Chapter 1: Escape
Chapter Text
Hell had no sky—only endless dark and fire. The ground beneath them was jagged and wet, veins of molten lava splitting through black rock like arteries ruptured open. And below, from the blasted remains of a demon city, came a flood of demons, hundreds strong, clawing and scrambling toward the impossible: a tear in the Honmoon. A fracture in the cursed barrier between their realm and the one above. Earth. Freedom. Life. For a moment, they could see it, pale and stuttering like a heartbeat’s flicker. The portal shimmered, no wider than a truck, just on the horizon and through it pulsed the scent of air, real air.
Through that narrow rift, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t die. Maybe they wouldn’t be devoured. Maybe they wouldn’t become just another flavour in his feast.
The wave of demons surged like a broken dam. Their feet pounded the stone, claws clicking, wings flapping, shrieks echoing, some laughing hysterically, some crying. Demons of all shapes and sizes moved forward hoping—begging—to outrun the inevitable.
Behind them came the sound that unspooled sanity: The wet, flaming movement of hunger given form.
Gwi-ma.
The Demon King of the underworld did not run. He arrived. His shadow smothered flames in his wake. His eyes were suns—six of them—each blinking in unison, each dripping molten gold. The wails of already-eaten demons gurgled in the folds of his disfigured flesh, their faces contorted, barely visible beneath the slick fire surface that crawled with mouths.
One clawed hand reached down, sweeping into the straggler of the stampede as though someone was scooping candy. He opened his jaw and shovelled them in. Their screams don’t go any quieter as they disappear into his mass.
“MOVE! Don’t fucking stop moving!” Jinu’s voice cracked at his raw guttural cry.
His legs pounded the ground without thought, his hand dragging Hanbae forward by the wrist as they pushed through the chaos. Bluish-white skin paler than it should be flashed red along the patterns on his body. His long black hanbok ruffled violently as he ran. His glowing yellow eyes snapped to the side, scanning for the others. He couldn’t make them out in the chaos.
“Do not stop! I swear to god if there is one—don’t you dare stop moving!”
The rush of panicked demons around them swelled to a fever pitch. Some pushed each other down to act as bait. Others clawed each other to the death for just a few steps closer to the fissure.
They weren’t fighting each other—they were just trying to survive.
But demons don’t care for others. So yes, one could definitely say they were fighting each other.
First come… first served.
Jinu shoved a drooling reptilian beast aside with one clawed hand and finally set his eyes on the others. Ah-bin was fending off another demon with a single brutal punch to the throat.
“I got you!” Ah-bin shouted, grabbing Ro-meyeon by the arm as they climbed over debris, “We’re good! We’re good, we’re—Miseo! Shit—move—!”
Miseo didn’t need the instruction. He was already vaulting over other demons gracefully, his eyes locked forward on the rip.
Ah-bin snarled, his muscles glinting with sweat, under the black of his demon hanbok as he barrelled through a cluster of lesser fiends, “I can smell his fucking breath, he’s right behind us!”
They were running out of time. The opening was shrinking. Jinu could feel it in the pulse of the air—the fissure was tightening, collapsing in on itself to seal all the evil out of the earth.
Gwi-ma’s screech broke through the air. A thousand voices were yelling over each other, a sound so wrong that Jinu had to resist the urge to cover his ears (not that it did much to protect his soul).
The tyrant swallowed a winged demon mid-flight and Jinu’s heart rate spiked when the demon next to him was swiped up in tendrils, yanked backwards mercilessly into that abyss.
“Go!” Jinu shouted, the air thick with more than just the unbreathable ash of Hell, “Go now or you die here!”
The rip in the Honmoon buzzed with white noise. Loose sparks fell from the edge like embers as it slowly sealed itself. Demons vanished into it one by one, their screams halting as they passed the barrier.
Ah-bin went through first, vanishing with a leap.
Miseo followed, he didn’t even hesitate.
Ro-meyeon gritted his teeth, turned and stepped backwards into it.
Then it was just Jinu. One hand still outstretched. One foot from escape.
But something was off. He clenched his fist. It’s empty where the wrist of a particular demon that was not supposed to leave his side during this skirmish was meant to be. Jinu’s eyes snapped wide as his head twisted, his sweat-soaked hair smacking his forehead. His heart clenched, not with fear—but clarity.
“Hanbae,” He whispers hauntingly with realisation, his body unmoving just in front of the portal even as many demons pushed past him.
The blood in his veins froze as his eyes scanned the chaos looking for him in the chaos. He couldn’t see him. He’s not here. He’s not by his side. He’s failed him. He’s failed them. Jinu’s breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to slow as every second stretched longer and longer the more he looked around. And as if to mock him, the portal crackling behind him sounded like a literal timer.
“HYUNG!”
Hanbae’s voice tore through the smog like a slap to the face—sharp, young, and raw with panic. The sound of it cracked through Jinu’s panicking mind with much-needed focus. Jinu’s head jerked around, his eyes searching through the mob. In the distance, he saw a blur of aqua hair upon a familiar face just as the figure is taken down by an eight-foot demon’s fist.
Hanbae’s body twisted mid-air before crashing violently against the ground. The hot burning hell's surface forced another cry from his hoarse throat. His mere attempts to get up are floundered as demons stampede over him without a care in the world.
“Hanbae—!” Jinu’s voice fractured into a guttural rasp, already breaking into a sprint in the “wrong” direction.
A shadow, thick and slithering, one of Gwi-ma’s feeding tendrils, barbed and glistening, wormed slowly towards Hanbae’s fallen form.
“Shit—no, no, no—” Jinu’s claws digging and pushing those in his way out of it viciously to reach his fallen member before the king.
He didn’t care for his own safety. Not when the youngest of them lay sprawled across burning black gravel, face pale and slack with pain and about to be devoured. He was saving him, or dying trying.
He won’t let anything happen to them.
Jinu didn’t think.
The distance between them closed in a heartbeat. He reached Hanbae with a last sprinting burst, claws digging into the boy’s waist and yanking him up into his arms and out of the way, just as the tendril slammed into the earth where Hanbae once was. The shockwave knocked them both forward, and Jinu grunted, shielding Hanbae’s body with his own as they crashed again—skidding across the ash-covered rock.
”Oh my god,” Hanbae says, eyes blown wide at the sight of the crater that formed where they once were.
Jinu’s heart couldn’t take thinking about that right now, he needed a plan now. The distance between the two and the rip wasn’t too much but the pack of demons ahead of them had thickened as they literally climbed over each other to get out. Additionally, that rip was about to close.
“Hold on tightly,” he whispered gently, lips against Hanbae’s temple.
“Okay,” Hanbae blinked up, sweat pouring down his brow, blood speckling his cheek. His breathing was short, desperate, “I’m trying—fuck, hyung, my leg-”
”I know… trust me.”
And Hanbae did, his hands wrapping around Jinu’s neck and looking forward. The older demon secured his hold on Hanbae and he reached deep, dragging up the last of his demon power, a surge of molten heat boiling beneath his skin. The red patterns across his body pulsed violently, glowing like brands. His pupils dilated to slits so thin they nearly vanished.
Dozens of demons were blown off their feet when he threw his hand forward. The non-contact force split the mob down the middle, if only for a second.
It was all he needed.
He launched them both forward at speeds he hasn’t reached in decades and they sliced through the air right into the closing ring of blue light.
The portal slammed shut behind them with a thunderclap that shook the air.
They hit the earth hard.
Jinu’s back slammed against the soft, cold soil with Hanbae cradled tightly to his chest, the boy’s frame trembling violently in his arms. For a moment, neither of them moved. The scent was wrong, overwhelmingly wrong in the best possible way.
Dirt. Real dirt. Damp and rich with the musk of plants and worms and soil, the air here wasn’t thick with ash or blood or fire. It was crisp, stinging the lungs like mint, and it made Jinu’s eyes water.
He wasn’t crying.
Hanbae sighed quietly, burrowing into his chest, “I thought… I thought we were done for,” he muttered into the folds of Jinu’s torn hanbok.
Jinu’s hold tightened, clutching the other demon close, “Shut up,” he breathed harshly into Hanbae’s hair, his voice shaking despite itself.
“Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. We’re here,” He buried his face into the crown of Hanbae’s blue bob, inhaling him like he was air itself, “I would’ve burned the whole fucking world down before leaving you there.”
There was a rustle in the grass. Then another. A sharp grunt and the slap of boots on the ground.
“Jinu?! Hanbae?!” Ro-meyeon’s voice rang out, frantic, and before Jinu could respond, he was hit by the weight of three bodies crashing into him from the side.
Jinu wheezed as Ah-bin’s large arms wrapped around them, crushing them both in a bear-hug and Ro-meyeon’s delicate hands clutched Hanbae’s face, pressing kisses to his cheeks in rapid succession while murmuring, “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay, I thought we lost you, I thought—I thought—”
Miseo, slow and silent as ever, briefly brushed his hand through Hanbae’s tangled hair. His lips didn’t part, but his mostly hidden expression flashed with something close to relief.
All five of them were breathing, blinking, bleeding—together.
Others had made it through too. Scattered, disoriented, sobbing or snarling nearby. Some dropped to their knees in the grass and dug their fingers into the soil as if it might vanish beneath them.
The honmoon tear hovered in the air like a healed wound. It was impossible to get through now. Though for only a few seconds more, it was transparent and hell remained visible. Their Hell. The prison they’d known their whole demon lives. They were finally out of it.
Many weren’t as lucky as them.
The last of the demons who hadn’t made it screamed as Gwi-ma’s tendrils wrapped around them and lifted them up off solid ground. Limbs flailed in the air, mouths opened in silent agony. One tried to claw through the seal, staring at them through the thickening barrier with wide, pleading eyes—until his skull caved under the pressure of Gwi-ma’s grip and his body vanished into the Gluttonous King’s maw.
The boys (and honestly all the other demons around them) stared in stunned silence, faces pale and frozen. All of them are thinking the same thing.
That could’ve been them.
Then the shimmer faded entirely. The rip was sealed. The space became empty again.
Like it never existed.
“It’s okay, guys,” Jinu whispered, voice roughened with soot and strain, “We’re here. We’re here,” He repeats, as though he doesn’t believe it himself.
Ah-bin leaned in close, wrapping both of his thick arms around the entire group, pulling them into his chest almost daring them to try and pull away. Jinu didn’t resist, resting his cheek against Ah-bin’s broad shoulder, still clutching Hanbae tightly against his side. Ro-meyeon pressed in close, one hand on Hanbae’s back, the other clutching Jinu’s sleeve, his breath warm and shaking. Miseo was silent, his head bowed, one hand loosely gripping Jinu’s shoulder, the other resting against Ro-meyeon’s spine.
There, in that fragile, silent heap, they let themselves breathe.
No more fire. No more screams. No more mouths.
Not yet at least.
They were alive.
Alive for now.
And that was all that mattered.
Chapter Text
Night in the human world didn’t feel like night in hell.
It settled in layers. Quiet. Cold. Heavy.
In the more shady, quieter, rundown parts of the city, the crumbling husk of an abandoned apartment building—plaster peeling from the walls like dead skin, wires hanging like sinew, the floorboards moist and stained with mold—dozens of demons crowded in refuge.
The place smelled of wet concrete and rot, but for the demons who now occupied it, it was a sanctuary. Dying? Yes. Crumbling, moldy and wet? Definitely. But a sanctuary nonetheless.
Some crouched in corners like feral animals, wrapped in old blankets or tattered coats, while others simply sat motionless against broken furniture, backs hunched in resignation.
In the center of it all, the five of them—Jinu, Ah-bin, Miseo, Ro-meyeon, and Hanbae—sat together on a torn couch and scraps of old carpeting they’d dragged from the other rooms, bundled in coats that didn’t belong to them. They were somewhere on the 5th floor.
Ro-meyeon was slouched with his arms lazily thrown over the backrest, gaze glazed and distant. One hand rested protectively on Miseo’s arm, his yellow eyes glassy with fatigue. Miseo sat with his back to the wall, legs pulled up, eyes half-lidded but very much awake. Hanbae lay with his head in Ah-bin’s lap, his smaller frame limp and taking low shuddering breaths. Ah-bin idly combed his hand through blue hair, watching through a window as the human world moved with an obvious hateful glare.
Jinu could probably guess what he was thinking.
How unfair it is for humans to live normally while they starve… Jinu would have to agree.
The hunger had become unbearable.
None of them had eaten in over a month. Not a single human soul.
Their demon markings—the patterns etched into their skin like veins—had begun to grow. Deeper, darker, larger across skin. Those cursed patterns crawled up their throats and ribs, coiling tighter with each passing day. It was a visible clock. A countdown so to say.
The patterns were evidence that their souls connected them to Gwi-ma. As long as they had those patterns, the honmoon recognised them as being on the wrong side of the two worlds. The more prominent, glowy, stark against skin, and big the patterns were, the easier it is for them to be pulled back under. Right into Gwi-ma’s heidious maw.
The only way to set this clock back is by eating humans for energy.
That or weakening the honmoon to reduce the rate at which it saps energy… but no demon has ever achieved that. Ever. Jinu is too smart to waste precious hours on wistful thinking.
In short, there is no permanent solution. Just temporary to evade the inevitable and right now they needed temporary solutions, fast. Or they will all be Gwi-ma’s dinner.
The older ones could hold it off longer.
Jinu, at over four centuries old, could survive perhaps another month. Ro-meyeon, maybe three weeks. Ah-bin, somewhere in between—but younger demons burned faster. The honmoon’s grip as well as Gwi-ma’s whispering always started with the youngest. Their souls were the least resilient.
If he was pale before, Hanbae’s skin was ghostly now. The parts of his skin visible at least. Most of it has been covered in dark patterns. His bright yellow eyes were dim and bloodshot, ringed with grey. His chest rose in shallow puffs, and every few minutes, he let out a weak groan of pain that stabbed through the quiet like a cry from a dying animal.
Jinu’s hand rested gently against Hanbae’s sternum, palm flat with his fingers splayed out. The moment he touched him, he flinched.
Miseo turned his head slightly from the floor, his eyes dark slits beneath the silver fall of hair, “He doesn’t have much longer.”
“How long for you?” Ah-bin asked, not looking away from the boy in his lap.
“Two weeks,” Miseo replied flatly, “Maybe less. It’s starting to pull.”
“Fuck.”
Jinu didn’t respond. He only continued to rub slow, steady circles on Hanbae’s chest, feeling the way the heartbeat beneath his hand stuttered in uneven rhythms.
Other demons had gone out in the past few nights, slipping between shadows, seeking human prey to stave off starvation. But those that returned rarely shared, and most didn’t come back at all. He remembers quite vividly, a couple of nights ago (envy still scratched his soul till this day), one group came back laughing, drunk off fresh soul energy, eyes glowing and skin rejuvenated. At least half of the group that left with them were nowhere to be seen. It’s not that he cared about the back-stabbing bullshit that probably went on. Far from it. He’s a demon too, he gets it. It was the way they bragged. They bragged and bragged to everyone’s face and gave no hints to where they easily accessed these humans.
That’s what had Jinu almost acting irrationally and trying to fight fully energised demons despite him barely functioning on his rationed energy reserve.
But he digresses.
Demons weren’t known for mercy. Nor kindness.
And sharing?
That was not in their blood. Jinu’s turned his mind to him and his little group.
They were probably the only exception across the 100 planes of hell.
They’d been through too much. Bled beside each other. Fought. Survived. Dare he say loved. But he can’t because that emotion is unnatural for demons—blasphemous, even. But Jinu didn’t care. None of them did. What they had was theirs and theirs alone.
And just after escaping to try and live a normal life together, Hanbae is about to get ripped away from them.
Panic was a strange thing to Jinu. He didn’t feel it like others did. Because in every horrifying moment in hell let it be close calls, life or death decisions or staring Gwi-ma in the face, he always found clarity. A plan. His rational mind. But now, seated among crumbling walls and the slow decay of his family, all he could feel was its slow crawl… up his spine, tightening his stomach, wrapping around his lungs.
Or maybe, the reality is he was good at hiding it. He doesn’t know what this earthian air is doing to him, but his stoned faced calm is dissolving. He felt useless to his boys, helpless as the people he loves loose the life in their yellow eyes.
His eyes darted to Ah-bin.
The larger demon was on the couch, Hanbae now having adjusted weakly in his lap, his head now rested on Ah-bin’s chest. His legs were twitching faintly. The light from a broken window fell across his cheek, making the bruised tones under his eyes seem even more sickly. Every few minutes, a sharp flinch rippled through his frame and each time, without fail, Ah-bin would react. His arms tightened, just slightly, his fingers curling a little more around the curve of Hanbae’s spine, as if that alone could anchor him to this plane.
“His voice is so annoying, hyung…” Hanbae murmured deeply, lips barely moving. There was a telling twitch in his hands that told Jinu that he wanted to cover his ears.
“I know, baby,” Ah-bin replied softly, his hand going up to brush his hair, jaw clenched, “I know.”
Not too far from them, Ro-meyeon was crouched beside Miseo, who’d shrunken in on himself just a little more. He knelt close, both hands cupped over Miseo’s as if trying to warm them by contact alone.
“Miseo,” he murmured, soft as silk, “please. Just look at me. Let me see you.”
Miseo didn’t make a move to remove his bangs. His voice came out brittle, “I… don’t look good right now.”
“I miss your face,” Ro-meyeon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “Because I know you’re hurting, and you think hiding it makes it easier for us. Your patterns, no matter the origins, are beautiful.”
Miseo’s response was a faint shrug. Barely more than a twitch. When Ro-meyeon reached to push back his hair, Miseo didn’t resist—but neither did he meet his gaze. There was shame in his expression. The shame of slipping to Gwi-ma.
Jinu looked away. His mouth was dry.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t sit there and watch this—his family fracturing slowly, piece by piece.
“I’m going to find a human,” he said suddenly, rising to his feet, “I won’t be gone long. Nobody follow me.”
All four pair of eyes shot to him instantly.
“No,” Ah-bin said first, low and firm, “You’re not.”
“Hyung, don’t be stupid,” Ro-meyeon hissed, standing quickly, “You’re too weak. You haven’t fed either. You don’t even have your power right now—what are you going to do?”
Jinu’s eyes flashed as he clenched his fists at his sides, “I can’t do nothing. Look at him,” he snapped, pointing toward Hanbae without looking, “He’s not going to last much longer, and when he goes, we all follow soon after. I don’t care how weak I am—I’ll figure it out.”
“Absolutely the fuck not,” Ah-bin snapped, shifting Hanbae gently off his lap before standing, “You can’t even disguise yourself as a human right now, Jinu. You go out there like this, and you’ll be in hell again before you know it.”
“If you’re going,” Ro-meyeon added, “One of us have to go with-”
“Stay here. I know what I’m doing,” Jinu snapped back, “Not even Huntr/x can stop me.”
At the mention of them, the air went still. Even the demons eavesdropping went straight back to minding their own business.
”Huntr/x would have you back before Gwi-ma within the hour in your state,” Miseo says hauntingly.
They all knew about the Huntr/x.
Their names were known by every demon to ever walk in this generation: Rumi, Mira, Zoey. The K-pop demon hunter group that not only strengthen the honmoon but also wielded weapons forged to force them back to the underworld with any lethal enough blow. They didn’t kill them themselves (that would be a mercy). They were banished. Ripping souls back through the honmoon, hurling demons into Gwi-ma’s being.
They were the reason hundreds of demons never lasted a day in the human world. For why there was so much hesitance in the group on actually trying to get something to eat. What’s better? Suffering slowly to face Gwi-ma in days or have an expressed ticket to him?
Only a fool would choose the latter.
Jinu knew all of this.
They all did.
And yet—
“What other fucking choice do I have?!” His voice cracked now, breath heaving, rage twisting into something too raw and vulnerable, “Look at them! Hanbae’s is going to be taken from us! Do you get that?! He’ll die, and we’ll watch him, and then one by one we’ll rot like him, and it’ll all be for nothing!”
Jinu was still panting, fists tight at his sides, yellow irises wide and unblinking like a cornered animal. The room felt too small.
“I would rather die to the blade than let that happen without a fucking fight.”
Silence dropped again.
After several laboured breaths, he looked around and saw the expressions on his lovers faces. Saw the concern, the pain, the fear for him in their yellow eyes.
That was what broke him most.
“…Shit,” he muttered.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, fingers dragging hard over his scalp as if trying to scrub the rage away. His voice dropped, softening without meaning to.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I just… I can’t lose any of you. Not like that. Not to him.”
He didn’t have to say Gwi-ma’s name.
Jinu’s eye twitched as he felt a nearing presence. He whipped his head around and was met with the sight of three elder demons, older than him at least, and arrogant enough to think age gave them rights to pick on anyone.
“You lot look cozy on this couch,” the tallest said, his voice grumbling with a false friendliness that vainly concealed a threat, “Too cozy… care to share with your seniors?”
They really weren’t given a single chance of respite. Jinu had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
One of them dragged a jagged mace behind him, its end clinking against tile, and another flexed the bony spikes that jutted from his wrists.
Before Jinu could try and deescalate the situation, Ah-bin was on his feet before the second one took a step closer.
“You’re not welcome here,” he growled, planting himself between the strangers and the others, “Find somewhere else.”
One of the elders cocked his head, “You think a pretty face and a six-pack earns you territory?” He stepped forward, his gait lazy and mocking, swinging the mace casually over one shoulder as he glanced at the group.
“Actually, the one with blue hair? His face is cute. Yeah, you can leave him here with us. We’ll take extra good care of him.”
All of them bared their fangs but it was Ah-bin who went to punch the bastard who talked first. They were quick to retaliate.
The demon swung his weapon against Ah-bin’s gut with a sickening thud. He doubled over, breath leaving him in a choked gasp, and before he could recover, the second demon launched forward, claws raking down his back. The third slammed a foot into Ah-bin’s knee, dropping him onto the splintered floorboards with a crack.
“Hyung!” Hanbae, Miseo and Ro-meyeon called out.
Ah-bin growled from the floor, coughing violently, eyes flashing with fury (probably angry at how weak he was right now). He tried to rise, but one of the elders pressed a boot into his shoulder, pinning him like an insect.
“You had your chance,” the demon said, weapon raised high, ready to bring it down on Ah-bin’s skull, “Have fun with Gwi-ma.”
“Wait!” Jinu’s voice cut through the room like a knife. He put himself right in the line of fire, blocking Ah-bin. He raised his hands in surrender “Wait, wait wait.”
The mace froze mid-air.
Jinu assumed a non-threatening posture. His face gave nothing away— not the burn of helplessness scorching his gut, “You want this space? Okay. It’s as good as yours. We’ll move.”
After a tense second, he scoffed, moving his foot off Ah-bin’s body.
“Smart,” he hissed, “Keep being smart, pretty boy.”
Jinu didn’t respond.
With a scoff, the elder stepped back. Ro-meyeon and Miseo rushed forward without a word, lifting Ah-bin by each shoulder. He groaned and cursed under his breath, demon blood dripping from a split lip, but didn’t resist as they half-carried, half-dragged him toward the opposite end of the room.
“You good?” Ro-meyeon muttered.
“Fuck no,” Ah-bin spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, “but thanks for asking.”
“Next time, maybe don’t take on three ancients while half-dead?” Ro-meyeon said, trying to lighten the mood, almost teasing. It works cause for the first time in a while, Miseo cracks a smile.
“Bite me.”
”Gladly.”
Jinu bent down, reaching for Hanbae, whose legs trembled even as he tried to sit up, “I’ve got you,” Jinu said softly, slipping an arm under Hanbae’s knees and lifting him carefully.
Hanbae didn’t protest. He just rested his head against Jinu’s chest, blinking slowly, “This place sucks,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Jinu whispered, “It does.”
They settled in the corner behind what was once a kitchen counter, now mold-stained. It wasn’t much. Just another patch of cold ground beneath cracked walls and ceilings that wept damp. But it would have to do.
Ah-bin leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Miseo sat beside him, quietly wiping the blood from his face with the edge of his sleeve. Ro-meyeon crouched at his opposite side, making a makeshift bandage for the wound along his back. Jinu settled beside them last, dragging Hanbae closer to the centre so their bodies could warm him.
A chill of air brushed over them and they all visibly shivered.
For a moment, Jinu let himself wonder.
Was this really better?
Back in hell, they’d lived on the edge of Gwi-ma’s reach. They’d run endlessly—city to city, gate to gate—never stopping, never resting easy, but at least they were familiar with the terror. The fear was constant, yes, but it was predictable. The monster wore his face out in the open.
Here, on Earth, the fear was silent. Starvation gnawed at their beings. The honmoon pulled at their souls like invisible thread, with their patterns pulsing painfully as a reminder. Additionally, hunters lurked in broad daylight making the city unsafe for them to dare roam freely.
So what was worse?
Burning in hell?
Or starving in “heaven”?
Jinu glanced at the boys curled around him. Bruised, hungry, in agony and yet…
He watched as Ah-bin grunted when Miseo dug his hands into a knot in the muscular himbo’s shoulder, “Ow! That hurt,” he pouted.
Miseo only hummed faintly, “Stop being a baby.”
Ro-meyeon’s voice, soft and rhythmic, whispered nonsense and sweet sweet nothings into Hanbae’s curls to distract him from Gwi-ma’s voice, as the youngest finally began to drift off in Jinu’s lap. His own demon claws curl up against the boy’s head.
Jinu smiled faintly.
Any Hell was worth it, if it was with them.
Jinu let himself sag slightly, his head resting against Ro-meyeon’s shoulder, breath beginning to slow. The sound of the wind scraping against the broken glass was oddly soothing. For the first time in weeks, his eyelids grew heavy. His muscles unwound, little by little.
He didn’t even realise he was falling asleep until—
“HUNTR/X IS HERE!”
The scream came from downstairs, shrill and panicked, echoing up the stairwell like the cry of a demon being dragged to its end, “RUN!”
Jinu’s eyes snapped open.
They REALLY weren’t given a single chance of respite.
Notes:
Yeah I have got no clue what I’m doing lol
I’m running on fumes here. I literally have the plot outline for 20 chapters already but converting them to good readable chapters is so long.
Chapter 3: Taste of Death
Notes:
I just wanted to say, thank you for reading and for all your comments! I read every single one of them and they motivate me to keep writing. It’s so cool to see others interested in my idea, I lowkey thought it was gonna be me and one other reader against the world. Your support is so appreciated (Even if I don’t respond, trust me I will read it so don’t stop sending them!). Anyways, hope you enjoy!
Additonally, please tell me what other tags you think I should add, i am so clueless.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was like a bomb went off.
Screams echoed through the building, guttural and cut short, as bodies disintegrated from the earth with each slash of a weapon.
They had arrived.
Huntr/x.
Three blurs of divine retribution swept through the apartment like angels.
But to the demons? They were their reapers.
Rumi was in front, her saingeom glowing with the blessing of heaven’s will that burned with every slash. Behind her, Mira twirled her woldo polearm like a dancer, slicing down anything that moved. And then Zoe, wild-eyed and laughing as she leapt into the chaos with throwing knives flying from her fingers. Each one that hit a demon made them pop like a pinkish firework.
The worst thing about it for Jinu was how they talked so casually over the chaos, as if it was them doing them a disservice by trying to survive and not suffer eternally in the tyrant's stomach.
Each body that fell, their soul was ripped right back through the honmoon.
Back to Gwi-ma. A fate worse than death.
One moment the room had been crowded, desperate bodies pressed in corners—and now it was a blur of panic, demon blood and falling numbers.
But for Jinu… everything slowed.
He stood frozen in place, one foot half-turned toward escape, eyes wide as the world collapsed. His mind raced—spinning through a hundred thoughts a second, trying to calculate, to predict, to lead—but no solution came. Run. Hide. Fight? Die?
His breath came too fast, chest rising and falling as the possibilities played out in flashes. Hanbae, dissolving in his arms. Ah-bin bleeding out. Miseo’s face never to be touched by him again. Ro-meyeon’s voice stuck in endless screaming.
And him, unable to stop any of it.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to escape. He-
A whistle cracked through the air.
Jinu didn’t move fast enough.
“JINU!”
Ro-meyeon’s voice broke through his shell-shock, sharp and desperate, right before he realised. A shinkal whizzed towards his head, fast and flashing. His fingers twitched to react but his body locked up.
Before it could find its mark, Ro-meyeon slammed into him from the side, tackling them both to the floor just as the blade sank into the drywall behind where his head had just been. They came to a rolling stop, Jinu blinked, dazed, breathing heavily, before Ro-meyeon grabbed his face in both hands, eyes wide and furious.
“FOCUS!” Ro-meyeon growled, voice laced with rare anger, “Don’t you dare freeze on us now!”
Jinu breathed heavily, pulse hammering in his ears, “I—shit—thank you,” he said, head clearing.
They got up in a tangle, hands pulling each other upward, scrambling across the wreckage. Around them, the chaos of the fight (Hanbae murmured it was a massacre) roared louder. The other demons were falling, burning, and dragged screaming back to hell.
The group of boys ran.
There was no other choice. No room for hesitation. The five of them dashed through the hallways, their breath coming fast and ragged. Adrenaline must have been on a high because even the two that were the weakest, Hanbae and Ah-bin, kept pace because they knew what was at stake.
They couldn’t stop. Just couldn’t.
”There!” Jinu shouted, pointing dramatically.
After what felt like hours (probably just under a minute) they found the window two floors above. A wide opening where a portion of the outer wall had crumbled to the street. A quick jump, maybe fifty to seventy feet down. Easy for a demon’s body to survive.
They reached it, breathless, bruised, barely functioning. Ah-bin threw himself at the window first, his massive frame squeezing through the busted frame, head and chest slipping out into the night air.
But then he stopped.
His wide shoulders jammed into the metal frame, drywall crumbling around his arms as he thrashed.
“Ah-bin?!” Ro-meyeon shouted, panicking.
“I—fucking hell! It’s too narrow—!” Ah-bin grunted, kicking his legs like a trapped fawn, “I’m stuck!”
Hanbae, still pale and sagging in Miseo’s grip, growled in frustration, “You absolute muscle-headed idiot!”
”I’m TRYING!” Ah-bin snarled, biceps jammed tight and painfully in place. His voice was muffled by the wind and the layer of the wall.
“HELP ME GET HIM THROUGH!” Jinu barked, already shoving his shoulder against Ah-bin’s body, trying to force the larger demon through the opening.
Ro-meyeon joined in, then Miseo, then Hanbae. All four pressed against Ah-bin with all the muscle their weak forms could offer. They grunted, growled and groaned with the effort of it, and yet, no budge.
It was not too soon after that Jinu realised their sounds of struggle were the only ones he could here now.
No more crashing.
No more screaming.
No more death.
Silence. Except for them and three sets of footsteps getting closer to them.
Jinu’s stomach dropped.
He turned slowly.
And there they were.
Rumi stood at the end of the hallway, tall and composed, the saingeom lowered but glowing faintly in her grip. Flanking her sides, Mira, rolling her shoulder with a cold smirk, and Zoey, leaning against the hallway arch, chewing her gum, the next shinkal already poised between two fingers.
“Awww, Cute little pack,” Zoey said, eyes gleaming with mischief, “But unfortunately, you gotta die.”
“Back the fuck off,” Ro-meyeon hissed, fangs bared, still shoving Ah-bin’s legs toward the open air.
“Relax,” Mira said cooly, stepping forward along with the others, “We’re just doing our job.”
“Shit—shit—fucking move!” Ro-meyeon hissed under his breath, every muscle in his arms shaking as he tugged at Ah-bin’s hips with growing desperation.
Hanbae squeezed his eyes shut, face ghost-white, and clutched Miseo’s hand with all the strength he could muster. His clammy fingers trembled but gripped like a vice, and Miseo tightened his hold in return, just as silent but anchoring. Miseo didn’t look away from the approaching girls. Hanbae didn’t let go.
Jinu stepped forward.
He placed himself between the others and the girls—His arms raised slowly, palms open in a gesture of peace. His fingers trembled only slightly—hidden well by the way his sleeves drooped down his forearms. His voice was calm when it left him, low and firm.
“We… We don’t want a fight.”
The girls didn’t answer at first, only watching. Jinu had not the slightest clue why they were granting them the mercy of time but he was going to exploit it to his wits' end.
“We’re not like the others,” Jinu continued, his tone layered carefully, “We’re not hunting. We haven’t hurt anyone. We’re just trying to survive. That’s all.”
The leader- Rumi- laughed dryly, “Yeah? You want a medal?”
He wasn’t really listening, his mind was too busy looking for a plan.
One, one he had mostly been avoiding, clicked into place in his head. His powers.
He could feel it. The little amount of his power he could conjure with his remaining energy. Even if it meant burning himself out. Even if it meant tipping too far into depletion and getting pulled back to Gwi-ma. If it meant saving them—if it meant saving his boys—then he’d trade his body without hesitation.
He just needed time.
Jinu offered the faintest, thinnest smile. His voice was velvet sweet, “You really want to kill five starving demons, one of which is stuck in a window?”
“You are demons,” Rumi snapped, stepping forward, “That’s all that matters.”
“We’d never kill anyone.”
He was lying.
They may not have yet but eventually (if they get out of this) they 100% would. But they didn’t need to know that.
His voice lowered a fraction, more intimate now, quieter.
“You don’t want to do this,” he murmured, “You really don’t. Let us go. No one else has to suffer tonight. I know you guys are bringers of peace but I just think in this world we need to encourage-.”
Rumi’s eyes narrowed again, “You’re stalling.”
Jinu’s jaw clenched. The heat of his patterns began to buzz. He could feel the world tilting—his knees going soft, his vision tunnelling. He inhaled slowly, stretching his fingers just slightly.
A flicker of something sparked in his eyes.
The faintest ripple of power teased the air around him and the girls seemed to notice it immediately. They lunged at them as one.
Only to slice into the air.
The hunters stepped back, coughing, blinded by the pink cloud.
When it cleared, the room was empty.
They vanished.
All five.
-
They materialised in the world again in a dumpster, tumbling into the reeking trash in a tangle of limbs. Jinu groaned as Hanbae collapsed on his chest, Ro-meyeon’s elbow digging into his ribs, and Miseo landed atop them all. Ah-bin hit the corner wall of the container with a grunt that shook the entire thing.
For a moment, no one moved.
It was pitch black. It stank of beer, rot and something sour. They lay in a grotesque heap of banana peels, broken glass, a half-eaten burger, and a deflated birthday balloon.
“Where the fuck are we?” Ah-bin groaned.
“Dumpster,” Miseo replied simply, voice flat, sitting up first.
“A few blocks down,” Jinu wheezed, his chest rising unevenly, the words dragging out of him like smoke curling from dying embers, “I couldn’t… get us farther.”
His power and energy were gone. His breath was thin and his vision flickered: unfocused and fading. His demon patterns had darkened further, bold lines pulsing deep black, spreading from his clavicle up his arms and neck and face, encroaching like frostbite. They weren’t just visible—they were angry, throbbing red.
The Honmoon would not ignore him for much longer. It had felt him drop to zero. It was already tugging his soul back to the other side.
“Hyung?” Miseo’s voice was taut and sharp, the first to recognise the weight of what had happened, “You didn't...”
The rest caught on immediately.
“What the actual fuck, Jinu?!” Ro-meyeon exploded, shoving himself up and nearly falling back down, his yellow eyes red-rimmed and wild with disbelief, “You used everything? Everything?! Do you know what that means?!”
“You’re going to be dragged back!” Hanbae shrieked, his voice raw, climbing over Ah-bin and grabbing Jinu’s face with one clawed hand, “You know what happens to demons that reach this last stage! You go back to him! You go back to Gwi-ma and you don’t come back!”
“You stupid, self-sacrificing—!” Ah-bin’s voice cracked as he slammed his fist into the dumpster’s wall, the metal ringing out with a hollow bang, “You think we need a hero?! No, you bastard! We need you here with us!”
Jinu let the noise crash over him. Let them scream. Let them curse him. He deserved it. His voice came out low, and so quiet they had to lean in to hear it over their fury.
“I had to,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dry, “You were going to die. I made the call. That’s what leaders do.”
“No,” Ro-meyeon spat, voice cracking again, “That’s what cowards do when they give up.”
Jinu smiled weakly. It wasn’t smug. It wasn’t warm. It was tired.
“I’m going to be fine,” he lied, “It’s hell. I’ve been there before. It’s not worse than losing all of you.”
“Don’t you dare say goodbye,” Hanbae sobbed, tears streaming down his already pale face, “Don’t you fucking say goodbye—”
“I’m not… afraid,” Jinu said, but his hand trembled as he reached to press it to Hanbae’s cheek. His eyes cast across the loves of his life, “One of us had to. You guys are still strong. You’ve got time. Don’t… waste it okay? Live.”
“No,” Miseo growled, “Stop that. We are not letting you go.”
Their voices faded into muffled noise. Jinu’s soul felt cold even in their arms. The fear of his fate finally caught up with him as his eyes fluttered closed.
He didn’t like being cold.
Suddenly, Bang! Bang! Bang!
The dumpster walls shook as something struck it violently from outside. Jinu’s eyes widened a fraction, the others whipped their heads to eachother.
“Oi!” came a drunken, slurred yell, “You rats in there or somethin’? Scram! This ain’t your fuckin’ den!”
The lid clattered open as the four stood up, leaving Jinu on the floor. They peered up over the rim of the dumpster slowly.
But the sight before them had their eyes narrowed into slits. Five men, mid-thirties, staggering under the weight of their own indulgence. Booze clutched in one hand, greasy takeout in the other.
“The hell?” he slurred, “You guys in costume or something?”
“Dumbass kids,” another mumbled, “Probably high.”
The drunken idiots were too far gone to even realise they were staring at inhuman beings.
Oh, thank God for the sin of gluttony.
The four demons rose from the trash, hungry and fast. Before the drunkards could scream, move, or blink, they were pounced on, dragged to the dirty ground and pinned.
Ah-bin grabbed two. Ro-meyeon was on another and Hanbae tackled the shortest one.
One tried to run—Miseo had him by the throat in a blink.
A scream bubbled up—
Soul condensing required five-finger contact and a break of the skin. That was all it took. No drawn-out fights or anything.
In near sync, claws suck into the five humans flesh, blood oozing briefly.
Almost instantly the human’s started condensing. Their body, mind and soul folding in on itself into a blue glowing spirit slightly larger than a tennis ball. Small. Glowing. Screaming. Still sentient.
The spheres of light with ghostly faces twisted in terror, shivering and squeaking, floating helplessly in the palms of the demons.
Miseo didn’t wait.
He took the one in his hand and dived back into the dumpster. Jinu’s eyes fluttered open just in time to see the glowing spirit clutched in Miseo’s claws, crackling and pulsing with fear. He was too weak to speak, too far gone to protest.
Miseo didn’t ask.
He pried Jinu’s mouth open with one hand and shoved the spirit in.
It screamed as it went in—writhing, twisting and though uncomfortable at first, his body swallowed it greedily. A deep, almost pathetic whine left Jinu’s throat as the taste exploded across his tongue. It was delicious as it slid down his throat. Sweet. Bitter. Heavy with sin.
Right when it passed his collarbone, he felt warmth in his very core.
It began in his stomach, a slow coil of comfortable heat that expanded across his body, seeping through his limbs, his chest, his face. His fingers flexed. His breath hitched. His patterns pulsed once, then began to shrink and retreat off his skin, red returning to a blackish grey.
Even as unconsciousness pulled him under, Jinu smiled faintly in relief, his hand twitching toward Miseo’s sleeve.
Hope wasn’t lost after all.
Notes:
Let me know what you think! I hope it is meeting your expectations.
Apologies if this chapter and the next few sound like dumped exposition. There’s just a lot of word-building I need to do for my ideas to make sense.
Chapter 4: Normal
Notes:
Heads up! This chapters kinda dead. It’s not as dramatic or intresting and it’s really just world-building. I still hope you like it!
Also I just know imma start getting too lazy for chapter names.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It had been three days since the alley, since they were inches away from death.
But also three days since they finally got something to eat. Three days since the life returned to all their eyes, since the horrible patterns stopped clawing their way across skin, since the Honmoon’s pull had retreated—just enough.
For now, they just want to live in willful ignorance until that hunger climbs back.
They moved in a loose line through the city, Jinu walked at the front, as always. With their newfound energy store, they have been able to put on their human disguises and hence could wonder somewhat freely.
For this moment, Jinu felt a sense of normalcy. Aside from the fact they were man-eating demons walking amongst mortals and… aside from their clothes.
Their clothes were unfortunately not the best fit for them. They were the clothes that fell off the humans they had killed.
Well Ro-meyeon, Miseo and himself looked somewhat clean-cut and polished but poor Ah-bin, who strutted a half step behind him, was crammed into a leather jacket that was far too tight across his arms, the zipper refusing to go past his sternum and Hanbae wore a suit literally three sizes too big, sleeves dragging over his hands.
But he allowed his posture to relax and embrace being normal and doing normal things for them.
For example, Hanbae being a complaining little shit.
“The air’s too thin,” he groaned, dragging his feet as if gravity personally offended him.
“That’s your seventh time saying that today,” Miseo muttered without looking at him.
“Eleventh,” Ro-meyeon corrected dryly.
“I’m just saying,” Hanbae scoffed, trying his absolute hardest to not cross his arms to pout.
That earned a laugh from Ro-meyeon and the faintest smirk from Miseo.
Jinu, though, stopped walking.
The others followed his line of sight—drawn up and ahead—to a towering billboard that loomed over the intersection. They all slowed to a stop.
Across the massive screen there was a video ad of the Huntr/x in their showstopping outfits, striking poses. The screen flashed their names one by one:
RUMI. MIRA. ZOEY.
”HUNTR/X SHOW YOU HOW IT’S DONE DONE DONE!” The audio snippet of their latest single began blaring through the embedded speakers, The bass-boosted backing track boomed into their ears.
All five demons cringed at the sound of it, the sound thrumming uncomfortably in their cores.
The voice-over announcer cut in:
“Catch Huntr/x live tonight at Haven Arena, 8PM—watch them show you how it’s done.”
Jinu stared up at the ad, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
Ah-bin cracked his knuckles together with a loud, satisfying pop, “I say we burn the whole fuckin’ stage down,” he muttered, eyes glinting beneath furrowed brows, “I can take ‘em.”
Ro-meyeon, standing beside him, let out a snort. Without hesitation, he smacked Ah-bin across the back of his head.
“Ow!” Ah-bin yelped, turning on him, “What the fuck?!”
“You eat one poor bastard and suddenly think you’re untouchable,” Ro-meyeon snapped, smirking as he stepped back and avoided Ah-bin’s swing, “You’re barely back to 30%. Don’t be a cocky idiot.”
Ah-bin lunged, arms outstretched, trying to grab Ro-meyeon into a headlock. The pink haired demon failed to dodge and he ground his knuckles mercilessly into his scalp.
“My hair!” he screeched, flailing before breaking free, “You degenerate!”
They began shoving each other like children. Passerbys merely glanced at the fighting adults, probably concerned that it was real.
“And they say I’m the youngest,” he muttered, leaning lazily into Miseo’s shoulder.
Jinu chuckled under his breath, hands tucked in his coat pockets, his gaze distracted from the billboard. The constant anxiety in his chest simmered gently, not quite gone, but soothed by the banter. It surprised even him—how natural it felt despite everything still looming over their heads. It was moments like this—stupid, absurd and probably some what human—that made Earth feel like more than just an escape from death.
Suddenly, a pair of high-pitched voices chirped behind them.
“Oh my god—excuse me!” one of the girls called out, breathless with excitement.
The sudden voice startled them. The five of them turned in unison. Two girls—tourists, if Jinu had to guess, judging by the oversized sunglasses, neon crop tops, and matching metallic puffer jackets—had stepped right up to them on the sidewalk, grinning as though they’d spotted rare animals in a zoo.
“Are you guys like, um— idols?!” the shorter one squealed, clasping her hands together to stop them from buzzing.
Jinu blinked, a polite smile already forming, “Ah! No, no, we’re just—”
”They, like, obviously are Eve! They are, like, too perfect too like not to be!” The other girl whispered.
“Can we get a picture!?”
Before Jinu could even respond, the shorter girl spun, already pulling out her selfie stick and slamming the button on her phone camera, thrusting it high above their heads, “Everyone say cheese!”
The flash popped twice.
Click-click.
The girls squealed, giddy beyond reason, crowding together to look at the photos, “They’re so hot!” the shorter one gasped as they stared at the screen.
“Thank you!” they said in sync, bowing, as they skipped off into the crowd, not even waiting for a response.
Jinu blinked. Hanbae blinked. Ro-meyeon, still halfway locked in Ah-bin’s arms, blinked. Miseo (actually Jinu doesn’t know if he did but he probably did) blinked.
“Well,” Ah-bin muttered, scratching the back of his neck and still watching the corner the girls had disappeared around, “that was weird.”
The others didn’t argue and they resumed walking like nothing happened.
Their leader stood a few paces behind, still rooted to the sidewalk where the girls had left them. His head tilted slightly upward again, back at the gigantic billboard.
Huntr/x were everything humans wanted. Everything they trusted. Beautiful. Fearless. Untouchable.
But Jinu was no longer looking at them with disdain but contemplation.
He was imagining something else.
”Are you guys idols?”
The words echoed back to him, less absurd now in his mind.
What if it was them up there?
Not those damned hunters. Them.
He saw it clearly:
The five of them on stage under pulsing lights.
Thousands of humans screaming their names, eyes wild with adoration, wanting them—begging for them.
They’d be worshiped. Wanted. They could get close—so close—without suspicion. No more hiding. No more scurrying like rats through alleyways. They’d be standing center stage, beloved, untouchable.
…and they would have an endless buffet at their feet.
He was still staring when Hanbae called back, impatient.
“Jinu! Come on!”
Jinu shook his head, the fantasy fading as quickly as it came. He looked back at them—his boys, already halfway down the block—and immediately he pushed the thought to the back of his head.
“Sorry!” he called out, jogging after them, “Coming!”
Notes:
Again, dead. Apologies 🙂↕️🙂↕️ But the seeds have been sown into Jinu’s head, so that’s something I guess. I hope you enjoyed! Of course, tell me any mistakes, let me know your thoughts and tags I should add!
Chapter 5: Concert
Notes:
YES I’m back! I can’t even begin to explain where the energy to write is coming from but it’s literally all consuming. 1500 hits! WOOOOO
Just got predicted A*A*A for my A-levels so I’m on a high.
Though icl this chapter is absolute exposition and info dump (that I will develop later down the line trustttt). I even felt like I was repeating myself sometimes but it’s whatever! Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Who would’ve thought those guys were rich,” Ro-meyeon muttered as he stepped out of the bathroom, a low swirl of steam billowed out around him. His freshly washed pink hair clung damply to the sides of his face, dripping slightly onto the towel hanging loosely around his hips. Water trailed in a line down the side of his torso as he padded barefoot across the marble floor, lazy and satisfied.
Miseo—lounging on the edge of one of the luxury leather couches—tried, not to look.
Tried and failed.
His yellow eyes flickered upward for half a second too long, just long enough to register the line of Ro-meyeon’s waist, the damp flush of his chest, the trail of pink hair slipping past his collarbone. He turned his gaze away as quickly as he looked—far too obviously.
”You don’t need to shower,” Miseo said as deadpan as ever as his eyes refocused on his book.
Ro-meyeon smirked.
“I know,” he said, running the smaller towel slowly along his back, “But human shampoo hits different and… I know you like me better like this~.”
Ro-meyeon grinned evilly as he caught the book that was lobbed at his head.
When demons consumed humans, all the physical matter the victim owned was left behind—clothing, accessories, phones, and wallets. It was one of the more convenient perks of demon feeding: the flesh was gone, but the goods were yours.
And the drunkards had not been struggling.
In this case, the five unfortunate fools had left behind nothing short of a jackpot for the boys. They carried cash- Thank God- and their IDs. But the biggest win, Jinu must say, is that they had the identification for a booking plus the key fobs for a penthouse suite on the fiftieth floor of one of Seoul’s most extravagant hotels.
It wasn’t eternal safety (the stingy bastard only booked 32 days), but it would be a damn good month for shelter and hiding.
And it felt… disgustingly comfortable.
Jinu sat at the kitchen island, dressed in a silk robe one of the humans had owned—white and soft, the kind of thing only someone excessively rich or overly dramatic would wear. His demonic claws thrummed at the counter as he tried again and again to access one of the stolen phones, which he had hacked into two of five already (those of which made their passwords their birthdays).
The focus was shattered with a knock.
Three sharp hits at the suite’s front door.
Jinu’s head snapped up immediately and without missing a beat, his form shimmered. The shift was smooth and fast—one blink and his demon markings were gone, claws and fangs gone, his skin a flawless human tone and his eyes warm brown instead of slitted gold.
“Don’t speak,” he said to the others walking to the door silently. He peered through the peephole and held back a groan of annoyance when he saw a female hotel staff member waiting there, fiddling with her fingers.
“Fucking chore,” he mummbled as he adjusted his robe to hang just low enough on his chest to appear… casual.
He cracked the door open, making sure only half his body was visible. A young hotel staff member stood before him, black bob, mid-twenties maybe, tablet in hand, blazer sharp and neat, though her posture faltered the moment she got a good look at him.
Her eyes swept over Jinu’s body, lingering far too long on the open robe, the exposed collarbone and the mess of his dark hair falling over one eye.
Humans were too easy, “Can I help you?” Jinu asked smoothly, voice rich and low. He said it in that tone he knew tickled his lovers’ spines.
Behind him, Hanbae—he didn’t need to look to know, it was Hanbae guaranteed— let out a long, loud, obnoxious wolf whistle.
Jinu’s eye twitched. But he didn’t break.
The girl’s face flushed deep pink. She coughed once, adjusting the tablet in her hand and trying her best to sound professional, “Uh—yes, sorry, sir. We, um—got a ping from the security cameras that there were… uh, extra people entering the suite. For the last two- sorry three days? N-not that it’s a problem or anything! I just wanted to confirm…” Her gaze flicked to try to see inside. Jinu shifted, blocking her view easily, “We were expecting only one guest. A Mr… Takumi?”
“Ah,” Jinu smiled softly and warmly, tilting his head just enough to send a strand of hair falling across his brow, “Yes. I’m his nephew. He gifted the suite to me and my friends to celebrate my recent graduation. Did he not book it under my name?”
She kept her eyes pinned to her screen as she started clicking things she probably didn’t need to, “Ah I can double-check, it was probably my mistake is all! It just wasn’t in the system and-.”
Jinu bowed his head and his smile easily became more apologetic, “I hope this isn’t causing too much trouble.”
“No! Of course not, No trouble at all,” she said quickly, waving her hands like it could erase her flustered state, “I’ll make a note in the system, it’s all done and sorted. You enjoy your stay with your friends! Don’t worry about it at all. Please enjoy your stay, sir. Wait, I said that already, Erm, goodbye sir!”
She bowed, turned stiffly, and practically fled down the hall, her ears bright red.
Jinu shut the door with a quiet face. The moment the latch clicked, the smile vanished from his face instantly.
His form shimmered again, skin paling and the patterns returning along his throat and arms. He exhaled and leaned back against the door, expression falling into something unreadable.
“What did she want?” Ah-bin asked from the couch.
Jinu didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly and with a snort: “To remind us that we don’t belong here.”
Ro-meyeon, who had since acquired a glass of wine and was leaning along the arm of the couch, sipped lazily, “She was ready to tattoo his face on her ass. We should start charging.”
Jinu just flipped him off.
He collapsed onto the massive curved couch that was placed around the centre of the suite. Probably made to fit fifteen people but he still sat close enough to brush shoulders with Miseo. The younger hummed lightly, leaning into him a bit as he read. Jinu said nothing, only exhaled softly, the sound lost under the squabbling from the other end of the couch.
“You’re pressing the wrong button, again!” Hanbae huffed, perched sideways in Ah-bin’s lap like it was his rightful throne, his hands smacking at the sleek black remote.
“I’m not! I’m just holding it like you said!”
“Try the red button again.”
“I did,” Ah-bin grunted, pressing the button repeatedly, “Nothing’s happening.”
“That’s not the power button.”
“All of these are power buttons. Look at them—who needs five damn arrows?”
“You’re not even aiming it at the TV, you oaf! Give it to me,” the youngest said, quite literally climbing Ah-bin to get the remote, “Hanbae! I can do it!”
The second Hanbae was victorious, The TV blinked on, flooding the room with light and colour.
“Hah!” Hanbae barked smugly, “You see? Told you it was the red button.”
“No, it was the black one!” Ah-bin barked back.
“It literally says power, Ah-bin!”
But their squabble died immediately because of course, the TV turns on to present them with the last channel any of them would’ve wanted to click on.
All five demons froze.
The camera swooped across a sea of screaming fans, all waving lightsticks that pulsed in sync. The stadium lights dimmed and strobe lights focused.
And just as suddenly, three forms descended onto the stage (and okay why is nobody questioning how on earth they survived) and it shook once they landed, exploding into a massive plume of smoke that covered the entire stadium and the screen. Their silhouettes—cast wide across the cloud of smoke—mimicked giants even as they struck badass poses.
Rumi. Mira. Zoey.
Hanbae squinted first, “Wait—are those—?”
Behind them was the smaller outline that was unmistakably three demons.
“Demons,” Ro-meyeon confirmed, voice low, “But to end up on stage with our 2nd biggest enemy,” he winced watching them get sliced, “takes some insane bad karma.”
The music began, pounding and hypnotic, a beat you could feel in your bones before you heard it in your ears. And then they sang.
The discomfort was instant and obvious on all their faces.
There was just an inherent wrongness felt hearing them sing. Their voices didn’t sound bad and they felt somewhat entranced by them, but it grated on the ears. It also scratched their souls the same way a human might react to alcohol on a wound.
It was probably a demon thing.
Who is Jinu kidding, It is most definitely a demon thing.
A demon who got his first (and last) TV debut—stared wide-eyed as Zoey threw a shinkal mid-dance, the blade hitting him cleanly. He dissolved into nothing but a sparkle of pink…
To materialise back in the underworld. His last memory on earth was some fan shouting something probably stupid and dumb in his ear.
“Fucking hell,” Ah-bin whispered, a hand running through his hair.
The camera panned again—over the crowd this time. Sea of faces. Waving hands. Crying fans. All so happy and alive and oh so clueless.
“Look at all of them…” Miseo said quietly, “That many humans… It’d feed us for years.”
Hanbae looked up from where his cheek had pressed into Ah-bin’s shoulder, brows drawing low, “It’s gotta be more than that.”
Unable to look away, or try to click onto anything else. They watched, in a torturous trance as the concert continued, the camera focusing on Rumi for her part—
”—Till the dark meets the light—”
—Before cutting back to the audience.
Ro-meyeon sat up slowly, brows furrowed. His eyes locked onto the crowd again, this time more carefully.
“Am I going crazy,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the screen, “or are their souls… glowing?”
Ah-bin leans forward, “Wait, what?”
Jinu’s eyes narrowed as well. Miseo was already leaning off the couch, peering closely.
Ro-meyeon pointed, “I thought it was the lightsticks—but it’s not. Look.”
It was true.
To an untrained eye, absolutely nothing was there, but beneath their skin, beneath their flesh, there was that glowing soul energy.
But, the ability to perceive the honmoon for even a second, was a skill possessed by only a few demons— Jinu was one of them. And his ability to see it is the reason his expression became haunted.
It was brief, but he spotted a flicker of gold.
He knew what this was.
His mind reeled to a memory—more than two and a half centuries ago. He barely remembers the dark streets of a long destroyed demon village, a place he dared call home for a couple of decades. A mentor? Teacher? a demon older than he was, sharper, kinder in his own twisted way.
His name was Daemok… or was it Daemir…
Memories do tend to blur into one after centuries. Regardless, he was the man who taught him about the human world.
Before Gwi-ma devoured him.
The man had told him, late one night, while staring up at the blood moon: “Fans are more dangerous than prayers. A devoted fan, Jinu, is a candle you can’t blow out. Their joy, their hope, their community—it builds. It fuels the demon hunters. Their energy—those feelings—is how they create and maintain the Honmoon. That’s why music is so sacred and powerful.”
And when fans gather in mass? When their joy is amplified through performance? The soul energy became indomitable. The more fans… the stronger the hunters. The stronger the hunters… the stronger the Honmoon. The stronger the honmoon, the faster it saps the energy demons need to stay on Earth.
Now a golden Honmoon…
Jinu blinked hard, chest hollow.
A golden Honmoon had never been achieved. It was a legend his mentor promised him was impossible. But if Huntr/x kept performing and that flicker of yellow wasn’t just his mind playing a cruel trick on him, it would come…
Demons would be bled dry the moment they set foot on earth. The energy would drain them as if a hundred leeches drank from them without ceremony. It would be so severe that they’d be dragged right back to hell unless they consumed souls constantly—minute by minute.
The Golden Honmoon wasn’t a myth and for his race that meant only one thing.
Extinction.
For a heartbeat, Jinu said nothing, hoping perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him. Until he saw it again.
Another glint of gold. This time, starker. It wasn’t every soul, not even a majority but it was enough. Enough to twist something inside his gut and set the hair on the back of his neck upright.
The concert’s final verse rang out as the camera pulled in tight on the trio. Rumi’s eyes sparkled, lips open in a wide and joyous smile.
She saw it too.
The crowd’s screams rose
The girls struck their final pose.
And seconds later, that’s when it happened.
An invisible wave hit them.
Ro-meyeon dropped his wineglass. Ah-bin hunched forward over Hanbae who cried out, clutching his chest as if something had pierced his ribs. Miseo collapsed sideways against Jinu, clutching his forehead.
Jinu felt the discomfort in his soul and he wanted to scream—It felt like a weight on his soul, prepared to push their souls down under.
They all grunted, gasped, convulsed—a singular reaction of the body rejecting what the soul could not bear.
Just as suddenly as that came, mild vertigo swept through the room.
Jinu stumbled, gripping the edge of the couch, as he forcefully steadied Ro-meyeon who had fallen to the floor.
But finally, after too many seconds it passed… taking a substantial amount of their energy with it.
They weren’t even in the vicinity of the concert and still—still that wave reached them. And if they hadn’t fed three days ago, if they hadn’t taken those five pathetic humans and swallowed their beings whole—
They would’ve been back before Gwi-ma.
They collapsed into stillness, breaths shallow, limbs limp.
Silence.
Jinu was the first to recover, his breath hissing out through gritted teeth, one hand still clamped over his chest.
Hanbae groaned into Ah-bin’s chest, still curled in his lap, “Felt like my soul got wrung out like a mop…”
“I think it did,” Miseo murmured, voice thin. His book lay forgotten and crumpled on the floor.
Ah-bin didn’t speak. He just reached for the remote and, with an expression of rare seriousness, turned the television off with a dull click.
They stared for a while. No one moved. No one wanted to acknowledge what they had all just felt—that a single concert, a single song, had drained them across a city block.
No one needed to say it out loud, but the air was thick with it.
They weren’t safe and by that fact alone, they wouldn’t last long.
Eventually, someone—maybe Ro-meyeon—let out a weak sigh and mumbled something about sleep. No one argued. They were all drained, rattled, and utterly uninterested in thinking about the implications tonight. That could come later.
Together, too drained to care, they stumbled toward the massive master bedroom. The king-sized bed groaned under their weight as they piled onto it, limbs entangled, skin pressed close. Hanbae climbed onto Jinu’s chest without a second of hesitation. He blindly pulled at Miseo’s wrist and he slotted himself in easily on the bed edge. Ro-meyeon curled against Ah-bin’s side, tucking his nose under the taller’s chin.
It was no time before there was a chorus of soft even breathing, with snoring from Ah-bin, that they fell asleep.
But Jinu couldn’t sleep.
The image of that golden glimmer wouldn’t leave his mind.
Neither would the thoughts of a brewing plan.
After a long moment, he looked down and gently lifted Hanbae off his own. The boy groaned in protest, but didn’t wake. Jinu shoved him carefully into Miseo’s arms—who, even in sleep, adjusted to hold him—then slipped out of the bed.
He padded silently through the suite, bare feet soft on the carpet, until he closed himself into the small office.
The chair creaked as he pulled it out and sat, exhaustion pulling at every joint but his mind was too awake for the comfortable chair to stop him. His fingers moved mechanically as he cracked open the stolen laptop, screen flaring to life with a soft blue glow.
He opened the browser, clicked the search bar, and typed.
“K-pop.”
And pressed Enter.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed! Getting into canon now OoooOooO
Also Jinu, apologies, but once you enter the world of kpop it is quite literally impossible to get out.
Let me know what you think, tell me any tags to add or just leave any comment cuz I love love love reading them! and if you really liked it leave a kudo mayhaps…😙
And any mistakes gang. I’m my own proof reader
Chapter 6: K-pop
Notes:
If google doc corrects Honmoon to honeymoon one more time I am crashing out…
ANYWHO enjoys <3
Someone also needs to confiscate similies from me. I feel they’re all I ever do!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Guys,” Jinu announced, clapping his hands once as if the sound could stir some life into the warm, lazy pile of limbs on the couch before him, “Let’s become a K-pop boy group.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that said: we hear you but we aren’t listening to you because even after 12 hours of sleep, we’re still drained.
Hanbae was sprawled and stretched out, half asleep, with his head resting in Miseo’s lap, one hand clinging to the hem of his hoodie. Miseo, true to form, sat cross-legged and unmoving, absently stroking Hanbae’s hair like he wasn’t processing anything at all. Ah-bin was reclined with one leg stretched across the coffee table, a sour gummy worm dangling from his lips, looking like he hadn’t used a single brain cell in three hours. Ro-meyeon’s head remained firmly planted against Ah-bin’s side, his cheek squished lazily against a bare muscle, arms folded, yellow eyes blinking slowly as if preparing to nap through whatever Jinu was about to say.
Four pairs of bored—again he’s assuming about Miseo, but by the way he’s tilting his head, it was more than likely—unbothered, thoroughly unimpressed expressions stared back at him.
Ro-meyeon spoke first.
“Um. Context?” he asked with a sigh, not even bothering to open both eyes.
Jinu gave a nervous chuckle and scratched the back of his neck, trying not to let the awkwardness get to him. He stepped in front of the TV and stood tall, like a man ready to pitch the idea of electricity to cavemen.
“Okay, listen—listen,” he started, taking a breath, “Remember the concert the other night? With Huntr/x?”
Hanbae scoffed, flipping himself to plant his head face down in Miseo’s lap. His voice muffled into the quiet boy’s clothing, “The one that made me want to barf out my soul? Nah. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Jinu pressed on choosing to ignore Hanbae’s sass, “What we felt. That… wave and violent tug on our souls? It was all because of the soul energy coming from the fans and it strengthened the honmoon, right?”
All four of them nodded slowly, obviously understanding him. This stuff was demon knowledge 101. All demons knew the basic principles of the honmoon. How it becomes weaker or stronger, how it drains energy and tries to yank them back to the underworld once they’re weak enough, how the hunters use it, how to detect weak points.
It would be foolish for them not to have a clue, it was the very barrier that demons were A. Trying to get through to get to the human world, or B. Trying to avoid falling back through to evade ending up in Gwi-ma’s stomach.
But in general, Jinu is certain his boys are quite versed on the honmoon but he was the only one who could occasionally see it, even if it’s just for a second. But that was all he needed to confirm his suspicions.
“I’m pretty sure I saw the beginnings of a Golden honmoon,” Jinu’s jaw tensed, discomfort at even the notion it’s a very near reality.
Their golden eyes flicked toward him at the mention of the ‘Golden honmoon’. Several emotions flickered across their orbs in that tense moment of silence but the sharpest one that Jinu could observe was fear.
Ah-bin raised an eyebrow, frowning, “I… thought golden Honmoons were a myth,” The others nodded in agreement.
“It's never happened before,” Jinu corrected, pacing now, “I thought they were too but I’m telling you, I saw it just for a moment. We may be demons but we can’t be ignorant here. If it reaches that point, we’ll have to eat every day, maybe every hour just to maintain our form.”
“And if we run out of energy…” Miseo murmured.
“We’re dragged back,” Jinu confirmed, voice tight, “and the honmoon will seal all demons in hell forever. There’ll be no more cracks. No more leaks. Gwi-ma will feast on every soul caught in that trap. None of us will survive it.”
The quiet was thicker now, weighted in tension.
“So why don’t we just kill them before their next comeback?” Ah-bin said, rolling his neck.
“No,” Jinu said sharply, “That would be suicide. They’re too strong. If there was a way for demons to defeat the hunters the normal way, it would’ve been done years ago, trust me. We try to take them head-on, we die.”
“Then what?” Ah-bin leaned forward, “Pray?”
“We destroy their foundation,” their black haired leader said, eyes gleaming now, “They build off the energy of their fans. No fans, no honmoon.”
The others blinked.
“Okay…. So again,” Hanbae mumbled, rubbing his cheek into Miseo’s thigh like a spoiled cat, “where does the whole K-pop thing come in?”
Jinu smiled, the kind of smile that belonged to devils, “If we become idols and compete directly in the public eye, we can steal their fans. All we’d need is a fraction of their fan base to shift to us. And slowly, we weaken the Honmoon. Every fan that worships us instead of them is a step further and further away from the golden honmoon.”
He casts his eyes to each of them, though he could tell there was still some unvoiced hesitance about the idea. Let it be from fear of things going wrong, feeling too lazy or demons' inherent inability to look at the value of things in the long term—
Which is fair, they’re eternal beings, waiting for the long haul wassomething they’ve done all their lives.
So he dropped his best playing card.
“I did some digging—don’t ask how deep, you do not want to know the details— and fans go to extreme lengths for their idols… How awesome would it be if we had millions of people at our feet, worshipping us… willing to die for us.”
The silence stretched again as Jinu’s words clicked in his head—but this time, it was different.
This time, there was a shared flicker of something old and hungry glowing behind their eyes.
He had them hook line and sinker.
Ro-meyeon smirked first, the slight tilt in his head made his hair spill over his face, almost hiding the crazed and hungry look in his eyes, “So all we gotta do is make the world love us?”
Ah-bin laughed, low and dangerous, “I mean… sounds kinda fun.”
Miseo’s lips barely moved, but his voice came sharp and sure, “We’d be safe.”
Hanbae gave a slow, cheeky grin, “And full bellies. Every night.”
Let the world adore them.
Because soon—
They would be feasting every single night.
“Let’s become idols,” he said again, this time quieter, “And tear down the Honmoon from the inside.”
-
The evening air hung thick with satisfaction and blood, and the faintest buzz of post-feeding euphoria still pulsed in their veins as the five of them walked into the penthouse suite. As they stepped through the hotel door, the sun fully dipped down to welcome the night
And with it, their human forms also bled off, coming off like a second skin. Dewy, perfect skin becoming pale and pattern-scarred, coloured vibrant eyes shifting to a piercing gold.
The faint scent of iron still clung to their claws.
It had been a successful hunt.
Three girls and two boys, high schoolers by the sound of it—bubbly, ignorant and too curious for their own damn good. The demons hadn’t even needed to charm them much. Just a few words, a few smiles and a false sense of safety, and the kids had wandered right into the alley.
Now, they were full-bellied and energised. Gods know they needed it after the total drain that the Huntr/x concert did to them. Their patterns had again started to pulse painfully.
For that very reason, no one regretted a thing. They are inherently selfish beings after all.
The motto every demon lived by stood true: Better you, than me.
Ah-bin practically fell onto the couch as they entered, his body landing with a whump, the wood groaning beneath his weight. His shirt was half off, dangling by one sleeve, abs exposed—because of course, they were. He patted his stomach with a pleased hum.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, his voice tired and falling victim to the itis already. He at least adjusted his posture just enough to face the table.
Hanbae dropped onto the opposite end of the couch upside down, his legs draped over the backrest, holding the rectangular device he’d taken from one of the victims. His thumbs tapped rapidly on the glass screen, a rhythmic chiming sound emerging from the tiny speaker, “I don’t know, don’t care right now,” he said with absolute seriousness, eyes still glued to it, “Did you know there’s a game where you can kill cats while being a cat? Peak human invention.”
“You’re a child,” Ro-meyeon muttered affectionately as he walked past him, swatting at Hanbae’s dangling foot before making his way toward the table. He grabbed a chair and flipped it backwards before sitting and resting his arms across the back.
Jinu was already there, sleeves rolled up, a pen in one hand and his forehead in the other. He leaned over the piece of paper, tapping the pen absently against his bottom lip. Miseo joined silently, taking a seat at the far end, folding his arms and waiting with that eerie stillness that said he was listening intently without needing to look interested.
“Right,” Jinu said, uncapping the pen and drawing a single, deliberate line across the top of the page, “Here’s what—
“Hah! Six in a row, bitch,” Hanbae whispered viciously at his screen.
—I know.”
Ro-meyeon arched an eyebrow, “About…?”
Jinu didn’t even blink, “The K-pop industry.”
“We need five things before we can even think about debuting,” he said, “One: an identity. A name, a concept, something that sets us apart. Something memorable. Two: training. We need to sing, dance, and rap—at least enough to pass. Three: a public persona for people to love and hook onto and of course, social media for exposure.”
“Hyung, I don’t even know how to use a phone,” Ah-bin muttered. He was the most tech-illiterate and Hanbae called him a Grandpa for it.
“You’re going to learn,” Jinu said, “Four: We need visuals.”
He glanced at his lovers… Yeah, he wasn’t concerned.
“Just a nice style that suits us. Engagement is ninety per cent Korean beauty standard, ten per cent talent. And five,” Jinu continued, underlining the last bullet, “a company.”
Ro-meyeon lifted his head from where it was resting on his crossed arms, “You mean like—get signed?”
“Yes… But,” Jinu said, tapping the pen against his temple, “We don’t have time to wait for auditions. And I’m not begging for a trainee contract from some B-list label. I read so many and those contracts were built to crush your soul. So, we will debut solo for now. If all goes to plan, hopefully after it, we are scouted instead which would give us a significant advantage—:
“—Since when do you know anything about the K-pop industry?” Miseo asked, studying him carefully, he narrowed his eyes, expression unreadable.
Jinu’s hand faltered for a heartbeat.
“…I had been reading this afternoon,” he said smoothly, eyes fixed on the paper.
”During the afternoon, when we were out?”
Hanbae and Ah-bin, the pair of instigators they are, let out a long, exaggerated, “ooooh.” That infuriating sound that just screamed ‘busted’ and Jinu’s eye twitched, glaring at the couch.
Ro-meyeon looked between him and Miseo with an amused smirk. It was like how a parent looked at the child when they were found with their hand in the cookie jar.
What made it more ironic is that Jinu was the eldest of them all.
“That’s… that’s not important,” Jinu muttered under his breath, sweat-dropping, as he started to write again, “What matters is that I’ve gathered what we need to start.”
Miseo didn’t push. But the suspicion was still definitely there, like he knew Jinu wasn’t about to admit he’d spent the entire night hunched over a laptop, posture dreadful and eyes bloodshot, absorbing video after video, breakdown after breakdown, watching music videos and stage performances and interviews and dance practice clips and survival shows until the early morning sky cracked gold over the skyline and the battery died at 5:04 a.m…
Then, he switched to the phone.
So he changed the subject, “We are going to have to start from the ground up. Which is gonna be a lot of work.”
The groan from the others was unanimous. Demons were inherently lazy as well it seems… or maybe it was just them.
”We can start somewhere easy though, Names.”
“Like… a band name?” Ah-bin asked, arching a brow as he leaned deeper into the couch, legs splayed wide.
“Obviously,” Ro-meyeon said, rolling his eyes, “We can’t just debut as ‘five suspiciously attractive guys with fangs.’”
Jinu chuckled hearing Ah-bin murmur something petty under his breath, “Let’s focus. I do want it to be something that represent us but doesn’t also say ‘hey we’re demons come stan us so we eat you.’ Y’know?”
Ah-bin raised a hand like a student, “How about ‘Fatal Idols’?”
Hanbae made a gagging sound from the couch.
“‘Bloodline?’” Ro-meyeon offered blandly.
“Too obvious,” Jinu said, already scratching it off the paper before it could land.
“‘Fatal5,’” Ah-bin tried again.
“Ew,” Hanbae muttered, not even sparing a glance from his game, “Sounds like a recipe for an STD.”
“Hanbae get off my dick.”
Minutes passed, names thrown like knives and discarded just as fast. Nothing stuck.
Miseo looked up then. Just once, “What about Saja?”
Jinu blinked, “Lion?”
”Yes… But also meaning the grim reaper as in the messenger of death. They were soul collectors and that’s kinda what we are. So the double meaning would resonate with us but to the public all they see is lion.”
There was a pause of deep contemplation. The name settled in Jinu’s mind, It just felt right
Ro-meyeon’s brows lifted, “Huh. Poetic.”
Hanbae rolled over slightly, blinking at them upside-down, “So we’re idols and death bringers. I love that.”
“Yeah same,” Ah-bin added, smirking.
Jinu scribbled it down, saying it aloud softly as he wrote: “Saja… Boys.”
Jinu looked around the table, “Then it’s decided.”
They all nodded.
Saja Boys.
Jinu underlined it twice for good measure
“Okay, now stage names,” he said, “Something flashy. Easy to remember. We need to make staning us as effortless as possible.”
Ro-meyeon leaned forward, elbows on his chair, his pink hair falling in soft waves around his face. He glanced mischievously at Ah-bin, “You should be Abby. Y’know, ‘cause you’re all abs.”
Without even looking, Ah-bin snatched a nearby water bottle and hurled it across the room. It hit Ro-meyeon square in the face.
“Ow—!” Ro-meyeon yelped, clutching his nose.
Jinu, unfazed, tapped the pen thoughtfully against the notepad, “Actually… that might work. It’s catchy, short. A play on his name. ‘Ah-bin, Abby.’ Makes it easy for fans.”
The musclehead guffawed, looking between all four of them.
“Are you serious? I am deeply offended,” Ah-bin said, sitting up straighter and pointing at his chest, “You all think I’m just a pair of pecs and a grin.”
“You are a pair of pecs and a grin,” Hanbae mumbled absently, tapping away still, “But you’re our pecs so it’s okay.”
Ah-bin flushed slightly, grumbling something incomprehensible but pacified.
Jinu tapped the pen against the corner of his mouth allowing himself a moment of thought before he scribbled the names down as he spoke, “Ah-bin, Abby. Ro-meyeon, Romance. Miseo, Mystery. Hanbae…”
Hanbae’s ears pricked up, game paused minutely, “Yeah?”
“…Baby.”
There was a beat of silence. The phone slipped from Hanbae’s hands and bounced onto the floor.
Hanbae blinked. Then blinked again, “…I’m sorry, what?” he said, legs sliding back down to the floor as he sat upright, eyes wide with horror.
“You’re the maknae,” Jinu explained calmly, “and the smallest. And humans are obsessed with cute things and when cute things show duality. It’s perfect. They’ll eat you up.”
“I—what—no!” Hanbae cried, leaping up. His deep voice pitched itself up several octaves in righteous indignation, “Why can’t I be called something cool, like… like Prince?! Or Flame? Or even Honey matches you guys better!”
“Ha,” Ah-bin muttered, “Twink.”
“I am not a twink!” Hanbae stomped, hands balled into fists, eyes wide with betrayal, “This is unfair treatment!”
The others exchanged a single, unified look—a silent conversation between the four elders as they weighed all the evidence, including the primary evidence before them now and all arrived at the same conclusion:
Yes. He is definitely Baby.
Jinu barely looked up as he scribbled the name down.
“Not fair!” Hanbae groaned, flopping dramatically back onto the couch, arms crossed, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, “I don’t want to be cute. I want to be sexy and mysterious like Miseo.”
“You’re not doing well to beat the allegations, Love,” Ro-meyeon said endearingly.
“Whatever,” he huffed, going back to his game.
“Okay, and me?” Jinu asked.
Ro-meyeon shrugged, “You’re already Jinu. I think it works since you’re the leader.”
“Agreed,” Miseo said softly.
Jinu… had to agree. His name wasn’t hard to remember either so it was fine and it fit nicely.
Jinu turned the notepad toward them, the full lineup now written out clean in dark ink:
Jinu — Jinu
Ah-bin — Abby
Ro-meyeon — Romance
Miseo — Mystery
Hanbae — Baby
“So we’re settled,” Jinu said, the excitement back in his voice, “Saja Boys. Abby, Romance, Mystery, Baby, and Jinu.”
Miseo leaned forward slightly, “What now?”
“Our debut song,” Jinu replied, face smirking coyly.
And just like that, the Saja Boys’ debut began.
Notes:
Yeah guys, I’m just exited to get onto canon. I’m doing this instead of doing homework but idc
Hope you liked it! Same procedure let me know your thoughts, leave a kudo if you enjoyed, tell me what tags to add andyada yada yada.
Chapter 7: The Song
Notes:
It was my mother’s birthday today!!
Am I the only one who thought that Mystery’s hair was silver? I didn’t know it was intended to be a very light kinda purple. Idc i’m not changing what I wrote I’m too lazy.
I wrote this while listening to soda pop on repeat… Enjoy my readers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The television flickered to life in the golden haze of the afternoon, casting a soft glow across five demon bodies sprawled around the suite’s living room and a bucket of popcorn they were fighting over. Jinu stood tall before the TV screen like a professor about to deliver a lecture, hair slightly tousled, eyes gleaming.
“Alright,” he said, remote in one hand, pointer in the other.
Yes, he wasted the smallest bit of energy to conjure up a pointer. Sue him.
“Phase one of song creation: Concept Planning.”
He proudly flicked to the first slide of his presentation. Human technology is so amazing to him and he adapted quickly to all the small nuances of devices, including and absolutely not exclusive to connecting a laptop to a TV.
Why should humans be the only ones to have it while they are suppressed to the underworld?
The familiar ache of envy threatened to make the colour of his patterns flare. He had to remind himself that for this very reason, they were doing this. So they can have the freedom they deserve.
“At first I thought something darker, like them,” Jinu admitted, skipping to a few more slides—one showing Huntr/x’s most recent album concept photos, another showcased street-style chains and leather—but none of them lingered, “But no. That’s the obvious route as we would be directly competing with them. If we want to steal their fans, we need to lean into the opposite energy.”
That was when he clicked onto the next slide, Preppy, clean and casual boys. Slides of colour schemes, outfits and all the like were flicked.
“I…” Miseo said, his long bangs falling even further over his face as he looked downwards, “I don’t think a sweater vest would… suit me.”
“I think you’d be cute,” Ah-bin said absently, throwing a handful of popcorn into his mouth and munching on it lazily. He strategically dodged Hanbae who kept trying to snatch it from him.
Jinu pressed on, “Look—preppy isn’t just clothing. It’s to do with the types of music we do.”
All of them looked somewhat uninterested. His fingers hesitated on the remote. He blinked slowly when he got half-assed responses and pressed his lips into a thin line as he tried to keep pushing through the slides with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“There are other concepts too,” Jinu added quickly, clicking to the next slide, “If you guys aren’t the biggest fans. We could possibly be more experimental and unique but the chances of success with that on a debut are—.”
“Could we try something more… murdery?” Hanbae offered from where he was hanging upside-down off the couch next to Ro-meyeon, legs swinging over the back, “Like, so we can wear our hanboks all the time?”
“Not for our debut I don’t think,” Jinu snapped—then immediately softened, considering it, “But I think maybe we could do it later when—.”
“Wouldn’t it be sooooo funny if we were on stage and just turned back to demons,” Hanbae drawled, half-laughing, half-choking through a mouthful of popcorn, “Like mid-dance break—just bam, fangs and claws.”
“They’d probably still thirst over us and blame it on special effects,” Ro-meyeon smirked devilishly, “Right, Miseo?”
There was a pause.
Miseo, who’d been silently trying to read his book, didn’t even glance up.
“…We could charge extra for front row seats,” he said flatly.
Ah-bin barked a laugh and immediately threw an arm around Miseo’s shoulders, shaking his ragdolled body, “HAH! That’s gold!”
Gold…
“Okay,” Jinu said tightly, fingers gripping the remote just a fraction harder, “Let’s stay on task.”
But they continued.
It should’ve been funny and maybe under different circumstances, Jinu would be laughing along with them. One of their greatest coping mechanisms for the trauma and suffering was dark humour after all.
But something about their lack of urgency despite what was at stake for them made Jinu’s throat tighten in that uncomfortable way he hated. He knows more about the honmoon than any of them, so he can’t blame them. But knowing what he knows, Huntr/x is going to be all too excited to move faster.
That means they’d have to move even faster.
If this doesn’t work, it will be his fault.
He stood there as their giggles echoed off the glass walls, and suddenly the slideshow behind him felt… mockingly bright. So he clicked it off.
If they’re back in Gwi-ma tomorrow, it would be his fault.
He swallowed.
“You don’t get it,” he said, voice too quiet to cut through the noise.
No one heard him.
“You don’t get it,” Jinu repeated—louder this time, louder than he meant to.
The room stalled, laughter smothered mid-joke.
Jinu’s smile had vanished. His shoulders looked straight, but his voice trembled like it had been stretched too thin over too many expectations.
“I’m not doing this because it’s fun,” he said, “I’m doing this because we are one bad decision away from being dragged back to hell.”
“We have to do this,” Jinu continued, his words crisp, cut-glass sharp, “We have to sell ourselves or sell ourselves to the devil again. If we want to be here to stay, then my God this has to work.”
The others exchanged glances, avoided responsibility sinking in like a tide washing away their jokes.
“You think I like this?” Jinu laughed, but there was no joy in it, “I’m not interested in humans looking at us. But this will be our last chance. Hell! I don’t know if it will even work because everything feels like one massive shot in the dark—”
Before the words could continue, a pair of arms wrapped around his waist. Not gentle. Firm.
Ah-bin had stood without a word and pulled him into a hug from behind, pressing Jinu’s back to his chest, arms looped around his middle.
“We’re sorry,” Ah-bin muttered, cheek against Jinu’s shoulder blade. Jinu didn’t need to look to know the idiot was doing those stupid puppy dog eyes.
Ro-meyeon followed a beat later, sliding off the arm of the couch and towards them, “Sit down before you combust, hyung.”
Jinu didn’t resist as they guided him toward the couch. Ro-meyeon tugged his wrist while Ah-bin steered from behind, and soon enough he found himself seated—squashed, really—between Ro-meyeon and Miseo, their thighs pressed flush to his on either side.
“We were being dicks,” Ro-meyeon said softly, adjusting Jinu’s collar that had come up.
“I’m sorry too,” Hanbae mumbled, not looking up, “It’s just easier to make fun of things than admit they scare me.”
Miseo nodded once. No words needed.
The room quieted for a beat. Jinu let his head tip back slightly against the cushion, exhaling long through his nose. The tightness in his chest didn’t disappear, but it loosened — a coiled rope slowly unfurling.
He cleared his throat and picked up the clicker again, ignoring how his hand still trembled slightly.
“It’s okay,” he said earnestly, “And I’m sorry for snapping.”
Miseo gently took the remote from Jinu’s relaxed hand and the screen lit back up with his slideshow.
”Prep could work but how about a summer vibe to it,” Miseo starts.
”—We should radiate, “be my girlfriend” energy.—”
”—We can still be sexy though, right?… Right?—“
”—That’s a big no on the matching varsity jackets.”
They leaned in closer now, huddled together as they talked, developing ideas that came more easily now that they were all contributing. And in the middle of it all, Jinu sat squashed between them — thighs warm against his, their knees bumping.
He breathed in, sinking deeper into the couch. He smoothed a hand down his face, hiding the smile on his lips, “You all will be the death of me.”
He’s grateful for them.
If anything happened to them. He’d blame himself for eternity.
-
The paper was warm with blood.
Black-red and thick and carrying more weight than any timid bastard had in the past decade. The page trembled between his fingers, the words he’d written writhing like snakes coming to bite his neck.
Yet he still published it.
‘You cannot chain a country’s throat and expect it to sing.’
That line. That line had damned him.
Flickers of memories came but not in any comprehensible order. Fingers broken one at a time, the interrogator’s eyes gleaming with hunger for confessions that had already long been confirmed and for something else... His voice was hoarse and parched due to a combination of lack of food, drink, screaming and sleep. The sound of wood creaking beneath his feet as the rope was pulled tighter.
Hands.
Hands.
Hands.
“Hanbae.”
The scribble of his quill as he wrote till his last day.
A hand gripped his shoulder, lightly shaking him.
“Hanbae,” Jinu said again, firmer this time.
Hanbae startled so hard that the pen in his hand dropped, hitting the floor with a clatter. He looked around, blinking into the present. The room came back into focus slowly. Real this time. The lounge area was its usual mess—crumbled paper scattered across the floor as though there wasn’t a bin five paces away. Soda cans. Snacks. Pens without caps.
Normal.
Aside from the fact that four pairs of yellow eyes were on him with concern, his fingers felt numb and he couldn’t quite shake the far-away look in his own eyes.
Also, he was avoiding looking at the notebook in his lap because his mind hadn’t fully translated it back to reality yet.
Jinu stood in front of him, crouched down slightly. His voice was soft, but his eyes weren’t — they were searching.
“You okay?” he asked.
Hanbae blinked, “…Just tired.”
“You sure baby?” Ah-bin asked, treading carefully.
Jinu placed a hand on the younger’s knee, and questioned, gentler, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hanbae didn’t answer. He just picked up his pen and chucked it directly at Jinu’s chest.
“I take that as a no,” Jinu said, lips twitching. When nobody looked away, Hanbae heaved a heavy sigh.
“It’s just—I don’t get why I still see it so often,” Hanbae admitted as he clutched his head in both hands, “I wish I didn’t have to deal with it as much as I do and yes I get it, I’m the youngest so memories stay fresher and all but—” He stopped.
He didn’t want to make it about himself again. God knows they’ve heard this story a billion times. He’s already been such a burden since coming to earth, they don’t need to hear it for the umpteenth time.
Hanbae huffed and looked away, “Actually, don’t worry about it.”
“Hanbae—.”
”I said, don’t worry about it,” he said harshly, body tensing as he pushed the pen hard against the paper.
And that was the end of it.
He didn’t mean to sound angry and he knows the others know that too. He was angrier that he wanted to talk so much. Like if he started, he wouldn’t stop. He trusted them, of course, he did. But that was the problem—he trusted them so much that he took up too much of their time.
He finally stared down at the words he’d written.
They weren’t good enough.
Hanbae tapped his pen against his thigh. Then, with a frustrated grunt, he scribbled out the last line he wrote.
He breathed in deeply, allowing his racing heart to settle. Right now, he wanted to focus on the present.
Sitting among them.
Writing a song.
Even if their lyrical suggestions left… much to be desired.
“‘She got me acting foolish like a puppy in love,’” Ro-meyeon had offered earlier. Hanbae had looked him deadpan in the eye. But he hadn’t hated it because Ro’s voice is beautiful to hear.
Miseo tried, “I’ll make your heart race faster than my bass drop.” It had potential, he gave credit where it was due, but Hanbae couldn’t think of a tune.
“Smiles stitched tight, but there’s glass in my grin,” Hanbae almost fell for it. But that was only because Jinu was looking him in the eye the entire time he spoke so naturally he flushed.
“You’ll call it love, I’ll call it lunch.”
Hanbae really loves that big muscular dumbass.
The turning point, though, came when Ah-bin, completely unaware, cracked open a cherry fizz right next to him. The pop, the fizz, the rhythmic rise and fall of Adam’s apple (that was not sexy)—something clicked. It was like a coin dropped into the slot of his soul, and the gears started turning. His fingers moved before he even processed it.
“Don’t talk to me,” he hissed, snatching up his pen and scrawling furiously, “Anyone who speaks gets stabbed.”
They obeyed instantly.
Hanbae’s mouth twitched as he wrote, his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips like he was trying to taste the rhythm of the words before they escaped.
Minutes passed — or seconds, it was impossible to tell. And then, with dramatic flair, Hanbae stood.
He threw his arms wide, one hand still holding his notebook, and sang:
“You’re all I can think of, every drop I drink up—
You’re my soda pop, my little pop.”
There was the shortest silence as Hanbae clutched his notebook. Already he was preparing to rip out the page and toss it in the trash
But before he could even blink, the four of them surged forward.
“AHHHH—!” Ro-meyeon screamed.
“You little genius,” Jinu grinned.
“BABY!!” Ah-bin bellowed, practically tackling him.
“It sounds promising,” Miseo muttered, kissing the side of his temple.
They embraced him in an inescapable group hug. Hanbae’s voice was muffled against someone’s chest, “I can’t breathe.”
“We love it,” Jinu whispered fiercely into his hair, “It’s catchy as hell.”
Hanbae let out a half-laugh, cockiness coming back tenfold, “Yeah? I mean what else did you expect?”
He beamed, suffocating, squashed, but proud. The nightmare in his head was forgotten.
The past was a flipping bygone so it can, quite frankly, fuck off.
The new felt good.
Like fizz on the tongue.
Notes:
Hope you like it! If you did enjoy let me know in the comments or leave a kudo! As usual lmk any mistakes or tags I need to add and share your thoughts.
I think preppy is the right way to describe the concept idkkk.
Also how do you guys like the allusion to Hanbae’s backstory. I’m thinking that’s how imma introduce each one, pretty sporadically to allow for character building but also story progression. I’ve got the backstories planned for all the boys and I’m pretty happy with them, I hope you like them (when they come up)
Chapter 8: Glammed Up
Notes:
Guys, I think I have a problem. The moment I read your comments I feel this inexplicable urge to write another chapter… Do I stop reading the comments?
Who am I kidding I LOVE THEM SEND ME MORE MOREEEE they’re a literal drug. You guys have no idea how I’m kicking my feet at 3am reading them. Every. Single. One.
Also! 3000 hits lets go!!!
Enjoy guys <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
This was their fifth lap.
Behind him, Jinu was slumped over the trolley like a corpse, the wheels squeaking torturously as Ro-meyeon led them into the hair, makeup and beauty section for the fifth time.
“Why are we back here?” Jinu moaned, forehead pressed pitifully to the plastic trolley handle, “What more could you possibly need?”
In the trolley: concealer, foundation, BB cream, highlighter, three types of blush (one for each possible situation), eyebrow pencils in multiple shades, serums, creams, and more.
His justification for why they needed all this to his black haired leader?
‘Trust me.’ Ro-meyeon had watched one single 1hr tutorial. Now he was a qualified makeup artist. Don’t question his judgment.
“If I knew how expensive looking good was,” Jinu muttered, dragging his feet like a man facing execution, “I’d rather face Gwi-ma.”
Ro-meyeon didn’t dignify that with a response. He was too busy tossing ten nail polish bottles into the basket — matte, glossy, shimmer.
He paused briefly at a display of eyebrow shapers.
Ro-meyeon picked it up and stared at it thoughtfully,
Thought of Ah-bin. That himbo had nice thick eyebrows that definitely suited his features but…
He would look hot with sharper, unique brows. That was a fact, not a thought.
He grabbed three. Just in case. He wanted to grab five, one for each of them but Jinu was being a total mum about it.
The ear-piercing gun came next, and he smirked at it like an old friend. He didn’t ask for permission. He already knew they were all getting pierced.
He stared at a lip gloss display, finger hovering over the shade “Cherry Siren” His mind flitted briefly to Hanbae. Would he wear it? Probably not without a full bitch-fest. But Hanbae’s tantrums ended in him doing the thing anyway so Ro-meyeon picked up the gloss and a smudge-proof eyeliner for good measure.
“Okay! I think that’s everything-.”
And that’s when he saw it from across the aisle.
Hair gel. How could he forget? He moved so fast that it was concerning.
His pink eyes gleamed staring at a specific tub.
Not the weak kind that flakes or fails by noon. No, he had standards.
Maximum hold. High shine. 48-hour grip. The large container glistened in a way that forced Ro-meyeon to reach for it. So technically you can’t blame him.
He lifted it above his head like a sacrificial offering. A few fellow shoppers stared at him but he had the self-awareness of an alarm clock blaring in your ear at 5am.
That being zero.
Jinu wheeled up beside him, glanced at the price tag, and physically gagged.
“₩39,000?” Jinu wheezed.
”It’s perfect babe,” Ro-meyeon said happily, kissing Jinu’s cheek before strutting forward with not a care in the world for the anguished look on his face.
At the checkout, the clerk scanned each item with increasing disbelief. The total climbed higher and higher. ₩80,000. ₩100,000. ₩130,000. ₩168,000. ₩203,000
Ro-meyeon stood beside the register, hands clasped sweetly behind his back, blinking innocently at Jinu.
Jinu looked like he was going to drop dead on the spot, “We said ₩50,000.”
“And I said no limits,” Ro-meyeon corrected.
Jinu slammed the cash (stolen from the dead, mind you, Ro-meyeon doesn't know why he’s complaining) down on the counter, hand to his chest as if seeing the money go would kill him.
Dramatic much.
As they collected their bags, Ro-meyeon turned, smirked angelically, and chirped, “Now, clothes!”
Jinu looked at him. Truly looked at him. And then said, flatly, “No. Absolutely not. You can do that part on your own.”
Ro-meyeon smirked, unbothered, “Suit yourself. You’ll regret it when I come back with matching pink denim for everyone.”
“Good grief...”
-
Hours later, Ro-meyeon glanced from the corner of his eyes as Hanbae — their most reluctant brat — posed in front of the bedroom mirror, lips plump and face dewy.
From the corner of the room, Ah-bin wandered slowly. His freshly sculpted eyebrows gave his already sharp features an unfair kind of menace.
Without a word, he came up behind Hanbae, dropped his chin to the top of the smaller’s head, and murmured, “You look cute.”
Hanbae didn’t blush. Just reached both arms back to loop around Ah-bin’s neck with practised ease, pulling him down a little so he could rise onto the tips of his toes.
“And I really like your eyebrows,” he whispered into his ear — sweet and dangerous, his glossy lips brushing faintly along his neck.
”Oh?” Ah-bin responded, low and interested.
Ro-meyeon turned his gaze politely away as he refocused on Miseo, his last subject in the hot chair.
Jinu was sprawled on the bed behind them, flat on his back, phone hovering above his face as he flicked through the one hundred selfies he’d taken in the last minute. Which is fair enough, he did look like sin due to Ro-meyeon’s work.
“This is so flattering, Ro,” he said. It seems he’s gotten over his shopping trauma as Jinu was far too busy admiring himself and his flashy new piercings.
His sweethearts are narcissists at heart. Ro-meyeon loves that.
“I know it is,” Ro replied, not even glancing over. He was in the zone. Hair gel in one hand, comb in the other.
He quickly finished off Miseo with a final spritz of hairspray to his silvery purple hair and finalised the arch on one side of his own, supposed to be, heart-shaped hair.
Then, like a magician unveiling his final trick, Ro turned both himself and Miseo toward the others.
And all hell broke loose.
Ah-bin and Hanbae, mid-kiss, broke apart just to double over laughing, collapsing into each other like winded children.
Jinu coughed suspiciously, knuckles against his mouth, his expression desperately neutral, “Maybe don’t use so much gel next time.”
Ro rolled his eyes.
He ignored them — mostly — and turned Miseo gently by the jaw, trying to adjust the stiff hair.
Now that he looks at it again. They’re right. He used way too much.
Oh well. He’ll watch a hair tutorial video tomorrow.
-
Miseo exhaled sharply through his nose, strands of silver hair clinging to his cheeks, damp with sweat. His shirt clung too, dark patches blooming at the back and under his arms, fabric twisted from all the movement.
Ah-bin stood just next to him, having long lost the shirt.
“What about bam bam hah!” Ah-bin tried, hands slicing through the air quite randomly if Miseo had to say so himself.
He just gave a small shake of his head, it just wouldn’t work.
The couch had been shoved completely aside to clear space to choreograph, which had involved a short one-sided squabble with Hanbae, who’d been comfortably curled up with his phone mid-round of whatever mobile RPG he was obsessing over now.
“Okay… What about,” Ah-bin started cringing at himself the very moment he tried the move, doing a full body-roll followed by a finger gun that did not belong in the choreography.
Hanbae cackled, hanging upside down again as he pointed his phone towards them. He recorded just in time to catch Ah-bin’s silly move, “I am keeping this.”
The demo chorus of Soda Pop played again from the speaker in the corner, looped so many times it barely sounded like music anymore. Miseo tried the chorus section again. Same arm lift. Same foot pivot. But it still didn’t feel right.
So he paused the music abruptly, fingers going below his bangs to pinch his brow.
“Let’s just look at other stuff,” Miseo muttered.
“Oh thank God,” Ah-bin didn’t even need to be told twice as he dropped to the floor with a dramatic groan. His legs sprawled wide in front of him, arms tossed behind him for support, his head tilting back as he breathed.
Miseo stared down at him for a moment, then without comment, stepped forward and sat between his legs, back resting against Ah-bin’s bare chest. Ah-bin didn’t flinch. Just wordlessly bent one knee so it framed Miseo comfortably and pulled the laptop toward them with his foot.
They opened YouTube and searched for boy group viral dances.
They clicked on a video, then another, then another. One thing stood out pretty quickly.
“An easy move,” Miseo muttered.
“Huh?”
“In every choreo there’s one dumb, catchy move. Simple and repeatable.”
Out of nowhere, Hanbae, focused on his game, started humming the chorus of the song. Miseo gave credit where credit is due, their youngest had written an earworm of a song and a part of him almost wanted to pause the video to listen to him.
Miseo didn’t notice at first, caught in a new video — until he felt the subtle shift of movement behind him.
Ah-bin was swaying.
Left shoulder. Right shoulder.
“Shoulders,” Miseo hummed, “Shoulders…”
And then it clicked.
Miseo’s head tilted slightly. He followed the motion — the simple side-to-side sway, timed exactly with the beat of the chorus.
He copied it once.
Then again.
His brows lifted. Though of course, nobody saw that.
“That’s it.”
Ah-bin stilled behind him, “What’s it?”
Miseo stood up fast enough to make Ah-bin rock forward, “Get up.”
Ah-bin scrambled to his feet, already looking like a kicked puppy, “What’d I do?”
“No, that’s it. The move. Hanbae sing and record this please,” he asked, gently. He began dancing and after a few sharp hand movements and a snap of his hips forward, he started rocking his shoulder up and down.
Ah-bin mirrored, flawlessly. A little more exaggerated though. He even added a next step. A little button push after ‘pop’. It was so goofy that it worked.
Miseo let himself go slack due to relief for half a second as he copied Ah-bin. They were finally getting somewhere and not staring at a blank canvas.
Plus the progress they made created the infectious move. Just what they needed.
”WAIT!” Ah-bin said suddenly, breaking Miseo’s internal thoughts, “We can include the domino effect now!”
Miseo's lips twitched up in the smallest smile.
”Yes. That would work perfectly.”
Notes:
idk how to feel about this chapter tbh. I guess I’m just trying to build personalities to the boys as much as possible. As you can see, I headcanon Hanbae as the lyricist, Ro-meyeon as stylist, Miseo and Ah-bin as choreographers and Jinu as momager.
Love you all! The usual, comment, kudos and tags! Thank you! Until next time.
Chapter 9: Golden
Notes:
School sucks. I also wrote this while listening to soda pop on repeat.
I must admit idk where any of this momentum is coming from but I’m HIGH off it. It’s probably because it’s a fun distraction from the burn out I’m feeling from doing 4 A-levels and the anxiety that keeps me up worrying about my grades 🫡🫡
So being completely honest, my uploads probably won’t be like this forever BUT when it does come to the point I’m not uploading near everyday, I will let you know.
But for now, I’m here, present and ready to write. It’s so nice hearing your concerns in the comments! But trusttt your girl is surviving on 2 hours of sleep, coffee and ignoring assignments
<3 Enjoyyyy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Two weeks passed like a fever dream — sleepless, enough wasted paper to be worth an entire tree and blistered feet…
Okay, the blistered feet were a lie, demon skin doesn’t blister with anything except with the patterns, but Jinu wasn’t lying when he felt his feet would fall off.
“Soda Pop” had become more than just a song. Despite it being a necessary chore, it had quickly become an all-consuming thing that each of them had a love-hate relationship with.
Hanbae, for one, had taken to songwriting like second nature, “I’m not saying I deserve a Grammy,” he said one evening, chin tilted up as he lounged across the hotel couch, “but, I deserve a Grammy.”
He did spend a majority of his time finalising the lyrics for Soda Pop but Jinu and the others weren’t ignorant of the half a notebook with new song lyrics, ideas, and song titles. When anyone asked if he was enjoying himself, he shrugged and said, “It’s not a big deal,” but the twinkle in his eye told a different story.
Jinu had found him asleep more than once, slumped over the coffee table, ink smudged on his cheek, hand still curled around a pen. He’d have to carry him to bed.
Meanwhile, Miseo and Ah-bin had become full-time dancers — they stank of sweat half the time, and on one too many occasions, Jinu found himself sprinting out of the office at the sound of a crash or thud followed by a “we’re fine!” ringing through the suite.
The first group rehearsal, though? A disaster.
Miseo, unfortunately, was the only one who had some dance in his muscle memory from before he became a demon. And Ah-bin was a quick learner.
But that was only 2 of 5.
Jinu had grunted when Ro-meyeon missed a beat and took Hanbae and him down with him like a bowling pin for the 11th time. But they practised like their lives depended on it, because it did, until their thighs burned and shirts clung to their backs and now they moved in perfect sync.
The difference between day one and now was laughable. They moved smoothly. Fell into rhythm. Learned each other’s timing and the chorus popped exactly how Jinu wanted it to.
Even Jinu had caught himself doing that dumb little shoulder move in the shower, not that he would ever admit it.
And then there was Ro-meyeon. The fashion tyrant.
He spent the entire second week testing more makeup, styling hair and throwing together full outfits for each phase of the debut. A quarter of their budget was spent on clothes alone.
“We’re going to go broke,” Jinu murmured tearfully, shuffling through the last of their stolen cash as Ro-meyeon plucked his eyebrows.
But even he couldn’t deny the results. They looked good.
Damn good.
His boys looked like stars and he just knew their debut would steal the world.
Jinu walked through the city streets, mind reminiscing and heart swelling with one thing and one thing only.
Pride.
It’s funny how that’s considered a deadly sin because it made him feel warm inside.
They had worked so hard and done so much, placing blind faith in his plan despite the unknown chance of success. Today, he told them to stay back and relax.
He would do what needed to be done today on his own.
Lyrics? Locked in.
Choreography? Burned into their bones.
Sex Appeal? Oozing with it.
Now to actually record something.
He had left the penthouse in the early morning, before any of them were awake and tried to force him to bring them along. His objective was to find possible Music Video locations. He found several: A convenience store, a spot below a metal bridge, a river and a busy mall. Google Maps was his friend in finding these hotspots around the city.
Satisfied with the variety of landmarks, he then scoured the city streets for shops.
He bought props, a good quality camera (according to the sales clerk. If he was lying, Jinu would come back before closing time and eat his soul), microphones and a secondhand tripod.
He had gotten a decent deal on a box of used production products as well. It was ideal.
By sunset, he’d hit ten stores. His arms were full of bags and sweat clung to his spine.
Just as Jinu stepped out of the last shop he needed, throwing a fake “Thank you,” over his shoulder, he staggered.
The city lights tilted sharply and his vision blurred at the edges like fogged glass. There was a flicker behind his eyes — heat, static, hunger. His grip on his bags faltered nearly spilling the contents.
“Shit—” he hissed through clenched teeth. His foot braced against the curb, and he forced himself upright, heart thudding far too loudly in his ears.
He turned, eyes catching his reflection in the store window.
His disguise wavered. A flicker of his purple patterns showed for just a second and his demon features came out.
”Mommy! That man has disappearing tattoos!” a loud-mouth human brat said, pointing at him as though he were an animal.
”Don’t be ridiculous,” the mother said, graciously distracted by her phone to even entertain her son. They were out of sight moments later.
Jinu focused hard. Slowly, breath by breath, the patterns faded. His eyes returned to a tired but human brown. His hands steadied.
But the ache remained. That dizzying pull on his soul remained.
Something wasn’t right.
He started walking again, his steps heavier than they were just moments ago. His mind reeled, trying to pinpoint the trigger — he hadn’t gone long without eating. So it couldn’t have been low energy—
Then he heard it. The whispers.
They drifted past him in waves — a passing group of teens, giggling and happy and oblivious they walked past a demon, clutching shopping bags and phones.
“Have you listened to Huntr/x’s new song?”
“It’s so fire!”
”WHAT? They have a new song? Why didn’t I know about this, people?!”
”They dropped the teaser for Golden last night! I didn’t think we’d get the whole music video today.”
Golden.
The words knifed through the Jinu’s thoughts and his jaw immediately set into a painful tension as his steps slowed.
He didn’t even need to look to know what was coming. But the city had a cruel sense of timing. He turned the corner and came face to face with a ten-story LED billboard.
Huntr/x — New Single: “GOLDEN” — Out Now
The three women were practically mocking them. The entire aesthetic was just pure, undeniable gold.
Jinu narrowed his eyes, “Of course,” he whispered sconfully through grinding teeth.
He resumed walking.
But then — just when he thought he’d decided to ignore it— the chorus of “Golden” erupted, this time from down the street he had to walk by. A crowd had gathered in the open square ahead. Phones out. Speaker blasting in the area where they were doing Random Dance Challenge.
Jinu, too drained to even scoff, found himself watching as twenty or thirty people leapt into the choreography of a dance that came out TODAY.
The music was everywhere. The joy. The energy. It rolled off their souls wildly.
To most, it was harmless fun.
To Jinu?
It was poison.
His eyes flicked down, just briefly — instinctively — to the ground.
For a few seconds, with deep concentration, he could perceive it. The honmoon. It was an even more radiant sky-blue than what it had been mere days ago. But now even more threads of gold were woven into it.
A wave of that gold surged outward from the dancing crowd. It sliced across the pavement like invisible fire and came at Jinu before he could even react.
He dropped to one knee, biting back a growl. The honmoon snagged against his soul like fabric catching on a nail. His hands trembled uncontrollably with the sudden drop in his energy. Every part of him screamed with the familiar dread:
And just because of all this, he heard him too. It was just a whisper. But it was there.
”Come back to me, Jinu.”
An image of Gwi-ma flickered into his mind, unwelcomed. His breathing got heavy and his eyes darted along the bricks on the ground.
“Are you alright, son?”
Jinu’s head snapped up.
A short, round grandmother stood above him, clutching her grocery bag and peering at him through thick glasses. Jinu forced himself upright with a strained smile. His body protested, but his facade clicked on like a switch.
His voice turned soft, pleasant and perfectly smooth, “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just tripped a little.”
She gave him a suspicious once-over, then — without warning — patted his arm and reached into her bag. She pulled out a banana, slightly bruised but perfectly edible, and shoved it into his hand.
“Eat something, boy.”
“I… Thank you,” he said, stunned.
She waddled off with a muttered, “Kids these days,” and disappeared around the corner.
He stood frozen for a second, banana limp in his palm. Then his smile dropped.
He stared up again at another Huntr/x billboard. Every single ugly emotion passed over his expression before he started walking again.
He crushed the banana in his fist without really meaning to.
He needed food.
Real food.
Something with a soul.
-
The hotel door creaked open.
Jinu stepped through with heavy, exhausted limbs but at least he had the taste of soul still fresh on his tongue. His body thrummed with replenished power — belly warm, bones buzzing — the familiar post-feed haze still clinging to his senses. But the moment his eyes swept across the room—
His blood turned cold.
They were all there.
Collapsed in the living room in their demon forms.
And they looked horrific.
Ro-meyeon’s usual glow was faded, patterns obvious and there along his arms. Miseo slumped against the couch, hair clinging to his pale skin. Ah-bin’s body trembled, sweat beading as he fought to stay upright. And Hanbae was curled into a tight ball, claws sunk into the couch, his skin bone-pale.
Jinu barely had time to take it in before four heads snapped toward him with one sharp, desperate movement — too quick for the state they were in.
“JINU!”
His name ripped from four voices, filled with raw relief. In the next moment, they were up — stumbling—forcing themselves into motion with sheer willpower.
“Guys, you need to eat—”
He didn’t get to finish.
Hanbae crashed into his chest with the weight of a desperate child, arms winding around him so tightly Jinu nearly staggered backwards. Claws dug into his back, not hard enough to break skin, but firm.
Hanbae trembled against him.
Ah-bin was next, his own exhaustion evident in the strain of his breath, yet he still reached out and took the bags from Jinu’s arms as if the burden were nothing. Jinu could see the slight shake in his biceps.
Then Miseo, nearly silent, reached for his hand. His slender fingers looped between Jinu’s and his face pressed into the curve of his shoulder. A faint growl escaped his stomach and Jinu’s eye twitched seeing Miseo ignore it.
“Guys,” Jinu started again, heart racing, “this isn’t funny. Why haven’t you—”
Ro-meyeon slipped in around him, his arms looping gently around Jinu’s waist. He rested his head against Jinu’s other shoulder and finally spoke, “We were so worried,” he rasped, voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken for hours. His breath shook, “You didn’t come back.”
Ah-bin’s arms wrapped around all of them the best he could.
The words started tumbling from their mouths then — ragged, stuttered, overlapping:
“You were gone for hours—”
“That energy wave was really bad—”
“We couldn’t feel you—”
“I thought something happened—”
“We looked—everywhere—”
Oh.
They had teleported. Spent their precious soul energy — the little they had left even after receiving the same blow he did — searching for him across the city.
And when they couldn’t find him… they returned home and refused to leave until he came back.
Because if Jinu was going to die, they were going to die together.
“God,” Jinu whispered, a sharp inhale stinging the back of his throat, “You’re all so fucking stupid.”
They just held him tighter.
Jinu closed his eyes, lips pressing briefly into Miseo’s temple, and reached into his core to draw out his power. He didn’t need a second to decide. His family came first.
Without warning, he teleported.
The night snapped into being around him in a puff of pink smoke as he appeared in the park.
Jinu crouched low behind a thick tree, eyes glowing amber-gold as he scanned the clearing. There. Two druggies passed out on a bench. Slumped and twitching. Easy prey. Further down, two joggers trotted in place beneath a lamplight.
Perfect.
In a blink, he reappeared back in the hotel, grabbed his still-hugging lovers in a singular sweep— and teleported again.
The five landed with a quiet thud in the soft grass, the others stumbling at first from the sudden move. The weariness clung to their bodies like a second skin, making them slow, swaying on their feet, but their heads turned toward the mortals immediately.
They felt it. The opportunity.
“Go,” Jinu growled, his voice low, echoing. Commanding.
His eyes locked with each of theirs.
“Eat… Now. Don’t ever dare get to this point again.”
They obeyed.
Notes:
Jinu just like me for real. I have no sense of direction without google maps before me. The honmoon is actually the biggest asshole, mark my word.
Yeah I kinda changed the date for when Golden was released. Following the kinda realistic idea of making a whole song would have made it impossible for the boys to have gotten it all done within a day.
I’ve let it up to interpretation but, do you guys think Jinu’s meal was the granny? Is he cold enough to do that?
Hope you liked it! Leave a kudo and comment your thoughts! And tag suggestion's pleaseeee
Chapter 10: Production
Notes:
SO I was on call with my sister while writing this chapter. She’s a creative producer (music, art, film etc). She’s where I got all my lingo and description of the process from. Everytime she asked me why I was asking stuff about production I said it was for a school project… If only she knew…
Anyways enjoy!
(Sorry if this feels repetitive by the way).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning sun hadn’t even pealed fully across the skyline when Jinu snapped the portable mic into its stand and signalled the others that he was ready.
The fright of the previous day still clung to his skin, but that didn’t matter.
Not when they were so close.
No more rehearsals, no more practice. They had everything they needed to finalise it all.
They had converted the office room into a makeshift recording booth—Curtains drawn and pillows pushed into the cracks below the door to reduce the echo. Despite having never stood in a recording studio before, the five of them settled in like they were born for it. Demons, after all, were made to have voices that were pure temptation. Sounding like sin was just second nature.
Jinu went first. Mostly because as their centre and leader, they gave him the most lines. He slid on the headphones and breathed deeply into the pop filter.
He was ready.
Hanbae — the one in charge of the mixer — clicked record.
The beat played.
Jinu closed his eyes.
The lyrics slipped off his tongue with unnatural ease and Jinu was not going to pretend he didn’t feel the thrum of coyness in his soul when he noticed all his lovers stared at him singing lead on the chorus, hypnotised. Two takes. Three. Four. They hit perfection by the fifth, but he did one more just to be sure.
When he finally pulled off the headphones, they were still staring at him, so he just smirked, “Was that take good enough for you?”
They all distracted themselves with something else to hide their flushed faces.
The others followed, almost effortlessly.
Ro-meyeon’s falsetto was sharper than they’d ever heard, perfect when he harmonised over the bridge. Miseo, voice quiet and gentle, let out notes that were hauntingly beautiful. Ah-bin kept the rhythm steady, each bar powerful and firm, grounding them in a beat that carried the rest of the sound. And Hanbae—seemed to even surprise himself—ripping through his rap verse with a smooth, low baritone that didn’t match his size or appearance at all.
None of them needed more than three takes.
Hanbae had the edited mix ready for playback within the hour. Jinu sat in the corner, back to the wall, Miseo and Ah-bin’s heads on his shoulder, and listened.
Jinu dare say it was perfect.
“Alright,” he said, dragging himself to his feet, “No breaks. Choreo version next.”
And just like that, they recorded the choreography version that same night. Ro-meyeon demanded — insisted — and threatened to hex someone if they didn’t all wear matching outfits for the choreography video. When Ah-bin made a snide comment about how “humans don’t care about that stuff,” Ro-meyeon slammed his phone on the coffee table and flipped through evidence: screenshots from viral performances and dozens of screenshots from groups in near-identical fits.
“This,” he declared, adjusting a pair of sleeves on Miseo’s arms, “is what goes viral.”
So they dressed in cool pastel colours and high-waisted jeans. The camera Jinu had set up caught every tilt of the head, every lip bite, every wink.
The choreography was crisp — courtesy of Miseo and Ah-bin. There were bloopers, of course — like Ro-meyeon tripping over a speaker wire and dragging Hanbae down with him in a shrieking heap or he himself poking himself painfully in the eye with his glasses he put on too slowly.
But by the eighth take, they hit the rhythm perfectly. The final frame ended on a perfectly-timed group pose — charming, mischievous, and exactly Jinu’s vision.
Satisfied, they all collapsed to the floor in a pile of panting, sweating limbs.
-
The next day brought the real challenge: the music video. Just like with outfits, Ro-meyeon came at it like a drill sergeant. He had broken every single second of the song into bits and clips that would be done his way or not at all.
They started filming the official music video in their penthouse.
The first clip of the day belonged to Hanbae.
He sat on the kitchen counter with a lollipop stuck between his lips, arms crossed as the others watched from behind the camera. A soda can sat just on-frame. The scene was simple — he needed to be swaying gently, legs swinging, lollipop on his tongue.
“I’m not kicking my feet,” he grumbled, puffing his cheeks and narrowing his eyes, “You guys do realise I have, like, dignity?”
“It’s not that deep,” Ah-bin called from behind the camera.
“I’m not six,” he scoffed, adjusting the oversized pink sweater he’d been forced into.
“You need to look cute. You are Baby after all,” Ro-meyeon replied unhelpfully, without looking up from the camera.
Hanbae scowled. He stared at the camera lens for a full ten seconds, gave one dramatic sigh, then resumed swinging his legs in time with the music, “I hate this” he muttered, lollipop clenched like a dagger.
No one believed him.
-
Miseo’s hallway dance was the most effortless of them all.
No props, no fancy angles. Just Miseo in a loose white button-up and nice slacks, body dancing through the last minute planned steps as though he were water. Every step and spin fell perfectly in time with the song. He relayed so much emotion despite his eyes being hidden and Ro-meyeon actually stopped looking through the camera to properly watch.
“Haunting,” he whispered, eyes wide, rewatching the clip.
Miseo shrugged like it was second nature.
“That’s not going in the chorus anymore,” Ro-meyeon said immediately, “It’s too good. That belongs over the bridge. Dear God, I have to change my plans..”
Jinu had to agree. He absently wonders when his aloof lover learnt to dance like that. But Miseo is another one who doesn’t like talking about his past.
So instead he says, “Good job.”
Miseo said nothing, just gave a small nod, but his fingers twitched at his side, probably wanting to keep dancing.
-
Next was Ro-meyeon’s couch scene, which required almost no direction because the man took one glance at the lighting and immediately rearranged three cushions and a potted plant until the composition was “visually euphoric,” in his words.
He lounged across the couch with one knee bent, jewellery glittering from all corners of his body, looking like a prince who owned every camera that dared focus on him.
“Don’t zoom in from below, I’m not an ogre,” he warned Miseo, who was manning the camera for this one.
“You look the same from every angle,” Miseo said dryly.
“That’s not true. All my angles are good but only a few are the best.”
Which is fair, Ro-meyeon looked like a god. The only thing keeping him real for Jinu was the silly heart hairstyle he had. It suited him and defiently appeals to the human gaze, but damn, he prefered his hair down. The take was smooth, flirty, just a little overacted. Perfect.
-
Ah-bin’s clips were taking too long.
”Again!” Ro-meyeon demanded.
He started doing pushups in front of the living room window, shirt thrown somewhere out of frame, his muscles catching the light in all the right ways. His breathing was heavy enough to seem intentional as he chugged a cherry pop.
After about ten takes — because Ro-meyeon insisted on “just one more” while adjusting the frame again to get a different view of his bare chest — he flopped onto his back and laughed.
“Do we really need this many clips of my abs?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” said Hanbae from the couch without missing a beat, biting into a granola bar like it was obvious.
“Do we, though?” Jinu asked, arms folded, suspicious.
“Yes,” Ro-meyeon and Hanbae said at the same time.
Even Miseo cracked a grin at how obvious they were being.
-
Jinu had done five takes already. Five.
Each time, he stood by the wide, open window of the penthouse, city lights bleeding behind him like painted fire, soda pop in hand. He leaned slightly, lips mouthing around the first verse as he lifted the soda can prop near his lips. He moved just right, his actions giving exactly what it needed to give and yet—
“Lean out a bit more.”
“Now tilt your head left—no, your other left.”
“The sun isn’t reflecting on your skin the right way through the camera.”
Jinu exhaled through his nose, soda pop bottle clenched in his hand, patience visibly dissolving, “It’s not going to change babe,” Jinu said dryly, taking to get a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
Ro-meyeon ignored him and narrowed his eyes at the camera screen, visibly annoyed, “Still, I can’t see the lighting the way I want,” He clicked his tongue, then, very calmly, said, “Alright, hold on.”
Without another word, Ro-meyeon stepped toward the window and—without hesitation—hoisted one leg out the window.
Jinu froze, “Ro?”
The second leg went over. The wind tugged at his sleeves.
Then Ro-meyeon threw himself through the window. Literally.
“RO!” Jinu’s voice cracked sharply. He rushed to the window, heart skipping at least three beats, only to find Ro-meyeon casually standing on the narrow outer ledge, one hand raised to adjust the camera on the tripod that was now poking slightly out the window.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Jinu hissed, “Get back inside before you fall—”
Ro-meyeon blinked at him, deadpan as ever, “We’re demons, Jinu… We can fly.” To prove his point, with a little hop, Ro-meyeon lifted off the ledge and just hovered there like he was lounging mid-air, one leg lazily crossing over the other. He adjusted the camera with his free hand.
Jinu blinked once.
Then twice.
Gods, they’ve been playing human for too long because how could he forget that?
“Well— I—Get back inside before you get seen! Do you know what people will do if they see a person flying?!.”
“I will….” Ro-meyeon smirks deviously, “After I get this clip.”
“Ro—.”
”Clip.”
“Love—.”
”Clip.”
“I—.”
”I can do this all day y’know.”
Jinu dragged a hand down his face and groaned as he turned around and grabbed the soda bottle again. He leaned one arm casually on the frame, lifted the bottle, let his lips pull into the softest grin — a little sweet, a little dangerous — and mouthed the lines towards the camera and a satisfied Ro-meyeon.
“Don’t want you, yeah, I need you to fill me up…”
-
The filming by the bridge near the Han River had come out exactly as Jinu imagined — dreamy, golden-lit and perfect for the climax. The convenience store, that they had entered at 3am and left at 4, went shockingly well as well. The store owner was blessedly asleep (so they didn’t have to deal with the mess of killing them). With how slowly the morning penthouse shoot went, Jinu didn’t think they’d get everything they needed. But they’d pulled it off with hardly any hitches.
They were doing so well that Jinu was giddy with excitement.
By dawn, they were back in the penthouse and stole what little hours of sleep they could before getting up.
-
The news that they had two days left in this luxury penthouse of safety had arrived one morning, delivered shyly by that same hotel staff that kept asking for Jinu’s number.
Disgusting.
Now, they were quietly, devotedly, putting everything into this last push.
Hanbae was curled up against Ah-bin, a massive pair of headphones consuming half his head as he hunched over the laptop, yellow eyes glowing feverishly. Ah-bin, his headphones also connected, nodded along to the beat. Their heads were touching as they leaned over the audio edits. Hanbae clicking and dragging, isolating vocals, fine tuning the instrumental and layering on effects like a mad scientist.
Every once in a while, Ah-bin muttered, “That part’s sexy,” or “Wait, make it go pah-pah right after that line,” to which Hanbae would pause, sigh, and — more often than not — actually follow his advice.
It worked.
Across the room, Miseo sat by the massive window, stylus in hand, backlit by the fading evening light. His tablet screen glowed, displaying the fifth — maybe seventh—iteration of their logo. Jinu had peeked earlier.
A lion.
But not just a lion.
From the front, it was bold and clean, a jagged mane roaring with sharp strokes and proud symmetry. But when Jinu squinted his eyes, he saw very clearly the silhouette of a demon. It was something that represented them.
They all loved it.
Jinu sat at the bar counter, laptop cracked open, the cool metal surface grounding beneath his forearms as he scrubbed frame by frame through the video timeline. His jaw was clenched tight, not out of stress, but the obsessive precision that came when things were this close to being done.
Cut. Sync. Colour grade. Cut again. Add that lens flare — no, not that much. Pull it back. Pull it tighter. Clean. Clean.
Behind him, Ro-meyeon loomed like an ever-present judge.
“Too much contrast on that shot,” Ro-meyeon murmured, chin practically on Jinu’s shoulder.
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not.”
Jinu sighed, shoulders sagging as he dialled it down.
Ro-meyeon clicked his tongue, satisfied, before returning to the pile of outfits on the couch for their debut tomorrow.
“Hanbae will throw a fit if you try to get him to wear that yellow hat,” Jinu muttered without looking.
A pause. Then, “…Again, that’s why he’s Baby.”
Hours passed.
Jinu sat at the desk in the office of the suite, lit by nothing but the light from the laptop screen. All his boys stood huddled behind him, watching as his fingers danced across the keyboard as he uploaded the files to every major platform: YouTube, Spotify, SoundCloud, etc.
Username: SajaBoysOfficial
He added their logo watermark in the corner.. Everyone would see the apex predators of the safari. But they would know what it truly is below the surface. Always.
Finally, the last file uploaded.
Jinu exhaled.
He uploaded four videos total. The official Music Video and the lyric video are scheduled to be released tomorrow. The Choreography Version—set to drop two days later. And the behind-the-scenes footage—unedited, raw, chaotic—is scheduled for five days from now.
He leaned back slightly, stretching as he stood up, yellow eyes burning with satisfaction, “It’s ready,” he said, voice low and coy.
All four surrounded him in an instant, crowding into his space, pressing shoulders against his back. Arms wrapped around his middle. Foreheads pressed against his neck. The warmth of their bodies was like a single, breathing creature. They stayed like that for a long moment, in the soft quiet, absorbing the weight of the moment. The calm before the wave.
Then—
A wave made them separate.
Vertigo. Again.
Jinu groaned quietly, clutching his head. Miseo stumbled back a step. Ro-meyeon swore under his breath, holding onto the wall. Hanbae cursed the heavens and clutched Ah-bin’s arm, who just hissed in pain and confusion.
The Honmoon, always pulsing in the distance like a second heartbeat, had just flexed again. Harder than usual.
Hanbae glanced down at the phone clutched in his hand—practically his second limb. His eyes scanned the screen, narrowed with disdain.
“Trending: Huntr/x’s new song ‘GOLDEN’ hits #1 on every major chart. Already declared song of the year.” he read aloud, voice flat, eyes set in glare.
Miseo growled low in his throat, a sound they heard from the boy quite rarely, only when he felt threatened and uncomfortable. Jinu absently stroked a hand through his hair to calm himself down.
“It’s okay, guys,” he said, voice low and protective.
His lips curled, just slightly.
Jinu’s expression darkened, his eyes flickering gold for a second as he steadied his breath, “Because by this time tomorrow… this world will be ours to take over.”
And the others didn’t need to be told twice.
They believed him.
They always did.
Notes:
What part of the song do you guys think Ah-bin is talking about when he asks to add the “pah-pah” sound effect (Yes theres a correct answer)
Idk if I’m that proud of this chapter, it feels messy and I hit several writer's blocks while writing it. I hope it doesn’t read as badly as I feel it does! Let me know in the comments! Send kudos and comments! Love you all!
Chapter 11: Debut
Notes:
What if I just exploded…?
if you guys don’t mind divulging of course, what times zones are we in? BST, UTC, EST etc.. my god looking it up now there are so many time zones. I’m just tryna get a read on a good time to post that caters best to as many people as possible.
Those of you who guessed the “pah-pah” to be that moment in the chorus when they do that little button press, were correct!
Anywho enjoy! <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They walked like they already owned the world.
Open-collar button-ups, oversized jumpers, sweater vests and each of them wearing tight form-fitting skinny jeans. Tousled hair, glowing skin, and the kind of eyes that begged you to sin. Their outfits, visuals and aesthetics couldn't have been more different but it coordinated perfectly.
People paused mid-step, phones lowering, conversations halting, as the five boys strode through the city with an ease that felt more like performance than natural.
Unfortunately for the weak-minded public, they were natural performers.
“Oh my god, who are they?” someone whispered — a voice Jinu didn’t bother glancing toward, though he heard the phrase three times from three different directions within the same thirty seconds.
He smirked.
That’s right. Let the mystery do the seduction.
Flyers fluttered everywhere like cherry blossoms in the wind — promotional posters of their debut concert, scattered across subway exits, streetlight poles, café windows and bus stop benches all done by Ah-bin under the cover of night. He had insisted on doing it on his own, which at first Jinu was about to refuse, but then the large idiot got down on his knees and cast his unfair puppy eyes… so he let him.
He’s weak to them.
But his solo, most likely tiring (though he doesn’t show it at all), efforts were definitely key to bringing in a crowd.
I mean the mini concert on this simple flyer promised something free, spontaneous and something new. All things Jinu knew humans found irresistible.
Jinu watched someone pick up a flyer and immediately scan the QR code on their phone, face lighting up with curiosity. They, like a drone, already started walking to the performance location, face down as they scrolled.
Jinu glanced at his own device, screen dimmed low in his palm, only to check one thing: stream numbers.
Up. Still climbing. Already over 300,000. In the first hour.
Notifications were ticking by so fast that Jinu could barely register them. Mentions. Hashtags. Edits. Tweets and reactions. People fighting over who was who, who to bias, who looked the most dangerous, who smiled like he could kill and still be cute.
Curiosity got the best of him as he opened the comments on the MV:
“Who the fuck are these gods???”
“THEY DID NOT HAVE TO GO THIS HARD.”
“BABY’S RAPPING? I’M OBSESSED.”
“Romance… marry me please.”
He smirked.
The worship had begun just like he planned.
He barely had time to chuckle darkly when his phone buzzed with a new email.
Another contract offer.
The fourth one that day.
Already, four companies had reached out. The first two were forgettable, and at a single glance, Jinu could tell this fourth one was no better. It was the standard K-pop industry contracts: creative control stripped, their images polished and painted by marketing teams and essentially selling their souls to the industry.
Jinu would like the Saja Boys to be eating souls, not selling their own thank you very much.
The third company that reached out, however…
That one had been clever and promised all the right things to entice a group of demons.
URR Entertainment — a mid-sized company with just enough clout to be credible, but not enough ego to believe it owned its creatives. The promised contract had already been attached. Bullet points highlighted: full creative control, all production costs covered, live-in accommodations, transport, promotions, studio access — in return for 40% of streaming profits and all merchandise revenue.
A sweet deal.
They had been offered full creative freedom and a roof over their heads. Total autonomy—no questions asked.
It was almost too generous to be real.
However, in retrospect, Jinu was looking at it from his perspective. It’s not like the execs knew they’d just endorsed the death of many people… and they would never need to know.
It was a rushed 15-minute phone call but the executive had agreed faster than expected, voice slightly dazed, promising to send arrangements to discuss the contract. Throughout the hasty conversation, Jinu heard ‘Soda Pop’ playing in the background of the call.
When it looped back to the beginning and played again… and again and for a third time, he understood why they wanted to sign them so desperately.
At the very least, it meant two things: they wouldn’t be homeless in a days time and they could produce music more easily to steal Huntr/x’s fans. Perfect.
“And then we take a right here,” Jinu said, slipping the phone into his pocket, his tone casual, almost lazy.
The others followed, turning with him into an alleyway.
Halfway through the alley, Jinu’s stomach sank. Something was off.
That sinking feeling was answered when they rounded the corner—and Jinu nearly laughed aloud at the gods-given misfortune.
Rumi. Mira. Zoey.
Huntr/x.
Think of the devil and it’ll appear couldn't have been more true.
The three girls were standing just ahead, partially blocking the alley’s walkway, chattering amongst themselves. The Huntr/x leader carried a box that was unreasonably big.
His body burned as their presence served as a gross reminder of why they were doing all this. They’re the reason why they’re in this situation, why the energy drain of the honmoon is near the point of excruciating.
Why, not too long ago, they were staring death in the face when they cornered them in that hotel.
He was confident his boys felt it too: That rush of fear at being near their would-be (and probably still want to be) death sentencers.
For half a second, Jinu stopped walking, falling slightly behind, but he recollected himself when the others’ feet didn’t pause. Their expressions didn’t shift. Not one twitch of a brow. Nothing. They were demons, after all. Masking their emotions was child’s play.
The boys walked next to each other as though they owned the pavement, the kind of swagger that played into their intended group image (that’s what Jinu had drilled into them when it came to being in public in the future). Their faces—blank, smiling or smirking— were hot, smug and arrogant all in one. They even flicked their hair to the side in perfect coordination. Their eyes remained calmly, coolly set on the road ahead, avoiding even sparing another glance at the threat.
Jinu’s jaw tightened when their eyes finally drifted towards the group. Gods, he hopes they don’t recognise—.
Wait.
Are they blushing?
He gave the quickest, subtlest look to confirm his suspicions. And yes indeed. The girls—at least two of them—had literal hearts in their eyes. They stare at the group, jaws dropped in a way that could only tell Jinu one thing.
”So… hot,” He heard Mira mumble.
Jinu’s suspicions were confirmed again when Zoe’s eyes seemed to rupture from her skull when Ah-bin, flexing too hard, made one of his buttons fly off.
It was funny, really. Their demon forms weren’t that different from their human ones — okay, skin tone was different, they had normal eyes, and yes, not a single pattern in sight— but the base shapes remained the same. The jawlines. The hair. The body.
Apparently, the girls couldn’t connect the dots right in front of their faces. All they saw was the sight of the five devastatingly handsome boys.
…
…
What? It’s true. It’s not cocky if he’s right.
...Okay, maybe it was, but Jinu blames the demon in him.
As they walked, Jinu’s eyes accidentally caught onto Rumi’s and the purple-haired leader's mouth opened and closed like a fish, her fingers tightening around the box in her hands.
She was completely enamoured, and nobody could blame Jinu for the thrum of confidence that provided him with. He held that prolonged awkward gaze (well, awkward for him… she was gaping like a fish), and didn’t look away even as the seconds stretched.
He looked away only when he “accidentally” shoulder-checked her as they passed — not hard enough to break bone, but firm enough to knock her flat on her ass.
The box she’d been holding — very clearly covered in fake labels — flew open in the air as she fell. Little pouches rained down as they soared high into the air.
When one drifted in front of his face, he snatched it quickly.
And no, he didn’t mean to smirk. It just happened as he slipped it smoothly into the pocket of his jeans. It would’ve gone completely unnoticed—if Hanbae hadn’t snorted behind his sleeve.
Jinu stood tall above her, gaze cast downward, his shadow long and stretched.
And for a moment, he did reach for her.
Rumi stared up at him from the concrete, blinking fast, arm half-extended in a dazed stare at the offered hand.
And for a moment, he let himself imagine this image frozen in permanence. Their awe. His smile. The beginning of the end.
He didn’t just like this. He relished it.
The thought of her — of Huntr/x — on their knees, stripped of the pedestal they’d built with their fans and weapons, while he and his boys stood in the centre of it all, fed, adored, untouchable… It was intoxicating.
Everything they’d built — the honmoon, their fandom— shattered like sugar glass beneath their feet. And the hunters? Powerless. Helpless. Watching while he and his boys feasted on the world they once protected.
He reached down.
Her breath caught.
And then—at the last possible moment—he moved right past her outstretched hand and instead stood back up to briskly dust off his shoulder, lips curling into the faintest sneer.
“Watch yourself,” he said, voice like cracked ice, not even bothering to look at her again as he turned to walk off.
Rumi's eyes narrowed, seemingly in pure and utter confusion.
The others followed his actions, each one sending a look — not of recognition, not of threat, but dismissal. Like the girls were just obstacles in a hallway, not hunters that posed the risk of sending them to Gwi-ma. Like they didn’t matter.
And they didn’t.
Not here. Not today.
“Watch my—watch yourself!” Rumi shouted after them, voice tinged with obvious embarrassment. As Huntr/x scrambled to gather the pouches and their dignity, the five boys had already turned the corner.
By the time the five were out of the alley and onto the open square, a crowd was already forming. Flyers were clenched in their hands. Phones held tight. Eyes scanning, searching for the new boy group.
They stopped in front of a building, where foot traffic was thick, and moved automatically into a group huddle.
“Final check,” Jinu whispered, “Remember your personas.”
“Fan service, fan service, fan service,” Ro-meyeon muttered with a smirk.
“Smile like you’d die for them,” Miseo added, voice low.
“Pretend you don’t wanna eat them,” Hanbae chirped.
Ah-bin cracked his neck and flexed, “Steal them all…”
Jinu glanced at them all, eyes skimming from one face to the next.
“Let’s give them a show.”
Then, just as quickly as it came, each of their human eyes flickered with the unmistakable shimmer of demon gold, just for a second. Just a spark.
Then it was gone.
They broke the huddle and Jinu stepped into formation — smile curled like a blade behind glossed lips — and raised one hand into the air.
With a subtle flick of his fingers, soft pink mist curled around their bodies. The perfect entrance.
The music started blaring from the square speaker they had connected to.
And they gave the performance of their lives.
-
The beat hit its final note like the flick of a blade across velvet.
“My little soda pop,” Jinu sang charmingly, voice tight, crisp and polished, “…gotta drink every drop.”
And like that — snap — the five of them froze in place.
A sculpted finish. Each in a different pose: Hanbae back faced the crowd, his bottom lip jutted out as he looked over his shoulder; Miseo stood like a shadowed statue behind him, chin tilted down with quiet menace; Ah-bin’s hands flexed his hands at his sides, his posture set wide; Ro-meyeon with one hip cocked and a smug smile on his face as he locked eyes intently with one person in the audience; and Jinu — dead centre — standing still with his eyes casted to the ground.
They held it for several seconds.
And the crowd — for one breathtaking moment — forgot how to breathe.
A scream tore out first, somewhere from the left. Then came the others. Phones raised. Stage Names were already being shouted. Girls crying, boys gasping, strangers hugging each other like they’d just witnessed magic.
Jinu didn’t move. Not yet.
He let the adoration sink in.
Let it coat his skin.
Only after the crescendo of screams reached a fever pitch did he lower his arm — slowly, deliberately — his gaze sliding across the sea of people that had gathered around them.
The roar that erupted wasn’t polite clapping. It was worship. Human devotion at its most animal. Some were clapping their hands raw, others pulling out phones to record the entire scene despite it already being viral. More still were just standing there, blinking and slack-jawed, as if trying to process what had just taken place.
There had to be hundreds now. Maybe more. The streets, once just pedestrians, had become a full-fledged audience. They blocked cars. Climbed street benches. One guy was halfway leaned out his balcony window (dangerously, Jinu must add). All of them were hypnotised by five boys who hadn’t even existed publicly forty-eight hours ago.
And every single one of them?
Helpless. Hopeless. Sheep.
Jinu licked his lips subtly.
They were so easy. So painfully easy. These creatures thought they ruled their world. They were nothing more than mindless sheep, tripping over each other to fall at the feet of five strangers in tight pants and glowing eyes. He didn’t even need to smile anymore. He could feel their affection like a heatwave. Like energy waiting to be harvested.
His hunger stirred—not for food, not yet, but for control.
And there, at the front of the crowd, he caught her.
Rumi.
The ponytailed demon hunter stood frozen among the fans, her expression tangled in disbelief, rage, and just the slightest hint of recognition.
She realised too late, unfortunately for her and her gang.
Instead of faltering, Jinu only smirked and lifted his hand in one slow, deliberate gesture… brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder for the second time today.
Her eyes, posture and face contorted with anger.
His smirk deepened.
Then he turned sharply and clapped his hands together once—sharp, commanding.
The other boys broke out of their frozen formation as if on cue. Hanbae stretched and leaned his body against Miseo, putting his entire arm against the nonchalant taller boy’s neck and placed a hand against his cheek to pose. Miseo allowed it without blinking, crossing his arms coolly. Ah-bin placed an elbow casually across Ro’s shoulder, smirking faintly as he did.
Jinu stepped forward. Hands clasped together in mock gratitude. His voice rang smooth and golden as he addressed the still-entranced crowd.
“That’s it for now,” he said, “If you’d like to support us, stream Soda Pop on all platforms. We’ve been Jinu Saja—.”
“Romance Saja!” he purred with a wink, blowing a kiss that sent a row of girls collapsing like dominoes.
“Abby Saja,” he grinned, flexing subtly, shirt tugging over his abs — the camera flashes went insane.
“Mystery Saja..” came the quiet murmur, eyes shadowed, lips curled — a silent finger to his lips drove the crowd wild.
“And Baby Saja!” the youngest beamed, throwing a double peace sign before sticking his tongue out. The chorus of ‘aww’s’ veered on the edge of insane.
More and more screams echoed from the excited audience.
“Catch us next week,” Jinu added, “on everyone’s favourite variety show.”
In sync, the four boys pointed to the advert—Play games with us. A very popular show that often only collabed with well known groups. Despite this, they had contacted Jinu very quickly.
“The Saja Boys…” Jinu smirked, head tilting slightly, “love you!”
A final wink. A blow of a kiss.
And with a burst of softly curling pink mist, they vanished from sight.
Poof.
Gone.
They reappeared several districts away in a dimly lit back alley, somewhere deep in Gangnam. The shift was instant. From godhood to grounding. They all groaned in exhaustion, facades being allowed to drop for just that moment. They got all but a few minutes of respite before they were on the move again.
Jinu stepped out first, checking their surroundings.
No eyes. No cameras.
Just enough anonymity to do it again.
Another crowd. Another performance. Another hundred human souls just aching to worship something beautiful.
Jinu adjusted his collar with one hand.
He smirked faintly to himself, the edge of his mouth curling like a blade.
Huntr/x wouldn’t stand a chance.
Notes:
We can run it run it run it no this ain’t a debut. Any Katseye fans among ya’ll?
Yeah guys, so I had intended to write out the dance to the song but I did not have the mental capacity for it— plus it wouldn’t flow naturally in my writing style. You all know what that performance looks like. n this chapter, I do feel I lumped the boys together a lot and thats because I got tired and the chapter definitely dragged on too long and boringly if I kept in some interactions I cut out.
Gotta suspend your disbelief for some of these scenarios (your girl’s too lazy to make a more sound explanation for nish) :D
Tell me what you thought in the comments! If you enjoyed leave a kudo. The usual, mistakes, tags etc let me here em
Until next time (which might be sooner than you think)…
Chapter 12: Freetime
Notes:
If y’all saw my google docs organisation, you’d have an aneurysm. I’ve got chapter numbers out of order, and I’m catching myself doing points (10.1, 10.2 etc) because i keep coming up with new chapter ideas. IK there are so many conflicts of interests in the plot but idc!! If there’s a will, there’s a way. You get?
Also guys it is insane how this fic is nearly maintaining a 1:10 Kudos-to-Hits Ratio! Like??!?!? I am in pure shock that it kinda means 1 in 10 of you loved this book and that is more than I ever expected. Thank you so much for this gang.
Enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hanbae had not moved from the bed since the sun cracked the sky open. They’d spent yesterday hopping from one crowded square to another, singing Soda Pop the same way in several different locations—and it had worked. The mortals were practically foaming at the mouth over them and maybe it was a placebo but Hanbae swears the tug from the honmoon on his soul has eased up.
Just a tad.
They also spent the better part of the evening recording short-form content for their separate accounts.
Everything about these last few days was sapping his energy so fast he thought he might die.
Okay, he’s exaggerating. The energy he got from the soul spirit he consumed a while ago still thrummed comfortably in his veins.
But still, Demon or not, Hanbae’s bones were humming in protest. His soul—corrupt as it was—was grumpy.
Today was the last day they had this penthouse suite, and Jinu, Ah-bin, and Ro-meyeon were out doing responsible things. Something about contracts and signing and legal stuff Hanbae didn’t want to understand if he didn’t need to. All Hanbae knew was they didn’t want him or Miseo there. Miseo, though charismatic, was too… quietly intense for first impressions. And apparently, he himself was too sarcastic, unpredictable and would tell the label “to suck it sideways,” if they said something he didn’t like.
Hanbae, at the time, had protested that he was nothing like that. But after quiet reflection… he would indeed say something like that. But his comments weren’t unhelpful—they were honest. That was important.
He wouldn’t complain though, not when he got to stay in his natural form—thank goodness he didn’t have to assume human skin today—sprawled across the silk sheets of the master bed and he had the option to bed rot all day in his damn pyjamas.
His clawed fingers tapped against the phone screen at dizzying speed, playing some rhythm game that was probably created for smaller humans, but he didn’t care. It passed the time. Until it didn’t.
He yawned for the fourth time in under a minute.
His yellow eyes were half-lidded and glassy now, the kind of tiredness that comes after staring at your phone screen for too many hours but still have so much energy because you haven’t done anything.
He’d been scrolling through the same social feed for at least an hour now. His fingers ached, cramped from repetition. He’d replayed the same mobile game level nine times in a row. He even tried switching apps in hopes of something new — only to sigh dramatically every time.
By 1PM, He was Bored with a capital B.
He wanted… something.
While mindlessly scrolling on tiktok, a video of Miseo came up. It was a Mystery fan edit—humans were scarily quick with it—of him completing a body roll.
Hot.
Hanbae, finally tossing the phone aside with a dull thunk, now knew what he wanted to do.
He wanted attention.
Still in his pajamas—an oversized black shirt with the words “I BITE” stitched across the chest and a pair of shorts—he crawled out of the massive bed with dramatic slowness. His hair was a chaotic mess, sticking out in directions that looked intentional but wasn’t.
His feet padded across the polished floors with little sound and wandered into the main room, eyes already locked on his target.
Miseo.
His quietest lover. The most unreadable. The hardest to bother.
He was sitting in the corner of the sofa, a massive novel resting in his lap as he read. He looked so unfairly gorgeous sitting there doing a normal task.
Hanbae smirked.
Without warning, he flopped straight onto Miseo’s lap. The older demon didn’t even react as he moved his book out of the way from being crushed by Hanbae’s weight. As though he had anticipated it.
Hanbae rested his head on Miseo’s thigh, “Hi,” Hanbae said low and warm, sweetly.
Miseo, infuriatingly, didn’t react.
He merely turned the next page. Slowly. With more care than was necessary.
Hanbae narrowed his eyes, unamused.
“Give me attention,” he said plainly, his voice deep and drowsy and still rough with sleep, the syllables dragging like hands through gravel.
No response.
Miseo flipped another page. Didn’t even blink.
Hanbae huffed, loudly, then shifted, digging his fingers against the fabric of the boy’s robes. Still, Miseo only turned the page again—silent, serene, obnoxious.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Hanbae muttered, now poking reptively at the boy’s chest.
Miseo finally broke away from his book, head tilting down to look at him.
“Am I?”
Hanbae scowled, “Yes.”
Miseo looked back to his book, “Hmm.”
“Miseooooo,” he whined, which he had to admit sounded funny in his baritone boyish voice, lip jutting out in a pout, “Pay attention to me.”
“You said you wanted to lie around all day.”
“Lying around and being ignored are not the same thing.”
Miseo’s lips twitched up with the faintest sign of amusement. But he didn’t close the book. It was clear he was doing this on purpose.
This fucker.
Hanbae growled softly under his breath and twisted so that he was lying on his back now, using both hands to reach up and cup Miseo’s face, pulling it down toward his, “You’re mine, remember?” he murmured dangerously, “That means when I’m bored, you suffer.”
Miseo chuckled low in his throat, a soft, light sound that sent shivers down Hanbae’s spine nonetheless. Finally looking away from his book, he reached for Hanbae’s face. With one claw-tipped hand, he lazily brushed a few blue strands from his face before he pinched Hanbae’s cheek, not gently either. His long fingers dug into the soft flesh hard enough to make the younger flinch and bat his hand away.
“Mean,” Hanbae muttered, even though there wasn’t a trace of real irritation in his voice. He rubbed his cheek with a wounded look, though it barely lasted more than a heartbeat before his lips quirked into a smirk.
In a single motion, Hanbae pushed himself upright from where he had been lounging, now properly sitting in Miseo’s lap—straddling him easily, knees digging into either side of the demon’s narrow hips. His arms wound around Miseo’s neck like ivy, fingers lacing together just at the nape of his hair, claws pressing lightly against the skin.
“I want to see your face.”
Miseo didn’t answer immediately. He licked his thumb, bending the corner of a page to mark his location and then slowly — just slow enough to irritate — placed the book to the side.
Hanbae stared down, yellow gaze expectant.
With one fluid movement, Miseo reached up, his fingers pushing back the shint silver hair that covered his face. He used both hands this time, parting the strands and tucking them back behind his ears in a motion that seemed practiced. Then he pinned it in place with a clip from the side table, glancing up with the faintest smirk when he caught Hanbae’s eyes glinting with satisfaction.
“There,” he said, voice a silky drawl as he planted both hands firmly on Hanbae’s waist, claws lightly grazing the soft skin beneath the hem of his too-large shirt.
God damn.
Sharp cheekbones. An elegant, almost fragile bone structure. Smooth pale skin even made the imperfection of the patterns beautiful. And those eyes—those eyes, golden with slit pupils like a cat or snake. His mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile that Hanbae could actually see reach his eyes. That was the mystery of Miseo—he was a mystery to everyone, except for his lovers.
“This work for you, baby?” he said, tone lazy but laced with heat.
Before Hanbae could say something back at him, Miseo leaned in and kissed Hanbae’s neck—not soft, not shy. His fangs dragged against his skin. His lips parted just enough to graze over the pulsing point of Hanbae’s throat.
Hanbae’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his body pressed closer as his fingers threaded tighter at the base of Miseo’s skull, breathing shallower now. Miseo thumbs drew slow circles into Hanbae’s sides, and his palms stayed possessively firm at his hips, pressing in just hard enough to bruise—not that either of them would mind if it did.
The younger demon flushed beneath Miseo’s administrations, skin warming with every press of lips. The fingers on Hanbae’s waist moved up his sides, thumbs grazing over the skin.
Hanbae realized—too late, as usual—that he was treading on dangerous ground because when Miseo rolled his hips, he finally saw the near animalistic glint in his normally hidden eyes.
Oh no. No no no no. This was his resting day. So he planned a steady retreat.
“Alright, down boy—Umpffh!”
Miseo didn’t let him finish. With a swift push, he pinned Hanbae to the couch, belly up and blinking up blearily . His heart thudded once, hard, then again as his eyes locked on Miseo’s. That look—wild, feral, and golden—flared behind the small stray strands of silver hair that he failed to tie back.
“Don’t tell me stop,” Miseo murmured, voice thick with want. His hands had already found their way to the waistband of Hanbae’s pajama shorts, fingers toying, testing.
Hanbae swallowed hard. This side of Miseo—the one that emerged without warning, all instinct and heat—was impossible to reason with. And Hanbae, against his better judgment, never really tried.
He stared up at the ceiling, sighed like a man headed to war, and sent a silent, heartfelt goodbye to the quiet night of rest he had planned.
And maybe, just maybe, a little prayer to his own body.
-
Hours later, the door clicked open.
The second the trio stepped back into the penthouse, Without a word, the human glamour peeled from their skin— the gleam of yellow eyes returning to them, clawed fingers flexing, skin shifting into pale grey-white veined with their signature purplish-brown patterns. It was like kicking off shoes after a long day. A groan of relief even rumbled low in Ah-bin’s throat as he rolled his shoulder until it cracked.
Jinu readjusted the hefty stack of papers under one arm, eyes scanning the now-dim penthouse as Ro-meyeon flopped onto the couch in one languid motion, already tugging at his collar like he was being choked by the idea of professionalism, “That PR woman’s voice still echoes in my brain,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling, “And she wasn’t even the worst of them.”
“Agreed. But URR Entertainment’s clauses ended up better than I expected,” Jinu muttered instead, flicking the corner of the stack, “They’re definetly the—.”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Because they heard it.
A distinct, desperate gasp cracked from deeper inside the penthouse. A sound like someone choking, only laced with pleasure instead of panic. Another sharp breath followed it, then a drawn-out moan punctuated with, “Agh, Miseo! Stop that—”
Jinu blinked. Ro-meyeon froze, his eyes wide. Ah-bin tilted his head to the side, smirking at the sound of rhythmic thumping against the walls.
“Good for them,” Ah-bin said finally, voice as sunny as it was unbothered.
Ro-meyeon murmured an approving noise under his breath, already beginning to undo the top button of his shirt. His steps angled toward the hallway with all the subtlety of a fox, “I’ll just go check on them,” he said, smooth as velvet, “To see if they’re okay.”
Jinu, without even lifting his head, reached out and grabbed Ro-meyeon’s wrist, halting his escape with practiced ease ,“No,” he said flatly, “We need to pack.”
Ro-meyeon blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then he recoiled with an anguished cry, throwing himself against the nearest wall as though he’d been denied heaven. One clawed hand went to his forehead; the other wiped at a single, suspiciously perfect tear slipping from his golden eye, “If I must,” he breathed.
Ro-meyeon and Ah-bin cleared off to get started on getting their stuff together.
Jinu stayed a beat longer, the edges of his mouth twitching before he set the stack of contracts down carefully on the table. And then, silently, he walked toward the bedroom — soundless as a shadow.
Truth be told, he wasn’t any better than Ro-meyeon.
He didn’t intend to join, like the flirty horny bastard. But he was curious. Just a little.
The door was already cracked open.
It was calling him.
Peeking through the narrow opening, he stuck his head inside—and froze.
A loose bedsheet clung haphazardly to two bodies tangled on the mattress. It slipped down with each rhythmic motion, revealing the small of Miseo’s back and the dip of Hanbae’s waistline.
Hanbae lay beneath, pinned firmly with both arms stretched above his head, wrists caught in one of Miseo’s strong hands. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts, lips parted around a choked gasp, his wide eyes shimmering with tears that clung to his lashes—beautiful, helpless, overwhelmed.
Miseo loomed above him, like the beautiful beast he was. His lips curled in a silent snarl as he teethed at Hanbae’s neck, his silvery hair pulled back, exposing harsh lines of his face and the raw hunger in his glowing demon eyes.
It wasn’t rare to see Miseo like this—dominant, unrestrained and absolutely in control. But when it did happen, it was a breath of cold fresh air.
The door creaked faintly under Jinu’s weight, and suddenly, both heads snapped in his direction.
For a moment, no one moved.
Hanbae’s eyes wide, reaching out desperately toward Jinu, fingers clawing weakly against the comforter—“Jinu! Ah— A little—help?! He’s crazy—.”
But Miseo didn’t give him the chance. He snarled low in his throat and yanked Hanbae back into the bed with brutal ease, crashing their mouths together in a rough, silencing kiss.
He stood there a beat longer, lips pressed together in thought. Then, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, “Just don’t stain the bed. We’ll be packed and gone in a few hours.”
“You bastard!” Hanbae cried out in pure betrayal. And with that, he pulled the door shut behind him, sealing Hanbae’s fate.
Jinu laughed breathlessly. Poor Hanbae…
But thinking about it, it was probably his fault he was in that situation. And the little shit was enjoying it more than he was letting on.
“Right,” Jinu said to himself, already walking down the hall, “Time to pack.”
Notes:
How’d y’all find that? Let me know please!
I’m not the biggest fan of very explicit sexual content and I don’t think I’d fair well at actually writing it myself. I also don’t think it would suit well with the story vibe I’m going for. Sometimes, especially when done in excess, smut takes away from the story more than it actually gains. At least in my opinion. The reason even this is included is because I do want to show how much the boys love, possess and crave each other just not in detail detail, y’know?
That’s why I think I prefer to make it more implied/hinted/suggested/non-explicit so that you readers can leave it up to your imagination if you so wish (I, quite frankly, think that’s more fun because you can be as wild or tame as you want) and to avoid becoming PWP. This is probably how all suggestive scenes will be done in the future.
However, maybe, and that’s a BIG maybe, if enough people are interested, I’ve considered making a separate work that goes into more detail about just these moments cuz if they were to be written, I wouldn’t want them in the main fic.
BIG maybe. Some of you better not get your hopes up.
The usual: Comments, kudos, tag suggestions and mistakes! Thanks again for reading, I love and appreciate all of you <3
Until next time.
Chapter 13: The Saja House
Notes:
I can’t believe I have this many hits, kudos, bookmarks and comments (AND A SPECIAL HEART EYES TO ALL THE REPEATED COMMENTERS?!?! Yes you (there are several of you) 🫵🫵…If you think I’m talking about you, you are most DEFINITELY right)
Y’all are amazing for being here I swear. If you leave imma make good on my last question and explode. Seriously, your comments bring so much joy to my day <3
Enjoyyy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The clock on the dash glowed just shy of midnight, its pale blue digits flickering rhythmically with each bump in the road. The van’s interior was quiet. The hum of the tires against asphalt was the only consistent sound, lulling the vehicle’s passengers into varying states of near-unconsciousness.
Ah-bin, sitting furthest back with the window cracked just enough to feel the whisper of the summer night against his skin, was the only one still fully awake. It helped that he’d eaten today. The energy still throbbed pleasantly through his limbs, keeping his gaze sharp and his posture loose.
He glanced to his side.
The others are not so lucky.
Hanbae was curled up against the seatbelt in the row ahead of him, sound asleep with his lips parted and a faint flush still high on his cheekbones — undoubtedly exhausted from the taxing “activities” Miseo had subjected him to earlier in the day.
The culprit, meanwhile, sat in the seat just next to him, blankly staring out the window. His posture was lax, head lolling forward every few minutes before jerking back up.
Ro-meyeon was slouched in the corner, his pink hair messy and slightly clumpy on one side (if he were seen in public how he was now, he’d probably end it all). His thumb still half-heartedly swiped up on his phone screen despite both eyes practically being shut. His body jolted every now and then when his phone slipped, even though sleep was calling.
And then there was Jinu.
Even their leader wasn’t immune to exhaustion. Jinu had his cheek resting against the palm of his hand, his lips moving in slow motion as he tried to list off the agenda for the week, “So… press… outfit fitting… production meet for next track… interview on Tuesday— no, wait… Wednes—” His voice trailed off into a mumble, eyes slipping shut mid-sentence.
Ah well, he fought well.
He didn’t bother to wake them when the car pulled up and stopped, its brakes squeaking slightly as it rolled into the driveway of what would soon be their new home.
The Saja House.
A modern two-story house tucked just slightly out of the city’s busiest district, the architecture sleek and minimalist, all glass and sharp lines softened with greenery and subtle outdoor lighting. It wasn’t massive—not a mansion by any means—but it was comfortable, clean, expensive-looking, and private.
But not one of the four stirred. The driver cleared his throat, glancing in the rearview mirror with growing unease.
“They’re, uh… Are they okay?” he asked cautiously.
Ah-bin let out a warm huff through his nose, amused, “They’re fine. Just dead tired.”
He stepped out of the car with a groan of satisfaction, stretching his long arms high above his head until his spine popped in three places, his muscles rippling under the dark night sky. The air was cool as he took a deep breath.
He glanced at the moving truck parked out front. A few lights were still on inside, casting shadows on the boxes stacked near the back. Their furniture. Their equipment. Their carefully curated new lives.
If they weren’t all asleep.
Ah-bin let out a sigh through his nose, half fond, half resigned, shaking his head as he watched them all. The truck driver, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and the permanent expression of someone who hated his life, climbed out with a clipboard in hand.
“You the, uh… the main contact?” he asked.
“I guess,” Ah-bin replied, glancing back into the van where his leader was still unconscious, “They’re no good to you right now.”
The man blinked, “We’ll send people tomorrow morning. Move the boxes in, help you set everything up, assemble furniture and whatnot—”
“Won’t need ‘em,” Ah-bin said with a cocky smirk, already pulling the van’s side door open, “I’ve got it covered.”
The driver just stared and shrugged, saying he would be back to pick up his truck at 10 tomorrow before walking off.
He cracked his knuckles and stretched.
Time to move in.
He turned back toward the car, crouched slightly, and reached in. Ah-bin hoisted Hanbae over one shoulder like a sack of flour. Then Ro-meyeon over the other. He barely had to adjust before ducking back in, grabbing Miseo and Jinu one at a time, shifting their weight until they were stacked neatly across his broad back — two per shoulder, easy.
Their half-lidded eyes fluttered once in confusion before falling shut again.
Their taxi driver’s mouth fell open.
“Uh—sir—uh, do you want help—?”
Ah-bin adjusted the four demons with the grace of someone hauling gym weights, “Nah, I got it.”
“…You want me to get the front door?” the driver offered weakly.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Ah-bin said like he wasn’t carrying four people at once like it was the most normal thing in the world.
The man scrambled forward, tripping over himself to reach the sleek smart lock on the front door. He tapped in a code provided by the company, the lock clicked open, and the door swung wide into the clean, pristine entryway.
“Wow…” Ah-bin muttered under his breath, eyeing the open living area and the white kitchen. No furniture yet, but the space felt right. A bit too sterile though.
The driver lingered in the doorway, offering one last sheepish, “If you need anything during your move, just contact URR—”
Ah-bin gave him a grin sharp with teeth, “Thanks, but we’re fine”
“Oh, well… Goodnight, sir.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Then, without another word, he nudged the door shut with his foot—slamming it with just a little too much force.
It was almost immediate but even while asleep, the four demons draped across him, changed back to demons.
Ah-bin laughed to himself as he followed suit.
His heavy boots thudded against the stairs as he trekked upward.
The second floor had two bathrooms and five bedrooms — one larger master room, thank the gods — and four smaller ones along the hall. Not that they ever cared about separate rooms.
They’d probably use those other rooms to serve another purpose.
He kicked open the double doors to the master bedroom with his foot and walked over to the giant bed (that was blessedly already assembled).
Ah-bin had to stifle a chuckle as he recalled the conversation with the label’s CEO, the one that had nearly made the man spit out his overpriced imported espresso when the trio—Jinu, Ro-meyeon, and himself—requested a custom bed with dimensions of 144 inches by 108 inches.
The man had blinked. Reached for his glasses and cleared his throat, “That’s not… a typical bed.”
Without missing a beat, Ro-meyeon had raised a perfectly arched brow and quipped, “We plan to cut the bed into five separate pieces as it’s cost-efficient and we have a member who would complain if our beds weren’t the same.”
That stupid illogical answer had, somehow, been more acceptable than the truth. Their relationship would be…weird in their eyes. But, for things not socially constrained to weird, Humans were truly the most gullible creatures—if you said something insane enough with confidence, they just nodded and pretended it made sense.
Now, standing before the massive mattress, the centre of their new shared sanctuary, Ah-bin smirked. He stepped forward and casually dumped his four unconscious weights onto the bed. They groaned in protest, their bodies flopping into the embrace of the comforter like rag dolls. Ro-meyeon rolled over instinctively, head finding its pillow not in cotton but on Miseo’s stomach. Jinu immediately spooned Hanbae from behind, wrapping himself around the smaller demon, one arm slipping under Hanbae’s neck and the other around his waist.
Ah-bin watched them for a second longer, eyes softening. Then he turned to leave, brushing a hand through his magenta hair.
But before he could step away, fingers latched weakly around his wrist. He turned, slightly surprised, to see Jinu blinking sleepily at him, his grip gentle but unyielding, “Where are you going?” Jinu’s voice was low and groggy, He cracked one sleepy eye open, amber iris glinting in the dim light, “You’re warm. Get in bed please.”
There was no demand in his tone, just pure honest want— the kind that always unravelled Ah-bin faster than any breathy whisper or shouted command ever could.
He exhaled through his nose and smiled gently, crouching down by the bed’s edge and peeling Jinu’s fingers from his wrist, careful not to wake the others, “I’ll join you soon. Just gonna finish a few things downstairs,” he promised, his voice low and full of warmth, like rich velvet.
Jinu blinked slowly, like it took effort to believe him. But then nodded—barely—before sinking back into the mattress and tucking himself deeper into Hanbae’s back. Just like that, he was out again, lulled back to sleep by the warmth of Hanbae’s back.
Ah-bin lingered just a moment longer, watching the lines of Jinu’s face relax, before finally stepping back and rolling his shoulders with a satisfying crack. He moved back down the stairs with quiet determination and opened the front door to the sharp night air.
The moving van waited like a silent beast under the moon, its back wide open and stacked to the ceiling with boxes, crates, and neatly wrapped furniture. Ah-bin narrowed his eyes at it, squared his stance, and got to work.
He was a machine.
Within the hour, every single box had been moved into the house, most of them placed in the exact rooms they belonged in. He hadn’t needed labels or instructions — he just… knew. Hanbae’s things needed to be nearest to either the bed or the couch. Ro-meyeon’s clothes in the walk-in closet. Miseo’s sparse belongings, mostly books, were set on the shelf, closest to the window, just the way he liked it. Jinu’s laptop and stuff were placed to the office Ah-bin knew he would choose.
And as for Ah-bin himself? He didn’t even think about his things. He’d place them last. They weren’t that important.
He didn’t stop there.
The kitchen was set up and functional in fifteen minutes. The living room had curtains hung, speakers installed, and a sound system tested within twenty. The studio room was rigged up with their microphones, computers, and soundproof foam.
He made the spare beds. Set up the couch. Assembled a shoe rack. Sorted out the bathroom. Cleaned up the few accumulated dust on the untouched house. Hung up the sparse decorations Ro-meyeon had insisted on ordering.
He did it all without speaking. Without stopping. Without complaint.
Faster.
Stronger.
More.
This was how he proved his worth. Not in words. In doing.
In moments like these, when his brain worked on autopilot, the silence got too loud.
The silence brought him back to the time in the past when the silence was louder than screams.
His memories didn’t start with a cradle or childhood friends. At least, he doesn’t think so.
If he recalls a time from the past, it was always in hell.
If there was a time before that, he was made to forget.
He only remembers burning chains. Perhaps, a collar. A voice like dripping tar curling through the hollow of his skull, “You are not yours.”
The silence made him remember standing on formation Rows of them, faceless and hollow, all breathing in time to a rhythm out of their control.
Follow.
Follow.
Follow.
But then he was free. That’s when memories of his own started.
In a flash of black hair and a wild snarl. In fire, in screams, and the clatter of chains breaking.
But even as he felt that growing sense of freedom, all he knew was serve, serve, serve.
Ah-bin blinked snapping out of the trance just as he placed the last piece of furniture down.
Huh. Lost himself again.
He was standing in the middle of the new hallway, shoulders tense and bare. The house around him was all organised and he knew his boys would recognise it as home. Quiet, but not that silence. This quiet had furniture.
But he’s done his job… only partly.
The quiet urge to do more had him breathing heavier, fingers twitching, eyes wide. More to be useful. More for them, who had given his life value beyond that mindless haze he so vividly, yet so vaguely remembered down in the underworld.
His shifting eyes glanced at a clock. It was 3 a.m.
He blinked, throat dry. His body didn’t quite feel like it belonged to him — his hands were clammy, his arms heavy. Sweat dampened the small of his back and clung beneath his shirt, but he wasn’t sure if it was exertion from all the moving or the fear thrumming through his bones.
It took a second but Ah-bin finally pushed that urge down and went back upstairs. With a long, lumbering yawn, he climbed the stairs again, his muscles finally screaming for rest. The door creaked as he opened it, and he didn’t even bother shutting it again before he gently crawled onto the bed.
Hanbae rolled closer, flinging a leg across his hips. Miseo’s arm moved to rest across his chest. Ro-meyeon groaned in his sleep and buried his face into Ah-bin’s neck. And Jinu, still asleep, smiled softly and pulled himself near.
He lay there, cocooned in warmth, eyes finally fluttering closed as his pulse slowed. This. This was what grounded him. Not chains. Not orders. Not silence.
He barely remembered closing his eyes.
-
He didn’t dream. Not that night.
He thinks that was the blessed thing about his memories. They didn’t exist enough.
In his sleep, his nose twitched and he picked up on the scent of something sweet.
He loves sweets.
And this one, he sniffed again.
Cake?
He smelled cake.
Ah-bin bolted upright with a speed that didn’t obey physics. His eyes snapped open, spine straightening like a jolt of divine intervention had struck him from slumber.
Before Ah-bin could question it, the bedroom door opened slowly and in came all four of them—Miseo carried the cake carefully as Ro-meyeon hummed a fake trumpet fanfare. Hanbae, with a bit of icing on his cheek already, was smirking at him.
Jinu looked absurdly smug, arms crossed over his chest at Ah-bin’s confusion
All four of them came to stand at the edge of the bed, carrying a large, messy, wobbling but unmistakably homemade cake. Across the top, written in icing, were the words: WE LOVE OUR MUSCLE.
Ah-bin’s eyes filled with tears, his heart swelling so fast it almost knocked the wind from him, “You guys—”
He flung the blankets off and lunged at them
“WAIT THE CAKE—!”
None of them had time to react before Ah-bin scooped them up in his arms like oversized plush toys. He lifted all four off the ground with inhuman ease — one arm under Hanbae and Miseo, the other sweeping up Ro-meyeon and Jinu.
The cake went flying from Miseo’s hands
Time slowed.
In the chaos, the cake tray began to tip sideways, the gravity-defying dessert lurching in the air like a tragedy about to unfold. All five of them watched as it fell.
Ah-bin, with supernatural reflexes, flung out a foot just in time, heel catching the bottom of the tray before the cake hit the ground. It balanced precariously, wobbling like a drunk on a tightrope.
Silence.
Ah-bin sweatdropped, “I, erm, saved it! Heh heh.”
The four demons hanging from his arms all turned to look at him with the same flat expression — a perfect blend of exasperation and disbelief.
Jinu, who was closest to his head, narrowed his eyes and raised one clawed hand, “Idiot,” he muttered fondly — before smacking the back of Ah-bin’s head with the gentleness he only shared with them.
He laughed.
They all laughed.
They ended up sprawled out on the bed, cake sat between them, hearts full, stomachs about to be (it was an artificial full but still, the taste made it worth it).
With them, Ah-bin didn’t feel like someone who had to earn his place.
He felt like someone who belonged.
Notes:
What’s the thoughts gang? Hints at 2nd Saja boy backstory? Unlocked!
Poor Abby… I wonder what awful things, that I have full control over, had happened to him ;(
Hoped you like it!
Mistakes, kudos, tags please and thank you!
Until next time my lovelies… soon (me cuz I have the next chapter already written, edited and ready to be published but don’t want to double post😅😅)
Chapter 14: Pets
Notes:
Two more weeks of school and then I’m free! HUZZAR! It’s so cute to see you guys comment about concerns for my mental health and stuff with how much I seem to be writing, it is so sweet <3 But I’m doing justttt fine cuz these small interactions fill my heart.
I also wanted to say massive love to those of you who comment your thoughts/ideas without making it sound like you expect me to do it and that you’re happy with whatever creative direction I choose to go. They are always a joy to read because first and foremost I’m getting to know my audience. Secondly, it feels so respectful and puts me in a comfortable position to keep writing and not feel stress or anxious about making my own decisions but still having the option to listen to a comment (IF i want to). So, thanks!
This entire chapter, I just kept making the doh-doh-doh sound out loud and my mum through a pillow at my face.
I love her so much, she my best friend for real.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jinu couldn’t sleep tonight.
Not that he hadn’t tried. He lay there, still as stone, tucked somewhere between the crook of Ah-bin’s chest, and someone— probably Ro-meyeon’s— head resting on his arm, letting the warmth of the other demon’s bleed into his body.
Not even in the soft, natural silence of their new home. Not even curled beneath the weight of warm limbs and slow, sleeping breaths.
But the moment his eyes closed, they were back.
Shadows of family came up from the ground to drown him and drag him under. A thing of the past behind a door he couldn’t keep closed. Gwi-ma’s flaming presence encompassed his mind, squeezing tight enough that he couldn’t breathe. His voice whispered, You’re running out of time. They’ll be mine soon.
Jinu opened his eyes with a gasp, sweat cold against his temples. The room was dim.
A pale blue slice of moonlight spilt in from the balcony door, slicing across the room and the bed.
He tried to shift, but something tightened around his chest—Ah-bin’s arm.
Still, the tremble in his hands wouldn’t stop. And he needed… distance. Maybe a walk… He needed quiet, space, and time to think. He gently reached up and placed his fingers around Ah-bin’s wrist, about to shift it—
The second he moved, Ah-bin’s arm locked around his waist, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies flush. Jinu exhaled a long, loving but tired sigh, forehead pressed to the other’s shoulder, eyes glazed in moonlight, “I’m fine,” he whispered even though no one was asking.
Ah-bin grunted in his sleep and pulled him closer instead, burying his face into Jinu’s neck. His grip tightened, like his subconscious was whispering Don’t.
Jinu sighed.
Fine.
A moment later, the bed shifted subtly as Jinu simply teleported out, slipping free of his clingy lover’s embrace.
-
He arrived in a cold village nestled along the side of a mountain. It was quite high up and had a cinematic view of the city — it wasn’t necessarily outdated, but it clung to an era that had long since passed. The streets were stone and crooked. Lanterns swayed gently in the mountain breeze.
He doesn’t know why he picked this location but in the blur of his nightmares and memories, it called out to him.
Jinu exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cool night air.
He wandered, boots quiet on the stone paths, through the silent streets, this place seemingly a ghost town when the lights went out. There was something about this place. It wasn’t a feeling comfortable enough to be nostalgia. It felt crueller and more daunting than that.
And then—there it was.
A staircase attached to a tavern. The wood seems to have lightened by the number of people who’ve sat on it.
Simple. Stupid. Crumbling from time and erosion. But the moment he laid eyes on it, something in his chest tugged. He stared, frozen, his heart thudding loudly in his ears as something unseen — the past version of himself —
Memories of his old bipa. Long days begging and bitter bitter envy singed into his mind.
”I can help you.”
“Shit,” Jinu cursed, clutching his throbbing head. He forced his mind to focus somewhere else.
And then he saw it, in the pitch black gap between two houses.
Two massive, beady eyes — large, unblinking, gold-rimmed — stared right at him from the shadows.
“What the hell—!”
Jinu’s entire body reacted before he could even process. He jumped back, claws out, fangs bared, stance defensive and ready to kill.
The shape eventually came into focus under the moonlight. It was a massive, lumbering beast, easily half his height even while lying down. Its tail was silent as it brushed against the stone, but the creak of its bones wasn’t. Every motion sounded with a jarring deep click.
Doh-doh-doh-doh.
Its fur was striped like a tiger but unnatural — Its fur was a pale blue, some aspects being pure white while most of it was coated in dirty black streaks that shimmered when it moved. Its face was feline, but warped: too long in the jaw, too wide in the eyes. Those jagged pointed teeth weren’t bared in aggression — they were simply always showing, a permanent grin carved into flesh.
Its eyes locked with Jinu’s. Yellow-orange, eerie, glowing with that sickly kind of sentience that made it feel less like a creature and more like a curse.
Demon.
There was no mistaking it.
A demon animal.
Jinu’s heartbeat slowed as he lowered his claws.
He couldn’t believe it.
Even in Hell, demon animals were whispered about with pity or scorn. They were the lowest rung in the twisted hierarchy — creatures that were born unlucky enough to be vulnerable to the wrath of Gwi-ma and other demons. When (forced or willingly) into submission by any entity superior to them, their souls were no longer their own, now owned by the individual who claimed them.
In hell, Jinu remembers his fellow demons using them for transport, as a vent for anger, and as fodder for bait (especially when Gwi-ma attacks). They had no free will after being claimed.
Only death freed them.
Yet this one… wasn’t bound.
It hadn’t been claimed. No sigils were carved into its hide. No glint of the burden of oppression in those large feline eyes. Its soul pulsed freely—alive.
And somehow, it survived. Survived Gwi-ma. Survived Hell. And had escaped through the honmoon (something even superior demons struggled with)… it was here. On Earth.
How had it made it this far?
How had it avoided being enslaved?
Jinu took a cautious step forward, curiosity getting the better of him.
The tiger’s head followed him, bone joints clicking with slow calculation. It didn’t move otherwise. Just stared. Unblinking. Patient. As if waiting for something.
Jinu frowned, uneasy. His power didn’t provoke a response. His demonic aura — rich and inhuman — should’ve set off instinct. Should’ve made the beast challenge him or flee. But this one didn’t react at all.
“…You’re not normal,” he murmured under his breath.
It was the eyes that disturbed, yet intrigued him the most.
They weren’t glassy or empty. They were too present. Alert in a way that made Jinu feel like he was being catalogued under ‘possible threat’ or ‘possible help’—neither of which he enjoyed.
Something tiny moved behind the beast’s paw.
At first, he didn’t pay it much mind—but the longer he stared, the clearer the shape became, and something black wriggled into view.
Tiny, unmoving. Black feathers ruffled and weak. A crow? No— a magpie— a demon magpie. This one was small. Too small. Six eyes, three on each side, blinked slowly and blearily. The top two eyes, stayed half-lidded, like it didn’t have the strength to fully open. Its wings were pressed tight to its sides. It didn’t caw, it didn’t croak—it sighed. A soft, high-pitched noise so faint it almost didn’t reach Jinu’s ears.
The tiger’s giant head dipped, its enormous jaws barely parting as it lowered its gaze to the little thing it had been shielding. That was why it hadn’t moved despite probably starving. It was protecting.
Flashes of how he cradled his boys just like that when they first came to earth appeared in his mind. Back then, they were starving and weak but refused to leave each other’s sides. They were family, after all. Just as pitiful as them.
Jinu blinked. A thought cut through his mind uninvited: “You all must be hungry, huh?”
These two are family to each other too.
Cute.
Jinu shut his eyes, catching the thought before it progressed any further, “No,” he muttered.
He turned on his heel without another glance. His hair whipped around his head as he strode away, quickly. He didn’t care. Demons didn’t do mercy. They didn’t stop for weakness, didn’t pause to pity. Hunger was the universal language of hell. It gave and took freely. If the animals weren’t strong enough to hunt, they’d go back to be Gwi-ma’s dinner. Simple as that. That was the way. Always had been.
Caring wasn’t part of the equation in this dog-eat-dog world.
It wasn’t natural.
And yet—
Not five minutes had passed before he had teleported back to the little walkway in a puff of pink smoke. His hand, bloodied, clamped over the mouth of some unfortunate man who had unluckily been the first human he saw when his logic lost to feelings. The human squirmed in his grasp, legs kicking against the ground, fingers scraping.
“Shhh,” Jinu whispered coldly.
Then he began the soul condensation.
The man screamed into his hand—muffled, desperate—before all breath left his body. His flesh slumped inward, muscles collapsing like wet paper. With a crackle and pulse, his soul, body and mind shrank down to a floating orb of pale blue light, flickering softly like a dying candle. Jinu let the physical remains fall with a thud, watching dispassionately as clothes, wallet, watch, and keys scattered across the dirt.
He walked forward.
The spirit fluttered about erratically in his hand. Jinu gripped it tighter, thumb pressed into its centre. With the slightest grunt of effort, he ripped the soul in half. It went completely and utterly still. He stopped just shy of the demon tiger, who still hadn’t moved, though its pupils were now slits. The magpie gave a weak chirp from the ground.
“Here,” he said, tone clipped, almost annoyed.
Annoyed at himself asking himself why he was doing this.
He crouched down and held one half of the bird first. The little thing paused—sceptical, somehow—but then began pecking greedily, jabbing its beak into the spirit like it hadn’t eaten in weeks. Which, judging by its patterns and tremble, it probably hadn’t.
The tiger still hadn’t moved.
Jinu turned to it, waving the other half slowly beneath its nose, “Come on,” he muttered, fingers twitching, “You can’t be as dumb as you look.”
The creature tilted its head again. Then, with a suddenness that nearly sent Jinu scrambling back, it lunged.
Its mouth engulfed his hand.
For one blinding second, Jinu truly thought it had bitten him. That those jagged, ridiculous teeth had closed over his wrist and crushed bone. But no—just warmth, saliva, and breath. No pain. No pressure. Its teeth hadn’t even grazed his skin.
Jinu pulled back, the soul gone, his entire hand drenched in thick spit.
“Yuck,” he muttered, flicking some of it onto the dirt.
He could feel the shift in the air. The way the energy pulsed, lightly, faintly. They were fed.
That filled him with a pride he didn’t quite understand.
Jinu stood and brushed his hands off on the wall. As he turned, he placed a hand on the tiger’s head and one on the bird’s—a gesture he didn’t know how to justify.
“Don’t follow me,” he said, “Goodbye.”
-
At first, Jinu pretended not to notice.
The distant pad of paws, the soft flutter of wings, the subtle brush of fur against him— all of it felt like minor annoyances. But by the time he reached the foot of the mountain trail, the tiger was walking next to him as though he had asked him to heel, tail lazily curling against Jinu’s leg. The little bird, meanwhile, had taken a liking to his head.
He batted at it with half-hearted malice, “What of don't follow me do you not understand?”
The bird squawked once and landed again, claws digging slightly into his scalp. The tiger huffed and rubbed its huge head against his thigh, like a grotesque, oversized housecat that didn’t understand personal space. Jinu looked down, stepping aside, only for it to follow. Again. And again.
After the fifth time, he stopped mid-step and stared at both of them, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The magpie blinked all six eyes at him. The tiger’s tongue lolled out slightly, eyes wide and unblinking.
“You can’t come with me,” he said finally.
The bird and tiger tilted their heads in sync.
He knew they understood him. Demon animals were smart. The absolute audacity to act like they didn’t understand him made his eye tick.
Jinu muttered a curse under his breath and turned to leave, “I’m going. You stay here. Go sleep in a forest… or hell, I don’t care.”
And with a curl of his hand and a flare of mist, he teleported home.
The air in the living room of the Saja house was still. Dim. Peaceful. The hum of the fridge in the nearby kitchen was the only ambient sound. Jinu exhaled in relief, letting the warmth of the walls settle in his bones. He stretched his arms and rolled his neck.
Peace.
Until the ground beneath him rumbled low and before him appeared an unnatural pool of blue light that brightened the entire room.
From it, slowly, two forms emerged upwards — graceful, eerie, unmistakable.
“What the—” Jinu started, staggering back, mouth already half open in disbelief.
The bird was perched on the tiger's head, and the tiger himself was sitting, just like a cat. Jinu stared at them as one might stare at a snake slithering into their room.
There was only one explanation.
“You didn’t…” he trailed off, staring at their eyes—unwavering, focused, waiting.
There was only one way a demon animal could track the location of a superior being. If their souls were owned by that superior being.
His eyes widened, “No. No, no, no. You did not—”
He whisper shouted, caught between fury and disbelief, “You submitted to me? Me?! Why?! What kind of miserable excuse for survival instincts do you have?!”
The tiger blinked slowly, utterly unfazed. The bird too levelled him with a look that screamed, ‘Are you done yet?’
Jinu paced in a tight circle, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Seriously. How have you lived so long? Just submitting to any demon who throws you a snack?! Gods below, you’ve got attachment issues!”
He very easily disregarded the fact that their submitting to him was one part of the puzzle. The other part is that, though subconsciously, he accepted a claim over them.
Before he could spiral further, the house lights flicked on.
He froze like a guilty child caught stealing candy.
Four figures stood at the door of the living room, sleep-heavy but very much alert. The light haloed them in soft yellow, pyjamas wrinkled, bed-hair on all of them. Hanbae was rubbing one eye, but his gaze sharpened as it dropped down to the tiger lounging on the carpet beside Jinu.
There was one beat of silence.
“Oh. My. God.… he’s so cute!” he uncharacteristically squealed.
He practically flew forward. The tiger rumbled softly and accepted the boy’s embrace, tongue lolling as it licked Hanbae’s cheek like a slobbery kiss.
“Ew. Gross, but I love him already,” Hanbae laughed deeply, burying his face into the striped fur.
Maybe Jinu let that boy watch too many cat videos.
Miseo, quieter, walked with a more measured gait. The magpie fluttered from Jinu’s head mid-flight, gliding down to land in the hollow of Miseo’s palm. They stared at each other for a long second—demon and bird—and then Miseo smiled, soft and brief.
Ro-meyeon and Ah-bin, now fully awake, looked between him, the tiger, the bird, and then back to Jinu. Their expressions were a perfect mix of amusement and confusion.
Jinu raised both hands slowly, “I—Actually, I have no explanation.”
Ro-meyeon raised a single brow, “You picked up strays.”
“I fed them once. I did not pick anything up. They picked me by force. This isn’t my fault.”
“Oh so,” Ah-bin said, deadpan, pointing at the demonic sigils burnt into the animal, “You’re the one who got forced to claim them?”
Jinu opened his mouth to argue but closed it a second later.
He cast his head down in defeat.
Hanbae was already lying on the floor, chuckling as the tiger rolled onto its back for belly rubs, “He’s staying. I don’t care what anyone says. He’s staying.”
The magpie chirped once and snuggled against Miseo’s chest, earning a soft pat on the head.
Jinu dropped onto the couch with a groan, burying his face in his hands, “This is a disaster.”
“It can’t be that bad. They’re…adorable,” Miseo said.
“No, I didn’t account for pets in my plan.”
“I mean, maybe if we can teach them to shift… There is fan service potential,” Ro-meyeon said with a smirk.
Jinu groaned louder.
The tiger licked Hanbae’s cheek again. Hanbae screeched indignantly.
Miseo scratched under the bird’s beak, and it let out a pleased trill. Ah-bin crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully, “We should name them.”
“We’re not naming them,” Jinu muttered.
Hanbae beamed, “Too late. I’m calling him Derpy.”
“You’re not—”
“And the bird’s Sussie,”
“Oh my god.”
Jinu slumped deeper into the couch in defeat as the tiger—Derpy, apparently—climbed onto the rug, all paws and bulk and terrible breath. The magpie—Sussie—flew up and landed on his head again like a crown he couldn’t shake.
Jinu stared at the ceiling. Already thinking about how he was gonna call the label tomorrow to ask for a giant pet bed and a bird's cage because they were definitely here to stay.
Notes:
I like italics :3
How’d you guys like it?? The lost pets have finally been found.
I’m really treating humans like infinite snacks its so funny.
Sorry if this feels like filler, the next three chapters are also gonnabe kinda filler. I just want to write a bit of fluffy moments and times before I get back to the plot y’know? That’s probably why I am pumping them out so fast cuz filler is easier to write. Anywho until next time? <3
Chapter 15: Flirting
Chapter Text
The alley was silent, save for the echoes of the scream.
Ro-meyeon stood still, lips parted, chest rising slowly as his throat flexed. The bluish orb pulsed in a long, slow drag down his throat, spirit vibrating in resistance. His hands pressed lightly against the alley wall as the soul passed his collarbone and hit his core.
He sighed heavily, his head tipping back to rest against the bricks behind him. The sharp edge of the bricks digging into his spine in a way that felt grounding. He licked his lips — slow and indulgent — relishing the trace residue of sweetness and fear still clinging to the corner of his mouth.
Delicious.
The human’s belongings lay in a sad heap at his feet as though the person inside had simply vanished. Which, of course, they had.
Ro-meyeon crouched and swept up the items and he dumped them all unceremoniously into a garbage bin at the alley’s edge, pressing the lid down with a heavy thud.
“Good riddance,” he muttered, stretching his shoulders languidly. He remained in his demon form for a beat longer than usual. He preferred it that way when he fed — it made the whole experience feel raw and real.
Plus he was alone.
Or so he thought.
A sudden high-pitched squeal, sharp and too cheerful, pierced through the stillness from just behind him. Ro-meyeon whipped around, heart stuttering just once as instinct took over. His body shimmered and his features melted into his human skin in the blink of an eye. He pressed himself further into the dark wall of the alley, cursing quietly beneath his breath.
A flash of white light nearly blinded him. He blinked furiously and staggered backwards, one hand raised defensively as if it could swat away the light.
When his vision cleared, he locked eyes with a girl already rushing into the alley to corner him.
“Romance!” she squealed again, stepping far too close, practically vibrating with excitement, “Oh my god, I’m a huge fan! You're my favourite Saja boy!” Her words came out rapidly not giving him a chance to say a word (so he just smiled awkwardly).
She was short, her hair gelled into two sticky spirals at the sides of her head—forming a… heart around her face. She clutched a phone in one hand and a laminated photocard in the other, the glossy image unmistakably him—Romance Saja, in stage makeup, mid-wink, mouth curled into a dangerous smile.
Ro-meyeon blinked, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Fans really did live vicariously through idols.
It would’ve been disturbing if it wasn’t so wildly convenient for their cause, goals and hunger.
She practically shoved the photocard into his face, “I waited three hours outside that music show last week, but you all disappeared! What do you think of my hair?! I—”
Ro-meyeon chuckled, the sound low and buttery as he took a step forward. His voice, when he spoke, came out rich as velvet and just as suffocating, “I love getting to know my fans.”
The girl froze. She even slammed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming, eyes wide in awe.
Her knees even wobbled.
God, humans were so easy.
Ro-meyeon tilted his head, carefully keeping his expression innocent. Do not eat the fan, do not eat the fan, he chanted to himself. He already has one fresh soul in his system and it alone could definitely keep him going for a while.
But today, he felt a bit greedy.
And who could blame him? I mean, she walked—skipped—her way into this herself.
It wasn’t every day that two humans walked straight into his grasp like eager little offerings on a silver platter—He felt himself salivate.
“I really feed off your energy,” he said with a low rasp, his voice coated in honey and threat.
The girl’s breath hitched as he closed the space between them with practised ease, his gaze intense, unreadable. Then—effortlessly—he kabedon’ed her against the cold brick wall, one palm pressed beside her head, the other loosely tucked into the pocket of his jeans. His body leaned forward, not touching, but hovering so close he could see her flush crimson.
The fan just nodded rapidly, her mouth moving before her brain caught up.
“Y-you’re so cool! That—that performance at the plaza? You were so cool, like insanely cool! My friend—Minji—she was crying the whole time you sang the bridge with Mystery, and I—I think I nearly fainted when you winked in the last chorus and—Oh my God, your hair! It’s just so good! And your stage presence—”
He barely listened as she babbled on, just focused on maintaining that coy smirk everyone fell for. The way her soul buzzed beneath her skin was more interesting. Ro-meyeon’s fingers hovered an inch from her forearm, claws just beginning to grow. He readied himself to sink in—slow, careful.
But then—
FLASH.
Another burst of white light stung his eyes, again.
Ro-meyeon stepped back immediately (attempting his best not to look panicked), eyes narrowing, claws retracting fast. He looked up, and what he saw made his jaw clench.
The alley’s mouth was now flooded with people.
A mob.
Twenty—no, thirty—fans at least. Phones out. Flashlights blinking. Voices rising.
The girl. This damn girl must have posted that picture she took and her location.
Ro-meyeon’s jaw clenched as he plastered the most dazzling smile he could muster on his face, barely holding back the guttural groan rising in his throat, “Hello everyone.”
The next hour was hell.
Pure, squealing, flash-popping, perfume-choked hell.
“Thank you for the support,” he said for what had to be the eighteenth time. He signed merch, arms, cheeks, napkins, and even someone’s baby. He posed for selfies smiling seductively in every pic. Fake laughter bubbled up like bile as fans tried to talk relatably with him.
The moment he saw a space between two fangirls shrieking over his photocard, with a hasty, “It was lovely meeting you all!”, he bolted.
-
Ro-meyeon was sweating through his shirt, chest rising and falling with shallow pants as he trudged up to the Saja house door. He slammed into the front door, opened it, and promptly slammed it shut again, back hitting the wood with a dull thud.
Then he slid down slowly, knees giving out until he dropped in a heap on the cool tile. His shoulders slumped as he tried to regulate his breath. One shaky inhale. Two.
Now having not only not gotten a 2nd meal, he burned energy unnecessarily while getting out of that exhausting fan mob.
All because he was feeling a bit greedy.
Woe to the glutton. The world is so cruel.
Before he could wallow in self-pity any longer, four very distinct shadows loomed over him.
He looked up slowly and was immediately met with a sight that sent a cold shiver up his spine. Four demons—his demons—stood in a semi-circle around him, arms crossed, expressions flat and unreadable. Their yellow eyes glinted with something dark and very, very unimpressed.
“Uh… good afternoon, sweethearts?” Ro-meyeon offered, voice falsely bright, his smile stretching a bit too wide, “Is everything… alright?”
Jinu cleared his throat.
It was loud. Purposeful.
Ro-meyeon winced. He was in trouble and his mind reeled to figure out why.
Without a word, Miseo peeled off to the side, his feet nearly silent on the floor. A few seconds later, he returned with the tablet.
The cursed little screen that was about to reap judgment and truth.
Without a word, he swiped once, twice, and then turned the screen toward Ro-meyeon.
“Exhibit A,” Jinu announced like a bored lawyer, turning the tablet slowly for all to see, “Instagram. Posted twenty-four minutes ago.”
The video was on loop — Ro-meyeon, smile so pretty and gaze so sincere looking it should be criminal, taking a girl’s hand, signing it in dramatic cursive… then pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
He tilted his chin up defiantly, “That’s just me being friendly.”
Hanbae didn’t speak. He simply pushed off Ah-bin’s side, walked over, and in one smooth motion reenacted the moment—taking Ro-meyeon’s hand in his, batting his lashes, and — without hesitation — kissed the back of it. Ro-meyeon flushed instantly, snatching his hand back with a hiss.
“What’s the matter? I’m just being friendly,” Hanbae said in a sugary sweet tone.
“Okay, okay, I get it.”
But it wasn’t over.
“Exhibit B,” Jinu said, voice bone-dry. He flicked to the next screenshot, this one from Twitter — a selfie Ro-meyeon had taken with a starry-eyed girl pressed far too close together. Worse yet, from this view, it looked like his hand was on her waist.
Ro-meyeon’s breath left his throat when Miseo came round and held him around the waist. Ro-meyeon’s voice pitched up slightly as he gestured wildly, “I didn’t touch her!”
He couldn’t see his eyes, but Ro imagined Miseo was squinting them in doubt, especially when his grip around his waist got that much tighter.
“I swear to you! My hand didn’t graze her!”
He looked desperately between his four lovers as they exchanged slow looks with each other and nodded in acceptance. The sigh he let out was of pure relief.
The relief was short-lasting.
Jinu slowly turned the tablet one final time.
“Exhibit C,” The leader said quietly, ominously.
The kabedon photo.
That stupid, perfectly framed, damning image of him cornering a fan in an alleyway.
A perfect, high-resolution photo of Ro-meyeon pinning a girl against an alley wall, face close, body language dripping with want. It had gone viral. The caption beneath it read: “Romance is giving us Mr Popular Playboy vibes and I’m here for it! That girl is so luckyyyy 🖤🩸 #RomanceSaja #MeNext #HaveMyBabies”
Ro-meyeon inhaled sharply, “Okay, look, that wasn’t what it—”
But before he could finish, bam.
A wall met his spine, and Ah-bin was suddenly in front of him. He slammed one arm against the door beside Ro-meyeon’s head, the other landing flat against the wood on the opposite side, boxing him in. The force rattled the entire frame, and the heat of the older demon’s body sent a flush right up Ro-meyeon’s neck. His breath caught in his throat.
Ah-bin leaned in, fangs just barely peeking out from beneath his lip.
“Does this feel friendly to you?” Ah-bin asked, voice rough and tinged with menace, Ro-meyeon blinked up at him, breathless and eyes wide.
There was a beat of silence.
“I-I just wanted to eat her soul!” he stammered out pathetically.
-
“I’m a terrible lover!”
Later that night, Ro-meyeon lay face down in the centre of their shared bed, sobbing dramatically into the pillow. His voice came out in a muffled wail.
He sniffled into the sheets, “I should be banished. I deserve to sleep in the bathtub. Or the trash. Put me back in the dumpster where I belong.”
“You’re not a terrible lover,” Jinu said with a sigh as he patted the crying demon's head, “What you are is reckless.”
“I didn’t mean to be so flirty,” Ro-meyeon mumbled into the pillow.
“You already have been, what’s done is done,” Miseo said absently, sitting against the headboard, not caring for his dramatics
“That’s not the point,” Jinu muttered, sending a glare to Miseo who just shrugged and went back to reading, “The point is we are only an up-and-coming K-pop group. You get caught in a scandal right now and it could compromise it all.”
Ro-meyeon finally lifted his head from the pillow, sniffling once more, “I deserve death,” he said before slamming his head back into the pillow.
”No—.”
Hanbae plopped onto the bed beside Ro-meyeon, “I don’t care that you flirted,” he admitted matter-of-factly, “I care that I wasn’t there to punch the human.”
“Helpful,” Jinu said, tone completely void of amusement.
“Thank you,” Hanbae said back without missing a beat.
Ah-bin sat on the edge of the bed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “You’re ours, Ro. Don’t ever forget,” His voice was calm, but the tinge in it simmered low, jealous and dangerous, “But that being said, we just care for your safety.”
“Look,” Jinu said, voice shifting to something colder, more calculated, “What if the Huntr/x girls saw that tweet at the right time? You’d have been all on your own and then what next?”
Ro-meyeon’s dramatic sobbing faltered.
He hadn’t thought about that.
Ro-meyeon lifted his head slowly. His eyes were red from crying, lashes damp and cheeks puffed from his dramatic spiral. He looked between them, his voice small, “Wait… so you guys aren’t mad at me for flirting?”
“Unfortunately, no. You’re a natural flirt, we can’t take that away from you,” Jinu muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “We’re mad because if something had gone wrong… you’d be gone..”
Ro-meyeon blinked fast and forced the lump in his throat back down. He gripped the nearest pillow, squeezing it to his chest like a lifeline.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, voice cracking, “I was stupid, I know I was. I wasn’t thinking. I just got… overly enthusiastic about how we’re doing and felt…”
”Untouchable?” Miseo finished for him and Ro-meyeon nodded quickly.
”We aren’t there yet,” Jinu sighed, standing up, “But when we are Ro, you won’t have to flirt to get food anymore. So just… be careful and no more alley kabedons, okay?”
Ro-meyeon nodded, sniffling, “No more kabedons. Promise.”
A beat.
“Unless it’s you guys,” he added daringly, glancing up with a weak, but confident again, grin.
Ah-bin smirked, crawling deeper into the bed to join them, “Now that’s acceptable fanservice.”
Notes:
I headcanon Romance to be a person who accidentally flirts with everything.
How did you guys like this, hope you enjoyed <3
Enjoy these shenanigans and fluff moments while they lasts… cuz who knows when they’ll y’know. Stop.
Heh. Heh…
Chapter 16: Dance
Notes:
Nah guys I was scrolling through my inbox rereading (yes rereading) some of y’all comments AND I had the biggest freak out when I fat fingered “select all” and “delete from inbox”. I was there thinking I deleted them everywhere
Turns out i didn’t so I breathe a sigh of relief for that!
Enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“So,” Miseo began slowly, arms folded across his chest as he stood stiffly in the centre of the living room, “You’re saying I should go live on this… device?”
He gestured at the black laptop open on the table in front of him like it had personally insulted him, its screen glowing innocently with a blank livestream interface. Jinu sat cross-legged on the couch, tapping away at it as he prepared whatever digital witchcraft he had in store for him.
“Yes,” Jinu said without looking up.
Miseo held the tripod between two clawed fingers as if it were diseased before placing it down. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his bangs, “So humans can… watch me do stuff?”
“Yes.”
“In our house.”
“Precisely.”
There was a long pause. The expression on his face was one of quiet judgment, like someone being told for the first time what a reality show was, “Like creeps?”
Jinu finally looked up, yellow eyes amused, “Like fans, Miseo. Like fans.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Fans we need to love us if we want to keep weakening the honmoon.”
Miseo made a vague grunting noise, nose scrunching in displeasure.
Jinu pressed on, “The choreography version of Soda Pop dropped a few days ago. Numbers are already climbing—especially for the dance clips.” He gave Miseo an expectant look, “Guess what they’re obsessed with?”
Miseo’s eyes narrowed again, tilting his head in utter confusion.
Jinu groaned, rubbing his temples, “You. The ‘Mystery’ behind the Saja Boys' choreographer. Humans are obsessed with figuring out what they don’t know. You, being the quiet one, makes them want to know more.”
“I am… not sure that’s a good thing.”
“It’s perfect.” Jinu stood, grabbing the tripod with one hand and the laptop with the other, “You don’t need to talk much. Hell, you don’t need to talk at all. For half an hour, you’ll be Mystery Saja. Silent. Brooding. Understand?”
Miseo just blinked again.
Jinu pushed a palm into his face, “Please just… be yourself.”
“Humans are weird.”
“Useful.” Jinu corrected as he led (dragged, Miseo would argue) Miseo through to the back section of the house, where one of the spare rooms had already been converted into a minimalistic dance studio. Jinu shoved the door open with his foot, marched in, and set up the tripod in a decent spot before placing the laptop on the studio bench and clicking a few more things.
Miseo stood just outside the door silently, arms still crossed. His silvery purple hair fell even deeper over his eyes as he looked at the wooden floors like he was being led to an execution.
The tripod sat ominously in the corner like a watching sentinel, the camera blinking its red dot with a sort of foreboding warning at what he was about to have to do.
Why is it blinking at him?
This is why he liked books.
“There,” Jinu said, looking towards the doorway, “That’s all ready for you now all you gotta do is— Miseo get back here.”
Miseo, who had skillfully levitated three inches off the floor and started levitating backwards to escape, cursed under his breath as Jinu yanked him right back in.
“You’ll be fine,” Jinu promised, “Just be yourself. Do something Mystery-esque—and don’t forget to be silent and aloof.”
“This is—”
“—for the Honmoon. For survival, remember?” Jinu added in a low voice, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.
He was blocking his escape.
The damn mockery.
Miseo didn’t argue this time. He simply nodded once, curtly, in resignation.
“Thank you, love you, bye!” And with that, Jinu slammed the door shut.
Miseo looked toward the mirror with the same intensity he used to survey the planes of hell. His demon features shimmered ever so slightly before smoothing back into his human form. Aloof. Enigmatic. The very image of the untouchable dancer.
Miseo blinked.
And he was alone.
In front of a camera.
After a long pause, he moved the mouse up to the corner of the screen, clicked the glowing red “LIVE” button.
He clicked it.
The chat exploded with activity—messages that scrolled too fast to read, usernames flying past with hearts and emojis. Miseo stared at the camera lens, stone-faced, unmoving.
The chat didn’t care.
“OMG HE’S LIVE???”
“HIS FACE OMGGGGG”
“SPEAK. PLEASE. JUST SAY SOMETHING I’LL PAY YOU.”
“MYSTERYYYYYY I’M GONNA BARK”
Hundreds of people were flooding in like insects to light, and he could almost feel their breath through the screen, no matter where in the world they were. He wasn’t sure what expression he was supposed to wear, or how to talk to somebody who wasn’t talking to him.
He had performed in front of screaming crowds, fought tooth and claw against monsters three times his size, survived being hunted across centuries—and yet something about this felt… unnervingly intimate.
He cleared his throat, “Uh… hi.”
It came out too low, too soft, and he cringed a little inwardly. Still, he pressed on, reaching for the rehearsed lines Jinu had drilled into him just an hour ago, “I’m Mystery. The Saja Boys' choreographer and main dancer. Thank you for joining my live,” He stared at the camera again, then forced a small, gentle—he hoped wasn’t visibly awkward—smile onto his face.
The effect was instant.
The chat exploded.
He read some of them aloud under his breath, voice dry, “‘I would die if he looked at me.’ ‘Please step on me.’ ‘Does he even know how hot he is?’” A pause, “Wow.”
He didn’t react outwardly, but internally, he was side-eyeing humanity harder than he ever had before. A few comments were so outrageously explicit that he had to turn his head slightly just to keep his expression neutral.
Humans are deeply, deeply depraved.
Still, he didn’t let it show, instead keeping that faint, unreadable air to him.
He scrolled lazily through the chat. He answered some of the normal questions. What’s your favourite food? Do you have any hobbies? The like.
He ignored all the too-personal questions, eyes skimming passed them without a second glance. Love life. Dating history. Relationship status. Over and over, in different words, in different tones.
He remembered Jinu’s voice ringing in his ear from earlier: “Under no circumstances do we ever discuss our romantic connections, got it?” The warning had been stern, almost parental.
So, yeah. Sorry, overly invasive commenters. Live in mystery.
“Where did I learn how to dance?” he echoed, reading one aloud. He tilted his head as if genuinely pondering, “I don’t remember. It feels like I’ve always known.”
Then, the chat screamed another question at him—bold, flashing caps all over:
“FREESTYLE DANCE PLEASE????”
Miseo blinked slowly, “I’ve… never done that before,” he admitted truthfully, his voice still low and casual, He leaned forward slightly, the camera picking up every detail of his pale, luminous skin and the strange, ethereal calm that clung to him.
“But I guess I can give it a shot.”
A flood of song recommendations appeared instantly in chat.
He clicked on one blindly.
A soft piano filtered through the speakers, slow, mournful, but hauntingly beautiful. The kind of ballad that sounded like smoke from a chimney on a cold morning, or the echo of rain on a stone courtyard. Something stirred inside him.
He stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from his thighs, and stepped back far enough for the camera to catch his full frame. His head tilted. The melody climbed, tentative. And then…
He moved.
Fluid.
Controlled.
He didn’t dance like someone learning it—he danced like the music had come from inside him. Like his bones had been waiting for it. His expression never changed—but his body told a different story.
His limbs began to flow with a softness unlike anything he’d ever channelled before, something older, quieter—sacred, almost. His arms arched like branches caught in the wind as his toes pointed and spun along the floor.
“THE KING KNOWS BALLET?!?.”
“The arch on his foot… THE ARCH?? I CAN’T”
“THE DUALITY GOT ME IN A CHOKEHOLD I’M TELLING YOU.”
In that moment, he forgot he was live and let his movements take him away.
This is what he was born to do. Dance. He knows it.
So what could’ve gone wrong—
“…got a birth defect. I’m sorry. Your son will never look normal.”
Oh. Yes. He had been hideous. That’s what went wrong.
He remembered a ballet classroom: His back had been straight, his hands arched with precision—perfect form—but the faces turned toward him had been twisted with open disgust. One girl had cried when asked to partner with him. The teacher didn’t stop her.
Despite his passion, he was met with bitter and absolute rejection in every corner of his walking life.
Especially from parents… “You’re not a child, you’re a mistake.”
That night, alone, weeping into his tattered bedding, he’d heard the voice whisper.
“I can make you better. Let me show you beauty.”
He remembers that, without hesitation, he said yes.
Flashes of change came to mind. A new nose. Skin like glass. Beautiful
But did he feel it?
No.
Not when he looked alien in his reflection.
The only happy memory he has was dancing. It was all he wanted to do.
Even as everything else slipped away—his family, his identity, his body—dancing remained.
It was the one thing his mind recognised as real from his human life.
It was still his.
And it filled him with life… because he felt beautiful.
Miseo froze where he stood when the music came to an end sooner than he realised.
“HE’S SUCH A GOOD DANCER.”
“OH MY GOD HE’S HOT.”
“TO SEE HIS EXPRESSION WHEN HE DANCES—PLEASE.”
“I SWEAR I SAW HIS EYES—”
“SCREENSHOT OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.”
He didn’t even know he was crying until the tear broke loose, slipping down his cheek in silence. It startled him when it reached his jaw, tickling its way along his skin, and he caught it quickly with a sharp breath, swiping it away with the back of his hand as if it hadn’t happened.
For a moment, he just stood there, his chest rising and falling with soft, controlled breaths. The air felt thick in his lungs, warm in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries. A good kind of warm.
He walked to the laptop slowly, grounding himself, face as unreadable as ever. Sitting down, he leaned slightly into frame, avoiding his own reflection on the screen.
“…Thank you for watching,” he said simply. The low resonance of his voice was calm now, but there was a strange tremble behind it, that he doubts the viewers would notice, “That’s all for today. Goodbye.”
He clicked the red button.
The screen blinked dark.
Silence returned to the studio like a breath held too long finally being released.
Miseo stood and walked out without speaking, the door sliding shut behind him. As he entered the living room, the warmth of home settled over him. The soft scent of honey cake lingered in the air from where Ah-bin, Ro-meyeon and Hanbae were baking in the kitchen. Jinu sat on the couch, back resting against a plush pillow, tablet in hand, golden demon eyes on the screen’s glow.
Wordlessly, the silver-haired boy crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside him. Their shoulders touched. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was grounding, a kind of intimacy they didn’t need to explain.
“I watched your stream,” Jinu said after a beat, his voice low and sincere, not his usual smooth-talking persona but the voice only his lovers heard, “…You were beautiful.”
He turned his head then, reaching out to gently brush a lock of silver hair from Miseo’s face to see his eyes. His hand lingered there, “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes glinting with something fiercely protective.
Miseo stared ahead for a few seconds, trying to find the words. But what he felt… it was almost impossible to name. It was like his body remembered something that had been taken from him—something sacred. And dancing like that, like he wasn’t being watched, like he didn’t belong to Hell, like he didn’t need his beauty to shine bright—that had made him feel free in a way only two other things had: Crossing the honmoon and meeting his lovers.
“Yes,” he said finally, voice hoarse but sure. He turned his head slightly, letting it rest against Jinu’s shoulder, “I’m…great, actually.”
And for the first time that day, he smiled. Truly smiled.
Notes:
3 of 4 backstories hinted at lets go. Mystery, baby, you’re gorgeous.
Fun fact, I was going to use some of you readers as usernames for the people who were exploding Mystery’s chat but I didn’t go through with it because there weren’t enough lines to include all my MCCs (Most Consistent Commenters). Sighhhhss.
Anyways how did you find it <3 comment, kudos, thoughts, tags and mistakes the usual.
Last filler in the next one. I have the next chapter already written (and im so excited for you guys to read it)… Do I double post?? 😬😬😬
See you again soon… maybe
Chapter 17: Overtime
Notes:
So…Funny story, I was in an accident, banged my head and have been in A&E for the past 6 hours and I am in excruciating pain right now… so to try distract myself from the pain im in rn I edited this chapter (which means it has a bunch of mistakes)
I’m BST btw so it currently 00:smth. i think its mad I’m still waiting.
Enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The glow of three tabs illuminated the room in shifting blues and whites, casting sharp light across Jinu’s face as he typed furiously, fingers clattering against the keyboard. One tab displayed a countdown timer synced to the Saja Boys’ first major appearance on live television—nineteen hours and two minutes left. Another tab was open with an article detailing ‘Play Games with Us.’ Another opened as he typed out a script for himself and his boys. He briefly checked the email confirmation for the time and location again… for the 32nd time before going back to typing.
Better safe than sorry.
Derpy and Sussie were curled up in the corner of the room, already dead to the world. The tiger’s massive body sprawled upside-down across the plush cat bed, his limbs limp and mouth agape in sleep, thick tail twitching unconsciously. Sussie the magpie, barely the size of the tiger’s paw, was nestled in the fluff of his belly, his six eyes closed peacefully.
Jinu checked the clock again. 8:58PM.
He glanced down at his phone. He opened the clock app anyway, scrolling through the twelve alarms he’d set between 5am and 7:30am just in case the universe dared betray him. One for waking up. One for the group of them who would oversleep. One as a buffer in case he didn’t. One for the buffer’s backup. Another for the time they need to. And eight more for good measure.
It had to be perfect.
No oversleeping was allowed.
No mistake to be—
The door creaked behind him, and the sound was so soft it would’ve gone unnoticed to a human. But Jinu’s ears twitched. Jinu didn’t turn his head to confirm who it was.
“Jinuuuuuu,” behind him, a voice—deep, rich, sleep-laced—draweled out. Hanbae.
Jinu glanced over his shoulder for a fraction of a second. Hanbae was hanging off the door handle upside down like a bored child dangling from monkey bars. His hair hung down obeying gravity and he looked silly.
“Yes, baby?” Jinu answered absentmindedly, eyes darting back to the blinking monitor.
Hanbae pouted at the lack of attention. With a huff, he released the handle, landing on the balls of his feet, and moved silently across the room. He slipped behind Jinu’s chair before looping his arms around his hyung’s neck and leaning in, lips brushing the shell of Jinu’s ear before placing a soft, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Jinu sighed through his nose, leaned back slightly, and brought one hand up to cradle the back of Hanbae’s head. When their lips met, the kiss was far from lazy. Jinu’s fingers threaded through the back of Hanbae’s hair as he deepened the kiss, letting himself lose five seconds, then six, then seven, lost in the familiar warmth, the quiet intimacy of someone he loved.
But too soon, Jinu pulled back.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said softly.
Hanbae blinked, all innocence, “I just wanted a kiss.”
“No, you want to be a distraction.”
“Is it working?”
“…Yes.”
They both laughed gently.
Hanbae tugged the chair so it turned, forcing Jinu to face him properly. He leaned his head against Jinu’s chest, pressing close, the way he always did when he wanted something. Hanbae’s lips curled into a sly smile, “Come watch a movie with us,” he said, voice husky from sleep or excitement—Jinu couldn’t tell, “Please?”
Jinu smiled apologetically, already trying to compose an excuse.
“I can’t. Not tonight. I’ve got to plan for tomorrow.”
“Mm-mm.” Hanbae shook his head against his chest, his deep voice soft but unwavering, “You’ve been at this since this morning. The world won’t end if you shut the laptop for two hours.”
“This is really important—”
Hanbae pulled back and looked at him, “Tomorrow won’t matter, if you're burnt out.”
Jinu exhaled sharply, rubbing his eyes as he turned to face his laptop again.
He’ll rest when the world kneels.
“I’ll be out in a bit. I promise. I just want to finalise some things.”
Hanbae frowned but nodded, defeated, “Just take a break. You don’t have to come now, just… come soon, okay?”
“Alright,” Jinu relented, “I’ll try to be done by ten.”
Hanbae grinned in triumph. He turned to go, but not before pressing a quick kiss to Jinu’s jaw.
He cursed softly, shoved his fingers through his hair, and started typing faster.
-
It was now 10:22pm. Jinu, once again, checked the clock. Then set a thirteenth alarm—just in case.
He, hunched slightly at his desk, was deep in what he called engagement maintenance.
The glowing window of the Saja Boys official account was on his screen. His fingers danced across the keyboard with calculated charisma, each keystroke a weapon. He liked posts, reposted videos and commented on edits—anything.
Every fan interaction mattered. That’s how they got them.
He sighed, closing one tab just as another popped open with a compilation video titled “Saja Boys: 10 Seconds to Simp.” Jinu clicked it, watched a second of Ro-meyeon blinking in slow motion before grinning at the camera, then typed out a generic response.
The door creaked gently, and Jinu didn’t even look up at first, assuming it was Hanbae again. But the steps were heavier.
Jinu barely had time to shift his eyes before a kiss landed gently against his forehead.
Ah-bin.
“Here,” Ah-bin said as he placed a mug down beside Jinu’s elbow. The rich scent of chocolate wafted up, tinged with cinnamon and marshmallows. His other hand, warm and calloused, slid up the side of Jinu’s face, “Extra marshmallows just how you like it. Figured you could use something warm.”
Jinu blinked once at the mug, then softened visibly, his spine relaxing just slightly. He leaned into the touch, not fully away from the keyboard, but enough for Ah-bin to see the gratitude flicker in his eyes.
“Thank you,” Jinu murmured, “Really.”
Ah-bin smiled, the larger man’s hand lingered briefly on Jinu’s before stepping back, “Hop off the device when you can, yeah? We miss you.”
Jinu chuckled tiredly and gave a half-hearted nodded, though his fingers still hovered over the keyboard, itching to refresh again, “I will. Just… a bit more.”
Ah-bin gave him an uncertain look before leaving, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
The hot chocolate steamed faintly beside him.
-
By the time he looked up again, the clock on his screen had flipped: 11:17pm.
The mug was still full, except now it’s cold.
The document Jinu had open—had the schedule Jinu planned for the Saja Boys. The entire next month was plotted down to the minute, color-coded into specific categories.
But that wasn’t enough.
As Jinu flipped to the next tab, starting to perfect the outline for the next three months. He whispered to himself under his breath,
You can never be too prepared, he told himself again. Right?
Right.
His eyes stung. His spine ached. But there was always one more thing to lock in. He hadn’t moved anything but his eyes and fingers in the past 40 minutes.
The door swung open without ceremony, breaking his tunnel of focus.
Ro-meyeon entered, carrying with him the faint scent of tea tree oil and crushed avocado. A lime green face mask plastered artfully across his demon skin. He wore a silken robe far too open at the chest and an expression that screamed ‘I’m better than you.’.
“Jinu,” Ro-meyeon said, planting a hand on his hip, “I need to do your skin care before bed. Hop to.”
Jinu didn’t look up from the laptop.
Ro-meyeon clicked his tongue.
He made his way over, his long fingers immediately tugging Jinu’s hunched shoulders back into proper alignment, “Posture, babe. You’ll start looking like a shrimp.”
He leaned forward, reaching past Jinu to adjust the screen brightness, “And your screen’s gonna fry your retinas. You wanna perform blind?”
“I’d manage,” Jinu murmured, still typing.
Ro’s hands landed softly on Jinu’s shoulders, as he leaned into his neck, pressing a kiss to the skin just below his ear, letting his hands slip down the chest of his shirt. His voice dropped to a sultry whisper, “Come to bed… please,” he purred, “I promise to take extra good care of you.”
Horny bastard.
Jinu, to his credit, didn’t freeze—he just shivered and without looking, reached up with one hand and swatted lazily at Ro-meyeon’s groping hand, “Not now.”
Ro-meyeon groaned and slumped forward, draping himself dramatically over Jinu like a tired cat.
“I reduce myself to begging,” he muttered into his shoulder blade, “and this is what I get?”
“I just need five more minutes.”
Ro-meyeon lifted his head slowly, expression incredulous beneath his skin-saving mask, “You said the same to the others.”
“…I forgot.”
“Liar.”
There was silence.
Ro-meyeon sighed, stepping back. He crossed the room, pausing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. The green of the mask had begun to dry and crack in the shape of his scowl.
“Promise me, Jinu.”
Jinu’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second.
He turned just slightly in his chair to glance at Ro-meyeon—noticing the way his brows furrowed in concern, a soft tiredness around his demon-yellow eyes despite the attitude.
Jinu reached up to hold one of Ro-meyeon’s hands, offering a tired smile that was genuine if not hesitant, “I’ll be there in five,” Jinu said, softer this time, “Promise.”
That seemed to satisfy him, or at least, Ro-meyeon was too sleepy to argue. He smirked coyly as he kissed the knuckles of Jinu’s hand (which did not make him blush) and walked out of the office.
Jinu returned to the screen, pulling open another tab.
He just needed five more minutes. Just five. Then he’d rest. Then he’d stop.
Just five.
-
12:47am.
It was well past midnight now. He’d already completed their month-long plan, but that wasn’t enough. Now he was sketching concepts for their first EP, meticulously piecing together moodboards, aesthetic tones, promotion routes, that walked the tightrope of becoming timeless or flopping. Everything had to be perfect. Perfect styling, perfect fan interactions, perfect concept.
Because if it wasn’t… Huntr/x could win.
Because failure wasn’t just a risk—it was a death sentence.
One misstep. One undercooked idea. One slip in perception or performance or timing, and it wouldn’t just be a failed idol dream. No. It would be death—permanent—for the people he loved most. If even one of them got dragged back to Hell…
Jinu didn’t need imagination to picture what would come next. Gwi-ma wouldn’t wait. The second a demon was sent back, injured and drained and broken from the force of the honmoon, they were devoured. Not just eaten—consumed, whole. To suffer in an endless loop of their minds, souls and bodies being broken down for eternity.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.
So he kept going.
Jinu’s hands began trembling. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck. His chest seized as his vision clouded. The shadows came alive, all pointing at him. All blaming. All screaming in silent accusation.
He didn’t realise he was hyperventilating until he felt something nudge against his side. Not something—someone.
Derpy, his ridiculous tiger demon companion, had crept beside him. The massive beast lowered his body to the floor and gently pushed his nose against Jinu’s thigh. His eyes—usually glassy and vague—were wide now with worry, ears pinned back. The soft, low rumble of concern came from his throat.
But Jinu couldn’t hear him. Not properly. The panic was climbing, clawing up his spine like hot wires wrapping around his ribs. His throat tightened, breath stuttered.
So he buried himself in tabs and folders, as he typed out ideas that needed to be perfect. Drafted emails he’d send out at a better time asking for budget and dates to be pushed forward. His jaw was tight. His spine arched forward with tension. He couldn’t stop. Not when their entire freedom depended on this success, their hunger, their survival, their power—
And then, without warning, a loading symbol appeared on his screen.
Then it went dark.
Jinu blinked, stunned. His fingers were still poised over the keys as if muscle memory refused to believe it. Jinu’s eyes, wide with panic, snapped to the doorway.
There stood Miseo, leaning against the frame, swinging the unplugged Wi-Fi router by its cord like a pendulum. He didn’t look particularly apologetic.
“You’re spiraling,” Miseo added, stepping in slowly, no judgment in his tone, just cold, certain observation, “I haven’t seen you like this since that night you were convinced Hanbae was going to get dragged back.”
Jinu’s breath hitched at that memory. He remembered the fear that had gripped him then.
He stood, breath growing uneven, cheeks flushed, his whole body trembling as he staggered out of his seat. His legs buckled. From lack of movement or from how dizzy he felt. He couldn’t tell.
“I’m just trying to make sure nothing goes wrong! This—This has to work, Miseo. Cause if it doesn’t—Everything would—and I would—”
A choked up sob broke out of him that screamed of awful helplessness. He gripped the back of his chair like a lifeline as the first tear streaked down his cheek
“I can’t lose you,” he rasped, “I can’t lose any of you. If I fail—even once—it’s over. It’s not just exile, Miseo. It’s Gwi-ma. It’s death. And I can’t—I can’t—”
Miseo was beside him before he could crumble all the way to the floor, arms catching his frame like the silent, dependable shield he’d always been. He said nothing for a long time, just let Jinu bury his tear-stained face in the crook of his shoulder, his claws digging into his sides.
“I know,” Miseo finally murmured.,“I know you’re scared. I am too,” He rubbed Jinu’s back in slow, even circles, “But you’re not alone in this. Do you have any idea how scared we are seeing you work yourself to death?”
“I can’t stop—.”
“You need to stop,” Miseo said, voice calm, absolute, “Just for now. Jinu, listen to me. We want you at your best and we want to do what we can to help… First thing? Come to bed.”
Jinu eventually nodded as Miseo took his hand in his own—cool and calming—and led him out the oppressive feeling office room. They walked slowly, quietly down the hall. Jinu’s feet felt like dead weight. His hand trembled in Miseo’s, but the younger demon held his hand firmly.
God. Jinu was supposed to be the oldest. What was he doing?
They entered the bedroom, and all three heads turned at once.
Ah-bin, Ro-meyeon, Hanbae—all sat up instantly. Their eyes were wide with concern, alarm flooding their faces at the sight of their leader: tear-streaked, exhausted, emotionally bare in a way he rarely ever allowed. Jinu halted, uncertain, but Miseo gave his hand a squeeze.
And then it all poured out.
His fears. His sleepless nights. His anxieties, his obsessive need to perfect every detail because otherwise something might slip and that something could kill them all. He told them how he felt responsible for anything that happened as their leader. How terrified he was that if he cracked, the whole tower would collapse.
He didn’t even realise he was crying again until Ro-meyeon cupped his cheeks and kissed each cheek gently, “So your everyday thought was if something bad happened, you’re a failure?” he whispered tenderly, “You idiot.”
Ah-bin wrapped his massive arms around him from behind, “You should’ve said something,” he muttered gruffly, but his voice wavered, “You take care of us so much, Jinu and it’s because of you we’re where we are. Stop discrediting yourself.”
Hanbae curled into his side, clutching his arm tightly, “We don’t need a perfect leader, hyung. We just need you and for you to let us take care of you sometimes.”
Jinu sank into the center of the bed and they all piled around him, limbs entangled, foreheads brushing. They whispered affirmations: We love you. You don’t have to do this alone. We’re stronger together. They stroked his hair. They kissed his cheeks. They held him like he was something perfect.
And Jinu remembered that, to them, he was.
He fell asleep wrapped in their arms, heart light, breath steady, his last thought a whispered truth:
Maybe letting go wasn't a weakness.
Jinu started tearing up again—but it was softer now. Quieter. Not panic. Not fear.
Just… release.
Notes:
Writing this kind of reminded me of me and my friend group. It’s just the five of us and especially during exam period they were always tryna get me to put the revision away and sleep, play or relax. I never listened to them though. One time my gf literally contacted my mother and showed up unannounced (to me) to force me to go out (i had so much fun though). It all boiled to a head when since I was so burnt out, exams went shit and they were the ones who still comforted me as I cried and let it all out.
This is why it’s so important to have people around you who care. Even when you hole yourself up, if ur with people you trust it will eventually come spilling out and allows you to be vulnerable.
Anyways! How did yall find that let me know in the comments <3
Back to the plotttt
Chapter 18: Game Show
Notes:
You guys thought the ao3 curse would defeat me?! NEVER! I’m a bounce back QUEEN
But on a serious note, thanks for all your concern in the comments. I’m doing much better than yesterday (i was in SHOCK you can’t understand) but I’m so pissed i was in hospital all day yesterday instead of relaxing at home. They stitched me up, gave me painkillers and sent me on my merry way. So all is good. Mostly.
My head still hurts.
But i'm done giving af. My mum is doing enough worrying for the pair of us combined.
Enjoy everyone <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The set of Play Games With Us was white. A pure sterile white that should’ve made the five of them look like eyesores with how they were dressed.
But of course, they were the Saja boys and could never be anything but hot.
Even when—courtesy of Ro-meyeon—they were drenched head-to-toe in preppy shades of pink.
They all had tight skinny jeans on (that had been a struggle to slip into) and Jinu, Ah-bin and Ro-meyeon had the classic button-up shirts. Ah-bin had spent the whole time getting ready complaining about how Ro-meyeon intentionally got a size too small for him.
Hanbae and Miseo were dressed in their signatures though: An oversized jumper that passed his wrist and a sharp V-neck sweater vest, respectively.
Under the harsh hot studio lighting, Jinu caught himself feeling bad for them.
Especially because of their next challenge.
It had been three relentless hours of games: the kind of low-stakes, high-energy chaos designed to showcase charm, chemistry, and hidden talents. And now, they were in the final segment.
The Hot Sauce Chugging Challenge.
The rules were simple. Saja Boys vs the show’s “handsome” co-host. First to tap out loses. The twist? Everyone had to do it dressed as babies.
The moment the segment started, five high chairs were wheeled in. Pink, plastic, and squeaky. On each table, there were bibs, stitched with sparkly letters spelling out their stage names: JINU. ABBY. MYSTERY. ROMANCE. BABY.
Jinu was screaming on the inside even as he tied the bib around his neck with a smile on his face.
Even the bottles were baby-themed, capped with rubber teats—except instead of warm milk or juice, they were filled with blazing, tear-inducing ghost pepper sauce.
Jinu—who’d already downed half a bottle before realising what hell this would be—was sitting hunched in his high chair, lips chapped and face pale, an expression of pure existential surrender
All at once, he remembered he really hated the infantilization and enjoyment of torturing done by fans on their idols…
“That is one hot flaming Jinu,” the host quipped brightly, ignoring the fact that he looked dead inside.
“Abby is down!” the host announced gleefully as Ah-bin collapsed in slow motion into the chair, the legs of it rocking slightly against the floor. He gripped the arms dramatically, head lolling back as he stuck out his tongue, which was now a violent shade of red. His shirt accidentally rolled up, revealing the glorious stretch of his carved abdomen. The camera casually zoomed in.
Miseo took his final sip. But as the burning hit him, his mostly concealed face flushed a deep scarlet. He placed the bottle down with careful precision and allowed a single, dramatic tear to roll down his cheek, “Mystery is history,” the host declared. Miseo did not object, his head gently resting on the table like he was about to drift into permanent slumber.
Ro-meyeon didn’t go out so much as combust.
He sucked down the bottle until his lips puffed out, nose scrunching, and with a dramatic wheeze he collapsed forward, cheek slapping the surface of the table, “Romance is out… due to heartburn?”
Ro-meyeon groaned against the plastic.
All that was left was Hanbae.
The smallest and youngest of the group looked around with an unbothered look on his face as the host turned to him with a comically shocked expression, “Baby Saja is the last one standing! Can he beat my handsome co-host?!”
The co-host, initially flushed and confident, rocked side to side in his own high chair. He took another suck from his bottle. Then another.
And then, slowly, like an animatronic losing power, he tilted. He let out a garbled noise, and with one final tremble, he keeled over sideways in the seat.
“And Baby Saja is the winner!”
Baby Saja pulled the bottle from his lips, lifted it slightly in mock cheers toward the cameras, and said, voice dripping in sarcasm: “Goo goo gaga.”
Jinu sighed and rolled his eyes. The deal they had made was that everyone did at least one thing kind to their public personas… Well, at least everyone ended up doing something.
But Hanbae saying ‘Goo goo gaga,’ in the deepest voice he could muster was not on his bingo card today.
But it’s whatever. Fan fuel was fan fuel.
Jinu doesn’t know why he was so scared as the studio audience burst into cheers and laughter for the ending segment. The audience loved them and this entire thing had gone on without a hitch.
Which meant, of course—
More fans.
More devotion.
More power.
The host clapped cueing a bunch of confetti streamers to fall from above and onto the group “And that’s all for today’s episode of Play Games With Us! Big thanks to the Saja Boys for—”
But Jinu’s attention, always on the lookout, had shifted.
His eyes moved to a shimmer of cursed purple at the top edge of his vision.
It was out of sight of the audience and barely noticeable to those on stage. But he saw it when he narrowed his eyes subtly, pupils briefly slitting as he focused on his peripheral vision.
Perched just above the rafters of the studio stage—hidden where the white light met the metal rigging—stood the members of Huntr/x. Each one of them gripping their weapons.
Jinu’s heart dropped to his stomach as he forced his gaze to remain natural as he clapped along.
If they struck fatally even once, the result would be immediate: banishment. Gwi-ma. Death.
Jinu exhaled through his nose. Steady. Don’t panic.
They were waiting. That’s a good thing, Jinu had to remind himself. It gave him time to think. The Huntr/x girls couldn’t risk a public scene with demons—no human can know that demons exist because it would cause tremendous fear. But the moment the episode ended, the studio crew would break, the lights would dim, and they’d strike like reapers.
And all they needed, Jinu’s eyes cast back to the host signing off… was for the cameras to go dark.
He let his eyes slide lazily toward his group. Hanbae was still basking in the afterglow of victory and the others were cheering him on. None of them had noticed. Yet.
Jinu licked his lips, brain racing through ten thousand possibilities in a second. Stall. Distract. Think.
Think.
Think—
The hosts began their final thanks, talking over each other, “Hard to say goodbye when we’re having so much fun—”
Jinu moved before his thoughts could catch him.
He snatched the mic straight out of the host’s hand.
The host blinked stupidly at his now-empty hand, stunned speechless. The audience laughed, mistaking it for a bit. Jinu’s lips curled into a dazzling smile, his sweet soothing voice amplified through the speakers.
“Then why say goodbye,” he said, voice smooth and genuine, “when we have extra special guests coming up?”
The collective gasp of the crowd made Jinu smirk.
He’s so smart.
Jinu turned toward the audience, face lit with faux wonder, “The one, the only… Huntr/x!”
The spotlight operator pivoted, swinging the harsh white light onto the overhead gantry where the figures of Huntr/x now stood fully exposed. The crowd roared—screams of adoration, of starstruck joy—thousands of phones whipped into the air in an instant.
Their weapons vanished behind their backs so fast as they smiled brightly like they’d been waiting to be introduced.
Jinu would dare say he’s impressed. Their hunter/kpop training must be on point.
“We,” Rumi started, not missing a beat, her voice sure and cheerful despite the fury burning behind her pupils, “Just wanted to stop by and congratulate our hoobaes on their debut and—”
Jinu only smiled brighter.
“And of course…,” Jinu interjected, his voice dripping with excitement, “play games with us!” He winked at the camera, tossing up jazz hands.
”Bring out the slide!”
Ro-meyeon, Ah-bin, Miseo, and Hanbae moved in sync, grinning playfully as they wheeled out a prop Jinu had insisted on during rehearsal—a ridiculous three-way plastic slide leading into a pit of rubber balls.
This is why Jinu had to plan for every. Possible. Scenario.
The crowd screamed in delight.
The girls hesitated, understandably. Their black leather outfits clashed hilariously with the pastel-themed slide, their boots too clunky, their expressions strained beneath practised smiles. But the audience was chanting now, “SLIDE! SLIDE! SLIDE! IN THE BALLS! IN THE BALLS!”
And that was the thing about humans—peer pressure was a terrifying, unstoppable force. Even holy weapon-wielding idol demon hunters were susceptible to a crowd of expectant fans.
The girls exchanged glances. Zoey looked confused and Mira looked ready to kill someone. But Rumi—dear, proud Rumi—smiled through gritted teeth and gave the world’s most forced nod.
“Sure, for the fans,” she said, stepping toward the middle slide.
The three of them lined up, poised dramatically. The camera panned to them as the entire audience leaned forward in anticipation.
They sat down and pushed.
The sound that followed would live forever in internet infamy. Their black leather outfits gripped the plastic like glue, and the motion downward was so slow as though they were molasses dripping from a spoon. They didn’t so much slide as stutter their way down, dragging inch by painful inch with a sound so high-pitched and shrill, that it made the crowd, the set staff, the people on stage and they themselves wince, cringe and cover their ears.
SQUEEEEEEEEEEKkkkkkk—
It just kept going. And going. And going.
By the time they flopped into the pit with a collective whump, an awkward awkward silence followed by applause that was definitely pity.
The Saja Boys looked down into the pit, their five faces contorted into the biggest shit-eating grins in existence when Rumi finally looked.
Ah, schadenfreude. It truly was the best feeling ever.
Rumi, tangled in plastic balls, shoved herself up and glared for the briefest moment, “Well, this was fun,” she said, standing up with her girls and smiling the best she could despite the embarrassment.
“And since our lovely sunbaes are here, how about… one more game?”
The crowd roared.
Jinu turned to the uncertain host with a sly glance. He whispered into his ear in a way that nobody could see his face, yellow eyes shimmering briefly, “You’ve got the Huntr/x on your show. Extend your airtime and all the more streams for you, no?”
The host, easily charmed and thrilled, nodded enthusiastically, “What game would you suggest?”
“For the last game it has to be,” Jinu declared, raising a single pink-manicured finger, “A fan favourite…”
He let the moment simmer, the crowd hanging on his every word.
“Telepathy: Know Your Leader!”
The crowd exploded. Again.
Jinu glanced once more at the Huntr/x girls, now standing just opposite the Saja boys, and he caught the moment Mira subtly kicked Rumi to stop her from glaring so openly.
Jinu smiled again. Cool. Coy. Razor-edged.
Let the games begin.
Notes:
Yep back to the plot. Idk if this chapter reads well. I really struggled with it since I’m a bit out of it. But yeah, in the movie, you can just tell they’ve cut something out of this part because it’s so awkward and fast paced and they obviously only kept it in to get to the bathhouse scene. The fact that they just come on, go down a slide and then “bye!” just didn’t sit right with me, so imma add my own game!
THE FACES THEY MAKE WHEN THE GIRLS FALL IN THE BALLS ARE SO RIDICULOUSLY FUNNY TO ME BTW CUZ WDYMMMM UR LOOKING AT ME WITH THAT FUCK ASS LIP CURLING SMIRK?!!? IS IT JUST ME???
What do you guys think? Comments, kudos, thoughts, tag recs and mistakes. yknow the drill
Until next time my lovelies <3
Chapter 19: Telepathy
Notes:
Guys we did it! 900 kudos is insane! I couldn’t have done without any of you so thank you for supporting reading and liking this fic!
Also I was writing the plot outline for chapters in the farrr future and I was tearing up 😭 I DONT WANNA DO IT TO EM but i kinda have to…
I do hope you guys like this chapter to some extent as it is a completely original thing. Idk i always feel like it sucks when u read it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rumi gritted her teeth so tightly her jaw ached, the strain barely concealed by the smile she forced across her face. She adjusted the mic that had been clipped to her collar quickly by set staff, fingers trembling faintly, but not from nerves. Rage buzzed under her skin like a nest of hornets.
“You all know the rules,” the host chirped into the mic, his voice a chirpy buzz of artificial energy, “Ten rounds! Our group leaders, Jinu Saja and Rumi of Huntr/x, will face the front and write their answers to a prompt. It is then up to their group members to guess what they wrote. Incorrect answers mean a forfeit for the LEADERRRR! So it’s fair, the Saja boys will rotate in pairs, Abby and Baby first, then Mystery and Romance!”
Rumi mumbled a half-hearted “yay” under her breath, almost wishing the mic had shorted out.
How had this happened?
How have they found themselves competing on equal grounds against the literal demons they needed to kill? In a game segment that was one bad question away from outing every secret she’d worked so hard to keep no less. But still, she kept her lips in a smile and her posture upright and professional. For the fans, she told herself.
Smile for the fans if you don’t want to lose them to the devils.
The host’s head tilted like an overeager puppy as he turned toward her, “So, Rumi, how well do you think your team knows you? You’ve been together for, what, five years now?”
She breathed in. She was Rumi. The Golden Girl of Huntr/x.
When it was showtime, she was ready, “That’s right! We debuted when I was seventeen. We’ve grown up together.” She laughed gently, “They’re not just a band to me. Not just friends. They’re my sisters.”
She turned toward Mira and Zoey and made a finger heart, “Out of everyone in this world, I know they know me the best.” Both of them mirrored it instantly, camera-ready. The audience released a collective aww that made her smile in pride.
Take that soul-sucking vermin.
“And what about you and the Saja boys?” The host walked toward their side of the stage, “Same question to you, Jinu Saja.”
Her stomach turned with instinctual irritation. That voice. That face. His aura dripped with false humility and that unbearable calmness.
She didn’t need to look to know he was smirking like he was already three steps ahead. Her eyes narrowed as he leaned slightly toward the mic with all the slow, easy confidence of someone who knew every camera was devouring him.
“Well,” he began, that voice infuriatingly like silk, “we’ve only been together a few months officially and debuted not long ago…” He let the pause hang, eyes flicking toward the audience before resting squarely on her, “But it feels like I’ve known the Saja Boys for centuries.”
Rumi’s eye twitched as she considered how true that statement was.
He continued, hand now placed gently against his chest as if he were about to recite a romantic poem, “The first time I met them, I just knew we were going to be the bestest friends,” he said, tone drenched in sugar as he looked at the other saja boys over his shoulder, “It was one hell of a time...”
Rumi could barely keep the fury from rolling across her face like a wave. He knows what he’s doing, she thought bitterly. He’s toying with them as they were the only ones who understood the irony of those statements. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to pretend to be subtle.
The crowd awed again (ten times louder than they did for Huntr/x) and Rumi turned just in time to catch it. The four other Saja boys had their arms locked into angles, four limbs forming a giant heart so perfect it looked choreographed. Each corner was one of them, their perfect, beautiful faces shining like idols from the heavens.
In reality, they were the complete opposite.
Her own members squealed a little behind her, clearly taken in by the showmanship. They were traitors for a hot face, she thought, jaw tight.
She lowered the mic from her mouth, angled her head discreetly, and whispered through gritted teeth, “What’s your game, demon?”
Jinu didn’t look at her, not directly. He tapped his marker once, twice, grinning like a sly fox, “Telepathy,” he said, smoothly, casually, his voice dipped in mock innocence, “Obviously.”
Rumi wanted to strangle him.
The host bounced on the balls of his feet, cue cards flapping excitedly, “Alright, leaders, members, are you ready? Pens up!”
Jinu winked at her before opening his marker.
She resisted the urge to scream into her mic. Stupid. Arrogant. Bastard. With his stupid tailored shirt, devilish cheekbones, weird voice and symmetrical face that she hated. Hated. Hated.
Rumi forced a laugh as she poised her marker above her answer card, blocking it from view with her arm like some middle schooler taking a test. The host was chattering again, but she tuned it out, breathing carefully. No matter if they killed them after this or not (they will), one thing for sure is they must beat them to keep their fans rooting for just them.
The crowd cheered as the LED screen above the set shimmered, blinking to reveal the first official question.
“What is your leader’s favourite snack?” echoed the host’s upbeat voice.
Rumi felt a victorious flicker of satisfaction settle beneath her ribs. Too easy. She didn’t even hesitate, her marker squeaking as she wrote down: Ramyeon. She’d been eating the same brand of spicy instant noodles since before they even debuted. Even if the apocalypse hit—very much becoming a possibility with this demon boyband destorying their honmoon—her soul might just be held together by dehydrated noodles.
She glanced behind at her members, who were both already nodding. Mira was mouthing duh at the cameras, while Zoey stuck out a thumbs up. Rumi smirked as the buzzer rang and the cards were flipped.
Zoey and Mira held up their shared card: Ramyeon. Perfect match.
Her gaze flicked to the other side. Jinu was lounging, legs crossed, looking like a smug ladies' man in pink. He flipped his card.
Rice crackers.
Rumi blinked. That’s so… boring and unexpected.
The Saja boys’ Mystery and Romance, held up their answer card: rice crackers.
“Rice crackers?” the host read, glancing at Jinu’s answer in surprise. The sleek-haired leader of Saja leaned into his mic with a languid grin and said, “Crunchy, light, and perfect on a busy schedule.” Romance and Mystery looked far too nonplussed with their guesses matching the written answer, Jinu giving them both a casual nod of approval.
The second question flashed onto the screen a moment later, bold and taunting: “Which member is most likely to be late to rehearsal?”
Rumi blinked. That one… wasn’t as easy. Her marker hovered above the card, lips pressing into a line. She glanced sideways at her girls who were already writing—was it Mira? Sometimes, but there's normally a valid reason. Zoey? Possibly. But… The buzzer was ticking down faster than her thoughts could settle.
She saw how the Saja boys already had an answer written; Abby and Baby were hunched over their podium, looking forward without an ounce of doubt. It was unsettling. They’re not even guessing what Jinu would put, just… answering. Like they already knew.
A second left. She made a snap decision and scrawled Zoey in rushed, messy handwriting.
The reveal was immediate.
“Both members of Huntr/x answered Zoey!” the host called cheerfully, “Correct!”
Mira gently smacked Zoey’s arm with her cue card, laughing as she said “Ha! told you so!” Zoey rolled her eyes and argued back, “It was once—or twice!”
Then came the Saja reveal. Jinu held up ‘Baby’ in dramatic bubble letters.
When did he find the time to do that?!
“And Abby and Baby answered… Baby! Points all around! Irresponsible maknaes run in all groups, huh?”
Baby, made an over-the-top pouty face at the camera, hands forming a broken heart, eyes wide and fake-teary. Abby ruffled Baby’s hair, while the other three Saja boys rolled their eyes fondly in the background. The crowd swooned… too loud for Rumi’s liking.
Ugh. Why do these boys do fanservice like it’s second nature?
The third question appeared on the screen, and her fingers curled tighter around the marker: “What is your leader’s biggest fear?”
Rumi’s breath caught.
The pen didn’t move.
She blinked, just once, and her thoughts went to the real answer. Her patterns being exposed. The marks that prove she’s not fully human. The reason she only ever wore long-sleeved clothes. But she couldn’t write that. Not on live television.
She heard a breathy chuckle.
“Spending a bit of time there, aren’t we,” came Jinu’s drawl from beside her, his voice soft and irrefutably patronising.
“Shut up,” she hissed under her breath, just loud enough for his inhuman ears to catch.
She scribbled instead: losing my voice. It wasn’t exactly untrue. She’s been struggling with that for a few weeks now. Being unable to sing for her fans, to perform, to strengthen the honmoon—it’d be the end of her identity. Her girls should know that.
The countdown hit zero.
“Time!” the host beamed.
“Rumi answered: Losing her voice!” the host announced.
Mira and Zoey slowly flipped their card.
Death.
Rumi’s lips twitched, “Seriously?”
“Is that… not it?” Zoey asked, sheepishly, “I thought of the most generic one because I wasn’t sure.”
Mira snorted, “I was gonna put bathhouses.”
Across the stage, the Saja boys flipped their cards—also reading death.
“Unanimous across the board!” the host grinned, “Well, everyone except Rumi!”
Her blood chilled. Maybe she shouldn’t have put such an honest answer… it’s not like the public new about her vocal problems. Mira and Zoey knew that was her greatest fear at the moment. Yeah. They probably just didn’t know that she’d be open about it. That’s it.
“Oh, don’t look so worried,” the host added, clearly enjoying her discomfort, “For your forfeit, all you’ve gotta do is give us some aegyo. Fifteen seconds. Timer starts… now!”
Rumi closed her eyes as the music started, wishing the ground would open and swallow her whole.
She could feel the heat rising to her ears hearing the crowd cheer louder as she threw up double finger hearts, puffed her cheeks, and squeaked something about loving her fans.
Across the stage, she could hear the faintest laugh—probably from that smug bastard Jinu—and when she cracked one eye open, he was indeed watching her with his chin in his palm, the world’s most insufferable smile on his face.
“Ten out of ten,” he mouthed.
Rumi finished the routine and took a deep, controlled breath as the buzzer ended her torment.
She crossed her arms, staring at her shoes, cheeks still burning—not just from the aegyo, but from something else too. Maybe she should’ve written something more generic, she thought bitterly.
The girls could never have guessed she would share something so private.
“Fourth question!” the host announced, clapping, “What is your leader’s love language?”
Words of affirmation, Rumi thought instantly. That’s her way of showing affection. Encouragement, praise, reassurance—It was definitely how she loved her members.
Her girls would know this.
She wrote it down carefully and underlined it twice.
The reveal came.
Mira and Zoey’s card: Physical touch
Rumi’s mouth dropped open.
Mira blinked, “But like… You always let us hug you.”
She hugged them because they liked hugs and she wanted them to be happy. A part of her wanted to say something, and ask if her words felt less loving than her rare touch—but instead she smiled and said:
“It’s okay, we’ll get the next one,” Rumi said tightly, lips stretched too wide as her eyes flicked to the audience.
Again, the Saja boys got it right.
“Acts of service,” said Jinu, not even looking at his team's answers anymore—just bored. His team held up matching answers, cool and effortlessly, “I show I care by taking care of things,” he said gently, brushing a phantom speck from his collar, “Love is responsibility.”
“Well, that unfortunately means another punishment Rumi… It’s slide time again!” the host chirped with too much joy.
-
If your group disbanded tomorrow, what would your leader do next?
What’s your leader's favourite movie genre?
What motivated your leader to become an idol?
What's your leader's secret talent?
What does your leader miss the most from before debuting?
The game was coming to an end. It was 4-9. They had only gotten four questions right… and those points were for only the basic questions.
The Saja boys hadn’t missed a single answer. Rumi was starting to believe they actually had some demonic telepathy going on.
Rumi started really looking at her girls. They just shrugged at her. How could they not know her better than this? They’d trained together since they were kids. They grew up and have seen each other go through every stage in their life.
Maybe the better question… how much had she not shared?
The host rubbed his hands together suspiciously, barely containing his glee, “Alright,” he started, “Final question! This one is worth 100 points.”
Rumi shook her head in disbelief. Okay, she could dwell on this later. This was their chance to redeem themselves and win.
The screen darkened for a moment, then flashed with the question.
The host echoed it, grinning like the devil himself, “What is ten to the power of four, times five, added to one hundred twenty-three times eight, minus eight hundred eight… all square rooted?”
Jinu and Rumi both turned to the host at the exact same moment, necks snapping in perfect synchronicity, disbelief scrawled across their faces.
It was dead silent for a moment.
Even Jinu raised an eyebrow, “Are you… serious?”
The host wriggled his eyebrows like a cartoon villain, “You heard me. The clock starts now!”
Panic flashed across the Saja boys’ faces. Baby and Abby, just behind Mystery and Romance, looked like they were trying to count on their fingers. Romance blinked blankly at the answer card as he subtly pushed it completely in front of Mystery. Rumi watched Jinu’s marker twirl in his hand as he stared at the timer, clearly more interested in trying to hex it into freezing than doing any maths.
She and her girls weren’t faring much better.
Mira opened her mouth, “Uh…”
Zoey whispered sharply, “Wait, what does square root do again—”
Rumi wrote something—???—because it was better than blank.
The buzzer screeched.
Everyone looked up, confused.
Then slowly, one card was raised.
Mystery, held up his card coolly, one leg folded over the other, face looking behind him for dramatic effect. 224, it said in neat, cursive handwriting.
The host leaned forward, jaw slack, “Wait… that’s actually… correct.” The crowd roared again, high-pitched and rabid, “Mystery Saja is a secret genius, people!”
Rumi only briefly sees the way Mystery coughs into his fist and turns his head even further away from the audience when Romance, with a cheeky (near sinful) smirk, whispers something in his ear.
Weird.
She didn’t think about it though. More pressing matters were at hand. The forfeit.
“But unfortunately that still means both team leaders have failed a round!” he chirped.
“What does that mean?” Rumi asked, suspicious.
“Oh, didn’t I mention?” The host winked, “This punishment is a duet performance— Jinu Saja and Rumi of Huntr/x will perform a live kpop dance cover of Trouble Maker!”
A banner—and okay when did they set that up—unfurled overhead.
TROUBLE MAKER: SAJA X HUNTR/X SPECIAL LEADER PERFORMANCE
Rumi’s soul left her body.
No.
No, no, no—
She glanced across at Jinu, whose face had fallen by the slightest of degrees. His brows gave a single twitch, and if Rumi hadn’t been staring, she might have missed the millisecond of disgust? Discomfort? On his face.
Her own stomach turned in revulsion, but admittedly she thinks it comes mostly from the fact that he seemed more upset about it than her.
And also the fact that if this guy wasn’t a soul-eating arrogant demon jerk… she wouldn’t be completely against it.
The fans had already begun chanting: “RU-JI-NU! RU-JI-NU! RU-JI-NU!”
“Ugh,” she said, loud enough for him to hear, “I hate this.”
Jinu side-eyed her with a faint smirk, “Could’ve fooled me.”
God help her, she was blushing.
And now they had to dance to this ridiculously intimate song.
Together.
Notes:
Woah woah woah?!? Surprise Rumi POV? It was just for one though dont worry (if you were). Again I kinda struggled with this chapter as I was a bit unsure on how to do anything really BUT i hope if was somewhat enjoyable.
Also you may have noticed the Saja Boys, in Rumi’s POV are often lumped together in the movie and kinda in my story. Why do you think that is?
What do you guys think Romance said to Mystery?? And also Jinu and Rumi dancing ‘Trouble Maker’…
How did you find this chapter? I kinda get anxious when I try new things that deviate from the plot cuz I don’t know if my ideas read well… BUT imma ignore that anxiety otherwise imma end up stopping <3
Are we looking forward to the next one?? The usual, comments, kudos, tags and mistakes!
Cyaaa <3
Chapter 20: Bathhouse
Notes:
Thank you for all your comments guys! My head is doing much much better and I don’t even notice the stitches. Paractamol is weak af btw. But like I said, the curse can’t take me away.
I do wanna reiterate though that I see and have read EVERY SINGLE MESSAGE and I’m so grateful for them. That being said, ur girl is a teensy wincy bit obsessive to a fault. When you guys ask me questions, thoughts or anything of the like in the comments, every fibre of my being wants to type out a 300 word response or honour ur requests. But then I feel the need to respond to every other comment question I’ve left unanswered to be fair because it sets the expectation (in my mind) that I’ve gotta reply to everyone. Then I start panicking and thinking my response was shit etc etc.
For this very reason, I don’t really respond to comments or anything (aside from thank yous for spotting my mistakes!)Thats why, when addressing comments, it tends to be as a whole in the creator notes and not individual.
I hope you all understand why <3 But trust, if you have have sent a question live with the knowledge I’ve answered in my head
PLEASE DON'T STOP WITH THE COMMENTS THEY BRING ME LIFE I just don’t want none of yall thinking I’m deliberately ignoring 🥲🥲
Anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dancing Trouble Maker with Rumi felt like swallowing shards of glass, but Jinu endured it.
He’d rather dance with one of his boys than the girl who wants his head on a stake.
He twisted his body around hers as though the choreo was second nature (he’d never admit he spent hours a week ago learning random K-pop dances for fun… never thought he would be doing one so soon) and he let his hands glide across her just enough to tease the crowd into delusion. His brain might’ve been shrieking, gagging internally at the way her hand slid too easily across his body, at the way her eyes met his too often, but his face didn’t so much as twitch.
The crowd screamed for them like they’d been paired by fate, and unfortunately, it was exactly what they needed—the more the public perceived a bond between Huntr/x and the Saja Boys, the less chances Huntr/x would have to up and end them.
I mean no one would dare kill a co-star mid-show.
Fanservice, Jinu thought bitterly, was their most powerful shield right now.
And a weapon, because the fans were loving them together.
Plus, it was just a performance.
He held the final pose with his face angled just so, chin dipped and lips parted slightly, his hand at her waist while her arm hooked delicately over his shoulder, their proximity reading as effortless chemistry.
When the beat faded, Jinu failed to pull away like her touch didn’t burn him. But the crowd didn’t care to even acknowledge that —if anything, it grew louder, fan chants of “Rujinu!” roaring through the studio.
He stepped back with a smooth gait, bowing slightly as he forced his usual charming chuckle and turned to walk back to his group. From afar, the Saja Boys looked every bit the picture of a teasing K-pop boy group, making fun of their hyung and leader for his forfeit. It was all practised smiles and easy banter, their laughter and teasing absolutely charming.
”Wow hyung,” Hanbae said, tilting his head as he poked his tongue out,“You looked like you were really into it.”
“I’d love to see that again,” Ro-meyeon said with an easy smirk.
Ah-bin laughed, deep in his belly, “Rujinu… has a ring doesn’t it.”
”Enteraining.” Miseo said simply, clapping slowly.
But he could feel it, just the same way it rained softly before a storm—his lovers were not pleased.
One thing about demons is that they were deeply possessive. Let it be to protect territory, food, shelter, anything… in their rare case, each other. And one thing about demon possessiveness is that other demons could feel the intensity of it in waves.
And Jinu was feeling it alright.
That sharp, dark jealousy simmering beneath Ro-meyeon’s lip bite, the possessiveness literally radiating through Miseo’s invisible gaze, the faint growl Ah-bin didn’t even try to suppress (he disguised it through a slow laugh though). Hanbae was smiling, sure, but the angle of his head and the fact that the boy hadn’t blinked in 30 seconds, betrayed his real thoughts.
Some idiot who couldn’t read their room (Jinu can’t blame them, they aren’t a demon), decides to belt out at that moment, “WE LOVE YOU RUJINU!”
Jinu winced slightly and gave them an apologetic smile, almost sheepish, mouthing a silent “Sorry.” It didn’t help much. He came to stand in the middle, his shoulders ever-so-slightly shrunk under the weight of their gazes, even as he kept smiling for the cameras.
“Well,” Rumi said, clearing her throat and stepping to the other Huntr/x girls, and he didn’t miss the way she glanced anywhere but his face, her ears tinged a subtle shade of pink, “this was… fun.”
Revolting.
“It was truly an honour to share the stage with you,” Jinu replied smoothly, with a bow of his head, his voice in a tone that sounded sincere. Behind him, his boys moved as one, falling into line, back straight and noble as they folded at the waist in perfect sync. The viewers roared with approval, swooning at the gentlemanly display.
“No, the honour was ours,” Rumi corrected quickly, forcing a gracious smile through gritted teeth. Her members mirrored her instinctively, dipping into hurried bows.
”Ours.”
”Ours.”
”Ours”
And just like that, it devolved.
The hosts blinked in confusion as both groups locked into some kind of petty, bow-off, repeatedly bowing, deeper and deeper, each determined to outdo the other in showbiz humility.
Huntr/x got just past 90 degrees. But Saja boys… they bent all the way—all the way. Their backs straight, their heads nearly touching the stage floor, a perfect 180-degree bow that would’ve made a Buddhist monk envious.
The Huntr/x girls tried to hold their own, leaning a little lower, but their effort came too late. Their knees faltered and backs clicked. They’d already lost the moment.
And when the curtains finally began to close, the Saja Boys didn’t wait. They didn’t so much as glance back to watch the girls struggle up (As much as he knows Hanbae would’ve loved to see it).
The instant the shadows swallowed the stage, they bolted.
Jinu was the first to reach the back hallway, nearly tripping on a stray power cord as he flung the exit door open, “GO GO GO—!” he shouted-whispered as they all funnelled past him.
Their destination: the bathhouse. They’d get a second of reprieve and there's not a single chance those girls followed them in.
-
Jinu didn’t have a chance to register what was happening before his hands were forcibly plunged into the bathhouse sink.
The water was warm, but the scrubbing was not.
“What—hey—what the hell are you—” His voice cut off with a hiss as Ro-meyeon and Hanbae scrubbed furiously along his arms. The warm water cascaded down his wrists as the others took turns lathering and rinsing with all vigour.
“I’m not radioactive,” Jinu muttered, trying to pull back, but Ah-bin growled wordlessly and held him still with a single muscular hand that circled his entire wrist.
Miseo leaned against the edge of the sink, his face impassive, but his voice far too close to Jinu’s cheek. For once, a slither of his eyes was seen beyond his bangs, “We should probably wash his face too.”
Jinu didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth in protest before Ah-bin, as casually as one might water a houseplant, dunked his head unceremoniously into the sink and held him there for a few seconds.
He came up sputtering and soaked from brow to collarbone, his perfectly styled hair now clinging wet and sad to his forehead. He blinked through the onslaught, coughing slightly, “Okay, maybe we’re being a bit excessive now?! I can’t—”
His frustrated words died in his throat, once he could see through his eyes again and he froze.
Four pairs of eyes turned to him—and in that moment, the bathhouse lights felt dim as Jinu witnessed the exact moment the faintest flicker of yellow swam across their irises. That eerie golden glow—the mark of demons on edge. A sliver of their real selves despite being in disguise, possessive and volatile.
Jinu wisely shut the fuck up.
But the thick atmosphere cracked when a small, almost trembling voice came from behind them. They turned.
Standing in the arch of the steaming chamber was a group of water demons peeking shyly out of the water.
Well, that explains the distinct lack of humans in this bathhouse.
“O… our saviours,” one water demon said, bowing its head so deeply that its head dipped into the water, “Forgive our intrusion. We only wish to extend our deepest gratitude.”
Jinu’s body language shifted in an instant. His shoulders straightened, his jaw softened, and that charming, deadly smile slid right into place.
“No intrusion at all,” he said, voice velvet as he swept a hand through wet hair, “We always have time for our…” he glanced at the demons appraisingly, lifting an eyebrow, “fans?”
The water demons nodded quickly, reverent in their awe, “We owe you everything. If not for your efforts, the honmoon would still have us trapped down there with Gwi-ma—”
“—It’s an honour!” another chimed in.
Jinu hadn’t been listening, more focused on the familiar, sickly aura of them approaching. A pressure that clawed at the back of his skull like chalk on stone.
He tilted his head just slightly, eyes still on the water demons but his mind calculating rapidly, “This is all so…” he drawled, “…heartwarming. But you know, when someone saves your life…” He let the words hang with purpose.
The demons straightened, “We are yours to command.”
Jinu’s smirk turned razor-edged, “Because I do have a little favour to ask.”
Behind him, his boys glanced at each other, confused.
“There’s a group following us and they’ll be here pretty shortly,” Jinu continued, “Hunters. Annoying.. I’m sure you’ve heard of them before.”
The demons tensed.
“Don’t fret too much… they’ve already been weakened,” His smile grew wider, as they all looked at each other hopeful, “We’d consider it a personal favour if you helped us end them?”
“A-are they as weak as you say?!” one whispered fervently.
Jinu pressed a hand to his corrupted heart, “Of course, I would never lie to a fan.”
The water demons looked at each other before nodding and going back under the water for the surprise attack.
Is this the power being an idol holds? Even demons are reduced to brainless idiots.
And right then—
The door burst open.
Huntr/x stormed into the room without a single hesitation, weapons poised.
“Wow,” Jinu said, breaking the silence with dry amusement, not turning around just yet, “You actually came in here.”
“I knew they would,” Ah-bin replied lowly, cocking his head and rolling one shoulder with practised indifference, “That one’s always looking at me.”
He nodded vaguely toward Mira. Mira immediately flushed red.
“I—I do not—!”
Yet their eyes… oh, their eyes were traitors. They flicked—unmistakably—toward Ah-bin’s abs, which were now glistening faintly from water and heat, his shirt conveniently hanging open. Jinu had to resist the urge to move his hand to sheild them.
Those were his abs.
Rumi shoved her shoulder, hissing, “You think we’re just gonna let you steal are fans. You’re gonna have to fight us for them.”
“Yeah,” Zoey growled, “Keep your hands off our Honmoon.”
“Oh,” Jinu said, with a smile that was too soft to be trusted, “We aren’t here to fight you.”
Confusion fluttered across their faces, brief but visible.
Jinu stepped forward slightly, eyes gleaming as he ran a hand through the bathhouse water, “See, demons are selfish by nature, yes. But gratitude? Genuine gratitude burns deeper than fear. And we’ve made a lot of demons… grateful.” His tone dipped to something silkier, something more sinister and unapologetic, “We’ve, surprisingly, gained devoted fans on both sides. Convenient, isn’t it?”
From the moment he finished his words, the bathhouse trembled.
The water of the baths rippled, small waves building in concentric circles, as if the earth beneath them had just exhaled. Then, without warning, hundreds of figures began rising from the baths. Long wet hair hung over their eyes, and every last one of them had determination in their gaze.
Jinu inhaled through his nose slowly, lips curled into a thin smile as he stepped beside his boys, “Get rid of the hunters,” he asked, voice hushed but brimming with sick amusement, “And the honmoon will never be a burden again.”
The moment the first demon lunged toward the Huntr/x girls with a shriek, the group moved as one escaping through the chaos. Jinu’s voice was sharp and low—“Scatter. Regroup back at the house. Don’t get caught.”
It was the smartest thing to do to avoid them being following them home.
They split at an intersection in the bathhouse and Jinu was almost home free until Rumi slammed herself in front of him, cutting his exit path short. His back hit the tiled wall with a grunt, as he dodged a sword cut intended to decapitate him. He barely pushed into a room in time to avoid getting chopped into two.
“Careful now,” he drawled, breathless but smug, ducking another swing, “Not the face—I need it to steal your fans.” The grin he threw her was full of teeth and fangs, demon features slipping out in from pure adrenaline.
Their fight was fluid, hot, and fast, echoing with the clang of blade against claws and the swipe of steel through steam. Jinu dodged low, then spun around, claws nearly grazing her collarbone, sparks flying as her blade slashed at his side.
He twisted out of her next swing, summoning bursts of teleportation to duck, slide, vanish—reappear behind her and slice. But during one teleportation, he failed to dodge her kick to his stomach that sent him sprawling to the floor. Winded, he quickly puts his hands up to prevent the very lethal blow aimed at his jugular. Yellow flared in his irises as her blade pressed against his neck, humming with holy resonance, every second it lingered, it sapped his strength.
Their arms shook with the effort of resisting one another.
“You know,” he panted with a strained smirk on his face, as they locked together, her blade now trembling against his collarbone, “I’ve been thinking about that little game show moment…”
“Shut up—”
“That question. ‘Biggest fear,’ wasn’t it?”
Her expression faltered. Just slightly, “Just die already!” She seethed, pushing harder.
The steel kissed the skin of his throat, sizzling like acid. He hissed, pushing against her with full strength. Her boots dragged across the tiles, her brow furrowed in tension. But she didn’t fall.
“You’re fast,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave, “Stronger than most human hunters…” His gaze sharpened, flicking down to the way her blade glowed faintly as it touched his skin again.
For a second, as Rumi’s sword edge centimetres closer to his skin, a tinge of fear overtook him. He’s genuinely struggling more than he thought he would in a one-on-one, because not only is the energy snap from this blasted sword ridiculous…
She had inhuman strength that was on par with his.
And it made him fear for a second that he might not win.
The briefest image of his lovers sitting at home, in anguish, waiting for him to get home comes to mind. And he dares think of a world where he doesn’t.
No. That can’t happen.
In a burst of desperation, he wrapped his clawed fingers around her wrist, trying to force the soul-condensing technique into her bloodstream. It was much harder to do on hunters— their souls hardwired to be more resilient to demons’ black magic— but at the very least it should cause severe pain.
But nothing happened. Her skin broke, yes—red spilt like ink across the leather of her sleeve—but she didn’t even flinch.
This technique only doesn’t work on other demons. It was suppossed to be his full proof escape.
Jinu’s breath caught, and confusion flickered in his eyes, “That’s not possible…” he whispered hauntingly, his heart dropping like a stone as his strength faltered again and the blade dug deeper as his demon blood oozed out.
That was his last playing card. And if what he was starting to suspect was true… he was fucked.
And his mind only ran to any option. Anything. ANYTHING—
“Mira!” Zoey’s shout echoed down the corridor.
Thank God.
Rumi looked away. Just for a second.
That was all he needed.
With a grunt, he pushed her blade off his neck and kicked her back as hard as he could.
He came striking back faster than she could recover and his claw hand, aimed to sever her hand, sliced cleanly across her sleeve.
And Jinu stared.
Beneath the ripped sleeve, etched against her bicep and curling down past her elbow, were patterns. Dark. Jagged. Intricate. They stood stark against her skin under the bathhouse light. Demon markings.
“You’re…” he breathed, eyes wide and when Rumi saw what he was looking at, she quickly shielded herself. Her eyes burned with something Jinu couldn’t pinpoint to one thing—fury, shame, fear.
But all Jinu saw was weakness.
He vanished just as he heard the Huntr/x girls screaming for Rumi’s help: his last image of the bathhouse was her running away from her friends' view to grab a towel instead of rushing to aid.
Things just got… even more interesting.
-
Bath time as a group was normally fun and relaxing.
When 4 of 5 of them reek of jealousy? Not so much.
“Gentler, gentler—guys, I’m still bleeding, you know—” Jinu tried, flinching as Ro-meyeon lathered him with something aggressively mint-scented, while Miseo held one of his legs up in the cool air and dug his loofah against it like he was trying to scour the memories off his skin.
“She touched you,” Hanbae snapped, aggressively scrubbing a washcloth on his face, “You are dirty.”
The massive bathtub—more of a small jacuzzi if he were honest—steamed around them like a natural spring. They always fit, all five of them, even with limbs lazily draped over one another and legs tangled below the surface. It was a tight comfort, a pack huddled close. Skin on skin. Just welcomed in eachothers space.
He let them manhandle him because fighting them when they were like this reaped zero benefit.
He let them scrub and scrape and soap him until his pale, greyish skin flushed into an almost comical rose-red, heat simmering against his demon patterns. Even Derpy, lounging nearby on the rug with Sussie nestled in his thick fur, tilted his tiger head in sympathy.
As he was forced into complacency, his mind was allowed to wander.
Rumi’s markings. Dark and distinct. Thos all too familiar jagged curls along her upper arm. The way her skin had resisted his claws. The way her soul had refused to condense.
She was one of them.
Or half of one. It wasn’t all too clear right now.
But he didn’t want to tell them. Not now. Not tonight.
Because the mood was nice despite their demonic tendencies. Because they’ve just had a long but successful day. Because the Saja Boys’ second single, Heatstroke, drops in two days and they were finally making progress.
He doesn’t want to cause stress by telling them now.
Maybe he’ll tell them tomorrow.
Maybe.
Ah-bin shifted behind him, his longer legs tightening just slightly around Jinu’s waist. One hand, dragged down the line of Jinu’s abdomen, fingers curling around his hips beneath the water with casual possessiveness.
“You’re tense,” Ah-bin murmured into his ear, “Even when we’re right here.”
“Hmm,” Jinu replied, low and quiet, head tilting against his shoulder.
Then, deliberately, Ah-bin pulled Jinu back—just slightly—until his lower back pressed flush to Ah-bin’s pelvis, the hard ridge of him unmistakable even through the water. A growl that rumbled up from his throat sent small ripples across the bath.
It wasn’t threatening. Not quite. It was territorial. A reminder.
Mine. Ours.
Very quickly the mood shifted again and when all their yellow eyes—now hazed with something else—turned between each other with similar looks of want, need and a different kind of hunger. Despite being in a 50 degree bath, Jinu shivered.
Yeah, he thought, as Ah-bin finally kissed his shoulder.
There was absolutely no rush to tell them.
Notes:
Possessive saja boys <:
And Jinu… didn’t your mama tell you it is bad to keep secrets???
How did you guys find it? Tbh the bathhouse stayed pretty much entirely true to canon. I’m really unsure about this chapter tbh. Idk I’m starting to feel insecure and unsure about it… SO instead of dwelling on it, I laugh instead!Let me know ur thoughts! Comments, kudos, tags and mistakes please and thank you.
Until next time <3
Chapter 21: Daily Life
Notes:
Guys there is not a single thought behind any one of my chapter titles. I just choose the first word, theme, location or plotpoint that comes to mind when I think of the chapter. I’m so uncreative.
Those authors that make each chapter title like the lyric of a song or have them become a fully uncoded message once the story is over have me in awe cuz like HOW DO YOU PROCESS THAT?
Also what is so funny is that this chapter is called 10.7 in my docs cuz i couldn’t be asked to edit the chapter numbers.
ALSO ALSO 1000 KUDOS WOOOO!! COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT ALL YALL
Enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was just a K-pop showcase, where many different K-pop groups came to perform a single track to promote it.
But Jinu could barely believe the turnout for just them. What had been planned as a simple pop-up promo performance had somehow spiralled into something more like a full-fledged Saja Boys concert.
The festival square was packed beyond reason, with bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, a sea of screaming humans, and more phones than could be counted. The vast majority of these people were wearing Saja Boy merchandise or carrying a sign begging for their attention.
Considering there were many other seasoned idol groups here that had established themselves, the fact that their fans dominated the audience was insane.
But absolutely what Jinu had anticipated.
The newly dropped track, “Heatstroke,” was only released yesterday, but already, it was trending on every major platform, its numbers skyrocketing by the minute.
And this would be their first time performing it live. Jinu could taste the anticipation.
Jinu stood ready centre stage, sunglasses on, expression schooled into something flirty. He didn’t need to look to know his boys were ready as well. Somewhere off to the side, a radio DJ was hyping up the crowd with frantic yells as he introduced them, but it was white noise to him. What mattered was the screaming. The chanting.
“SA-JA BOYS! SA-JA BOYS! SA-JA BOYS!”
The name cracked through the crowd like thunder. Their name.
Jinu smirked as he heard the opening beat, muscle memory kicking in after hours spent under Miseo’s scrutinising perfectionist gaze.
The honmoon wouldn’t stand a chance.
-
As the final beat dropped and they struck their ending poses—bodies slick with sweat, and laboured heavy breathing into the mic—The crowd screamed like they were witnessing gods descend.
Jinu stepped forward with a smile that was 50% charm, 50% performance, and 100% calculated.
“Thank you for watching our performance! We’d like to send our condolences,” he said into the mic, his voice smooth and warm, “To our lovely sunbaes, Huntr/x, who couldn’t make it to today’s showcase. They’ve been the greatest help to us during our debut. Especially to Zoey and Mira who… suffered back injuries the other day.”
He didn’t let the smile falter as he lifted his fist into the air, “We’re wishing them a speedy recovery.”
“Fighting!” The boys said in sync.
As expected, the crowd cheered more for their chivalry than for concern about Huntr/x.
Good. They didn’t deserve it.
Jinu didn’t really care that all those water demons were most likely dead now, back in hell and being feasted on by Gwi-ma. He was more irritated at the principle those girls thought they had the right to sentence them to their deaths. They deserved every injury, no matter how small, that they got…
That being said, it was nice not to have those blasted demon hunters breathing down their necks today due to the bathhouses… unforeseen consequences.
Though it did little to stave off his exhaustion.
This adoration was prolonging, of course, it weakened the draining strength of the honmoon after all, but only consumption was energising. And his body were running low. Too low.
Just one glance and he could tell his lovers were much the same.
When the post-performance chaos began to die down, they stepped off stage in perfect tandem, heading not toward their van, but instead toward the alley behind the square. It was always the back alley. Hidden enough to not be seen but close enough to pull in prey without effort. And the best part? Fans followed. They always did.
As if on cue, Jinu heard one individual squeal, “They went down here! I swear!” Jinu peeked out of the alley, doing an unconscious headcount of the bright-eyed, excited fans.
The perfect number… maybe one extra. He guesses one of them can have seconds…
Jinu threw a single, practised look at them and offered a tiny smirk before hiding back into the dark. That alone sealed their fate. The group followed deeper into the alley without a single question.
The screams came, yes—but only for a few seconds. And anyway, the brainless crowd were still too busy chanting their names for anyone to have heard it.
Moments later, the Saja boys exited the alleyway. Refreshed. Giddy. A little flushed. In their wake? Six piles of discarded clothes, phones, and belongings which would later be reported to authorities and catalogued into the ever-growing database of missing persons.
They stepped back into the public space looking more radiant than they had when they performed. Their eyes—though reverted to human shades—held a gleam of feral satisfaction.
Ah-bin chuckled, reaching up to stretch his arms above his head, his sleeveless top pulling up just enough to restart a new wave of whispers from nearby fans, “I could eat like this for centuries,” he muttered loud enough just for their ears, smirking.
“You had two, you glutton,” Ro-meyeon laughed deeply as he carried a woozy-looking Hanbae on his back who was a little drunk with energy. The younger demon blinked slowly, head resting against his shoulder.
His human blue eyes turned lazily to Miseo, who walked beside him, calm and unrevealing as ever.
”Misss-eeooo,” Hanbae slurred, voice thick with post-feed euphoria.
”Don’t call him by his real name, Baby,” Jinu lightly scolded, too busy scrolling on his phone for the rest of today's plans.
Hanbae rolled his eyes and continued, “I can say Miseo’s name whenever I want, he’s my boy—.”
Before the words could spiral further into media damning territory, Miseo’s hand shot out and casually slapped over Hanbae’s mouth, fingers pinching his cheeks to silence him. Hanbae mumbled indignantly behind his hand, squirming slightly on Ro-meyeon’s back, but didn’t fight it.
When a passing fan asked if Baby was okay, Ro-meyeon didn’t miss a beat. He offered a cool grin, adjusting the weight on his back, “He’s just tired from the performance,” he said charmingly, eyes glinting, “but believe me, your energy could always fill him.”
Jinu dragged a hand down his face in defeat because, of course, Ro has to make a very literal joke before they’re even a hundred metres from the crime scene.
Ah-bin chortled unhelpfully next to him, clearly entertained. So Jinu elbowed him in the stomach without looking.
“No more talking for the next two blocks. I swear to Gwi-ma, one of you is gonna land us on tabloids or back in hell.”
They were idiots.
But they were his idiots so that made it okay.
-
It was interviews, content filming, content signing and recording all day.
Which was exhausting.
Jinu barely made it to the couch before collapsing face-first into the cushions, letting the illusion of humanity fall away like broken glass. His skin paled back to its true grey-white hue, marked by faint glowing scars. His yellow eyes dulled, heavy-lidded and raw. Behind him, one by one, the others followed, shedding their mortal facades with soft sighs and tired grunts, piling onto the same couch.
“You know,” Ah-bin began lazily, his claws tracing idle circles into the leather couch, “this whole K-pop thing has been working like a charm.” He didn’t say it like a compliment, more like a satisfied admission, “You’re a fucking genius, hyung.”
Ro-meyeon tilted his head against the back of the couch, his stage makeup looking… interesting against his pale white demon skin, “seconded.”
“Thirded,” shouted Hanbae from the kitchen.
Jinu smirked where he sat, perched on the edge of the couch with the poise of someone who loved praise but tried—and failed—to hide that fact, “Well,” he started, one hand brushing a strand of hair off his forehead, “you’re welcome. In the end, I just want you all to not die by his hands.”
Miseo chimed in, looking away from the book that Jinu was convinced he hadn’t had before sitting down, “More demons are benefitting from this too. Some of them have come up to me to thank me which was… awkward,” He didn’t sound pleased or alarmed, only vaguely inconvenienced.
“Ugh,” Ro-meyeon muttered, flopping his arm dramatically over his face, “They’re just more mouths to feed.”
A low, sinister chuckle came from Jinu, “But they’re also great distractions. Those girls will never have a moment with all the other lesser demons while we are still gaining our fanbase. When they’re all burnt out and we’re at the top,” he said, licking his fangs, “we kill them.”
The others snorted in agreement just as Hanbae kicked his way out of the kitchen at that exact moment, a giant bowl of ice cream precariously perched in his hands. Resting bitch face on high, his oversized jumper sliding off one shoulder as he came to the couch.
“Move your legs, sluts,” he demanded dryly, and then flopped unceremoniously across all their laps like an oversized cat. The four demons grunted in protest but adjusted easily—Miseo shifted, Ah-bin braced the bowl, Ro-meyeon made a show of calling him a “fat arse,” but promptly curled his arms around Hanbae’s waist like he’d been expecting it.
“Gimme the remote,” he demanded, cheek smooshed against Ah-bin’s thigh, arms draped lazily over the others.
Flicking through the channels, Hanbae—by force by Ro—stopped on a sappy human romance.
They watched in comfortable silence. Well, it was only Ro-meyeon and Ah-bin watching and suprisingly Derpy and Sussie, from their space on the carpet, seemed particularly focused on the screen as well. Miseo was back to reading and Hanbae was preoccupied on making love to his dessert.
Jinu, in all honesty, had barely looked at the screen.
Phone in hand, he scrolled silently through the charts. Heatstroke was exploding. The streams were rising like a tide, smashing their debut numbers like they were nothing. They’d hit millions within two days. But even with Heatstroke climbing fast, the numbers still showed it was Soda Pop holding strong in second place, right behind Huntr/x’s “Golden.”
The thought of Huntr/x cracked something brittle in his moment of pride.
Jinu’s thumb hovered, unmoving, over the chart.
He stared.
Rumi.
Rumi—leader of Huntr/x—a demon.
An uncomfortbale tightness wriggled into his stomach and his grip on the phone tightened. A hundred questions surged up at once: Why was she a demon? Was she fully or partly? How is she a hunter? Had her team noticed? Could he use it? Should he? How can he use this info to manipulate her? What kind of hunter was born of both worlds and chose to kill her blood? Does she know the reality of their lives in hell? If so, why would she still do this?
And why—why hadn’t he told the others already?
Because… he didn’t want to disturb the peace. That’s why. He glanced up instinctively.
Ah-bin was running gentle claws through Hanbae’s hair now, the younger demon softly sighing with each pass, occasionally awarding the himbo with a spoonful of ice cream. Miseo, in a rare vulnerable posture, had pinned his silvery fringe up with a purple clip so his face could be seen clearly, his eyes soft and half lidded, cheek resting against Ro-meyeon’s shoulder. And Ro-meyeon—
Ro-meyeon was staring directly at him already.
Their gazes locked.
Ro-meyeon’s eyes narrowed, His hands never stopped massaging Hanbae’s sides, but one eyebrow slowly lifted.
The expression wasn’t aggressive. More curious perhaps. It was the kind of look you gave someone when you were just initially developing suspicion.
Jinu looked away too fast.
Far, far too fast to the point even he knew he wasn’t being subtle.
Back to his screen. Scroll. Scroll.
“Hey, Jinu—” Ro-meyeon started, but Jinu bolted upright, practically—accidentally, sorry baby— flinging Hanbae to the carpet.
Hanbae groaned from the floor, glaring up with his bowl now empty and tragically cracked beside him, “What the hell, hyung—”
“Let’s do a livestream,” Jinu announced, walking out of the room too quickly, his face turned away to not reveal the flicker of panic.
Ah-bin raised an eyebrow, “Livestream? This late?”
“It’s great timing,” Jinu muttered, returning with a laptop in hand “Our fans in America and some parts of Europe are waking up.”
The moping began before the ring light had even finished being set up. While Jinu fiddled with the live cam setup—adjusting the height of the tripod, tweaking the angle of the camera lens, checking the lighting settings on his laptop—his four demon lovers did nothing but sulk with halfhearted complaints, all while draped dramatically across the massive couch.
“I’m so sick of humans,” Ro-meyeon grumbled, flopping a throw pillow over his face as if the very idea of fan interaction was a physical illness.
“Why must we constantly lower ourselves to this?” Miseo added, languid and low, hair already down again to hide his eyes.
“I don’t care anymore,” Hanbae said through a yawn, planting his weight across all of them with no sense of personal space, “as long as I can continue lying like this,” He wiggled until his position was optimal—lying fully across Miseo’s thighs, his head nestled on Ah-bin’s abs.
Ah-bin rolled his eyes but didn’t move, “Just don’t drool on me again.”
“It will be a short one, I promise,” Jinu said as he planted himself firmly in the centre of the couch. The boys flickered into their human guises. The pale gleam of demon skin dulled to that weak human softness, dark purple patterns vanished beneath the illusion and teeth dulled.
Jinu clicked the red button.
They were live.
Within seconds, the chat exploded with a flurry of hearts, emojis, and ALL CAPS. The number of viewers jumped in rapid increments, breaking a thousand, then five, then ten.
The format was simple: an open Q&A. Jinu fielded questions from his tablet, calling them out and passing the spotlight to each member. It went suprisingly smoothly.
Especially when compared to their first group live… Ro-meyeon had almost revealed their relationship with a too implicitive comment, Hanbae had complained he was hungry for something that, if you read into it, did not sound like food, Miseo had actually teleported away when someone asked him an uncomfortable question (Jinu, thank god, had pointed the camera away just in time) and Ah-bin, doing the most human thing, had set fire to the kitchen.
So compared to that experience… anything was an improvement.
At the twenty-eight-minute mark, Jinu gave a practised little nod and leaned in, his voice dropping just slightly, “We wanted to wait until the right moment to share this, but…” He glanced meaningfully at the others, who grinned happily (savagely), “It’s time we gave our fandom an official name, no?”
They had been talking about it for ages. It felt 100% right.
The chat exploded again, hearts and pleas and guesses clogging the feed in milliseconds. But Jinu raised a hand, silencing the virtual room with a single look.
“You’re the Pride,” he finally announced, “Like lions. You’re all strong, loyal and Beautiful.”
“Pride,” Ro-meyeon purred.
“Our Pride,” Miseo said it coolly.
Hanbae blew a kiss and Ah-bin flexed and pointed at the screen.
The reaction was all Jinu had wanted as they talked about it a bit more.
But the mood in the room turned tense the moment the chat pivoted.
“What do you think of Huntr/x?” one comment read and Jinu immediately regretted reading it aloud.
“RUJINU WHEN??? CHAT, YOU’VE SEEN TROUBLE MAKER RIGHTTT???”
“Zoemystery is real, you can’t change my mind!”
“Romira supremacy!”
”NO! It MIRABBY!”’
”WHY NOT BOTH?”
None of them spoke for half a beat.
The room dimmed by a fraction. Their smiles stayed in place, but an unspoken, tension when reading those messages.
They could smile and flirt all they wanted, but the truth was cruel, biting, sharp—they weren’t idol rivals that they could have a casual conversation with, all laugh with. Those women?
They were their executioners.
For the fanservice, however, they played their part.
Mystery gave a cryptic shrug, “Zoey?” he said, soft and elusive, “She has nice eyes.”
“Hmmm,” Ro-meyeon hummed, the sound like honey, “Mira has that type of intensity I have to respect.”
“I respect her more,” Ah-bin cut in, pretending to elbow Ro-meyeon.
“Do not,” Ro-meyeon hissed, holding in a laugh.
The fans ate it up.
Perfect fanservice.
But then came Jinu’s turn. The question was direct: “What do you think of Rumi?”
His smile wavered—barely, but enough. The response that came out was forced, mechanical, “She’s… diligent. Very… dedicated to her craft.”
It didn’t sound charming. It didn’t sound flirtatious. Shit, he’s ruined—
Hanbae saved him instantly, eyes gleaming like a devil, “Is that a blush I see, hyung?” he teased, reaching up to pinch Jinu’s cheek on camera.
Jinu, recovering expertly, ducking his head and muttering something convingly noncommittal.
It worked. The chat was flooded with screaming fans. Jinu laughed a little too loudly as he leaned towards the camera, “All right, Pride,” Jinu said, voice smooth once again, “thank you for joining us. Keep streaming Heatstroke, and remember…”
They all said it together, smiling into the camera, rehearsed and perfect: “The Saja boys love you.”
Click.
The laptop snapped shut. In an instant, the illusion peeled away. Human skin cracked and melted. Teeth sharpened. Claws returned. Their warmth turned to something colder but comfortable.
Jinu stood, stretched, and muttered, “I’m going to bed.”
The others didn’t question it, to exhausted from that too long experience.
“Aaaaaaaand still no ships for me,” Hanbae sang, grinning triumphantly, “Being the baby doesn’t seem so bad now, huh?”
Ah-bin chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s because you’re crazy.”
“I’m not crazy!” Hanbae objected.
“You very much are,” Miseo offered.
But Ro-meyeon’s eyes tracked Jinu’s retreating figure like a hawk.
And Jinu felt it up his spine as he slipped silently out of the room and clicked the door shut.
Notes:
Yeah, I wanted to add more songs to give grounds for their popularity. Soda pop is my jam but lets bsfr it aint taking over the world on it’s lonesome. I have a SUNO generated song for how the song would sound—alast it doesn’t sound like the boys at all because suno has addiction for female voices (you’d have to use ur imagination)—Do you guys want to hear it???
How did you guys like this chapter?? Felt a bit like a filler to me while writing it and idk if it reads flowily or clunckily.. you get? I just needed it to set up a stage persay. You’ll understand soon enough trustttt
The usual please! love ya lots and until next time <3
Chapter 22: Touch
Notes:
I was rewatching KDM because I was second guessing my personal height assumptions for each of them but the inconsistencies in animation go crazy. During the bowing scene, Mystery suddenly looks to be the tallest (in reference to his head getting closet to the floor) but then in the bathhouse between literally two shots of the same scene, Romance ends up looking a whole apple taller. Then Abby looks the tallest for the majority of the time until that video where they be saying thank you for being fans AND HES THE SAME HEIGHT AS JINU.
Idk.
They really said: leave it up to interpretation… except for Baby, he stays being shortest.
In my mind, shortest to tallest, it is baby - mystery - Jinu & romance same height - Abby. Fight me.
Enjoy all <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ro-meyeon is just as guilty as any demon in terms of lust—he was full of it.
So, nobody could dare blame him for thinking the rest of the world did not exist when, post-feed, he and his lovers were in one bed. On top of each other in the rawest ways possible.
In those moments he became a needy bastard—a deviant.
Moments exactly like this.
Hanbae was sprawled out, slack and flushed, his back arched and teeth sunk into his bottom lip, sandwiched between Ah-bin and Miseo. Their youngest wasn’t complaining — his half-lidded yellow eyes glimmered in bliss. Ah-bin knelt behind him and Miseo was flush against his chest. Hanbae was melting between the two of them, gasping and shuddering, muttering something incoherent.
Ro-meyeon loved to see it.
He grinned lazily as his eyes slid back over to the body he had pinned proudly against the plush bedding.
Jinu was beneath him, for once.
The coin rarely landed in his favour between the two of them, not that he minded but Ro-meyeon always liked it when it did. He knew exactly how to draw sounds from Jinu’s throat—knew what places to touch to make his leader squirm.
The best part, however? Having Jinu under him meant he could see every flicker of emotion in those golden eyes.
But today, something was off.
Jinu wouldn’t look at him.
Even with no inches between them, even with the way Jinu’s body responded—perfectly—he wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t meeting his eyes.
That was wrong.
Jinu’s eyes always burned during moments like these, like he was challenging Ro-meyeon to break him apart. But now they were avoiding it.
“Look at me,” Ro-meyeon growled softly, just above a whisper, his hand gripping Jinu’s jaw.
Jinu hesitated.
It was only a fraction of a second—but Ro-meyeon caught it. The flicker of uncertainty. The wavering in those demon-yellow irises. And then, Jinu spoke—quietly, carefully.
“Can we switch positions?” he asked, “I’m not comfortable.”
Ro-meyeon blinked, brows twitching together.
That wasn’t… unusual, per se. But coming from Jinu—who usually wanted control—it was enough to raise every alarm bell in Ro-meyeon’s head.
Still, he obliged.
He didn’t push. Not yet. Just shifted positions, letting Jinu turn over. He immediately went back to kissing along his back slowly and let his hand go back to tracing the muscular curves of his sides.
And then he felt it.
The heat.
It wasn’t until Ro-meyeon kissed along Jinu’s neck that he noticed it — the heat radiating from the other demon’s skin. Not the usual kind. This was too intense and even in the darkness of the room, Ro could tell it was along the distinct map of Jinu’s pattern.
He had every one of his boys' marking patterns memorised, after all.
Don’t ask him why, he just does.
Ro-meyeon’s brows furrowed.
“You’re burning up,” he whispered, hand brushing across the small of Jinu’s back, feeling the rise in temperature ripple under his fingertips, “Why are you—?”
“Just tired,” Jinu cut in quickly, pulling away.
Before Ro-meyeon could react, his hands were suddenly empty. The warmth under him, gone. He sat up fully in bed as Jinu wrapped the covers around himself and moved to the edge of the bed, his back turned to all of them.
”But we just ate! What—.”
”I’m not in the mood tonight… sorry.”
Ro-meyeon just stared.
When has Jinu ever not been in the mood? Had he done something wrong?
Ro-meyeon opened his mouth to say something, maybe to demand an explanation as to why he was acting distant with him, but his hungry mind — the lingering need that was only half-sated—clamped down on the thought.
He told himself it was probably stress— one of Jinu’s moods. There’s no reason for Jinu to be upset with him to the point of avoiding his gaze and not wanting his touch.
Right?
Ro’s chest tightened.
He stared one last time longingly at Jinu’s blanket-covered back before he turned his attention back to the others.
Without a word, he reached across the mess of sheets and hooked his hand around Miseo’s nape, yanking him towards him. Miseo gasped, surprised, but didn’t resist. Hanbae whined at the loss of Miseo’s attention but it was quickly muffled again by Ah-bin nipping at his lip and growling something low into his ear.
Ro paid it no mind as he pulled Miseo away, flipped him neatly over, and pinned him down to the mattress.
Miseo dryly snorted as Ro-meyeon climbed over him, “Rough, much?”
“Try needy,” Ro-meyeon muttered, voice roughened and dark, fangs barely concealed behind his smirk, “I’m in the mood to ruin something pretty.”
And maybe that was it. Maybe he was ruining things. Maybe he’d pushed too hard, said something wrong. Maybe Jinu pulling away hadn’t been exhaustion or stress but a rejection.
He kissed Miseo then—hard and unapologetic to the point he was left breathless—and tightened his grip along the boy's arms, as if he could chase the thought out of himself.
But even as Ro-meyeon moved against him the way he always would—with love, with passion and in that way that never failed to make Miseo’s back arch and cry out his name—his eyes still flicked toward the corner of the bed again.
In his lust-driven haze, he thought he saw the glowing flicker of Jinu’s patterns.
But his mind is selective and unreliable in remembering things during these moments.
He remembers getting more turned on when he looked down at Miseo, flushed and lips parted.
And he also remembers how he may have done something wrong but he doesn’t know what it is.
-
Ro-meyeon shot up from the bed with a quiet gasp, breath trembling from the nightmare he could still feel under his ribs. The light from the slits in the curtain weren’t enough to brighten the room and stave off the shadows.
He reached blindly into the space in front of him. The space was empty. He blinked and turned, only to find Jinu gone.
He was alone. He was alone. He—
He slammed a hand to his opposite side and hit something hard and solid.
”Ughhh,” Ah-bin groaned, still asleep, moving his hand to shield his left pec that was just suddenly assaulted.
The other three still lay tangled in the sheets. Hanbae slept with his mouth open, sprawled across Miseo’s chest. Ah-bin had already gone back to snoring. They were peace incarnate.
And Ro-meyeon couldn’t bear to wake them, “Sorry love,” he whispered, kissing his himbo’s cheek.
He slipped out of bed and glided down the stairs.
He needed to be held. Needed to touch.
The smell hit him before the sound. Pancakes. His favourite. He rounded the corner and there was Jinu, flipping a golden disk of batter over a steaming pan. His back was turned. Everything about him, from the way his dark hair curled damply at the ends to how he stood barefoot in joggers and a long-sleeve black turtleneck, screamed home.
Ro-meyeon came up behind him silently, fingers teasing at Jinu's waist and then he began to lift the hem of his shirt just to brush his fingertips against his lover’s chest.
Before he could, Jinu jerked the fabric down with a sharp motion and a clipped laugh, “Hot pan. Careful,” he said without looking at him, voice even and unreadable.
Ro froze, fingers hanging in the air.
“Whyyyy?” Ro-meyeon whined, linking his fingers with Jinu’s and fiddling with his sleeve, intent on pulling it up and peppering kisses along his arm.
A very routine thing Ro does to all his lovers. Jinu knows this but—
Jinu pulled his hands back, tugging the sleeve back down, “Sorry, I’m not in the mood,” he said flatly.
Ro-meyeon felt his heart shatter.
Oh.
So he has done something wrong.
A beat later, his lips parted in a strained smile—gentle, charming and too polished to be real, “Right,” he said, “Of course.”
He turned around before Jinu could say anything else, shoulders too square, spine too straight.
The hallway light flicked on behind him as he staggered into his walk-in wardrobe. It was only once the door shut that the tightness in his throat grew too sharp to ignore.
He flung open a wardrobe. The hangers clicked sharply as he flicked through outfits. Lace vests, silk robes, cropped sweaters, jackets, jeans, cargos, shirts. He tried them on. One after another. Some he barely glanced at before discarding, others he put on fully, only to rip them off moments later. Nothing looked right. Nothing fit.
He couldn’t breathe in any of it.
His eyes glimmered with unshed tears as he stood frozen in front of the wall mirror. He clutched at the hem of his shirt like it might hold him together.
“Too much,” he muttered to his reflection, eyes sharp and wet, “I was too much.”
He sank to the floor with a sob, curling one leg beneath him. His fall was cushioned by the insurmountable amount of clothes he’d left dashed on the floor.
“I shouldn’t have touched him,” he gasped lowly, “I always ruin it.”
Ro-meyeon pressed his forehead against the floor, the pressure grounding him for a moment. But then the worst thought started chanting in his head.
They’re going to leave me.
Ro wrapped his arms around his waist, hugging himself tightly. He hated this feeling. Rejection reminded him too easily of—
He tried to fight it, but his mind was already dragging him backwards.
Back to those wretched nightmares he tried to ignore. Back to the time before hell.
He remembered a broken roof, hunger and unhappiness. He remembered the sting of a woman's voice when he came home empty-handed again, arms full of foolish sketches and play-scripts.
”Your art isn’t worth a thing!”
That wasn’t true. It was valuable in his eyes.
“You want to be an actor while our children starve?”
He had. Desperately. He had wanted the stage, the freedom, the admiration of strangers who didn’t know how pathetic he was at home. It was greed, admittedly. But he just wanted more.
And then—finally—one day he had it.
He had a gig. It was just a little money, enough to feed them for weeks, maybe longer if rationed right.
He remembered, running, sprinting home with hope for the future. He’d imagined her smile and his children dancing barefoot with joy. The future for once looked bright—
Until he saw fire.
He saw them.
His wife. Their children.
Curled around each other, they lay in the corner of the single room, arms wrapped around each other, unmoving.
Charred canvas. Scripts that read his dream roles.
Gone. All of it. All of them.
Because he had chosen ambition. And so it took away his everything.
‘You were selfish then. You’re selfish now. You want too much. You’ll lose everything again.’
That moment was the last thing he remembered before he’d woken up in hell.
Ro-meyeon blinked. His lip trembled. He hated these memories. He hated how alive it still felt. He pulled a silk jacket across his lap, gripping it like a comfort object. His throat was dry.
He was doing it again, wasn’t he?
Being selfish.
Pushing too hard.
Trying to take more than was given.
Wanting Jinu’s warmth when it wasn’t offered. Wanting his touch, his praise, his attention. Wanting to be everything and always. It was too much. He was too much. He always—
“You’re allowed to be ambitious, Ro-meyeon.”
That voice. It wasn’t her voice or Gwi-ma’s voice for that matter. It was Jinu’s. Smooth. Unapologetic. He remembered hearing it in his second or third… or was it fifth decade in hell? Time became a foreign concept when he was at his most broken.
Despite it all being a blur, he could never forget how Jinu was the first person to tell him it was okay to want the things he desired. It is…
It was a part of human nature. And whether man or demon… he deserved to want.
Ro-meyeon’s hands loosened their grip as his chest stopped tightening.
If Jinu, or any of them, had wanted him gone—really wanted him gone—he would’ve been gone a long ago. Jinu wasn’t the type to keep dead dragging weight.
Like he could ever be dead weight to his four lovers.
Ro-meyeon smiled faintly to himself, a coyness in his expression.
And besides… Jinu made pancakes.
Crispy, vanilla-heavy, just the way he liked them.
And he’d bought him clothes last week too. And makeup. And another three tubs of that expensive hair gel.
Small things but they add up. If Jinu was done with him and his desires, he wouldn’t be trying so hard.
The door suddenly creaked.
Hanbae peeked inside, his wild, sleep-tousled hair flopping into his eyes. His oversized pink hoodie draped off one shoulder, and his socks didn’t match—one had frogs, the other stars.
“Breakfast’s ready,” in that uncharacteristically deep voice of his, even heavier with sleep.
His eyes caught on Ro-meyeon immediately, and widened just as fast when he saw the unmistakable gloss of dried tears on his cheeks, “Why are you crying?”
Ro-meyeon laughed, “I’m fine.”
The words came easily. Because they were true. He was fine. His chest didn’t burn anymore. His throat wasn’t clogged with sobs. The worries had passed like a cool gust of wind in the summer: intense and consuming, but short-lived, deceitful and absolutely not permanent. Ro knew that much.
But obviously, with the way Hanbae’s eyes narrowed on him and he bit his bottom—bruised—lip, he wasn’t believed.
“I just had one of those dreams,” Ro added with a weak shrug, “Touch-starved, that’s all.”
Hanbae stepped further into the room, his brows furrowed and crossed his arms in a way that made him look as though he were scolding his child. Ironic, huh? “Why didn’t you come back to bed?”
“Didn’t want to disturb anyone,” Ro replied as he rolled to his feet with fluid ease, brushing off the sleeves of a crumpled blazer and stepping barefoot across his pile of clothes.
He slung an arm over Hanbae’s shoulders, anchoring himself to the warmth of the youngest. Hanbae rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away, in fact, he casually wound his hand around the taller demon’s waist, “You could’ve woken us.”
Ro-meyeon ruffled Hanbae’s already messy hair and he squealed indignantly, “I know, baby, I know,” Ro laughed quietly under his breath as they left the room.
When they returned to the main living space, all eyes turned toward them.
“You okay?” Ah-bin asked, eyes flicking over him with concern.
“Fine,” Ro-meyeon said easily, unhooking himself from Hanbae and plopping down onto the couch, “Just needed a minute.”
Miseo gave him a once-over, his face unreadable as always, but he nodded once in approval.
Jinu, however, stilled.
His shoulders hunched slightly over the stove, spatula paused mid-air. When he turned, the smile he wore was automatic, “I made your favourite,” he said, offering Ro a plate stacked high with golden pancakes drizzled in cherry syrup and chocolate.
Ro took it carefully, eyes flicking to Jinu’s face.
“Thanks,” he murmured, even as the leader turned back to the stove probably thinking Ro-meyeon missed the way his expression flickered with guilt.
Ro didn’t like it—because he knew himself that he was fine. He didn’t want Jinu feeling like he did something wrong, especially if it’s because of something going on with him that he's keeping from them.
Ro-meyeon wasn’t worried about himself anymore. He’s secure, confident and loved. He didn’t have to be anything less or more than what he was… and now he’s worried about his suddenly distant leader.
“I’m just going to the bathroom real quick,” Jinu said suddenly, setting the spatula down with a clatter and exiting the kitchen with a too-bright smile.
Ro-meyeon watched him.
And just before Jinu turned the corner, Ro’s gaze locked on the skin above his high collar. For a second, he saw a flash of his demon patterns crawling higher up the side of Jinu’s throat and onto his face. Too dark. Too bold.
Ro’s mouth parted.
They fed yesterday.
That kind of flare-up… it shouldn’t be happening so soon. Not unless something was wrong.
Ro swallowed hard.
He let the others distract themselves with breakfast, let Hanbae argue with Miseo about syrup-to-pancake ratio and watched Ah-bin silently hand Derpy and Sussie a piece of bacon under the table.
Ro looked down at his plate.
The pancakes were warm. Fluffy. He could smell the hint of vanilla extract. He could see the slight golden crisp around the edges. Perfectly done.
When he noticed, he exhaled through his nose and struggled to bite back a tiny smile. Scrawled in one corner, in chocolate sauce, was a tiny message: Sorry love.
No, he wasn’t worried about any of them ever thinking he was too much.
Now, his focus was on his well-placed concerns about somebody else.
Notes:
Guys I didn’t know what coy actually meant but was using it anyway because I assumed myself right. ONLY TO FIGURE OUT IT MEANS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I THOUGHT?? Imma kms.
Anyways, how’d y’all find it! All the saja boys now have hints to their backstories that i may or may not develop on. Love the fact Romance is so comfortable in his position (i say as though I’m not the one to write this). I headcanon him as an emotionally mature guy despite the way he acts, who of course embraces when he’s not feeling 100% but wouldn’t catastrophise until something really really bad happened ygm? and Jinuuuu… behave.
The usual guys! Until next time <3
Chapter 23: Secrets
Notes:
I just clocked this story is the top for kudos, comments and hits for the Abby/Baby/Jinu/Mystery/Romance tag…
…
.…
…AHHHH! Gang, that's insane! YOU ALL DID THAT! Thank you all for your continual support!
Hope y’all enjoy this next chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A week had passed, and it was late at night. He had made sure his lovers were fast asleep before he slipped out.
With the moon cloaked in clouds and the city humming with nighttime activity, he stood with his victim in an alley carved between two buildings, his demon form exposed fully. Alas, his patterns glowed a sickly pink—bright, feverish and bold against his skin—close, too close, to getting pulled back through the honmoon and back to Gwi-ma.
He was starting to hear his voice again as well. That pissed Jinu off.
The heat radiated off him in waves as he held the human up by the throat with one hand. The man’s screams were choked out as he kicked at the air and shook his head erratically. Jinu’s fingers tightened, slow and deliberate, until the fragile skin beneath began to split, the light scrape of claws starting to draw blood.
Jinu hated this. Not the act itself—he’d long since abandoned any morals regarding survival in hell or earth—but the inconvenience of it all.
A leader starving is a leader distracted. He can’t be distracted.
His patterns had been flaring more often, going suddenly cold and hot and his energy has been an unpredictable mess.
And it made him act irrationally. He hated being perceived as irrational.
The human gasped and flailed, choking on fear more than breath, wide eyes meeting Jinu’s and finding only unrelenting, abyssal hunger.
This had to be handled now, away from their worry. With a growl, Jinu started the condensing.
“Sorry,” he whispered darkly, voice thick and honeyed, “But I can’t afford to leave them.”
The human’s body stiffened one last time before it crumpled. Jinu watched intently as their form folded inward, twisting, compressing, until all that remained was clothes on the floor and a trembling, glowing blue orb in his palm. It pulsed violently, desperate and very much alive.
“Shhh,” he cooed cruelly, gently cupping the soul, stroking his finger across it like it were some trembling animal, “It’ll be over soon.”
He pressed the orb to his lips and slid it onto his tongue. He closed his mouth slowly, sealing it in and the human’s soul squirmed uncomfortably against his teeth.
He closed his eyes, furrowing his brows as he let the addictive taste coat his tongue.
After that second of savouring, he tilted his head back and swallowed hard, one hand dragging along his own throat to trace the glowing lump as it disappeared beneath his collarbone.
When that warm warm energy started spreading out in his core, relief hit him like a tidal wave.
The groan that escaped him was primal—deep, drawn out, his spine arching slightly as his glowing patterns dulled into the usual soft maroon ever present on his skin. His muscles, once bundled up and tight, loosened just enough for him to move without pain.
And thank God, the honmoons incessant tugging and that tyrant’s voice were gone. For now.
His breathing slowed. For a second, he just stood there, back against the brick wall, claws retracting to a more manageable shape, heart pounding against his ribs.
“Hot.”
Jinu flinched, head snapping around, golden eyes sharpening to a feline slit before the voice registered. Ro-meyeon leaned against the far wall of the alley, just out of direct light, like he’d been watching the whole time—judging by his expression, he probably had. His gelled heart-shaped hair was gone for the evening, replaced by soft straight hair falling freely around his face, giving him the more natural kind of look beauty Jinu first fell in love with. There was no smile, only observation in his eyes, cool and intense.
Shit.
Busted.
“Could’ve told me you were there,” Jinu said, not quite managing to keep the tension from his tone. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, already calculating excuses, even if Ro-meyeon was the last one to judge.
Ro pushed off the wall with the lazy grace of a cat, and in a few strides, he was in front of Jinu, “I wasn’t looking for you per se," he murmured as he placed his arms around Jinu’s shoulder, “Just couldn’t sleep with someone… missing.” Then, without permission, without question, he kissed him.
Jinu let him. In fact, he kissed back harder.
Jinu’s hands slipped to Ro’s waist, instinctively grounding himself with the warmth of that familiar body. The kiss broke and they stared into each other's eyes.
“Normally, you would’ve known I was there,” Ro-meyeon murmured as he brushed his fingers along Jinu’s cheek, “You're usually too aware when feeding.”
Jinu sighed, resting his head against his lover’s shoulder, “Are you going to lecture me?”
“Why would I? Is there a reason for me to?” Ro-meyeon shrugged with a lazy smile, stepping beside him and casually taking Jinu’s still-warm hand, entwining their fingers.
Jinu blinked. Damn it. He walked right into that.
They then began walking like they were simply lovers taking a moonlit stroll rather than monsters walking home from a fresh kill.
They didn’t talk for a long while, just walked together through the backstreets that led toward the Saja house. The silence between them was easy and companionable. Jinu didn’t mind the quiet with Ro-meyeon; it never felt judgmental. But Jinu could smell a confrontation coming a mile away.
“Y’know,” Ro-meyeon began, voice soft but intentful and his grip on Jinu’s hand tightened, “you burn through your energy much much faster than all of us.”
There it is.
“Now, I have less knowledge of this stuff than you do,” Ro added, cocking his head slightly, “but—correct me if I’m wrong—the biggest cause of energy loss is just existing and maintaining our forms on earth. Then obviously, using our powers. But a close third?” His gaze hardened against the concrete pavement, “Carrying the burden of something: stress, shame, regret, fear, self-doubt, resentment… guilt.”
Jinu didn’t respond immediately.
His footsteps slowed and for a moment neither of them looked at the other, the quiet growing so thick it became palpable. The lamp above them flickered once, twice, then steadied again. Jinu finally exhaled through his nose and looked forward, pretending to find interest in the cracked sidewalk.
“I’m just stressed at the moment,” Jinu finally said, shrugging in that too-casual way he always did when cornered, when the truths were clawing too close to the surface, “I’m having to manage the promotion of Heatstroke and there are so many deadlines the label keep pushing for, such as the EP—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Ro-meyeon’s voice cut clean through his excuse, stopping walking entirely, “You’re hiding something from us.”
For a second, Jinu didn’t respond. But then—his skin betrayed him.
The patterns across Jinu’s collarbones pulsed, glowing red and alive and painful for the shortest moment and Ro-meyeon’s lips curled as he stared at them.
He had hit the nail on the head. The silence between them stretched again, longer this time, heavier. Jinu looked at him now, eyes wide. Ro’s eyes searched his, patient, expectant, unwilling to press but not willing to look away either.
After what felt like an hour in a single breath, he broke eye contact first, “Ro I…” Jinu’s voice trailed off. Even he didn’t sound convinced in himself and he hadn’t said a full sentence yet.
Telling them would add factors he’s not sure fit into his forming plan.
Ro-meyeon exhaled, the disappointment obvious in his tired sigh, “You’re lucky it’s me who noticed, and not them,” he muttered, almost wistfully, “Because I’m reasonable. So even when you’re being unreasonable, I won’t push you, even if I so, so want to.”
He stepped back and dropped Jinu’s hand gently—Jinu had forgotten they were holding hands until the warmth disappeared.
Ro-meyeon turned away slightly, his silhouette pale under the soft glow of moonlight, eyes dim with something not quite sadness.
”I know, for whatever reason you’re keeping this to yourself, you think it’s for the best so I’ll keep the fact that you have a secret… a secret,” Ro-meyeon promised, not looking at him, “But I expect—we expect to hear it soon. Especially if it’s hurting you. It’s not fair…”
Jinu said nothing.
“Don’t keep stuff from us, Jinu. We’re a team. You can’t forget that,” he said, turning his head just enough to show the gleam in his eye, “Didn’t we just promise not to let one of us carry all the weight alone?”
He didn’t wait for a reply. With a flick of his fingers and a quiet breath, Ro-meyeon dissolved into a swirl of soft pink mist.
Jinu stood in the alley alone now, the night colder and louder than before. He swore softly under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair until it clumped in his claws, his jaw tightening as his thoughts swirled.
He poofed into a puff of pink seconds later.
-
He landed with a soft crunch of leaves underfoot, greeted by the cool hush of the old mountain village.
Jinu stepped forward slowly, his boots silent against the uneven stone paths, though his mind felt anything but quiet.
He closed his eyes for a moment, soaking in the strange stillness. And when he opened them again, he wasn’t alone.
From the shadows, the hulking, wide-eyed form of the tiger demon padded into view, wide paws silent on the stones. Its monstrous teeth were still locked in that same dopey grin, unblinking yellow-orange eyes fixed right on him. Moments later, a flutter of wings broke the quiet as the bird demon—Sussie—landed gracefully on Derpy’s head, his six eyes blinking in perfect sequence.
The giant cat plopped down to sit in front of Jinu. He smiled faintly at the pair of hideously adorable beasts. He reached out, itching behind the big cat’s ear and stroking the magpie’s chin.
He stared at them a little longer, really looking this time, and something in his expression hardened—something calculative.
“Hey…” he said quietly, voice low, “Think you can deliver a message for me?”
The tiger tilted its head like a confused cat. The bird blinked, once, twice, three times—one for each pair of eyes. Jinu looked down at his boots, teeth clenched behind a tight-lipped grin as he contemplated.
He’d tell them when telling them didn’t pose a risk to them. He had to keep them safe from things that could hurt them.
He could handle the burden of this secret for a little longer.
Plus, the fewer people involved, the easier it was to manipulate the outcome.
This was 100% the best decision. He’s sorry, but his lovers were going to have to wait a little bit longer.
Slowly, that grin widened into something more devilish, more familiar. The mask slipped back into place like a glove.
“And… don’t let the others know.”
Notes:
Y’know irrationally, my biggest fear is that when KDH 2 comes out, what if the saja boys actualy end up getting backstories and then someday in the future when new readers are reading my fic they’ll be like “what the fuck is this?”
Shower thoughts guys, nothing serious!
Anyways, how’d yall find it??? Jinu man seriously, what is up with you? I wonder where this is gonna go (I say as id I dont have the plot outline already for the next 20 chapters :w;). But icl it’s always shifting cuz I will litch be in bed, eyes closed and everything and then I come up with an idea. ITS AN ENDLESS CYCLE I SWEAR!!! Comments, mistakes, tag recommendations the like!
And lemme reiterate, THANK YOU, yall are the reason for the success of this fic and the only reason I’m still even writing. The kudos are so nice to see and massive hearts eyes to all yall who add one!!! The comments especially keep me motivated because they literally mean you’ve taken the second out your day to say smth to me. KEEP EM COMING GANG
Until next time <33
Chapter 24: Meeting
Notes:
I am so freaking hungover gang…
On top of that I’m not sure how confident I am about this chapter as idk if i relayed the vibe I wanted to go for. My fear is that if I piled in ALL my exposition here, it would end up being and sounding to clunky.
SO go into this with an open, non expectant mind (because author’s feeling insecure 🙂↕️✌️)
Enjoy!!
Editing…
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jinu blinked three times, his lips parting in the faintest trace of amusement and disbelief as Rumi, without so much as a breath of hesitation, lunged forward and sliced clean through the mannequin manifestation he’d stationed as his decoy. The head rolled, bounced once, and thudded against the rooftop.
So she’s a demon and she’s crazy.
“Wow,” he drawled, teleporting just behind her, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world, “I wasn’t expecting a hug, but that works too.”
Rumi didn’t waste a second. She turned on him instantly, sword flashing, every strike a promise of a one-way ticket back to Gwi-ma. Jinu dodged with casual ease.
“I just wanna talk,” he tried again, ducking beneath a sweeping horizontal slash, only for her to whirl and drive the sword at his side, “Seriously, can we take it down one notch? Just a conversation.”
“You want to talk,” she snapped, incredulous, already bringing her heel around for a follow-up kick, “after threatening me?”
His palms came up in mock surrender, still dodging, “You wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t.”
“I have nothing to discuss with a demon.”
She says "demon" like it’s a slur. It’s amusing—irritating, too, if Jinu is being honest.
“Probably,” he admitted with a laugh, flipping backwards and landing on a ridge beam, crouched like a delinquent, “But it’s about your patterns. Although—” He tilted his head as she stepped forward with her sword poised to gut him, “—I have to say, the teddy bears and choo choo train pants? Really?”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” she snapped, and lunged, blade glowing faintly purple as it hummed with holy energy. Jinu sighed, dodging again, “You think I won’t kill you right here, right now?”
“No,” he said, teleporting to the opposite roof. There was a double meaning to his answer—one meaning she seemed completely oblivious to. The obvious: that he believed her blade wouldn’t be able to get a solid enough hit to “kill him”. The second: if she did, if she managed to land a fatal strike and send him back, she wouldn’t be the one finishing him off. She’d just be the knife that delivers him gift-wrapped to Gwi-ma’s doorstep.
Might as well baste him in oil and shove an apple in his mouth while she's at it, he thought bitterly.
“I think you would. But if I thought you could, I wouldn’t be here.” His voice sharpened, for just a second, and Rumi faltered at the shift.
That’s all he needed.
“I could have revealed your secret, y’know. I still could. And judging by how quickly you came here after my note...” He glanced at her reaction—tense—then nodded slightly to himself. “They don’t know, do they?”
Rumi’s silence said everything. Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a line, and she adjusted her grip on the hilt of her blade. She didn’t deny it.
Perfect.
Jinu slowly started to walk around her, circling (it was awkward because they were on a roof but he was Jinu so he made it work). His shoes tapped faintly on the rooftop, the wind brushing his hair away from his brow.
“A demon girl,” he said, each word deliberate, slow, “but also a hunter. Roaming free in the human world… kind of poetic, honestly.”
“Just hunter,” she snapped, sword lifted again. “Not demon.”
He turned slightly, head tilted, and regarded her like one might a strange bird fallen out of the sky. “Then how did you get the patterns?”
Her jaw clenched, “It’s none of your business.”
He stopped, “Huh.”
With one smooth motion, he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket. He stared down at his patterns with disdain. They weren’t that glowing red because he had not long eaten but they were still there. Faint, but there. A mark that serves as a constant reminder. “I know what it’s like to have them,” he said quietly, brushing his fingers over them as he looked to the moon.
“Demons don’t feel anything,” Rumi said abruptly, her voice sharp and mocking.
He was grateful—truly, blessedly grateful—that she couldn’t see his face in full from this angle. Simply because for the briefest instant his eyes lit a molten yellow, hot and angry and wild. That’s a side she shouldn’t see just yet if he wants to gain her trust.
Because that was not true and that cold willful ignorance burned anger into his soul. She really believed demons were just soulless, mindless monsters who claw and bite for no reason.
He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling through his nose, and when he looked at her again, they were back to his brown shade—warm and human.
“Is that what you think?” His voice had lost its laziness now. It was quieter. Heavier. “That’s all demons do, Rumi. Feel. We feel fear. Shame. Misery. Rage.”
Love.
“Hunger,” His eyes stayed on her, expression unreadable. “Especially hunger.”
She didn’t answer, but the knuckles on her sword whitened.
“Our patterns are a reminder of a fate we will never be free from,” he continued. “They’re not just marks. They’re chains. And the more they spread, the more we belong to Gwi-ma… Earth is the only place we can prevent the inevitable.”
He paused, “Human death is just… an unfortunate byproduct.”
He looked at her again— considering truly if he should reveal the whole truth to this demonphobic hunter— and saw only confusion on her face—genuine, unconcealed confusion. And for a second, something inside him cracked with disbelief.
She doesn’t know a thing.
“Do you not feel it?” he asked, after a beat, voice quieter, hoarser. “That incessant pull from the honmoon? That gnawing on your soul that tells you you’ll either consume or… Aren’t you starving?” His eyes narrowed. “Have you… Eaten a fan or two?”
Rumi blinked, one eyebrow lifting slowly in anger. “What are you talking about? I would never kill a person. They’re just marks.”
She hasn’t felt a single thing either.
Something sharp and hot clawed through Jinu’s core, feelings of jealousy and helplessness and fury threading together in his mind. The idea—no, the fact—that she didn’t know that hunger to live, didn’t feel the true burden of the curse aside from what’s there physically, made something inside him rot. They had fought every day, every hour, every damn breath down in hell and were still running even on earth. No true and honest promise of freedom, just running.
He would kill half this world, burn cities to cinders, drown valleys in screams—if it meant any one of his boys could be spared of this curse.
If Ah-bin could enjoy just human food. If Hanbae didn’t wake up trembling with the aftershock of dreams. If Ro-meyeon didn’t have to mask his spiralling with flirtation. If Miseo could look in the mirror without flinching at what he’d become.
And yet, this blessing—this impossible, unfair gift—hadn’t gone to one of them.
It hadn’t gone to any of the thousands of demons suffering under the hunger of Gwi-ma.
No.
It had gone to her.
Their bright-eyed, mortal sworn enemy.
Hell, and Earth, it seemed, were equally cruel.
Jinu could feel the patterns on his body pulse faintly beneath his disguise, the honmoon immediately pulling at the slightest sight of weakness. He could already imagine Gwi-ma laughing at his misery as he wrapped his claws around him and consumed his entire being.
But instead of saying the words that burned on his tongue—how dare you not suffer, how dare you not carry the curse we bleed for, how dare you be spared what even the strongest of us decay under—he swallowed it down.
“You’re lucky,” he muttered finally, and this time his voice was tight, “You’re lucky and you don’t even know it.”
Jinu smiled faintly, but it was a cold and cynical kind of smile,“I wasn’t always like this,” he said, voice lower now, reverent.
“I think—” he paused, correcting himself, “I believe I was human. A long time ago. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what was rewritten by Gwi-ma’s script.”
She didn’t answer. So he continued.
“I was a musician and singer. It was just me and my bipa,” he said, more to the wind than to her. “We were extremely poor and miserable. My family had nothing. I tried to make money with my talent. I believed it’d work… but it didn’t. Until I heard him.”
‘You can’t do anything for your family. You’re not good enough for them. But I can help you be good enough.’
Jinu chuckled bitterly to ignore the way the memories pierced his brain.
“It worked. For a moment.” Jinu’s voice dropped again, nearly a whisper. “Just long enough to taste it and think I had gotten us out.” He looked down at his hand.
”But then the patterns grew and my soul was taken by him for eternity. To be his possession. His prisoner. His..”
Meal. He says in his mind rather than allowing her to know. She does not deserve the full truth.
He was quiet for a while after that. The wind filled the space between them, soft but biting, threading through his hair, pressing cold against his cheek.
“What am I doing here?” he finally said, half to her, half to the sky. “Just running. Trying to outrun his control. Like it’s not inevitable.”
He didn’t mention the best part—the only part that had made this living nightmare even remotely survivable. The others. His boys. His bloodstained family. That despite their shattered souls, they had come together.
And that Jinu loved them.
But this girl, who believes demons can’t feel, who doesn’t know what her demon-hunting acts actually do, would never understand that. Not really. Even when she herself, with all her human righteousness, had demon blood flowing through her veins.
So he kept that part to himself as well.
Keeping her focus on just him makes her all the more easier to manipulate.
So he said instead, “The only way to keep the patterns at bay—the only way to delay Gwi-ma from getting his hands on us—is to keep doing what demons were designed to do.”
He didn’t say the words.
Didn’t have to.
Internally, Jinu smirked. Her sword was slack in her hand, no longer poised to strike, no longer shaking with self-righteous fury. Good. She wasn’t as heartless as she wanted to be.
Perfect.
She was letting her guard down, and Jinu was nothing if not an opportunist. So he took a single step closer, closing the air between them with slow, measured grace, like a predator pretending to walk beside prey.
“I don’t know why you don’t feel what we do,” he said softly, watching her face carefully as her patterns glowed, “Why you don’t ache with the need like we do… But that doesn’t make you different. Just like me, you have fear and shame.. and are under threat from Gwi-ma.”
“I’m not—” she started, tone brittle.
“You are,” he cut in smoothly. “And I think it's okay to be afraid of that reality.” His eyes softened slightly, just enough to feel almost human, “I’m scared all the time.”
“You don’t know me,” Rumi snapped, sword shaking in her trembling hand.
He tilted his head, the picture of patience—calm, charming, even sympathetic, as he placed a hand on her chest. “Maybe,” he allowed, his voice smooth and calculated. “But I could get to know you.”
Humans, he’ll say for the umpteenth time, are so easy. Give them the slightest sliver of understanding and they stand not a single chance.
“You could tell me. I’d understand. I mean, who else could you tell, Rumi? Your friends?” His lip curled slightly when she hitched a breath, “I’m… the only one who can.”
Rumi raised her sword again, this time way way more hesitant, the tip of the blade once more aimed for the vital spot just under his chin.
“I’m nothing like you,” she spat.
Jinu raised his hands in surrender, taking two slow steps back with a sigh of pity. “Denial. I get it. I was once there too,” he said, eyes half-lidded with practised empathy, “But I’ll be here when you’re done pretending.”
Her scream of rage cut through the rooftop like a whip, and she charged him.
“Until next time, hunter," he murmured, voice vanishing into the dark as he disappeared in a blink of burning red light.
He didn’t wait. Didn’t linger to listen or gloat or offer a farewell smile. He vanished mid-step, her sword swinging only into the air.
-
Jinu stood in the narrow alleyway, his palms slick with sweat and his patterns flickering and widening. His forehead pressed against the cold, grime-slick brick, trying to steady his breath.
“Fuck.”
That conversation was exhausting.
He hated how much raw negative emotions she stirred in him. Those hunters dare say they hate Gwi-ma but are indirectly helping him.
Her indifference. Her ignorance. She didn’t feel hunger, she didn’t suffer the draining pull of starvation that clawed at his very essence every time he went too long without a soul. Gwi-ma wasn’t after her. How could she walk around half-demon and yet not suffer a little bit? What kind of justice was that?
The longer he stood there, the more he seethed. Mankind. Hunters. Their ignorance. Their fragility and yet privilege. They get to live like freedom is a birthright.
And why should he feel bad for taking it?
His patterns flashed dangerously on his skin and it burned. For the briefest second, he heard that cursed whisper that made him want to clamp his hands over his ears.
“Again?” He whispered to himself, staring down at his shaking hands. So soon, as well.
From the mouth of the alley, a figure passed — a young man in a pale pink varsity jacket with the words “Pride for Life” stitched across the shoulders. His wrist glinted with a Saja Boys charm bracelet. A glowing lightstick pulsed in his hand, casting a red glow over his beaming, unsuspecting face. A perfect, blind, adoring fool.
Jinu stepped from the shadow like temptation incarnate.
“Hey,” he whispered, silky and low, voice dipped in something between a hum and a hiss.
The boy paused, eyes wide, pupils ballooning with disbelief and electric awe. The glowstick in his hand flickered gently as if responding to his heart rate. “Jinu?! Oh my god—!”
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask why he was here, didn’t question how or why an idol would be alone in this grimy alley past midnight. No. The moment he saw his idol’s face — even dimmed under shadow — he ran in with the eager speed of a loyal mutt.
It was almost adorable.
Almost.
Seconds later, the alley fell into a quick silence, the only sound a sharp gasp cut short.
…
..
.
He exhaled in relief, letting his human disguise fall right back onto his skin.
“Better you than me,” he whispered as he prepared to leave.
Until he heard footsteps—two pairs.
He froze. Carefully, he stepped back into the shadowed corner of the alley, flattening himself against the cold brick wall.
Two police officers walked past the mouth of the alley, slow and serious. Their voices, though hushed, carried in the stillness of the night.
“This is the thirteenth missing person report today,” the first one muttered, checking a device clipped to his belt, “There’s not even a pattern or a trace. What the hell is going on?”
The second one swore under his breath, “I told my niece to stop going out at night. People disappearing at night is no joke.”
“But the days aren’t even safe,” the first said grimly. “Nothing about this is normal. Let’s request a lockdown on District—.”
The officer's voices, turning the corner, faded to the point Jinu could no longer hear. Only when they were fully out of sight, he stepped out slowly, silently, his shoes brushing aside the boy’s saja jacket.
He ran a hand through his hair, loosened the top two buttons of his shirt, and let out a breathy sigh.
This was becoming unsustainable fast.
Jinu wasn’t stupid.
He was selfish, yes. Calculated. Manipulative. Possessive to a fault. But he wasn’t stupid.
With an influx of demons breaking through the honmoon, it’s not only him and his group feeding. The more incidients, the higher risk they have at gettting caught. If they wanted any sort of longevity, something in his plans had to shift.
Something big.
And soon.
Because as much as he liked pretending otherwise, there was only so long they could keep this up before something went wrong.
And hell was always waiting.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, adjusted his shirt, and slipped into the street.
But even as he walked back toward the warmth of the house and the boys he was trying to protect, Jinu couldn’t stop the words from slithering through his mind—
This won’t last.
Not like this.
Not much longer.
But maybe… exploiting a certain demon hunter will lead to an answer.
Notes:
What do you guys think Jinu said in his note?
Not much to say for this one and sorry if this chapter doesn’t meet expectations 🥲🥲 I tried.
I think my plot outline until the end is done… subject to change ofc.
Love ya’ll lots! Until next time <3
Chapter 25: Injuries
Notes:
Yesterday, i was considering double uploading but then I deeped I only had this one chapter ready so yeah!
It’s also a pretty short one as I was a bit confused myself as to what direction I was going…
I use grammarly to correct all my mistakes and lowkey I feel it is intentionally concealing stuff from me cuz I use the free plan… bastards the lot of em.
Hope you all enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mira groaned low in her throat as she forced her weight onto her left foot, balancing shakily as her arms snapped into place with the beat playing faintly from the speaker.
The bruises that bloomed purple up the length of her side still hurt like a bitch. But she kept going, foot sliding into the next movement, arms slicing through the air as if she weren’t already trembling.
They’ve been on hiatus since the bathhouse incident. Initially, they wanted to hide their injuries, but they were too obvious for Bobby, and probably their fans, not to notice. They explained it with a stumble down the stairs but even when they said they didn’t need a break, Bobby—who reminded Mira too much of her dad—was not having it.
So here they were. Stuck at home. As literal demons tore through the honmoon and killed people.
Their mandatory bed rest ends tomorrow though so that’s exciting. Maybe they can get back to, y’know, saving the world from extinction.
They had to be ready to win the fans back quickly if they didn’t want a demon apocalypse.
Which meant, even with injuries, practice, practice, practice.
Zoey flopped onto the floor in protest, arms spread wide, “I’m tireddddd. Can we take a break?”
Mira rolled her eyes as her lips quirked up, “I don’t know, we need to make Takedown’s choreo even hotter. What do you think Rumi?”
Rumi stood nearby, posture too straight, hands clasped too tightly, lips pressed together. She was looking at them with that look. That sorrowful, self-blaming pitiful look. The one that had been in her eyes since the moment she’d arrived maybe seconds too late to their call for help. Being overwhelmed by those feral assholes sucked but it wasn’t something they couldn’t handle.
“Rumi, stop looking at us like that.”
Rumi blinked, startled from her trance, and stood quickly. The guilty expression came back seconds later, “I just… should’ve been there.”
Mira sighed and ran a hand through her hair, “We’re fine,” she said again, stubbornly, “The pain’s not that bad. We’ve been through worse.”
Zoey giggled as she stood up from the carpet, “You couldn’t have got there in time, Rumi. You were fighting a Saja boy one-on-one. You're not an octopus, it’s not like you weren’t preoccupied with something important.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Rumi laughed dryly avoiding eye contact as she rubbed her hand up and down her sleeve, “But I’m still—.”
“If you apologise again,” Mira said flatly, “I’m gonna throw up.”
Her purple-haired leader didn’t respond, just went to start the music again from the beginning.
As they went through the steps, slowly to accommodate the pair's injuries. Mira‘s eyes would drift over to the window that offered a view of the city skyline and she would see the honmoon.
The honmoon that had too many weak spots for Mira’s liking.
“Demons are so fucking annoying,” she muttered.
”Yeah!” Zoey responded, “Like, just because you're hot, have perfect hair and voices that makes me…d-doesn't mean you're all that!”
”Bet their breath smells like rot.”
“Bet they don’t even moisturise. Their skin’s probably dry as—.”
Mira and Zoey bounced insults off each other like second nature.
But Rumi didn’t say anything. Rumi never sat out of the demon-insult back and forth.
Weird.
“If we’d won that variety show game,” Rumi started suddenly, words barely louder than the music, as she stared out the window, “Do you think the honmoon wouldn’t have gotten hit so hard?”
Mira mumbled in response as she clicked her neck, “I mean—probably? Fans eat up compatibility. All that ‘Knowing your leader’ stuff. Makes people go nuts?”
Mira would be lying if she said she didn’t see the way Rumi hunched her shoulders. And she never lies. She hides, yes, sometimes, but never lies, “Why? Are you upset about it or something?”
“No no nothing like that, don't worry,” there was a beat, too long to be comfortable, before Rumi tilted her head and added with a soft, mirthless chuckle, “It’s just... if only I’d talked about those topics before. Maybe then it wouldn’t have been such an embarrassing loss,” She said with a gentle smirk, but the silence after rang sour.
Zoey giggled again, a slight airheaded and oblivious note to her laugh, bouncing her bangs and not noticing the flicker behind Rumi’s eyes. “It’s okay! Those demons were 100% cheating anyway.”
They moved on with the routine—or tried to. Mira pushed herself upright, brushing her hair out of her eyes as the next chorus ticked on, only to freeze when the door creaked open behind them.
Bobby walked in, lips pressed into a line so thin it looked like he had none. The second he laid eyes on them, standing up and mid-dance move, his entire face went white.
“Why are you two up?! I said at least one more day of rest!” Bobby cried, voice pitching up two octaves as he all but flailed into the room. He looked like he’d sprinted straight from his car, “You’re supposed to be resting! Oh my god, Mira, your ankle—Zoey, is that swelling worse?!”
Before either of them could even try to downplay it, he was there, fumbling through his tote bag, yanking out a roll of gauze. “Sit down girls, please.” He pleaded as he gently but forcibly guided Mira to the couch. She barely got out a grumbled protest before he was already crouched at her feet, unwrapping and redoing her bandage with such delicate hands you’d think she was made of porcelain.
Zoey pouted as he planted a hand on her shoulder and pushed her into the seat beside Mira, muttering the entire time, “Have you been icing your swelling Zoey?”
”…Yes?”
Bobby sighed as he fished out an ice pack and handed it to their youngest, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack girls,” he mumbled.
Mira exchanged a look with Zoey, who winced and offered a sheepish smile, “We were just going through it slowly…”
“And did you not promise me one more day of rest?” Bobby flung his hands up, “Your bodies are temples, ladies.”
They all avoided his gaze.
It was hard not to smile, even just a little. He was ridiculous, but he cared. Mira rested her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes for a moment.
Suddenly, a wave of red passed around them via the honmoon and a chill went down their spines. Another wave of demons no doubt.
Rumi stood up quickly and started putting on her shoes. The other girls wanted to as well because of course, it’s their duty. But they were injured and Bobby would never let them set foot outside no matter the excuse.
Plus, they trusted Rumi to do it on her own.
“Rumi, where are you going?” their manager asked, his short self already stepping out to block the door.
“I’m—” Rumi began, but then her words got swallowed by a sudden burst of coughing that ripped through her throat. She bent forward, hacking into her elbow with such force that it made Zoey jolt upright in alarm.
Bobby was on her in an instant, “Rumi!” he cried, eyes practically saucers, rushing to her side like a man convinced she was on her deathbed. He reached out to place a hand on her forehead, searching for fever, infection, anything. “Oh my god, are you sick? Why didn’t you say something?”
Rumi swatted his hand away with more force than necessary. “I’m fine,” she said as calmly as she could, voice roughened with the aftermath of the cough.
“But that didn’t sound—”
“I just need air,” she cut in, “I have something to take care of.”
“You’re not going anywhere like this, it’s dark out, you’re coughing, and—”
Zoey stood up, nudging him softly in the ribs. “She’s fine, Bobby,” she said with a half-smile that was as reassuring as one can be, “It is getting a bit stuffy now. We’ll see you later Rumi!”
Mira saluted briefly before letting her head collapse back against the couch.
“Yeah…. Later,” Rumi had already grabbed her coat and ducked out the door before their manager could try again.
The silence that followed her exit was the kind that filled a room like smoke—acrid, lingering, impossible not to end up drowning in though.
What was with her lately?
Being fair, all of them have been a bit antsy for a while now due to how things are going but Rumi had been… off ever since the bathhouse. Ever since that night, when all three of them got wrecked by those water demons and barely crawled out with their lives. It’s not like she didn’t come in the end.
So why the guilt?
And she’s been even more off since a few days ago when she went out on her own.
What was she hiding?
Mira didn’t like conflict and that led to her being kinda—very—blunt and straightforward. As she shuts her eyes, she wonders what the best way to approach Rumi about her concerns is.
A familiar beat cracked through the moment—Zoey’s phone lighting up, spilling the opening chorus of “Heatstroke” into the air.
Mira turned her head slowly. Zoey and Bobby sat side-by-side, moving their heads side-to-side to the beat as though they were under a spell. Even Mira’s head started twitching involuntarily to the addictive beat. She didn’t want to admit it, but those bastards had rhythm.
The streams for their new trash song were already creeping up on ‘How It’s Done’ and justifiably, that pissed Mira off.
“Turn. It. Off,” she ground out through her teeth.
Zoey pouted, “It’s catchy…”
Bobby fumbled, nearly dropping the phone as he scrambled to grab it from her and turned it off, “Sorry, Mira—yeah, we shouldn’t be listening to the enemy's music,” He nodded to himself and then scurried off to the kitchen, muttering something about getting water.
Zoey let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping back against the couch and rubbing her forehead like she was personally wounded. “Ugh, why do the hottest guys always have to be evil?”
Mira snorted, a short, bitter sound as she draped her arm over her eyes. “Because the universe is a troll,” she said, tone dry as dust.
It was true though.
There was something undeniably annoying about the fact that the Saja Boys weren’t just murdering demons—they were attractive. Stupidly so. To the point where their fans didn’t hesitate to deviate their love for them and the honmoon was suffering for it.
And because of this, the tension was building within the group. It was the kind of tight, uncomfortable energy that wrapped around Mira’s ribcage when there was so much wrong but no one wanted to talk about it.
The three of them were still a unit.
But the glue holding them together—the honmoon, the fans, the lack of demons, the songs—felt thinner than it used to.
With Rumi’s voice on the fritz. The cracking honmoon. Their hiatus. Their shrinking fandom… the disconnect in their sisterhood.
The deaths.
There was only one cause of all this…
It all started with the Saja Boys.
Either way, Mira knew one thing for certain:
The Saja Boys weren’t just trouble.
They were the problem.
And if they didn’t take them down soon… everything they built was going to fall apart.
“We’re going to kill those sons of bitches.”
Notes:
Mira POV!!! Added the injuries to give further reason as to why they are on hiatus y’know? I feel it makes sense
I love bobby guys.
Comments, thoughts, mistakes, tags and kudos!
Until next time lovelies <3
Chapter 26: Fanfiction
Notes:
Y’know ya’ll are my problem. I litch told myself I wasn’t gonna upload today and THEN I opened my inbox to like 40 messages, read every single one and some are DETAILED DETAILED or SUPER heartwarming and then whoopsie daisies google doc is open. The motivation I feel from comments is on par to the fear of failing a-levels so yeah!
Ya’ll are my problem. Congrats. I blame you all… (I LOVE YOUUU)
I was rereading some old chapters and jeez I made a lot of mistakes but yknow what that's what makes me human. Perfection is overrated (I say as I scream at every mistake Ive made that at least a hundred people have seen already)
Enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A sharp, blood-curdling scream tore through the house like a knife. It came from the living room.
Hanbae.
Within seconds, Jinu sprinted down the hallway, practically dislocating his ankle as he ran. Just behind him, Ro-meyeon came running out from his walk-in wardrobe as well, his face still glittering with pre-shower makeup. He looked a mess. A Beautiful mess but a mess nonetheless.
They skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and looked into the living room just as Ah-bin burst from the kitchen, panicked, a baked cake in his hands and pink icing streaked across his cheekbone.
Three collective yellow eyes blinked at the sight before them.
Hanbae was on the floor curled into a fetal position, rocking back and forth like a traumatised toddler with his thick hoodie hood was drawn tight over his head. His arms wrapped around his legs, his face hidden, though the noise coming from him was half-moan, half-whimper, all pitiful.
Derpy was gently prodding him with his snout, his huge tiger eyes wide with… well nothing.
On the couch, unfazed and almost bored, sat Miseo. Not holding a book for once in his life but…. A tablet?
His tablet. How Miseo got his hands on it was beyond Jinu.
His posture was relaxed, legs crossed and bangs hanging low as always. But there was a small, serene smile playing at the edges of his lips. Sitting in his hair was Sussie who regarded them all with a look that screamed ‘how dare you disturb my nap’ before snuggling back down.
“Hello,” Miseo said in his usual soft monotone voice, as if Hanbae wasn’t convulsing on the floor.
Jinu stared. So did the others.
Ro-meyeon took a slow step forward, his mouth agape, blinking through the glitter glue mess that was his face. “What in all twelve circles of hell is going on?”
Hanbae, wailed, “He showed me something—I can’t—I’m scarred—emotionally—mentally—it was so detailed, why was it so detailed!?”
It wasn’t every day Hanbae openly showed signs of fear.
Everyone’s gaze turned slowly toward Miseo. Jinu raised a single eyebrow, the silent question dangling heavily in the room.
The younger demon tilted his head ever so slightly and shrugged, almost innocently. “We were reading fanfics.”
Ro-meyeon made a sound between a laugh and a dying seagull, “Oh gods.”
“Why?” Jinu asked flatly.
“I was curious,” Miseo said simply.
Ah-bin stood at the archway to the living room, brow furrowed, “What’s a fanfic?” Ah-bin asked, completely and utterly clueless.
Jinu knew loosely about fanfiction. He knew it was a core part of fandoms, especially in K-pop and he also knew that fans apparently wrote and loved reading them a lot. He’s never opened one to read though, he’s just never had the time.
At the exact same time, Hanbae gasped out, “Don’t look,” Miseo said, “Come see.”
Romeyeon—compelled by morbid curiosity—walked over to the couch, flopping down beside Miseo, while Ah-bin came and slipped next to him, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Jinu leaned his elbows over the back of the couch, his chin stealing Sussie’s place with no warning.
The magpie squawked indignantly patting Jinu’s face with his wings before sighing and flapping to his bird cage.
Hanbae remained on the floor, rocking softly, Derpy now firmly committed to licking the tears off his cheeks and occasionally trying to roll him upright with his forehead.
Their maknae was so dramatic.
“They’re fictional stories written by fans” Miseo said slowly, voice flat as he scrolled, “It’s when fans write stories about us. Or… versions of us.”
“I don’t understand,” Ah-bin said, leaning in. “Stories about what? ”
Miseo tilted the tablet just enough for them to see as his fingers scrolled slowly. “Anything really. Some are just fluff,” he explained evenly. “Others are… graphic.” He tapped once. “This one has twenty-two thousand bookmarks.”
Ro-meyeon leaned in, reading the title. “I’m Your Soda Pop: The 6th member of the Saja Boys? Huh. That’s cute.”
“Not cute,” Hanbae mumbled, eyes wide and traumatised. “Not cute. Not cute. Not cute.”
Derpy growled in agreement, or possibly because he had no idea what was happening but sensed distress.
Another title flashed across the screen.
Ah-bin squinted,“‘Collar Me, Captor’? What is that about—?”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jinu said immediately.
Miseo said nothing as he tapped again and scrolled further. The screen flickered through title after title.
Jinu blinked at the summaries, eyebrows scrunching together as he leaned further over the couch, squinting at one particular summary.
“What does the dash mean?” he asked, pointing toward one story, “‘Romance/Mira’? Why is there a slash between the names?”
For the first time, Miseo’s tone shifted. His voice dropped just a little, something taut and dark coiling beneath it as he replied, “It’s a… ship.”
Jinu’s eyes narrowed. He knows what those are.
“A what?” Ah-bin does not because of course he doesn’t.
“A ship,” Miseo said again, slowly, “Short for relationship. Essentially the fic stars those people in love.”
Miseo’s fingers moved smoothly as he toggled the filter settings. In three clicks (plus one to search), he excluded anything including the Huntr/x girls—and the number of available fics shrank significantly.
Well… it was clear what the fans wanted at least.
There came a low, growl sound—entirely territorial—from Ah-bin. Jinu just caught himself echoing it for a second, softer but no less primal. Ro-meyeon threw his head back and cackled.
“Your green eyes are showing,” he purred, clearly delighted. “Come on, loves, it’s not like it’s real. They’re just humans projecting onto our beautiful, perfect, objectively sexy faces.”
Jinu exhaled through his nose, tight-lipped and Ah-bin cracked the tension from his neck as Miseo flicked through another page.
Ah-bin narrowed his eyes at the screen again, pointing at the bizarre cluster of words stacked atop the story’s summary. His finger hovered with uncertainty over a string of words that made absolutely no sense on their own, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What do all these mean?” he asked, leaning slightly toward their second youngest.
“They’re tags,” Miseo explained smoothly, holding the tablet upright with one hand and lazily scrolling down with the other. “Tropes, warnings, themes etcetera. Things that have relevance to the story.”
Ah-bin squinted closer reading through them, “Mild angst. Slow Burn and—” he paused, pointing toward another tag, “what the hell does ‘Bottom Abby’ mean?”
Jinu immediately choked on his saliva. He doubled over the backrest of the couch, hacking violently into his elbow like he’d just inhaled a volcano, “Are—Are you serious?”
Ah-bin blinked slowly. “What? Is that not me? It says Abby.” He pointed, jabbing the tablet like it had personally wronged him.
“Gods above—” Jinu wheezed again, rubbing his face. “Don’t make me explain this.”
Ro-meyeon, so clearly more than happy to, grinned wickedly and leaned back into the cushions, “Ah, yes,” he said with a sultry, amused drawl, “It’s a… positioning thing,” He winked, “It means you are, well, underneath.”
Ah-bin just blinked.
“It means,” Ro cooed gently into his ear, “in the story, you’re the one getting absolutely wrecked, darling.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Lies,” Ah-bin’s voice dropped as he pointed at himself, “Do I look like I’ve ever bottomed in my life?!”
“You wear crop tops and your waist is tiny,” Miseo murmured, without looking up.
Ah-bin’s nose scrunched in absolute horror, “That doesn’t mean—absolutely not! I’ve never—why would they—hell no!”
”I don’t know, sweetheart,” Ro, said as he leaned in closer to Ah-bin until their noses were nearly brushing, “I think I could top you... If you gave me the chance.”
”Hah! In your dreams.”
”Maybe I do,” Then, with an exaggerated slowness, he leaned in and dragged his tongue up the icing on his cheek in one smooth stripe. Unhurried. Deliberate. Smirking as he did it.
Ro chuckled, pleased, eyes flashing with mirth as Ah-bin turned crimson up his neck, ears and cheeks.
Jinu snorted, “You two are ridiculous,” he muttered fondly, reaching out to ruffle the pink-haired duo's hair.
Ah-bin groaned, trying to pull his muscular arm away from where Ro-meyeon was hugging it, “I’ll kill you all,” he mumbled.
Their attention was diverted by a certain demon on the floor, who finally moved and let out a pained whine, burying his face into the tiger beast's thick fur.
Hanbae wailed into Derpy’s fur, muffled and trembling. “Why would you guys read that while I’m here?! I’m a baby!!”
Jinu raised a brow and turned to glance down at him with a slow, teasing smirk. “This,” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the tablet, “is what you were screaming about?”
Hanbae didn’t answer, glaring at the device like it personally offended him.
Meanwhile, Miseo had grown quiet.
Jinu’s attention returned to the tablet just as he caught the faintest curl of a smile tugging on their quietest lips.
“Would you like me to read the one I read Hanbae?” Miseo offered innocently, thumb already poised over the title as though he had bookmarked it, “It’s quite well written.”
Jinu, Ro-meyeon, and Ah-bin all exchanged a glance. And then, they nodded in unison.
It couldn’t be that bad.
“Yes,” Ro nodded eagerly.
“Let’s hear it,” Jinu added.
“I’m curious now,” Ah-bin murmured.
Hanbae suddenly sprang to life like someone had yanked a string in his spine. “No!” he cried, voice raw with betrayal. “No, no, no, we’re not doing this again!”
He threw his arms around Derpy’s neck and scrambled up onto the big cat’s back, “Get me out of here Derpy!” he shouted dramatically, clinging to blue fur.
The tiger’s face didn’t change aside from narrowing into slits, sensing danger—or maybe just because he was a deeply loyal idiot—and without hesitation, crouched low, and leapt toward the nearest window.
The tiger literally phased through it.
The living room went silent as the four of them stared blankly out the window, watching the tiger and Hanbae fly off into the distance like santa on his reindeer.
So a normal Tuesday.
Again. Their maknae was so dramatic.
Jinu only sighed and sat down properly now, throwing an arm lazily across the top of the couch. “Alright then, Miseo,” he said, “Let’s hear it.”
Miseo tapped the screen, his expression unreadable as the text loaded.
-
Okay. Maybe Hanbae wasn’t overreacting.
They’d only made it through the first chapter.
One single chapter. That was all it took.
Ah-bin was the first to walk away, mumbling something under his breath about needing to bleach his brain. Ro-meyeon followed suit, eyes wide and glazed over. Jinu simply stood, stared at the screen a moment longer in unblinking horror, then turned slowly on his heel and walked away without a word.
Behind them, Miseo still sat cross-legged in the middle of the couch, completely still aside from the steady flick of his finger against the tablet screen.
The scariest part? He was still reading with that same tiny serene smile on his lips.
Jinu slammed the door to his office behind him, back thudding hard against it as he exhaled.
He stared down at his own hands as if they no longer belonged to him.
Was that even possible to do for a human? Could the anatomy even bend that way? Let alone survive it?
He was a demon and even he had limits.
“Who even… writes that?” he whispered, eyes darting to his palm like they might hold the answers, “Can I even do that—” He cut himself off.
The flush climbed up his neck so fast he groaned aloud and dragged his palms down over his face, trying to rub his embarrassment away. His cheeks burned, his ears tingled, and some horrifying part of his brain was now occupied with images that would probably haunt him for the next eternity.
Nope. No, we’re not entertaining that thought.
He pivoted sharply and stalked back to his desk.
Humans. Honestly. They were terrifying.
Jinu breathed out again, shaking his head. He sat back in his chair, exhaling deeply. It could’ve been worse. Much worse.
When he heard Hanbaw scream, his thoughts went to possibilities that were more extreme: Gwi-ma, a Huntr/x girl, Gwi-ma, a nightmare, Gwi-ma, a break in, Gwi-ma, Gwi-ma, Gwi-ma. Jinu was infinitely grateful that it was something more innocent.
Well… not innocent persay. He couldn’t exactly call anything Miseo had just read to traumatise them all innocent. But in the grand scheme of things, horrifying fanfiction was still tolerable to all the other horrors out to get them. So, justly, a part of him was even relieved.
And it was progress with Miseo’s hatred for electronics. When Jinu initially offered his quiet lover a phone, the boy hissed at it. So despite him still using it to read, deprived shit nonetheless, it was progress.
Jinu would take that as a win.
He sighed, closing his hundred-and-something long task list briefly and beginning to open a tab to order Miseo his own device.
Then it hit him.
A cold drop of realisation ran down the back of his neck.
His fingers froze. His soul briefly exited his body.
He looked slowly at the door.
That wasn’t Miseo’s tablet. That was his—his personal and work tablet. The one synced to his account. His browsing data. The one monitored by URR Entertainment and…
His search history.
The chair clattered backwards behind him as he tore the door open and bolted down the hallway, feet slamming againstt the floor.
“MISEO!” he shouted, the house shaking with his panic.
Notes:
Filler fun! This is literally how I imagine real life actors reacting to fanfics about themselves (bar the magic cat that can help u escape). You knowww they’ve read them.
Also before any of you search, these aren’t real fics! I made them up! But I’m sure there are several out their that would warrant that reaction from the group.
Yeah, Miseo is 100% the quiet freak of the group (Bro barked)
Let me know your thoughts! Comments, kudos, etc.
Until next time…
Chapter 27: Finalists
Notes:
Lowkey I think it’s so funny that a majority of my creators' notes are referencing real time things happening for me. Cuz help why do you all know about my alevel struggle, my friend group dynamics and my A&E accident???
Creater’s note>>> chapter summary
They feel more personal and more like I’m talking WITH you and not at you all. But hey, thats an overly sentimental girly for u <3
Also apologies guys… I don’t really like this chapter because i feel it’s hard to read and has 0 flow whatsoever. Just a heads up (‘:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Music Idol Awards Finalist Selection was today.
The tension backstage was palpable. Many many hopeful K-pop idols were standing in their groups, whispering, praying, holding each other's hands and everything else in between as they waited to be called onto the stage for the selection.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore the echo of the TV presenter doing the intro or the backstage crew giving a loud countdown to the minute.
Jinu, however, was not the slightest bit worried. Everything was going according to plan and just to be double sure, he was up all night running the calculations. According to his findings, there is not a single chance that the Saja Boys weren’t chosen along with Huntr/x.
He is so grateful that his dark circles disappeared in his human disguise.
The Saja boys stood together in an in-facing circle. Their fingers interlaced silently as they pushed their heads together.
“5 minutes everyone! That’s five minutes!”
Jinu briefly looked up from their huddle and gave the crew member a short nod just enough to show he’d heard the call. But just as he turned his head back to the group, something caught his eye.
Across the hall, already staring. Rumi.
She stood halfway down the corridor flanked by Mira and Zoey, all three wrapped in their golden outfits. Her gaze flinched away too fast. Her mouth tensed as she turned back to Mira and Zoey, gesturing something to them, her brows stiffening slightly.
Jinu’s lips curled up at the edge involuntarily.
Interesting, he thought as he looked back at his lovers.
“And no matter what happens, we’re here for each other,” Jinu said, giving them all a steady look, his hand tightening slightly on Hanbae’s and Ah-bin’s, “That’s what we always promised. No matter what.”
“Right,” Ro murmured, looking Jinu straight in the eyes, “Always here for and honest with each other.”
Jinu smiled and continued like he hadn’t heard the sarcasm in his voice.
“I mean it. This will work,” he said, eyes sweeping over each of them as his voice drops low enough that no passersby could hear him, “No matter where we started, we are on Earth to stay… I love you all.”
His voice didn’t hesitate, not even a little.
“Alright,” Jinu murmured. “Hands in.”
They dropped their circle and stacked their hands in the middle. They all cast looks at each other.
“1… 2… 3—”
“Saja Boys!”
It was moments later that the host gave the cue and all at once every single one of the idol groups came flooding onto he stage. The audience roared with sound as they came on.
Across the stage, directly opposite them, stood Huntr/x.
They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. They were openly glaring at them now. They were lucky that any tension in their faces would be read as anxiety about winning,
The Saja boys smiled at them. In that coy and smug way that was definitely fully intent on taunting.
The host moved centre stage, a man dressed overzealously and holding the envelope like it was a holy relic. “Welcome, everyone, to the final selection of the Music Idol Awards!” he boomed, voice echoing through the arena as the crowd rose into a frenzied scream.
“And now… the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The first winners,” he announced with a dramatic pause, “are for our freshest group of the Year, with over a hundred million cumulative streams and one of the top trending global hits of the month with their debut single Soda Pop…”
The crowd and the press leaned forward in anticipation.
“This week’s winners… and going through to the Idol Awards finals—” He opened the envelope with that annoying slowness they do for drama. Then— “Saja Boys!”
It wasn’t a surprise—not to Jinu, not really. Though he still had to act it.
Hanbae clasped his hands together, wide-eyed with mock awe as he bowed his head. Miseo, behind his bangs, lifted his hand toward the audience with a gentle finger heart. Ah-bin clapped, slow and steady, the warmth in his smile undeniable as the edges of his eyes creased. Ro-meyeon raised both hands in a ‘thank you’ pose, eyes closed and smiling.
Jinu sheepishly rubbed a hand to his neck as a bouquet was passed to him and a mic was placed in front of him.
“I… I don’t even know what to say,” he began, voice calm, sincere, and a very practised humbleness, “We’re so thankful. To our fans and to everyone who believed in us from the beginning. We worked really hard for this debut, and we’re going to keep working hard through to the Idol Awards... Thank you for all your support.”
As the crowd melted into applause again, Jinu tilted his head slightly… just enough to meet Rumi’s eyes across the stage.
All the near sympathy that was on her face that night was gone. Only pure and bitter resentment in the slight downturn of her lips and crease in her brow. Gosh, between her girls, she fit right in. Nobody would suspect her to be part demon.
Obviously, she wasn’t too moved by his story. Maybe she thought he was lying.
Her hands clapped mechanically, sharp nails bouncing against her rings, and the sheer unwillingness in her forced politeness sent a ripple of joy down Jinu’s spine. He grinned.
The host didn’t wait long before lifting the second card.
“And this week’s second winners, also advancing to the Idol Awards for their 5th year in a row and with their golden comeback…”
The spotlight shifted from them quite dramatically Jinu must say as it drifted over their three enemies.
“Huntr/x!”
Cheers doubled again, fans screamed names, and the girls were quickly handed matching bouquets. Jinu had to hold back a laugh when he heard Ro quietly murmur a complaint into his ear as to why they didn’t get one each.
Jinu clapped calmly for Huntr/x, and his smile never cracked once.
Demons vs Hunters.
Rookies vs Veterans.
Life vs Death.
How exciting, Jinu thought as he smirked at them.
-
Outside the Music Idol Awards venue, the red carpet stretched out lined with people holding cameras and microphones and fans screaming from behind carefully secured barricades.
Their overly-bubbly press manager, some random representative from URR Entertainment that Jinu couldn’t for the life of him and couldn’t be bothered to learn their name, basically demanded they do this. Some nonsense about “Great press for the show” and “building a friendly fun rivalry.”
Nothing about their rivalry was fun but whatever.
Jinu didn’t sigh as much as he definitely wanted to.
Instead, he smoothed a hand through his hair and offered a dazzling smile to the crowd as his group stepped onto the carpet. The others flanked him like models.
”Jinu Saja, who are you wearing today?”
”Romance and Mystery can you two—.”
”BABY POSE!”
”ABBY ABBY OVER HERE!”
Right behind them were Huntr/x—there was something that felt innately wrong with them being behind him. Jinu doesn’t like not being able to see the threat. But alas, in the public view, they were safe as can be.
After Jinu and his boys were blinded 1000x over by blinking flashing cameras, they were ushered to a backstage area for the magazine shoot. Something about “Promoting the Idol Awards.”
There’s always something with the media. Can they just go home? Human interaction is exhausting—add that to the drain of their disguises and the efforts of trying not to act tense around death sentencers and hiding their relationship… Jinu might collapse just now.
The shoot began with the simple stuff: each group alone. Those shoots went off without a hitch. But the moment the staff called out, “Group shots next! One big happy family!”—the tension in the air sharpened dramatically.
Zoey rolled her shoulders and muttered something Mira clenched her fists and Hanbae was already whispering something too loudly to Miseo.
The two groups let themselves be manhandled into positions.
The photographer clapped and said, “Yes yes that works—Romance please scoot a little closer to Mira, you to Abby—Baby, crouch a little and look at Zoey—Just a bit, YEP stop right there! Mystery, about the hair, do you think we can—.”
”No,” the boy replied so softly that it didn’t come across as rude, though Jinu could tell he wanted to be.
“Ah. Got it, apologies… Rumi and Jinu, centre, please! You’re both leaders, it’ll be great symmetry.”
Jinu’s eye twitched.
Of course.
Jinu had to resist hissing at the overeager intern who pushed them together. He moved stiffly into position beside her. The pose was simple—shoulders aligned, arms crossed, looking slightly back-to-back.
”Still wanting a friend to talk to?” He teased in a low whisper as the first photo was snapped and they shifted positions slightly.
He felt her tense before relaxing, “You’re not my friend and I have no reason to believe you are telling me the truth. That’s all demons do, lie.”
Great one-dimensional thinking Jinu thought with an eye roll.
”You’re not as smart as you think,” Rumi said out of the corner of her mouth, her lips barely moving. Her voice was barely audible beneath the click-click-click of camera shutters. “You may be winning now but… the golden honmoon will form during the Idol Awards. I guarantee."
Jinu felt heat crawl up his spine, “Is that so?” he muttered, voice casual.
“Our fans—our real ones—aren’t going anywhere because of two songs, Jinu.”
The shutter clicked again, catching Jinu’s smile dimming at the edges, not enough for anyone to notice, but clear to anyone paying attention, “You don’t even feel an ounce of sympathy?”
“I…” the smallest flicker of uncertainty appeared on her face before disappearing, “I’d never fall for a demon’s words. Everything you say is to manipulate us,” Rumi replied, still smiling for the cameras.
Jinu’s eyes narrowed just slightly. True. But she doesn't get to say that when she refuses to understand the context.
Then her voice dropped an octave. “You… you’ll all be locked in hell with Gwi-ma. Forever. Just as you devils deserve.”
The flash of the camera's white consumed his vision.
Jinu falls to one knee as Rumi rips her blade out from his stomach. The pain doesn’t register, only the dread does. His patterns ignite and his form begins to unravel, bit by bit. She watches, silent, as he disintegrates.
As his own vision dissolves with the pull of the honmoon, his eyes dart everywhere faster than his mind can register.
Miseo falls backwards from a hard punch to the skull from Zoey. Before he can regain his footing, her knife cuts cleanly across his face. And he’s gone
Hanbae cries out as the same girl throws three of her knives at him without looking. One hits his thigh, another his gut and the third in the chest. And he’s gone.
Ro-meyeon goes quiet the moment Mira’s polearms base spears straight through his heart. The shortest choked out gasp was heard. And he’s gone.
Ah-bin roars, claws out, maybe he can win—until her blade lands precisely, cruelly, slicing clean through the muscle of his abs, in three slices. His eyes were wide in a silent scream. And he’s gone.
After witnessing the horror, he’s gone too.
As they fall back to hell, the honmoon above flashing Golden, they hold each other close. His boys, his soulmates.
And together, all five of them fall into the gaping, smiling mouth of Gwi-ma.
All because… he failed them.
“Jinu?” the photographer called. “Eyes to the left just a bit. You seem tense.”
He blinked hard and adjusted, smiling widely. Rumi was watching him carefully, but he didn’t meet her gaze now. He couldn’t without revealing any weakness.
Jinu’s chest was cold.
He pulled back ever so slightly from Rumi. Enough to breathe.
“I look forward to it,” he said smoothly, hiding his true feeling, “But couldn’t we try to be friends?”
Rumi raised an eyebrow, “You’re funny.”
“I try,” he murmured.
”That pose is perfect! Hold it!”
-
The door clicked shut behind them as they entered the Saja house.
By the time they made it upstairs, all five of them were already back in their demon skin looking worn, dull-eyed and drained. They didn’t speak as they collapsed onto their massive bed in a tangle of limbs, slotting against each other like second nature. Familiar warmth pressed around Jinu as he listened to their breaths steady into sleep.
Jinu closed his eyes, trying to follow suit.
But it wouldn’t come.
He stared into the dark as his fingers twitched restlessly at his side. His breathing felt heavy and laboured while thinking about Rumi’s threat.
You’ll all be locked in hell with Gwi-ma… forever.
She hadn’t sounded entirely confident.. But it didn’t matter. She still had even the slightest hope in herself and Huntr/x and that could only mean one thing.
That his plan… wasn’t foolproof.
Unacceptable.
He needed to go back to the drawing board.
Jinu carefully, quietly, peeled himself away from Ah-bin’s arms nudging Miseo into his space. He moved slowly enough not to wake anyone, padding barefoot through the dark apartment to his office.
He blinked slowly at his empty desk.
His laptop, always exactly where he left it, was missing.
He exhaled through his nose. “Hanbae,” he muttered resignedly. It was the third time this week he’d hidden it. Their youngest thought he was doing something helpful by hiding the stress away.
It was not helping when he needed it right now.
Jinu spent a few too many minutes tearing through drawers, scanning shelves and glancing under his desk for the fifth time with growing agitation.
That’s when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. Derpy, snoring softly with something barely visible underneath the fluff of his belly.
This hiding spot, today of all days, was not what Jinu needed.
He stomped to the tiger's bed, gripping the edge of it. Then he shoved it with more force than he meant to. Derpy tumbled to the side with a sleepy yowl.
If he were in the right headspace, he would’ve felt a little bit more guilty.
Jinu snatched his warm laptop from beneath his weight before turning back. He sat down heavily in the chair, ignoring the way his patterns flared painfully and brightly along his body. He opened a blank notebook, grabbed his pen and scribbled on the cover:
A.
Plan A.
Plan Absolute.
He began writing, fast and fevered, the lines messier than his usual neat handwriting.
IDOL AWARDS —Win. The best song. Win. The weakening DESTROY the honmoon. WIN. Sabotage Huntr/x.
His breath was rapid and uneven as his mind racked for all possibilities he had to account for. One hand clutched the front of his shirt in a weak—failed—attempt to calm his thudding heart.
RUMI – Break her first. Gain her trust. Isolate her. Crush her. Use her.
If he could crack her sense of moral superiority, maybe even make her an alien among her members, then Huntr/x would split.
He bit into the inside of his cheek and tasted blood. His nails dug into his palms, the sting grounding him if slightly.
He needed to get her to meet again.
He turned slowly to the animal demons who were watching him spiral. They both looked at him with cautious eyes.
“I need you to deliver another message,” Jinu said softly, stepping toward them, “Don’t let the others know.”
Neither moved. They were clever animals, clever animals that were unfortunately too in tune with his emotions.
He smiled thinly as he tried to hand them the note, “I need you to do this… please,” Still nothing.
“That wasn’t a request. Do it. Now.”
At once, Sussie’s wings tucked close to her body and Derpy’s ears flattened even as they bowed their heads, eyes wide with hurt and shock.
Jinu looked away.
He didn’t want to see that look.
He’d never used a command on them before… but for this, he thinks it's justified. He couldn’t afford failure. Nor could he afford them having to worry about all this. He will assure their success and protect them from the burden.
He turned back to his screen, mind buzzing.
He was hesitant about the necessity of it at first, mostly thinking about it in a theoretical exaggerated hyperbolic situation but now… he was ready to burn down the world if that’s what it took to guarantee their success.
He didn’t want them to keep running anymore or waiting for that inevitable day.
With a shaky hand, he flipped to the next page of his notebook and wrote a new title:
POWER - BEAT GWI-MA, RULE EARTH
Notes:
You just know that photographer was going to have the audacity to ask Mystery to move his hair. Bro was not having it.
I didn’t understand how the award thing in the movie worked. Liked wdym these two one a week and then that means their finalists. I was so bamboozled. So since it was only covered in a montage so I just did this to make it work in one concise thing that lowkey I feel makes zero sense but you’ll roll with it cuz y’all love me (please please please <3)
Plan A… I AINT SPOILING NOTHING (mostly cuz i don’t got a clue on God’s green earth what plan A is… I have ten directions I wanna go guys! I can only pick one…
Who peeped the refernce to the canon deaths???
Until next time lovelies! Being honest, I’ve hit a writers block atm soooo the next day update isn’t garunteed 🫣🫣🫣
Chapter 28: Hallucinations
Summary:
1500 KUDOS AND 600 COMMENTS??? WOOOO
Love you all and tysm for always taking the time to interact with this story no matter what the chapter has to offer. It is greatly appreciated!
Love love love and enjoy <3
Grammarly is an op btw cuz wdym it’s saying I have 36 incorrect punctuation and 23 wordy sentences but won’t tell me where just because I don’t have premium? Smh
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sweat slicked the Saja Boys' foreheads and collarbones as they danced to a choreo Miseo had thought of just a week ago for a song in the EP. As they hit the final beat of the song and they struck their ending poses, the mirror reflected the five of them panting heavily.
The choreography was beautiful, as always, but it wasn’t clicking. But Jinu was okay with that, the sooner the better—
Suddenly Miseo let out a quiet sigh and stepped back.
“It’s not working. Lets scrap it,” he said, voice blunt and unbothered, “I don’t like it anymore.”
Jinu’s body froze. His jaw clenched before he could stop himself and, “What do you mean scrap it?” he hissed, the words coming out too sharp, “We’ve been drilling this all week—why the hell are we wasting time!?”
The room fell to silence, broken only by their breath. Ah-bin paused mid-stretch, Hanbae blinked at him rapidly and Ro-meyeon stopped fluffing his hair in the mirror to tilt his head in disbelief.
Miseo’s lips parted slightly as his silvery bangs shifted slightly with the motion of his head, revealing his eyes just enough to blink in confusion. He didn’t look offended, he rarely did, but surprised. Suprised at not the words, but who they came from.
Jinu was suprised with himself to. Did he really just say that?
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he muttered fast, stepping towards the other demon. He slipped his hands around Miseo’s slim waist, pressing a kiss gently to his cheek and then to the corner of his mouth, “I didn’t mean that. You’re brilliant. You’re right. If it’s not working, we don’t have to use it. I just…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the other's hair. Miseo didn’t recoil—he never did from Jinu—but he didn’t lean in either. Instead, he gently pressed his palm to Jinu’s jaw, tilting his head back just an inch to look him in the eyes.
“It’s okay,” he said calmly, “But… are you okay?”
Of course not.
Jinu’s response was practised, automatic, “I’m fine.”
Jinu replied too quickly so he looked away to avoid making eye contact. But unfortunately for him, he was in a room where an entire wall was made of mirrors and it just so happened that that was the direction he decided to look. Eight golden eyes were looking straight at him and he found himself unable to look anywhere but between each pair. It was when he locked eyes with Ro-meyeon’s, suspicious and disappointed, did his facade go to fuck.
The pain struck hard, sudden and merciless, like claws raking down his soul. He doubled over mid-step, both hands flying up to clutch at his aching stomach and his throbbing head, the sound of teeth gritting was audible as his knees hit the wooden dance floor hard.
His muscles spasmed as the red glow of his patterns surged, crawling like wildfire up his neck and across his face. They were large and bold and near the edge. Shit.
“Jinu?!” Ah-bin shouted, practically teleporting across the room, dropping to a crouch. “What the fuck—why are your patterns flaring?!”
“I—” Jinu tried, chest rising and falling too fast. He coughed sharply, “It’s nothing, I just—”
“What’s happening? Have you not eaten?” Miseo knelt immediately beside him, trying to hold him upright.
“He ate just three days ago,” Hanbae said, eyes wide with concern. When they successfully propped Jinu up against the mirror wall, their youngest didn’t waste a single second burying his head into Jinu’s chest, hugging him tightly, “He’s burning up.”
“No—no,” Jinu choked out. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit,” Ro-meyeon said, standing in front of them, hands on his hips, “Enough is enough Jinu. Tell us,” It wasn’t a question.
“What do you mean?” Ah-bin asked slowly.
“I mean,” Ro said, jaw set as he stared down at Jinu’s trembling body, “he’s been keeping something from us for weeks. I asked him about it, and he refused to tell me for whatever reason. Being rational, I thought he’d talk to us before it got this bad… Now, it’s causing him so much guilt and stress it’s eating at his energy faster. I should’ve pushed harder.”
They all turned from Ro to him.
”Is this true Jinu?”
“Why are you letting yourself hurt over a dumb secret?”
“Tell us.”
Jinu blinked up at them, eyes glassy. He hated how obvious the tears were, but the pain tore too deep right now to pretend otherwise.
He clenched his jaw, refusing to speak. If his fears came out, then plan A would come out and vice versa… neither of which he wanted them to bear the burden of.
They would doubt. They would demand answers he didn’t know how to give yet. The plan wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. He can’t show that.
So he kept quiet.
Miseo was crouched beside him, fingers brushing lightly across Jinu’s wrist, “Hyung… please,” he whispered, “Whatever it is… don’t carry it alone.”
Jinu’s head dropped forward as his throat worked to swallow back another groan. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t you dare pretend this is fine anymore. Tell us what’s been bothering you. Right now.” Ro-meyeon’s arms crossed, the lines of his usually playful and relaxed face pulled into something far more stern.
Jinu blinked up slowly at Ro and his lips parted to speak.
But no words came out.
Not when the only thing in his vision was Ro-meyeon and blood.
Ro-meyeon’s chest was dripping with it. His disintegrating hands outstretched towards Jinu. “Jinu…” Ro whispered calmly between blood-soaked teeth, “Why didn’t you save—?”
Jinu blinked hard again, heart stuttering violently against his ribs.
No. no. That hadn’t happened. There’s no way that happened.
“Hyung?” Hanbae’s voice was softer, smaller than usual, “What is it, hyung?” He asked, peeking up from where he had his head buried in Jinu’s stomach. His hold and his weight should’ve been grounding but when he glanced down at his youngest lover, it was anything but.
Hanbae’s face was sobbing and bloodied and dissolving— golden eyes red with tears, cheeks streaked, voice cracking. “I don’t wanna go back, hyung,” the younger wept. “Please… please don’t let him take me,” His fingers clutched at Jinu’s shirt as if it could stop the disintegrating, his body trembling with terror.
Jinu’s stomach lurched.
“What is going on with you?” Ah-bin asked then, his voice rough with concern. Jinu felt warm fingers against his cheek as his lover's large hand came up to cradle him.
But the moment skin met skin, it was gone just as fast. Jinu’s eyes widened as Ah-bin, normally grinning and all cocky confidence, crumbled into pink ash.
”Why didn’t you… protect us.”
No no no. There’s no way he didn’t. It’s not real. There’s no way—but what if it is real? He’s pathetic. He needs to get up. Get up. Jinu curled deeper against the cool mirror with a breathless gasp as he watched his lovers die around him.
It’s not real, it’s not real. It’s not—
Miseo reappeared (Jinu doesn’t remember him teleporting away) in the space in front of Jinu. His hand stretched forward, offering a cold water bottle.
“Drink,” he said softly. “It’ll help.”
Jinu reached forward. But just as his fingers brushed the plastic—Miseo vanished. So did everyone else.
The bottle hit the floor with a hollow clatter, and suddenly the room was gone.
Only darkness and silence.
“You’re hopeless,” came the voice, deep and slow and hungry. Gwi-ma.
“You’ve already failed them. Come back to me and serve your purpose.”
Jinu reached his arms out as if to find something—someone to prove this demon's words a lie.
He couldn’t feel a thing.
So it has to be true.
Jinu’s eyes glazed over in defeat. Had he really failed? Just like that? His lovers were already stewing away in the beast’s gut.
He was supposed to lead them and he promised to protect them. They had trusted him. Believed in him. Yet he failed. If they’d followed someone else, maybe they would have been spared their terrible terrible fate.
If they were already gone…
Then what’s the point of living here alone…
“Jinu?”
He might as well join them in eternal suffering…
“Jinu.”
Goodbye earth—
“JINU.”
It was Ro. No—Ah-bin. No—it was all of them. The voices layered over each other in panic.
His eyes flew open and immediately scanned over all four of the most important people in his life. Alive. Thank God.
His hand was suspended in mid-air, hovering in front of the bottle that Miseo was still holding out, waiting patiently.
Jinu snatched the bottle. He twisted the cap with fumbling fingers and drank greedily, the coolness hitting his literal soul.
In that moment, he was hit with a sudden clarity that made him shiver. He was about to let himself be taken back. If his boys hadn’t broken him out of that vision…visions that were starting to feel too real, he’d have left them alone.
They would crucify him if they knew that was how he was thinking.
”Sorry sorry. I just zoned out.”
The others just stared at their tear-stained leader.
“Right, I am going to go find you a human,” Ah-bin said, already moving to stand, “then, you’ll tell us—.”
“No,” Jinu rasped as he quickly tried to stand up, “don’t worry about it.”
“Your patterns are nigh-consuming you, a secret is eating you alive, you just dissociated for 5 minutes and you’re literally about to be pulled back through the honmoon. Yet you still want to say don’t worry,” Ro-meyeon said between clenched teeth, “ We aren’t stupid and we aren’t going to act like this didn’t happen.”
He pushed himself to his feet with shaking limbs, brushing off their hands with a weak smile. “I don’t think any of you are stupid. I just need a moment,” he muttered.
“Jinu…” Hanbae started, reaching out to grab his hand,
“I said I just need a moment,” this time he shouted it, yanking his arm away, “Just a moment. I’ll be back.”
-
The air outside was biting.
Each step Jinu took felt heavier than the last as though something beneath the pavement wanted to drag him under.
Which, ironically, was true.
“They’ll never follow you if they know what you’re planning. Give up now.”
Jinu gritted his teeth as he kept walking, searching for a human.
His mind drifted to earlier—the panic in their faces when his patterns flared. If that alone could shake them, what would they do if they found out the things he wanted done in Plan A?
No matter how many times he rehearsed the possibility of telling them, every version went to shit faster than the last and he understands why. Just like becoming K-pop idols, there was no way to prove plan A would work. Only faith and risk.
But since there’s more at stake here, they’d try to stop him which would not be ideal.
And Jinu knew how dangerous that could be to his plan.
He turned a corner and halted, breath caught in his throat. A massive billboard loomed ahead, several stories tall and bright enough to light the entire street. It was not Huntr/x for once. It was them, the Saja Boys. Hanbae smiling like an angel. Ah-bin's shirt half-unbuttoned and laughing. Miseo’s impassive but peaceful appearance. Ro-meyeon winking. And himself—Jinu, a gentle grin on his lips.
He stepped closer, gaze fixed on the screen. His yellow demon eyes glowed, expression unreadable. The patterns along his neck shimmered faintly even beneath his human disguise.
He wanted this for them, forever, not just temporary survival.
“I love them so much,” he whispered under his breath, his voice rougher than he expected.
The sentence hung as he stared at the smirk from the billboard version of himself. The real him wasn’t smiling.
When Gwi-ma’s voice slithered back into his skull, he instinctively covered his ears… it did nothing as the tyrant was in his head. He started looking for a human with a bit more haste.
This peace they had—this fragile fleeting illusion—wouldn't last so it has to be disturbed just for a while. For them and their future, it’ll be worth it.
He’d come clean once it was secured.
If they love, trust and believe in him, they could wait.
He couldn’t wait.
He wouldn’t wait.
He needed to push the plan forward.
Notes:
Jinu having hallucinations 😱 and despite everyone knowing he’s still keeping it to himself… tut tut tut
Not much to say but that’s mostly because again I don’t think this chapter reads well and I know i know i shouldn’t be so negative but I can’t help it 😩😩 I feel like I’m getting worse and worse. Despite my doubts, I do hope y’all enjoyed and stick around!
I feel I’m getting repetitive AHHH idkkk. I think that’s another reason why I missed my daily upload, because I was high key seconds away from deleting this entire chapter and starting from scratch cuz idk if i relayed everything I needed to to make sure the plot moves in the direction I have envisioned.
BUT ANYWAYS we move cuz otherwise I would and will ramble about the imperfections for eternity and nobody wants to hear that <3
Comments, kudos, thoughts and tags! Until next time
Chapter 29: Sweet For Me
Notes:
Out of curiosity, I pasted this chapter into one of them things that tell you what word has the highest frequency/is used the most and my god I say voice a lot (14).
May have to start doing that for every chapter to stop repetition, we shall see!
Loved all the comments on the previous chapter, I’m glad what I’m tryna convey is being communicated in a convincing manner. Love love love yall
Enjoy my lovelies <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
”Jinu, what the hell have you done!?”
Jinu didn’t flinch when his four demon lovers came storming in through the kitchen door, all staring incredulously between the phone in Hanbae’s hand and back to him. He gently sipped his coffee and kept his eyes squarely focused on his tablet on the table.
The burn of the dark black liquid at least gave him a second to not freak out at this conversation he admittedly set himself up for.
“You released the entire EP last night?” Miseo asked, quieter than normal, “Without telling us?”
Jinu exhaled through his nose and finally spoke, “We need to boost engagement as much as possible before the Idol Awards. This was the best time.”
Ro-meyeon’s mouth dropped open, unbelieving, “We all agreed—agreed—that the MV for Afterparty was too revealing. The visuals needed work. Especially for Ah-bin! The shirtless scene was—what was it?”
“Too lewd,” Ah-bin snapped, folding his arms, “I don’t mind it normally, but even I felt naked.”
“And what about Sink In, huh?” Hanbae’s voice was sharp and angry, “You told me we’d rerecord! I hated that take. I said it so many times.”
Miseo stood to the side, rubbing a hand up and down his sleeve, “And the choreography is… I’m not happy with it.”
“They’re doing well are they not?” Jinu hissed, voice low, “Check the charts. Every song is in the top 50 already. They are all going viral, the fans love it—”
“That’s not the fucking point!” Hanbae shouted, and that’s when Jinu finally looked at them, “You don’t get to do shit like this on your own!”
“We agreed,” Ro-meyeon said, voice bitter, “This—this life we built here? It was going to be ours. Every decision, every step, we were going to do it together. But here you are, keeping secrets, and doing stuff on your own.”
Jinu rose slowly from his seat, the chair scraping gently. He looked at each of them in turn. Their faces. Their confusion. Their anger. Their pain. Their love.
“Every decision I make,” Jinu began, his voice trembling, “Is to protect you guys.”
They all stared at him so he continued.
“I have a plan, I just… need you to trust my decisions.”
“We do trust you,” Ro stated, putting a hand to his chest, “But you don’t trust us. I’ve felt it ever since we came to earth and that’s the part that hurts… equals Jinu.”
“Of course we are equals, that’s stupid,” Jinu said, too quickly.
“Then why are you the only one who knows ‘the plan’?” Miseo asked, his voice sharp, laced with hurt, “Why don’t we get to know what’s coming next and what’s burdening you?”
Jinu inhaled a breath.
“I’m sorry I made this decision on my own,” he said, voice tight, “but it’s working.”
He scrolled through the numbers. The charts didn’t lie. Though Soda Pop was still in second, Heatstroke had finally surpassed How It’s Done. The rest of the EP tracks—Taste Test, Sugar-Coated, Afterparty and Sink In—had clawed their way into the Hot Songs rankings overnight. Followers surged by the hour. Comments, reactions, edits—the Pride was multiplying in real time. More and more and more support.
Jinu’s mouth tilted upward in a cold smile, “It’s all here. This is where we should be.”
But none of them were smiling.
And somewhere, deep inside Jinu, shame curled like a snake around his soul.
But he didn’t let it show. He couldn’t back down now. Not when what’s done was done.
“Look, we love you,” Ah-bin’s voice cracked with something sharp, trembling with anger, “Every one of us loves you. We’d follow you anywhere, Jinu. But how the fuck are we supposed to follow you if you won’t even tell us what the plan is or what’s bothering you?”
“Because only I know what is best for us.”
He hadn’t meant to say it like that, but he did. Loudly and irrevocably.
“You arrogant—”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Fucking hell, Jinu.”
“You don’t get to decide everything—”
Demons didn’t argue like humans. Mostly because meaningful confrontation often translated to snarls, growls and claws. Even Jinu, who would consider himself and his boys more intelligent than 95% of the demon populace, were prey to their instincts.
When demons argued, they fought.
Suddenly, amidst the screaming, Ah-bin stepped forward with a snarl as he yanked Jinu up by the collar, pulling him up so fast the coffee cup shattered on the floor. Jinu grunted with the pull forcing him to rise onto his toes, Ah-bin towering over him, nose nearly brushing his.
“Say that again,” the taller demon growled, voice low and dangerous as his eyes flashed menacingly, “patronise us like we’re children, I fucking dare you.”
His breath was hot against Jinu’s face and Jinu’s claws twitched reflexively at his sides to retaliate. His tongue curled with a retort that would ruin everything—but Miseo teleported instantly between them, palms raised, voice measured.
“Don’t,” he said firmly, despite his fangs baring, “We’re not doing this. Not like this.”
Jinu deflected their anger with more anger, clashing words, “You don’t understand what’s at stake,” he seethed, “You’re worrying about the wrong thing. I had to do this—I’m the one who—”
“Oh so now we’re crazy for worrying about you?! And all this ‘I, I, I’ is really pissing me off!” Ro shouted back, eyes glowing bright with rage as he marched forward himself.
”Can you just—.”
”Don’t tell me what—.”
”What the hell—.”
“Stop it!”
Everyone froze and immediately turned to look at their youngest. His deep raw demonic voice shook them to the core.
Hanbae stood there shaking (in anger? Fear? Jinu couldn’t tell), patterns bright against his skin, tears brimming in his eyes.
He blinked at them a few times, then looked down quickly.
“I’m going out,” he muttered, voice barely holding together. He tried to hide it by ducking his head and wiping at his cheek.
“Baby, wait—” Miseo called, reaching out, but his fingers barely brushed the fabric of Hanbae’s sleeve before the boy vanished in a burst of pink mist.
They were left in silence again.
Ah-bin let go of Jinu roughly, cursing under his breath before storming out of the kitchen himself.
Ro-meyeon and Miseo shared a glance as well before leaving.
Jinu was left alone. He stared down at the broken mug.
It had been several decades since Jinu fought with any of them like that.
He’d forgotten how much it hurt.
-
“Yes sir.”
Jinu leaned back in his desk chair, legs kicked up onto his desk. Even with his red patterns pulsing painfully on his skin and his grip on his phone was dangerously strong, his smooth tone didn’t waver as he talked to the human over the phone.
“Sweet For Me has been an excellent step for the Saja Boys. I’m glad you approve of my decision,” he said, lounging deeper into his seat, spinning slightly.
On the other end of the line, the CEO’s voice was practically giddy with delight, “Jinu, these numbers are insane! I mean insane! Do you know what this means for sales? The merch is already having to be restocked and it’s only pre-orders! Holy hell, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Ah, I hit the lottery with you boys!”
Jinu chuckled easily, biting back the wave of nausea that rolled up his spine. The ache in his body had grown unbearable, “This is only the beginning, sir,” he said with a breathless smile, the one that curled on the right side of his lip just a bit too much, “We thank you for giving us this chance to grow.”
The manager cackled, amused, “Money talks, dear Jinu. Whatever you boys are doing, keep doing it. I don’t care what it is!”
Jinu’s lips barely twitched as he leaned back, tongue resting against the sharp edge of one fang. If only the fool knew how deeply ironic that is.
“Of course, sir,” Jinu purred, eyes narrowing, “It’s an honour.”
He hung up before another word could be said.
His skull throbbed like someone was pounding on it with a hammer and his soul was starting to be tugged at again.
He needed to feed again soon.
A low growl startled him.
Derpy padded into his office, tail and head low.
He came to sit in front of Jinu and let his mouth fall open.
The folded invitation Jinu had sent with him hours ago fell to the floor with a wet slap.
Jinu stared at it for a moment longer. This is the 5th invitation she’d ignored. It was getting frustrating.
“Try again,” he murmured flatly, picking up the invitation and handing it back to the tiger.
Derpy nudged his nose against Jinu’s thigh gently, his warm, moist muzzle pressing like an apology.
“Now.”
Derpy’s ears flicked back. Even his expressionless eyes seemed hurt.
Then, finally, the beast sank low into his shimmering blue portal and left.
When the room was empty again, silence flooded back in and Jinu just sat there. Quiet. Not even the house was loud with its usual chaos.
He was so tired of being quiet.
He grabbed the nearest thing—a potted plant on the windowsill.
The moment his clawed fingers, which were a little darker than usual, touched it, the entire thing blackened. The petals shrivelled to dust and the ceramic splintered with his grip.
With a snarl, he hurled it across the room. He doesn’t even register the sound of it shattering to bits.
His back hit the wall seconds later, shoulders sliding down as his body gave in.
He sank to the ground, eyes wide, breathing unevenly. His hands clawed at his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.
Jinu was never one to lose control of his powers. He either had them controlled on a tight tight leash or suppressed. But right now he was feeling too many things to even try.
He didn’t even notice the book on the shelf catch fire nor the tendrils of black creeping from the ground.
All he could think was: Let him forget for a second. Let him pretend all the shitty things didn’t exist. Let him feel something he actually wanted to.
Something.
Anything.
Because anything was better than this.
Notes:
My argument for Jinu being able to release the EP without company approval? If Rumi can do it, so can he.
If Saja Boys did release an EP ‘Sweet For Me’ with these songs, are we down or nah?
Me personally? My souls already gone… yeah.
I also remember I had a commenter ask me about including ‘Dive’ but I’m like 99% sure that song was a fanmade one not like official (cuz when I searched they said the lyrics were theirs and the voice was AI) but idkkk it was a cool rec tho! Love to one of my MCCs <3
What are the thoughts on this chapter? Jinu acting unilaterally and not telling the others??? Bad bad Jinu.
Lowkey guys I don’t have a single clue wtf I’m doing for the next chapter. I have an idea of what purpose I want it to hold to connect this chapter and the next next chapter butttt idk if it will flow. We shall see.
Comments, kudos etc etccc see you sooon!
Chapter 30: Power
Notes:
I rewrote this chapter 4 times… and i still hate it.
Now im not gonna say who cuz then it’ll be spoilers but imma be so straight rn several of you are suggesting and predicting things that Ive planned. And I'm telling you, I avoid/ban myself from altering my story because comments yet still completely organically some of yall are guessing my plot outlines. The worst part is yall picking up on things I intended to make minor… There's some mindreading going on. Ts scary frfr (but so so flipping cool to see!)
Also you guys have read this story so far. Based on prior stuff and this chapter… Should I tag cannibalism? Genuine question (yes or no in the comments)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jinu stood at the foot of the altar, his hands behind his back and his posture straight. The heat coming from the overlord next to him was unbearable—though he dared not say anything. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Below, hundreds of demons were arranged in rows, bowed or kneeling where they stood. With a single gesture of one of Gwi-ma’s disfigured flaming claws, the first row of demons rose and stepped forward—ten in total. They moved without hesitation, despite trembling, shaking and sobbing. Gwi-ma opened his mouth—wide and wide and wide—until Jinu saw the abyss thousands of demons had been fated to suffer in.
And ten more were about to join them.
The group entered his mouth without resistance.
They screamed as their forms melted and burned and folded and broke down. The deep pleased rumbling from the king shook the temple floor and Jinu turned away quickly… he’d been traumatised enough since coming here.
“One day, Jinu, all demons in hell will be like this and know their place. I’ll not have to chase them anymore. All those marked by me will offer themselves willingly and stop trying to escape through the honmoon.”
Jinu kept his tone neutral as he asked, “And why do you want that, my lord?”
“Power,” he answered simply, “Control. And of course… for the pleasure of it all.”
Jinu tilted his head slightly, “Why not humans? They’re plentiful. Why your own kind?”
There was a pause.
And then Gwi-ma laughed.
“Tell me, Jinu… Is it not more satisfying to consume something filled with anguish, anger and under your control? Plus, why should I waste time on the human world when I own this domain? Eventually, they’ll end up here anyway.”
“I suppose,” Jinu replied.
Jinu glanced down again at the demons below, still hundreds strong in number. Each one carrying patterns just like his, each one cursed by Gwi-ma and owned by him. “And me?” he asked softly, “Why not eat me?”
Gwi-ma’s form stilled. Then, slowly, the tyrant’s head turned to Jinu, “You’re… different. It gets lonely at the top. No one ever dares to talk back, but you do and you’re an… entertainment”, he said.
Jinu’s stomach twisted, but he held the king’s gaze.
“And you’re clever Jinu… I don’t have the slightest concern about you betraying me. But if you dare…” Gwi-ma whispered, “ I will eat you without a second thought.”
“I understand,” Jinu said softly, bowing his head.
“Do you?” Gwi-ma hissed.
Without warning, Jinu watched, wide-eyed as one of Gwi-ma’s tendrils reached forward in his direction. For a split second, he was sure he’d made some fatal mistake and that Gwi-ma had seen through him and now was going to kill him.
Instead, it swept over his head and into the sea of kneeling demons until it caught one near the back.
Seconds later, a demon was slammed to the floor before Jinu’s feet, stumbling quickly to stand and bow. He was taller than Jinu. Broad-shouldered and muscular, the chaffing of the chains on his ankles and wrists were very very visible. He had short magenta hair that was matted and messy, and eyes that refused to meet his.
Gwi-ma chuckled, “This one looks strong. Would you like to try him?”
Jinu blinked, confused, looking between Gwi-ma and the objectively handsome demon, “Try?”
“To eat him, Jinu. To see how it feels,” The king hummed, “He’s allll yours.”
Jinu’s mouth went dry. He recognised the trap. The tone was too playful, too sugar-sweet. He turned his gaze from the demon.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
Silence.
Suddenly, Gwi-ma roared in laughter, his pink flames flaring as he dragged the magenta-haired demon back into the crowd.
“Good. Very good. That was a test and I knew you wouldn’t disappoint. Only I get to eat other demons,” Gwi-ma’s voice echoed, “eat another demon and I’d have turned you to ash on the spot. Matter of fact… stand against me ever and it’ll be your end.”
Jinu resisted the urge to shiver.
A thought crossed Jinu’s mind and he couldn’t help himself. It was the only reason the tyrant kept him around. Because he was curious and curious people kept things interesting.
“So why give me the power at all if I can’t use it?” he said carefully, “Aren’t you afraid of what I could become?”
The demon king's laughter died out in seconds and Jinu had immediate regret.
Then pain — raw and endless—ripped through his chest. He collapsed to his knees with a gasp, tears springing to his eyes as his patterns blazed along his skin and that invisible chain around his soul tightened.
“I’ll never have to worry,” Gwi-ma grumbled softly, voice now stripped of affection, of warmth, “you may be my favourite but all the power you will ever have belongs to me.”
His red patterns climbed up his throat and along his entire face.
“I control you.”
It burned.
“I own you.”
It hurt.
“Anything you ever have — is mine. Up until the day I grow bored of you and decide you're my meal… I’m not concerned about you using the powers against me or ever escaping me...”
Jinu had gasped.
”You’re clever Jinu, you know the consequences.”
Jinu’s teeth clenched.
“I only jest, my lord,” he said through them.
-
Their first-ever stadium concert felt all too bittersweet.
On a good note? The honmoon, he could see even as he spun through dizzyingly fast chorea, was no longer as vibrant as it was before.
The fans?
“AHHHH THEY ARE SO HOT—”
“HE LOOKED AT ME! HE LOOKED RIGHT AT ME I SWEAR!”
“THEY’RE THE BEST GROUP IN THE WORLD! OH MY GAWWWWD”
Need he think more?
The bad notes? Huntr/x was supposed to be here, yet they weren’t. It was going to be his one opportunity to force Rumi to talk again as she’s been ignoring his invitation. It was becoming a hindrance.
Another thing is he felt so so nauseous suppressing Gwi-ma’s his powers that were acting out of control. He’d normally have his lovers help him… relax the burden of the power but that brought him to his biggest problem.
His lovers were mad at him.
But for the time they were on stage, Jinu would like to pretend they were not.
”My little soda pop, gotta drink every drop.”
Well, that ended sooner than he would’ve liked.
The lights went out on stage. The crowd shrieked one last time.
And just like that, the moment was over.
They were rushed off stage by a swarm of production crew and stylist and practically herded into the private changing room to get ready for the VIP ticket meet and greet.
When the door shut behind them with a solid click, every single smile fell and the coldness that had filtered into the Saja House hit Jinu again like a ton of bricks.
Awkward awkward awkward.
Jinu cleared his throat and forced a smile so practised it almost hurt, “Great performance, guys.”
No one answered. No one even acknowledged him.
He looked around. Ah-bin chose to stare at the wall, of all places, while unbuttoning the shirt of his outfit. Hanbae was already on his phone, earbuds plugged in, as he pouted at the phone he was playing on. Ro was—unnecessarily—applying more makeup to his face.
And Miseo… had a book. When the hell?
Jinu swallowed thickly, “Listen guys, I know we should talk but—”
“Didn’t you just say we don’t have to know because only you know what’s best?” Ro-meyeon’s voice was light, playful, and coy as ever. He didn’t even look up from where he was fixing his hair in the mirror. But the smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. He turned slowly to face Jinu. “Or did I hear you wrong?”
“I—That’s not…” he trailed off, brow furrowing, “It’s not like that. It’s complicated.”
“So complicated you can’t tell us?” Ro said, same smile, just colder.
Jinu opened his mouth, then closed it. Nothing came out as he stared at the floor. His silence answered for him.
Ah-bin let out a low grunt from where he sat hunched over in a chair as he tossed a towel over his head, “I’m too mentally and physically exhausted to think about this right now,” he muttered, not to anyone in particular, “I’m so done with this bullshit.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore… not unless it’s progressive,” Miseo whispered lowly but loud enough to be heard.
What Jinu knew Miseo wanted to say is, ‘not unless you decide to stop talking in fucking riddles.’
“Just… trust me,” he tried, pleading one last time before he could stop it, “Please. I promise, it’s all for us.”
Hanbae didn’t look up at him as he murmured, “It’s getting harder and harder to blindly trust you, hyung.”
Notes:
Ooo lore drop. Flashbacks are such a cheeky way to add lore (and im abusing the hell outta it bite me 😘)
I wonder who that pink haired demon was…Being completely honest, the 2nd part of this story gave me so much trouble that i was considering just posting 829 words BUT I didn’t want a short chapter but now it feels repetitive. While I was writing the initial plot outline of this chapter, it fit in much much better with a plot point for smth i moved to later on in the fic. The reason for that is cuz it would’ve been to fast in the pacing and i didn’t like it ;-; ik none of this made sense <3
I feel the deeper we get into thw story, the greater inconsistencies im gonna end up having AND I DONT WANT THAT imma cry if i end up having a mad mad inconsistencies
Anyways until next time
Chapter 31: The Boys
Notes:
Gang thank you for the lovely lovely comments on the previous few chapters (my god how the flip am I at chapter 30??!) When I started, I lowkey thought I was gonna only do 2-3 chapters and then disappear due to loss motivation. But all of u are the reason I’m still at it and hence my reason for wanting it to be the best as possible. I think that’s why I;m being so harsh. The comments saying it’s okay that I’m feeling that way are so heart warming so thank youuuu.
I think the reasons its been stressing me is because normally I have the drafts of four chapters ready so like if new ideas come I go back to edit. I didn’t this time around yknow?
Hope you enjoy reading as much as possible <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning was colder than he expected, the kind that made your bones ache before your skin even registered it, but Hanbae liked the way the air bit at his nose. A lollipop sat between his lips, the stick tilting lazily to one side as he strolled along the park path.
His earphones were in, music low, loud enough to give him an excuse to ignore the world.
And no one was around. Just how he wanted it.
He kicked a stone as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie… He stole it from Ah-bin. The clips in his hair? Miseo’s. Jinu’s hat. Ro-meyeon’s finger warmers.
Yep. Just how he wanted it. Alone…
…
..
.
Okay, that was a lie.
He wanted nothing more than someone to trail beside him so he could rant about stupid shit. To be rude and sarcastic but in that way that made them laugh. Maybe cling to one of his dumbasses sleeves and force them to give his clingy ass attention. He wanted someone to roll their eyes at him, tell him to shut up, pull him into a side-hug and call him annoying. He wanted to feel like he could be stupid and loud and dramatic without it being wrong.
He wanted that.
But he lied. Again. Because he was good at pretending he needed space and pretending there was nothing important bothering him,
All he wanted right now was to show he was scared and confused and talk and talk and scream perhaps but that’s stupid. His hands fisted tighter in the hoodie’s front pocket, nails digging against his palm as he walked faster.
He’s 299 years old for fucksake. He didn’t need to make everything about him right now.
Don’t be a whiny brat, he scolded himself, kicking the same rock again and watching it bounce off his path. He resisted the urge to follow it.
He doesn’t need to say his every damn thought to them.
As he passed three old grannies marching in a line, one of them chirped out, “Good morning, sweetie!” in that singsong tone that humans reserved for kids.
He’s not even short! Not by human standards at least. How dare they think he’s a kid?
He didn’t answer; he just scoffed under his breath and kept walking. What’s so good about this morning anyway, he thought, eyes rolling. Maybe it would be better if Jinu wasn’t constantly lying through his teeth every second.
A little bit ahead, Hanbae swore he saw a crack of something pink and glowing in the pavement. He slowed to a stop, sucking the lollipop back into his cheek, brow furrowing as he stared at the widening thing.
He blinked, deadpan, as a figure began to crawl and claw its way out of it.
Ah, a tear in the honmoon. It’s been a while since he’d seen one.
The demon hauled itself out desperately and stumbled forward onto the ground, his eyes wide and panicked but relieved all at once until he spotted Hanbae.
Those eyes lit up with admiration just as quickly.
“You—are you—are you Baby Saja?” the demon panted, patterns glowing against his skin as he trembled to his feet.
One thing about Hanbae? He hated unnecessary interactions. Especially with other demons. Back in hell, he was a victim of… bullying a lot so yeah he hated everyone. This demon, by the looks of it, was not a threat to him whatsoever but still, he was not going to continue a conversation he wasn’t obligated to.
Hanbae blinked once, unplugging one earphone, “Uhhh… no?” he said, expression utterly flat. He popped the lollipop out and gestured vaguely down the street. “Try someone else.”
“No no, you’re him! I’m such a big fan! I—.” Suddenly, the demon doubled over with a cry at Hanbae’s feet. Hanbae took a step back.
“Shit… no, no, no…” the demon hissed, clutching his stomach as his body convulsed. His patterns glowed harshly against his skin.
Momentarily, Hanbae wonders why on earth a freshly escaped demon is already so near the edge of starvation and being dragged back but then he realised… he doesn’t really care.
The demon looked up at him, eyes bloodshot, foaming slightly, “I—I need—”
Hanbae pointed lazily over his shoulder with his lollipop, where the three grannies marched with their backs away from them, “Humans that way,” he said, voice bored, “Knock yourself out.”
The demon didn’t hesitate. Hanbae watched him sprint towards them on all fours, mildly amused.
His amusement vanished as quickly as it came when he watched the demon, leapt in the air—arms out, jaw unhinged—be literally bisected before he even had the chance to sink his teeth in. A clean line, diagonal straight through his centre.
And he’d just gotten here too. Poor guy.
Rumi stood where the demon had been, saingeom glowing with energy, her braid caught in the slow wind.
Hanbae spun on his heel immediately before she could see him.
He pulled his hoodie strings tight, cinching the fabric around his face until all he could see was the sidewalk and not a strand of his blue hair to be seen and he began speed-walking away with the urgency of someone who just witnessed a murder and was too embarrassed to dare say anything.
Hanbae hated solo walks, they don’t resolve feelings for shit and now, he’s gotta go home and not seem anxious.
-
Ah-bin sighed heavily, kicking the pile of discarded clothes into a corner without ceremony. His stomach churned in quiet satisfaction, patterns fading just enough. He rolled his shoulders, ran a hand through his magenta hair, and tilted his head up at the sliver of moon just visible between the two buildings around him.
It was hard not to think while in the quiet of the night.
Jinu was closing up more and more and he doesn’t understand why, all Ah-bin wants to do is help. Do something. He was built for action, for throwing punches or charging headfirst—because yes maybe he’s not the greatest thinker but he can follow instructions preferably with an explanation. Without instructions…
He’s not sure what he’s doing right now.
Jinu wouldn’t talk. Ro was trying and failing to play therapist. Miseo was ghosting. Hanbae was hiding with meanness. He’s not sure how to respond to it all without getting annoyed himself.
As he prepared to step out of the alley…
”HYAAAA!” He heard a voice grunt out in effort before he heard a series of bangs of a body hitting and pinging against metal like a ball in a pinball machine.
Just as he was about to look out, something—someone flew past the mouth of the alley. A demon. For half a breath, the flailing creature’s eyes locked with his—wide, terrified and already half disintegrated.
Then it was gone.
“Wait, that’s the beat,” came a voice from just beyond the alley’s mouth—recognisable, annoyingly so.
Ah-bin dared a peek. Mira. Her eyes were ecstatic as she stared on at where she—because Ah-bin probably wouldn’t be wrong assuming it’s her—sent a demon flying.
“Yeah, totally!” Zoey chimed in, cheerful as always, despite the fact that she had a demon in a headlock and was dragging it across the ground like it owed her rent. Its legs kicked feebly, claws scraping against the floor as the two talked like he wasn’t there.
Maybe he could kill the two here. That would make him useful, wouldn’t it? Maybe Jinu would stop the silence if he managed to do something extreme. He’s completely fresh having just eaten and he’s feeling pent up and strong—
He ducked back into the alley, heartbeat loud in his ears, nostrils flaring as he tried to keep the sudden anger from boiling into something reckless. No way would he win 2 (and probably 3) against 1.
He slipped into another path behind the dumpster and peered carefully around the corner. Just ahead, in front of a store, he spotted her. Rumi. The leader. He was slightly more proud of himself for not throwing himself into a would-be 3v1.
She had a lesser demon pinned to the wall, one hand on his throat, her body close. But… she wasn’t striking. Not yet.
And her mouth was moving.
Was she… talking to him?
Ah-bin squinted, leaning just a little farther, trying to catch her expression—but the shadows obscured her face too well. He could only see the stiff line of her shoulders.
What the hell—
Mira’s blade came down out of nowhere, stabbing the demon clean through the face mid-sentence. The creature exploded into pink confetti.
“You okay?” Mira asked, yanking her weapon back with ease.
“Yeah,” Rumi replied quickly, glancing at her sleeves quickly, “thanks for having my back.”
“Well—.”
“What were you saying about the beat?” Rumi asked, already brushing it off like nothing had happened, “Does it work with the song?”
Mira turned, her eyes following her leader, scanning the alley, “Uh, yeah I—” Her voice hitched.
She looked straight at him.
Eye contact.
Ah-bin jolted, pulling back fast, slamming his body against the wall with his breath stuck in his throat.
She didn’t see him. She didn’t see him. She didn’t—
He heard her footsteps, slow and careful, clicking toward him. And that grating shimmering sound her weapon made. She was coming.
Nope.
Walking on foot wasn’t worth the risk. Using energy to teleport was better than getting cornered and being the next thing pinned, head-locked or flung like a toy.
In a soft puff of pink smoke, Ah-bin disappeared.
Huntr/x is planning a new song, he noted mentally, despite his anger. Maybe that’d be useful to Jinu’s plans.
He’s gotta do something to be helpful.
-
The night air bit at Miseo’s bare arms sharply, pricking along his skin like glass. He didn’t wear sleeves, because the cold reminded him this wasn’t hell.
It was nice. He liked solitude. He chose it, most of the time.
But being alone in hell was not like being alone on earth.
On hell, everyone mostly minded their own business. But out here, without Ro-meyeon’s flamboyance or Ah-bin’s body to hide behind or Jinu having to scold Hanbae for doing something non-idollike, he felt… exposed. There was nothing to hide behind. No distraction. No noise to swallow his presence.
He wasn’t… a fan of people perceiving him, so to speak. He’s not worth the effort.
But he forced himself to embrace the isolation because he was not in the mood for the tense atmosphere in the slightest.
He looked up just as the golden hue that was cast across his human skin changed to purple. Despite the deeper colour, it felt inexplicably warmer.
He followed it with his eyes, pausing mid-step. Above him, the massive billboard that had previously displayed Huntr/x in some dramatic pose was now them.
Saja Boys.
The five of them.
He was so awkward in that shoot, he can’t believe they used that picture. It wasn’t… the best of him.
He turned his eyes away from himself and refocused on the others. His beautiful beautiful demons. He allowed the faintest smile to pull at one side of his mouth. His hands moved, rising to push his bangs back so he could get a better look at the image.
“OH MY GOSH, MYSTERY!”
His heart nearly dropped out of his chest.
In seconds, a group of human girls rounded the corner, shrieking softly like they were trying to be quiet but were too excited to care. Somehow, every one of them had a phone already pointed at him. His bangs fell instantly back down into place.
“Can we take a picture?”
“You’re my BIAS, oh my god, I can’t believe it’s really you!”
“You’re so cool. I love how private you are.”
Miseo blinked once, “Thanks,” he murmured, voice low and flat. Another girl stepped closer.
“What are you doing here?”
“Where are you going?” someone else chimed in, practically vibrating with excitement.
Miseo took a half-step back. “Just walking,” he said.
“He’s so hot in person, oh my god!”
He wasn’t trying to be hot. He was uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to talk to people like the others and how to be the fantasy they thought he was.
Humans seemed ignorant of cues as well because even as he stared at the ground and gave dry one-word answers they still took photos with him and raved about how cool he was.
He doesn’t like it one bit.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw them.
Huntr/x, standing on the opposite side of the street. They glared at him in contempt.
The mortal girls formed a natural barrier around him at least, shielding him unconciously. And for once, he felt genuinely grateful for them. Still, as he looked at the demon hunters across the street, something ugly coiled in his gut. He didn’t want to be shielded by strangers. He wanted—
He wanted his lovers, any of them… all of them but he didn’t have that right now.
He forced himself to remember what Jinu had said to do when spotted.
He straightened his back. Tilted his head slightly. The hair still covered most of his face, but just enough for his devious grin to be seen.
Then he smirked at them.
The best he could.
-
Ro always considered himself an observant person… of his boys. Others he has not a clue about (because he doesn’t care). Which was a good thing and a bad thing. Good because he had a decent read of situations with a single glance. Bad because, knowing what he knows, he is all too aware how his greedy personality conflicts with the mood.
What can he say, he’s selfish.
But not in this atmosphere… So he doom-scrolls instead.
Ro-meyeon was lying half-bent in his walk-in wardrobe, one hand fishing through a mess of glittery accessories, and the other lazily scrolling on his phone.
The light from the screen painted his face in white, flickering slightly each time his thumb dragged downward. He wasn’t really reading any of the comments—not even the thirst comments—not tonight.
One post he had made earlier that day, had gained him hundreds of thousands of followers. All the popular new followers were highlighted.
Then he noticed a username that surprised him.
@managerbobby_huntrix.
He blinked, stared. No fucking way.
Out of curiosity, he went to click the guy's profile and his likes were… surprisingly public. For somebody linked to a well-known idol group, wasn’t that kind of… stupid?
But Ro was not complaining.
Then he started scrolling through them. Bobby, the manager of Huntr/x, had been liking their posts. Not just one or two. A whole trail of them. Some from days ago, some from weeks ago.
A slow grin tugged at the corners of Ro’s lips. “Well, well, well… someone’s a fan,” he murmured to himself, voice lilting with amusement. Of course. Who could resist them? They were the enemy, sure—but even the enemy could appreciate taste.
He flipped his hair back, even though no one was watching.
Honestly, part of him thought it was hilarious.
And maybe, just maybe, if he told the others, they could laugh about it together. Like they used to. Tease each other. Roll eyes. Touch.
It had been too long since they’d done that.
He left the closet, phone still in hand, and skipped down the hall toward the living room.
They were all there.
For once.
Ah-bin was on the floor doing pushups like a machine, arms glistening, his headphones jammed in, shirtless and dripping sweat. Hanbae sat on the arm of the couch, hunched over his phone, furiously tapping some game. Miseo was wedged into the farthest corner with a book so close to his face that Ro wasn’t even sure he was reading it. Jinu was hunched over his laptop at the coffee table, eyes laser-focused, fingers barely moving but shoulders rigid, like he was holding in a hundred answers to questions no one had asked yet.
They were all there.
And they couldn’t have been farther apart.
Ro stood there, still. The words—Hey, guess who’s stalking us online?—sat right at the tip of his tongue. But before he could let them go, he imagined exactly how it would play out.
Ah-bin wouldn’t hear him.
Miseo would hear him but wouldn’t react. Maybe a blink if Ro was lucky and go back to reading like none of it mattered.
Hanbae would glance up, deadpan, say “I don’t care,” and go back to tapping. He’s been in a snappy mood as of late.
Jinu—well. Jinu would either murmur something noncommittal like “Interesting,” in that tone that was dismissive and uncaring, or his head would snap around, and his eyes would spark with too much interest. That would mean it was relevant, it did matter, and he still wouldn’t explain why.
And that? That would piss Ro off more than anything else.
He stood there for a full five seconds with his mouth open just slightly.
Then he closed it.
He turned, quietly, walking back the way he came without a word.
He didn’t slam the door nor did he say goodnight.
He stepped back into his walk-in wardrobe and shut the door, clicking it shut… actually locking for good measure. He then dug deep into the back of his closet. There, tucked beneath his fluffiest blankets and a pile of hoodies, were the four body pillows he’d ordered.
In secret so what?
Each one of them was in their sexy attractive Afterparty stagewear.. One had Ah-bin’s full-tooth grin. One had Miseo’s blank face. One had Jinu’s smirk and another had Hanbae’s cute ageyo he refused to do for him. They had two sides…one of which he enjoyed quite significantly more.
On a rare occasion, humans cooked with these.
Ro flopped down into the pile and sighed hugging them close.
He didn’t want to come off as greedy and needy and attention-seeking right now.
But maybe pretending for a while wasn’t the worst thing.
Hugging these pillows at least lets him feel the warmth he wanted. A quiet, ridiculous way. But it was his.
Notes:
Ummm Romance? The body pillows…? Wanna unpack that for us please?
Insights into our saja boys and how they coping atm, what are we thinking??? Who you feeling for the most??
Do you guys recognise these clips from the movie???
Thoughts, kudos, comments and so forth! I love reading them instead of sleeping SEE YOUUU <3
Chapter 32: Control
Notes:
I’m suprised I’ve never asked this question but what were you guys’ thoughts when you read the story summary? were you unsure or were you like “Shit I’m down”?
Echoing appreciation again for all my commenters and kudoers (AHHH I LOVE U ALL SO MUCH) I’m back in the swing of things I think. Writer’s block? who heard of her?
Enjoy <333
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Being hungry was one thing.
Being hungry and mentally chained to a psychotic, semi-omniscient demon king and losing grip on his given power? Not exactly his idea of a fun Wednesday night.
Jinus' fingers paused mid-keystroke, hovering over the touchpad while his jaw twitched for the third time in a minute. He glared at the red-blackish tendril emerging from his elbow. His clawed hand slapped down on it and it retreated back under his skin.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing at the document in front of him, barely readable anymore through the pulsing in his vision. Every sentence blurred, as more and more things below his pale white skin squirmed for release.
It didn’t help that he was simultaneously low on energy so he was whispering again.
“My clever little traitor… look at you. Even your body knows it is not yours.”
Jinu slapped himself again, this one on the back of his neck, where a glowing tendril had started to curl outward
“Shut up,” Jinu muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as his ears rang faintly.
“You dare tell your owner to shut up, Jinu. Such insolence… Though I’m not surprised it's coming from you.”
Jinu tried to ignore him, his fangs piercing his lips. Alas, the voice didn’t stop.
“COME BACK TO ME NOW. YOU THEIF. YOU’RE MINE. EVERYTHING THAT’S YOURS IS MINE—”
The scream slammed through his head like a gong. His voice like chalk on a chalkboard on his soul.
“Enough!” Jinu slammed both palms onto the desk, the wood rattling beneath his hands as tendrils of raw, uncontrolled energy burst from his skin, slapping across the floor, walls, chairs, even the ceiling.
“Once the honmoon is broken,” he growled, voice gritty and angry, “there won’t be anything trying to drag us back down to you. I’m not yours.”
Gwi-ma went silent.
For a heartbeat.
Then: “You… are trying to break the honmoon?”
It was soft. Almost curious. Not anger. Not rage.
Something else. He’d known the tyrant for too many years and knowing what he knew he could tell… Gwi-ma liked that. Why?
And then he was gone.
The pressure in Jinu’s skull vanished like a plug. The only sensations left were the dull tugs from the honmoon and Gwi-ma’s his powers itching every edge of his being.
Being Gwi-ma’s favourite, once upon a horror time, had become a constant nightmare from the moment he betrayed him… that day in the temple.
It was a blur but that day he twisted free of the collar, he’d gone from being his only favourite to being his only traitor.
Which was equally as bad.
He can’t remember half of what happened. It had been all so many years ago and… he preffered to forget most of it to be honest but what he does remember was Gwi-ma constantly “gifting” him power.
In reality, it was to toy with him and remind Jinu that he was powerless on his own. He also recalls the tyrant saying he was doing this to make him a more enjoyable meal when the time came… as a joke.
His sense of humour needed work.
But he digresses, Jinu’s glad he escaped when he did.
The truth was he’d never gotten the chance to use those “gifts.” Gwi-ma made sure of it. So due to mostly being disused, they were unstable aside from the simple things. The powers after escaping were more of a hindrance than anything, acting as a literal flare gun to his location if he ever dared to activate them. Back in hell, the moment they acted up, Gwi-ma knew exactly where he was, and he and his boys had to start packing again.
They only ever acted out when he was emotionally unstable. He rarely let that happen in Hell because Gwi-ma had been too close for him to let himself drown in emotions and fortunately, the stressful moments in that place were predictable. But here it was significantly different.
And Jinu had been emotionally unstable for weeks.
He stood in the middle of his trashed office, his heart thundering as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to reel in the flaring tendrils.
His legs gave under him for a second, as he gasped and pushed forward, stumbling out of the room. The door slammed open behind him and he staggered down the hall, one hand dragging along the wall for balance, for direction.
An unfortunate by-product of Gwi-ma’s given power acting up? Since it made him feel like Gwi-ma was claiming him, he burned with the need to take everything back.
Because everything that belonged to him was his not Gwi-ma’s.
He just… needed to make sure of it for the powers to settle. There was no repressing it at this stage.
He shoved open the bedroom door with more force than intended and collapsed just inside the threshold, his fingers curled into claws on the floor, chest heaving. He hauled himself up seconds later.
And they were there, asleep on the bed—well were asleep, the sound of him banging the door open made them start to stir— and what didn’t help simmer the heat in his head was that they’d left space for him to slip right in.
God. He loved them.
Wanted them.
Owned them.
Jinu stood at the foot of the bed, hands wringing behind his neck.
”Jinu?” Ro mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to actually take in his figure. When it did, his eyes widened.
‘Can we…” He cleared his throat, then tried again, quieter, “Can we do something?”
Ro sat up, brows creased as his gaze raked over Jinu’s flushed, sweat-drenched face and the tendrils flaring around him, “Jinu… are your powers acting up?”
“…Mhm,” God he sounded pathetic.
Ah-bin moved next, pulling his legs out from under the blanket and blinking blearily, “Great timing,” he muttered with an eye roll, rubbing a hand down his face, “I’m gonna guess you can’t control them?”
But Jinu didn’t respond. He just stared at them with glassy eyes, swaying slightly where he stood. The tendrils of his magic slithered lazily out from beneath his sleeves and the hem of his shirt.
Ro exhaled hard, “Get him up here.”
They pulled him gently onto the bed—Ah-bin taking one wrist, Miseo steadying his side without a word. Hanbae groggily complained but still shifted out of the way.
Jinu’s head lolled back against the pillow, grinning like an idiot and whimpering lightly. He heard them talking but he was too gone to even try to focus on any of it. He just wanted needed to own them.
”Yeah, he’s completely out of it.”
”Haven’t seen him like this in a while.”
“To be honest, I thought we’d never see it again.”
”Remember the last time this happened?”
”All his secretive nonsense has come to bite him I guess.”
“Do you think he can sleep it off this time?”
”I don’t think so because—Ah, Jinu knock it off,” Hanbae snapped, batting away one of the vines that unconsciously had started slipping under Hanbae’s shirt. Through unfocused eyes, Jinu noticed that all those strands were trying to wrap around any wrists, ankles and shoulders it could.
But they were too easily ignoring it.
”Please.”
They all blinked at him and his glowing yellow eyes, wide and desperate.
He needed them. They were his. Even if these powers—these cursed, borrowed inconveniences that made him feel like a kleptomaniac—weren’t truly his, they were. His boys were his.
And in his power-dizzy head, as always, he felt the need to remind himself and them of that fact
”Please.”
And, in this state, he was not above begging.
The boys exchanged glances between each other, very clearly still annoyed, upset, angry and the like. Yet their desire to see him not like this—not unravelling, not desperate and a slave to his powers—reigned triumphant.
So despite it all, they nodded.
And that was all the go-ahead Jinu needed.
Notes:
Yh so Jinu’s repressed powers make him act like a drunken possessive controlling idiot and I feel it’s funny to think that they treat him with literal tendrils flailing around him as normal cuz it’s happened before.
And of course since they were mad at him, they now treating it just as seriously but in a more “fed up” manner.
Have fun imagining what they did cuz ur girl aint writing that 😗✌️<33
I think this chapter had a lot of expositioning in it so apologies if it didn’t flow all thattt great, but I do hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts!
Cya again!
Chapter 33: One Hell of a Time
Notes:
Y’know, ive debated tagging OOC for each of them but then I deep. How can you be out of character when you never had any character? and THATS the truth. It’s so fun cuz I couldve literally given them any personality I wanted and flesh them out with whatever quirks, personas etc I wanted.
Some of yall need to get outta my head or imma have to square up. ALSO also I’m am so attached to reading y’all comments its insane (gang I’m rereading so many)
Enjoy <33
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sky in this part of hell was always black, with copper-red clouds that were far and few between. Despite the town being overpacked and near ruin, by hell’s standards, it was perfect.
Anything that offered the slightest shelter before Gwi-ma attacked the place was heaven.
If Jinu were right, they’d be safe from him for a year… maybe two.
“You look so serious,” Ro murmured, flicking his gaze toward him.
Jinu didn’t glance over, but the corner of his mouth twitched, “Do I?”
“Mmhmm,” Ro hummed, reaching over to adjust Jinu’s gat hat for the third time in ten minutes. It was completely unnecessary.
Behind them, trailing by a few paces, Ah-bin was walking with his arms crossed, his face twisted in intense concentration as Miseo talked in a low, careful voice.
“So… you’re saying that tightness in my head is fear,” Ah-bin said, eyebrows furrowed.
“No,” Miseo said, who ironically enough had the patience of a saint, “That’s anger. Fear is more like a sinking feeling.”
Ah-bin nodded to himself, “But my response to both can be a punch, right?”
Miseo rubbed at his temple with a sigh, “You can. But it’s probably not rational in every circumstance.”
“…….So I can?”
“We’re in hell Ah-bin. Everything’s allowed. But that’s not the point. The point is, they are two different emotions.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I know.”
Jinu chuckled gently to himself before realising… the youngest of the group was not behind him anymore.
“Wait,” Jinu said, slowing mid-step, “Where’s Hanbae?”
“I DIDN’T EVEN TAKE THAT MUCH—!”
The group paused.
All four of them turned in unison—heads whipping to the side like they’d done a thousand times before for the same individual.
They all saw Hanbae, wild-eyed, his aqua hair sticking out all over the place as he ran down the ruined streets. Well—not running so much as sprinting for his life, holding his hat while looking over his shoulder as three very pissed-off demons chased him, snarling and brandishing jagged bone-weapons.
Miseo barely had time to react before Hanbae launched himself into him like a missile.
He slammed bodily into Miseo’s chest with enough force to knock them both a step back. He wrapped his arms tightly around his back and buried his face into the folds of Miseo’s hanbok.
”What now Hanbae?” Jinu asked.
“Hide me,” Hanbae murmured into his robes, “these guys are being assholes.”
Two of the demons skidded to a halt, the instant Ah-bin stepped into their path, all aggressiveness vanishing when faced with his towering frame.
They squeaked in tandem when his large hands came down and lifted them by their necks, one in each of Ah-bin’s arms. Their feet dangled inches above the ground, kicking helplessly.
”What should I do with them, Jinu?” he said casually, a serious look on his face.
He sighed looking at them before turning his gaze to the third demon—a girl, nervously lingering a few feet back. Her fists were clenched, her eyes flicking wearily between Ah-bin, the struggling idiots in his grip, and the rest of the Saja boys
“What exactly is the problem?” Jinu asked, his voice deceptively light
The demon girl crossed her arms, glaring, “He—” she jabbed a clawed finger at Hanbae, “—decided to do a Gwi-ma impression and steal our stuff.”
Jinu turned slowly. Hanbae was still nestled against Miseo, who hadn’t stopped rubbing slow, soothing circles into his back, clearly thinking the boy was trembling. But the halfway hidden grin that stretched across the younger’s face was demonic in itself—wide, smug, and full of zero remorse.
And he was most likely shaking from concealed laughter.
Yeah. Hanbae had definitely done that. Of course, he did it. He absolutely did.
Jinu hid his smirk behind his hand.
Ro stepped forward then, sliding smoothly between Jinu and the angry demon girl, his smile soft and eyes sparkling, “Listen, sweetheart, let’s be real,” he said, voice pitched low and syrupy, “Don’t you think there are more important things in this hell to worry about people stealing?”
The girl blinked, flustered, “L-like what?”
”How about your he—.”
Okay, that was enough.
“Ah-bin,” Jinu waved a hand at Ah-bin, “Put them down before they choke.”
Ah-bin sighed, letting go of the demons in sync. They dropped hard, wheezing, one of them coughing and glaring through watering eyes.
Jinu folded his arms across his chest, “I’m going to assume whatever your treasures were, they weren’t worth this scene. You’ve now wasted our time and your time.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, “Can we just have our stuff back?”
Jinu tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a touch, “Oh no,” he said, voice going dark and low, “You couldn’t have forgotten we’re in hell, could you?…Your stuff is ours now.”
“But—”
Crack.
All it took was Ah-bin cracking his knuckles and the trio backed away, scowling but silent, then turned and scurried down the street like rats.
They watched them disappear, then turned their eyes back to Hanbae.
“What?” Hanbae shrugged, still holding onto Miseo, voice pitching slightly at the silent accusation in all their eyes, “It was funny.”
Ro laughed under his breath, and Ah-bin grunted a tired, amused, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
The five of them had drifted back into silence as they walked. They didn’t rush. Any moments of peace were sacred after all.
The air stank of demon blood (probably originating from a plane in hell thousands of miles away that was under attack… so not their problem) but it was easy to ignore because it was blessedly quiet.
Eventually, they came to a rest in a geyser field and sat. Jinu leaned his back against an inactive one.
He let his eyes close as he loosely listened to Hanbae brag about the stuff he stole and Miseo continued explaining different emotions to Ah-bin.
It was nice and peaceful and—
“What is love?”
“It’s…” Miseo began slowly, “complicated. Love is like… It’s an emotion that pulls you toward someone. And it can be many things. You care what happens to them. You want them safe. You want them to be happy.”
“Oh okay,” Ah-bin tilted his head like a puppy and smiled, as though proud of his newly acquired knowledge, “So I love you guys.”
Jinu’s eyes snapped open. Ro lifted his head off the dirt. Hanbae dropped his stolen goods.
Ah-bin looked around at the stunned expressions and frowned slightly, “What? Are demons not allowed to love?”
“It’s not exactly… a demon thing. You know that, right?” Ro said with a dry laugh.
“What is it, then?” Ah-bin asked, brows furrowing.
Ro cleared his throat awkwardly, “It’s just not… typical. It’s not what we’re made for. Lust, yeah. Desire, obsession, possession, domination—sure. That’s the extent of us.”
Ah-bin blinked, turning the words over, “But aren’t all those things just… features of loving extremely?”
Miseo spoke next, voice low and steady, “It’s taboo. Because if you love, you’re vulnerable. If you love, we are seen as weak. Which is fine if you're human. But as a demon? It just leaves you open to exploitation.”
Ah-bin looked down at his lap, wringing his wrist with his hand, “But what’s wrong with being vulnerable to people you trust not to exploit you?”
There was silence.
The demon who was learning emotions from scratch said something… that made sense.
Jinu’s experience and memories of love from his living life were all bittersweet, bitter because he threw any love he had away selfishly and sweet because he was certain those were the only crumbs of love he’d ever get for the rest of his immortal life.
Thinking about it however… the way Hanbae lay comfortably between his legs, the younger's back pressed against his chest.
The way Ro leaned into his shoulder and for no reason but because he can, traced circles around the back of his hand.
The way, Miseo, resting his head in Ah-bin’s lap, only sighed as the other unconsciously dishevelled his hair and moved his bangs out of the way of his eyes. He didn’t immediately go to fix them.
And when Jinu looked up at Ah-bin, still beaming in earnest, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that spoke volumes.
The trust, the want, the closeness, the vulnerability… Was it love?
Because nothing about this was platonic.
Love. Huh.
He had never thought it as a possibility. Love had never entered the equation because the feeling never belonged to them after they lost their humanity. They were made to feel everything negative and survival-driven.
But there are a lot of things he had thought impossible.
He hadn’t thought there’d be a chance of gaining favour with the king.
Hadn’t thought there’d be a spark of rebellion in him, or the strength to survive the escape.
Hadn’t thought he could find people he trusted.
But every time, his thoughts had turned out wrong.
Every time, the impossible happened.
So maybe—just maybe—the thought that love couldn’t exist for them was wrong too.
Maybe he should start being kinder to himself.
Kinder to them.
Maybe they deserved to have hope in something nice that wasn’t coming from fear or doubt.
“Yeah,” he murmured, not looking at any of them, but smiling up at the fractured moon.
“I guess we could call it that, couldn’t we?”
Notes:
Short one but I hope you enjoyed it!
Peep how the chapter name is a call back to something someone said in a chapter a while ago? (Guys i felt so clever doing this you don’t understand) who remembers which chapter and who said it???
A break from the angst for fluff and shennangans and I think this was well deserved cuz its only gonna get worse from here. Just saying!
What are thoughts on this chapter! Comments, kudos, mistakes etc as usual; <3 love love love
Until next timeeeee
Chapter 34: Signing
Notes:
Got my stitches removed three days ago! So yay! Still a bit tender but we moveeee. This and me being on an editing grind is why the daily updates stopped (and i lowkey need to lock in for year 13 so its probs gonna become weekly) My fear is that some u will loose interest and I feel bad if thats the case.
Gang in these flashback sequences I want to emphasise certain words but i can’t cuz ive committed to making flashbacks italicised. Oh woe is me ;(
ALSO Trust me when I say Ive read your comments (probably twice) dont think I haven’t cuz I 100% have!!! They’re so heartwarming and I cant take it no more 😫😫
To all my lovely readers, commenters and kudoers, ENJOY!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jinu breathed in the night's air as he glanced up at the Huntr/x purple banner atop the venue, which, by tomorrow, was going to be turned into a fan-signing queued with hundreds of Huntr/x stans that were probably going to take the girls hours to get through.
That’s why the Saja Boys had to be first in line in order to successfully be nuisances.
There was another reason though. A reason he hadn’t quite told his lovers.
Rumi.
She had been ignoring all the invitations he sent with Derpy and Sussie and it was getting annoying. For Plan A to move forward, he needed her under his spell.
That was the real reason they were here, allowing themselves to shiver in the cold like a bunch of jobless groupies.
His boys just didn’t know the whole truth. They didn’t need to.
But judging by the vibe, he had a strong feeling they already suspected he was hiding something.
“Remember, this is just for publicity and a bit of recon,” he said, looking at no one in particular, “I need to get a measure of how many Huntr/x fans know us. While we’re at it, we also need to make people more excited about the Saja Boys being with them. For the honmoon, divided attention is no attention at all.”
No one answered him. All of them were more interested at staring at the floor, wall or sky.
He conjured a set of sleek, matching chairs, snapping them into existence with a lazy flick of his fingers. They hovered a second in the cold air before landing softly on the asphalt with a puff of pink.
“Come on,” he said, standing. “I know it’s not the most comfortable—”
“No,” Hanbae interrupted, unrolling his sleeping bag and laying it out on the pavement, “I actually prefer to sleep on the floor.”
Jinu smiled tightly, “We don’t have to be like that. We—.”
Hanbae ignored him as he wriggled into his sleeping bag and curled up facing away. In fact, all of them slipped into their sleeping bags and completely ignored his chairs.
They all did it with a pointedness that made Jinu’s left eye twitch.
They were doing it to spite him.
Jinu exhaled through his nose and sat down on his chair, running a hand through his hair.
“Just…” Jinu said softly, pulling his own bag closed around his face, “…make it seem like we’re friendly with Huntr/x when they show up, alright?”
His lovers looked at each other, in a silent conversation Jinu, for the first time in his demonic love life, felt out of the loop of. So he looked away, staring up at the sky instead.
-
“Hey, hey—single file, no pushing!” Bobby’s voice said as sternly as he could, the manager stepping forward to try and control the crowd of excited fans. He and his boys shuffled forwards awkwardly past the short man and to the front of the line.
Moving in a sleeping bag was really hard, how did Mira do it…
“And who should I make this out to?” she asked kindly, uncapping her pen.
Jinu’s voice sliced through the noise—smooth, slow, and unmistakably smug, “To our biggest fans,”
Rumi blinked, confused.
As if rehearsed (yes, they did rehearse it), their sleeping bags fell away, revealing all five Saja Boys beneath.
The effect was instantaneous.
“IT’S THE SAJA BOYS!”
A wave of shrieks tore through the gathered crowd and the Huntr/x girls groaned audibly, it was music to Jinu’s ears.
He let his gaze fall to Bobby as he bowed humbly, “It is an honour. Table now!”
Jinu’s eyes flicked to the second five-person table that was quickly thrown together for them at the last minute, off to the side just adjacent to Huntr/x.
The short man nodded furiously, guiding them with his hands, “Please, right this way, Saja boys.”
They hadn’t even moved yet and yet half the fans immediately began forming a second line in front of it, eyes sparkling at meeting them despite clutching huntr/x merch in their hands.
His smirk curved, slow and deadly. Perfect.
That’s one task completed at least.
He prepared to take a step forward, but then—
“The Saja Boys will sit with us!”
Jinu paused mid-step.
His smirk widened. One brow arched in amusement as he turned his head slowly toward her forced smile, “Oh?”
That was a surprise.
A pleasantly perfect one.
… It very quickly became not so pleasant.
As he walked to his assigned unassigned seat next to Rumi, his gaze flickered to something that made his eye twitch.
Because when he looked up, he saw Ro-meyeon, lounging next to Mira with that sinfully lazy posture he usually reserved for when he was flirting. One arm had dropped casually across the back of Mira’s chair, his head tilted, palm propping up his cheek like he was halfway to a kiss.
“Hm. We keep meeting like this,” Ro purred, eyes narrowed just enough to suggest something.
Ah-bin, on the other side of the girl, leaned his weight on the back of his chair, jaw squared as he gave Mira the look. The heated, heavy-lidded look. The one that was supposed to be Jinu’s.
And Miseo—Miseo didn’t even pretend to hide it. His stare that could be felt even through his all-hiding bangs was fixed on Zoey, who was stammering through a sentence, too nervously, like a schoolgirl trying to impress the older boy who never even looked away.
Jinu gritted his teeth behind a practice smile. He said, act friendly, not give them goo-goo eyes like love-struck idiots.
Jinu knows Miseo felt him looking at him but he was ignoring him.
They were doing it to piss him off. Of course they were. They wanted a reaction. And damn it—it was working.
Jinu gripped the back of the chair beside Rumi as he slid into his seat. His smile was razor-thin.
Think Plan A, he repeated to himself like a mantra. Plan A, plan A. Jealousy can wait.
He inhaled slowly through his nose and leaned into Rumi’s personal space, his voice silk-wrapped venom.
“I didn’t think you liked sharing.”
She glanced at him sharply, her body immediately moving away, before returning to signing the poster, “I love sharing,” she said smoothly.
“Oh,” Jinu drawled, fingers drumming lightly against the table’s edge as he leaned closer still, “So you shared your secret with your friends?”
Rumi’s pen paused for half a beat.
“Should I~ tell them?” he murmured, voice sinking into a low, rich timber.
“No, I’m gonna tell them... Eventually.”
“ Are you going to eventually stop ignoring my invitations?” Jinu asked, eyes narrowing into slits, “I just wanna talk.”
Rumi smiled brightly, “Never.”
“Are you whispering?”
They both jumped slightly, snapping their heads to the right where a fan with big, round glasses was beaming at them. Her smile stretched just a little too wide for comfort. They blurted out incomprehensible nonsense as their hands fumbled across the poster in unison, signing it without looking and practically shoving it into the fan’s arms.
The fan leaned forward, still smiling as she clutched her new signed poster, “Your secret’s safe with me,” they whispered, pointing at their shirt.
It was a RuJinu shirt.
Of Rumi.
Riding Jinu.
Literally riding him.
His mouth went dry as he stared at it.
Was he supposed to be an angel? Because he looked more like a bird… Who even made that?
Both of them laughed awkwardly as she slid out of the line, “aww so cute.”
Jinu found himself unable to look away from the fan because she seemed fixed on maintaining unbroken eye contact with him the whole time she walked away.
The worst bit of it? She did not stop smiling.
Jinu had to rip his eyes away. He regretted it almost instantly because he subconsciously ended up looking down the table.
Just with a glance, with how close they were together, Ro-meyeon, Ah-bin and Mira might as well be in a threesome. The demon part of him dared Mira to even entertain it.
At least she seemed to hate it.
All three of them, leaned over a fan’s broken leg cast, fighting for the privilege of writing their names on it first. Tugging it like a toy.
”I’ll sign first.”
”No, I’ll sign first.”
”No, I’ll sign first,”
”No, I’ll sign first,”
“No, me! Me first!”
What is—
“No! Bad Saja boy,” Zoey scolded, tapping her pen to his head, scolding him. That made Jinu’s hands twitch to do something because no matter what Miseo did, nobody told off—
“Sorry,” Miseo murmured after a few seconds, his voice soft, barely above a whisper.
Zoey clutched her chest as she wheezed out an ‘it’s okay’, her pen clattering to the table. Jinu blinked as he watched Miseo allow Zoey’s hand to almost pet his hair. He didn’t let her touch it but the fact that it even came within centimetres was…
“Baby Saja! Ageyo! Ageyo! Ageyo!”
Jinu glanced at the youngest member next to him and caught him mid-pose: cheeks puffed out, fingers forming a ridiculous heart over his head as he stood for a selfie.
He then blew a kiss. One to the fan next to him, another to the crowd. And another. And another..
Jinu’s eye twitched again.
He hadn’t had a kiss from any of them since his powers lost control… and he doesn’t even remember it happening! And now Hanbae was tossing them to strangers like freebies.
It made his core churn with jealousy.
Green, acidic, rotten.
“I’m not gonna talk to someone who kills people and wants to destroy everything I’ve worked for,” Rumi suddenly said, and his head snapped toward her.
I’m trying to survive,” he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended, “Look, if we don’t kill people, we—I’ll be dragged back to hell and suffer at the hands of Gwi-ma. Why would I choose that?”
“Pathetic.”
“I’m pathetic?” Jinu turned in his seat, leaned in close, and whispered directly into her ear, “You can’t even talk about your patterns.”
Pain lanced up his leg as her heel came down hard onto the top of his foot, grinding into bone through the soft leather of his boot. Jinu hissed and jerked back, gritting his teeth.
“You want me to talk about my patterns?” she said through her teeth. “I hate them. Just like I hate all demons. Just like I hate Gwi-ma.”
Jinu stared at her. And for a moment—just a moment—his eyes grew sad and heavy. Just a smidge. Just enough to let a sliver of his weariness bleed through.
“If hate could defeat Gwi-ma,” he murmured, barely audible beneath the buzz of the crowd, “I would’ve done it a long time ago… trust me.”
They stared at each other and unless Jinu’s eyes were deceiving him, the smallest hint of softness was in her brown eyes. That silence between them was short-lived.
“Excuse me, Mr. Jinu?”
A small, nervous voice cut through the tension. Jinu blinked and turned his head down—his gaze met a little girl no older than seven, holding something tight to her chest.
“I made this for you,” she said, pushing the drawing into his hand.
He looked at it slowly. It was of himself, drawn with a halo and wings. An angel. The caption scrawled in bright purple marker read: “Jinu, You have a beautiful soul.”
“Oppa! Can we play today? I want to draw!”
”Yeodongsaeng I can’t. I’ve gotta go to work and—.”
Her short little fingers tugged pleadingly at the cuff of his robe.
”Pleaseeee.”
Jinu looked down at her, smiling at her bright pleading eyes.
Too quickly did those eyes become pleading for another reason, the grip on his hand now desperate.
”Oppa? Oppa. OPPA! OPPAAAA!”
He blinked. “For… me?” he asked, his voice falling quiet
The girl nodded eagerly, then skipped away before he could say more.
Rumi leaned in slightly, her tone no longer sharp but… gentle. Quiet in a way that pressed him where it hurt, “Maybe then,” she whispered, “you should look for a solution that isn’t so hateful. Don’t you think your fans would appreciate it?”
Then she stood up, “Isn’t he great? Woo! Jinu, everybody! Yeah Jinu!” she called to the crowd.
Cheers erupted and amidst the chaos, Jinu saw a bouquet of flowers soaring at him. He caught it smoothly in one hand, instincts sharp despite his utter, stupidified expression.
He looked down at the drawing again. Then he shook his head once, as he stood, "Unfortunately the Saja Boys have to run.”
He bowed slightly, voice smooth, “Thank you, everyone.”
The Saja Boys walked off set to a chorus of applause. Once behind the curtain, one by one, they walked past the bins lined up backstage, and without words or ceremony, they dropped their bouquets.
His four lovers continued walking and failed to notice when Jinu paused.
His hand hovered above the bin, bouquet still in his grip as he stared at the drawing.
The phrase beautiful soul felt unintentionally mocking. His soul was still there but it was chained by a monster… and it was ugly and corrupted and evil.
But… this path he was planning on going down would do nothing to redeem that.
His fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
It would probably make it worse… irrevocably so.
Maybe—
Just ahead, Miseo stumbled.
A sharp, quiet grunt, followed by the sudden sway of his shoulders as he staggered left.
“Whoa—Hey. Hey. You okay?” Ah-bin moved fast, arm shooting out to catch him around the waist, pulling him steady against his side.
Miseo breathed shallow, “Sorry,” he murmured, rubbing his head, “Just… haven’t eaten in a while and I heard his voice for a second, that’s all.”
“Why is that bastard getting through to us so quickly nowadays,” Hanbae hissed out, crossing his arms.
Jinu’s heart dropped like a stone in cold water.
It was fine—acceptable—when the whispers came for him, when Gwi-ma’s voice curled inside his ear like rot in his bones. That was his burden. He could shoulder it. He chose to. But not his boys.
He let the bouquet go and crushed the drawing in his palm, shoving it harshly into his pocket.
He doesn’t deserve to think he could ever have a beautiful soul when Gwi-ma was still out there having a claim on all their souls and still threatening to take away what is his.
He slapped the back of his palm where a tendril tried to creep out from.
-
“Millennia ago, before the demon world fell under Gwi-ma’s reign. Hell had still been cruel—but diverse,” His teacher had told him. They stood together from the top of a cliff, looking down at the barren broken lands of hell.
Jinu looked at the face he could not make out as he continued, “There were different rulers all across the land.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Higher demons were able to mark their subordinates' souls,” the demon had murmured, voice low and secretive, “For ownership. For loyalty. For sacrifice. For prisoners. Some demons even asked to be claimed…and the terms of the claim were like a contract.”
The silence between them carried for all of a second before he continued.
“Back then, the evidence of claims appeared as smaller patterns, etched on a singular part of the body and they pulsed only when the terms of the claim were being enacted or being violated. But—.”
”But then Gwi-ma came,” Jinu finished, eyes narrowing at the temple in the distance.
The teacher nodded, grimly.
“Gwi-ma’s power had become… too much and he was able to claim everyone. He left no corner untouched. His pattern marks didn’t stay in one spot—they crawled all over the body making his claim on the soul absolute.”
“And the terms of his claim,” Jinu said, stomach twisting as he looked at the patterns along his skin, “were to be part of his feast.”
The man only gave a solemn nod in response.
“Since then, no demon had been able to claim another with patterns. Every demon, dragged from the human world, born in hell or creations of others, were covered with his patterns. We all wear his mark.”
Because Gwi-ma’s claim came first.
Jinu sat upright in bed, gasping, cold sweat slick across his collarbone. The others slept soundly around him, breaths steady, bodies close. His eyes trailed over their bodies… at Gwi-ma’s pattern that shouldn’t be on their skin.
But what if—
What if he could?
If he became as powerful as Gwi-ma…
Not just powerful enough to run away from his claim or kill him.
Powerful enough to destroy and replace his claim on his and his boys' souls… with his own.
If he reached Gwi-ma’s level… Maybe then, he could imprint his name into their skin and free them from Gwi-ma’s claim.
His patterns would override Gwi-ma’s. A new claim. A better one.
And they would be his.
Completely.
Quietly, Jinu slipped out of the room. He walked to his office and searched the shelf for a second, fingers shaky as he reached for that notebook.
He had a new idea.
Notes:
I just imagine demons being so petty cuz they can be.
Who’s following this story? What are we thinking???
Do you guys appreciate longer or shorter chapters cuz Ik so many find it hard to commit to long stories (AND FOR THOSE OF U THAT HAVE I AM SO GRATEFUL) hell I’m the same. That’s why every chapter I want to make it either plot contributing or enjoyable if it is filler. But sometimes I’m staring and thinking “do readers really enjoy all these words” Do let me know in the comments!
The usual! And cya in the next one!
Chapter 35: Escalation
Notes:
And I’m back! Guys I despise reverse trigonometric chain rule and matrices. It’s such bs why am i learning it?
Thank you all so much for 2000 kudos!!! I’m like genuinely in awe. When it happened earlier this week, I was ten seconds away from dropping this chapter straight away because like WDYM u guys did that THANKK YOUU
Also am I crazy for sometimes, occasionally, every so often peaking through bookmarks to see what personal descriptors people used to identify this story or To see how many are keeping up to date? 🌚🌚🌚🌚🌚
Yeah school stuff is swamping me with uni applications and revision i don’t know what to do
…So I write instead <3
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Alright, just one more!” the photographer called, voice chipper and breathless, “Saja Boys, eyes to the left—perfect, hold that! Anddddd Action!”
”Hey everybody,” Ro-meyeon said in the same tone and in the exact same pose he’d had for the 50 other takes. None of those were good apparently though, so here they were.
Ah-bin’s grin turned on like a switch, ”Our fan club just hit fifty million fans.”
“We have to give a shoutout to Huntr/x,” Ro purred, “We couldn’t have done it without their support.”
Miseo didn’t miss a beat, “And to our fans, thank you. We really feed off your energy,” he said with that soft, velvety monotone, “We’re so excited to show you what’s next.”
Finally, Jinu stepped forward slightly, centre frame, gaze calm but unwavering, the weight of his voice smoothed to perfection, “Join the pride,” he said, voice low and warm, “We need you.”
“And cut!”
Hanbae didn’t hesitate to walk out of position, mumbling curses under his breath. He was the most irritated by this whole redoing thing despite being the only one who doesn’t have to say anything.
Honestly, he couldn’t blame him. Standing under the harsh studio light was exhausting. He was being a lot less vocal about his complaints today, though, so that was a silent blessing.
They weren’t even done yet. Photoshoots. More videos, short and long. Sponsor videos.
Hopefully, this exhaustive process was worth it.
“Hey,” Jinu said offhandedly to his manager whose name Jinu still couldn’t remember, “When’s this content going up?”
The man glanced at his tablet, “Four days from now.”
Jinu gave him a slow, charming smile, “Make it three. For me.”
“Three? Um, yes of course,” The manager blinked, clearly unsure if he had a choice.
Jinu patted him on the shoulder.
By the time they got home, the sun was starting to sink and their human disguises were just waiting to peel off the instant they walked through the door.
And in a rare, quiet return to what used to be normal—before plans, before lies, before this awkward tension—they all sank onto the couch together.
It was easy to ignore the elephant when they were tired.
Jinu grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV.
“—In other reports, the city’s missing persons total has reached 153 this month alone. They have tripled in the last 24 hours. Local authorities are saying to keep indoors, especially at night and not to travel alone for—.”
Jinu clicked it off as the room groaned in unison.
Ro rolled his eyes as he glared at the screen, “There are too many other demons now,” Ah-bin complained, tossing his head back.
“Can’t even hunt in peace anymore,” Ah-bin muttered, clicking his tongue.
Jinu had to agree. Which further proves how unsustainable the initial plan is.
Hanbae was unusually quiet… like Miseo quiet. Which was not normal. In fact, he was just staring into space.
“Hanbae?” Jinu asked, the younger jolting at his name and glancing over, “You alright?”
“Oh nothing I just,” the youngest looked down to the side with a glare as if contemplating saying anything, “…Zoey attacked me.”
The room stilled in shock.
Jinu’s head snapped toward him, “What? When?”
“Couple nights ago,” Hanbae said with a casual shrug that couldn’t quite hide the shakiness in his voice, “I got away obviously. But yeah, she almost sent me right back to Gwi-ma.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jinu demanded, sitting up, the calm from before draining from his voice.
Hanbae rolled onto his back, staring at his elder with mock unbotheredness, “I dunno. Why don’t you ever say anything?”
Jinu opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Hanbae glanced at his frozen expression. His jaw locked into place, and his gaze, although still locked on Hanbae’s, dulled with that hardness he always used to shut people out.
The younger’s eyes narrowed, and when he spoke next, it was with that acid-coated sweetness that only came when he was fully, demonically pissed, “Of course. Of course. ‘cause our leader never needs to talk to us. Why would he? He can do whatever the fuck he wants. You don’t give a shit about us.”
”I do everything because I care—.”
Hanbae’s voice rose as he stood up, his fangs bared in a snarl, “You don’t care unless it’s about your plan.”
Everyone looked at each other, everyone's expressions saying: Where is this coming from?
”Baby calm—,” Ah-bin dared to start.
“No, I will not calm down and don’t you dare call me ‘baby’ right now, I’m not a fucking baby but you,” he turned back to Jinu, claws raised, “You probably like that for your plan right? Want me to go down on all fours and crawl too?”
Ah-bin moved fast, looping strong arms around Hanbae’s waist from behind, dragging him back, “Alright, hey. That’s enough.”
“Let go! Why are you defending him?!” Hanbae snapped, wrenching against him, “Get off me, idiot—”
“I’m not defending him, Hanbae,” Ah-bin warned, voice low as he tightened his grip, “You’re pissed. I get it. But don’t turn this into a—”
“Don’t tell me what to do like I’m a kid! You’re too stupid to get anything!”
Ah-bin froze.
The shift was immediate—hurt flashed across Ah-bin’s face so nakedly that even Hanbae paused. His lips parted like maybe he regretted it—but pride swallowed the apology that was on the tip of his tongue.
“I said get off me!” Hanbae pushed, but Ah-bin tightened his grip.
“You never think before you talk when you're angry," Ah-bin snapped, taking a step forward, “You can be such an insensitive dick.”
“Oh, like you think at all? Or do you need someone to tell you when you’re allowed to?”
“Hey!” Ro’s voice cracked like a whip across the room, “Stop it. Both of you. What the fuck is happening right now?”
“Maybe if you had told us Jinu’s being a secretive little bastard sooner, we wouldn’t be here,” Hanbae snarled, shoving his fingers against Ro’s chest.
Ro smacked his hand away, “And maybe if you didn’t let your anger reduce you to a childish tantrum, I wouldn’t have to worry about your reaction to shit I don't tell you.”
“Whatever, pretty boy. Ah-bin get your hands off of me, I will bite them off I swear to Gwi-ma,” the youngest warned, claws swiping dangerously close to Ah-bin’s eyes, who in retaliation, shoved him away, “I hate every single one of you good for nothing—.”
“Please Hanbae shut up for a second—.”
“I am shut up!” Hanbae shrieked, chest heaving, “That’s the point! I stay shut up! Jinu stays shut up! Everyone’s shut up, and when I say something I’m wrong!”
“Because your dumbass only knows how to spout bullsh—“
“Guys, stop—” Ro-meyeon cut in, stepping between them, one arm out toward each of them, trying to de-escalate. His voice was high with stress, trembling just slightly, “We’re not resolving anything. Not like this.”
“I didn’t start this shit! It was all him!”
”Oh fuck off.”
“Nobody's saying you started it! I—Why am I the only goddamn person trying—oh for fuck—Miseo put the book down, seriously, Your silence isn’t helping,” Ro snapped, too harshly, voice splintering with exhaustion, “Say something for once instead of playing bystander.”
Miseo, across the room, said nothing. He had buried his face deeper into his book, fingers trembling slightly along the edges of the pages, and his bangs fell over his eyes. Miseo growled low in his throat, head turning just enough for one golden eye to peek through his bangs, “Say that again.”
“Gladly,” Ro shot back, “Say something, Miseo. For once.”
“Don’t start with me.”
“Then talk, dammit!”
And then the room truly erupted.
Just like last time, they were all saying stuff they didn’t mean, the only difference: it wasn’t targeted at just Jinu… In fact, Jinu was the least involved.
It was between each other, yet he was the trigger.
Everyone’s voices climbed—roaring, clawing, snarling, pushing to be heard, while Jinu sat unmoving on the couch, fingers squeezing the fabric of his jeans, lips tight, like he would be shot if he moved.
It was Hanbae who left first, throwing his hoodie over his head and running out.
“I’m done,” Ah-bin muttered, and in a puff of soft pink smoke, he was gone.
Miseo picked up his book from where it had fallen on the floor, “I’m going to the dance studio.”
Ro and Jinu watched him go before turning to look at each other.
He stared down at Jinu, face twisted with something unreadable.
“I hope you’re happy… You prick.”
He left too, slamming the door shut behind him.
Only Jinu remained. Alone.
Still sitting in the exact same position.
Still as stone.
His eyes dropped slowly to his lap. His fingers, still clasped, had started trembling without him noticing.
A drop hit the back of his hand. Then another.
Notes:
Uh oh…. Hanbae bottled it all up and it translated in the worst way possible. I feel like we’ve all met that one person (or you may be it urself, hell sometimes I can be) who will stay so quiet until it blows out of proportion. Hanbae is that type a person garunteed.
What we thinking?? Thoughts, comments (I LOVE THEM), kudos, tag recs, mistakessss
On another note! YOU GUYS MADE IT TO CHAP 35 (this is literally chapter 26 in my google doc) SO LOVE YOU AND THANK UUUU
On top of that, I’m tryna get a read on which chapter/s were peoples favourites by looking at which ones had the most comments but obviously some had more comments than others for different reasons
So out of pure curiosity (AND ONLY IF U GUYS HAVE THE TIME DW) Which chapter number/s are the favourites and why? Fluff? Angst? Plot? Canon compliancy? Divergence? Crack? A writing decision? Who’s pov? Whatever the reason, I Just wanna know!!!
Thank you and see you againnnn
Chapter 36: Drunk
Notes:
Writing insecurity is getting to me again gang. I really really honestly have a feeling that this entire chapter reads horribly and will be boring to u guys so for that I apologise. I hope it is enjoyable even still! I love y’all so much and that’s why I’m so conscious of disappointing all of u 💔💔
Here’s me praying you enjoy<3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He stumbled once on the steps of his house and swung the front door open with too much force. It slammed into the wall with a hollow bang, their rickety excuse for a house wrattling from its foundations.
“I’m back,” he called, loud and unnecessarily cheerful, “And before you yell—I was with the director. You hear me? Director. Not gambling. Not— ” he hiccuped slightly, “—spending our money.”
From the kitchen, his thin and frail wife stepped into view. Her eyes were flat and unimpressed, her dark hair was tied into a loose braid, and her apron was stained with sauce from dinner. Her mouth was already set into a thin line before he even spoke again.
“You reek,” she said.
Ro-meyeon tossed his coat onto the floor, sinking onto the nearest wooden stool, “The director paid. And drinks were necessary. He said if I make a good impression tomorrow, maybe the role is mine. He even complimented my art—.”
“You think I give a damn about a role?” she snapped, the knife she had in her shaking hand only being noticed by him now, “We need food. You need a real job. Not some dream of idolisation you’ve been clinging to since before our marriage! While you’re out pretending to be something you’re not, we’re dying.”
“You told me you believed in me,” he muttered, rubbing his head, “You’re not much different from your family.”
“Maybe I should’ve listened to them when they said not to marry you, you neglectful bastard,” she shouted, lifting the knife threateningly, “You think a painting’s going to feed our children!?”
This happened so often that even when he’s drunk, he’s easily able to disarm her. He has tried to convince her several times that she perhaps has a mental disorder but she stood with her traditionalist family on that one and called him crazy for even suggesting it.
Just as the knife clattered to the floor he heard a small voice say, ”Papa? Mama?”
Ro-meyeon caught sight of his daughter—big, round eyes watching them, clutching a pillow to her chest like a shield.
He blocked the kid's sight of her hyperventilating mother as quickly as possible, “Back to bed,” he said gently, smiling despite the creased wrinkles on his face, “It’s okay. Mommy and Daddy are just—talking.”
The girl turned and scurried to her room.
“I’m trying,” His voice cracked, “I just—I just need one chance. That’s all.”
“Oh, like the last time?” Her voice rising slightly, “Or the time before that? Or all the times you came home promising us you’ve made it, all for it to be a lie?”
When Ro-meyeon gave no response, she just sighed, bone-deep and tired, “You say you wanted to be an artist. Then a comedian. Then an actor. You’re nearly twenty-five. What are we still doing, Ro?”
”I… I’m chasing my dream to get a better life for us.”
She simply stared. It had to have been the most emotionless face Ro-meyeon must have ever seen.
Maybe he should’ve tried to read into it more.
By the time they were in bed, the space between them felt like a chasm. She lay turned to the wall, her back stiff beneath the thin quilt. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
She spoke first.
Quiet. Almost too quiet.
“If something happened to me… Would you even notice?”
Ro’s eyes darted toward her silhouette, “What are you talking about?”
“If I took the kids and disappeared. If we just… stopped being here. Would you even care? Or would you just keep chasing auditions?”
“Don’t say that,” he said, voice cracking slightly, “That’s not fair.”
“Mmm well, ” she whispered, “Life becomes unfair in the most unpredictable ways possible... I know this from marrying you.”
-
The next morning, he left before the sun had even risen, sparing a glance at the sleeping forms in the small bedroom, where his daughter curled against her brother, hugging each other close.
He had to do this and prove to his family that there was hope in what he wanted to do.
He carried nothing but the memory of his wife’s words, heavy and shapeless in his chest.
He didn’t say goodbye.
Didn’t say I love you.
He’d save that for when he succeeded.
He went straight to the theatre, hungover and aching, but when he walked onto that stage for the audition, everything else melted away. For that moment, he became the character.
Romeo.
He poured everything into that monologue—his broken dignity, his failures, all perfect for the part he was auditioning for.
His breath caught in his chest when the lights hit him, and the director gave him a nod. When the director stood, clapping slowly, Ro felt his knees wobble. “Well Ro-meyeon, Romeo is yours,” he said, smiling, “You’ve got it, boy. You’re the lead.”
The world blurred even between his thank yous and bows
He walked off the stage in a daze.
The sun was setting by the time he left the city. He clutched the little pouch of coins he earned based on signing the contract. He was smiling. Laughing a little manically to himself (but he didn’t care what passerbys thought about him).
“I got it,” he kept whispering under his breath, “I got it. I did it.”
He ran.
Every theatre will know his name. He will get more and more roles. He could maybe lean into his paintings a bit. His family will be a part of the crowd watching him with love, adoration and belief.
Eventually, across the cracked dirt path that led to the woods surrounding their small village. His home came into view.
But something wasn't quite right.
The air smelled of ash and burning.
And, though he pleaded to God he was imagining it, a bloom of fire could be seen through the windows.
Something sharp clutched his chest as he ran.
He reached the door and pushed—wood gave way with a groan. Smoke rolled out in thick waves. The fire hissed and curled along the rafters, already devouring the edges of everything.
All around him, he saw his books, paintings and failed scripts all lit to blaze… seemingly one by one, the ashy remains making his eyes and nose hurt. But even despite that, he could still make them out.
Because there they were in the very centre of it.
His wife. His daughter. His son.
All lying on the floor like broken dolls, their limbs… pale, not burnt, the colour long gone from their faces. His eyes scanned the entire area of blood that had pooled beneath them.
His knees hit the floor with a dull thud.
His wife’s hand was curled around the hilt of a kitchen blade, its steel gleaming red—mocking him.
“No—no, no—”
His scream tore through the flames, destroying his windpipes in the process. His hands trembled as he touched their faces searching for anything, ANYTHING at all. His sobs broke his words into pieces—fragments of names, apologies, useless nothings whispered into the ash-filled air.
And then he saw it.
A note.
Folded and singed at the corners, sitting calmly atop what had once been his manuscript stack—now nothing but cinders and skeletons of pages. The last copy of his first full play, gone. His journals. The collection of poems he’d written during his wife’s pregnancy. Everything. Deliberately burned.
His hands shook as he unfolded the paper. Her handwriting was as sharp and as her words could be. His eyes traced each word, disbelief slowly growing more and more.
To my once beloved,
I always knew you cared more for your dreams than for us. It was just a matter of how far you’d chase them.
I begged you to stop. I asked you to come home. But you never came back with love, only with empty promises. You let your obsession with being seen, loved, and adored consume everything that mattered.
So I thought, why not teach you a lesson by taking everything with me? Selfish, I know but who might’ve learnt it from?
You wanted applause. So I gave you silence.
You wanted to be seen. So I made us untouchable to you.
You wanted freedom. Now you have it.
No mouths to feed. No burdens. No family.
You’re free to chase whatever fantasy you want.
But you don’t deserve love. You don’t deserve ambition.
You don’t deserve anything.
The letter slid from his hand.
His forehead scraped against the floor as the fire climbed higher, crackling like it was laughing at him.
He didn’t fight when the heat began to blister his skin. He didn’t flinch when the ceiling above groaned and started to splinter.
He couldn’t even scream anymore.
And then, beneath the roar of flames and the inescapable static of feeling life fall apart, Ro-meyeon heard another sound.
A whisper.
“You were selfish then. You’re selfish now. You want too much. You’ll lose everything again.”
It slithered through the fire and into his skull.
“They left you… But I’m here for you.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t lift his head. He didn’t dare. The voice was inside him now, crawling into his thoughts like a parasite.
“You’ll never be loved the way you wanted… but you can be useful for something else.”
A strange numbness bloomed in his chest.
His body stopped shaking. The tears stopped falling.
And like a puppet having its strings first attached, Ro-meyeon went still and let himself be moved…
In the days that followed, he stopped speaking to the neighbours who tried to reach out. He stopped eating. Stopped cleaning himself. He drank to excess and strangers became his favourite “pastime” and he did anything that…numbed.
Just so nothing could hurt anymore.
And when the honmoon tore open beneath his feet, and arms from hell reached up to claim him—
He didn’t fight.
He didn’t scream.
He let them drag him down.
-
Ro-meyeon lay sprawled sideways across the couch, limbs hanging off the sides as he cradled a half-empty bottle to his chest like a lifeline. His head lolled back, pink strands messily clinging to the sweat on his forehead.
He squinted at the bottle in his hand, tilted it, and mumbled something incoherent before tipping it upward again, ready to swallow what remained.
Before the bottle could touch his lips again, a pale clawed hand darted in and snatched it clean away.
“Heyyy—!” Ro slurred, his voice shooting up an octave as his arm swung out uselessly after it, “Miseooooo.”
Miseo and Ah-bin stood over him, blank-faced and concerned faced respectively. They’re so pretty, Ro-meyeon thought to himself as he looked at them upside down.
“You’ve had enough,” his muscular lover said simply, crossing his arms with a stern expression.
“But I want it,” Ro snarled so sloppily it was non-threatening even for him, arms flopping forward as he tried to crawl after it, “I’ve only just started. C’mon, Miseo, you’re— you’re ruining my—”
“We’re sorry,” Miseo said, cutting him off gently. His voice was quieter now, “For earlier. For what we said.”
Ro blinked between the two demons before him, Ah-bin nodding along. Then slowly, his snarl melted into trembling lips and glossy eyes.
“I’m sorry too,” he sniffled as he threw his arms around Miseo’s waist, “I was mean. And sensitive and overstimulated. And I said things I didn’t mean and none of its true and and and—”
“It’s okay,” Miseo murmured, patting his head with a rare softness, “I know. Same with us”
Ro’s voice broke into another hiccupped sob as Ah-bin stroked his back lightly, “He really is drunk-drunk, huh?”
“Dangerously so,” Miseo muttered, yanking himself out of the drunk demon's grip and walking toward the kitchen, “I’m going to pour this out.”
“What! No! What are you doing!” Ro-meyeon wailed, clawing his way towards him and falling off the couch in the process.
“Pouring it out,” Miseo said matter-of-factly once more.
“Nooooo!” Ro flopped dramatically onto his side, curling up like a sad shrimp. “You know demon’s body sober up too fast, it’s not fair! Let me be irresponsible for once! I wanna forget I existtttt.”
“Exactly why we’re cutting you off,” Ah-bin muttered, crouching beside him.
With zero warning, Ah-bin had lifted him up with a grunt, hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, “Hey!” Ro protested as his legs kicked helplessly in the air, “Why me?!”
Ah-bin chuckled under his breath, “Not just you babe. We already got Hanbae. Jinu’s next… I don’t think any of us could sleep without solving that fight tonight.”
“…True,” he mumbled into Ah-bin’s back, “But I still want my drink back.”
Ah-bin laughed as he shouldered open the bedroom door.
Ro was tossed onto the bed and He landed with a bounce limbs spread as he blinked around the room, only for his eyes to land on a sulking shape in the corner.
The Hanbae in question was curled in the corner of the bed, cross-legged, arms folded tight to his chest, hoodie pulled up high trying to hide his pout.
Key word, trying.
His golden eyes were suspiciously puffy and red, the way they always got after he cried but didn’t want to admit it.
Ah-bin gave him a pointed look and nodded once, “Hanbae has something to say.”
Hanbae rolled his eyes, “No, I don’t.”
“Hanbae,” Miseo warned, appearing at the doorway now, bottle-less and eyebrow raised.
Hanbae sighed, glared in every direction except at Ro, “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I guess.”
Well, that was better than no apology at all.
Ro, still mostly out of it, rolled across searching for warmth and latched onto Hanbae’s stomach, burying his face against his middle, “I’m sorry too, my adorable little back-talking, meanest, love of my life, cutest, puffy-eyed devil—”
“Ew, get off,” Hanbae said just as the older demon started groping and kissing his sides. He didn’t push him off though.
In the corner of his eyes, Ro saw Miseo and Ah-bin exchange a look before leaving the room. Probably to go and grab Jinu. As annoyed as he was about everything that’s happened, getting a group convo going may be a blessing in disguise.
It doesn’t matter if he was the only one drunk, drunken apologies were the best, he caught himself thinking as he pressed kiss after kiss to his youngest lover's jawline.
“Sorry I was a dick,” Hanbae whispered suddenly, avoiding eye contact.
Ro-meyeon paused his drunken kissing, dragging his mouth down Hanbae’s neck, “It’s okay. You’re my favourite brat.”
“Shut up,” Hanbae muttered, but his fingers curled into Ro’s shirt.
Ro smirked, about to mouth something even more ridiculous—when the door burst open.
“Jinu’s not in his office,” Ah-bin said.
Ro-meyeon’s never sobered up so quickly.
-
Ro-meyeon’s black chalk dug roughly and harshly against the smooth stone as he outlined one more eye.
Suddenly, he felt a presence appear behind him and he didn’t even glance over his shoulder. His drawing hand slowed as his lips curled up in amusement.
“Ah,” he said without turning around, voice teasing and mocking, “Gwi-ma’s favourite.”
Jinu didn’t respond right away. He could feel him watching—him or his painting? He never knows with the other demon.
Ro went back to paintunh as he muttered, “You here to judge my work, or just passing through?”
There was a pause behind him until—
“What is it you’re drawing?” Jinu’s voice was smooth. Distant.
Ro gave a short laugh, hollow and dry as he finally glanced over his shoulder, one brow arched, “Hell if I know. But does it really matter?”
He turned back toward the stone, scratching another dark stroke, “I think it’s just me trying not to forget who I was.” He tilted his head, examining the beautiful horror he had etched into the stone, “It’s probably the only thing keeping me sane down here…That and sex.”
That made the older demon snort and Ro-meyeon smirked at the sound, the stone-faced demon never smiles… So why waste the opportunity, “Speaking of—which I always am—are you finally gonna let me fuck that pretty body of yours? Sorry not sorry but every demon in this godforsaken place is ugly and is horrible horrible at sex and I have needs, Jinu.”
Ro-meyeon’s response from the man was only a smile as he said, “Never.”
Ro chuckled, turning back to his drawing, “Yeah, I figured.”
A moment passed.
Ro’s hand slowed again as his thoughts turned, and he eventually asked, “What happened to the big, muscular hunk who followed you around like a puppy? The one who looked like he could crush me between his thighs?”
Behind him, he heard the softest sound of breath. Then silence.
Jinu’s voice, when it came, was guarded.
“Gwi-ma took Ah-bin back,” he said softly, “He said yesterday that ‘gifts’ from him are always temporary when he’s hungry.”
He hesitated, then added in a whisper barely audible, “I fear it was most likely a test to see if I got attached...”
Ro didn’t look at him. Just kept drawing. His hand didn’t stop, but he pressed his chalk into the wall a little harder than necessary.
He knew what that meant.
He always knew.
Gwi-ma only gave to take back. Only smiled so he could bite harder.
Ro exhaled slowly, like the heat was finally sinking through his bones, “This is probably the last time I’ll get to draw.”
“I can feel it in my marks,” Ro said finally, then pressed his forehead against the cool surface, “He’s hungry... I think he’s going to gorge on half the temple by morning.”
A long silence stretched between them. Then suddenly:
“When summoned to the feasting ground,” Jinu said quietly, “make sure you’re standing next to the ‘big, muscular hunk’.”
Ro looked over his shoulder again, brow raised, “Why?”
“I have a plan… to escape.”
Ro-meyeon turned fully now, eyes narrowed. Disbelief reflected starkly in his yellow irises, “You really think you’re gonna outsmart Gwi-ma?”
Jinu met his gaze. The marks on his neck glowed faintly red under his skin. The corners of his mouth curled up dangerously in a smirk.
“It’s worth a shot, no?”
And then, before Ro could answer—poof.
Gone.
Ro stared at the spot where his acquaintance? Friend? Stood. He looked back at the wall and his art.
I have a plan. Those words echoes in Ro-meyeon’s gead.
“…Well fuck,” he muttered.
Notes:
One thing I’m proud of is that I kinda made Ro-meyeon, Romeo’s antithesis despite it being his dream role. I think… I hope. What do we think?? Anyone suprised the mother killed the kids??
Y’know what’s funny, on pen and paper bullet point planning I was so sure I was cooking with this chapter format and idea etc, but when it came time to execute I fear I fell flat since it was kinda new AHHHH idk idk idk please let me know how it felt to read cuz I’ve doubting myself so hard rn
Also also your girl is indecisive! I have two ideas I really really REALLY love and whichever i choose will decide what happens in the next chapter and will basically decide the direction of the entire story.
Now I was gonna do a coin flip but that’s boring. SOOOO instead comments will choose/vote for me: A or BYep, it remains a mystery cuz i want it to be a surprise hehehee
The option that isn’t chosen will probably be recycled for if (BIG BIG IF) I choose to continue this story into after canon idk yet!!
Anyways the usual! Comments, kudos, thoughts, mistakes, kudos (and VOTES) Love yall and until next time <3
Chapter 37: Corrupt
Notes:
I'm so glad you guys really enjoyed last chapter! It was so entertaining seeing you guys express an understanding and interest for the backstories im tryna craft!
Votes have spoken, B won 15 to 9 (as of 44 comments when I started writing this chapter) Additionally,I only included votes that directly said either A or B as votes which were like ‘the one with the most angst’ or ‘the one with the most communication’ etc etc couldnt be fairly counted because idk which one will have more of which yet and being honest, either direction would probably have equal amounts (i hope that make sense)
I shall reiterate, option A will probably be recycled for a later date/plot point so until then, gang will have to wait in mystery as to what the other choice was 🙏🏾😇I feel evil. All imma say is if option A was chosen, this chapter would’ve been a Gwi-ma POV. I WILL NOT GO INTO ANYMORE DETAIL CUZ I WANT IT TO BE A SURPRISE FOR LATER LATER
Enjoy lovelies <3 <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jinu was too weak to even maintain a hold on the human. The middle-aged man slipped from his grip, shoving him back too easily. Their shoes scraped against wet pavement as they bolted out of the alley, voice cracking into the night—
“Help! Somebody help me!” they screamed, their voice loud enough to gain the attention of everyone in the nearby area.
Jinu’s heart sank.
Shit.
Not only did that person run away into a crowded street. Not only was he too low on energy to dare teleport away right now. Worse yet, the frequency of police patrols has risen dramatically.
And tonight luck was not on his side.
Jinu was temporarily blinded when a flashlight was flashed in his eyes, he brought his hands up to shield his face quickly before turning tail and running.
”Freeze!” He heard the police officer shout behind him, their heavy footsteps pounding as they gave chase.
The cold air burned his lungs as he twisted and turned along the different alleys, trying his best to lose his pursuers, but they were hot on his heels.
The patterns beneath his human clothes were glowing too bright and widening by the second. They crawled up his neck, across his jaw, alive and furious.
He shouldn’t have gone out tonight. Not on his own. Not like this. Not when he was already running low.
What had gone wrong?
Somewhere in his running for his life, his mind spiralled through what had led him here. Was it a culmination of everything? Was it the guilt? They were angry at him. He was the cause of this tension. They hated him, they hated him, they hated him.
Anger at Gwi-ma? Frustration, doubt and shame at his inability to make a functioning plan? Despite him sacrificing so much for this plan, nothing was working. He hadn’t befriended Rumi and he wasn’t getting any stronger to dare challenge Gwi-ma.
In fact, Gwi-ma was toying with him.
The honmoon gave a violent tug to his soul and he gasped in pain as he tripped on his own two feet. His body hit the pavement, but he quickly recovered and continued his sprint.
“You’ll make a fine meal,” Gwi-ma purred into his mind, loud and obnoxious, “But after everything… I know you're well aware it won’t be just that.”
“Shut up,” Jinu rasped, forcing his legs to keep moving, though the world tilted sharply in his vision.
“You let yourself get to this point, my dear Jinu. It’s like you wanted to come back.”
Jinu panted heavily as he turned into one last alley, pressing his body against the cold wall for support.
He couldn’t run anymore.
His body gave out. His knees buckled and he collapsed against a dumpster. Yet he started crawling.
He had to keep going… his boys were waiting for him. He was not done with his plans for earth yet. No, not yet
For a bitter moment, over all of Gwi-ma’s torment, he caught himself thinking, why did all his near-hell experiences happen in an alley with the smell of garbage surrounding him?
The only difference between that time and now is that he doesn’t have people who care about him to shove a soul down his throat.
And that’s his fault.
The loud ringing of Gwi-ma’s voice in his mind did little to distract him from the searing pain along his patterns and on his corrupted soul. The blasted honmoon rippled in blue below him and that alone made his arms give up on him too. It was just waiting for the right moment to rip open and pull him all the way through.
Shit.
Shit.
It’s over.
He could barely lift his head to look over his shoulder.The police shouts echoed closer, their heavy footsteps just meters away. He could hear the hiss of the radios as they relayed the fact that they’d cornered “the suspect”. He could feel the walls pressing in.
It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
It didn’t matter how angry any of them were. None of them would ever want him to let himself get to this point.
He realised that fact too late.
He felt cold…
…
..
.
A clawed hand shot out from the shadows beside him, curling tight around his shoulder.
Before he could snarl or struggle, he was yanked sideways, through a metal door he hadn’t even realised was there.
He hit the floor hard as the door slammed shut. His vision spun to focus, coldness surging up his spine as he shivered.
When he looked up, a ring of demons—at least half a dozen—stood around him, eyes wide, sharp teeth bared in a… smile? That didn’t quite suggest a threat but… Awe?
“Oh my god! It’s you,” one of them whispered, hands grasped together, “You’re Jinu Saja!”
“I can't believe I get to meet you in person!”
“You are amazing, Jinu!”
He blinked. They were… fans it seemed.
One of them stepped closer, almost shy despite their horrifically jagged teeth, “We’ve been supporting the Saja Boys since we came to earth. You’re—” They broke off with a laugh that sounded almost giddy, “You’re incredible.”
He honestly lost focus on what they were saying though, for the pain on his skin, head, chest and stomach came back tenfold. He hissed loudly, pushing up onto trembling elbows, “I-I need a soul,” he rasped out, yellow eyes glowing dangerously.
One of them shook their head regretfully, “We haven’t been able to get any. Police are everywhere now.”
The curse slipped out of him before he could stop it, “Damn it.”
Gods, he was hungry.
“B-but I’ll do anything to help!”
“Anything, Jinu!”
“We have to repay you!”
“Name it, it’s yours!”
Their words clawed at his ears, their wide admiring eyes were too excited, and he got that same dizzy, electric feeling he always felt when human fans stood in front of him screaming his name, idolising him and loving him despite the threat he posed.
They may be demons with souls corrupted and twisted to a fault, and they may be completely different to humans.. but a corrupted soul was still a soul. Right?
Gwi-ma’s laughter swelled inside his head, “How funny that some of your biggest admirers are about to see you return back to me. Maybe your falling will stop all this disobedience, hmm?”
Jinu’s fingers curled against the floor. His body shook. Not from fear or pain this time, but from the raw, boiling frustration rising through him.
It’s all so unfair. How easy Gwi-ma made it look, to take and take and take until there was nothing left of him no matter what world he was in. That he could torment whoever he wanted and there wasn’t a damn thing Jinu could do about it. The fact that he was just as vulnerable to this tyrant’s claim as all these demons surrounding him.
Why does he get to have everything?
And then, uninvited, the thought came:
How did he get so powerful?
The answer slammed into his mind before he could push it away—he already knew it, just didn’t like thinking about it.
Demon eating.
Having been his favourite for too long, Jinu knew the king did it for fun first and foremost. But the second reason, the reason why he was even able to do it for fun, was that it gave him insurmountable power.
Demon eating for other demons was a taboo. Not because it didn’t work or it was unethical—oh, it worked and 98% of demons don’t know the meaning of ethics—but because everyone knew only Gwi-ma was allowed to do it.
His claim on all souls meant that the moment any other demon even dared to do it, he would know. He would come, in all his monstrous glory and they would be devoured before they even had the chance to appreciate their newfound powers.
He would always find them.
Always.
Trying it was suicide. Only an idiot would dare.
And yet as he thought about it, his mouth watered.
Why had he never thought of this?
The main reason Gwi-ma despised others' demon eating was that every soul devoured frayed the invisible threads that bound their souls to his claim. The patterns would fade and his influence would weaken.
Which, obviously, was a big no-no when one makes it his life goal to glut on the entire demon population.
A side effect is that if one did it enough, frequently, repetitively and habitually, they would slowly start losing their sanity. Not that there was much left when one was already a demon, but the point still stands. It will make any demon go insane. Many back in hell theorise that it is how Gwi-ma became the way he is. Jinu likes to disagree on that… the tyrant had to have been some level of deranged before becoming the evil he is today.
Then there was the conditions for demon eating. It was nowhere as simple as soul condensing. To even be able to do it in the first place, it could only work if the other demon felt something intense for you. Hatred. Fear. Lust. Obsession. Love… Idolisation. The emotion just had to be sharp enough to touch the soul. And then some level of demonic power is necessary to warp oneself into an entity capable of it. Gwi-ma had made sure no one other aside from him was anywhere near that threshold except…
Jinu looked down at his twitching hand. The tendrils of Gwi-ma’s his power started poking out of his skin with his developing thoughts.
Here… here on earth, Gwi-ma couldn’t touch him for going against him.
And Jinu told himself—promised himself—that he would never take more than he needed. If he didn’t do this now, he’d be taken in minutes. And he would only take just enough to keep his boys safe. Just enough to stop starving. Just enough to eventually defeat Gwi-ma. His mind? His mind was fine. He could handle it.
And in terms of a strong emotion? These demons looked ready to bow down and eat food from his shoe.
In the back of his skull, Gwi-ma’s voice cracked into a snarl, probably in realisation at where Jinu’s mind was, “Don’t you dare, Jinu. You’re mine! They’re mine! You’ve already-.”
Jinu tuned him out the best he could.
His hands scraped against the floor as he pushed himself up, fangs and claws sharpening as more and more tendrils slithered out from his body. The demons once circling him, had backed up into a huddle in the corner of the cold dank room, looking at Jinu in confusion and awe.
“I—” his voice shook, the apology tasting bitter on his tongue, “I’m sorry.”
He truly was.
-
Jinu stumbled through the front door of the Saja house, the wooden frame creaking as it caught his shoulder. He didn’t bother shutting it behind him. Streaks of blood covered his entire body, his clothes were torn in more places than one. He looked feverish, amidst the red liquid staining his face, droplets of sweat were all too obvious. He was seconds away from letting himself collapse on the floor until he noticed four figures looking directly at him.
”Jinu…” Hanbae was the first to say, running to him, his deep voice pitched in a way that screamed obvious relief at seeing him. All four of his lovers surrounded him in an instant and Jinu didn’t fail to notice the concern in their eyes.
His hands hung limply at his sides and his eyes stared fixed on nothing with a far-off look as they checked him over.
”This isn’t human blood,” Miseo said quietly as he looked Jinu in the eyes, “Is this your blood?”
Jinu blinked at him, slow and heavy. There was some of his own blood on him, some scratches along his jaw, a strip along his arm where skin was broken—but for the most part… no.
”Did you get in a fight?” Ah-bin tried as he looked at the wound along the elder's arm.
Well… the demons had fought back.
“Jinu,” Ro then tried, ignoring the blood on Jinu’s hand as he took it between the two of his, “what the fuck happened?”
Jinu dropped his gaze to where his hand was held. They were coated with drying blood, the edges of his claws caked, his skin stained to the wrist. His fingers began to tremble, the faint shake rolling up to his elbows.
It was all a blur as they gently guided him towards the bathroom, trying to get him to talk. Jinu heard them but adequate responses weren’t forming in his head.
None that could justify this.
Someone undressed him, someone turned the water on, someone placed him in the tub and someone squeezed a dollop of something sweet-smelling into his blood-stained hair.
A cloth pressed against his skin, warm and wet, rubbing away the dried blood in heavy streaks. Nobody really spoke at some point.
He kept his head down as the warmth worked the stickiness from his arms and neck, the motion rhythmic enough to lull him into a half-daze.
What had he just done? He can’t say he remembers yet..the hum inside his core now was undeniable.
His stomach lurched. The taste of bile stung the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard against it.
Despite how sick he felt, he felt somewhat stronger. It was an almost overwhelming sensation. Too much and so unfamiliar to his body that it made him feel like he would explode. It filled his head, made his heart buzz, and it was wrong—every instinct he had told him so.
But it was also… the solution to the unchecked part of plan A.
If this was what it took to stand against Gwi-ma, if this was the price to make sure the honmoon never pulled them under again, then it didn’t matter how wrong it felt. He would do it. He had to.
Jinu stared at his hands that he had rested on top of the porcelain edge of the tub, nails scratching before curling into desperate fists.
In the dim lighting of the bathroom, lest his eyes were deceiving him, his ever-present purple patterns had… to the slightest amount, faded.
Notes:
… Well shit. Option B, how are we feeling? Jinu, Jinu, Jinu tut tut tut
I was looking at my chapter index to see the dates i published and wdym there were days I uploaded THREE CHAPTERS? I was wilding. As we get closer and closer to returning to school, updates are gonna become further and fewer in between that I couldn’t even promise with my chest that I would do one a week. I WILL TRRYYY but yh guys, alevels r my future I could never sacrifice em. I really hope you guys understand and do please still stick around 🙏🏾🙏🏾
The usual please and until next time!!!!
Chapter 38: Special Day
Notes:
Seeing yall reactions in the comments to the last chapter had me up at 1am kicking my feet. I’m so glad gang liked it cuz I was soooo scared you wouldn’t omds you don’t understand (I had to keep going back to edit it and even while like pasting it into ao3 I was gonna scrap it again n go a different way)
But based off ur reactions, I’m glad I didn’t! Some of you are insane with ur comments yknow they’re so jokes and serious and heartwarming and AHHH at the same time (when I see the long ones I full on sit up in bed, turn on the lights and lock tf in so i can digest it all cuz DAMN i love them so much). Also I be loving when yall talk with eachother cuz it be giving community vibes ygm?
Also also I was just checking outta curiosity like where (in terms of kudos) where this fic was within the ao3 kdh fandom WDYM WE ON PAGE 4???
Outta 6000 and something fics, the one i’ve been writing is in the top 80… THAT IS WILDDD. AHHH again I couldn’t have done it without you guys!!!
Enjoy guys!!! <333
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hanbae sat on the kitchen counter, the heels of his feet tapping rhythmically against the drawers. His cheeks were puffed slightly in thought, his lips tilted down in a pout as he idly clicked two candles—one shaped like a 2 and the other like a 4– together.
He watched every motion of Ah-bin’s strong arms as the demon stirred the batter. But it was easier to ignore the way the brute’s muscles ripple while wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron when the air smelt so tasty.
“Can I have one spoon?” Hanbae finally asked, leaning forward slightly, voice deep. He even tilted his head to the side to try to get him to fold.
Because on normal days, Ah-bin was weak to cute things.
Ah-bin paused mid-stir, turning his head slowly to fix Hanbae with an unimpressed look, one shaped eyebrow arching, “It’s pure chocolate, sugar and butter. Also, one spoonful will turn to ten. No.”
Unfortunately, today was not a normal day.
Hanbae rolled his eyes and crossed his arms like a petulant child, “Fine, I didn’t want anything you baked anyway. All your cooking tastes of shit."
When Hanbae heard Ah-bin laughing, he smirked proudly, a fang poking out between his lips.
But then he stopped himself.
His gaze dropped to the candles in his hands, and his voice came out more like a whisper, “I… I’m sorry for calling you stupid.”
“I already said it’s okay,” Ah-bin answered easily, flicking open the fridge door. He buried his head in as he searched for the eggs, looking over his shoulder with his dopey all-teeth smile, “I’m sorry for calling you a dick.”
Hanbae let out the smallest laugh, “I didn’t know you knew you could use that word as an insult,” he muttered, his lips curling in amusement, “I was impressed.”
“Learned from the best,” Ah-bin said without missing a beat, pulling out the egg carton and now switching to the cupboard.
True.
Being honest, he was the reason the golden retriever of the group knows how to say anything mildly offesnive…
”Yeah. That’s fair… I say it builds character. I-.”
Out of nowhere, Derpy padded into the kitchen, his massive striped frame not making a sound. He didn’t spare either demon a glance, his amber eyes locked on the counter like he was on a mission.
Hanbae blinked as the tiger rose onto his hind legs and brought one heavy paw down on the counter.
Ah, the batter.
The silly tiger tried to tip it, paw rocking the bowl.
Hanbae sat back and watched instead of stopping him because Hanbae gave props where props were due. That cat rarely put thought into anything, so for him to try and do something while Ah-bin’s back was turned? Genius move, really.
But despite the careful planning, Derpy’s execution was shit. His paws were too soft for knocking stuff over fast enough and his hand-eye… paw-eye coordination left much to be desired.
“Derpy, no!” Ah-bin cried when he finally turned, eyes wide.
The tiger immediately dropped back onto all fours, his massive head tilting to look at him with an innocent expression, as though he hadn’t just tried to rob the bowl.
Hanbae couldn’t help but laugh at both the looks on their faces, “Better luck next time, soldier.”
Derpy’s eyes slid to him without moving his head, unexpressive and dumb-looking as ever, before looking back to Ah-bin.
Ah-bin sighed heavily, running a hand down his face before giving in and patting the giant cat, “Fine. If you’re here, make yourself useful,” he muttered. Reaching for a bottle of water, he held it out, “Take this up to Jinu, please.”
Derpy's long tongue lolled out as he opened his jaws and took the bottle gently between his teeth. Without hesitation, his body sank into his blue portal, leaving the kitchen.
The pair stare at where the tiger once was for a second longer.
“If anyone except me tells you you’re stupid, it’s complete bullshit and they’re a dumbass,” Hanbae suddenly says (shyly, but he’ll never admit that), avoiding eye contact, just as Ah-bin picked up the spoon again.
Ah-bin’s chest shook with laughter, “Thank you, baby.”
They sank back in to that comfortable silence but it only lasted a few moments.
“Do you actually dislike us calling you baby?” Ah-bin’s voice broke in gently, eyes still on the batter, “I will stop if you want me to.”
Hanbae snorted, rolling his eyes with exaggerated disdain, “Hell no. Call me baby all day. It makes me feel weird…good weird.”
He shifted on the counter, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, “I just hate when humans call me it… But I hate everything the fans do, so yeah. I just have some walls up about being patronised when feeling… vulnerable, I guess,” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he masked it with a cough.
“Some is an understatement,” Ah-bin muttered, smirking.
Hanbae smacked his shoulder as hard as he could, making the older demon hiss and pout.
“You know why,” Hanbae said low as he tugged down the sleeves of his hoodie and then at the edge of his shorts, shivering at the fresh memory of hands on him.
Hands he didn’t like.
Hands he didn’t want anywhere near him.
Ah-bin’s smirk slipped away. He put the bowl down with care, stepping over until he was standing between Hanbae’s legs. The younger boy froze but didn’t move away, his breath hitching when Ah-bin’s strong arms dropped gently around his waist.
“Of course I know why,” Ah-bin said softly, his voice heavy and serious, “I… wish we had found you sooner. Every human or demon who did those things to you? I want to punch them so hard that their ancestors feel it.”
“You’re such an airheaded idiot,” Hanbae snorted before stopping himself, “…Wait, sorry.”
Ah-bin chuckled again, shaking his head, “It’s endearing coming from you. I love you, baby. You can call me anything.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever idiot,” Hanbae grumbled, though his ears burned red against his pale demon skin, “N-Now let me at least lick the fucking spoon!”
-
Miseo and Ro-meyeon stood next to each other as they stepped into the shopping centre. They were in their human disguises… in disguises. The Saja Boys have gotten big enough to be recognised anywhere and a trip outside without a disguise would guarantee a mosh pit.
This pair were yin and yang in terms of how they felt about that fact.
“Gosh, I hate having to hide myself.”
“Mhm.”
”It’s not sunny enough for me to be wearing sunglasses.”
”Mhm.”
”Sweetheart, do I—.”
“Yes.”
”You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
”Do I still look good? Do I look sexy? Do I look nice? Do I look perfect? Yes. Yes to it all. Now can we get on with this? I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”
”Awww I love you too,” Ro-meyeon said, moving to smoothly put his hand around Miseo’s shoulder.
”OW!”
Through a crack in the ridiculous scarf Miseo was wearing in summer weather was a little black beak that decided to third wheel and cockblock him today.
“Was it really necessary to bring Sussie?” Ro asked rubbing at his abused hand. The magpie peeked out fully, smirking smugly at Ro-meyeon before going back into hiding.
Miseo didn’t even blink, “Yes.”
Ro laughed softly, shaking his head, but he didn’t push further. Sussie (and Derpy if he thought about it) hadn’t been around much lately, disappearing for days on end. They’ve only come back for a while the night Jinu came home drenched in blood.
Which made Ro-meyeon a bit more forgiving of his quiet lover bringing—
“I brought him for protection.”
”Huh? From what?”
”You,” the slightest sliver of a smirk appeared on Miseo’s face as he walked into one of the store aisles.
“Babeeeee,” Ro-meyeon whimpered out, giving chase.
It wasn’t 30 minutes into their search for the perfect item when they came across cutouts of themself.
“These. I propose we buy one of each of us and put them in his office. He’d love it.”
When Ro didn’t immediately receive a blunt comment in return, he looked over to the boy and despite him being covered in fabric, Ro’s Miseo-senses were going off.
Ro-meyeon prides himself on being able to read his lovers.
And right now, by the way Miseo’s head turned away from his own cardboard cutout? How his arm suddenly started rubbing up and down his sleeve? His lips tweaking down by the smallest of smidges?
He’s feeling insecure.
We can’t have that, can we?
“You know,” Ro started, voice smoothing into something lower, quieter and sincere, “you look so gorgeous here. If we weren’t trying to find a gift, I’d buy it myself.”
“…Thank you.”
Lovely. Now that his Miseo senses have calmed down. He can have some fun. A mischievous glint sparked in his pink eyes just before he slapped his body flush against Miseo’s cutout.
“I’d actually place this next to my bed and kiss it before bed,” He puckered his lips against it obnoxiously, “Every. single. night.”
Miseo’s jaw tightened, colour flooding his pale cheeks as he snapped, “Ro-meyeon, we’re in public. Stop it.”
Ro only grinned wider, dragging his hands down the cutout as if caressing Miseo’s printed arm, “God. Your muscl—”
“Stop it,” Miseo hissed again.
Ro locked eyes with him now, his own half lidded, “And wouldn’t I love to get into those pants too,” he purred.
Miseo squinted his eyes at his elder in confusion and suspicion for a moment longer, “What do you…”
Then, with deliberate slowness, his eyes not even blinking, Ro raised two fisted hands to the front of his mouth, stacked them on top of each other and then with a (louder than necessary gagging sound) stuck his tongue out.
Miseo’s entire face went crimson in an instant. The younger didn’t waste a second, dragging the flirty horny perverted bastard away by the collar.
Moving on, moving on, moving on.
He’s so grateful he had this giant scarf to shield his face.
Three hours had passed in a heartbeat and by this point Ro was on his knees, tears dripping freely as he buried his face in his hands while incoherent half-sobs spilt out.
“Why can’t you just say yes to everything I want?” Ro wailed, shoulders shaking, drawing wary stares from fellow shoppers.
Miseo stood just a step away, his face cool and unreadable, as he simply waited for his hyung to stop with the dramatics.
“Because I’m not Jinu,” Miseo answered without hesitation, not even glancing at him, “We’re here for one thing and one thing only. You don’t need all these extra things.”
Ro sighed dramatically, tossing his hair back like Galinda (a character from this one movie he’s been addicted to as of recent. When Miseo calls her Glinda, he goes on a tangent), “You’re so mean to me.”
”You embarrass me. We’re even.”
Suddenly, Sussie launched out of the scarf. The six-eyed bird screeched once before darting deeper into the shopping centre. Miseo was glad humans didn’t blink twice at birds in the shop because Sussie wasn’t even attempting to be inconspicuous.
The pair followed his path with their eyes until they saw him dip low, gliding straight through the open window of a narrow vintage instrument store
They shared a look and they knew they shared the same thought.
This was the perfect idea.
As they stepped in, the door making that cute little jingly sound, Miseo quickly scooped up Sussie before the elderly shopkeeper found any other reason to look at them funny aside from their strange outfit choices.
They only looked around for a little while before coming across what they needed. The two choices before them, just on appearance, were good quality and Miseo didn’t know much about the instrument himself but he’d imagined they’d sound the same. The only difference was that one was carved ridiculously.
”I say we go for this one,” Ro-meyeon said, pointing to the more expensively carved one because of course he would.
“Is the price tag more than half our budget?”
”Well…”
”Then no.”
Ro-meyeon stared down at the two instruments, shoulders hunching in defeat, but after a long silence, he lifted his chin and took a step forward, “No. I’m older than you, so I’m putting my foot down on this—”
A growl vibrated low in Miseo’s throat. Ro slowly turned his head to look at him and between the smallest break in his bangs, his glowing yellow eyes spoke quietly with a promise of pain if they spent another millisecond debating this.
Ro snapped his jaw shut. He swallowed once, before forcing a shaky laugh, “W-whatever you say, dear.”
-
Jinu had been so sick and feverish and nauseous and overwhelmed that even the idea of reaching for his laptop felt like trying to lift a boulder with two fingers, so when the sun crawled up and then fell again for the third time since that night, he didn’t fight them at all when they forced him to stay in bed.
What another waste. Wasted day, wasted chances. A whole other twenty-four hours wasted.
He lay on his side, sweat-damp hair stuck to his temples, his mind buzzing with all the things he should have been doing.
Weakening the honmoon, getting Rumi to stop playing hide and seek with him, figuring out how to offload this sick-inducing rush of power.
And instead, he was rotting under blankets.
He was—
Jinu’s body left his soul (Yes that way round) when a puff of pink smoke appeared in front of the bed.
“Happy birthday,” he heard Miseo say in his one-note monotone voice.
Huh.
Huh?
Jinu blinked to focus his spinning head and he finally saw the four of them standing in front of him, smiling gently at him. In Ah-bin’s hand was a massive three-tiered chocolate cake decorated to hell with candles.
The most noteworthy ones however were at the top.
423.
”I just want to say, Hanbae gave up on candle a hundred and thirty-six.”
”Hey! You snake!”
His chest hitched, breath caught, eyes stinging as he stared between the cake and them.
He forgets. He forgets his birthday every year.
But, like every time before, they never forget.
They remembered. They wanted to celebrate, despite everything, despite his failures, his secrets.
He didn’t notice the silence until someone nudged him gently as if scared to worsen his sickness, “Blow them out, hyung,” Miseo murmured, voices soft.
The lump in his throat that formed as his thoughts tried to balance the shock of this all and the plethora of wishes he wanted to make, nearly stopped him from leaning forward, but he managed, air escaping his lips in one long unsteady breath.
I wish…
The cake was set aside. And then Ro-meyeon, grinning like a child, brought forward a long, carefully wrapped package. Jinu blinked at it, then at them, and finally pulled at the paper with clumsy fingers.
His breath hitched and he froze.
A bipa.
Not the original—it had been lost a many years ago in one of their desperate escapes from a city that had been devoured by Gwi-ma’s hunger—but a bipa nonetheless and it was perfect because it came from them.
It’s weight felt familiar against his palms.
Did he even remember how to play?
The instant he placed it in his lap it all came back to him. He strummed a chord along the strings and his chest tightened with the bittersweet memory of that once upon a time.
Yes. Yes, he did remember.
He didn’t deserve this feeling.
“I—thank you, but—”
“I don’t want to hear it today Grandpa,” Hanbae cut him off firmly, “Can you just sing for us?”
Jinu’s mouth opened on instinct, ready to argue, to deflect, to retreat. But the silently pleading look on their faces undid him.
He shook his head and adjusted himself upright against the pillows to make room, hands curling around the neck of the bipa, “Of course,” he whispered.
Ah-bin slipped in closest, settling beside him and wrapping one large arm around Jinu’s waist. Jinu unconsciously leaned into his warmth. Ro-meyeon lowered himself until his head rested across Jinu’s lap, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.
Miseo stretched out just next to him, lying flat on his stomach, head propped in his arms, close enough that their shoulders brushed whenever Jinu shifted. And Hanbae, without hesitation, flopped down atop Miseo’s back until he was sprawled across him entirely.
Doh-doh-doh-doh.
Jinu hadn’t realised his furry companions were here until Derpy had yawned. They too were looking at Jinu expectantly, curled up together on the carpet at the foot of their bed. It’s been a while since they had all been together like this.
That was his fault.
But it was his fault and they were still here.
The lump in Jinu’s throat nearly choked him. He adjusted the strings with shaking hands as closed his eyes for a moment and let his core fill with a warmth he liked to ignore how much he loves.
Family.
“There once was a mighty demon king
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before
He ruled with his mark, every soul in the dark
The underworld cried when he roared
But soon we, together, will break his chains
And then all he’ll do is starve
Can’t get at our souls
And his flame grows cold
Just a whisper in the dark
And we can make the fire go out
It is the end of him now
Dying king with the crumbling crown
We will make the fire go… out.”
Notes:
What did Jinu wish for? Author left it up to interpretation because she's lazy.
Who enjoyed this fluff and comfort 😃hands up!! It’s been a while hasn’t it. This was refreshing to write.
Thoughts, feelings?I had to get the next 5 chapters laid out before writing this one. Any other writers like that? & I just gotta know what be happening before I dare write it out
Hmm. I wonder where the pair of fur-babies had been for a while? *wink wink nudge nudge, it’s obvious*Also I never addressed how to pronounce ro-meyeons name (so lowkey if youve been reading it a different way, feel free to ignore and I'm actually curious now as I type this: How have you guys been pronouncing Ro-meyeon?). When I first made up his name, I envisioned it being said like ROH-MEH-HYUHN / ROH-MEH-HYOON
I know I love love love me some quintuple interactions but what pair interactions do you guys love the most??? Let me know in the comments
Are my chapter notes tooo long ;w;??? Until next time my lovelies!
Chapter 39: The Half of It
Notes:
Yknow Ive never talked about how I came up with the names for each saja boy (this is a bit of a ramble so you can skip if ur not interested!). I was like, okay, my first building blocks should be as closely similar to their stage names as possible so lets work with what I think there nicknames would be with their canon names. That left me with Abs, Ro, Mys and Babe respectively. Then from there, I searched up common korean name suffixes and prefixes and worked with that. Using 90 Day Korean (https://www.90daykorean.com/korean-names/) it was quite easy for me to come up with Hanbae and Ah-bin. Mystery and Romance gave me some trouble tho. I was 5 seconds away from using the commonly used ones (Tery and Romeo) but to me it wouldn’t have felt fun and would’ve felt out of place with the others.
With Ro-meyeon, idek where it came from but it worked. I was lowkey working with Romeo and Ramyeon to sound & look like an actual name and then BOOM Ro-meyeon, to be pronounced Roh-meh-yoon
Mystery was in between Miseo and Mitzuki for the longest time but eventually I was like A) even though Mitzuki is unisex, its more traditional for women and B) Miseo deadass made me go out to buy myself some Miso soup.
So Mystery and Romance are named after food <333
And yeah!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jinu woke up slowly, and for the first time in what felt like days (which it was), his body didn’t revolt against him. The power rush-induced fever had finally broken and therefore he could actually move without pain.
He peeled his heavy eyes open, and the first thing he saw was Derpy. The tiger's face encompassed basically all his vision as he tilted his head in… happiness? The same look in those eyes held too many different emotions at once, so he never knew, but he digressed. The moment Jinu tried to sit up an inch, the beast lowered his massive form on top of him.
Jinu grunted as all the air was forced from his lungs.
”D-derpy, off,” he wheezed, pushing with as much force as he could, “I can’t breathe. I-I’m healthy again I promise.”
Derpy gave a long, rumbling purr before reluctantly lifting his head, allowing Jinu to breathe again.
With a sigh, Jinu sat up, dragging a hand through the tiger’s scruff, fingers curling into the thick fur. His eyes travelled around the messy room, and the ache in his chest was equally painful and warming.
Throughout whatever adjusting his body needed to do to get used to this rush of power, his boys had helped him through it all without a clue what the hell was going on with him.
After everything. The secrets, the fights, his silence.
Ah-bin still changed the hot towel on his forehead every hour.
Ro took over all the responsibilities of getting the label to settle down and let them go on hiatus.
Miseo ensured he had fresh sheets on the bed.
Hanbae… Hanbae told him to ‘hurry the fuck up and get better’ every single day without fail. Which is not necessarily helpful but it was his way of showing that he cares.
To collapse as he had because of his own failure and incompetence but still have hands willing to hold him up.
That meant the world to him.
They meant the world to him.
He rose from bed, throwing on Ro-meyeon’s soft dressing gown and left the room and went down the stairs.
Where are they?
He wants them.
Voices drifted up to him before he even reached the living room.
He paused at the entrance, looking at the backs of their multicoloured hair, each in various states of dishevelment.
“I mean… maybe human medicine could work? We should try erm.. parrot-seat-a-mole,” Ah-bin murmured, voice low and rough with worry, his broad shoulders hunched.
Ro sighed, his pink hair falling over one eye as he leaned on his hand, “It won’t help. He’s not human, Bin. You know that. If anything it might just make him worse.”
“Do… you think he’ll get better?”
“He’s Jinu, Hanbae. Of course, he’ll get better.”
Even now, they were still worried.
God, he’s an asshole for letting them worry like this.
Jinu’s throat tightened, and he cleared it softly.
All four snapped their heads toward him at once.
In perfect unison, they scrambled up from the couch and rushed toward him and just as quickly he was cocooned in a group hug.
For a moment all Jinu could do was stand there stiffly, chest too tight to move.
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arms. He wrapped them around his boys, drawing them ever closer. His chin dropped against the crown of Miseo’s head as his whole body relaxed for the first time in a while.
He let his eyes fall shut, and the warmth of them pressed in on all sides .
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“…I have something to tell you.”
The immediate regret he felt after saying that hit hard yet despite that, he still herded the expectant demons back to the couch to get them to sit.
Jinu stood before them and took a long intake of breath.
”It’s about Rumi.”
Three pairs of golden eyes blinked at him. One silver haired head tilted. He breathed again.
”She’s not what she seems.”
There was silence as they all levelled him with bored and tired expressions before he finally said.
”She’s… She’s half demon.”
Hanbae slowly stood up from the couch, eye twitching, “That? That was the bullshit you were keeping from us?” he hissed, voice low and dangerous.
“I get why you’re upset but let me explain I-.”
The youngest launched himself off the couch and tackled Jinu to the ground. He grunted as his body hit the floor but he was not given a second before he was flipped to his front and his back was bent in half.
The Boston Crab. Their youngest’s favourite move.
And it hurt like a bitch.
“Help,” Jinu wheezed to the others as Hanbae yanked back on his legs with more force than necessary, grinning maniacally ear to ear.
Ro leaned back against the sofa, a smirk twitching at his lips. Ah-bin shrugged almost lazily, while Miseo angled his head away.
To be honest with himself, he deserved much worse.
-
If Jinu felt weak before, his muscles and bones were now mush.
Getting beaten up by Hanbae? Not fun, Jinu would not recommend it. It took 10 minutes of his pleading to the others to get him off of him for them to actually help.
Well… Ah-bin helped. Ro-meyeon and Miseo seemed fine with letting his abuse continue.
But again, deserved, so he can’t complain.
“Explain,” Miseo finally said, drawing everyone's gaze back on Jinu.
He rarely feels this small in front of them.
Jinu exhaled slowly, fingers curling tight in his lap before he forced them still, “I have this… plan. It involves her and getting her and the Huntr/x girls to turn against each other. I just thought if I did it on my own, none of you would have to worry or stress.”
His throat tightened, “But the more and more I realised what I was trying to do on my own… was failing,” that word tasted bitter on his tongue.
He hates failure. They all knew that.
“I was even more scared to let you all know it was failing. I never want to fail you guys. Not once. Not ever because… You deserve the world.”
The silence after that pressed hard as their eyes softened.
“You’re still an idiot for keeping something so stupid from us. We are here for you as much as you are for us.”
Jinu nodded faintly, lips tugging in something like a half-smile, “And I’m sorry. It’s been unfair because it involves all of us. I thought I was sparing you, but really I was shutting you out. And it’s not because I don’t trust you—I do. I trust you more than anything. It’s me I don’t trust. To make the right call. To be in control.. To keep us safe.”
For a moment, no one moved, but when they did, it was once again to cocoon him on all sides.
Ah-bin shifted first, his large hand wrapping firm and warm around Jinu’s wrist. Miseo followed, his hand settling on Jinu’s back. Hanbae pressed into his side a second later, face burying into his shoulder with a muffled huff. Ro leaned in too, arms slipping around from the other side.
The words weren’t explicitly said but Jinu felt it in every fibre of the hug. We forgive you.
He didn’t deserve it. Not yet. Because he doesn’t think he could possibly muster up the strength to admit to a second secret right now.
Just this took so much out of him.
”Hyung, we will always trust you and your ideas. Well, as long as they aren’t stupid.”
Right… stupid.
Since coming to earth he’s made a lot of stupid decisions.
Actually, he’d argue they’re reckless.
Unpredictable world? Unpredictable Jinu.
“I want us to stay on earth like this forever,” he said suddenly, his grip on them tightening, “I want us to… kill Gwi-ma.”
”Kill Gwi-ma?” They all questioned at once, their voices pitched with obvious disbelief.
Their eyes screamed it. All the things he never wanted them to think about him.
Doubt, doubt, doubt.
“I know how to do it."
Miseo’s voice, soft and cutting, broke the silence, “Is it dangerous?”
Jinu’s eyes drifted to his palm which was absentmindedly stroking through Ah-bin’s hair. The patterns along it just slightly faded. His lips curved faintly, the smallest smile masking the tremor in his chest.
“Absolutely not.”
His streak of not lying lasted only the entirety of this conversation.
He wants to smack himself in the face.
Notes:
Sorry if this chapter felt hard to read. I really struggled on writing it and I fear it sounded and read horribly (ur girl was tearing up from frustration I HATE THIS CHAPTER 😭😭😭)
Hope you guys liked it. Jinu’s coming out of the closet about one thing he should've done a longggg time ago. The bastard is still hiding though so screw him.
Baby beating up Jinu, we love it. Deserved?? Boston crab inspo came from kuroko no basket (love love love that show).
I’m back at school tomorrow and hence felt extra bad cuz ik i aint gonna catch a break for atleast 2-3 weeks so yes! Wish me luck gang.
Can I also say THANK YOU ALL!!! Sometime across the last week The Saja Boys:Devils In the Spotlight hit 1000 comments, 50K hits, 400 bookmarks and it is so close to 2500 kudos I can smell it!!!! Its insane Live yall ❤️❤️
The usual and until next time!
Chapter 40: Muscle
Notes:
Guys first week back at school and I want to kms. Genuinely, I have zero motivation to even do the things I enjoy. But finally logging back into my account after a whiles time and seeing 50 something notifications from commenters was an awakening bro! I read every. single. one. and when I got to the end I was like ‘I WANT MORE’ and what better way to get gang to send more than posting another chapters :D
But yeah, schools already killing me. I hate the UK schools system.
But hey, anything for the A*… Any of my readers Year 13/12 sufferers?? Lets hear the subject combos cuz I have eternal regret about mine…
I must say this is a longer one than usual so I hope it is to y’alls satisfaction <33
Enjoyyy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Suddenly he was in it. Trapped in this body, and feeling everything.
The only thing he could remember was his name…
…But he was sceptical about whether it could be linked to this timeline…
He walked forward, every bruise or wound made his mind wince but he would never dare voice it. That was what he was made to do. Do what he was told and shut up. He moved one step after another like a robot, in perfect sync with other demons, all of them shackled just like him. The chains bit into him, gouging grooves into raw flesh around his ankles, around his wrists, around his neck. He stumbled often just from pure exhaustion, but never fell; those who fell did not get the chance to stand again. They were deemed useless, dragged forward, consumed by him.
Ah-bin's eyes, glazed in awe, rose toward the figure that stood? Blazed? Before them.
Their God.
Gwi-ma.
His size was unimaginable, the weight of his gaze pressing down on every chained body in the hall.
They gathered in front of him ritually every so often so that he could remind them of stuff and make… necessary cuts to their numbers.
He told them why they existed, why he had pulled them from the nothingness and blessed them by giving them form. His voice filled Ah-bin’s head, replacing every stray thought until no room was left for doubt.
“You will build. You will raid. You will bring me more. You will be strong for me. You will not stop. You will not question...”
And Ah-bin, who had no memory of anything else, had no thought aside to agree.
The routines, if he were in the right state of mind, were nothing short of torture. But he had no opinion to think of it as such.
Endless, brutal, consuming. The warriors rose at dawn—if dawn even existed in this hellscape—and they trained until their bodies collapsed. Muscle, muscle, muscle. Every day heavier, every day sharper, every day faster. Pain was constant. They were whipped until their skin split, burned until their nerves screamed, forced to fight until blood filled their mouths.
And when they weren’t torturing their own bodies into Gwi-ma’s perfect army, they were building the temple to be greater and worthy of their King. Hauling stone, carving patterns, constructing the great temple higher, wider, grander.
And when they weren’t doing that, they were raiding. They marched into demon cities, crushing them under Gwi-ma’s orders. It didn’t matter what happened to the city, all that mattered was that they dragged the defeated in chains back to the temple for their King. The weak were thrown into his meal. The strong were chained alongside them, repurposed for more battles, more labour, more devotion.
And always, there was the rule: if you failed to keep up, you were eaten.
Ah-bin saw it happen. Again and again. Those who faltered in anything? Gwi-ma’s tendrils lashed out, and they were gone, swallowed whole, their screams cut short as they were devoured.
It was terrifying. It was horrifying. But it was also the only thing that kept Ah-bin moving.
He would not stop.
So he forced his body harder, tore himself apart and rebuilt himself in sweat and pain. He grew taller, stronger, and thicker with muscle than almost anyone beside him.
He stopped asking why. He stopped thinking of anything beyond the next order, the next task, the next feeding.
He only knew his command.
He only knew how to serve.
-
Fan meets were always a rush and a half. Chaotic, overwhelming and never going to plan.
”Hell no.”
Especially because of one individual within the Saja Boys.
“I don’t want these infantilising bitches to see me in that,” He whisper-shouted to Jinu as he clung with both arms and legs around the door handle of the prep room.
Jinu stood behind him, expression exhausted, one hand hooked firmly under Hanbae’s elbow as he attempted to drag the youngest off by sheer force, the other clutching the outfit that was causing all these problems, “Hanbae, please,” he whispered smoothly, his voice the same honeyed tone he used in interviews, “You picked this outfit yourself.”
“Yeah, but for my eyes not for human eyes!”
Jinu pulled again, and Hanbae tightened his grip. To anyone watching, it looked less like an idol group preparing for a fan event and more like a parent dragging a tantrum-throwing child into a grocery store.
A staff member, eyes wide with panic, hurried over, wringing her hands, “We—we really need to hurry and have everyone change. The event is starting soon—”
“Yes, don’t worry, we will be ready in time. I’m just, Hanb—Baby, please can you let go?”
“I can hold Baby’s outfit for you so you have both hands free,” she offered, reaching carefully for the hanger Jinu was half juggling. Jinu offered her, his usual idol smile and nobody could miss the tiny flush that built on her face.
“That would help, thank you—”
Hanbae might as well have teleported.
One second, he was clinging to a door like a man-child, the next he had snatched the outfit from Jinu’s arms, hissed ‘don’t touch my shit’ to the lady and stormed into a changing room murmuring something (probably rude), slamming the door shut behind him.
The silence that followed was thick and awkward. Jinu straightened, smoothing his sleeves, and bowed deeply to the teary-looking human, murmuring a sincere, “My apologies. He’s… not normally like this. Thank you for trying to help.”
The woman gave a shaky nod before walking away.
He shot a glance at the others, who had very obviously been holding back their laughs, eyes sharp with a silent order to behave, before striding off after Hanbae.
Ah-bin sighed loudly, tugging at the seams of the shirt he’d been wearing—already stretched thin over his frame. The fabric gave with a faint pop as one of the stitches split along his shoulder.
“Figures,” he muttered, half to himself, and peeled it off in one smooth motion, tossing the shirt onto a chair.
Ah-bin never understood the concepts of changing rooms. Why go to one when he could do it here?
When he glanced up, Miseo was staring from where he leaned against the wall with his book (that he wasn’t even trying to pretend to read). His quietest lover did indeed have a habit of staring when any of them were in any state of undress.
Which was fine with Ah-bin. Just the feeling of Miseo’s intense gaze on him made him shiver.
He huffed and shook it off, grabbing for the shirt laid out for him to wear on stage tonight, when a curse came from across the room.
“Damn it,” Ro-meyeon huffed, crouching near the dressing table, “I dropped my eyeliner,” His long pink strands of hair swayed as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“I got it!” Ah-bin shouted quickly and raced across the room. His large hand wrapped around the foot of the dressing table and he plucked it from the floor like it weighed nothing.
Ro-meyeon maintained eye contact with him as he bent to pick up his eyeliner and stood back up again, eyes glimmering with something sly, his lips curling, “Well, aren’t you my hero?” he purred.
He reached out, one long finger dragging slowly across Ah-bin’s abs, tracing the line of muscle down his stomach with featherlight touch, “So strong. So helpful. So…” His smile widened wickedly, “handsome.”
Heat shot up into Ah-bin’s ears immediately, his face flushing crimson even as he tried to hold onto his grin. He placed the table carefully back onto the floor, but in the same breath he pivoted into a pose, flexing his arm just enough to make his muscles pop, “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said, cocky in tone but goofy in a way that was unremarkably and unmistakably Ah-bin.
Ro hummed his approval as Ah-bin puffed his chest a little in pride.
Gods, he was a sucker for praise. If he had a tail, it would be wagging uncontrollably.
He never tried to bite back the full-toothed grin that came to him with praise.
When praised for things that are quite tragically linked to bad memories, it becomes a good memory.
At least that’s what Ah-bin thought as he flexed again.
And then, suddenly…
Bite.
Ah-bin froze as sharp teeth sank into the thick of his bicep, breaking skin without hesitation. Both he and Ro turned slowly to the culprit.
Miseo.
The quiet and unassuming freak clamped his jaw firmly onto Ah-bin’s arm like he had every right to be there. Blood welled faintly where the teeth sank, stinging heat spreading through the muscle.
The pair blinked dumbly at him.
Ro chuckled, amused, “Rule number one,” he drawled, “Don’t flex bare shirted in front of Miseo. Remember last time?”
Ah-bin paled instantly, the cockiness draining right out of him. Oh, he remembered last time. Miseo had bitten him like a chew toy until Jinu had physically dragged him off. Those marks lasted months.
But that was in Hell, where he didn’t mind the judgmental looks he got from other insignificant demons who would read those bite marks as submission.
Here, he’s on earth and a bite mark, from what Jinu told him would mean… actually, Ah-bin doesn’t remember what their leader had told him, all he knows is that it’s called a hickey and that would be very very bad and humans would be very very annoying.
His stomach flipped.
“Um, babe? Now’s probably not the time,” he tried, forcing a nervous laugh, his big hands hovering awkwardly like he didn’t know whether to pet Miseo’s head or shove him away.
Miseo’s eyes flicked up between his bangs, unexpressive as ever, and then—he sank his teeth in deeper.
Ah-bin hissed, finally prying Miseo off with both hands, his muscles straining as he peeled the smaller man’s jaw away. When he got free, he stared down at his arm, his heart thudding hard. Clear as day, an entire crescent of teeth marks branded into his skin, red and raw.
His mind went blank, dumb panic flooding in. He stammered, words fumbling, “Oh shit—shit, what the hell do I—”
But before he could finish, Miseo leaned in again and his blunt fangs hooked onto Ah-bin’s neck. Ahbin nearly tripped backwards as he again fought to pry Miseo off, “Miseooo. Oh hell, how am I going to hide these from Jinu?”
Ro just leaned back, smirking, "I have a solution,” he said as he uncapped a lip gloss and carefully coated his mouth in the hot pink shine.
Ah-bin’s head whipped toward him, desperate hope lighting in his eyes, “You do?” he asked.
“Did you know kissing helps cuts heal quicker,” he said slyly.
”It does?”
”Yup,” Ro-meyeon said, popping the P.
-
“Can someone else please tell Hanbae that he’s cute and hot,” Jinu started as he cracked the door open to let them both in, only for his soul to leave his body when he saw into the room, “oh jeez—”
For half a second, he froze. Then, with a sharp movement, he slammed the door shut behind him. He locked the door with a snap because gods forbid anyone outside their little world saw… this.
Ah-bin was sprawled out on the sofa, arms loose at his side as he looked at Jinu pleadingly. He was pinned down by one Ro-meyeon who sat perched on his chest and peppered kisses on the guy’s sharp jaw while Miseo seemed to literally be teething on the line of Ah-bin's abs.
“BAHAHAHAHA!” Hanbae collapsed to his knees instantly, slapping the floor with both palms as his body shook with laughter, “Why do you look like you were mauled by a bear and a succubus?!”
Jinu dragged a hand down his face, forcing his voice into its leader’s calm despite his temples throbbing, “Off. Both of you. Now,” He strode forward and began shooing Ro and Miseo like they were flies swarming fruit, swatting at their shoulders until they grudgingly peeled away from Ah-bin’s body.
Even as Jinu banished them to the naughty corner, Ro’s smirk said ‘worth it’ and Miseo’s blank face very clearly said, ‘I do not feel regret for a single thing I’ve done.’
Ah-bin’s chest heaved and his eyes had gone big, damp, and glassy like a scolded puppy, “H-have I done something bad?” he asked, voice wobbling as Jinu crouched in front of him with a roll of gauze.
“No,” Jinu said firmly, his tone softening as he ruffled the bigger man’s hair. He began gently wrapping the gauze around the visible bite marks on Ah-bin’s arms and sides. After that, he grabbed a tissue and scrubbed at Ro’s glossy kiss marks on Ah-bin’s cheek.
It was not coming off, no matter how hard he scrubbed. Jinu’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, “Why the hell isn’t this coming off?”
Ro’s smirk spread wide, utterly unrepentant as he held up his lip gloss, “Twenty-four-hour hold lip gloss. Water resistant.”
Jinu blinked at him in disbelief, while Hanbae practically howled with laughter from the floor he gasped between fits, clutching his stomach.
Ro shrugged, unbothered, leaning back with an insufferably smug smirk, “What? I wanted to leave my mark too.”
Before Jinu could form a retort, a knock rattled the door. The same staff member from earlier‘s voice echoed into the prep room, her tone frazzled, “You’re on in five minutes!”
Jinu exhaled through his nose, “Can we get ten?” He called back as calmly as he could.
Her voice sharpened, nasally to the point of being annoying, “Absolutely not. The schedule is already packed. If you take longer, we’ll—”
Jinu rolled his eyes as she kept talking and tilted his head toward Hanbae, who was still cackling on the floor, “I’m giving you permission to be a bitch. Just this once.”
Hanbae’s grin sharpened, devilish. He wiped a tear from his eye and sprang to his feet as he marched to the door, “Fucking finally.”
Ah-bin exhaled slowly at the feeling of the bandages pressing against his arm, the warmth of Jinu’s hands, the questionable locations Ro-meyeon decided to kiss and honestly the grounding stinging from Miseo’s bite marks.
This body is his. It’s real and they love all parts of him.
He’s been told he wears his heart on his sleeve.
… He likes that about himself because his lovers will never question how they make him feel.
-
The temple’s halls were endless and as Ah-bin walked several steps behind Master Jinu, following him aimlessly (because he believed that was what Gwi-ma wanted him to do), they easily ignored Gwi-ma’s blazing form in the distance.
As well as the echoing of screams.
Every day in the temple was like this after all.
Master Jinu keeps asking him questions.
None of them earned an answer because A) Ah-bin didn't have an answer B) Ah-bin was hesitant to respond.
“What’s your favourite thing about Gwi-ma?”
Ah-bin said nothing.
Master Jinu tilted his head slightly, glancing back over his shoulder, “Are you the same as all the others?”
Still nothing.
Jinu’s eyes narrowed faintly, “Why don’t you ever answer?”
“I’m not allowed to speak without permission, Master Jinu.”
Jinu stopped in his tracks, his head turning just enough for Ah-bin to see the yellow glow in one of his eyes. His lips curled into a slow smirk, “But you just did.”
Ah-bin’s chest went cold, blood draining as the realisation crashed in. He dropped instantly to one knee, head bowed, the chains on his wrists biting deeper into his skin. Only one thought ran through his head, so loud it drowned even Gwi-ma’s roar: He’s broken command. He now deserves death. His voice shook as he whispered, “Please be merciful when killing me, Master Jinu.”
“What?” For the first time, Master Jinu faltered. His brows rose, his smirk disappearing into a frown.
“I’m not killing you. I was just jokin—” he paused, looking away from Ah-bin, “Never mind. Stand up. I’m giving you permission to talk.”
Ah-bin raised his head slightly, searching his face for trickery. He found none. Slowly, stiffly, he rose to his feet. The chains clinked again.
There was a pause, a measured beat of silence, before Master Jinu asked, quieter now, “Why are you like this?”
Ah-bin blinked, confusion knitting his brows. “Like what, Master Jinu?”
Master Jinu’s gaze swept over him, listing each fault, “The hollowness in your eyes, the lack of care for the wounds on… your entire body. The shackles around your arms, your ankles, and you don’t fight them. Not once. I know you can and yet you obey. Why?”
Ah-bin bowed his head lower, his chains clinking faintly, “I don’t quite understand what you mean, Master Jinu. This is my purpose.”
Master Jinu’s eyes narrowed, studying him like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit, “Do you care to figure out how you got here?”
“My only care,” Ah-bin said simply, “is to make sure the lord is satisfied.”
Master Jinu tilted his head, curiosity cutting deeper, “So why listen to me?”
Ah-bin blinked once, his face blank with certainty. “Because you are the lord’s favourite.”
“…I see,” Master Jinu’s tone darkened, a strange smirk not-really-a-smirk came across his face. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Can you keep a secret?”
“If it is what Master Jinu wants,” Ah-bin answered instantly.
Master Jinu’s lips pressed tight, the faintest glimmer of something bitter in his eyes, “I don’t like being known as the lord’s favourite.”
Ah-bin stiffened, his chains clinking as he shifted uneasily, “For as long as I am carrying out my purpose assigned to follow you by the lord, I will recognise you in that way. It would be disrespectful to Gwi-ma if I didn’t, Master Jinu.”
Master Jinu exhaled through his nose, a sound almost like a laugh, “Well then,” he said after a moment, “I command you to tell me your name.”
The hollowness flickered, just for an instant, as though something cracked inside the shell. Ah-bin blinked slowly, his voice softer than it had been, “…I think it was Ah-bin, Master Jinu.”
Master Jinu studied him for a long moment, then his smirk thinned into something gentler, “And another thing,” he said, turning his gaze forward again, “Stop calling me Master Jinu.”
Ah-bin faltered, his chains rattling as he tried to understand. But all he managed in the silence of the burning hall was a quiet, “…Yes, Jinu.”
Notes:
Miseo bicep biter confirmed
Ah-bin’s backstory has been further developed! We love to see it. Thoughts, feelings, theories?
I genuinely hope this story is ‘storying’ and doesn’t just feel random and unreadable. I KNOW I KNOW so many of u reassure me that it is but i can’t help but doubt.
Guys, I have such a great idea (yep i already have the plot plotted down) for a post canon sequel that I wish I could skip to it, write it and then come back later. I'm scared someone else will do it before me 🫣🫣
But tbh, all saja boys writers/posters/bloggers have so little content to work on that it is inevitable overlaps in ideas will occur.
Also, I want to clear something up. Ive been told by a commenter that there's an account on tt that people think is me/is giving the impression that they are me by not confirming that they aren’t. I do not have a tt account (or any social media’s) that I am active on and do not post on any social media so it's not me guys 😀😀I’m not mad or anything I just wanna clear up confusion. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when people use ideas from my fic buttttt I love it more when it is fairly credited yknow? so that more and more people can find this fic
Anyways thats all imma say regarding this!! I ain’t bothered by it (just wanted yall to know that if u see someone, it’s most definitely not me)
Thanks for reading, until next time <33
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Last Edited Sat 02 Aug 2025 11:11AM UTC
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