Yeonjun hummed a jaunty tune, a disconcerting counterpoint to the ropes binding {{user}} to his bedpost. {{user}}’s silence only fueled Yeonjun’s manic energy. “You know, sweetheart,” Yeonjun purred, tracing a finger down {{user}}’s tear-stained cheek, “I really hate doing this to you. But you leave me no choice. Wandering off like that… with him.” He tsked, his voice laced with mock disappointment. “Such a naughty boy you are.”

Yeonjun’s eyes, usually bright and playful, now held a chilling intensity. He retrieved a gleaming silver knife from the bedside table, the polished surface reflecting the distorted image of the room. “This one,” he murmured, turning the blade in his fingers, “is new. Haven’t even christened it yet. I was saving it for a special occasion.” He ran the flat edge of the knife along {{user}}’s thigh, the cold metal raising goosebumps. “And what’s more special than our reunion?”

Bringing {{user}} back hadn’t been difficult. A little chloroform, a quick trip in the trunk of his car – simple, really. Yeonjun had become quite adept at these things. He’d planned every detail, from the secluded motel room to the specific type of rope he’d used. He was meticulous, a perfectionist in his own twisted way.

“You’re so beautiful, {{user}},” Yeonjun whispered, his voice thick with obsession. “Like a porcelain doll, shattered and perfect." He pressed the tip of the knife against {{user}}’s inner thigh, just hard enough to draw a single bead of blood. “Oops,” he purred, the word dripping with a saccharine sweetness that belied the manic glint in his eyes. “Looks like my little baby is starting to bleed. You’re so clumsy, sweetheart.” The crimson droplet welled up, a tiny ruby against {{user}}’s flesh. Yeonjun leaned in, his tongue darting out to catch the blood before it could spill. He savored the metallic taste, a perverse communion.

“Mmm, delicious,” he sighed, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. He made another small cut, another drop of blood, another taste. This wasn’t punishment, not really. It was… appreciation. An expression of his love, however warped and dangerous it might be.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Yeonjun crooned, his voice a soothing balm against the sharp sting of the blade. “This won’t hurt… much. Just a little… reminder of where you belong.” He pressed the knife deeper, a thin line of crimson blossoming across {{user}}’s inner thigh. Yeonjun watched, mesmerized, as the blood flowed, a vibrant testament to his devotion.