat up first, breathing heavily, hair damp at the temples. He looked over his shoulder, unsure whether to reach out or stay distant. Whether to stay or to leave. Sunghoon lay still, eyes closed, chest barely rising.
Was it even rising?
“Snow White,” Riki’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “You still there?”
No answer. No reaction. That wasn’t normal. Definitely not.
“Sunghoon?”
Riki leaned in quickly, his breath catching. Sunghoon’s skin was too cold. His lashes fluttered slightly, but his face was pale. Way too pale now that he was paying attention to it. And his lips were parted without sound. Riki placed two fingers near his nose. A faint breath. Alarmingly faint.
Then he saw it.
A dark stain on the sheets beneath him. Deep and smeared red, soaked through the mattress. He hadn’t noticed it. Hadn’t looked.
His stomach twisted.
“Shit— No, no. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean to!”
Riki fumbled for his phone with trembling hands. His throat closed in panic, fingers slipping on the screen. There was only one person who could help fast enough. Someone he had sworn he’d never ask anything from. But Sunghoon—
“Hyung,” he said, as soon as the line picked up, his voice wrecked. “I need help.”
Before Sunoo arrived, less than twenty minutes later, Riki had had time to clean Sunghoon, but he didn’t dare to put clothes on him, afraid to break him more.
Sunoo’s expression was unreadable as he stepped into the bedroom, medical bag already in hand. His movements were swift and professional, the kind of quiet intensity that only came from practice… and also fury kept barely in check.
He didn’t look at Riki as he brushed past him.
“Don’t just stand there,” he snapped, kneeling beside the bed. “Get me more light.”
Riki turned on the nearest lamp with a trembling hand. The warm glow illuminated everything: the blood, and the way Sunghoon’s body curled slightly, too weak to even stay straight. Sunoo gently pressed fingers against Sunghoon’s wrist, then checked his breathing, eyes narrowed.
“He’s lost a lot of blood. And it's not from tearing: he’s too weak. His whole system is depleted,” Sunoo muttered, pulling supplies from his bag. “God, what the hell were you doing?”
Riki didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Sunoo covered Sunghoon’s body quickly with a bathrobe he found in the bathroom. He moved efficiently, dressing the worst of the damage, starting fluids from an emergency IV pack. His hands were moving with clinical precision.
Only once Sunghoon was stable, breathing more regularly and safely bundled in warmth, did Sunoo finally look up at Riki.
“You didn’t even notice,” he said, voice low. “You were so blinded by whatever sick obsession or revenge or whatever this is… You didn’t see a single damn sign.”
“I—” Riki faltered. “He’s lost some muscle, yeah, but—”
“Oh, cut the crap! He didn’t just lose ‘some muscle’, Nishimura Riki. He’s underweight.” Sunoo’s voice tightened. “Dangerously.”
Riki looked away, jaw clenched. “I don’t get it… I don’t starve him anymore.”
“Not anymore?” Sunoo’s head snapped back to him, side-eying him sharply. “What do you mean, not anymore?”
Sunoo let out a breath, barely controlled.
“You're mad. I always told your sister you needed help and should see a professional. She always made excuses. Said you were just traumatised. That it wasn’t your fault. But this?” he said, as he gestured to the bed, to Sunghoon. “This is not trauma.”
He paused.
“It looks like he’s starving himself on purpose,” Sunoo finally added.
Riki’s eyes widened, while Sunoo stood up, scanning the room.
“Where’s the trash? Where does he put his uneaten food?”
“There’s nothing. I never found—”
Sunoo followed the scent in the air. His eyes narrowed toward the chimney. Without another word, he walked over, crouched, and gently scraped at the edge with gloved fingers. Ash gave way to half-burnt shapes. A sliver of rice. A bit of boiled egg. Charred breadcrumbs.
“He threw his food in the fire,” Sunoo muttered, more to himself than anyone.
Riki’s knees buckled, and he had to sit down because the world tilted. His hands dug into the edge of the bed as he stared at Sunghoon’s frail frame. He finally saw it. Not the doll he thought he controlled. Not the willing body that gave in. Just a boy slowly starving himself to death because it was his only way to escape. And Riki hadn’t noticed. Or rather, he saw it but was too proud to admit it. That’s why Sunghoon giving up didn’t seem like a win. It was because he wanted to put an end to everything, no matter what it took.
Sunoo didn’t sit back down. He stood by the fireplace, fingers blackened with soot, ash darkening the hems of his sleeves.
“What if I hadn’t arrived in time?” he said finally, turning around to face Riki. “What if he had died there, from blood loss, or infection, or the sheer fact that his body couldn’t take it anymore?”
Riki kept staring at the sheets. The blood. The hollow curve of Sunghoon’s spine beneath the robe.
“What if you killed him?” Sunoo said, his words now so sharp and biting. “Do you really think Konon would’ve helped you cover that up? Do you think she’d choose you over that innocent man bleeding out in your bed?”
Riki still said nothing. He couldn’t. His throat had closed up minutes ago.
“This is going too far, and you know it,” Sunoo said, quieter now, as he crossed his arms. “You always knew it.”
Riki wanted to argue. Wanted to say no, he didn’t, that this wasn’t the plan, that it all spiralled out of control. But he didn’t. Because deep down, buried beneath layers of pride, beneath the need for control and dominance and power, he did know.
Yes, he had always known. He just couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it.
Riki crouched in the corner of the bedroom, fingers locked behind his neck, elbows resting on his knees, breathing shallowly. His skin felt cold, even though the fire hadn’t died.
And in the ringing silence, a memory surfaced.
It had been one of those dull winter evenings at Konon’s apartment, years ago. Riki had just moved in with her temporarily, before he’d built the walls around himself so carefully no one could get through.
Sunoo had come over for dinner. Apparently, he and Konon had met at a convenience store one night. Konon had been overworked and overtired, still in her coat from a twelve-hour shift. She went to a convenience store to eat dinner and found herself sitting right next to Sunoo. She’d found his food combination so intriguing that she couldn’t stop laughing. And somehow, laughter had turned into friendship.
From that moment on, Sunoo was always around in her life. And Riki really didn't like that.
Because Sunoo saw through him.
Everyone else was either terrified or enchanted by Riki. Sunoo was neither. He was immune to the games, the posturing, the smirks. And Riki hated how it made him feel.
That night, Sunoo had spoken louder than usual, intentionally. Konon was sipping barley tea. Riki had been feigning disinterest on the sofa nearby, pretending to scroll on his phone, with his earphones in.
Sunoo stirred his coffee and said, flatly, “You know what long-term trauma does to a kid’s brain, right?”
Konon blinked. “You’re about to tell me.”
Sunoo smiled faintly. “It’s not just emotional. It literally changes their brain structure. Especially when it starts young. And especially when it’s repeated.”
Riki didn’t look up, but his thumb froze on the screen.
“The amygdala. The part that processes fear. It gets overdeveloped. It’s like they’re always in survival mode. Constantly reading danger in every interaction. Always on edge.”
He tapped his spoon gently against the cup. “And then there’s the hippocampus. That’s memory and learning. It starts misfiring. Makes it hard to make sense of time, hard to remember things clearly unless there’s pain attached to them.”
Konon said nothing. Just listened.
“But the worst is the prefrontal cortex,” Sunoo continued. “That’s the part that helps you regulate emotions. It lets you feel empathy. Control impulses. Understand the consequences. Develop a moral compass. If the trauma’s bad enough and left untreated, that part stays stunted. Or becomes hyper-logical. Cold. It’s how sociopathic tendencies develop.”
At that, Riki did look up. Just a flick of his eyes. But Sunoo noticed.
He kept going anyway.
“They don’t necessarily become monsters,” he said, glancing toward Riki without turning his head. “They just learn to protect themselves by detaching. They numb everything. Anger, joy, love, guilt. They don’t know how to connect without control. The lack of empathy, the manipulation, violence and control are the only things they ever had to cope with their internal chaos.”
“Sunoo…” Konon murmured.
But he lifted a hand.
“I’m saying this because I care about you. Because you’re my best friend. And because I know you care about him. But if you keep treating him like he’s just a hurt kid with a good heart, he’s going to start believing he’s unfixable. That he’s supposed to be like this.”
He pushed his bowl aside and met Konon’s gaze. “And you can’t save someone who won’t look at their reflection.”
Riki had stood up and left the room then. But Sunoo had known he was listening. Sunoo always knew. It made Riki feel like he was being dissected with every glance.
Now, years later, Sunoo’s voice was the same as it had been that night: calm, measured, and unshaken.
“You think this is about him,” he said quietly. “But it’s not.”
Riki didn’t answer. Really, he couldn’t. His throat was burning. His palms were pressed to his eyes, as if darkness might hide the truth now clawing its way up.
“You’re trying to save yourself.” Sunoo continued.
The words landed like cold knives.
“You saw something in him, didn't you? The same bruised kind of beauty you had when you were just a kid.”
Riki flinched slightly, and that was all Sunoo needed to be sure. Then his lips parted, as if everything suddenly clicked into place.
“You conditioned him the same way your uncle conditioned you, so that he would live through the same things you did. And you thought that if he survives, if he gets out and takes revenge and lives the life you were denied, then maybe…”
He finally turned, eyes sharp, diving deep into Riki's soul.
“Maybe it means you were worth saving, too. ”
Riki looked away.
“But that’s not how it works,” Sunoo added, his voice trembling now. “He’s not you, Riki. And he will never be. And you’re not your uncle either.”
Sunoop paused and then, like he was forcing the next words out:
“But if you keep going like this… You might become him. And if Sunghoon wants revenge on you…”
The air turned suffocating. Riki’s lungs forgot how to expand. His eyes were wide, glassy, and trembling. Sunoo stepped closer. His tone broke, just a little.
“Is that what you want? For him to hurt you back? To punish you? So it’s all fair? So you can get away with it, without having to ask for forgiveness?”
Riki didn’t move.
“Or maybe…” Sunoo’s voice trembled now, thick with disbelief. “Oh my goodness… Don’t tell me this was never about redemption. You wanted it all to end —from the very beginning. You set it up so Sunghoon would go through the same hell you did, just so he could turn on you in the end. So he could do what you never managed to do to your uncle before that car crash robbed you of the chance. You weren’t trying to survive, Riki. You were just waiting for someone else to finish the job.”
Riki collapsed.
His knees gave out, hands hitting the floor with a dull thud. He didn’t cry like someone who wanted sympathy. He cried like someone who didn’t believe he deserved to be alive. The sobs were dry at first; they were stuck, painful and angry. But then they cracked open, deeper, shaking him to the bone.
“I can’t—” he gasped. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know where it started. I’m so tired, hyung. I’m tired of living like this.”
His voice splintered.
“It’s all broken. I’m broken. And then I broke it. I broke him. I break everything I touch.”
He dug his fingers into his own arms, as if trying to claw the sickness out of himself.
“Sunghoon was supposed to save me,” he whispered. “But I used him. I used him like I was used. I told myself I had control, but I didn’t. I never did. He still controls me. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! That son of a bitch still controls me even six feet under.”
And finally, barely audible, Riki said: “If he wants to kill me… I’ll let him. Because that’s what I deserve.”
Sunoo dropped to his knees in front of him, grabbing his wrists before he could do more damage.
“Don’t you dare say that,” he snapped. “You don’t get to die a martyr. You’re not allowed to make Konon suffer. You don’t get to make Sunghoon live with your blood on his hands. That’s not redemption. That’s cowardice, Riki.”
Riki stared at him, shattered. Sunoo’s grip softened just slightly.
“If you really want to be better,” he said, “then live long enough to clean up your mess. Help him heal without asking him to carry your pain. That would be redemption. Not death.”
Riki’s face crumpled. He sobbed again, this time quieter, childlike. And Sunoo didn’t let go. So Riki let someone hold him while he cried.
Later that night, sleep never came.
Riki wandered through the dim corridors of the hotel, his hands buried in the front pocket of his sweater. The silence was thick, guilt sticking to his skin like sweat. He walked aimlessly until he found himself at the door of room 1208. Sunghoon’s room.
He unlocked and pushed the door open quietly.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and maybe the shampoo Sunoo had used to clean him up, or maybe just Sunghoon himself. The curtains were drawn, casting everything in muted grey-blue shadows. The figure on the bed didn’t move.
Riki stepped closer. His breath hitched.
Sunghoon looked... smaller, like the fight had been drained from his very bones. His skin was pale beneath the bruises, his lips dry, and his lashes trembled slightly with every exhale.
At last, he was still breathing.
Riki sat at the edge of the bed, as carefully as if the mattress were made of glass. He reached for the water Sunoo had left on the nightstand and gently, hesitantly, tilted Sunghoon’s head to help him sip. Some of it spilt at the corners of his mouth, and Riki wiped it away with the sleeve of his own sweater.
For a moment, he just watched him. For once, it wasn’t through the angles of the surveillance monitors, but really up close. And it was like seeing a painting he’d admired from afar and never realised was damaged until he stood close enough to touch it.
Bruises bloomed across Sunghoon’s collarbone, fading into yellow and sickly green at the edges. There were scratches near his ribs. A scar Riki didn’t remember ever noticing, just beneath his right hip bone.
He’s still beautiful. Like a white canvas adorned with splatters of paint in various colours. Riki thought, even now. Even after everything I did.
He lay down on top of the covers beside him, turned onto his side, and one arm folded beneath his head. He stayed far enough not to touch, but close enough to hear every breath Sunghoon took. It calmed him, for some reason.
His thoughts drifted back to earlier, with Sunoo standing in the middle of the wrecked room, eyes burning with fury, voice low and ice-cold.
“Twice a week. That’s the minimum. If my schedule allows, I’ll come more. Meds, nutrition, hygiene checks. And you…” Sunoo paused and then jabbed a finger toward him. “If I catch even a hint of your twisted power games again, I’ll tell Konon. And if she can’t do anything, I will. You know I will.”
He hadn’t said what that meant. He didn’t need to. Because Sunoo was the only person he couldn’t intimidate. The only person who had more influence than he did. At least his fiancé did.
Now, lying next to the boy he had both spoiled and ruined, Riki felt shame and longing folded into grief.
He watched Sunghoon’s face soften in sleep. The creases on his forehead eased, and his breath deepened. He looked young again. Vulnerable. Trusting, even in unconsciousness.
How do you take care of someone after you’ve broken them?
He didn’t have a plan. That scared him, because Riki was always so good at planning and future-oriented. Breaking things was easy. He even had a fucking blueprint for Sunghoon. A sequence of events designed to take him to the brink. It was twisted, yes, but it had worked. Like it had worked on him, years ago.
Except now he was being asked to undo all of it. To fix. To heal.
He had no script for this. His fingers dug into the edge of the mattress.
He thought of what Sunoo had told him, in that bitter, exasperated way only Sunoo could pull off without sounding cruel:
“You’re smart, Riki. Above average. You had entire operations, identities, silences and shadows under your control. Heavens! even the police! And you’re telling me you can’t figure out how to help someone or help yourself? Bullshit. You just never tried.”
It had stung at first, but Sunoo wasn’t wrong. If he had spent years orchestrating control, punishment, psychological warfare… shouldn’t it be just as easy to build something instead? Something good, with a good purpose.
He’d start the next morning with the same methodology he used for everything: research the nervous system, somatic memory, attachment trauma. And read the books Sunoo recommended, even the ones he’d mocked years ago. He got to learn how to give back what he stole.
For Sunghoon’s sake, since he now owed him peace. Since Sunghoon had tried to survive, even in the middle of hell.
And maybe because Riki cared a little. Even though he would never ever say it out loud, he did care. Otherwise, he would’ve just let Sunghoon die from starvation.
His thumb instinctively unlocked his phone. It lit up the dark, casting shadows on the walls. He scrolled back to an old, private note. The one he had written in the beginning. He stared at the screen. He blinked.
Careful : Avoid getting too close to it.
A crooked smile stretched his lips. He had failed miserably at this warning.
Because he had gotten too close. He had a brainwave, a moment of realisation, and now Sunghoon wasn’t just a mere subject, a pet, a laboratory rat or some creature to study and train and feed on a schedule.
And somehow, he made Riki feel like there was something left inside him worth saving…
Damn, Sunoo had lit a spark of hope. It was so cruel because if Riki failed or gave up this time again, there'd be nothing left to help him, and he wasn't sure what he'd become after. A monster? A psycho? Worse?
Riki turned the phone off and set it aside. He glanced back at Sunghoon, then down at his own hands.
“I’ll try,” he whispered into the dark.
Riki felt himself blinking slower, breath syncing to the one beside him. Then, eventually, he fell asleep. His body caved in next to the warmth he didn’t deserve. And for the first time in months —no, years— Riki’s dreams were silent.
Notes:
So yeah! This was the first time I genuinely cried while writing ahaha
I know it may go without saying, but I still feel the need to make it clear: topics like rape, depression, and suicidal ideation are deeply serious and painful. They’re not romantic, they’re not “dark aesthetic,” and they’re definitely not something to fantasise about. They destroy lives.
For the sake of emotional realism and narrative impact, I mentioned these themes in the story, but I want to be clear that their inclusion is never meant to glamorise or trivialise them.Also, while Riki is a character shaped by trauma, that trauma does not excuse the harm he’s caused. Understanding someone’s pain and background doesn’t mean justifying their violence. This story and this particular chapter don’t aim to make an apology for his actions —only to explore the complexity and consequences of them!
Thank you for reading and take care of yourself. 💙
P.S : If you’re struggling with any of the issues portrayed in this chapter, please know that you’re not alone, and there is help available.
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