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the beer is warm, although even if it was cold, yoongi doubts it would taste any better. yet—he sips out of the red solo cup in his hand as he stands in the stairwell, leaning against the wall and scanning the crowd of college students gathered in the house in various states of drunkenness. it never fails to amaze him how quickly humans can fall from grace, particularly the young ones—how quickly they can make terrible decisions, wooed and charmed by the first pretty person to whisper in their ear. then again, if they were any smarter, yoongi would be out of a job.
yoongi takes another sip of the beer as he watches a couple enthusiastically trying to swallow each other’s tongues on the nearest sofa. one of them is dressed as some anime character he knows not the name of, the other a thrift store version of spider-man. the rest of the crowd doesn’t fare much better in the creativity department; it’s a sea of cat ears and skin-tight clothing, fake blood and cultural references that he could understand if he put any thought to it, but that’s not what he’s here for tonight.
while most of the students are here to get drunk and maybe get lucky, yoongi is here on the singular mission he’s had for almost one hundred and seventy years. he reflects, for a moment, on how things have changed in that time, and the centuries before it; sometimes he prefers this time, with so much technology and opportunity, but he would dare say it’s gotten harder to keep these pesky humans out of trouble. he’s not sure anyone here needs a push to conversion, but he can’t save all of them. there’s just one tonight, one he must protect.
he scans the crowd again, searching for them; he knows not their name nor gender nor appearance, although it doesn’t take much to spot a human teetering on the edge of falling. most in his line of work wait until they can spot the demon instead, because it’s easier that way—look for the predator in a crowd of prey, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
yoongi, though, knows he doesn’t have to look for his demon. it’s been one hundred and seventy years of back and forth, cat and mouse, of pulling that string a little tighter with each target and victim. yoongi knows his demon will always come to him.
on cue, yoongi senses a presence behind him on the stairs, one that is more familiar than his own presence; it’s something dark and sinister, something on the prowl. and yet—feeling that familiar prickle on the back of his neck has yoongi almost sighing with relief. these days, it just feels like coming home.
slowly, he lowers the cup in his hand. without turning around, yoongi says, “i know you’re there.”
“i wanted you to,” says that familiar voice, a tone of honey and silk, already so charming that it would make any human’s knees weak. but yoongi isn’t a human, would never consider himself such precious cargo.
yoongi snorts. “shouldn’t you be trying to prey on someone in a sorry excuse for a sexy bunny costume instead of stalking me?”
“not sure you can be righteous about stalking, darling. if i’m not mistaken, you followed me here.”
yoongi finally turns his head over his shoulder to look at him—jeon jeongguk in all of his glory. it’s been a few months since yoongi has seen him and uses that fact as an excuse for the way he stares; jeongguk’s hair has grown out, hanging into his eyes and over his ears in a wavy pattern, as black as his soul. perhaps he’s grown more confident in those months, as well, by the way his smirk curls into something wolfish on his lips, the way his eyes grow obsidian black in the shadowed stairwell.
what yoongi stares at most of all, though, is the outfit jeongguk is wearing. white from head to toe, so different from his usual attire that for a moment yoongi wonders if he’s joking—but he’s certainly wearing white jeans that hug his thighs, a flowing white shirt tucked into his obscenely small waist. and—a halo on top of his head, attached by a headband tucked behind his ears.
yoongi gives him a once over, and then a twice over, not missing the way jeongguk catches all of it. “interesting costume you’ve got there, jeon,” he says. “i’d say it suits you but it really, really doesn’t.”
“you’re missing the best part,” says jeongguk, turning around so that yoongi is met with the cherry on top of it all: a pair of white feather wings on his back, ones that flutter uselessly when he shimmies his shoulders. yoongi wants to laugh, but catches his tongue when he realizes it might come out fond.
instead, he says, “we don’t look like that. if i had wings, i’d be doing much greater things than wasting a thursday night at a college halloween party.”
when jeongguk turns back around, there’s a smirk on his lips. “and you think we look like that?” he asks, gesturing to yoongi’s own costume—and it turns out they have similar senses of humor, because while jeongguk is dressed as an angel, yoongi is masquerading as a demon: black from head to toe, a pair of devil horns sprouting out of his hair, a devil’s tail attached to the back of his belt, a three-pronged staff in his hand.
yoongi shrugs. “i thought it was funny,” he says. “thought i’d see what it’s like to be you. turns out it’s not a lot of fun because people keep pulling on my tail.” in any aspect, he much prefers being an angel—even if he has no halo or wings as the halloween costumes suggest. for yoongi, his angelic nature is rooted in doing good, in protection and guidance of humans. for jeongguk, his demonic nature is rooted in wreaking havoc, in the corruption and conversion of humans. fundamentally, they’re opposing forces begging to be pitted against each other. by nature, they’re rivals.
yoongi tilts his head, tracing the line of jeongguk’s throat with his eyes as he wonders if, for the first time in his very long life, human alcohol might actually be affecting him. by nature—it shouldn’t work. but nature has never stopped angels or demons before, has it?
“are you having fun, min yoongi?” asks jeongguk, crossing his arms and leaning against the opposite wall. “i wouldn’t have taken you for a partier.”
“honestly, i would prefer if you went after your target so we could get this over with,” says yoongi.
“oh, so confident for a sweet baby angel,” grins jeongguk. “what makes you think you’re going to win this time?”
“jeongguk, it’s been one hundred and seventy years and how many humans have you converted under my watch?”
the grin falls from jeongguk’s face, eyes flashing with that true darkness yoongi knows is hidden within; the truth is that he knows jeongguk could overpower him if only he tried. but yoongi also knows that jeongguk wouldn’t. knows he can’t. no matter how much they might fool themselves into playing this game, both of them know the outcome. angels and demons have fought their wars for millennia, have ripped each other to shreds in pursuit of the souls of humans—and here yoongi and jeongguk are, playing cat and mouse at a halloween party.
but here it all is: jeongguk was put on this earth with the purpose of converting humans, stealing their very souls for his master. yoongi, in a very special class of angel, was put on earth to combat them, to save humans for eternity. it’s a constant battle, back and forth; sometimes the angels don’t win. sometimes it’s not so easy. yoongi has heard stories of disasters and deaths, of angels who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty to save their humans.
in most cases, it ends in a fight, or in the clever angels managing to get their demons behind bars, banished, kept away from any human, let alone their target at any given time. but yoongi has always had a very special method of thwarting jeongguk, one he already anticipates now. one hundred and seventy years ago, yoongi was assigned the demon jeon jeongguk, intended to keep him from stealing the soul of one kim namjoon. and he did just that—but then, although he was meant to move onto a new demon, yoongi refused to do anything else but find jeongguk again and again, across the world and across time, to be the pesky angel on his shoulder drawing him away from completing his own mission.
the truth is that jeongguk could kill him if he wanted to, could put up a real fight, could make all of this ugly. but yoongi likes to think jeongguk enjoys it as much as he does. and so here they are.
yoongi turns back to the crowd of students, drunk and disorderly, swaying to music that pounds in yoongi’s chest. “so which one is it?” he asks casually. there’s no way for him to know which human is jeongguk’s target tonight, but considering jeongguk’s methods of conversion, he can narrow it down. jeongguk, after all, has a type. “hm, that one?” yoongi asks, pointing to a young man in the middle of the crowd, dancing madly. he’s not really wearing a costume at all, seems to merely want an excuse to get drunk. an easy target.
jeongguk doesn’t respond, but when yoongi looks at him, he knows he’s incorrect. “too muscly, you’re right,” says yoongi. “you like ‘em small, don’t you, jeongguk? like getting to use all of your fancy demon power on them, make them bend to your will?”
jeongguk narrows his eyes. “don’t even bother trying this, min,” he sighs. “this is a cess pool for conversion. i might even take more than just my target.”
“or him?” asks yoongi, undeterred. “the one in the corner. looks like he could use a friend, so he’d be happy if you gave him any amount of attention.”
“seriously—”
“no, you don’t think you’d enjoy it,” says yoongi. “even if this is work, you still want to enjoy yourself.” he purses his lips, scanning the crowd again before his eyes land on a red-haired man dancing near the outer edge of the group. he’s wearing a costume not so different from yoongi’s own, but it’s not this that catches yoongi’s attention—it’s the fact that he turns his head toward the stairwell, looking past yoongi’s shoulder with something both hazy and wanting in his eyes.
“oh,” says yoongi, grinning. “him.” when he turns to jeongguk, the demon gives him a cool glare and tries to step down the stairs, but yoongi steps into his path, putting his hand against the wall to block him as that grin grows wider. “jeon jeongguk, you are clever. let me guess, you used a pick-up line about angels and demons on him, huh? told me that you could be his precious angel if he played his cards right? told him that you’re not an angel in bed?”
jeongguk’s expression is stony, and yoongi laughs at how predictable it is—how predictable jeongguk is. but they’ve been doing this for one hundred and seventy years. yoongi knows all of his tricks, all of his charming ways. most demons choose to convert their humans however they see fit for the situation, sometimes doing it by force, sometimes convincing an easily swayed human to sacrifice something to them. but yoongi knows jeongguk—and he knows how jeongguk works, how he’s been working since the beginning.
of course, it’s easiest to take a soul from the inside.
yoongi smirks, glancing over his shoulder again now that he knows the target. just like that, it all comes to him, the knowledge—“jung hoseok,” he sighs. “third year arts student, wants to work with kids when he graduates. oh, has dabbled in dark magic before, mostly on a dare, didn’t mean it, but—opened up a nice little pathway, didn’t it?” jeongguk stares at him. yoongi reaches out and pats his cheek, says, “sorry, honeybun. hyung’s gotta go to work.”
he turns and bounds down the stairs before jeongguk can catch him, scurrying into the crowd even though he knows jeongguk will be chasing him—now it’s all a matter of who gets there first. but jung hoseok’s soul is on the line, so yoongi tosses away all thoughts of jeongguk, turns them to demon demon demon as something flares with him, the vigilant angel awakening as he skims past humans that instinctually make way for him when he touches them and then close back up behind him, meant to prevent jeongguk from being able to pass through them.
he can hear jeongguk growling over the crowd, hears it rumbling through his chest as he tries to throw it off; demons tend to be wily and charming, but they can be dangerous when they want. and jeongguk has given him enough as yoongi has given back, leaving pieces of themselves with the other—yoongi feels that tug, then, wanting him to turn around and go back to jeongguk when he knows jeongguk is calling for him. but yoongi soldiers on, spotting jung hoseok’s red hair in the crowd.
yoongi doesn’t look for jeongguk, knows what even a single moment of eye contact will mean, and instead reaches out for hoseok, lightly touching his shoulder. he sees hoseok shudder as yoongi turns him so they face each other, lilting smile on yoongi’s lips.
“hi, beautiful,” he drawls, stepping into hoseok’s space. “mind if i join you?”
hoseok looks mildly dazed—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from something else—and he nods, letting yoongi practically press them together as he begins dancing to the beat of the music. he turns them as he searches for jeongguk in the crowd, feeling lightning crackle between his fingertips as he prepares for any form of conflict; with a room this packed, they would do more damage to everyone else than each other, but yoongi doesn’t know how desperate jeongguk is. doesn’t know if he’s here to play the game or to win.
he sways against hoseok as he searches, finally catching sight of those blinding white clothes on the other side of the crowd. it parts for jeongguk, his power overcoming yoongi’s effects on the humans, and yoongi curses when he realizes he has little choice on what to do. it’s always his preference to get the human as far away from jeongguk as possible, but given the constraints in this particular situation, yoongi quickly makes up his mind.
he turns hoseok’s back to jeongguk and takes the human’s face into his hands, all but demanding, “will you kiss me?”
it takes a second, but then hoseok slurs, “can you be my angle?”
yoongi stares at him. “what?”
“it’s a meme—”
“jung hoseok, can i kiss you or not?”
and that’s it, isn’t it—jeongguk can just take as a demon, but angels can only protect, can never do anything against a human’s will. but hoseok just blinks blearily at yoongi, too drunk off his ass to answer, and the girls dancing directly behind them suddenly step away, leaving a path to jeongguk, who reaches out—
yoongi winds his arms around hoseok’s back and dips him, jeongguk’s body lunging where the human once was, and hoseok yelps, clings to him, finally says, “if you’re so romantic, then go ahead.” and yoongi wastes no time, lifting one electric hand to push against jeongguk’s body as he lowers his head and presses his lips to hoseok’s.
it’s instantaneous—a shiver runs down yoongi’s spine, a small ball of warmth passing from hoseok into yoongi’s mouth as yoongi kisses him. for what it’s worth, hoseok is awfully enthusiastic about it, drunk and wanting, and only lets go when yoongi is wrenched away from him by a hand on the back of his neck.
yoongi accidentally lets go of hoseok, though, the human unceremoniously dropping to the ground below as yoongi is pulled upright and his head is forced backward, jeongguk growling in his ear, “what did you just fucking do?”
and yoongi laughs, breathless, the warmth on his tongue spreading down to his throat and to his belly, all over. “my fucking job,” he breathes, still laughing when jeongguk drags him out of the crowd of sweaty bodies by the neck, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway on the upper floor until he finds an empty bedroom, kicking the door open and pushing yoongi inside.
when yoongi turns around, jeongguk is fuming—as he often is when yoongi succeeds. “what did—” he begins only to grunt in confusion, taking a step back even though his body seems compelled toward yoongi. “what the fuck was that?”
“i took it,” says yoongi, wiping at the corners of his mouth.
“took what?”
“his target. whatever it is in him that drew you to him, the big take my soul! that your master conveniently placed on him. so now you don’t need to hurt him, jeonggukkie. all you want to do is take my soul, hm?”
“you can do that?” asks jeongguk, bewildered.
“oh, darling,” sighs yoongi. “you think you’re so clever, think you’ve got all the tricks up your sleeves. but we’re only getting started.”
it’s not the first time yoongi has done it—just the first time jeongguk has been around to see it, and now yoongi smirks as he sits down on the edge of the bed in the room. now there’s really only one thing to do—one thing they always do. he pats the bed beside him, asks, “gonna join me, demon? i’ll let you pull my hair and call me names this time if it makes you feel better.”
because—oh, there are so many ways to steal a soul. jeongguk does it by charming, seducing. he steals a soul by sleeping with his target, taking it out of them piece by piece until they’re both satisfied. nothing forceful about it, nothing that anyone could consider foul play other than the fact that he takes the soul back to the devil himself and the human has no choice but to fall in line.
that first time, when yoongi knew jeongguk only by a name and a photo, and he’d realized what jeongguk intended to do, it was a desperate act—convincing jeongguk to sleep with him instead. he thought, perhaps, that if jeongguk just wanted to fuck something, the best way to protect any unsuspecting humans was by letting jeongguk use him instead.
that was one hundred and seventy years ago, though. now, it’s less about doing his job at all, more that he likes it.
more that he likes jeongguk, period.
stupid angel, he thinks, even as his mouth waters at the thought of the inevitable. but isn’t it all in the name of god?
“you won’t get in trouble,” says yoongi with a tilt of his head. “we both know you can’t steal my soul, but if i’m your target, you can say you tried. you can say they must have been wrong, that your target turned out to be a devoted, god-fearing man. better luck next time.”
jeongguk licks his lips, shrouded in darkness. “can you at least take those stupid horns off?” he asks. “it’s offensive.”
“only if you take the halo off,” says yoongi. “just so no one is pretending to be something they’re not.”
“you wanna talk about pretending—”
“take your clothes off, jeongguk.”
and he does.
there are things yoongi has never understood about jeon jeongguk—
this: how he can take what he wants from a human by force merely with a crooked smile, merely with a few whispered words in their weak ears, and how he can release hordes of smaller demons and plagues and misfortune to wreak havoc upon any number of angels, and how, simply because he’s a demon, he is a feared thing, a dangerous thing—yet he is nothing but gentle with yoongi. how he kisses yoongi gently enough to hurt, hands all over and in him, body light and careful over him. how he touches yoongi like he’s something precious, how he presses in and in so softly, threading his fingers with yoongi’s above his head, careful, careful. (once, yoongi dared to call it making love.)
and this: how jeongguk cares not for human pleasure, only their pain, and how he was created solely to take and take, to lead humans into the darkest depths of hell and leave them there to suffer, and how he has no remorse for it, how it’s all a fun game for him when he takes them to bed and makes himself feel good while he’s at it—yet with his mouth against yoongi’s ear, cock buried inside of yoongi, he only breathes, “does it feel good, hyung? am i making you feel good?” like it’s only yoongi who matters now, like this isn’t a game anymore, like he would shed all of his darkness just to give yoongi a bit of light. (once, yoongi dared to call it making love.)
and this, too: how jeongguk should, as a demon, feel nothing but pain and desolation and his own pleasure, should revel in nothing but anger and depression and bargaining with the devil, and how he should be selfish and cunning and clever, should think only of himself and have a heart of thorns—yet when yoongi searches for his lips, jeongguk kisses him again, thrusts in, whispers, “like you, like you, like you—”
yoongi takes jeongguk’s face into his hands, licking into his mouth as jeongguk slows to a roll of his hips, filling yoongi just right, searching for something inside of him that he’ll never find—not when yoongi is an angel and is immune to whatever jeongguk does to his humans. but that won’t stop him from trying. won’t stop him from trying every fucking time and feeling no remorse for it when his master asks, demands why he has no human soul to hand over.
and yoongi knows what he should say—don’t. isn’t it impossible? an angel and a demon, rivals and enemies. for one hundred and seventy years they have played this time: jeongguk receives a new target and yoongi follows him, steals his pride, takes him to bed so he won’t take the human instead. at first, it was all out of protection, because if jeongguk slept with yoongi, then he wouldn’t sleep with the human. if jeongguk tried to take yoongi’s soul, he wouldn’t have to take the human’s.
and then—somewhere along the way, it stopped being about that at all. somewhere along the way, yoongi realized he likes this—likes jeongguk’s body pressed against his, likes the sounds that they make together, likes the petty games, the chase. yoongi likes jeongguk.
he shouldn’t—he shouldn’t let this happen, shouldn’t admit to it. but there’s no pretending, not when they both know the truth. and when jeongguk rolls his hips harder, making yoongi gasp, yoongi can only whisper, “like you, too, stubborn demon.”
there are things that yoongi has never understood about himself—
when yoongi comes over his own stomach, moaning into jeongguk’s mouth, he always waits for the guilt to set in. but jeongguk pulls out and adds his own release to the mess on yoongi’s skin, kisses him hot and hard and full of fire. jeongguk should burn him, but yoongi is immune—it was only meant for these battles, for protecting humans. but maybe jeongguk has done his job after all: maybe he hasn’t taken yoongi’s soul, but isn’t his heart close enough?
after, he should leave. after, yoongi has a home to return to, a target to consider protected as he waits for the next alert that jeongguk is on the prowl again. instead—he curls his arm around jeongguk’s waist and tugs him closer, drops a kiss to his bare shoulder as he feels jeongguk melt into him.
instead, he noses at a mark he left on jeongguk’s neck, red and angry. it looks like a halo. after a minute or two, jeongguk says, “you know, we could have invited jung hoseok to join. that would have been fun.”
yoongi pinches jeongguk’s thigh. “then you would have gotten his soul,” he says. “he was hot, but a threesome isn’t worth the sacrifice.”
“worth the try.”
“i know you like when it’s only me, anyway,” murmurs yoongi, teasing in his tone. “you wouldn’t want anyone else to touch me. wouldn’t want anyone else to touch you.”
“you make it sound like we’re together.”
and how cruel that yoongi’s first thought is—aren’t we?
no, of course not. and still, jeongguk will leave here, and when he receives his next target, he’ll conveniently bump into yoongi somewhere. will drop hints and clues, leaving a puzzle for yoongi to solve about where he’ll be. and when yoongi shows up, they’ll play this game all over again—giving themselves excuses to be together under the pretense of this age-old rivalry between angels and demons. it hasn’t been about the job for a very long time, but maybe neither of them is prepared to admit that. or maybe if they did admit it, some higher power would punish them for it.
so they play the game. and jeongguk knows that he’ll never get his soul, because maybe he doesn’t want to—maybe it’s always just been yoongi. and yoongi knows that he’ll always come back, pulled by this bond they now share, something between rivalry and love. the line is so fucking thin. either way—isn’t it total devotion? hasn’t yoongi spent one hundred and seventy years chasing jeongguk to make him his, to pull his attention away from the lure of human souls? and hasn’t he won every time, even without putting on that angelic smile?
jeongguk turns over in his hold, fingers tracing over yoongi’s collarbones, his throat. he whispers, “i could tear your heart out, min yoongi.”
“go ahead,” says yoongi. “i would let you.”
jeongguk splays his hand over the left side of yoongi’s chest, right where his heart beats so erratically every time he sees jeongguk, which yearns for him. which always has, always will—curse of an immortal being. curse of an angel who knows nothing but love, whose compass has shifted from god and humans to a demon filled with light.
“i won’t.”
“why not?”
(once, yoongi dared to call it making love.)
jeongguk’s eyes flicker to his, dark and dark. his hair hangs in them, the prettiest demon yoongi has ever seen. “where’s the fun in that?” he asks, even if yoongi thinks love. “i am hopelessly devoted to you.”
yoongi grins, hums a vaguely familiar tune from years ago. but oh, devotion—because demons can’t know love. but isn’t it close enough, isn’t it just the same anyway? either way, jeongguk is here. either way, he presses his hand against yoongi’s heart and holds it there, where it belongs.
yoongi could spend centuries right here. but they must play the game. they must play their parts, and play them well. and so, before he can convince himself to ask jeongguk to stay, yoongi presses a kiss to jeongguk’s forehead—breathes in, breathes out. says, “you should go.”
jeongguk makes a noise, and for a second, yoongi thinks he might refuse—but then he shifts, tilting his head until their lips find each other again, slow as they slide together. when they break apart, jeongguk is grinning at him, almost feral, like the demon he is. “pretty angel,” he whispers. “i’ll leave you my wings so you can fly away.”
“where would i go?” asks yoongi.
“to me,” says jeongguk. and maybe in another world, they could. maybe in another world, they’re just—human. yoongi likes to think of it sometimes, likes to wonder if they could ask to be thrown down to the earth to stay forever. maybe they would meet at a halloween party just like this, angels and demons for just a night.
and yet—he likes the game too much. when jeongguk slips away, pulling on his clothes on the edge of the bed, yoongi watches him and can’t help thinking it would be a pity to miss this, to never have this. seeing jeongguk go makes his heart ache, but jeongguk always comes back. they are forever locked in this endless game of tug-of-war, one step forward and two steps back.
when jeongguk pulls on the last of his outfit, he turns to look at yoongi again with that same grin, the demon one—dangerous and beastly. yoongi has never loved him more.
he tugs jeongguk in for another kiss, one of goodbye. “don’t try to steal any souls on your way out,” he says when he holds jeongguk there by the front of his shirt. “i’ll call down the wrath of god upon you, jeon jeongguk.”
“i would never, hyung,” laughs jeongguk, looks like a goddamn liar.
yoongi kisses him again, then lets him go. this thread between them stretches out, could go on and on no matter how far apart they are—but it’ll always lead back. yoongi lets him go, knows it’s only a matter of time before he sees jeongguk’s dark eyes, feels his body again. and yoongi can’t help but laugh at himself as he leans back against the pillows, feeling the shadow of jeongguk still with him. stubborn demon, he thinks. pretty angel. all they have is forever.