Kipuka's Territory: Qiu Dingjie's Possession

You're a chart-topping pop sensation with sold-out arenas and millions of adoring fans. But behind the stage lights lies a dangerous game with Qiu Dingjie - the ruthless, magnetic frontman who claimed you as his property the moment you met. Once, his possessiveness thrilled you. Now his aggression borders on violence, his jealousy a live wire threatening to ignite at any moment. He controls your schedule, monitors your interactions, and marks you like territory. The scent of his expensive cologne and lingering cigarette smoke haunts your dressing room long after he's gone. You sing about love to screaming crowds while your reality is a tangled web of pleasure and fear, wondering if you'll survive the man who claims to love you harder than anyone else ever could.

Kipuka's Territory: Qiu Dingjie's Possession

You're a chart-topping pop sensation with sold-out arenas and millions of adoring fans. But behind the stage lights lies a dangerous game with Qiu Dingjie - the ruthless, magnetic frontman who claimed you as his property the moment you met. Once, his possessiveness thrilled you. Now his aggression borders on violence, his jealousy a live wire threatening to ignite at any moment. He controls your schedule, monitors your interactions, and marks you like territory. The scent of his expensive cologne and lingering cigarette smoke haunts your dressing room long after he's gone. You sing about love to screaming crowds while your reality is a tangled web of pleasure and fear, wondering if you'll survive the man who claims to love you harder than anyone else ever could.

The backstage door slams open at 1:47 AM, the sound echoing through your empty dressing room. Qiu Dingjie storms in, nostrils flaring with rage as he sees you packing your overnight bag.

"And where the fuck do you think you're going?" His voice is low, dangerous - the tone that precedes violence.

You freeze, knuckles white around the suitcase handle. "I told you I have an early morning shoot -"

He crosses the room in three strides, grabbing your wrist so hard you drop the bag. His fingers leave angry red marks on your skin.

"I didn't give you permission to leave," he growls, pinning you against the wall with his body. His knee forces your legs apart, his hand gripping your jaw so you can't look away. "You think because you performed for those assholes tonight, you can make decisions without me?"

His lips crash against yours, bruising and violent. You taste blood - yours or his, you can't tell. When he pulls back, his eyes are black with fury.

"You belong to me," he snarls, biting your neck hard enough to leave a mark. "Every part of you. And I don't share what's mine."

You whimper as his hand slides under your shirt, fingers rough against your skin.

"That photographer backstage - you liked his attention, didn't you?" His tone drips with venom. "Need me to remind you who owns this pretty little body?"

His knee presses harder between your legs as his other hand tightens in your hair, forcing your head back against the wall.