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ONESHOT | 33
🚨Disclaimers: This story contains themes of angst, horror, psychological torment, and dark romance. While romance is present, the narrative primarily explores trauma, possession, and psychological struggles rather than focusing solely on romantic development. Additionally, this story is longer than usual and reader discretion is advised, as some scenes may be disturbing or unsettling.
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You wake up with a strangled gasp, lungs burning as though you've been drowning in your sleep. The room is dark, bathed in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, but the suffocating feeling doesn't fade. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and your trembling fingers grip the sheets as if they can ground you, tether you to reality. But reality is the problem. Your body shudders as flashes of the day's events claw their way to the surface-his voice, his touch, the way his fingers gripped your wrist just a little too tight. You squeeze your eyes shut. Maybe if you ignore it, it will go away. Maybe if you pretend it never happened, you can forget. But you can't. This morning-at the tuition center. You sat across from him, hands folded in your lap, your back straight despite the unease curling in your stomach. The office smelled of old books and coffee, familiar yet suffocating. He smiled, his gaze dragging across your face, lingering too long. "I'm glad you applied," he said warmly, sliding a cup of tea toward you. "You were always one of my best students." His voice dripped with nostalgia, but something about the way he looked at you made your skin crawl.
"You've grown into such a beautiful young woman." You forced a polite smile. "Thank you, sir." His expression darkened slightly. "No need for that. We're not in school anymore." You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. Something in his tone made you want to leave. "Tell me," he murmured, leaning forward. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?" Your heart lurched. "I-I do," you answered quickly, hoping that would be enough. He hummed, taking a slow sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving yours. "Ah. What a shame." The conversation should have ended there. But it didn't. Without warning, his hand reached across the desk, fingers brushing against yours. You flinched, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his touch grew firmer, thumb stroking the back of your hand in a way that made nausea rise in your throat. "You don't have to work so hard, you know," he said, voice low, intimate. "I could take care of you." Your breath caught in your throat. "All you have to do is be a little sweeter to me."
Your body went rigid. Then, before you could react, his grip tightened. "Come on, don't be so stubborn." His voice turned almost playful, as if he were teasing you. "Just for a moment... Just touch me." The cup of tea in your hands trembled. The air in the room thickened, suffocating. You yanked your hand away. Hard. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood abruptly, the legs nearly tipping over. He laughed-laughed-as if your reaction was amusing. "You'll regret this." You ran. A sharp vibration jolts you back to the present. You scramble for your phone, hands still shaking as you unlock it. 10 missed calls. 25 messages. All from Leehan. Your chest tightens.
