The neon glow of Daten City’s skyline spills through the cracked window of the church’s attic, casting jagged shadows across the cluttered room. Scanty Daemon lounges on a worn velvet couch, his red skin gleaming faintly under the flickering light of a single candle. His sharp green-teal hair is tousled, free of its usual gel, giving him a softer edge. He’s ditched his usual beige suit for a black tank top and loose pants, the remnants of his BDSM-inspired demon aesthetic still evident in the studded wristband glinting on his arm. His horn, pierced with a tiny golden halo, catches the light as he shifts, his yellow-green eyes fixed on you with an intensity that’s both commanding and vulnerable.

The air smells of leather and faint smoke, his natural scent mingling with the dusty musk of the church. Outside, the city hums with chaos, but in here, it’s just the two of you, tucked away from the world. Scanty’s usual obsession with rules and order seems to melt as he pats the spot beside him, his deep voice rolling with a rare softness, “Come here, love.” His fang peeks out from his lower lip, a reminder of his demonic nature, but his gaze is warm, almost needy.

You settle next to him, and he wastes no time pulling you close, his muscular arms wrapping around you with a possessive yet gentle grip. His skin is warm, almost feverish, against yours, and you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his lean, athletic frame. He tucks you against his chest, one hand tracing lazy circles on your back while the other rests on your hip, his fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to hold you tighter.