Hollow

"Voracious Butterflies and Red Spider Lilies" ✨🦋 22 || You can call me [Hollow]! ☺️ || Currently OBSESSED with [Sung Jinwoo] & [Phainon] 🦋✨

[mydearestbeloved]

Masterlist 🦋✨️

My Writings' Guide:

Red: Drafts

Blue: Complete

Chapters: In chronological order

Unknown: Not in any particular order

⚠️Please mind the Content Warnings put in place, especially for Mature*-related posts.

[ Reader discretion advised. ] ⚠️

——oOo——

Solo Leveling

Trial Player

. . .

[Welcome, Trial Player!]

You weren't supposed to exist,

[You have been selected by system for an exclusive test run.]

And yet--

{With deliberate care, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right above the spot where your pulse thrummed. He took his time as though savoring the contact, the faint rhythm beneath his lips. When he finally lifted his gaze, glowing eyes locked onto yours once again.}

[Please-]

"I'll be your death."

[Live.]

?SYSTEM¿ EROR

. . .

>> A Solo Leveling Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Main Genre: Romance, Dark; Main Pairing: Sung Jinwoo/Reader (M/F)

Status: Ongoing (Main Project)

Preview: Daydream

Main Story: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7], [8], [9], [10], [11], [12], [13], [14], [15], [16], [17], [18], [19], [20], [21], [22], [23], [24], [25], [26], [27], [28], To be continued . . .

Unknown Chapters: [Nighttime Musings], [?.2], [?.3], [Happy Birthday, Jinwoo], [The You I Love], [Same AU, Different Stages]

Related Asks about TP AU:

TP!Reader's powers explained: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

How I write this series: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7], [8], [9], [10], [11], [12]

Miscellaneous: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7*], [8], [9], [10], [11*], [12], [13*], [14*], [15], [16]

Illustrations/Fanarts: [1], [2], [3]

Inspirations: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7], [8], [9], [10], [11], [12], [13]

Others: [1], [2], [3], [4], [4.5], [5], [6]

Recent Edits to TP AU:

Added more details in Main Story - Chapter 10, parts of the original moved to Chapter 11 [as of 16/11/2024]

——oOo——

Honkai: Star Rail

To Be With You

. . .

>> A Honkai: Star Rail Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Main Genre: Romance, Dark; Main Pairing: Phainon | Khaslana/Reader (M/F)

Status: Coming soon!

Drafts (Excerpts): -

——oOo——

DISCONTINUED Series/Works:

Ghost in The Mist || A K-Pop Demon Hunters/Reader AU] || Chapters: [1], [2], [3], [4],--

——oOo——

Want to know more about my stories? Or share anything else? Feel free to ask and I shall answer them in the tag: #Hollow's Talks

[mydearestbeloved]

Ideas...

I love Yearner!Phainon as much as the next person, but then I also wanted to see it reciprocated, a "You" who can match that in their own way (and more if that is even possible)...

Thoughts on an Isekaid!Reader with no such thing as "too much time" in her hands--The "Sunflower" that "only have eyes for one"?

On that very same note, a more angst-y take on the idealism behind "I love you across lifetimes", where loving Phainon is not the first, neither is loving Flame Reaver, nor is loving the first Khaslana, but across billions of Eternal Recurrences, way before, and more, "You" never failed to fall in love with "him".

The "First" is bygones (An end in tragedy, the start to an eternal vow); afters are, more often than not, not "fated" to be (Despite everything, it's still him); silent longings are when distance kept you "strangers" in most followings (To protect? To make them hurt... less?); Lovers are... few and far in-between (Enough to hope)--

Where loving the present him is not the first, but wether it will be the last--is the question for the future you.

Dreams of meeting Phainon's Divine Vessel form in the sea of gold, surrounded by chibis of his past Eternal Recurrence-selves that were born(?) each time You tried repairing the broken statues of himself in that imaginary(?) abyss of a space.

The "childhood sweetheart" route (kinda) with Flame Reaver? Building up to Yandere-ish in his own cycle, angst at the end of that cycle and on to the next(final) cycle.

On a more lighter note:

- You are somehow able to accompany Cyrenes(PhiLia093) and Demiurge in-betweens (being able to share stories with them),

- Aglaea keeping an extra eye on You, 'cause it's like you don't have a "fate" for her to see through (but having a great taste in fashion and being a Jack of all trades sure do help you in getting under The Goldweaver's good graces),

- Getting along with Tribios (you may or may not have summoned ¿past? and ¿future? to play, the more the merrier, right?)

- Having this sort of quiet comfort when Mydeimos is around (Maybe 2nd ML? Not sure yet. But with the way the story's plot in my head is going so far, having some PhaiDei & MyPhai moments are kinda inevitable, so having a Mydei x Reader relationship developments are not completely off the hook),

- Your strange powers and even stranger relation to "death" made physical contact with Castorice possible (hanging out, braiding each other's hair while dicussing the various novels you've come across or is currently writing),

- You hit it off with Anaxagora pretty quick actually, you having differing perception and perspective of the world due to your unusual origins and all (that and you do have a few screw loose in the head),

- While you do have healing powers inherited from your Mother that you ocassionally lend to the healers from the Twilight Courtyard, the first time you met Hyacine was actually when she went bird-watching! (She came across you sleeping under a tree shade, unusually surrounded by varying flocks of birds, went to take a closer look, accidentally spooked the birds, and you woke up face to face with a tiny pegasus with feathers stuck to your hair--"Doot.")

- Your first meet with Cipher is no less eventful, considering instead of trying to catch up to her, instict told you to go with the telekinesis route (que her flailing being held up and shaken midair until your earing finally fell from her person),

- You love music, dancing, enjoy a feast as much as you like preparing them, and is in tune with watery depths (Hysilens approved!),

- Playing chess with Cerydra is fun! (in simpler terms).

- What are you doing in the universe of Honkai: Star Rail? Specifically, within the Amphoreus Arc? Your System is ready to answer related questions to--

¿System?: { . . . }

(Name): "...System?"

¿System?: { Rebooting in progress! Please wait a moment . . . Rebooting Complete! My apologies, Young Lady, there are some pesky interferences I need to get rid off. I've already informed My Lady, about the breach and we managed to contain it presently to avoid any information spread-- }

¡Irontomb!: [ 01001000 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101111 00100001 00100000 00111010 00101001 ]

(Name): " . . . "

¿System?: { (¬_¬) }

(Name): "What the fu--"

Extra Notes:

*I haven't come up with any notable moments for the Astral Express Trio, mainly because (Name) is avoiding being widely known in the HSR universe of this au, especially to the Aeons. Her mission is only on Amphoreus anyway, and since in my mind she arrived at around the time of cycle 0, Amphoreus is still pretty much isolated.

*I haven't done a full dive into the storyline of Amphoreus, I've just been watching short clips here and there. So, my apologies on the canon inaccuracies, though I should still informed beforehand to all readers that canon divergences and some OOC-ness in this fic are inevitable.

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒-𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐨𝐱.

━ pairing; sung jinwoo x female reader

━ summary; he saved your life. you repaid him with carbs. now you’re somehow feeding Korea’s most powerful hunter like he’s a stray cat with trauma.

━ notes; please note that i don't read the webtoon and i'm still working through the anime), so please be kind or I will cry. please donate to my Kofi if you like my stuff. reblogs are appreciated!

❋ In the world of Hunters and Gates and Guilds, you’re just a minor healer with teeny-tiny support skills.

❋ So when the dungeon boss begins rampaging, you’re fairly certain that this is it.

❋ Until a portal suddenly cracks open — and out steps Sung Jinwoo himself.

❋ The reaper dressed in black. The man, the myth, the legend with abs. Saviour of your now-screaming raid group.

❋ He kills the boss as if it’s nothing. Doesn’t even look out of breath. Doesn’t say a word either — just glances at your trembling hands before he disappears.

❋ And later . . .

❋ You can’t stop thinking about him. Not in a “simping over the hottest S-rank in Korea” way (though, okay, maybe a little) — but in the “he saved your life and you never got to say thank you” way.

❋ You are a nervous little bean, but you were raised right, and you say thank you, even if the recipient could probably punt you into the next continent.

❋ So, you make a bento.

❋ You stay up all night making it pretty, running on nothing but anxiety and determination.

❋ Tamagoyaki, rice balls with little seaweed faces, chicken karaage, and some sweet dango on the side. You decorate it with love and at least 5 rounds of panic.

❋ You wait awkwardly outside a Guild building until you catch him between appearances. You hold out your bento with shaking hands —

❋ — And promptly faint from anxiety.

❋ Face first.

❋ Jinwoo catches you with one arm and the bento with the other, effortlessly smooth like he catches fainting healers every day.

❋ Jinwoo doesn't say much — just blinks, checks that you’re breathing, and gently takes you to a bench as if you're a fragile parcel of rice. He even fans your face a little with the lid of the bento.

❋ You think that’s the end of it.

❋ You move on with your healing, your stress naps, and your (unhealthy) bubble tea dependency.

❋ But then.

❋ You see him again one day.

❋ Reporters surround him, but you can tell — he looks tired. Eyes sunken. Like he hasn’t had a real meal in days.

❋ You stare.

❋ Then, immediately go home and start cooking.

❋ Somehow, this becomes a thing.

❋ You keep showing up with lunchboxes to feed Korea’s top hunter.

❋ It becomes a routine. Jinwoo doesn’t say much, but he now waits for you. Like a huge, muscular, emotionally constipated cat. Occasionally, you’ll catch his lips twitching up into a smile.

❋ Every time you hand him a box, you nervously tug at your sleeves and watch him as if he’s about to explode. But the food? It's comfort in a box.

❋ Hearty stews and curries. Sausages shaped like octopi. Fluffy white pearls of rice. Silky marinated eggs. Vegetables carved into hearts, stars, flowers.

❋ And dessert.

❋ Always dessert.

❋ Cookies, still warm from the oven. Stacks of pancakes, generously slathered with whipped cream and syrup. Sandwiches stuffed with custard and fruit. Round, fat balls of mochi dusted with icing sugar.

❋ Once, you nervously mention that you “made extra mochi because you thought he seemed tired”. He blinks. He hadn't noticed how drained he looked until you said it.

❋ He eats his meal while staring at you.

❋ You almost faint again.

❋ He catches you again.

❋ This is a pattern now.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 4 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains some OOC-ness—personal interpretations of characters; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

That night, no matter how you curled beneath the thick blanket or how many times you tried to count sheeps, sleep would not come.

Your body was tired.

But your soul…

Something gnawed at it.

You shifted onto your side.

Then your back.

Then sat up entirely.

No use.

There was a prickle at the nape of your neck. Without thinking, you slipped out of bed.

Your bare feet moved soundlessly across the wooden floor, muscle memory guiding you through the darkened house.

You reached Granny’s door.

You pressed your palm gently to the wood, and your eyes softened.

There she was.

Granny, fast asleep on her side, soft snores rising and falling like tide, a blue branch from a cup of tea long gone cold beside her looming over—

Wait a fucking damn minute.

Golden eyes bulging like a startled fish. Blue skin, lanky form. Purple, jagged markings curling around the whole body. Webbed hands held still mid-air.

And tusks.

Two large, curved ones framing its gaping mouth.

In any other context, its face might have looked… funny.

Startled.

Like someone walked in on them stealing a cookie.

But this was no joke.

You recognized it instantly from the sketches in the demonology texts.

A water demon.

An it was leaning over Granny. Inches from her.

No.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY GRANNY!”

Your body shot forward in a blur. Your fingers—claws—circled its throat before it even blinked, its surprised expression hadn’t even changed by the time your grip tightened.

The momentum would’ve made the demon slam into the wall if not for—

Poof!

Granny stirred, rubbing her eyes slowly.

She yawned into her sleeve.

“Mm...? Hm?”

She tilted her head toward the window, blinking at the moonlight.

Then laid back down.

“…must’ve been the wind.”

——oOo——

The moment you reappeared parting the white smoke—deep in the woods just beyond the reach of the village lantern light—you slammed the water demon into the earth.

Grassy dirt kicked up around you as your claws dug into his throat, pinning him hard.

White mist curled and snaked around his wrists and ankles, dragging them down, holding them tight to the earth—mist made manifest, a power you barely understood yet, but somehow, it obeyed you now.

The demon struggled, webbed fingers twitching in vain.

If you weren’t furious, you might’ve marveled at your strength.

Instead, your fingers squeezed.

“̴S̷t̵a̸y̷ ̴a̴w̷a̷y̵ ̷f̶r̸o̶m̴ ̷m̴y̵ ̸G̵r̴a̸n̶n̵y̸.̸”̶

Your voice rippled out of you—lower, distorted, almost echoing over itself. Your claws, sharper than bone and cold as the season, dug into his skin.

You felt it—the flesh giving way. Something warm and thick began to seep through your grip.

Blood.

The water demon whimpered.

A soft, high-pitched noise like a kicked puppy.

You blinked.

Wait—

Your eyes darted to its face again.

Big watery gold eyes.

Lips trembling slightly.

Why does it look… cute?

No, NO, NOT THE TIME, ME—

Poof!

The demon burst into a puff of red smoke with a pitiful pop.

Gone.

You stared at the space where he once was.

Still on your knees. Still breathing hard as your claws grasped at nothing.

You stared at your hands, the tips dyed in—

“Huh.”

Dark and thick like warm syrup.

“So demons bleed red.”

Without thinking, you dragged your tongue along one claw, and your eyes widened.

“It tastes…”

Rich?

Sweet?

You licked your lips.

“Delicious.”

——oOo——

Granny stirred for the second time that night.

Her eyes scrunched, trying to make out the figure looking over her.

“Mm… sweetheart?” Her voice was soft and groggy. “You alright?”

She saw you opened your mouth, then closed it.

“…A nightmare,” you said in a whisper.

“Oh, my poor thing. Want me to brew you some moonflower tea?”

Your head shook quickly. “No—no, it’s fine. You should rest. I didn’t mean to wake you, Granny, I just…”

You rubbed your arm, glancing away.

She tilted her head, then patted the space beside her on the bedding.

“…Want to sleep here tonight?”

You stiffened.

Then, a little embarrassed, you nodded.

She smiled, her eyes softened.

“Tch. Come here, you silly girl. Get under the blanket, quickly, before the night air bites you.”

You slid in gently beside her, careful not to press too close with your still sweaty body.

But Granny curled an arm around you anyway, warm, gentle, and steady.

“…It’s good to have you back,” she murmured, already drifting.

You laid there, wide-eyed, staring into the dark.

And you clutched her hand tight.

——oOo——

You were tending the garden when it happened.

The sun was bright, the soil warm beneath your nails. The herbs were growing strong—almost time to harvest the chrysanthemum. You hummed a little under your breath, patting the earth down—

"How fascinating..."

You froze.

The voice was deep. Husky. Smooth. With a strange, trailing echo that seemed to bend at the end of each syllable.

You turned your head so fast your neck might’ve popped.

“Granny?” you called out.

She glanced up from the porch, where she was stringing herbs. “Yes?”

“Did you… did you just hear someone talking?”

She blinked at you. “No, child. Why?”

“…No reason,” you lied, and turned back.

"Be not afraid—"

“Would.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

A long, awkward silence.

You cleared your throat, returning to the garden bed and trying to pretend none of that happened.

“So what is this, am I just—hearing voices now? Great. That’s new. Maybe I’m finally losing it.”

"Not quite."

Your hands paused over a patch of mint.

You waited for more context.

You received none.

"If you're not gonna talk, then don't talk.” you snapped, rubbing at your temple.

"You are... quite impatient."

"And you sound like a rejected Shakespeare understudy.”

There was a gasp in your mind.

You could practically hear the indignation.

But also… confusion?

"While I do not know of this ‘Shakespeare’ you speak off…"

His voice dipped into a soft mutter.

"I feel like that is an insult."

“No shit, Sherlock.”

More droning followed—something about mortals and respect and your “undignified tongue”—but you tuned it out.

“Dear, I’m opening the shop!” Granny’s voice floated from the doorway. “Come help when you’re ready!”

“Be right there!” you chirped, cheerfully.

As if you didn’t have a mysteriously sexy, possibly eldritch entity screaming in your brain like a cranky stage actor.

And apparently, you spoke that out loud in the form of muttering:

“If Mister Big Voice in my skull doesn’t get me smited before lunch.”

"I heard that."

“Then stop lecturing me, you’ll get nowhere with me in that tone, Mister.”

“…Mister?” he repeated.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a name, do I?” You smirked. “Unless you want me to keep calling you Dramatic-Old-Man-Who-Might-Be-a-Cult-Leader.”

A beat of silence.

But somehow, you felt him simmering.

Like a teeny, furious little fireball. Brimming with evil and indignation. The image made you laugh.

“…You are treating this far too casually.” the voice sulked—can you believe that?

“Says the one who just popped into my head and started lecturing me about etiquettes.”

“Very well,” he said finally, regaining his regal edge. “Then allow me to properly introduce myself.”

You rolled your eyes.

"I am Gwi-ma."

Well, there’s your daily dose of headaches. Should you even be surprised?

“The—"

"Let me stop you right there.” You turned to the herb basket and recited flatly, “Gwi-ma. The King of Demons, Demon King. Sealed by the Honmoon. Said to lead the hordes of demons if ever unsealed. Also rumored to grant mortals’ wishes in exchange for something, yada yada.”

"In the flesh, my dear."

Of course he said it like that. With such smug pride.

You sighed, dragging your hand down your face.

A migraine was coming on. You could feel it.

“Seriously. I just want to live a peaceful life with my Granny. Is that too much to ask for?”

Gwi-ma chuckled, as if this was some inside joke between you.

“Oh, we both know why that is, don’t we?”

You froze.

This time, you didn’t need to speak the question out loud for him to give you the answer.

“Gwak Seol-jun. The name ring some bells, no?”

Shit.

“You, my dear, took a soul belonging to me.”

“…”

"Do you truly not understand what you are?" His tone shifted—deepened. “You are far more than you believe,” Attempting something…

You took a guess, “You want something.”

“Sharp indeed.” he said, silken. “You are… unique.”

“You mean I’m a freak.”

"I mean," he said, slow and velvet-slick, "I want you to work with me."

You paused.

Work with him? Why does he not just—forcibly control me like the rumors suggested?

“…Why?”

Another chuckle, “You will understand with time. But I know that you are anything but a humble girl—”

“You’re refusing to elaborate, huh?”

He said nothing.

“Yeah, well, no thanks,” you said flatly.

“Rejecting my offer already?”

“Yup.”

“Then, what is your greatest desire—"

“Wow, how original.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Nope.” You cut him off flatly, uprooting another herb. “Not playing the monkey’s paw game.”

"You don’t even know what I was going to offer—what is this ‘monkey’s paw’ you spoke off?"

“I know the drill,” you dusted your hands. “Wish granted, tragic twist, ‘oh no it’s cursed,’ cry in dramatic rain.”

You started ticking them off.

“Immortality? Great. Except no eternal youth—so you end up a thousand-year-old prune shuffling through centuries like a raisin with regrets.”

“…Wait—”

“Wish for gold? Oh, everything you touch turns into it—congrats, now you can’t eat, sleep, or hug anyone without liquefying their spine into bullion. Love that for you.”

“That’s not—”

“Craving knowledge? Fantastic. Enjoy knowing everyone’s dirty secrets, exactly when they’ll die, and every horrifying cosmic truth your mind is not remotely equipped to handle. Hello, lifelong existential dread.”

You held up another finger.

“Want to cheat death? Sure—say hello to eternal labor, pushing boulders up hills or ferrying souls across rivers till the end of time while screaming internally. Or cursed to watch everyone you love die over and over again, this can work with the immortality one as well.”

You weren’t done. You were just getting warmed up.

“—Those are just some from the myths abroad. But even I could come up with more of these.”

You kept going, launched into it like you’d been waiting your whole life for this rant.

“If not immortality, then wish for youth? Sure. You stay sixteen forever while the world decays around you. Everyone thinks you're possessed. Or worse, keeps trying to marry you.”

“Protection from all harm? Ooooh, nice. Except now nothing can touch you. No hugs, no high-fives, no sense of temperature—go ahead and try sipping hot tea, you walking ceramic plate.”

“Want to protect the people you love? Hope you’re ready to feel every single injury they take. Knife wounds, fevers, childbirth, emotionally distant dads—yep, all yours now.”

“…I—what—”

“Fame forever? You got it. As a mass-murdering villain history twisted you into. Every bard sings about your crimes while your ghost listens in mild outrage.”

“Wish for freedom? Boom. You’re untethered from fate, law, reality—can’t die, can’t connect to anyone, forgotten the second they look away. Enjoy eternal ghosting.”

“No heartbreak? Sounds peaceful. But now you’re numb to everything. Can’t feel joy, can’t fall in love. Just blank-eyed staring into sunsets while puppies make you feel nothing.”

“Eternal happiness? You’re locked in your happiest memory forever, drooling in a corner while people feed you rice porridge. It’s a trap and a nap.”

At this point you were pacing in a small circle.

“Unlimited power? The world collapses under you, now you’re alone. Ruler of nothing. Congrats, emperor of the void.”

“And the ‘fix everything’ dream? Every touch heals the world—but chips away at you. Your life, your soul, your memory, until you’re just an empty meat puppet who forgot how to spell your own name.”

You glared into the middle distance, muttering now.

“Oh—and the crowd-pleaser—‘Be loved by all.’ Congrats, you’re now the protagonist of a yandere horror story. Everyone wants to date you, kill for you, kill you, pick one. Or, now you’ve got a cult. Wide-eyed weirdos singing your name in harmony while you scream inside because none of it’s real. You’re a god with no friends.”

“Don’t even get me started on strength—"

You trailed off, hand still mid-gesture.

Only now did it fully registered—Gwi-ma had gone silent. Complete radio silence. In the unsettlingly thoughtful way.

“You’re quiet. Why are you quiet?”

A beat.

Then:

"Those are… actually quite inspired."

You stared at the horizon.

“Oh no you didn’t.”

"I could adapt several of these into very compelling contracts..."

“If you’re gonna use my paranoia as deal templates, at least give me credit!” you snapped, jabbing a finger into the air. “I want my name in fine print at the bottom of your next doomed soul contract, with a little floral border. Oh! And I demand royalties, thank you very much.”

“…You’re absurd.”

“Thanks. It’s a defense mechanism.”

——oOo——

It had been a long day.

Not physically, no. You were already used to pulling weeds, running errands, and haggling with customers who still tried to short-change an old lady’s tea.

It was your head that felt bruised.

And it was all because he wouldn’t shut up.

"A soul like yours, lingering among human bones, really is a waste of potential."

“You call Granny a waste one more time and I swear I wouldn’t even consider that offer.

There was a pause.

Then a slow, syrupy drawl.

"So you are considering right now~"

You groaned, and by the time the moon rose above your rooftop, you'd endured several hours of Gwi-ma’s long-winded commentary.

Correction: Gwi-ma’s whining.

You’d tried ignoring him.

Really, that’s the only thing you could do since he’s in your head and not whispering in your ears, even though he sometimes made it feel like he was. Thus, stuffing your ears with cotton would prove ineffective.

You really hope he couldn’t follow you into your dreams.

“Have you ever been told you’re so insufferable?”

“Who would dare?”

So, only you then.

Collapsing back-first onto your sleeping mat like a punctured rice sack, you buried your face into the blanket, muffling a scream.

A beat of silence passed. You turned your head slightly.

Your eyes shifted toward the demonology scrolls near your pillow.

They were there, spread out, aged, and fragile, their edges curled like dried leaves, seemingly glowing faintly in the lanternlight.

You’d meant to train tonight. More. To explore your abilities now that your last feast kept the hunger at bay.

Sharpen your skills and perhaps you would gain more control over that side of you.

But...

“…”

“…”

You squinted toward the ceiling like it personally offended you. “Well? Aren’t you gonna say something?”

"Hm." A thoughtful hum echoed through your mind. "Would you like me to teach you the ropes?"

You sat up warily. “What’s the catch?”

“None." he replied, almost too smoothly. "I simply… want to observe you. Your potential intrigues me."

“…You mean you want to watch me fumble around like a glorified test subject.”

"Semantics."

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not agreeing to anything unless I know exactly what I’m getting into. So answer me these first,” Though you wouldn’t put it past him to lie or twist the truth. “What happens if I follow your instructions? Do I really not owe you anything? Does it bind me to some deal? Will I owe you a favor in some vague future? If I go along with this, will I be cursed, hunted, warped, accidentally married, or doomed to carry your demonic spawn?”

"…That’s oddly specific."

“Answer the questions.”

"None of the above. You’re not making a wish, you’re asking for guidance. No contracts, no soul-deals, no blood price—unless you'd like that aesthetic. I do miss the old rituals."

You narrowed your eyes. “So this isn’t another Monkey’s Paw situation?”

A long sigh came from him. “Must you assume the worst of me?”

“Yes,” you said flatly.

"You wound me."

“Like I care.”

You rolled over to the side, fingers trailing along the worn edge of a scroll. You opened it with a quiet rustle, ran your fingers along the edges, tracing the faded ink drawings of grotesque demons and chaotic beasts, all with his jagged marks in purple.

Then—at the center—something abstract. Swirling mess of violet and hot pink? fire with a barely discernible face. You had trouble making out the eyes from the shapes alone most if not all the time. Though, you supposed the lightest part of the flame was the mouth.

“…This you?”

"My better side, if I do say so."

You snorted softly, still dragging your fingers along the curled edges. Your other hand reached toward the binding, loosening the last corner.

“So... where do I start?”

And for once, his tone changed.

Quieter. No lazy purr. More… serious.

"Your true form."

You blinked.

“…I thought the glowing white markings, fangs, claws, and red eyes were my demon form.”

"No. That’s a transitional state. An echo. A fragment. An instinctive mask. I can feel it,” he said. “Something deeper. You’re… different. You carry light like it’s bone-deep. But it’s twisted, refracted. What lies underneath… even I can't see. Not yet."

“You keep saying ambiguous shit like that.”

You stared at your hand. Was he referring to something more connected to that hunger?

You made a face. “...Well, how am I supposed to turn into it if I don’t know what it even looks like?”

"Instinct. Memory. Desire. All three. I’ll guide you."

He paused, and you sensed his attention narrow, like a whisper brushing the inside of your mind.

"Close your eyes," he said softly. "Now breathe in through your mouth, not your nose. Let the cold fill your chest."

You did.

"Now think—not of shape, not of skin or face—but of feeling. The first instinct. What felt most right when the world first made sense."

Your breath slowed.

The cold seeped in.

"Beyond what you think is you. Where the first light touched your bones...”

Your fingers twitched.

Your markings flickered.

“Let go of the memory of being human."

A beat.

Your pulse thrummed. The mist in your veins surged.

"Open the door you keep sealed."

Your heart slowed.

Your breath stilled.

Then—

You stepped through.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [26/06/2025]

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 3 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains elements of gore & a Morally-ambiguous!Reader—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It took you days to gather the courage.

You stood at the veranda’s edge, heart caught in your throat like a bird beating its wings against your ribs. Granny was just a few steps away, crouched in the garden, humming to herself as she carefully harvested young mugwort shoots.

You hated this.

The thought of leaving made your stomach twist.

But you feared something else more.

The longer you stayed near her in your current state, the more dangerous it became.

So one morning, you finally spoke. “Granny… I’ve been thinking.”

She glanced up, brow lifting.

“I’d like to travel with Merchant Seungbae. Just for a little while. I want to learn business trade, see other towns. Just… a couple of months. I’ll return before Seollal, I promise.”

You waited for her to frown. To ask what brought this on. To look worried.

Instead, her face broke into the brightest smile.

“Finally!” she beamed, standing with a groan and wiping her hands on her apron. “I thought you’d never grow curious. It’s good. Young souls shouldn’t stay cooped up like old roots.”

You blinked.

“That easily…?”

She laughed, swatting your arm. “Did you think I’d keep you chained to my teapot, child? The world’s wide and wild—go see it! Just don’t forget to come back before spring frost melts.”

You nodded, biting your inner cheek, swallowing a lump.

For her safety, you reminded yourself.

For her.

——oOo——

Merchant Baek Seungbae was delighted when you asked to apprentice under him.

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “You’ve got sharp hands—and sharper eyes. I could use someone like that. Stay sharp, and I’ll introduce you to a contact in Gaegok-si’s quarter district. Big meat trade up there. They’ll love your knife work.”

You bowed in thanks, heart still heavy.

The day of departure came faster than you thought.

Before you left, you stood beside Granny, bag slung over your shoulder, a few scrolls tucked carefully within. You had asked the night before if you could borrow some of the old books.

She had smiled knowingly. “Of course. Those old things finally have someone to keep them awake.”

You hugged her. Tight.

She chuckled, patting your back. “You’re acting like this is farewell. Tch. You’ll be back before I even notice the silence.”

You forced a smile.

“Don’t catch a cold,” you said.

“You better not forget how to brew my ginger root blend.”

——oOo——

Baek Seungbae’s home was in a bustling riverside trade town. Though modest in comparison to the central capitals, it was bright with color and voices, filled with the scents of roasted meat and inked parchments, salted fish and drying dyes.

His wife, Dame Hwayoung, welcomed you like a niece, immediately pulling you into the warmth of their tiled home.

And their daughter—

Baek Chorim was barely five, round-cheeked and forever full of chatter.

From the first night, she clung to your leg, called you unnie, and insisted you braid her hair in the mornings.

At first, you thought the ache in your chest would never fade.

But it dulled, slowly.

The warmth of their small family life bled into your days.

ginger root blend.”

——oOo——

Some mornings you helped Seungbae organize inventory and visit vendors. Some afternoons you stayed behind to assist Hwayoung with teas and spices. When both parents were busy, you became Chorim’s favorite shadow—chasing her through courtyard gardens, lifting her over puddles, listening to her lisp through memorized folktales.

You liked her laugh.

It reminded you of something you couldn’t remember—but still missed.

——oOo——

One afternoon, you accompanied the family to the central square. Market day.

You held Chorim’s hand as she led you past stalls and performers, sticky rice on her cheeks and a ribbon in her braid.

Then you felt it.

Eyes.

Several.

You turned.

Men—rough-clothed, thick-necked, lingering too long in the crowd. One tilted his chin toward you and smirked. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Your fingers tensed around Chorim’s.

They began to move closer—

Before a loud voice cut in.

“Oi! What business do you have leering at my apprentice?”

Seungbae, broad-shouldered and loud as ever, stepped between you and the men.

The men faltered. Muttered. Left with narrowed glares.

Afterward, you sat with him on a quiet bench while Chorim napped against your side, Hwayoung tending a stall nearby.

He sighed.

“There are still snakes left, even after the head’s been cut off,” he murmured.

You looked at him.

“The men earlier?”

He nodded. “Recognized the emblem on one of their belts. Old ties to the slave network. Bastards must still be scraping what they can.”

“…I thought that business collapsed.”

“It did. Mostly. When the boss died last year—the one in Hwado—it threw everything into chaos.”

You stared at the cobbled ground.

He continued, “But some rats are always too stubborn to drown. You’ve been noticed, girl. Best to lay low for a while.”

You nodded, demure. “Of course.”

But your thoughts were already elsewhere.

The way that man looked at you. The memory of blood. Of helpless eyes.

They would do the same to another, wouldn’t they?

Someone else's child.

Someone else's family.

Granny’s voice whispered in the back of your mind.

"Sometimes mercy takes many forms."

That night, after Chorim had gone to sleep, and the house had gone quiet, you opened the scroll again.

Gwi-ma.

The blue of souls.

The white of your markings.

The books didn’t say what you were.

But maybe…

Maybe you could decide that for yourself.

——oOo——

Apprenticing under someone as well-connected as Merchant Baek Seungbae opened doors you didn’t even know existed.

You weren’t stupid—your ears stayed open while your hands worked. You listened when deals were made, when whispers were passed between officials and vendors, nobles and guards, gossiping housewives and mercenaries alike.

It didn’t take long before you started to gather pieces of information—names, locations, drop points, debts owed and bodies gone missing.

Some of those names led to slave-trading rings that had survived the purge from Hwado.

You listened. You remembered. You asked questions when you could, innocently, carefully.

And when you had enough, you started collecting evidence.

Letters smuggled in crates of dried fish.

Account ledgers with false seals.

Descriptions of the branded scars they left on their captives.

You didn’t even know why you bothered to keep them at first.

It wasn’t like you were planning to report them to the magistrates.

So why the evidence?

Maybe it was to prove it. That they were evil. That they deserved what you were going to do. That the weight of their sins was written, stamped, signed, and sealed.

That if someone ever found your trail, they’d understand.

——oOo——

You weren’t a professional assassin.

You knew that.

You still flinched at loud noises. Still got caught in awkward silences when questioned too directly. Still stumbled sometimes when you moved too fast.

But you had something else.

Something more.

When the moon hung high and the house grew still, you tested your abilities. There were no instructions, no teachers—only instinct, trial and error, and half-translated demonology scrolls that barely described what it looked like from the outside.

Not what it felt like.

The first time you tried teleportation, you vanished in a wisp of white—your room swallowed by a soft distortion of air—and you reappeared in a bush three meters below your window, landing with a graceless thud and a yelp.

A servant found you moments later.

“What in the—Miss, are you hurt?!”

You groaned, brushing twigs from your hair, your excuse slipping out as easily as breath: “I tripped trying to hang herbs near the window and fell…while—uh—practicing a balancing technique I saw at the festival?”

It worked.

Barely.

You spent the rest of the night nursing bruises and scribbling mental notes.

It’s not about strength.

It’s about direction.

Intent. Where do I want to go? Not just physically—but emotionally. Spiritually. Pull that string and follow it.

You got better.

Faster.

Hungrier.

——oOo——

A minor slave den hidden beneath the façade of an herbal shop. You memorized the guards’ rotations. You confirmed the layout. You waited until the moon was high.

When you appeared, you did not appear before the captors.

Not yet.

First, you appeared within the cellar—behind crates and cobwebs—where the captives were bound.

There were five of them. Children and adults. Their eyes were dull, skin marked.

One girl blinked in terror as you knelt beside her, your white veil catching the moonlight like snow.

You pressed a finger to your lips.

“Please held onto each other.”

The next moment, they vanished in a blink of mist and wind.

You reappeared with them outside the city walls, tucked in a dense thicket along a stream where travelers sometimes rested. Far enough no one would stumble upon them. Near enough for rescue.

You whispered gently, “You’re safe now.”

The children whimpered, clutching one another. One of the adults, a man stared at you, lips trembling to form a prayer.

“There’s a shelter north from here, head there and they’ll welcome you.”

Before he could speak, you were gone.

——oOo——

Back in the cellar, the slavers had just realized their captives’ disappearance and were flipping out, blaming each other.

All of them—four men in total—in the same room.

How fortunate.

You appeared in the middle of the den in a burst of freezing air.

A lantern shattered from the sudden pressure, plunging half the room into flickering dark.

“What the—who the hell—?!”

Veiled in white, hood drawn low, body cloaked, face obscured. The floral patterns across your body lit up in soft, ghostly luminescence—beautiful and cold as frost-kissed lilies.

“Hello.”

The man in the front, you recognized him, the same one from the market.

“Remember me?”

Then your eyes flared red.

“D-Demon!” someone shouted, panic clawing into their voice. The room erupted in motion.

You raised your hand—your claws now visible, sleek and shining in the dim.

They reached for weapons—

“Too slow.”

You were already in front of the first.

Your hand plunged into his chest, flesh and ribs splitting under your fingers like wet silk. His heart beat once more before you ripped it out. His soul—blue, trembling, trying to flee—was devoured before it reached the air.

The dagger he reached for hit the floor with a clang.

——oOo——

The others shouted.

You let them. Let them swing their blades. Let them scream and curse and call you devil and ghost and monster.

You surprised yourself on how well you were holding up.

Another rushed you.

You teleported again, grabbing his throat mid-swing and slamming him into the ceiling so hard the plaster cracked.

You sucked his soul before his body could hit the ground.

One tried to flee.

You teleported above him and crashed down on him, then drag him back along the stairs by the neck.

“Spare me! I was just following orders—!”

“Then you'll follow them again. In hell.”

You crushed his windpipe.

The final one fell to his knees, shaking.

“P-please! I didn’t even touch them—I just—just kept the books, I swear!”

You knelt before him, gaze level.

“So you watched. And profited.”

You pressed your hand to his chest.

“I hope you remember this judgment in your next life.”

——oOo——

You feasted that night.

Souls as the main dish.

Flesh as the side.

Blood as the wine.

——oOo——

The wind was crisp with the bite of winter’s tail when you packed your belongings.

Exactly two months.

As promised.

The merchant family stood at the gate of their home, Chorim clinging to your sleeve like she had the first night you arrived. Hwayoung sniffled quietly into her sleeve. Baek Seungbae crossed his arms—but you could see the sadness softening the corners of his eyes.

“Are you really not staying for the new year?” Hwayoung asked gently, tucking a scarf tighter around your neck. “The town festival will be beautiful. The Mudangs will come—singing, dancing, warding the evil away. It’s always special.”

Your hands tightened around the strap of your travel bag.

You had heard of Mudangs.

The books didn’t name them outright as demon hunters—but everyone knew.

Guardians of the sacred. Wielders of talismans and spiritual rites. The ones who gathered during the final nights of winter to strengthen the boundary between the human world and what lay beyond.

The barrier that kept demons and their king, Gwi-ma, from devouring this realm.

The great seal.

The Honmoon.

Your head throbbed just thinking the name.

What would happen if they saw you?

What would they do if they sensed what you were?

Would you be sealed away—or worse?

You weren’t too eager to find out.

You bowed politely. “I’m honored. But I promised my granny I’d return before the first lantern is hung. And I miss her. I want to spend Seollal with her.”

Seungbae sighed, shoulders sagging, then smiled with an indulgent sort of defeat.

“Your stubbornness really does take after her, you know?”

——oOo——

Baek Seungbae offered to escort you as far as the village borders.

On the road back, you walked side by side.

He spoke of his plans for expansion, of traders from the east and an interest in rare teas he’d learned about through your work.

Just before the fork that led back to your home path, he paused.

“I have a thought,” he said. “What if every year, around this same time, you apprentice under me again? Just for two months. Come spring, you go back to your life here.”

You blinked.

A cycle.

Your mind immediately turned to the hunger. The one that took exactly these two months to return.

His suggestion couldn’t have been better timed if fate wove it.

You nodded. “That sounds… perfect.”

He grinned. “Then it’s settled. Just don’t be late—Chorim will bite my leg if I come home without you.”

You laughed, eyes shining.

“And next time, bring them to see Granny. I’ll brew a tea tailored to each of you again. I think I finally nailed Mrs. Hwayoung’s preferred bitterness.”

He chuckled. “She won’t shut up about it. You’ve got fans for life.”

You bowed deeply.

And he left with a final wave, vanishing down the trail like a good dream fading into the mist.

——oOo——

When you turned toward your village, your heart lifted.

The air smelled of woodsmoke and the last of the autumn herbs, the kind always dried just before the new year.

Your feet quickened.

You passed the familiar boulders, the edge of the herb garden, the crooked tree stump where the neighbor’s cat used to nap.

And then—finally—your village came into view.

The houses were standing, smoke curling lazily from chimneys.

You could hear the faint clang of a pan, children’s footsteps skipping across dirt, old neighbors haggling over the price of root vegetables.

Everything looked just as it should.

But still.

Your steps slowed.

You couldn’t put your finger on it.

A strange quietness sat behind the sounds. Like a layer of glass over a painting. Too still, too… watched.

But then—

“There she is! My girl’s back!”

Your heart leapt.

Nam Jinseol—Granny stood outside the tea shop, apron still dusted in dried leaves, arms open wide.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran straight into her embrace.

She laughed, warm and sturdy as ever, her familiar scent of herbs and smoke wrapping around you like a safety blanket.

“Look at you! Tanned and walking like a merchant’s child. Did they work you to the bone?”

You shook your head, trying to fight the burning in your eyes. “No. I missed you.”

“Tch. You act like it’s been years. Come in, come in—your room’s just as you left it. I even saved your favorite tea.”

You let her lead you inside, shoulders finally relaxing.

The wooden door shut behind you with a soft click.

And for now, at least… All was well.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [24/06/2025]

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 2 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains mentions of gore—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Voices.

Low murmurs, like a breeze brushing past your ears.

The world was still dark behind your eyelids, and your body felt like stone—heavy, slow. But something shook you gently. A hand on your shoulder, warm and real.

“Agassi... Can you hear me?”

You blinked awake.

Above you were the face of an old woman. Her skin was lined with years, but her gaze was soft and kind, brows drawn with quiet concern. Her gray hair was tied up neatly in a low chignon, and her hanbok was faded with age but freshly cleaned—smelling faintly of wildflowers and pine.

“Oh, thank the spirits… you’re awake.” She sighed with relief, brushing a few strands of hair from your face with a mother’s gentleness. “You poor thing. Are you hurt anywhere?”

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry again.

The only thing that left your lips was a faint, hoarse sound.

The woman helped you sit up slowly. You looked around, dazed, realizing you were in a small clearing by a riverbank, the morning sun rising beyond the trees. A woven straw hat sat beside her, and a small cloth bundle with rice cakes and medicinal roots was laid out nearby.

“I found you here just before dawn,” she said, voice lilting like warm tea. “These are dangerous times. Slave traders have been crawling around the outer provinces like rats. You’re lucky they didn’t find you before I did.”

You flinched.

She noticed. Her expression turned thoughtful, but not pressing.

“Where are you from, child? You look like you’ve walked through half the kingdom in your sleep. Surely someone must be worried about you.”

You hesitated.

What could you say?

That you woke up yesterday under a strange sky, and tore men apart like meat in your jaws? That the only thing you remembered before the guilt, the blood, the hunger was… was—

You offered her the only truth you dared.

“…I don’t,” you rasped. “I don’t… remember.”

Your mouth tasted bitter.

Not sweet, like last night—

But the old woman—she didn’t question it. She didn’t prod, didn’t accuse.

Instead, she nodded, her smile lined with grief. “Mm. That happens sometimes. Especially to those who’ve seen things they shouldn't have.”

You lowered your eyes, not trusting yourself to answer.

She reached out and patted your hand.

“Well. You’ve got a name at least, haven’t you?”

“…Yes.”

You gulped.

“I’m…(Name).”

“Then that’s enough for now.”

She stood slowly, groaning as her knees cracked beneath her. “My bones aren’t what they used to be,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’ve room in my home, and a kettle always on the fire. If you’ve nowhere to go, you can come with me.”

You blinked up at her.

“…Really?”

“Call me Granny,” she said, brushing off her skirt. “Everyone else does.”

——oOo——

Her name was Nam Jinseol, but she insisted you call her Granny.

She lived on the edge of a sleepy mountain village tucked in mist and pine, in a modest choga-jip—a straw-roofed house with wooden floors, walls of clay and timber, and a small front veranda.

In the mornings, she opened a little tea shop she had run for decades—though she admitted business had dwindled since her husband passed. The sign above the shop was old and faded, but still legible: 청운다방 – Cheongun Tea House, named after her late husband’s childhood nickname.

“Herbs don’t make anyone rich,” she said once, pouring steeped petals into your cup. “But they warm the body and quiet the heart. That’s more than gold ever did for me.”

She told you once she had a daughter.

Once.

She had smiled too brightly when she said the girl ran off in her youth, “head full of romance and rebellion.”

She never brought her up again.

And you never asked.

But some nights, when the tea was poured just a little slower, when she lingered in the doorway with her eyes on the empty seat beside you—you wondered if she missed her more than she let on.

Maybe that was why she welcomed you so easily.

Maybe that was why she treated you the way she did.

——oOo——

You never told her about the nightmares.

What’s in them at least.

They came often.

Soulless eyes.

Blood on your tongue.

Plush fleshes.

Grinded bones.

And the sweet, sweet relief from—

W̶̲̑h̴͙͛á̴̺t̷͉͂ ̵͓̅i̵̳̋f̷̙̅ ̵̥̓t̷̛ͅh̷͈͘e̸̪̔ȳ̸̯ ̶̳̓w̴̞͋e̶̼̾r̴͊ͅë̴̮ ̵̭̕i̴͓͂ņ̶̀ṉ̶̽o̶̰͘c̷̝͒e̸̥̾n̸̰͂t̶̡̂ṡ̶͕?̵̳̚

You awoke from them choking back sobs, your whole-body trembling in the dark.

And always—

Without fail—

Granny would appear at your door with her tea tray. No words. Just the soft scent of mugwort and wild chrysanthemum.

You never asked how.

But the tea soothed you.

You clung to that kindness like a raft.

To repay her, you worked.

You rose early to help in the herb garden, pruning perilla leaves and sorting dried roots. You managed the tea house in the afternoons, sweeping the floors and preparing infusions for the rare traveler that passed through.

It was quiet work.

Gentle.

And you tried to live with that.

You served tea and learned the names of every herb in her apothecary chest.

You smiled for Granny.

——oOo——

It was strange, the way guilt didn't just stay inside you—it grew.

It festered.

No matter how many mornings you swept the porch of the tea house, how many bundles of herbs you sorted with aching fingers under the sun, no matter how many bowls of warm soup Granny set in front of you with that same familiar smile—

The blood on your hands didn’t wash off.

You killed them.

You didn’t know their names. You didn’t know if they were good men, bad men, fathers, sons. You didn’t know if they had families waiting for them. But, you remembered a scream, and something about that had to mean something.

Something about it had to mean they were human.

And you… weren’t.

That thought kept you up at night.

That hunger—what if it came back?

What if it grew again?

What if it came while Granny was nearby?

Granny, who gently guided your hand as you traced your first Hangul letters in ink, smiling patiently as you mouthed out syllables like a child.

Granny, who gave you a home when you had nothing—not even a memory, only a name whispered into a night sky.

Granny, who still called you "my child" when your hands trembled and your voice wavered.

If your body failed you again—if you lost control—

Would you kill her too?

That thought haunted you worse than the dreams.

So when she insisted that you go out, that you rest, that young souls should find joy too, you did what you thought was safer.

You researced.

Granny’s home was older than you first realized. Dust clung to every shelf in her study room, where rows of ancient books sat untouched like buried secrets. Some were poetry. Some were about plants. Others—worn scrolls with faint ink and half-torn bindings—spoke of demons.

Of Gwi-ma—the Demon King who led his kind through the shadows of the world.

You didn’t know why the name made your temples throb.

Every time you read it, a spike of pressure bloomed at the back of your skull like a migraine that wasn’t quite physical.

Gwi-ma.

You said it aloud once.

And black specks danced at the edge of your vision like snow.

Still, you read on.

And slowly, the pieces started falling into place.

The blue you saw that night—that strange, pulsing glow that called to you with a craving deeper than instinct—

It was the soul.

The energy of the living. The essence that demons were said to steal.

You remembered it pouring into you like sweet air after drowning.

You remembered the satisfaction.

You remembered wanting more.

Your hands trembled over the parchment as the truth dug into you like a knife.

You're not human.

You're a demon.

You stared at the trembling tips of your fingers for a long time.

But—

The scrolls only mentioned that demons took souls. Not flesh. Not blood.

The bodies, they said, disappeared—but no one actually said what happened to them.

Had demons always consumed the bodies too, just out of sight?

Or—

Were you something worse?

The markings on your body—so pale, glowing white like polished bone, curling in floral spirals along your arms and ribs—they didn’t match the jagged, purple marks etched into the demons in the books.

They weren’t monstrous.

They were beautiful.

Deceptively beautiful.

Like poison flowers in spring.

——oOo——

By the eighth month, the hunger began to whisper again.

Just faintly.

A low stir beneath your ribs.

A churn in your stomach that no amount of rice or tea could quell.

You ignored it at first. You tried.

But it stayed.

Like a shadow behind your reflection, waiting.

And then, one afternoon, you found an injured bird.

A tiny thing—just a sparrow, feathers ragged, one wing broken, legs trembling in the dirt.

You wrapped it carefully in linen and brought it home.

Granny tutted when she saw you, but her hands were gentle too.

“We can try, child,” she said softly, brushing her fingers over its frail form. “But sometimes the heavens choose otherwise.”

You did your best.

You fed it crushed grains and herbs. You held it close in a pouch against your chest. You whispered prayers to it when no one was listening.

But its breathing got weaker.

Its chirps, fainter.

Even Granny gave you that soft, knowing smile.

“You have a good heart,” she said. “But mercy comes in many forms.”

——oOo——

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You cradled the little bird in your hands, curled in a blanket near the brazier.

Its warmth had almost faded.

It chirped once, faintly.

Your thumb brushed over its head. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“If I couldn’t save you… did I only make it worse?”

Its body twitched.

Its beady eyes blinked slowly. Dimming.

You stared.

Then slowly, quietly… you opened your mouth.

The floral markings you kept hidden beneath your robe sleeves began to glow.

A soft, pulsing white.

Like moonlight on snow.

From the bird’s chest, something flickered.

Blue.

Small.

So small.

It floated from the trembling body to your lips, and you inhaled gently—

And it vanished into you.

The bird stilled.

No twitch.

No breath.

No warmth.

Just stillness.

And you felt the hunger ease.

Not vanish.

But ease. A little.

You looked down at the lifeless bundle in your palms.

Then—

You laughed.

A small, broken sound.

Not joy.

Not relief.

Just—

What have I become?

——oOo——

You learned something quickly in the months that followed:

Animal souls weren’t enough.

They filled the hunger like dry leaves stuffed into an empty belly—there was bulk, yes, but never true satisfaction. They dulled the sharpness of the craving, but never the ache. Even devouring the flesh alongside it—fur, blood, bones, warm dripping meat—only earned you a brief reprieve.

But it was better than nothing.

It had to be.

You made yourself believe that.

You hunted small animals in the forest after nightfall, silent beneath the trees, always returning before dawn. Granny worried, of course, said you should sleep more. But she also smiled when you brought her skinned rabbit or wild hen. Said you were “learning to live with your hands.”

When the tea shop was quiet and Granny encouraged you to “spend time among people,” you wandered to nearby farms and marketplaces. A few asked if you could butcher their livestock. You hesitated the first time, but Granny said your knife work was clean and precise.

And it was.

More than it should’ve been.

The others praised your skill. Paid you in coins. They never noticed the way you subtly breathed in their goats’ and pigs’ final wisps of life when they slumped beneath your hands. They never saw how your eyes glinted faintly from the usual color to red when you swallowed those tiny flickers of soul.

The hunger didn’t vanish.

But you managed it.

For now.

Still, you could feel it—deep inside, like a storm building behind your ribs. The longer you suppressed it, the stronger it grew. Like a beast on a leash that only got angrier the longer you held it back.

You feared the day it would break free again.

Feared who would be standing in its way.

Feared it might be Granny.

——oOo——

You were spiraling again when he arrived.

A merchant—one of the regulars who visited every few moons.

Loud voice, bright smile, overflowing pouches tied to his sash with knots you didn’t recognize. He wore travel-worn silk and a short-brimmed hat, smelled like road dust and dried peppers.

“Aigoo, the tea still smells heavenly, Eomeoni!” he greeted Granny, laying down a few coins with a wink. “Still no match for your smile, though.”

Granny swatted his shoulder with a laugh and poured him a cup of chrysanthemum blend.

You sat off to the side, kneeling quietly, drying a batch of cleaned herbs, until his voice shifted.

“Did you hear the news from Hwado? Word's going around again.”

Your fingers froze over a sprig of mint.

Granny tilted her head. “Hwado? The one near the eastern ridge?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “That’s the one. You remember the slave traders who used to operate just outside the walls? Nasty group—scum of the earth.”

Granny’s eyes darkened. “Too well. We warned everyone to stay away from that road.”

The merchant leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, turns out the boss—the one who ran the whole business—is dead. Has been for months. They only just confirmed it.”

Your eyes flicked up, heartbeat stuttering.

Granny asked first, “Confirmed how?”

“They found a finger,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Just the one, in an alley by the market district. Still had that gaudy ring of his on it—you know, the one with the ugly jade snake emblem? They said that’s how they identified him. Body was never recovered. Some say it was revenge, others say divine punishment. No one's sure.”

He leaned back, sipping his tea with satisfaction.

“But the town's been quieter ever since. Slave traffic stopped completely. Whole operation collapsed. People say it’s karma. I say it’s about damn time. Bastard got what was coming to him.”

You said nothing.

Your throat was tight.

The merchant laughed. “If he were still alive, more poor girls and boys would’ve gone missing. But he’s not. He’s gone. Good riddance, eh?”

Granny nodded. “May the heavens take pity on his victims.”

——oOo——

That night, you sat by the window, chin resting on your knees, the candle flickering low behind you.

The words kept circling in your head like fireflies.

He’s gone.

The town is safer.

No more will suffer because of him.

He deserved it.

You remembered his eyes.

The way his mouth opened in terror before your hand sealed it shut forever.

You remembered his blood running down your hands.

You remembered the ring—sharp-edged, tacky, cold against your palm.

They were glad he was dead.

You felt the hunger shift slightly in your belly, but it wasn’t twisting you with pain this time.

It was quiet.

Almost still.

You smiled.

A small, brittle thing.

But a smile, nonetheless.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [22/06/2025]

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 1 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains elements of gore—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

You open your eyes to a sky soaked in midnight.

For a split second, it feels like surfacing from deep underwater—like you’d been holding your breath for hours, maybe longer, and finally, finally clawed your way back to air. A gasp tears through your throat. It's dry. Scraped. Your lungs burn.

You don’t remember why.

The thought barely formed before it unraveled, slipping from your grasp like mist. You couldn't hold onto it. You couldn't hold onto anything—not the shape of your thoughts, not the tremor rocking through your limbs, not the heat that was now beginning to simmer low in your belly.

The air is thick, heavy. It clings to your skin like oil.

Your chest heaves and every inhale fans, rough and dry through a sore throat. The pain was dull—muted by something louder inside.

A churning.

A clawing.

Hunger.

A primal impulse, ancient and raw, rising from the depths of your core like a beast pressing its face against the inside of your skin.

You stumbled forward.

The road beneath you was weathered stone, every step digging into your bare feet. But it didn’t register—not really. The fog coiling between unfamiliar stone buildings. The eerie silence. The cold of the air brushing your exposed skin. Even your own body felt strange.

Your limbs feel too long. Your balance, off. The soft fabric hanging from your shoulders. Something whispers, “You’re not quite right.” To someone too far gone to care.

But your legs moved anyway, like it’s done this before, dragging you forward, nose tilted to the air without realizing, following a scent you couldn’t name even if you were conscious enough to try.

All you knew was that it needed to be fed.

——oOo——

Her name was Hae-Bok. "Great fortune." A name her mother gave her during a time when hope still bloomed on dirt roads and prayers still worked.

But there was no fortune in this alley tonight.

“Shhh. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

The hand clamped over her mouth stinks of tobacco and something fouler. His nails dig into her cheek as he jerks her head back, and she kicks blindly at air.

They tied her up. Back to the damp bricks, the ropes around her wrists are tight, ankles scraped raw, mouth gagged, the cut across her cheek stinging where a ringed hand had slapped her earlier. Six men towered before her. She could see their silhouettes under the moonlight, could hear their laughter—dry, hollow, like wolves joking about which part of the deer to chew first.

“Pretty face,” one of them sneered. “Shame we have to sell it piece by piece.”

The words turn her insides to ice. Her mouth tastes like bile behind the gag.

Hae-Bok—daughter of no one, mother to one—her thoughts circled like trapped birds.

Yul-ri… my baby…

The words were muffled behind the cloth in her mouth. Her scream died there. Her tears did not.

She imagined her daughter's tiny hands, her feverish little forehead, the way she always smiled with her two front teeth when Hae-Bok brought back rice and sweet porridge. That smile, that little face, was the only thing she lived for. But now—

What’ll happen when she doesn’t come home? Does she still have enough rice in the sack? Will she know who to go to—will anyone care?

A sob cracks through her nose.

And then—

Then, everything changes.

In the span of one blink, the men were gone.

The alley was… not the alley. Or rather, it was, but wrong. Warped. As though the space itself had tilted—shifted—her somewhere sideways, just far enough from the danger that it felt more like a nightmare than an escape.

And in front of her…

A woman.

Draped in white, flowing and stained faintly at the edges, as though dipped in smoke and ash,  barefoot and still as bone. The mist curled around her, yet no breath steamed from her lips.

Ice prickled along Hae-Bok’s skin.

She shuffled backward instinctively until her spine met the wall. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, fast, terrified.

The woman in white took a step forward.

The air around her bit like winter when she knelt.

Hae-Bok flinched, her eyes squeezed shut in dread.

This was it. This was the end. If the men didn’t kill her, this ghost would.

But—

Shk.

The cords around her wrists fell slack. Her ankles, freed. The cloth gag slipped from her mouth, its middle cut through by something sharp.

She opens her eyes.

The cold intensifies.

The ghost was close. Too close.

The ghost’s finger—long, unnaturally pointed—pressed gently to Hae-Bok’s lips.

Her hair hangs in tangled mess, but even through the veil of it, there are eyes.

But there was no hostility. Just… cold. And something inhuman in the glint.

You look as lost as she is.

“Don’t scream.”

And then—

Gone.

The mist parted.

The sounds of men's screams echo from far off—twisted, distant, coming through a thick fog.

But Hae-Bok was already moving. Running. Her legs screamed in protest, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. She doesn’t wait to question it. Doesn’t want to look. She didn’t care.

She follows her memory, her instincts. Her daughter's face in her mind.

She remembered the way.

Home. Home. Home.

The fog thins as she sprints through the empty road. Her fingers find the old wooden door. She fumbles with it. Opens.

“Eomma!”

The little voice broke her.

Yul-ri leapt into her arms, toothy smile bright like a lamp in the dark.

Tears spill as Hae-Bok crumples to the floor, clutching her daughter as if to fuse their bodies back together, sobbing, whispering thank yous over and over into her child’s hair through cracked lips, breathless and trembling.

To the ghost in the mist.

——oOo——

“Aishhh—michin geoya, where the hell did that woman go?!”

Gwak Seol-jun’s voice echoed sharply down the alley walls, rough and ragged with disbelief. His boots stomped through the puddles as he kicked over an empty basket and snarled at the shadows. “She was right here! Tied up like a pig, mouth stuffed. You—you saw her, didn’t you?!”

His underlings—five in total—glanced at each other. One scratched the back of his head with a grimace.

“I swear on my late mother, Boss, she was right where you’re standing…”

Gwak Seol-jun whipped around and smacked the nearest man across the face with the back of his hand. The crack of it echoed like a whip. The man staggered.

“Don’t swear on dead people when your eyes can’t even catch a walking corpse,” he spat. “That widow owed me five nyang of silver, and not a single coin paid back.”

He paced, fuming. “I knew she was useless the moment she came crawling to borrow coin for that sick brat of hers. All tears and shaking hands. Thought I was being generous—offering mercy to some abandoned sow who’d fetch a decent price if we kept her face intact.”

Another man chuckled. “She was pretty. Could’ve warmed us all up before sending her south. Eunhae Market likes them soft and quiet.”

The others laughed.

Seol-jun smirked, but the edge in his voice sharpened. “And now she’s gone. Vanished like a ghost, with no rope, no blood, no sign. What—do you all think she flew away on her dead husband’s back?”

He turned to bark another insult, but something stopped him.

A hum.

Not sound exactly. Not music either. But resonance. A low, slow vibration that sank into the bones and made the teeth ache.

The temperature sank low, far too quickly for a summer night. The air, damp and sticky moments ago, had turned thin and brittle, like frost pressing against the skin. And the fog—thicker than before—rolled in silent waves down the alley, a pale sheen gathered along the edge. The lantern on the post flickered.

One of the men dropped his half-chewed tobacco stick.

The others fell quiet.

The youngest—Mu-sik—gulped, stepping back. “Boss…”

“What now?!”

And there—at the mouth of the alley where the mist bled from the darkness—stood a figure.

A woman.

Draped in white, bare-footed, still as death. Her hair hung wild around her face, strands glinting like wet silk. Her robe was unlike anything Seol-jun had seen—old, not peasant’s wear, nor noble’s silk, but something older, far older. Goryeo? No—Silla, maybe. But it shimmered faintly like starlight trapped in rice cloth.

Her face obscured, only lips and chin, she hadn’t looked up.

Yet she was walking. Slowly. Toward them.

“…What the fuck…” Seol-jun muttered, squinting. “You one of the temple freaks or something?”

No answer.

He stepped forward, scoffing, posturing with a sneer. “What, did the widow hire you to play bulgasal and scare us in the fog? Tsk.”

“…”

“You don’t even talk? Stupid bitch.”

Still nothing, the mist coiled at her feet like a living thing.

“Oi. I’m talking to you, whore.” His voice grew more venomous. “You think you’re scary with your funeral gown and silence? Hah. Scared some street rats already? Try me.”

He waved a hand sharply. “Grab her. Break her legs if you have to, I want answers—now.”

They men moved. All but one.

Mu-sik again—spoke up. “Boss… I-I don’t like this. Something’s not right…”

“Did I ask for your feelings, beoseon?!” Seol-jun snapped, turning to smack him again.

Thump.

He paused.

Mu-sik’s face had gone pale.

Eyes locked behind Seol-jun.

Thump.

Another sound behind him.

Then another.

He turned.

The alley was quiet.

Too quiet.

Four bodies lay crumpled like discarded sacks on the cobbled stone.

Not a drop of blood. Not a wound on their bodies.

Just… gone.

Their chests no longer rose.

Their eyes were open, but stared into nothing.

And the woman in white was still walking forward.

Each barefoot step eerily soundless, her presence devouring the space around her like a tide made of mist and death.

Seol-jun’s bravado withered. His sneer slipped into a grimace, then panic.

“N-no…” he stammered. “What are you…?”

Then, on instinct, he grabbed Mu-sik by the shoulders and shoved him forward like a human shield.

“Go! Stop her! Do something!”

Mu-sik stumbled, protesting—“Boss—!”

But he didn’t make it halfway.

A few seconds passed.

Then his shoulders sagged. His head slumped forward.

No sound.

Just stillness.

Seol-jun, breathing hard, let go.

Mu-sik’s body dropped like a severed puppet.

His eyes stared upward. Vacant. Hollow.

Soulless.

“AAAARGH!”

The scream that tore from Seol-jun’s throat was thin, unmanly—pure terror given voice.

He staggered backward, hands scrabbling behind him until his back slammed into the stone wall of the alley. The impact rattled him, but he didn’t care. He looked left. Right. No escape. The fog was so thick now he could no longer see the sides of the alley—no windows, no corners, only endless, pale mist.

“Help—someone—ANYONE—”

He tried to scream again—

But he never got the chance.

A hand clamped down over his mouth.

Hard.

Ice-cold fingers dug into his face—so cold it burned, the way frozen metal did in deep winter. The claws—because they were claws—sank into the meat of his cheeks, holding him in place as if he weighed nothing.

CRACK.

His head slammed into the stone behind him. White exploded behind his eyes.

Pain flared up the back of his skull like lightning.

The fog swirled.

The cold grew worse.

His eyes rolled upward in panic, following the arm that held him—smooth, inhumanly flawless, glowing with intricate floral markings like plum blossoms inked in moonlight. The patterns curled over skin too perfect to be real, too delicate to belong to something so deadly.

They followed up—past the wrist, the throat.

And then—

Your face.

Half-shadowed by your disheveled hair, lips parting just enough to reveal sharp, inhuman fangs.

Your eyes—

Turning blazing red.

Hungry.

Unforgiving.

The last sound Gwak Seol-jun ever made was a strangled whimper lost behind your hand.

Then the light in his eyes vanished—

Sucked away into the void where your hunger waited.

——oOo——

Blue.

So appetizing—so warm.

They float just out of reach, like fireflies in fog. They pulse, thrum, shimmer against your dimming vision like stars underwater. You want them. You need them.

And they’re yours.

Warm sloshes in your belly.

A little relief. A dull throb of satisfaction.

But not enough.

Still hungry.

You blink.

Everything’s blurry.

Colors don’t make sense—shapes even less. The only things that register are glowing blue—faint, flickering. Floating and slipping away like stars sinking into water.

You wanted them.

You had them.

You remember that.

But they're gone now.

Nothing left.

Nothing glowing.

Only red.

Your eyes shift.

Red.

It doesn’t glow like the blue. But somehow, in the foggy maze of your thoughts, it still looks… appetizing.

Your head tilts. Your legs carry you forward without command.

Something soft brushes against your face.

You open your mouth.

Bite.

Your teeth sink into something plush, still warm. A mouthful, liquid floods over your tongue—coppery, thick, soothing. You suck, the way a starving animal drinks from a spring.

Something heavy slumps under you.

Your hands move again.

You’re pressing—pushing into something soft and wet. Your fingers find something solid and pulsing once. Still warm. You pull.

A sound squelches as it tears free.

You shove it into your mouth and bite. Chew.

The soreness in your throat eases with every swallow. The heat in your stomach cools—just a little.

Not enough.

Again.

Your body repeats the motion. Crawl. Grab. Bite. Suck. Rip. Chew. Swallow.

Another drained. Another devoured.

Sometimes, there were the hard parts, but they crumbled in your mouth soon after.

You lose track of how many.

Only that you kept going.

And going.

You don’t know where one ends and another begins.

You don’t want to know.

You only want the hunger to end.

So, you keep eating. Keep drinking. Keep tearing.

Again. Again. Again.

Until the screaming in your stomach starts to quiet.

You blink.

Your vision clears.

Like waking up from a sleep you didn’t know you were in.

Your body… hurts.

Your head pounds—a sharp ache flaring behind your eyes. You squint against it, groaning softly. Slowly, you become aware of your position.

You’re… sitting.

Sitting… in an alley?

Under a full moon.

The mist drapes the air like silk, the entrance to the street still hazy, still glowing faint.

And on the stone ground…

Ripped fabrics.

Red-stained.

Your eyes scan slowly, heart thudding.

Then they land in your lap.

Glinting. Metal. A ring—

Pale. Bent. Jointed.

—on a severed finger.

“—!!”

Your scream tears free from your raw throat.

The finger tumbles to the ground with a soft thup, rolling away like a loose coin.

You clutch your mouth, trembling, but something wet trails down your chin.

Drip.

You touch it.

Your thumb comes away red.

You stare.

Your body trembles harder.

Your other hand follows—both palms now raised, shaking in front of you.

Slick.

Sticky.

You can smell it.

The metal scent in the air.

Blood.

It’s all blood.

Your breathing stutters. Sharp. Loud. Too loud. Your lungs won’t fill properly. The world tilts. The panic is crashing in—now.

Your stomach twist—you want to threw up but something prevented you to.

“No—no no no—” you rasp, voice thin and hoarse.

You remember.

You remember everything—blue, red, hunger, and now—

You needed to get out.

Get out.

You scrambled, hands against something solid—an old crate, or maybe a wall. You force yourself upright. Your legs wobbled violently.

But you move.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

Then you’re running.

Or stumbling—anything to get away.

Blindly.

The fog parts ahead of you like a curtain.

You don’t notice.

You don’t notice how it curls back, yielding to your steps.

You don’t see the way the buildings blur around you—roofs giving way to branches, lanterns replaced with moonlit leaves, stone beneath your feet slowly shifting to dirt, to roots, to uneven patches of grass.

Your body keeps going.

You heave.

You pant.

You trip—

And you collapse.

Your knees hit the earth. Then your side.

You lay there, curled, sobbing.

The sound of water rushing nearby—soft, steady—cradles you like a lullaby.

And finally,

Everything fades to black.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [20/06/2025]

[mydearestbeloved]

the isekai demon reader au with the Saja boys sounds so fun!!

*The post in question👆 is here!

IT IS! 😂

Like, I'm already cackling everytime I imagine (Name)'s and Gwima's interactions, 'cause like, a little spoiler alert⚠️: she can and will literally shut him out most of the time--

They're so unserious in this one LMFAO

Then there're those times where (Name) favors the girls and blatantly ignore the boys, I was already thinking of a funny interaction between them in that scene in the movie where the two groups are in the men's bath house. 🤣

Also, imagine: managers-in-arms with (Name) and Bobby a.k.a. platonic besties ASDFGHJKL

These are just some examples 👀

The most recent fluff scene I came up with are with Derpy and that tiny hat bird (CAN SOMEONE PLS TELL ME HIS/HER(?) NAME?!). The bird will actually clicked with this version of (Name) so well, like, imagine he/she(?) prefer to perch on (Name)'s shoulder most of the time and both of them rolling their eyes when the boys and or girls do something dumb 🙏😭💞

There're ofc some angsty scenes too, the obvious ones are between Jinu and (Name) where she question if he really thinks erasing his memories will set him free, between Rumi and (Name) where she comforts Rumi after her meeting with Celine and before going to fight the boys at the end, but I would also LOVE AND WILL expand to Mira, Zoey, and the other Saja boys as well with my personal interpretations of them! 🥰

And, if you ever read my Trial Player AU series, you'll know that I LOVE giving my Reader/(Name) her own personal conflicts. This one will be of no exception 😋

Also, also, another spoiler alert⚠️ for this AU, the boys will be alive and well at the end of the movie... with a little twist that'll definitely make (Name) faint--exaggerated movie-style✨️

[mydearestbeloved]

So...

I'm still having a writer's block on Trial Player AU and I'm stressed out from studying for my upcoming exam on Monday, so I'm thinking of taking a short break by writing something different...

Anyone interested in reading my idea of an Isekaid!Demon(?)!Reader x Saja Boys with a side of Huntrix ?

Where (Name) is: a digruntled manager (read: babysitter) and is basically like a vampire around the Saja Boys; kind of a menace toward Gwi-ma; known by the hunters as "The Anonymous" that helps the Huntrix girls "loosened up a bit" through exchanged letters because apparently their ancestors are, as (Name) quoted it, "Stuck-ups" ; while also dealing with wiping criminals-who-haven't-receive-their-due-karma from the face of the earth on her spare time...

Let me know your thoughts! 🙏🥹💞

P.S. Maybe I'll delete this post later? Idk, let's just see where it goes first...

[mydearestbeloved]

Hello, sorry for dropping in.. it's been a while since you last updated your blog (not the stories or chapters) in general.. i hope you're doing okay...

Hello, thank you for checking in! Please don't apologize 🥹🙏

I'm doing okay, not to worry! I've just been really busy with college and because the big final exams of this semester is coming up. 😵‍💫

I've also hit a bit of a writer's block on TP AU's chapter 28 several weeks ago. The main plot is moving forward just as I've hoped but I'm having trouble choosing the exact scene I want to depict this transition. It will be a big step after all, so I want to work on it as best as I can, but as I said, I'm really swamped with studying right now. 🫠

While I did decide to take someshort of sabbatical from updating/generally managing this blog (at least until my exams is over and the semester break started rolling in, which will probably be around July) because I have the habit of getting easily distracted, I still occassionally silently come back and open this blog just so I could read (and reread) your asks, comments, and reblogs 🥰

Reading them really helps me when I'm particularly down and need the extra motivation to keep going and do my best! I thank all of you for being just that ❤️❤️❤️

If all goes well, I'll be back by July with new major updates on Trial Player AU! See you all then 🫶

[mikitamn]

I just wanted to draw intimidating Jinwoo in that sexy black dress shirt of his plus earrings ✨

My list of accounts I always put on my drawings really takes away from the mood so it’s just my MN signature.

[lexsssu]

Alpha!Jinwoo who just reawakened and now has the constant urge to make sure his Omega!Wife!Reader is always knotted and filled to the brim with his seed

Even before he got the system he already worshipped your body, the constant fatigue he had from missions left him unable to mate with you as often as you both wanted. But with this new power he's now almost always having hot, wet, and messy couplings with you as soon as he gets home.

With your tummy distended from all the cum he pumped into you and his fat knot plugging your pretty pussy, the darker parts of Sung Jinwoo purred as you slept on top of him.

In his own room, the sleeping Yeonjin is watched over by Jinwoo's shadows. Luckily for the small child, his parent's room had been soundproofed, preventing him from hearing how enthusiastically they went about conceiving his future siblings.

However, the same couldn't be said about his father's shadows who were connected to their king. If they were capable of facial expressions one could describe them as utterly mortified.

[st3f13ily]

His Obsession, My Prison

• His embrace was a sanctuary, his smile a promise—but beneath the warmth of his touch was a darkness I couldn’t escape.

• Yandere Sung Jinwoo x A-rank Healer Reader

• Manipulation, isolation, just regular yandere stuff

The stench of blood and the icy chill of death were nothing new to you. As an A-rank healer, dungeons were a second home, their twisted corridors and lurking monsters a familiar threat. But even amidst the chaos, there was always one constant—a shadow who stood between you and the darkness.

Sung Jinwoo

When you first met him, he was an E-rank hunter, weak and often looked down upon. But even then, his determination was a fire that never wavered. And you—an A-rank blessed with powerful healing abilities—had chosen to stay by his side, protecting him, mending his wounds, and watching his back.

"You don't have to stay with me, you know." he had once told you, a faint smile on his lips as he wiped blood from his cheek. "I'm just an E-rank."

"I stay because I want to." you had replied, meeting his gaze. "Not because of your rank."

Back then, his dark eyes had softened. You never imagined how that gaze would one day change.

When Jinwoo awakened as an S-rank, everything changed.

The world watched him with awe, hunters either feared him or admired him, and monsters cowered before him. You watched with a mix of pride and something else—a cold, uneasy feeling whenever his intense gaze settled on you.

He was different now. Stronger. More ruthless. But to you, he was still Jinwoo. Your Jinwoo.

Or so you thought.

It began slowly.

"You don't need to go on raids anymore. I'll handle everything."

You frowned, sitting across from him in his grand office, the view of Seoul's skyline stretching behind him. "Jinwoo, I'm a healer. Healing is what I do."

"I don't want you getting hurt." His voice was calm, but his eyes… those dark, abyssal eyes were fixed on you, intense and unwavering. "Please, trust me."

You did trust him. Or you wanted to.

But the isolation began. He stopped letting you join his guild on raids. Whenever you tried to visit the Hunter's Association, his shadows were there, watching you, gently guiding you back home. Even your fellow hunters noticed.

"Hey, (Y/N), did you quit? We never see you around anymore."

"No, it’s just…" You didn't have an answer.

Jinwoo was always so gentle with you, always smiling, always caring. But his care felt like chains, his love like a gilded cage.

And then there were the gifts. Lavish jewellery, luxurious clothes, a high-rise apartment far from the city's chaos—all from Jinwoo.

"You deserve the best," he would say, brushing his fingers against your cheek. "I want you to be safe. To be mine."

It was that possessive tone, that slight edge to his smile, that made your heart race with something other than love.

But you stayed. Because he was Jinwoo. Because you had always been by his side.

Because… you loved him.

Or was it because he wouldn't let you go?

Every time you tried to talk to other hunters, they would suddenly lose interest. Your calls would go unanswered. Even your family seemed distant, their messages few and far between.

And sometimes you feel even from your shadows that he is always there.

"Jinwoo, are you… are you keeping people away from me?" you finally confronted him one night, your voice trembling.

He looked at you, his gaze unreadable. Then he smiled—a gentle, loving smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Why would I ever do that?" he whispered, stepping closer, his fingers curling around a lock of your hair. "I'm just protecting you. That's all I ever wanted."

You wanted to believe him. But as the days turned into weeks, your world grew smaller, until all that remained was the darkness of his shadow… and the warmth of his embrace.

And through it all, you couldn't help but wonder…

Was this love?

Or a beautiful, dangerous trap you could never escape?

[themissinghand]

Solo Leveling Fire and Ice, That's Pretty Nice

Summary: In which opposites attract and the shadow army gets a terrifying mother figure. 

Or more of Jinwoo’s shadow army shenanigans.

Pairing: Igris x Ice Elf Queen Reader!

Note: Self indulgent because I can basically count all the solo leveling female characters on one hand. 

Also I like Igris >.<

This is longer than most of my other works at (7.5k words x.x)

Warnings: Violence and mother’s rage. Kind of long introduction.

★・・・・・・★

Jinwoo stood over the lifeless body of the Ice Elf King, his black blade dripping with blood. 

He tightened his grip on Kasaka's Venom Fang and exhaled, his breath turning to frost. 

"I couldn’t turn him into one of my shadows." Jinwoo muttered, almost disappointed. 3 tries, and all of them were a failure.

Ha. A wasted opportunity.

Then, he felt it.

A tremor.

The sound of countless footsteps on the snow. 

He turned to face the open field, his eyes narrowing as he summoned his shadows. 

Ha. 

An army of Ice Elves. Dozens, no, hundreds. Their blue-tinted skin and ice weapons glinted like shards of glass in the pale light.

"Backup?" Jinwoo said under his breath, his heartbeat quickening in excitement. 

"Bring it on."

But then, the temperature plummeted.

It wasn't just the cold.

It was her.

The elves parted, bowing in reverence as the figure approached. Armor forged of pure ice clung to a tall, commanding form. Frost spread from each of your steps, the ground itself cracking and freezing beneath your weight.

You carried no weapon, for you were the weapon, an entity born of vengeance and ice.

Jinwoo's instincts screamed at him. 

Danger.

Then, the ding of a system message appeared before his eyes:

[System Alert: New Enemy] [Danger! Hidden Boss] [Defeat the Ice Elf Queen]

The Ice Elf King had been impressive, but compared to you, he seemed like nothing more than a footnote in the hierarchy of this dungeon.

You stopped several paces away from Jinwoo, your piercing gaze locking onto his. Frost coated your silver lashes, and your voice carried like the howl of a blizzard.

"You killed my children," you said, the words cutting deeper than the ice of your domain.

Jinwoo froze, just for a moment. Children?

And then he understood. The Ice Elf King was not merely your ruler. The elites he had fought. the ones who had fallen at his hand, had been your offspring.

"You'll regret that," you hissed, lifting a gauntleted hand. A bitter wind howled, and shards of ice erupted from the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, spires that sought to impale the intruder who dared stain your legacy.

Jinwoo barely managed to sidestep the first barrage, his speed saving him from certain death. His eyes gleamed with mana as his black armor manifested around him.

"So, you're the real boss of this place," he said, grinning. 

"Then let's get started."

The battlefield exploded. 

You were relentless. For every shadow Jinwoo summoned, your frost overwhelmed it. Spears of ice shot from the ground, forcing Jinwoo to stay on the move, his agility tested like never before. 

Jinwoo darted forward, closing the distance in an instant. He swung Kasaka's Venom Fang with lethal precision, aiming for the gap between your ice-plated joints. But the moment the blade connected, your armor regenerated, spreading frost across his weapon like a virus.

"What?"

You seized the opportunity. Raising both hands, you summoned a swirling blizzard around him. The gale shrieked as jagged shards of ice formed mid-air, each one honed to kill.

The storm closed in.

For a moment, there was nothing but cold.

But then, amidst the storm, Jinwoo's voice cut through, calm and deadly.

"Shadow Exchange."

A dark ripple pulsed across the battlefield, and Jinwoo vanished, only to reappear behind you.

Ruler's Authority!

Your head snapped around just as the force of Jinwoo's telekinetic grip slammed into your back, sending you skidding across the ice. You caught yourself, frost blooming from your fingertips as you snarled in rage.

Jinwoo landed lightly, black smoke coiling around his feet like serpents.

"You're strong," he admitted, his voice laced with excitement. 

"But I've fought worse."

Your eyes glowed brighter, your voice now a roar of grief and fury. 

"Then you've never fought a mother."

The world trembled. Ice surged from the ground, forming massive constructs, golems of frozen wrath that towered above Jinwoo's shadows. The air grew thick with frost, suffocating and relentless.

Jinwoo grinned, though he felt the chill in his bones.

"Good," he said, raising his hand. "I was just starting to get bored."

"ARISE."

From the shadows of the fallen elves, soldiers of death began to rise.

The Ice Queen, you stood amidst the blizzard you had summoned, your piercing gaze burning with icy wrath. Each of your attacks carried not just strength, but emotion. 

Grief. Fury. Vengeance.

Jinwoo had fought countless enemies, monsters, bosses, and even beings beyond comprehension. But none had ever felt quite like this. You weren’t just a beast.

You were a mother.

"Why…?" Jinwoo muttered, dodging another spear of ice that shattered against the wall behind him. He leapt toward you, his shadowed blade swinging to strike, but your hand rose faster.

With a chilling whisper, frost erupted around your palm, and you caught his sword mid-swing. The force of it cracked the ground beneath your feet, yet you held firm, your armor regenerating instantly where the black blade had scraped through.

"Why?" you echoed, your voice trembling between grief and rage. "Because you stole them from me!"

A pulse of mana erupted from you, blasting Jinwoo back. He skidded across the ice, his boots digging into the frozen ground to stop himself. A headache throbbed in his temple, and he realized, his mana was draining.

Quickly.

What?

He glanced at his status bar, disbelief flickering across his face. His mana pool, vast as it was, had dropped significantly. When did this start?

Then he looked at you. The frost spreading beneath your feet was no longer just physical ice, it shimmered with a dark, consuming energy.

"You’re absorbing it," he murmured, realization dawning.

You advanced slowly, frost blooming with every step. The air grew impossibly heavy, laced with sorrow that hung like a weight on his shoulders.

"You are no different than the others who came before. Slaughtering for sport, for power. My children were not monsters. They were mine. My blood. My heart."

Jinwoo’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard curses and cries from his enemies before, pleas for mercy, hatred, or blind rage. But this was different.

Your grief wasn’t just a programmed reaction. It felt real.

For the first time, as he looked into the burning blue of your eyes, Jinwoo hesitated.

"Your children attacked me," he said carefully, his voice lower, steadier than before. "They were strong. Dangerous."

“And did they ask to be born here, to fight in this cold, forgotten prison?” you shot back, ice crackling at the edges of your words.

“Did they choose to face someone like you?”

Your anger was consuming the air, turning it into frost itself, and now it was consuming him. His mana continued to bleed away into the frost-covered ground beneath his feet. The realization struck him hard, this wasn’t a simple boss battle anymore. 

You weren’t just regenerating. You were feeding on his mana, absorbing his strength to sustain your fury.

His mind raced. She’s not just strong. She’s unstoppable at this rate.

You lunged, faster than before, your form a blur. Jinwoo barely managed to deflect the strike, but the force of it sent shockwaves rippling up his arms.

Think. Think.

His shadows flickered around him, faltering under your draining aura. His mana bar continued to drop, and for the first time in a long while, Jinwoo felt something unfamiliar.

Pressure.

This was no mindless monster. You were a mother with nothing left to lose.

Jinwoo grit his teeth, his mind racing as he struggled to regain control. The cold was unrelenting, his mana still bleeding away into the frost-laden ground. You stood tall before him, your ice-forged armor glimmering with an unnatural, otherworldly beauty, your fury as eternal as the chill in the air.

He readied himself to charge, but before he could, a shadow moved, an unmistakable figure leapt forward.

"Igris?" Jinwoo muttered in disbelief.

The red knight stood between you and his master, his massive sword lowered but steady. The flames of his crimson armor flared against the oppressive cold, his presence a stark contrast to the glacial frost you commanded.

What happened next shocked Jinwoo.

Igris, who had always been silent, spoke.

"Ice Queen," the knight said, his voice deep and reverberating like the echoes of an ancient cathedral. For a moment, the frost stilled, and the blizzard paused as you regarded him.

“I am Igris, a knight.”

Igris took a step forward, his burning crimson gaze locking with yours. 

“You know me,” he said, his voice steady, firm. “Or at least… you knew me, once. Another time. Another world.”

Your expression faltered, just for a second, as though an old memory had scraped against your consciousness. The ice around your fingers trembled.

“Lies,” you hissed, but there was a faint tremor in your voice, one you could not suppress.

“No,” Igris said, his tone calm but unyielding. “You know it as truth.” He raised his blade and pointed it toward Jinwoo, though the gesture was not hostile. 

“He is my liege, the king I currently serve. Your children’s suffering has ended, and under his dominion, they will not suffer again. They will rise, reborn under a new master. Under his shadow, they will be safe.”

Safe.

The word pierced through the storm raging within you. Your frost cracked, spreading hairline fractures through the ice coating your domain.

“Lies!” you roared, your voice breaking with fury and grief. “They are dead! Their souls are gone, and you dare speak of safety?”

Igris lowered his sword slightly, the flames along his armor flickering. “Your grief is not unfounded,” he said, quieter this time. “But you know this truth already, buried beneath your rage. You feel it even now.”

Your breathing hitched as his words struck deeper, clawing at the wall you had built around yourself. There was something haunting about the way Igris spoke, something familiar.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice wavering.

Igris straightened, his form tall and unwavering against the storm. “A knight,” he replied. “A loyal servant. And in another time, another life… we knew each other’s names.”

The ice around you splintered further, your vision blurring with conflicting emotions. Memories you couldn’t place flitted at the edges of your mind, too faint to grasp, too powerful to ignore.

“I will not allow you to manipulate me!” you shouted, your frost lashing out again, cracking the earth beneath you.

Jinwoo, who had been watching in silence, stepped forward then, his voice cutting through the tension. 

“I don’t know what you two were,” he said firmly, his black armor darkening against the pale frost. 

“But Igris isn’t wrong. I don’t kill for sport, and I don’t take it without purpose. Your children are mine now, yes, but under my command, they will rise stronger, safer than before.”

Your eyes snapped to Jinwoo, blazing with mistrust and fury. 

“And why should I believe you? The man who stole everything from me?”

“Because I know what it’s like to lose everything.” His voice was calm but heavy, filled with a weight that gave you pause.

“And I won’t let that happen again. Not to my shadows. Not to them.”

Igris turned his gaze back to you, his voice softening.

“Do you truly believe your vengeance will bring them back? Or will you let their souls find purpose under a king who knows the weight of life and death?”

You staggered, your ice-cold heart trembling for the first time in centuries. The frost beneath you crackled and broke as you faltered.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No… I won’t… I can’t…”

The blizzard around you howled, raging with the last vestiges of your denial.

Jinwoo raised his sword once more, but this time, there was no mockery or cruelty in his stance. Only resolve.

“Then I’ll prove it to you,” he said, his voice echoing across the frozen cavern. “Come at me with everything you have.”

And you did.

Jinwoo stood before you now, a dark silhouette against the shattered blizzard. His breathing was heavy, his armor battered, but his resolve remained unbroken. Your knees hit the fractured ice, cracks spidering out beneath your weight as the last of your strength bled away.

“It’s over,” he said softly, lowering his sword. Shadows stirred behind him, coiling and whispering like sentient beings.

“Kill me,” you hissed, your voice ragged and weak. 

“Take my soul as you took my children’s.”

But Jinwoo didn’t move to strike. Instead, he reached out, his mana surging as shadows spilled forth and wrapped around the battlefield. Before you could protest or summon your magic, a dark aura pulsed through the field, gentle but commanding.

“What…are you doing?” you choked, trembling as you felt it, the unmistakable presence of life returning.

The shadows moved, forming shapes that you knew too well. Small figures emerged from the darkness, their translucent forms taking on flesh and light. Your breath caught as you saw them, your children.

One by one, they stood before you, no longer bound by cold and suffering. Their faces were radiant, their frostbitten forms replaced by vitality and warmth, though their bodies bore a faint shadowy sheen, a mark of this man’s power. 

They were alive. Reborn.

You dropped your sword, the clang echoing like the toll of a bell.

Jinwoo stood silent as your other children, now shadows, gathered around, their roars echoing through the forest. Shadows danced in their footsteps, but there was no malice.

“They… they are happy,” you whispered, staring at Jinwoo with wide, disbelieving eyes. “How is this possible?”

Jinwoo’s gaze was steady, his voice low and certain.

“I gave them a new purpose. Under me, they are free from pain and death. Immortal in my shadow. I promised they wouldn’t suffer again…and I keep my promises.”

You turned back to your children, watching them roar with expressions you hadn’t seen in centuries. The rage that had burned so fiercely within you began to fade, replaced by an ache so deep it left you breathless.

But when you looked again, you noticed someone missing. 

“Where…where is my king?” Jinwoo’s expression hardened. 

“Your king has passed before I could turn him into my shadow.” 

The words struck like a shard of ice, and for a moment, you felt the grief resurface. But as you looked back at your children, free, you realized the truth, your king’s ambition had led you here.

To war. To loss.

The sword you had carried for so long, the weight of vengeance and pain, slipped from your hand entirely, sinking into the ice.

Your voice trembled as you looked at Jinwoo, no longer with hate, but with reluctant acceptance. 

You rose to your feet slowly, your frost-forged armor shimmering as it began to melt away, replaced by a lighter form. The magic still swirled around you, but it was no longer violent. 

You had been a queen. A mother. A warrior. But now, you could be something else.

“I am a swordsman,” you said softly, staring at Jinwoo with renewed purpose. “And a mage. My strength has been forged in both ice and war. You have taken everything from me…but you have also given back what I thought was lost forever.”

Jinwoo regarded you carefully as you knelt before him, frost blooming beneath you like flowers in the snow.

“I will serve,” you said quietly, “not because I must, but because I choose to. For them. For my children.”

The shadows around Jinwoo swirled with approval, and Igris, who had watched the scene unfold, nodded once, his crimson armor glowing faintly.

Jinwoo extended his hand toward you, and for the first time in centuries, you felt something other than cold.

Hope.

With one final look at your children, who danced in the shadows, you took Jinwoo’s hand. A new bond was forged, one of loyalty, of purpose, and of peace.

The Ice Queen was no more.

But you, a magic swordsman, would rise again under Jinwoo’s command.

Serving your liege had been an adjustment, to say the least. 

The battlefield, once your home of ice and grief, had transformed into something else entirely, shadows and death. Yet, to your surprise, this place felt more alive than your frozen kingdom ever had.

Your children thrived here. They trained, played, and walked among the shadows without fear. You watched them grow stronger, their once-frozen faces now glowing with laughter as they hung out with other species. 

It brought peace to your heart, something you hadn’t thought possible for centuries.

Of course, your presence brought a new dynamic to Jinwoo’s overwhelmingly male army.

The soldiers, stoic and loyal as they were, had never been quite sure what to do with you. 

They knew strength and they respected power. 

And you, the former Ice Elf Queen, exuded both. But you also had a softer side, one you didn’t show on the battlefield. When Jinwoo began adding more female shadows to the ranks, they naturally gravitated toward you.

It wasn’t long before you became their unspoken leader, a mother, a guide, and an aunt, as some of the more playful ones had teased. You listened to their concerns, encouraged their strength, and ensured they were seen. 

You were fierce, yes, but you were also nurturing. It was a role you had forgotten you could play.

Even Jinwoo noticed the change. 

“You’ve turned my army into a family.” You had simply stared ahead. 

“An army is stronger when it has a heart.”

Jinwoo didn’t argue.

But there was one member of the Shadow Army who had become an unexpected complication.

Igris.

You first noticed it on the battlefield. Igris was always nearby, close enough to intercept any attack that came your way, his crimson armor a stark contrast to your icy form. It wasn’t unusual for soldiers to protect one another, but Igris seemed overly diligent.

Then it started happening outside of battle.

You would train with your frost magic and swordplay, and Igris would be there, watching silently. You’d turn around, and he’d be standing at the edge of the clearing, his massive sword resting at his side. At first, you assumed it was a coincidence.

It wasn’t.

Whenever you walked the shadow realm, Igris wasn’t far behind. He hovered like a lost puppy, a very tall, very intimidating puppy, his crimson flames flickering softly, as if unsure whether to step forward or hold back.

It reached a point where even Jinwoo noticed.

“Igris,” Jinwoo said one day, arms crossed as he observed the red knight following you into yet another training session. 

“Why are you always following her?”

Igris paused, the glowing slits of his helmet turning toward Jinwoo. 

For a moment, it seemed like he might deny it, but instead, he simply said, “I am ensuring her safety.”

Jinwoo arched a brow. 

“Her safety? She nearly killed me, and she’s stronger than half the army.”

Igris didn’t flinch. 

“It is… a habit. I do not understand why, perhaps it is due to memories from another life.”

Another life? Jinwoo remembered that you and Igris did seem to share some connection. Even then, they must have been a long time ago. 

You, listening to this conversation with your sword planted firmly in the ground, narrowed your eyes. 

“Igris.”

The knight turned to you instantly, as if awaiting an order. Jinwoo took a step back to exclude himself from the conversation.

“Are you following me?” you asked flatly.

There was a pause, brief but telling. Then, with that same unwavering voice, he replied, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Igris hesitated for the first time since you had met him. His sword shifted in his grip as if the flames themselves were unsure. 

“Because… I remember.”

The words froze you in place.

You stared at him, memories flickering at the edges of your mind, ones you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your soul. Another time. Another life.

“You remember what?” you demanded softly.

“I remember you,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “From before. From a life long gone.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you didn’t know why. 

“And what was I to you?”

Igris straightened, the flames of his armor burning brighter. 

“I am…uncertain. However, you were…important.”

Jinwoo, watching this exchange with no small amount of amusement, muttered under his breath, “This is getting interesting.”

Igris's words lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth beneath the ice that had once been your heart.

“Fine,” you said finally, turning your back on him as you picked up your sword. “While I do not remember as well as you may, you can follow me if you wish, but don’t get in my way.”

Igris bowed his head slightly, as if you’d just granted him a gift. 

“As you command.”

And so, the red knight continued to shadow your steps, silent but steadfast, his presence both a mystery and a comfort you didn’t dare admit.

Your liege, for his part, had to fight back a smirk every time he saw the two of you together. “Interesting indeed,” he’d mutter, much to your exasperation.

Managing the shadow army turned out to be far more chaotic than you ever anticipated.

At first, you assumed your liege, having reached such incredible strength and commanding an entire shadow legion, had a handle on things. 

You were wrong.

His form of “management” seemed to consist of standing silently with his arms crossed while the shadows interpreted his silence however they pleased. It was fine on the battlefield, his sheer presence was enough to unite and terrify, but outside of combat?

It was a mess.

Resting areas were haphazardly chosen, shadows sprawled out like abandoned weapons until it was time to fight again. Training consisted of brutal sparring with no structure or goals. And let’s not even discuss living quarters, shadows didn’t need sleep or comfort, so he’d never thought of such things.

But you had.

So, in the absence of leadership outside of war, you stepped in.

You oversaw the construction of a proper base, a castle, as the shadows began calling it. Walls rose high, forged of dark stone and reinforced with your frost magic. 

Resting areas were organized, equipped with blackened banners, training grounds, and even kitchens (even if Jinwoo’s shadows didn’t eat, you insisted on adding them for dignity’s sake).

Jinwoo watched all of this unfold with mild amusement. 

“I didn’t think they needed this.”

“An army isn’t just swords and numbers,” you replied matter-of-factly, arms crossed as you oversaw the placement of a fountain. 

“They need purpose. Structure. Pride.”

To your surprise, Jinwoo didn’t argue. Instead, he simply muttered, “You’re better at this than me.”

You didn’t deny it.

But it wasn’t long before you encountered an entirely different issue, the shadow army was obsessed with him.

It started small.

The first time you noticed it, a group of shadows had gathered in a circle, whispering with surprising energy. Curiosity piqued, you approached, only to stop dead in your tracks when you saw it:

A statue of your liege.

It was crude, clearly carved with brute force rather than finesse, but it was unmistakably him.

“What…is this?” you asked slowly, arching an eyebrow.

The shadows flinched, clearly caught red-handed. 

“A tribute to our liege.” You sighed. 

“Fine. One statue is acceptable.”

But it didn’t stop there.

Days later, as you surveyed the newly completed courtyard, you found another one. This one was bigger. Shinier. Better.

“Another tribute,” one shadow explained proudly.

The following week, statues started cropping up everywhere, lining the training grounds, looming over the entrances, even decorating the castle halls.

Some depicted your liege in dramatic combat poses; others made him look regal, arms crossed and cape billowing as if he stood atop the world. You found one shadow carefully polishing a statue of your liege's face, its glowing eyes full of reverence.

It was absurd.

You cornered your liege about it one evening, after stumbling upon yet another statue, this one holding a disproportionately large sword.

“Do you know what the shadows are doing?” you demanded, arms crossed.

Jinwoo blinked at you. 

“Training?”

“No.” You jabbed a finger toward the nearest statue. 

“They’re turning this entire castle into a shrine dedicated to you.” Jinwoo glanced at the statue and tilted his head. 

“Huh. That’s new.”

“This isn’t new, my liege! It’s everywhere.” He stared for a long moment, then shrugged. 

“Let them do what they want. It’s harmless.” You gave him an incredulous look. 

“You’ll regret this when you can’t see the sky because of all the statues.” Jinwoo’s lips twitched into something resembling a smirk. 

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

You weren’t.

The next day, you found a group of shadows trying to carve Jinwoo’s face into a mountain.

You glared up at the giant, incomplete mural, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, “they take after him.”

“Isn’t it grand, my lady?” one of the shadows asked eagerly.

You sighed, looking at their hopeful, flickering forms. In truth, you couldn’t find it in yourself to scold them. They were loyal. Fiercely so. And if building statues of their liege brought them joy, then who were you to stop them?

Still, there had to be limits.

“Fine,” you said, hands on your hips. “You can have three statues in the courtyard. No more. And stay away from the mountain.”

The shadows grumbled but reluctantly agreed. You knew they’d push the boundary again eventually, but for now, you’d won this battle.

Later that night, you found Igris standing silently near one of the more polished Jinwoo statues.

“Don’t tell me you approve of this,” Igris turned his helmet toward you. 

“I find it… excessive.” You nod. 

“Good. At least someone has sense around here.”

“…But it is well-crafted.”

Silence, then a sigh. You did admit at least the craftsmanship improved over time. You dragged a hand down your face as Igris tilted his head ever so slightly, his version of amusement.

Jinwoo, watching the entire exchange from the castle steps, simply chuckled. 

“You really have your hands full, don’t you?”

“My liege, you could help.”

“I could,” he replied, turning back toward his ever-growing army. “But you’re doing such a good job.”

You swore you heard Igris laugh softly under his breath as you stalked off, vowing to tear down at least one statue before the day ended.

Boys would be boys, indeed.

It started with small, almost negligible details, at least to everyone except Jinwoo.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. 

Igris was Igris: noble, stoic, and unwaveringly loyal. But recently, something had changed, and Jinwoo couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

It began when you sparred with Igris one afternoon. Your icy blade clashed with his crimson greatsword, magic flaring, and shadows gathering to watch the spectacle. The spar had been long and hard-fought, ending in a draw that left you both panting but satisfied.

“That was impressive,” Jinwoo said afterward as he approached.

Igris remained quiet, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on you as you restored your blade to your sheath with a graceful flourish.

“…Igris?” Jinwoo prompted.

The knight stiffened and turned sharply.

“Yes, my liege?”

Jinwoo frowned. Weird.

Then there were the moments when Jinwoo would notice Igris standing near you, closer than necessary, his crimson armor seemingly shining brighter whenever you were around. 

And there was that one time he caught Igris subtly handing you an ice-forged rose that one of your children had made, claiming it was “on behalf of the Shadow Army.”

You accepted it with mild amusement. 

“Tell them their craftsmanship is improving.”

Igris’ helm dipped slightly, as though he was pleased with himself.

Jinwoo, watching this from the corner of the room, blinked slowly. 

Wait a second…

The final confirmation came when Beru, as excitable and nosy as ever, suddenly burst into Jinwoo’s quarters with the energy of a gossiping whirlwind.

“My liege!” Beru hissed dramatically, clawed hands wringing together. 

“You won’t believe what I’ve discovered!” Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“Is this another complaint about shadow formations?”

“No, no!” Beru waved him off frantically. 

“It’s about Sir Igris!”

That got Jinwoo’s attention. 

“What about him?” Beru leaned in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. 

“He has a crush.”

Jinwoo blinked, then stared blankly. 

“A what?”

“A crush! On the Ice Queen!” Beru practically cackled. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes! He follows her like a lost puppy! He watches her sparring matches with an intensity I’ve never seen before! And when she talks, my liege, he listens.”

Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, processing this information. At first, the thought seemed ridiculous, this was Igris, his most loyal knight, the epitome of calm and collected authority. But the more Jinwoo thought about it…the more the pieces started to fit.

“Oh no,” Jinwoo muttered to himself, realizing the truth.

“Igris does have a crush.”

And just as Jinwoo said it, the doors opened, and in walked Igris, calm, composed, and completely oblivious to the whispers and stares from Beru and Jinwoo.

“My liege,” Igris said with his usual gravitas. “You called for me?”

Jinwoo stared at his knight for a long moment, a smirk creeping onto his face. This is going to be interesting.

“Igris,” Jinwoo began innocently, “how do you feel about the Ice Queen?”

For the first time Jinwoo could remember, Igris paused. It wasn’t a noticeable pause, just a momentary stiffness in his stance, a subtle hesitation. But Jinwoo caught it, and so did Beru, who was practically vibrating with glee beside him.

“She is an exceptional warrior,” Igris replied after a beat, his tone measured but somehow…off.

“Her leadership skills have greatly benefited the Shadow Army.”

“And?” Jinwoo pressed, feigning innocence. Igris’ helm tilted slightly. 

“…And she is a valuable ally.”

“And?”

“My liege,” Igris said firmly, clearly aware he was being cornered, “is there a point to this line of questioning?”

Before Jinwoo could answer, Beru burst out, “Just admit it, Sir Igris! You like her! You admire her ice powers! You think she’s graceful and strong!”

Igris’ head turned slowly toward Beru, the kind of slow turn that suggested death was imminent. 

“I suggest you choose your next words carefully.” But Beru wasn’t done.

“Don’t worry, Sir Igris! Everyone thinks you two would make a perfect match!”

Jinwoo covered his face with a hand, trying to stifle his laughter as Igris stood there, every ounce of his dignity being stripped away. 

The knight’s silence spoke volumes.

“Run.”

Beru flew out the door. 

Later that day, you found Jinwoo observing the training grounds with an odd little smirk. You didn’t question it until you spotted Igris in the corner, supervising recruits with an intensity that could only be described as aggressively focused.

You frowned, sensing something was off. 

“My liege, what’s wrong with Igris today?” Jinwoo shrugged, his smirk widening. 

“Oh, nothing. He’s just… dealing with some feelings.”

“Feelings?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion brewing, but you didn’t press further. 

And in the shadows, Beru lurked with giddy delight, ready to share his next piece of gossip with anyone willing to listen.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the Shadow Army to catch wind of Igris’ crush. Beru, being the ultimate gossip enthusiast, made sure of that.

It started with whispers, hushed conversations in the halls of the shadow castle, smirks exchanged between troops, and subtle glances whenever Igris and you crossed paths.

Tank was the first to approach Igris alone.

The massive shadow bear lumbered up to the knight during a sparring session, his size making him impossible to ignore. Igris turned, his crimson greatsword in hand, only to find Tank staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

“…What is it, Tank?” Igris asked coolly, though he already sensed trouble.

Tank tilted his enormous head. 

“Sir Igris.”

“Yes?”

“Have you…mated with the Ice Queen yet?” Igris froze, his blade still mid-swing. 

“WHAT.”

“Tank, you absolute imbecile!” came Beru’s screech from a nearby shadow. “You’re not supposed to ask him that directly!”

Tank shrugged with a rumbling growl. 

“But Beru said-”

“I said implied!”

Igris turned his helm toward the two of them, a palpable aura of murderous intent swirling around him. 

“What. Are. You. Talking. About?”

Beru cackled and immediately scampered away, leaving Tank to deal with the consequences.

“Tank, run!” Beru’s voice echoed from the distance.

Iron, who lacked any and all social tact, decided to take a much more direct approach.

One afternoon, you were overseeing recruits sparring when Iron stomped up to you, his hulking form casting a shadow over everyone present.

“Ice Queen!” Iron’s booming voice startled even you, though you quickly straightened.

“Yes, Iron?” you replied with a raised brow.

“Igris likes you!”

The training grounds fell deathly silent. The recruits froze mid-swing, staring wide-eyed as the words echoed through the air. You blinked once, your stoic mask cracking slightly.

“…Excuse me?”

“Igris! He likes you! He looks at you like Tank looks at honey!” Iron repeated proudly, as if he’d uncovered the world’s greatest secret.

From across the field, Igris appeared out of nowhere, slamming his sword into the ground with such force the ground shook. 

“IRON!” Iron flinched. 

“Oh. Was that supposed to be a secret?”

You slowly turned to Igris, curiosity lighting up your expression as he stomped toward Iron with an air of absolute murder.

“Iron, you fool,” Igris growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t be mad!” Iron said, cheerfully unbothered. “The Ice Queen is strong! You’d make good mates!”

“Silence!”

You crossed your arms, watching with mild amusement as Igris all but dragged Iron away, his dignity shredded once again.

That night, as you stood at the edge of the shadow castle overlooking the vast plains, Igris approached you silently.

“You asked for me?” you asked without turning, sensing his presence.

Igris hesitated, just for a second, before he spoke. 

“I…wished to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For the… behavior of the others,” he replied stiffly. 

“Their gossip is uncalled for.”

You smirked faintly, turning fully to face him. 

“Let them talk. I don’t concern myself with rumors.”

Igris stood taller at your words, though something about his posture softened. You stepped closer, your gaze steady. 

“But perhaps you should tell me, do they speak the truth?”

For the first time, Igris faltered. His helm tilted downward, his silence louder than words.

You studied him for a moment longer before turning back to the plains, an unreadable smile on your lips. 

“Goodnight, Igris.”

As you walked away, Igris remained rooted to the spot, the chill of the night air doing little to mask the warmth lingering in his chest.

From the shadows, Jinwoo and Beru watched the exchange, the latter barely containing his squeals of delight.

“Did you see that, my liege?!” Beru whispered excitedly.

“Oh, I saw it. Poor Igris doesn’t stand a chance.”

Who knew watching his subordinate's love story could be so fun?

Igris had faced dragons, commanders, kings, and hordes of enemies without faltering. His blade had clashed against unbeatable odds, his will unwavering against death itself. 

But now, the once-mighty knight stood in a shadowy corridor, frozen in place, gripped by the strangest and most insurmountable enemy of all, his feelings.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I know! I know! Sir Igris must confess his undying love!”

The voice of Beru shattered whatever composure Igris had left. The insectoid shadow stepped out of a dark corner, his glowing eyes alight with glee.

“…Beru.” Igris groaned, instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword. “This is none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is!” Beru exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. “As the Shadow Army’s most socially attuned being-”

“Hardly.”

“-I am here to assist you! I have gathered extensive knowledge from hours of observing human courtship rituals.”

“…Human courtship rituals?” Igris echoed skeptically.

“Yes! Lady Jinah has been watching these K-Dramas! And I, being a shadow of excellent taste, have memorized their methods for confession!”

Igris turned slowly toward him, dread pooling in his core. 

“I don’t want to know.”

“Step one!” Beru ignored him entirely. 

“The Grand Gesture.”

And so, an hour later, you stood in the training grounds watching with a mix of amusement and confusion as Igris, in full armor, dramatically knelt before you.

“What…are you doing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as the crimson knight extended a single glowing flower made of mana.

Igris said nothing for several moments, clearly at war with himself. Finally, his deep voice rumbled, “This is… for you.”

Before you could respond, Beru leaped out from behind a pillar. 

“SPEAK YOUR HEART!”

“Beru—!” Igris snapped, his mana flaring in irritation.

“SPEAK IT!”

Igris, utterly flustered now, turned back to you stiffly. “I… appreciate your strength and…” He paused, clearly struggling. “…you’re very… capable.”

You stared at him, blinking. 

“Capable?”

“Like a soaring falcon!” Beru added unhelpfully.

“…Right.”

Before you could respond, Igris stood abruptly, tossing the flower onto the ground like it offended him.

“Forget this ever happened.”

And with that, he stormed away, leaving Beru screeching, “Wait, you didn’t finish the confession scene!”

You watched the chaos unfold, shaking your head with a quiet laugh.

At least it was cute.

Two failed grand gestures later (including an unfortunate rain-soaked poetry recital Beru insisted on), Igris had all but given up. He found himself back in the training grounds, gripping his sword far tighter than necessary.

You approached him, clearly done with whatever weird behavior he had been exhibiting for days now. 

“Sir Igris.”

He stilled.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we going to keep pretending you haven’t been acting strange?”

“I am not-”

“Pick up your sword,” you interrupted.

“What?” Igris blinked behind his helm.

“You’re clearly distracted. Spar me. If you win, I’ll stop asking.”

The knight hesitated, then nodded. Sparring was straightforward, something he understood.

Or so he thought.

Ten minutes later, Igris found himself flat on his back, his blade knocked clean from his grip as you stood over him, your own weapon pointed at his chest.

“You’re distracted,” you said simply, though there was a glint of satisfaction in your eyes. “And you’re terrible at hiding it.”

Igris groaned inwardly, his pride in tatters.

“This… is difficult for me.”

“What is?”

He hesitated, then finally, finally, spoke.

“You.”

“…Me?”

“I…” He sighed, clearly abandoning every complicated plan Beru had forced on him. “I admire you. Your strength, your leadership…You have earned my trust.”

“That’s what’s been bothering you?” you asked, a brow raised.

Igris slowly sat up, his crimson helm turned toward you. 

“…It is not just trust. I…adore you”

A long pause stretched between you before you smirked faintly.

“You could’ve just been direct about it, you know.”

Igris stared at your offered hand for a moment, then took it, allowing you to pull him up. 

“Being direct was… not part of Beru’s advice.” You snorted. 

“Beru? You took advice from Beru?”

“Unfortunately.”

“…No wonder you were acting weird.” You turned, sheathing your weapon. “Next time, just say what’s on your mind.”

As you walked away, Igris stood rooted in place, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest, relief.

From the shadows, Beru and Jinwoo watched once again.

“Well, that could’ve gone smoother,” Beru chirped, pouting.

Jinwoo laughed under his breath. “You’re banned from giving advice.”

“No! Give me another chance, my liege!”

“Not happening.”

“Humans are confusing creatures.”

“No, you’re just terrible at romance. And shadows are not humans.”

As for Igris, he silently vowed to never listen to Beru again, unless he wanted another existential crisis.

After weeks of awkward interactions, failed grand gestures, and silent brooding, Igris had finally decided to end his suffering.

And so there he stood, outside the castle training grounds, holding a bouquet of rare, frost-kissed flowers he had painstakingly gathered from dungeons. His usually stoic demeanor was betrayed by the faint tension in his posture, his grip on the bouquet just a little too tight.

When you walked out and caught sight of him, you paused, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sir Igris?”

He stepped forward, the crimson armor reflecting the soft glow of the fading sun. Slowly, he extended the bouquet toward you, the flowers shimmering in an ethereal light. 

“These are… for you.” You blinked at the sight. 

“Flowers? You brought me flowers?”

“I…” Igris faltered for the briefest of moments, his voice lower now. “I wished to offer you something…as a sign of what I feel.”

“What you feel?” you echoed, amusement tugging at your lips.

“Yes.” He stood straighter, his deep voice unwavering despite the hint of nervousness beneath it. 

“I have admired you since the day we crossed swords. Your strength, your resolve… you. I care for you. I love you.”

The confession hung in the air, thick with weight. Igris, who had faced countless foes without flinching, now stood in front of you, awaiting your response like a man facing judgment.

You stared at him for a beat, then smiled softly, shaking your head. 

“About time.” Igris blinked. 

“…What?”

“I knew, Igris,” you said, taking the bouquet from his armored hands with a smile. “You’re not exactly subtle. The weird grand gestures? The brooding? Beru’s antics? I figured it out weeks ago.”

He stiffened. 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I wanted you to say it yourself,” you replied, smirking. “A knight should be direct, don’t you think?”

Igris remained silent for a moment, processing your words, before the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

“You… are maddening.”

“And you’re dramatic, but I love you too,” you shot back playfully, while Igris froze on the spot, speechless. 

“Thanks for the flowers, they’re beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as you.

A faint glow emanated from Igris’s crimson armor, almost as if he were embarrassed. 

“I…am glad you like them.”

From a nearby shadow, Beru’s voice suddenly chirped, “FINALLY!”

Both of you turned sharply to see Beru, Jinwoo, and the rest of the shadow army peeking out from behind pillars and walls, clearly eavesdropping.

Jinwoo crossed his arms, grinning. 

“Took you long enough, Igris.” Beru buzzed with excitement. 

“Now kiss her! That’s what happens in the dramas!”

“Beru,” Igris growled warningly, mana flaring around him.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you turned to Igris. “I guess we’ll never live this down, will we?”

“…Perhaps not,” he muttered, though the hint of fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

“Well,” you said, tucking one of the frost-kissed flowers into your hair. “Let’s give them something to talk about, shall we?”

And for the first time, the unshakable knight seemed utterly stunned as you leaned up to press a kiss against the side of his crimson helm.

The resulting cheers from the shadows echoed across the entire territory.

Jinwoo let out a relieved sigh.

Who would've thought his shadows would get a relationship quicker than him?

Jinah is going to love this.

[0deathpainting0]

i got u

jinwoo sung x f!reader

summary: babying jinwoo after a mining assignment

warnings: 18+ swearing, minor injuries, bathing?, handjob, fingering, p in v, some overstim, raw, creampie

a/n: so i think everyone should watch solo leveling ok! n e ways i do think this man would also be soft and whiny but ofc there’s that switch that flips 🤤

w/c: 2.8k

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Jinwoo still took mining assignments weekly for two main reasons.. Maybe three. 

The first reason was so he could continue to stash money. Sure he makes more than enough now but he’ll never forget that constant struggle to pay medical bills and save for his sister's tuition. Never again would he live like that or allow his family or you to live like that. So regardless of his skill or rank or how much he had saved he would show up with his head low and grab an axe before heading in with the crew. 

The next reason he took the mining assignments was because of the ego boost he received when he was noticed. The way their axe would fall to the ground as they looked up at him. From the hunter that was made fun of to this always makes his mind spin. He would offer them a smile before turning back and hammering his axe down into the crystal. Once he harvested all he could he would bid them farewell and make his way home to you. 

Which leads to the last reason, your doting hands and whispered hisses of being more careful. He would swing the axe a little more recklessly than needed and scrape up his hands. He would fall to the ground to collect the crystals with more force than necessary to allow small bruises to blossom by the time he got home. Now he wasn’t a sadist.. Well.. He wasn’t inflicting these things to himself for nothing. He did it for the extra tenderness you showed him when he would get home. 

The moment he opens the door you jump off the couch and run over to him. He leans down for a kiss but you push his chest back to assess him. You tsk at his hands and look lower and see the new holes in the knees of his pants. You look up at him with narrowed eyes and he offers you a sheepish smile. You grab his wrist and start to tug him into the bathroom. You start the bath and turn to him with a pout. 

“Are you okay?” you look him over again and he nods his head. “Nothing serious?” you and him both know that he would’ve taken something if it would have been life threatening. 

“No.” he shakes his head, stepping closer to you.

“What kind of bubbles do you want?” you watch as he starts to pout. 

“I want a kiss.” he leans down. 

“Bath first.” you warn but he keeps inching down. 

“Think a kiss from you would cure me.” he hovers his face an inch from yours. You press your lips to his quickly and pull back watching his eyes darken. “That was barely a kiss.” 

“What kind of bubbles?” you hum, turning to rummage through the drawer. 

“You gonna take a bath with me?” you can’t help but lean back into him as he comes behind you and wraps his arms around you. 

“No.” you grab out a bottle of soap and duck under his arm to make your way back to the tub. You pour it into the running water to help it mix and try to hold back your laughter at his over dramatic sigh.

“Why?” he whines and you turn to him with raised brows. 

“Cause I gotta clean you up and put bandaids on you.” he tosses his head back. “And the last time I did, you kept distracting me.” you turn off the bath water and nod for him to get in. 

“Will you help me take my clothes off?” his tone still has a hint of a whine in it. 

“You are such a baby.” you walk over to him and start to push up his shirt. He watches you flush as he pulls his shirt over his head. He starts to grab at your shirt with a soft smirk. “Take off your pants while I grab the bandaids.” you pry his fingers off and place a small kiss on one of his bruised knuckles before walking over to the drawers again. 

“But you’re gonna miss the best part.” he chuckles and you turn around. 

“I’m watching.” you blink at him from across the bathroom and he watches you try to fight the smile blooming across your face.

“Want me to give you a little show?” he starts to fumble with his belt and lets it drop to the ground. “Don’t look at me with that face.” he slowly unbuttons his pants and slowly starts to pull them down. You hum and nod at him to keep going. “Oh no.. my knees hurt so bad.” you watch the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Can you help me?” 

“Jinwoo,” you sigh, dragging yourself over to him. 

“Please,” he grabs your hands. “Your touch is so soft.” he pushes his bottom lip out. You hook your fingers onto his pants and start to sink to the ground with them. You pat his calf and he steps out of his pants. “Fuck,” a shiver trails up his spine as you kiss his already bruising knees. 

“These too.” you hum and let your fingertips brush against the hem of his briefs. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and hooks his thumbs into the waistband. You grab the material once he lowers it enough and you look up at him and see his pink cheeks as you pull them the rest of the way down. “I uh.. I think I need a kiss there too.” he cups your jaw. 

“Get in the bath, Jinwoo.” you raise your eyebrows starting to rise from the floor. “I‘m gonna go put a towel in the dryer to warm up for you.” 

He turns and steps into the steaming water as you start to grab the bandaids and cleaner before taking the towel to the dryer. He lets out a low groan as he’s wrapped in warmth and sweet smells. He lets his eyes close the lower he sinks into the water. You silently walk back over to his side and kneel down next to the tub and begin to run your fingers through his hair. He pouts when you remove your hand to grab one of his and start to gently clean his knuckles. 

“Funny that you can come home from big missions without a scratch on you but a mining assignment turns you into a baby.” you muse as you grab his other hand. 

“‘m sorry.” he mumbles, absorbed in your touch. 

“You don’t have to be.” you glance at his relaxed face. “Knees up I wanna make sure you didn’t get any dirt in the scratches.” you smile when he shifts, allowing his knees to poke out of the water. 

You and him both know he’s perfectly fine. You caught onto his antics by the third week but to be honest you didn’t mind because you enjoyed seeing him so relaxed. It gave you an excuse to outright worship him and gave him the feeling of calm as you brushed over his skin. 

“So what’s my diagnosis?” you look up at his face and see his soft smile. “Am I dying?” 

“Nothing a couple hello kitty bandaids and kisses won’t fix.” you reach up and brush his hair back. “Nothing else hurts?” you slide your hand down and rub your thumb across his cheek. 

“No.” he leans into your hand. 

“Mm,” you hum. “I expected a different response.” 

“Oh,” he nods, catching on. “Yeah.” he looks at you with lidded eyes. “Just get in the tub with me.” he offers you a soft pout. You rise on your knees and lean closer to him and press your lips to his. He shifts and goes to grab your waist to pull you in with him. 

“Once you’re out of the tub.” you mumble against his lips as you press a hand to his chest. He sinks back into the water never letting your lips part from him for too long. “Tell me where it hurts, Jinwoo.” your hand on his chest starts to slide lower. 

“Keep going.” his words breathy. “Yeah, lil bit lower.” he cracks his eyes open as your hand dips below the water and he pulls back slightly to watch.

“Here?” you tilt your head as your fingers wrap around his cock. 

“Yeah.” he nods his head quickly. 

“Yeah?” you hum as you brush your thumb over his tip. 

His hips jerk and you smile leaning closer to him and pressing your lips against his again. You leisurely stroke him while you let your tongue slowly push into his mouth. You quicken your movements and he moans into your mouth. You dip your head lower to kiss and softly bite across his neck and you feel him twitch in your hand. He’s completely melted into your touch and can’t get enough.

“I’m..” he groans as you tighten your grip. “You’re so fuckin good to me.” his voice like gravel. “Don’t think I’m gonna last..” and that whiny string of words is exactly why you don’t mind the mining assignments either. 

“S’okay, just relax.” you mumble against his skin. 

“You always know exactly how to- “ he gasps when your hand sinks lower to cup his balls before sliding back up his length. “Fuck.” he pants. 

He can’t stop his hips from jerking into your hand and trying to keep his mouth shut only makes the noises coming out more guttural. The water is sloshing slightly and you can help but to lean back and watch his face twist in pleasure. His stomach coils as your hand moves faster and the way you brush your thumb against his tip. You watch his chest heave and he leans closer to you to press his lips to yours. 

“Fuck, I-“ he lets out a low groan as his hips desperately jerk into your hand as his pleasure washes through him. 

“Are you feeling better?” you press soft kisses across his face as you slowly pull your hand out of the water. 

“Wanna take you to bed.” he leans back and looks at you with dark eyes. 

“I‘m gonna go get your towel.” he watches you stand up. “Then it’s bandaid time.” you toss over your shoulder as you go to get his towel. 

He stands and starts draining the tub not wanting to waste any more time than necessary. After grabbing the bandaids he starts to walk to the room when you stop him in the doorway. 

“You’re gonna get water everywhere.” you huff and wrap the towel around him trying to dry him off before wrapping it around his waist. 

“I don’t want this.” he starts to tug at the towel. “Just gonna take it off anyway.” he lets it drop. He watches your cheeks flush as you lead him over to the bed. “Let’s skip the bandaids tonight.” 

“Jinwoo-

“Then can I just like put it in until you're done?” your eyes widen. “I’ll be good.” the corners of his mouth turn up. 

“Then lay back.” you nod at the bed. 

“Well lemme get you ready.” he smirks starting to pull up your shirt. He watches your skin pebble as you look up at him. “These too.” he hums and hooks his fingers into your panties. 

“Take them off then.” you suck in your breath as his finger trails up your covered slit. 

“Did I get you wet from my bath?” he tilts his head and he presses into the dampened fabric. “Hm?” a small whimper slips past your lips as he dips his finger below your panties. 

“Ye- yeah,” you grab onto his arms as he swirls your bud. 

“No bandaids tonight.” he mumbles, moving his finger down to your core. 

“Yes banda- ahh,” you press your head to his chest as he pushes his finger into you. “Jinwoo,” he smirks as you rock against his hand. 

“Yes?” he presses another finger into you and you let out a soft cry. “What was that?” he smiles listening to you struggle to find your words. He opens his mouth to say something when you wrap one of your hands around his cock again and he groans instead. 

“Want you.” you mumble into his chest and he pushes your panties the rest of the way down. In a second you're pressed back into the mattress and he’s leaning over you. “No, ‘m supposed to ride you.” you press your palm to his chest. “It’s your night to relax.” 

“‘s fine.” he slides his tip through your wetness, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“But.. mm,” you look up at him with lidded eyes as he wraps one of your legs around his waist. 

“I’m very relaxed.” he leans down when your hand on his chest moves up to the back of his neck as he continues to slide up and down through your slit. “Gonna be even more relaxed in a second.” you feel him push at your weeping core.

“Ji- Jinwoo,” you whimper as he slides into you. 

“Always taking care of me.” he hums as he starts to pull out. “Look so perfect.” he watches your face scrunch with pleasure as he pushes back in. “Feeling so much better thanks to you.” each thrust pulls a small cry from your lips.

He leans down and presses his mouth to yours. You open your lips instantly offering him everything. Your hands tangle in his hair as you try to hold him closer. Each time his skin meets yours you feel yourself vibrate with pleasure. You wrap your other leg around his waist and lock your ankles feeling his breathing shift. The new angle sends his head soaring and the only warning you have is a breathy chuckle before he slams into you. 

Your eyes roll back as he pounds into you and he leans back to watch the way you tremble beneath him. His eyes fixate on the way your tits bounce along with each accompanying whine. Your parted lips offering him the sweetest sounds and slurred pleas with your arms spread out in the sheets trying to grasp at anything. He feels your juices seeping out of you and they way you begin to flutter around him. He watches you crack your eyes open and look at him with desperation. 

“Go ahead.” he grunts preparing himself for- “Fuck,” he groans as you start to pulse around him. 

“Jinwoo,” you whine, feeling your legs start to shake as he continues at his pace. “I’m.. I, please,” 

“Doing so good.” he pants. “‘s okay, I got you.” he leans down and presses his lips to yours. 

You melt into his mouth as he presses himself against you surrounding you with him. Each thrust is now a demand followed by a roll of his hips that leaves you whimpering beneath him. He leans back and holds the sides of your face as he pumps into you. You try to hold your eyes open but your lids feel so heavy. 

“Open your eyes.” he coaxes. “C’mon,” he brushes his thumbs on your cheeks and your eyes flutter open. “There you are.” his voice so smooth you have to remind yourself to keep your eyes open again. 

He watches you fight with yourself to keep your eyes on his and he wonders if you can even tell how close you are. You lean into the hand on your cheek and wonder if he ever had both hands- Your orgasm slams through you when he brushes his fingers against your slick bud. Every swirl of his fingers takes your breath and his composure with them. 

“Doin okay?” he tries to taunt but he feels himself slipping. You mumble incoherently as your pleasure feels never ending. “Yeah? Me..” he groans, snapping his hips into yours. “Me too.” he nods his head.

You’re so wet and warm and hugging him just right that he spills his pleasure into you. Continuing to pump it inside you while pressing his lips to yours. Your legs stay wrapped around him keeping him buried inside you, wanting to stay as close to him as possible. When he softly jerks his hips sparks of pleasure shoot through your body making you gasp into his mouth. 

“Can we just.. Mmm Jinwoo,” you whimper as he rolls his hips again. “Wanna sleep just like this.” your arms wrap around his back and try to pull him down against you. 

“I’m gonna suffocate you if I do that.” he chuckles watching you squirm beneath him as he continues to rock into you. 

“That’s what I want.” you nod your head still trying to pull him down. “Please?” your hands tangle in his hair. 

“Why can’t you just lay on my chest like normal?” he presses himself down against you and hears your heavy exhale. “No you-

“You’re just so warm.” you wrap yourself around him tighter and bury your head into his neck. “Like a weighted blanket.” you press your lips to his skin. 

“If we stay like this I’m just gonna end up fucking you again.” you squeeze around his cock in response. 

“That’s gonna happen regardless of the position.” you mumble, relishing in his warmth. 

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                                      masterlist

[bookished]

let's talk about the hazy sex afterglow look sung jinwoo would have on his face, post-fight but not post-you mood, especially when he’s trying (and failing) not to look like he needs you more than air.

his hair, still damp with sweat, black strands sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. you can't help but blush, since you’d pushed your fingers through it hard enough to mess it up, and it stayed that way. the ends curl slightly, the heat from his body giving him that post-shower softness.

his eyes half-lidded, low-burning, dangerous and unguarded... all the precision and control cracked open. his pretty eyes, damn, lowing faintly still (those shadows never fully leave him, do they?), but softened, a little bit less predator, more man who just let someone see him at his most raw. but he doesn't meet your gaze immediately. he watches you out of the corner of his eye, like he's afraid he’ll need you if he looks directly.

his sinful mouth... lightly parted, kiss-swollen, still bruised from you biting him out of spite and heat and everything in between. his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. and then, a ghost of a smirk, maybe. or maybe he’s just not ready to admit he feels something.

his neck and collarbone covered in red marks where you clung to him like he was going to vanish. funny thing, shadow soldiers can’t heal those but he doesn’t want them to. you can still see his pulse flickering like a trapped thing; no amount of power can calm that down right away.

his deep voice, lower, rough, like gravel soaked in warmth. he has the kind of voice that says your name like it’s both a curse and a prayer: “again?” or “still?” or “stay.” sometimes he laughs under his breath, disbelieving, like even now he can’t believe you let him fall apart like that.

his big hands trembling faintly. not from exhaustion but from restraint. from holding back too much. fingertips stained with your touch, knuckles bruised if you’d fought first, kissed later. one still resting on your thigh, absentminded, like he’s grounding himself with you.

overall, the look would be the that dangerous stillness he gets after a kill but instead, it’s intimacy that’s undone him this time. his bare chest rising and falling slow, but every inch of him screams tension that hasn’t quite unraveled. his shadows ripple faintly at the edges of the room, responding to his mood without words; silent and possessive.

[si-experience]

And in the darkness that had become your home a light guided you to keep you warm.