✧ summary: how they'd hug you in their sleep ft. Sylus, Zayne, Caleb, Xavier, & Rafayel
✧ content: fluff, gn!reader, most likely OOC, a lil angst (?) if u squint, established!relationship
✦ a/n: in honour of Sylus coming home to his bride🤵♂️👰♀️ pls send prayers writer's block is killing meeeeee
— SYLUS | ★ The Sweetheart Cradle
Sylus has always been guarded his whole life to the point of keeping a gun under his pillow at all times, and sleeping on his stomach as to make it easier to reach it. A peaceful slumber was rare for someone like him. Always in high alert of his surroundings, haunted by nightmares that seem to mock him every night. That was until you came along. For once, he allowed himself to rest his back onto the mattress. His stomach, which used to be facing down, now had a small arm snaked around his waist, a bundle of warmth cuddled next to him. Instead of reaching for the cold metal of his weapon, his arm wrapped around you to pull you closer. He leaned his head down, catching a whiff of a floral scent. His lips made contact with the top of your head, and you felt him letting out a deep, silent sigh. For once, in his life, Sylus could sleep in complete peace, and an empty pillow where a gun wasn't needed.
— ZAYNE | ★ The Spoon
He's a simple man, and for him, it feels awkward to initiate certain gestures himself because of how used he was to having you doing it first. So when he feels a little in need of physical affection, he'll just wrap an arm around your waist, pull you close until your back touches his chest, and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. It's a common position, so what? All he wanted– needed –was warmth, closeness. A reassurance that you were still here despite all the downs you've gone through together. He held you firmly against his chest, as if an attempt to be your shield. It was his way of healing from his guilt, a demonstration of the deep protection he so desperately wanted to provide you with. He was a rusted ship, flawed with damaged steel that sailed in an ocean of regret. And yet, you were there; holding onto him with no sign of letting go. You were here. You were his anchor.
— CALEB | ★ The Face-to-Face
This man has spent so long being apart from you, so he was not going to waste any opportunity to hug you. He wanted to fully embrace you, to feel you whole. He'd wrap both his arms desperately yet tenderly, like he was eager but afraid of making damage. He'd pull you close until there wasn't even an inch of space, then let your head rest against his broad chest, his heartbeat serenading through your ears. You could feel him shudder as he nuzzled his against your neck, sensing the relief in such simple gesture. It was paradise. Heaven, even. He combed through your hair as it grounded him, as if he was trying to forget the remaining time you had together, the only thing keeping you both separate. He wanted to feel this every day – every night. He didn't want to let go, not ever. It was selfish of him, but sometimes, a little indulgence is necessary.
— XAVIER | ★ The Tummy Snuggler
Somehow and somewhat, he finds comfort in sleeping on your stomach. For him, it felt way better than using a pillow. Warm, soft, squishy, and makes it easier for you to play with his hair. He likes the feeling of being pampered, so clinging onto you made it better for him to sleep. The way your heartbeat would echo through his ears; how your stomach rose and fell; and your fingers strumming through strands of his hair like you were playing a soothing melody, lulling him to a state of slumber. He'd cling to you like you were his support system, the only thing that could keep him away from nightmares. Though he is a deep sleeper, if you moved even a few centimeters, his arms that were once loose would quickly tighten themselves around you, making sure to keep you at his grasp. The only way to escape? Well, guess you'll have to wait until the sleeping beauty arise from the sleep himself.
— RAFAYEL | ★ The Pretzel
This man was clingy and whiny even in his sleep. You'd be sleeping peacefully next to him until he starts tangling himself up with you. At first, it was just the normal arm over waist, leg over leg. Then he grumbled lowly, saying how he's the only one trying to keep the both of you together. Complying, you hugged him back, but it still wasn't enough. He'd shuffle here and there throughout the night, trying to find a good position. After some unconscious twists here and there, the two of you were practically tangled up with each other. Legs interlocked, arms intertwined; one head was on a pillow that stood at the very edge of the bed, holding on for dear life, and the other was sleeping on the other's chest (could be either of you). It looked uncomfortable, but it really wasn't. For you and him, it felt like a puzzle fitting together.
✧ summary: things they'd do for you | ft. All Li's | m.list
✧ content: fluff, sfw, gn!reader, OOC, just cuddling and domestic stuff mostly
✦ a/n: was supposed to be for HNY but better late than never :,) regardless hny to everyone and hope this year will be better for all of us <33
would…
—show up unannounced in your parking lot after reading the messages you’d sent about the exhausting day you’d endured. Knowing you’d brought your bike, he chose to teleport instead of riding his own. You told him he didn’t need to go through so much trouble, yet the only excuse he had was—“I was worried you’d leave me on delivered because you passed out.”
By the time you reached his place, you discovered that the twins had already helped him prepare everything—a warm bath drawn, steam curling softly in the air, and your favorite comfortable sleepwear neatly laid out on the bed. After washing away the day’s fatigue, you curled up and stubbornly scrolled through your phone, even as your eyelids grew heavier by the second.
Right on cue, a large hand gently but firmly slipped the device from your grasp, and an arm pulled you closer into steady warmth. “Rest now, sweetie,” a deep, raspy voice murmured. You exhaled softly, surrendering to the quiet moment, wondering—almost incredulously—what you had ever done to deserve a life filled with this kind of care.
would…
—flood your phone with messages of—”Are you home tonight? Stay. There.” —one after another, until he finally bursts through the door, breathless and disheveled. He was still in his uniform, hair slightly undone, clutching a nearly crushed bouquet in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. The date he had promised you that day had been cancelled at the last minute, interrupted by an urgent and unexpected mission from the fleet. You had told him it was fine, masking your disappointment as best you could, but that did nothing to ease the weight of guilt in his chest.
“I’m sorry, Pips. I’m really, really sorry,” he kept repeating, voice raw with remorse as he looked down at you with those desperate eyes. Then his hands began rummaging through the bag, as if presenting his offerings in favor of your mercy—your favorite chocolates, drinks, snacks, and even a screenshot of concert tickets to a show you've always wanted to attend. He held them out like a plea for forgiveness, though you hadn’t been angry to begin with. Still, it was hard to refuse someone who was all but kneeling, so earnest in his regret and affection.
In the end, you found yourselves curled up together on the couch, wrapped in quiet warmth. The movie played on in the background, fading into little more than white noise as you simply enjoyed being close—content in each other’s presence, with nothing else demanding their attention.
would…
—occasionally try baking sweets he thought you might like whenever he wanted a break from extravagant, material gifts. That was—until one attempt went terribly wrong. The pastries were burnt beyond saving, and just as he stared at the blackened mess, there came a knock at the door. You stepped inside with a bright smile, excitement written plainly on your face—until your eyes landed on the ruined pastries cooling on the counter. There he stood beside them, his expression blank and rigid, yet somehow resembling a kicked stray puppy.
“They were supposed to be a gift for you,” he admitted quietly. “But it seems that I was too absorbed in my patients’ paperwork and didn’t hear the timer. I sincerely apologize.”
The room felt awkward, heavy with his guilt. He had wanted to return the kindness you always showed him—the way you often baked his favorite treats just to make him happy. Bracing himself for your disappointment, he was instead caught off guard when you simply thanked him, your smile warm enough to soothe his wounded heart.
That afternoon, the two of you spent hours remaking the pastries together. In the end, he realized that even when things didn’t turn out as planned, you still cherished the thought and effort behind them—and that, somehow, you always found a way to turn disappointment into something gentle and sweet.
would…
—easily drift off to sleep while listening to your rambling whenever exhaustion finally caught up with him—though he’d never admit how tired he truly was. It wasn’t that he meant to fall asleep or that he wanted to escape your endless talking. He genuinely wanted to listen. At first, he’d answer with quiet hums or short murmurs, his way of letting you know he was still paying attention. But after enduring a long day and carrying fatigue he refused to acknowledge, being held by you while listening to your voice slowly became a comfort too strong to resist.
Your fingers gently threaded through his hair as he rested against you, the steady warmth between you making everything feel safe and unhurried. Your voice flowed on, stories and thoughts blending together, rising and falling in a rhythm that felt soothing rather than overwhelming. Without realizing it, his breathing evened out, his grip on you loosening just slightly as his body finally allowed itself to rest.
You noticed the change soon enough—the weight of him growing heavier, the quiet replacing his small responses. When you softly called his name, just to be sure, there was no answer at first. Then, barely louder than a breath, a sleepy murmur escaped his lips, pressed against your chest.
“I love you.”
would…
—sketch you in outfits you're conflicted on wearing to help you decide. He’d sit nearby with his sketchbook already open, pencil moving almost instinctively. Within seconds, your likeness appeared on the page, as if he were programmed to draw only you. Capturing you had become second nature to him, a habit he never bothered to break. Turning your wardrobe dilemmas into sketches only made it more enjoyable.
He didn’t stop at clothes. Rafayel paid attention to the smallest details—the way your hair framed your face, how different makeup styles shifted your expression, the subtle balance between colors and textures. He experimented freely on paper, pairing outfits you hadn’t even considered, refining each look until it felt complete. Watching him work, you could tell he genuinely enjoyed the process, not just because he loved art, but because every version of you fascinated him.
Though he believed you would look beautiful no matter what you wore, he never dismissed your uncertainty. Instead, he offered thoughtful opinions, tapping the page lightly with his pencil. “This one matches the energy you give off,” he said calmly, then flipped to another sketch. “But this… this one really highlights you.” His voice was steady, sincere—never pushy, never dismissive. In the end, it wasn’t just the outfit he helped you choose, but the confidence to wear it.
✧ summary: how they'd hug you in their sleep ft. Sylus, Zayne, Caleb, Xavier, & Rafayel
✧ content: fluff, gn!reader, most likely OOC, a lil angst (?) if u squint, established!relationship
✦ a/n: in honour of Sylus coming home to his bride🤵♂️👰♀️ pls send prayers writer's block is killing meeeeee
— SYLUS | ★ The Sweetheart Cradle
Sylus has always been guarded his whole life to the point of keeping a gun under his pillow at all times, and sleeping on his stomach as to make it easier to reach it. A peaceful slumber was rare for someone like him. Always in high alert of his surroundings, haunted by nightmares that seem to mock him every night. That was until you came along. For once, he allowed himself to rest his back onto the mattress. His stomach, which used to be facing down, now had a small arm snaked around his waist, a bundle of warmth cuddled next to him. Instead of reaching for the cold metal of his weapon, his arm wrapped around you to pull you closer. He leaned his head down, catching a whiff of a floral scent. His lips made contact with the top of your head, and you felt him letting out a deep, silent sigh. For once, in his life, Sylus could sleep in complete peace, and an empty pillow where a gun wasn't needed.
— ZAYNE | ★ The Spoon
He's a simple man, and for him, it feels awkward to initiate certain gestures himself because of how used he was to having you doing it first. So when he feels a little in need of physical affection, he'll just wrap an arm around your waist, pull you close until your back touches his chest, and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. It's a common position, so what? All he wanted– needed –was warmth, closeness. A reassurance that you were still here despite all the downs you've gone through together. He held you firmly against his chest, as if an attempt to be your shield. It was his way of healing from his guilt, a demonstration of the deep protection he so desperately wanted to provide you with. He was a rusted ship, flawed with damaged steel that sailed in an ocean of regret. And yet, you were there; holding onto him with no sign of letting go. You were here. You were his anchor.
— CALEB | ★ The Face-to-Face
This man has spent so long being apart from you, so he was not going to waste any opportunity to hug you. He wanted to fully embrace you, to feel you whole. He'd wrap both his arms desperately yet tenderly, like he was eager but afraid of making damage. He'd pull you close until there wasn't even an inch of space, then let your head rest against his broad chest, his heartbeat serenading through your ears. You could feel him shudder as he nuzzled his against your neck, sensing the relief in such simple gesture. It was paradise. Heaven, even. He combed through your hair as it grounded him, as if he was trying to forget the remaining time you had together, the only thing keeping you both separate. He wanted to feel this every day – every night. He didn't want to let go, not ever. It was selfish of him, but sometimes, a little indulgence is necessary.
— XAVIER | ★ The Tummy Snuggler
Somehow and somewhat, he finds comfort in sleeping on your stomach. For him, it felt way better than using a pillow. Warm, soft, squishy, and makes it easier for you to play with his hair. He likes the feeling of being pampered, so clinging onto you made it better for him to sleep. The way your heartbeat would echo through his ears; how your stomach rose and fell; and your fingers strumming through strands of his hair like you were playing a soothing melody, lulling him to a state of slumber. He'd cling to you like you were his support system, the only thing that could keep him away from nightmares. Though he is a deep sleeper, if you moved even a few centimeters, his arms that were once loose would quickly tighten themselves around you, making sure to keep you at his grasp. The only way to escape? Well, guess you'll have to wait until the sleeping beauty arise from the sleep himself.
— RAFAYEL | ★ The Pretzel
This man was clingy and whiny even in his sleep. You'd be sleeping peacefully next to him until he starts tangling himself up with you. At first, it was just the normal arm over waist, leg over leg. Then he grumbled lowly, saying how he's the only one trying to keep the both of you together. Complying, you hugged him back, but it still wasn't enough. He'd shuffle here and there throughout the night, trying to find a good position. After some unconscious twists here and there, the two of you were practically tangled up with each other. Legs interlocked, arms intertwined; one head was on a pillow that stood at the very edge of the bed, holding on for dear life, and the other was sleeping on the other's chest (could be either of you). It looked uncomfortable, but it really wasn't. For you and him, it felt like a puzzle fitting together.
𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. you finally gain the courage to talk to the most known guy on campus.
𝓦arnings .. no warnings !
𝓐uthor's note .. this is a college au (he would def be a frat boy)
It was another day on campus, and for the first time ever, you were late.
The door creaked loudly as you slipped into the lecture hall — thirty-two minutes past the hour. A few heads turned, some with amusement, others with annoyance, but you didn’t really care. You scanned the room quickly and slid into the first empty seat you spotted, near the middle, hoping not to draw more attention than you already had.
You reached into your bag to grab your notebook and pen — and froze.
Of course. You’d left both in your dorm.
You let out a quiet sigh, already annoyed with yourself. Class was halfway over, and now you couldn’t even pretend to be productive. You glanced to your left, debating whether it was worth asking someone for help — and then your eyes landed on the person sitting next to you.
Abby.
Of course. Of all people.
He was one of the most recognizable faces on campus — always showing up in someone’s TikTok, always wearing that same silver chain, and always, always too pretty for his own good. People whispered about him like he wasn’t real. Girls giggled when he passed. Professors somehow always let him slide with late work. He had that calm, cocky energy, like he knew he didn’t have to try too hard.
And now, he was seated right next to you, calmly taking notes with perfect posture and a watch you were pretty sure cost more than your tuition deposit.
You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. But not for long.
“Hey,” you said quietly, trying to sound casual.
He turned toward you, meeting your eyes, and up close, he was even more unreal. Sharp jawline, dark brown eyes, slightly messy pink hair, and an unreadable expression like he wasn’t used to being approached without a purpose.
“Do you have a pen I can borrow?” you asked.
Abby blinked once, then reached into his bag without saying a word. He pulled out a sleek black pen— probably some unnecessarily expensive kind, and handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours lightly. Just for a second.
“Thanks,” you muttered, suddenly very aware of the limited space between you.
“No problem,” he said, his voice low and smooth, before turning back to his notes.
You grabbed a random flyer from your bag to write on, pretending not to be hyper-aware of the fact that Abby just lent you his pen.
You felt his eyes on you once or twice after that. Not in a weird way. Just… curious.
And somehow, even with no notebook, no pen of your own, and no idea what the professor was going on about, the rest of the class didn’t feel like such a disaster anymore.
♡
After class, you made your way to the library to meet up with your best friend, Zoey. You spotted her at a long table near the back, headphones on, completely locked into study mode.
You crept up behind her.
“Boo.”
She jumped and yanked off her headphones. “Oh my—! You scared me!” she laughed, turning to face you.
You dropped your bag onto the chair next to hers and sat down, grinning. “Okay. You will not believe who I just had an interaction with.”
Zoey’s eyes lit up instantly. “Who, who, who?? Tell me right now.”
“Abby. As in the Abby. Abbs.”
She practically squealed, loud enough that a few people looked over. You threw your hand up quickly.
“Shh! We’re in a library, girl,” you whispered with a smile.
Zoey clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. But ohmygosh, he’s so hot.”
You leaned in, voice low. “Right? And get this— I forgot all my stuff, and he gave me his pen. Like, actually handed it to me.”
Zoey gasped. “Wait, handed it to you with eye contact, or like… tossed it in your direction?”
“Eye contact,” you confirmed with a nod. “And his fingers brushed mine. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it honestly felt like a scene out of a movie.”
Zoey dropped her head against the back of her chair in mock shock. “You’re living my fantasy. I’ve never even been in the same row as him.”
“Yeah, well,” you said, trying to sound chill, “he definitely knows I exist now.”
Zoey leaned closer, her expression serious in that overly dramatic Zoey way. “So what’s the plan? Are you gonna say hi next time? Make small talk? Seduce him with your perfectly winged eyeliner?”
You laughed. “I mean, I want to… but what if he just thinks I’m another girl trying to get his attention? He probably deals with that every day.”
“Okay, first of all? You’re not just another girl. You’re you. And second, he gave you his pen. That’s, like, sacred college bonding.”
You smiled despite yourself.
Zoey suddenly perked up. “Okay, forget the pen. Forget the tension. I have even bigger news.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Bigger than Abby’s hand brushing mine?”
She nodded, eyes wide. “Beach. Party. Tonight.”
You blinked. “What beach?”
“Haeundae Beach,” she said like it was common knowledge. “Apparently someone on the swim team’s cousin is throwing it. Bonfire, drinks, music — the whole scene.”
You gave her a skeptical look. “You know I don’t do sand like that.”
“Oh my god,” she groaned. “You’ll survive. And it’s not just any party, everyone is going. Even Mira and Rumi said yes.”
You laughed. “Okay, but are we talking chill bonfire vibes or full blackout-regrets-in-the-morning energy?”
“Both,” she grinned. “But like, aesthetic regrets. Trust me. We’re going. I already picked your outfit.”
You groaned but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re so dramatic.”
“And you love it.”
♡
The sun had just started to set when you and Zoey arrived at the beach. The sky was streaked with warm shades of orange and pink, and the breeze off the ocean felt cool against your skin. Somewhere in the distance, music thumped, heavy bass mixing with waves crashing against the shore.
Groups of people were already gathered around the fire. Some were dancing barefoot in the sand, others were lounging on blankets with drinks in hand. Someone had strung fairy lights between two wooden poles, casting a soft golden glow over everything.
“This is actually kind of… nice,” you admitted, pulling the sleeves of your oversized tee down past your hands.
“Told you,” Zoey said proudly. “Vibes? Immaculate.”
You were about to agree when your gaze shifted across the crowd… and your heart dropped into your stomach.
There, leaning casually against a log by the fire, red cup in hand — was Abby.
Same smirk. Same chain. Same energy like he didn’t have to try to be the center of attention — he just was.
Zoey followed your gaze and gasped. “No. Freaking. Way.”
“Did you know he was going to be here?” you whispered, eyes still locked on him.
“No! I swear! But… okay, maybe this really is fate.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Don’t start.”
She grinned, nudging your side. “Start what? I’m just saying… the beach is magical. He’s here. You look hot. And maybe… tonight’s not about borrowed pens anymore.”
You glanced back at Abby — and this time, he looked up.
Really quick cuz I'm about to pass out, but Sylus who's going through like a sort of clingy dragon brain time of the month thing. Like, imagine a heat but instead of needing sex, it's just needed to be safe in a "nest" with his mate
Like imagine he's laying on top of you, nuzzling his face in your neck all lazy. Your alarm goes off to go to work and he's the one to silence it. You try getting up, gently pushing at his shoulders, and he growls low in his throat beside your ear. Just needs to be with you, your scents combined, just lost in the sauce of being with you
When you eventually have to give up escaping, you run your fingers through his hair and a purr rumbles deep in his chest. Little affectionate nips to your exposed skin, nothing sexual, just adoring
a/n: I'm obsessed with writing for this man, I swear to god it's not funny anymore, also just a small idea that popped into my mind.
Synopsis:
╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe.
That is, until fate stepped in.
A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.
〃✦ ┆You had everything others could only dream of—fame, wealth, influence. On stage, you were untouchable. Off stage, you were a legend wrapped in mystery. But even with everything, there was one thing you could never truly claim:
Humanity.
Because you weren’t human. Not even close.
You were a demon—and not just any demon.
You were Gwi Ma’s daughter, the feared and merciless Demon King who ruled the underworld with blood and shadow.
Since your childhood, you served as his spy—sent through the cracks of the Honmoon, infiltrating the human world to gather intelligence and prepare for invasion. It was meant to be temporary, just another mission. But the longer you stayed, the more you saw.
Humanity was nothing like the wastelands of the demon realm.
Where your world thrived on pain, theirs held warmth. Where demons tore each other apart, humans sang, cried, danced, and dreamed.
For the first time, you felt something—curiosity, wonder… guilt.
So you turned your back on the underworld.
You became a traitor.
Quietly, carefully, you aided the hunters from the shadows—feeding them information, sabotaging your father's forces. And when the day came, you were there among them, cloaked and unseen, helping to seal the Honmoon and trap your kind behind it.
No one knew.
No one ever could.
You fled. You ran from your father’s wrath, scouring every shady shaman’s store in the country, collecting protection charms, sealing talismans—anything that could shield you. And somehow, through luck or fate, you survived.
Five lives. Five hundred years.
Each life, quieter than the last—until this one.
Now, you were Y/N—a rising soloist, known for her fierce performances and a haunting stage presence that no one could explain. People whispered that you were descended from a 90s screen legend—not knowing that legend was just one of your old lives.
And for once, you were at peace.
You watched from a distance as the Huntrix, the newest generation of demon hunters, proudly took up the mantle. They didn’t need your help. The Honmoon stayed sealed. The world was safe. You were safe.
Or so you thought…
Until he showed up.
Until that damned boy walked into your life with a smirk, a wink, and smile that somehow defied the laws of shame.
Jinu.
Of all the people… it had to be Jinu of the Saja Boys.
You knew something was off from the beginning. The moment their debut track “Soda Pop” exploded online, your gut screamed that it wasn’t just another rookie group rising through the ranks.
That stupid, sugar-coated song had the internet wrapped around its finger in hours. Every scroll through social media was torture—fan edits, dance challenges, streaming parties. Their bubblegum anthem was everywhere.
“Motherfuckers had it easy,” you muttered under your breath, eye twitching as you sat in your penthouse suite, high above the city. Your jaw clenched tighter with every swipe of your phone. That cursed chorus echoed over and over like a broken record.
With a sharp snap, the screen cracked beneath your grip—your superhuman strength getting the best of you again. You let out a heavy sigh and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, trying to calm your fraying nerves.
It only got worse.
You had the misfortune of crossing paths with them at the “Play Games With Us” variety show. You were just backstage, minding your business, your manager trailing behind you and raving about the episode’s record-breaking views.
“Your segment went viral, again! The fans are loving it—especially that part when you snapped the controller in half!” your manager beamed, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you.
And then—you saw them.
The Saja Boys.
Walking straight in your direction, faces glowing under the stage lights, laughter echoing like they didn’t have a care in the world. You stood taller, lifting your chin with unshakable pride, refusing to let them rattle you.
But just as you passed their leader, Jinu, something happened.
Your fingers brushed for a split second—barely a touch.
And your blood turned to ice.
A sharp sting burned up your arm as your demon mark responded instantly, crawling from your skin like it had been awoken. You froze mid-step.
So did Jinu.
His body stiffened. His eyes widened.
There was no mistaking it. He felt it too.
Your mark flared beneath your sleeve before dulling to a low pulse, as if unsure whether to attack or retreat. Panic surged in your chest, but you kept your face blank, eyes forward, breaths shallow.
“No…” you whispered, so quiet it was almost soundless.
You didn’t dare turn around.
You knew—without question—Jinu was staring at your back with the same haunted look you wore now.
Your manager kept walking, still rambling.
But your heartbeat was loud enough to drown everything else out.
The mark faded… but the damage was done.
Something ancient had just awakened.
And you knew, deep down—
This wasn’t over.
You let out a weary sigh as you sat perched on the edge of a quiet rooftop in the outskirts of the city, where the old hanok-style houses still stood. The moon hung high, casting a cold silver light over the curved roofs and narrow alleys. It was deep into the night—no footsteps, no noise. Just silence. Peace.
Peace… at least for now.
Far from the crowded districts, away from the suffocating presence of human souls—the very essence your demon self constantly hungered for—you could finally breathe without temptation gnawing at your will.
“A demon playing idol in the human world… how poetic,” a voice murmured behind you, smooth and laced with dry amusement. You heard the soft thud of footsteps land gently on the tiled roof behind you.
You didn’t bother to turn around. “Says the one doing the same thing,” you replied, your tone flat.
The voice chuckled lowly. “True. But unlike you, I haven’t stayed this long.”
You stiffened. Just those words were enough to hint at his purpose.
So... it was finally time.
You clenched your fists, jaw tightening. “If he sent you to bring me back to that hellhole,” you muttered, “tell Gwi Ma I'd rather die on this rooftop than crawl back to him.”
Your eyes flicked to the side, and there he was—Jinu. Standing there with his hands tucked into the pockets of a black and gray hoodie, his expression unreadable. One eyebrow raised, clearly thrown off by your sudden declaration.
You exhaled through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand, brushing dust from your pants. “Don’t play dumb,” you said, facing him properly now. “You’re here on Gwi Ma’s orders, aren’t you? To take more souls for his pathetic little collection.”
A scoff escaped your lips. “That old fart just doesn’t know when to quit.”
Jinu blinked, visibly stunned—not just by what you said, but by the fact you said it so openly. No fear. No hesitation. As if speaking about the demon king was no different than mocking some washed-up manager.
“You—” he started, then hesitated, eyes narrowing. “You really aren’t scared of him anymore.”
You looked him dead in the eye. “I stopped fearing him the day I tasted freedom.”
You turned slightly, eyes locked on the distant city lights glittering below the rooftop. The cold wind brushed against your face, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in your voice.
"He's been trying that for years," you muttered. "And look where it got him—still trapped in that rotting world. What makes him think this time will be any different?"
Jinu shifted behind you, about to speak. You didn’t even turn.
"Don't even think for one damn second that I'll help you," you cut in coldly.
Jinu closed his mouth, jaw tightening. Silence hung between you before he finally asked in a quiet voice, "H-How... how have you lived this long?"
You let out a sharp laugh, the sound laced with exhaustion and mockery.
"Like hell I’d tell you."
Then, in a blink, your scythe was unsheathed—its blackened blade gleaming in the moonlight, already hovering near Jinu’s throat. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped closer, weapon steady.
"I should kill you right now," you said lowly. "Save the hunters the trouble."
Jinu's lips twitched into a bitter grin. "A demon... siding with hunters? That’s new."
You pressed the blade closer, enough for him to feel the chill of death breathing down his neck.
"I don’t side with anyone," you said, voice sharp as steel. "I work for myself."
Another step forward. You loomed over him now, gaze burning with centuries of fury and grief.
"I've watched this world rise and fall for hundreds of years. You think I'll let you tear it all down just so my corpse of a father can claw his way out and devour everything that still breathes?"
You shook your head, disgust flickering across your face.
"What did he promise you, huh? Power? Freedom?" Your voice dropped, dangerous now. "You really think he’ll give you what you want?"
You tilted your head slowly, voice venomous with finality.
"You're nothing but a pawn, Jinu. And if you keep playing his game... you'll die like one."
"Your father… is Gwi Ma," he said, voice low—almost afraid to say it aloud.
Your heart skipped. Eyes widened. You stiffened in place, cursing yourself internally for letting the truth slip. But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done. The truth was out.
Jinu's gaze dropped to his trembling hands. As your weapon shimmered and faded into the shadows, his fingers began to glow with a familiar, ominous hue—those same violet markings you had seen too many times before.
"He said... he’d take them away," Jinu whispered, eyes fixated on the marks. "The memories."
You let out a long, tired breath, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose.
"And you believed him?" you muttered, the weight of exhaustion and disappointment heavy in your tone.
A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken things. Then, with reluctance weighing every step, you moved closer to him.
Jinu’s brows furrowed in confusion. His body tensed instinctively, unsure of your intentions.
You raised your hands halfway to his face, then paused.
"Can I?" you asked softly, voice quieter now—gentler.
He hesitated, gaze searching yours for a moment before he gave a small nod.
You took it as permission.
Your palms cupped his face. Slowly, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. You closed your eyes. A familiar tingling crept into your hands as your power activated—dark purple mist curling from your skin, winding its way into Jinu's.
He inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away.
You exhaled shakily, then drew back, turning away from him as the mist dissipated.
"There," you said, voice low. "He won’t bother you—for a few hours, at least."
A beat passed. Then:
"Did you just... seal him?" Jinu asked, stunned.
You didn’t turn around.
“Temporarily,” you said, your voice dropping lower, the word hanging in the air like a reluctant farewell.
There was a pause. A beat of silence filled with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. When you finally spoke again, it was softer—strained, like it hurt to admit.
“…It’s the best I can do right now.”
You didn’t look back.
Your figure melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of your presence and the cold wind brushing across the rooftop.
Jinu stood there, unmoving. His brows furrowed, heart pounding, mind reeling.
