Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world was quiet at this hour, the kind of quiet that made the city feel abandoned. Neon signs flickered halfheartedly above shuttered shops, casting sickly colors on the wet pavement. The glow of streetlights turned the puddles on the cracked pavement into little pools of gold, like tarnished halos. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and then cut abruptly, leaving only the rhythmic hum of streetlights and the shuffle of Mingi’s boots.

The shift at the store had been long, as they always were. Eight hours under buzzing fluorescent lights, stocking shelves, ringing up cigarettes and stale bread for customers who barely looked at him. The pay was barely enough to cover rent on his rundown apartment, but it was the only job he could get. His body was exhausted, but his mind buzzed restlessly the way it always did after work, full of a low, restless hum he couldn’t quiet.

The walk home helped. The dark streets, the empty sidewalks. It gave him room to breathe - room to be himself, whatever that meant. Mingi didn’t mind being alone. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He didn’t remember much about himself, not really. Not much beyond the last 3 years. Not before he woke up in a hospital bed in a town he didn’t recognize.

He knew that he was 26 years old and that he worked nights at the grocery store that was way too many blocks away from his apartment. He knew he loved ramen and fried chicken and that, if left to his own devices, he could sleep for 14 hours straight. But, before a certain point, his memories were a blank stretch of nothing. A wall he couldn’t climb. His childhood, his adolescence? Any family he ever had? Nothing. And no one had come looking, so he figured he must be alone.

Plenty of doctors had poked and prodded and scanned his head until he felt like a lab rat, but in the end, all they could tell him was maybe trauma, maybe injury. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

None of it mattered. The blank space stayed blank.

Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, there were flashes: a rush of sound, light so bright it hurt, voices speaking words he didn’t know but somehow understood. Sometimes, the flashes came with a strange, overwhelming emotion - a sense of purpose so vast it was almost unknowable, of belonging so absolute it felt suffocating. It scared him as much as it comforted him. But they vanished before he could grab hold of them, leaving only a pounding headache behind.

He reached up and rubbed absently at the faint scar along his temple, one piece of proof that something had happened to him. That and the scars on his back were tangible reminders of a trauma he couldn’t recall.

When he lowered his hand, his gaze snagged on the dark lines snaking down his forearms, peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves. These too were remnants of some past he couldn’t quite remember.

The tattoos were… beautiful, in their own way.

Swirls and arcs, abstract shapes that sometimes looked like wings, sometimes like flames, sometimes like both at once. They crawl up his arms, licking at his collarbone and neck, peaking out over the collar of his work shirt. They’d been there when he woke up in the hospital. The doctors assumed he’d chosen them.

But Mingi had no memory of sitting in a chair while a needle etched them into his skin. Not that that meant anything for a mind like his.

Some nights, when the moonlight hit them just right, they almost seemed to glow, a soft, pulsing light beneath the surface, like stained glass illuminated from within.

Tonight, they gleamed faintly as he passed beneath a flickering streetlamp. Mingi tugged his sleeves down, hiding them. Even if he found them beautiful, most people didn’t see past the ink. They saw a tall man with strange tattoos and went straight to fear.

It wasn’t like he was that intimidating.

He was tall, yes, six feet and change, and broad enough through the shoulders to make cheap jackets fit awkwardly. But he wasn’t hulking, wasn’t some giant meant to terrify people. Still, there was… something.

An aura, maybe. Sometimes, when people’s eyes landed on him, he saw a flash of naked panic, like prey recognizing a predator it didn’t understand. Maybe they knew something about him that he himself didn’t. It wouldn’t be that difficult, after all.

People crossed the street when he approached without realizing they were doing it. Children hid behind their mothers’ legs. Coworkers flinched when he spoke too suddenly.

Like they sensed something wrong with him before he even opened his mouth.

He was pulled out of his saturnine musings when a sharp crack split the night air up ahead of him.  Mingi’s head lifted automatically, scanning the dim street. A few yards away, near the mouth of an alley, an older woman knelt beside a burst grocery bag. Cans and produce rolled across the dirty sidewalk, scattering like marbles.

Mingi’s steps quickened. He crouched beside her without thinking, scooping up the runaway items.

“Here,” he said quietly, his voice low and deep but as gentle as he could make it, “You dropped these.”

The woman startled so violently, she nearly toppled over. When her gaze landed on him, her entire body went rigid.

“I-I’ve got it,” she stammered, yanking the bag from his hands before he could set anything inside. Her knuckles were white around the plastic handles. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Mingi froze, then slowly lifted his hands in a universal gesture of surrender, “I wasn’t trying to...” he began.

She backed away a step, eyes darting over his tattoos, his height, his shadow cast long and crooked by the streetlight. “People like you,” she muttered, half under her breath, “always trouble.”

The words landed like a stone sinking in his chest. He didn’t argue. He never did. “Take care,” he said instead, shoving his hands into his pockets, voice quiet. He stepped aside to let her pass. She scurried off without a single thank you, muttering under her breath.

A pair of bystanders gave Mingi a wide berth as they passed, whispering as they went:
“Did you see that guy? Thought he was gonna rob her.”
“Gave me chills. Wouldn’t want to run into him at night.”

Mingi exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders tight. It wasn’t new. It never was. No matter what he did, no matter how carefully he kept to himself, people always seemed to see a monster where he stood.

Still, he’d stopped. He’d helped. That mattered to him, even if no one noticed.

By the time he was a few blocks away from his house, the clouds had smothered the moon. Mingi could smell the rain that threatened, sharp and metallic on the wind.

The convenience store signs and old church banners along the street cast a muted glow on the wet pavement. The one billboard that read HE IS WATCHING in peeling red paint, the cross above it crooked and rusted always marked ‘almost home’ in Mingi’s mind. He hated it for some reason though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

As he passed, he caught his reflection in the glass door of a shuttered shop.

For just a moment, the tattoos on his arms lit up, glowing softly beneath his skin like embers hidden in ash. It was faint, so faint he almost thought he imagined it, but enough to make him jerk back, heart skipping.

He stared. The glow faded, leaving only dark lines against pale skin. Like nothing had ever happened.

His hand rose to his temple, massaging the sudden ache there. “You’re tired,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re seeing things.”

“You really shouldn’t walk home alone at night.”

The voice was warm and smooth, curling through the quiet like a hymn sung just for him. Across from him a figure stood in the shadows of the open mouth of an alley.

Mingi’s pulse jumped, breath fogging the cold night air. “I’m fine,” he said, shifting his weight as if ready to move past, hoping this wasn’t about to devolve into the second negative encounter of the evening.

The boy, no, young man, really, up close he seemed not much older than Mingi himself, stepped out into the light of a nearby street lamp and lifted both hands in a playful show of surrender. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you,” he said lightly.

His voice was warm, smooth, the kind of voice that curled around a room and made it feel softer. “It’s late. I just figured… it’s nice not to walk alone.”

Mingi hesitated. People didn’t usually offer to walk with him. They usually got as far away as possible.

“I don’t mind being alone,” Mingi said carefully.

The man tilted his head, studying him like he was some interesting puzzle. Under the streetlight, his hair caught a soft glow, chestnut strands haloed in gold. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled gently.

“Yeah, but…” he said, drawing the words out teasingly, “you look like you could use company.”

Mingi blinked. “…Do I?”

“Mm.” The man’s grin deepened, not mocking, just warm. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I saw the little moment you had back there. You’re kind of…intimidating. Tall, tattoos, the whole…” He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass Mingi’s entire vibe. “But your eyes?”

He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “They’re not scary at all.”

Mingi froze, caught off guard. No one had ever said anything like that to him.

“They’re…” the man hesitated, then grinned almost sheepishly, like he couldn’t help himself, “…cute, actually.”

The word hit Mingi like a physical blow. Heat rose in his face, so sudden it almost hurt. “Cute?” he echoed, disbelieving.

The man’s laughter was low and warm, curling around Mingi’s chest like a blanket. “Yeah. You’ve got this whole… ‘big scary guy who’s secretly soft’ thing going on. It’s sweet.”

Mingi had no idea what to do with that. Was this some sort of come on? Was it a trap? A joke?
He should’ve brushed it off, or denied it, or walked away. Instead, he stood there, heartbeat thrumming in his ears, feeling like the ground had tilted beneath him.

“People usually…” he began, then trailed off, unsure if he wanted to admit it.

“Usually what?” the man prompted, tilting his head. There was no judgment in his voice. Just curiosity.

“Usually they cross the street when they see me coming,” Mingi said quietly. “They don’t… they don’t say things like that.”

For a moment, something flickered across the man’s face. Not pity, exactly, but something sharper, something satisfied. It was gone before Mingi could name it.

“Well,” the boy said softly, “then they’re idiots.” He offered a hand, palm up, like a promise. “Yunho.”

Mingi stared at the hand for a beat too long before finally taking it. His own hand was rough, calloused. Yunho’s was warm.

“Mingi,” he said, voice low.

Yunho’s smile widened like a sunrise. “Mingi,” he repeated, savoring it. “That suits you.”

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have made Mingi’s chest ache the way it did. And maybe he was lonely, but he kept his body language open and set a slow pace until Yunho saddled up next to him with a warm smile.

They walked side by side, Yunho filling the quiet effortlessly. He talked about little things; the weather, how terrible the city buses were, a funny thing he’d seen at work earlier that day.

Mingi mostly listened, giving short replies when prompted. It wasn’t awkward, though. Yunho’s easy chatter smoothed out all the edges between them, like sunlight softening stone, painting everything ordinary with a hint of grace. In moments it felt like they’d always walked together like this.

By the time they reached Mingi’s building, his stomach ached with a strange, fluttering lightness.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled like this. Or the last time someone had looked at him and seen more than his sharp angles and inked skin.

“Here we are,” Yunho said, stopping at the bottom step of Mingi’s building. He didn’t glance at the peeling paint or the cracked steps like other people always did. He just looked at Mingi, eyes warm and steady.

“Thanks,” Mingi said awkwardly. “For… walking with me.”

Yunho smiled like Mingi had given him a gift. “Anytime,” he said. “I mean that.”  Then, softer, “I’m glad I ran into you tonight, Mingi.”

Something in Mingi’s chest tightened painfully.

Yunho turned to leave, lifting a hand in a casual wave. “See you around.”

Mingi stood there, watching him disappear into the shadows, until the night seemed colder again. But for the first time in his admittedly short memory, he didn’t feel completely alone.

The apartment was dark when Mingi pushed open the door, the thin wood groaning like it resented being disturbed.

Inside, the familiar stale scent of old paint and rusted pipes greeted him. The single room held little more than a sagging couch, a narrow bed shoved into the corner, and a table with two mismatched chairs. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and most nights, that was more than enough.

Tonight, though, the space felt different. Smaller. Closer.

Mingi stood just inside the doorway for a moment, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of sirens. Normally those sounds grounded him. Tonight, they seemed far away, muted under the echo of Yunho’s voice in his ears.

Cute, Yunho had called him. Sweet.

The words replayed in Mingi’s head like a song he couldn’t stop humming. Ridiculous, really.

But no one had ever said anything like that to him before, certainly not with that soft, open smile, like they actually meant it.

He set his keys down and crossed to the bed, sitting heavily on the edge. He felt light in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling.  As if someone had reached inside his chest and untangled a knot he hadn’t known was there.

But beneath that lightness, something restless coiled low in his gut.

He rubbed at his temple, then at the dark swirls of tattoo visible where his sleeve had ridden up.
His skin tingled faintly, almost like static under the ink. The sensation wasn’t painful, exactly. Just… strange.

Mingi shook his arms out and pushed up to his feet. He was imagining things. Too tired, that was all. He needed sleep.

Still, as he moved through the motions of his nighttime routine, washing up, pulling on a worn t-shirt, crawling beneath the thin blanket, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

He’d locked the door. Checked the windows. The shadows in the corners of the room were just shadows. And yet, lying there in the dark, he swore he could still feel Yunho’s gaze on him, warm and steady, lingering even after Yunho had vanished into the night.

The days began to slip into each other once again. Mingi worked, came home, made himself dinner, worked out when he could, slept. But now, there was Yunho.

At first, Mingi told himself it was a coincidence, even though that was a foolish thought. Yunho just happened to appear when Mingi’s shift ended, leaning casually against the lamppost outside the store like he’d been waiting all his life for that exact moment.

He just happened to be walking the same route home. He just happened to have nothing better to do than talk and laugh and make the silence between them feel easy. But after the third, fourth, fifth night… Mingi stopped pretending it was a coincidence. It should have been unsettling, and in the back of his mind, he labeled the encounters as ‘dangerous’, but Mingi was, if he let himself admit it, flattered by the attention.

Yunho was…God, he was good.

The kind of good Mingi had never really believed existed outside of stories people told themselves to feel better about the world. Even in the smallest interactions he was good. He smiled at everyone they passed. He opened doors and offered his seat on the bus without hesitation. He slipped a few bills into the trembling hands of an unhoused man outside the bodega one night, not even pausing to see if anyone had noticed.

“Doesn’t everyone deserve a little grace?” Yunho had said, smiling that soft, bright smile as they walked away. The kind of smile that made Mingi’s chest ache. He couldn’t agree with the sentiment more.

Yunho was also ridiculous, in the best way. He made faces at pigeons, hummed the wrong lyrics loudly to songs on his phone, and would, in moments of whimsy, pretend the lampposts were judges passing sentence on them when they walked by. “You, Song Mingi, have been accused of living on only caffeine and beef jerky for three nights running. How do you plead?”

He had a way of asking silly little questions that made Mingi talk, really talk, about what he liked, what he hated, what made him roll his eyes or laugh. Yunho listened like it mattered, soft eyes alight with genuine curiosity, and even when he was being completely silly, Mingi found himself leaning closer, wanting to share more, wanting to see what he’d do next.

Sometimes, as they strolled through the quiet streets, Yunho would get uncharacteristically serious and talk about faith. Not in a pushy way, not like the fire-and-brimstone preachers on street corners. Just… gentle. Like he was sharing a secret.

“I grew up in the church,” Yunho said one night, voice soft over the distant toll of bells. “Showed up every Sunday morning, sang in the choir, alter boy, all of it. I won’t say I was devout per say, but it was about… belonging. I think faith is all about believing there’s light in the world, even when you can’t see it.”

Mingi had stayed quiet, not sure how to respond. Belief wasn’t something he’d ever felt comfortable exploring in himself. His memories were too fractured, his life too uncertain.

Yunho didn’t seem to mind his silence. He just looked at Mingi with those warm brown eyes, full and steady. “It’s okay if you don’t believe,” he’d said gently. “Faith is such a personal thing. Sometimes it’s just… belief that someone out there loves and accepts you. No matter what,”

Mingi hadn’t known what to say to that, either. So he’d just nodded, his throat tight.

And on it went. For weeks, months. And every day, Mingi’s attraction grew sharper. He knew now that it wasn’t just admiration, or even friendship. It was visceral, physical. An ache that lived under his skin. A fire burning him from the inside out.

The curve of Yunho’s smile, the brush of his hand when he gestured, the low rumble of his laugh. All of it lodged itself in Mingi’s body like splinters. Sometimes he’d catch himself staring at Yunho’s mouth and have to jerk his gaze away, pulse pounding.

When Yunho leaned in close to whisper a joke, Mingi would go stock-still, terrified the other man would feel the heat rolling off him like it was a physical blow. Every time Yunho’s shoulder bumped his, it felt like being struck by lightning.

It was ridiculous.
Pathetic.
But he couldn’t stop it.

One night on the walk home, they stopped outside Mingi’s building. It was later than usual, almost morning now. The streets hushed and empty, the sky bruised with clouds.

Yunho lingered at the bottom step, his hands shoved casually into his jacket pockets. “You seem tired today,” he said, voice low and almost intimate.

“I’m fine,” Mingi replied automatically. It was what he always said, no matter how frayed he felt inside. And he was tired. Tired in a way that made him wonder what his body had been through in the years he couldn’t remember.

Yunho didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head, studying Mingi with quiet intensity. “You work too hard,” he murmured. “You deserve… more than this.”

The words landed heavy in Mingi’s chest. No one had ever said anything like that to him. Before Mingi could respond, Yunho reached out, slow enough for Mingi to see it coming, gentle enough that it felt like a question rather than a demand.

His fingers brushed the inside of Mingi’s wrist, brushing gently over the ink that swirled there, warm against the cool night air.

Mingi’s breath caught. It was such a small touch, but it felt enormous. Like the world had narrowed down to that single point of contact, to Yunho’s fingers wrapping around his.

Yunho’s thumb moved in a slow, soothing arc over the line of Mingi’s tattoo. Mingi shuddered, a small ‘oh’ escaping his throat. "See? Not big and scary at all,” Yunho said softly. “Just… beautiful.”

Mingi’s heart slammed against his ribs. His body felt too big, too clumsy, every nerve ending on fire. “Yunho...” he breathed, voice rough.

Yunho only smiled, soft and sure. “Go inside, Mingi. Get some rest.”

And then he was gone, melting into the shadows like he’d never been there at all.

Yunho lingered in the shadows long after Mingi had retreated to the safety of his apartment, eyes fixed on the faint golden glow spilling from the open window. From here, framed by cheap curtains and the soft light of a bedside lamp, Mingi looked almost… untouchable. Ethereal, even. A creature of light who didn’t belong to this cracked and dirty city street.

Yunho smiled at the sight, a small, tender curve of his lips that might have been mistaken for fondness.

But then the streetlight shifted, and so did he.

The warmth in his features bled away in a heartbeat. His chestnut hair darkened, strands catching the glow like strands of molten shadow. His eyes, so often soft and brown, flared deep and red, like coals banked in the dark. What lingered was no longer gentle. No longer human. It was sharp and hungry, a predator slipping free of its mask.

Mingi, oblivious, paced about his apartment, a silhouette against the pale light. Beneath his skin, the faint lines of his tattoos seemed to pulse like banked embers, a whisper of holy light trying to burn through mortal flesh. Yunho could feel it even from here, the thrum of power, the echo of wings that no longer existed. Angel. Whether Mingi remembered it or not.

Yunho let out a low hum, savoring the sight, his voice curling through the night like incense smoke and sin. “Sweet angel,” he murmured, velvet and dangerous, each word a promise and a threat. “I can’t wait to make you fall again.”

The hunger inside him was more than want. It was need. He didn’t just desire Mingi, he ached to devour him. To claim every shining piece until there was nothing left but breathless, desperate surrender and then, nothing at all.

From the very first moment, Yunho had been caught by this one: the light beneath his skin, the strength wrapped in oblivious fragility, the purity he didn’t even know he carried. Each unknowing glance, each unsuspecting smile had pulled Yunho closer, stoking a craving older than memory.

The lamp went dark. The window dimmed.

Yunho’s smirk lingered a beat longer before fading, his features smoothing back into the perfect illusion of a harmless passerby. But beneath the borrowed warmth, his hunger remained, coiled and waiting.

Mingi didn’t know it yet, but he had already begun to fall.

Chapter Text

Mingi bolted upright, gasping. His lungs dragged in air like he’d been drowning. Sweat slicked his skin, his hair plastered damp to his temples, the sheets a twisted knot around his legs.

But it wasn’t the heat of the room that set his chest heaving. It was the heat inside him, low and molten, coiled through his veins like fire wound around bone. His body vibrated with pent-up sensation.

The dream was already slipping away, dissolving like sugar in water, leaving only scattered fragments behind. A voice, low and tender, whispering words he couldn’t quite catch. A weight against his body, firm and warm, holding him down. The ghost of breath at his throat. He couldn’t place the face, but his body knew it. Knew it the way a half-forgotten hymn lingers on the tongue, aching to be sung again.

His fingers drifted to the ink that wound down his arms, tracing the familiar shapes. The tattoos pulsed faintly beneath his touch. An almost imperceptible thrum, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his own.

His breath stuttered. It’s him…

The thought rose unbidden, half-formed, as though it had been waiting for him to fall asleep so it could slip past his defenses. Mingi shook his head sharply, trying to banish it. He pressed a hand to his chest, as if sheer force of will could quiet the roaring inside him. It didn’t help. The ache was still there. The hunger.

Mingi dragged a shaking hand down his face, trying to scrape the dream from his skin. God, what was wrong with him?

He didn’t want to name it. Didn’t want to admit how badly he wanted, how deeply this need had carved itself into him. Because wanting like this felt wrong. It felt like sin.

I shouldn’t.

The words throbbed in his skull with every heartbeat. He’d been telling himself that since the day he met Yunho. He shouldn’t think of him this way. He shouldn’t crave his voice, his warmth, his smile. He shouldn’t need.

And yet, no matter how tightly he clenched his fists, no matter how fiercely he tried to suppress it, Yunho’s image slipped through the cracks.

Yunho’s easy smile. His warm, steady gaze, like sunlight cutting through a storm. The way he spoke to Mingi like he was worth something, worth everything, like he was seen.

But beneath that warmth was something else. Something sharp. Mingi had caught glimpses of it, flickers in Yunho’s eyes when he thought no one was looking, a glint that wasn’t tenderness at all, but possession. The promise of teeth behind the smile.

I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t want him like this.

But his body betrayed him. Heat pooled low in his belly, spreading outward, his muscles clenching with restless need. He dragged trembling hands over his thighs, his ribs, his chest, trying to soothe himself, to calm down. It only made it worse.

A choked sound broke from his throat as his hands slipped lower, almost without permission. His body ached for release. Before he could think himself out of it, he wrapped a hand around his cock, shuddering at the jolt of sensation, at how desperately he needed this.

For a fleeting moment, he imagined Yunho, soft and gentle. Careful touches, soothing words, like a lover cherishing something fragile. It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt wrong. Empty.

“No,” Mingi rasped, shaking his head, his grip tightening.

Yunho wasn’t soft. Not where it mattered. He wore gentleness like a disguise, but Mingi had seen the truth. That shadow, that hunger beneath his smile.

He wouldn’t simply hold Mingi. He would claim him. Break him. Remake him. Until there was nothing left but his.

The thought made Mingi’s whole body seize, pleasure spiking so sharp it bordered on pain. His hips jerked helplessly as he stroked himself faster, rougher, desperate. The rasp of dry skin on skin adding a delicious burn that made his toes curl. A broken moan tore from his throat, swallowed by the dark of the room.

In his mind, Yunho loomed above him, vast and terrifying and beautiful. A saint cast in shadow, halo shattered, rebuilt in crimson light. His hands not tender, but unyielding, remaking Mingi with every touch.

“God,” Mingi gasped, the word burning bitter and sweet on his tongue. He didn’t know if it was a prayer or a curse. Maybe both.

His free hand rose to his throat, wrapping loosely around it and pressing in, feeling the frantic pulse there as if proving to himself he was still alive. His back arched, mouth falling open as his release ripped through him, leaving him shaking, unraveled.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Then the silence returned, thick, heavy.

Mingi opened his eyes slowly. His room was just as it had always been: the cracked blinds, the scuffed dresser, the comforting clutter of his small life.

But it felt different. He felt different.

The heat still lingered low in his body, and beneath it, an ache sharper than any desire: the aching certainty of Yunho, of his desire for the other man. The tattoos on his skin thrummed once at that thought, faint but undeniable, like a warning. Or a promise.

It felt like sin. It felt like salvation.

And Mingi… wanted both.

Mingi had barely slept.

Every time he closed his eyes, the dream came back. Half-formed flashes of heat and shadow, the body that might’ve been Yunho’s, a voice whispering his name like a prayer.

And then… what he’d done afterward.

The shame burned like acid every time he thought about it. It wasn’t just that he’d touched himself, which, honestly, was a surprise in and of itself. It was that he’d done it thinking about Yunho. Using him without Yunho ever knowing.

It felt wrong. Not just wrong in a moral sense, but cosmically wrong, like breaking a law older than memory. His tattoos itched under his skin every time his mind slipped to last night, a faint hum he couldn’t brush away.

By the time he made it to the café where they had planned to meet that evening, Mingi’s stomach was knotted tight.

And then he saw Yunho.

Leaning casually against the window, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. He was wearing a soft gray sweater, sleeves pushed up, and his smile lit up the room when he spotted Mingi.

So warm. So good. Soft in a way that made Mingi’s chest hurt.

Guilt punched through him so hard he almost staggered. He couldn’t look Yunho in the eye as he sat down, terrified that somehow Yunho would know, would see what he’d done last night written all over him.

“Hey,” Yunho said, voice like sunlight after days of rain. “Rough day?”

Mingi swallowed. His throat was dry as paper. “Yeah,” he managed. Just that. Just… yeah.

Yunho’s gaze lingered on him for a beat too long. His smile didn’t falter, but there was something… different in his eyes. Sharp, assessing. Almost hungry.

It sent a shiver racing down Mingi’s spine.

No, he told himself firmly. He was imagining it. Yunho was still Yunho. Sweet, kind, the one good thing in Mingi’s life. But when Yunho’s hand brushed the table between them, Mingi flinched like prey catching the shadow of wings overhead.

“Hey,” Yunho said again, softer this time. “You seem… heavy today.” His voice lowered, intimate enough to make Mingi’s pulse trip. “Let me take you somewhere. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that can just be ours.”

Mingi’s breath caught. The way Yunho said ours sent heat curling low in his gut and panic clawing at his ribs.

He should say no. He didn’t even know why, but every instinct screamed at him to run. But Yunho was still smiling, warm and open, like he’d never hurt a soul. Like this was just a kind gesture, nothing more.

“Okay,” Mingi heard himself say, voice barely above a whisper.

Yunho’s smile deepened, slow and satisfied. “Good,” he murmured. “I promise, Mingi. You’ll love it there.”

The church rose out of the night like a shadow of another world, its spire cutting into the low clouds. It was old. Probably not in use any longer if the boards on the windows and the overgrown lawn were anything to go by. But it was huge, raising high into the night sky. So big that Mingi wondered how he’d never seen it before.

He slowed as they approached, uncertainty knotting in his gut. The iron gates stood ajar, their hinges groaning faintly in the cold breeze. Beyond them, the narrow path was lit by a scattering of candles left on the steps, tiny flames struggling against the dark.

He hadn’t been in a place like this in… he couldn’t even remember.

It felt wrong.

His tattoos buzzed faintly beneath his skin, a static hum that made him want to rub his arms raw. And deep in his chest, there was a hollow ache, like something missing was reaching back toward him from inside the walls.

“This is…” Mingi stopped, frowning. “Why are we here?”

Yunho glanced back over his shoulder, his face soft in the candlelight. He looked like the picture of innocence: chestnut hair glowing gold, brown eyes warm and unthreatening.

“Because it’s quiet,” he said simply, pushing the heavy door open. “And because… I wanted to show you something.”

The smell hit Mingi first. Wax and old wood, incense long since burned away. The nave stretched out before them, vast and empty, worn pews in neat rows like silent sentinels. Colored moonlight spilled through the stained glass, painting the cracked stone floor in reds and golds.

It should have been comforting. Instead, the air felt too heavy, the silence too deep, as if the whole building was holding its breath.

Mingi froze on the threshold. Something in him resisted crossing into this space. His pulse thudded loud and fast in his ears.

“You ever been here before?” Yunho asked gently, glancing back at him. His voice was warm, coaxing, like a hymn sung softly in the dark, pulling Mingi forward despite the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

Mingi shook his head. “No. I don’t… really do church.”

Yunho’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it softened. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.” He held out a hand, palm up. “But places like this… they’re not just for the faithful. They’re for the lost, too.”

The words sank deep, and Mingi’s throat tightened. The lost. Sometimes that was exactly how he felt, like he was drifting, anchorless, nothing tying him to this life except the bare bones of survival. His shitty job, his terrible apartment.

He hesitated, then stepped inside.

Yunho led him down the center aisle. His hand skimmed the back of a pew, fingers trailing with the reverence of someone touching sacred things. When they reached the altar, he paused, turning to Mingi with a thoughtful expression.

“Do you know why people come here, week after week?” Yunho asked quietly.

Mingi shrugged, unsure. “To… pray?”

“To be seen.” Yunho’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “They kneel, they confess, they speak their deepest secrets into the silence, and they hope, with everything they are, that someone is listening.”

He stepped closer, close enough that Mingi could see the warm flecks of gold in his eyes.
“That someone understands them. Loves them. Forgives them. Even for the things they’re afraid to say out loud.”

Mingi’s breath caught. The words felt intimate, dangerously so, like Yunho was speaking directly to him, about the thoughts that had kept him awake the night before, about the way he’d whispered Yunho’s name into his pillow as he came, shame burning hot in his chest.

But he couldn’t know that. Could he?

Yunho smiled, small and earnest. “Some people think faith is about rules. About denying yourself.” He shook his head slowly, as though the very idea saddened him. “But I think faith is about trust. About giving yourself fully. Your joy, your pain, your hunger - and believing it can all be… holy.”

Something in Mingi trembled. Hunger? Why did that word hit like a spark catching dry tinder?

“You mean like…” His voice cracked. “Even the bad things?”

“There are no bad things,” Yunho said simply. “There’s only honesty. Desire is just truth, Mingi. It’s what we are. When you hide from it, you burn alone. But when you share it...” His hand brushed Mingi’s forearm, featherlight, almost a blessing. “...that’s when it becomes grace.”

Mingi shuddered. The touch was barely there, but it seared through him like fire.

Yunho drew back a step, smile still warm and gentle, as if he hadn’t just set Mingi’s entire body alight. “Come on,” he said lightly. “There’s a place I want to show you. It’s quiet. High up. Perfect for thinking.”

For a heartbeat, Mingi hesitated. And then he followed, as if there had never been any other choice.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, narrow and echoing under their feet. By the time they reached the final landing, Mingi’s breath came in sharp pulls in spite of himself. Yunho didn’t even seem winded.

“Almost there,” Yunho said, voice bright with encouragement. He pushed open the heavy metal door at the top, and cool night air rushed in, sharp and clean compared to the dust of the stairwell.

The city sprawled beneath them like a living thing, endless streets glittering with neon, the glow of traffic lights pulsing in rhythmic patterns. From up here, it felt unreal, like a constellation that had fallen to earth.

Mingi stepped to the edge, gripping the cold railing. “Wow,” he breathed. “I’ve never been up this high before.” Yunho was right, it was beautiful. He could see for what felt like miles. Here and there, he could see groups of people, all going about their lives, unbothered. It made something in his chest feel warm and content. 

“It’s different, isn’t it?” Yunho came to stand beside him, close enough that Mingi felt the brush of his shoulder. “You can see everything at once. The whole city… all its lives, all its little stories.” His tone turned softer, almost reverent. “I wonder if this is what God feels like when they look down at us.”

Mingi’s brows furrowed. His hands tightened on the railing until his knuckles ached. “I don’t think they feel anything,” he said slowly. “Judgment, maybe. Condemnation.”

The words left a bitter taste on his tongue, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t really believe in anything, but he felt like this was something he knew to his core.

Yunho’s head tilted, his expression curious, and something darker flickered beneath it, there and gone too fast to name. “Condemnation,” he echoed, almost savoring the word. Then he smiled, soft and easy, like they were just two friends talking. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the ones above are cold like that.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping low, meant only for Mingi. “But down here? We get to feel everything. Passion. Hunger. Love. Rage.” His hand slid along the railing until his fingers brushed Mingi’s. “Isn’t that better than a distant, unfeeling kind of holiness?”

Mingi’s pulse thundered in his ears. Yunho’s words wrapped around him like smoke, intoxicating. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. His voice was rough, unsure. “Maybe.”

Yunho’s smile deepened, but his eyes were shadowed now, catching the city lights like molten gold. He turned back toward the skyline, letting the moment breathe.

“You feel it, though,” Yunho said after a beat, so soft it was almost a whisper. “I know you do. That ache inside you. That need to reach for more.”

Mingi’s throat went dry. He didn’t answer, couldn’t. But the silence was answer enough.

Yunho’s hand curled lightly around the back of his neck, warm and steady. The gesture felt both comforting and… claiming.

“Don’t be afraid of it.” Yunho murmured. “I told you that you deserve more than this.”

Yunho reached out and ran a gentle finger up his forearm, “Desire isn’t sin, Mingi. It’s proof that you’re alive.”

Mingi closed his eyes, breath shuddering out of him. For one dizzying second, he swore he could feel the city pulsing beneath them, like a heartbeat.

And when he opened them, Yunho was smiling at him in a way that felt like both salvation and ruin.

Yunho leaned against the cold stone of the church rooftop. The city sprawled beneath them, glittering like a field of scattered stars. The night air was sharp, restless, tugging at his coat and ruffling his hair, but up here, above it all, everything felt still.

Everything except him.

Or rather, the angel beside him.

Mingi’s silhouette burned against the dim glow of lantern light, hair catching on the wind like a flare. His hands gripped the iron railing, knuckles white, shoulders drawn taut with tension. Even without touching him, Yunho could feel him. The thrum of barely-contained emotion, the sharp tang of shame clashing with a heady, growing surrender.

It was exquisite.

Yunho inhaled, slow and deep, tasting it on the air. Lust. Guilt. Longing. The notes of a soul in freefall. Almost.

He smiled faintly, letting his gaze trace the elegant line of Mingi’s neck, the way a tremor rippled through him when the wind surged too strong. That purity still burned in him, stubborn and defiant, a fragile flame fighting against inevitable darkness.

Yunho wanted to snuff it out. He wanted to consume it. That had always been the plan.

And yet…

His eyes lingered too long on the shape of Mingi’s mouth, on the slight furrow between his brows when he was lost in thought. His mind caught on small, useless details: the slightly crooked front teeth, the way Mingi would sometimes stare off into space, lost in thought, how his hair had grown longer lately and could often be seen tied up with careless hands. A ridiculous choice, really. But beautiful.

Yunho’s chest tightened, sharp and unbidden.

He exhaled slowly, smoothing his expression into something easy, unreadable. It was instinct by now. To smile just so, to tilt his head at the perfect angle so Mingi would look at him, trust him, ache for him.

And Mingi did ache. Yunho could see it in the quick flickers of his eyes, the way his body tilted unconsciously toward him, drawn by some deep, unspoken gravity.

This was supposed to be simple. Temptation. Seduction. Ruin.

But it wasn’t simple anymore.

When Mingi’s lips parted in some half-formed thought, Yunho didn’t just want to devour him. He wanted to know him, to hear the thought, to feel its shape, to keep it for himself. The desire was different. Unfamiliar. Wrong.

He laughed softly at himself, a private sound swallowed by the wind, and leaned closer, letting his voice slip like smoke into the space between them. “You’re remarkable,” he murmured, savoring the way Mingi stiffened slightly at the words. “Everything about you… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Mingi didn’t look at him, not fully, but Yunho caught the tremor in his throat, the way his breath caught.

For a heartbeat, Yunho allowed himself to feel it, the warmth, the fascination, the sharp, dizzying rush that had nothing to do with victory and everything to do with… him.

No.

The word snapped through Yunho’s mind like a whip crack.

This wasn’t love. Couldn’t be. Love was weak. Love was human. He was not.

What he wanted was power. It had always been power. The thrill of the chase, the sweetness of the fall, the exquisite moment when an angel gave himself over completely, and there was nothing left but ruin.

That was all this was. It had to be. And yet...

Yunho’s hand flexed at his side, itching to touch Mingi’s back. Just to feel the trembling warmth of him, to steady him against the wind. Not to claim, not to conquer. To keep.

He ground his teeth, forcing the impulse down, forcing himself to remember. Mingi was almost ready to break, and Yunho would not falter now.

He would take everything. Mingi’s devotion, his body, his soul, and devour it whole. That was the goal. That had always been the goal.

So why, Yunho thought bitterly, did the idea of devouring him feel like loss?

Chapter Text

Mingi couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It wasn’t just when he was alone, in the quiet moments before sleep, hand tangled in the sheets and body aching from dreams he couldn’t confess. It was constant. Everywhere.

Every sound, every stray thought seemed to circle back to Yunho.

He’d be shelving canned goods at the shop and suddenly hear Yunho’s laugh, that deep, warm rumble that slid under his skin and made his chest tighten. He’d be sweeping the floor and catch himself whispering Yunho’s name under his breath, like a prayer he didn’t remember learning. Even walking down the street, surrounded by strangers, Mingi could feel the echo of Yunho’s hand at the small of his back, steady and claiming.

And when the memories hit, they didn’t come gently.

They came in sharp, dizzying flashes: Yunho’s fingers brushing his as he passed him a cup of coffee. Yunho leaning in, close enough that Mingi could feel the ghost of his breath against his cheek. Yunho’s gaze, warm, steady, devastating, pinning him in place like he was the only person in the world who mattered.

It wasn’t just attraction anymore. It wasn’t even lust, though that was there, sharp and consuming, leaving Mingi restless and aching in the dark of night.

This was different.

It was a hunger that lived in his marrow, something dangerous and electric that he couldn’t fight. It terrified him. It exhilarated him.

And that was the part that filled him with shame.

He shouldn’t want like this. The wanting itself felt like sin, a raw and clawing thing that made his chest ache and his breath come fast. And yet, deep down, in the place where his heart beat too hard and too fast, Mingi loved it.

God help him, he loved it.

The longing, the hunger, the way Yunho turned the entire world vibrant and wild, it made Mingi feel real in a way nothing else ever had. Like every breath, every heartbeat, every stolen moment with him was proof that he existed, fragile but gloriously alive.

With Yunho, everything was too bright, too sharp, too much. And Mingi craved more.

It was driving him insane.

By the time he closed up the shop for the night, his nerves were stretched thin, his body a taut wire strung with desire and guilt. His hands trembled as he locked the door, and he shoved them deep into his jacket pockets as though he could hide what was happening inside him.

The cool evening air hit his face, sharp and grounding. He drew a single deep breath...

...and froze.

Yunho stood waiting just outside the pool of lamplight, leaning casually against the brick wall like he belonged there. The streetlight caught his hair, turning it to molten gold, his smile slow and devastating.

Mingi’s heart stuttered. His entire body reacted before his mind caught up, warmth flooding his chest, and his stomach swooping like he’d stepped off a ledge.

“You’re late,” Yunho said smoothly, straightening up.

Mingi scoffed at the other man. “…I am not late. I started an hour later today, so I leave an hour later.” His voice came out teasing, and it made Yunho’s smile deepen.

“Oh?” Yunho tilted his head, pretending to consider this. “Huh. I could’ve sworn I had your schedule memorized by now.”

Mingi walked over to stand in front of the other man. “That’s not creepy at all.”

“I’m not creepy,” Yunho said with perfect seriousness, stepping closer, close enough that Mingi could see the faint gold flecks in his eyes. “I’m… invested. In our relationship.”

Relationship.

The word hit like a live wire. Mingi’s throat went dry. He wanted to laugh, to scoff, to play it off, but instead, his chest went embarrassingly warm, and he had to look away before Yunho saw his expression.

“…Let’s walk,” he muttered, turning down the street.

Yunho fell into step beside him, casual as ever, humming under his breath. But there was nothing casual about the way his shoulder brushed Mingi’s now and then, each fleeting touch setting off sparks beneath Mingi’s skin.

They were halfway down the block when Mingi’s stomach growled, loud enough to echo in the quiet night. He froze. Yunho stopped, glanced at him, and then burst into laughter, a warm, rich sound that made Mingi’s ears burn.

“Hungry, are we?” Yunho asked, grinning like the devil himself.

Mingi groaned, covering his face. “Oh my god. Shut up.”

“No way,” Yunho teased. “That was practically a battle cry.” He slung an arm lightly over Mingi’s shoulders, steering him toward the corner. “Come on. Let’s get ramen. My treat.”

Mingi hesitated only a second before muttering, “…Yes, please.”

And like always, he followed where Yunho led.

The ramen shop was just past Mingi’s apartment, a place they both knew well. As they passed the steps leading up to his building, Mingi spotted two familiar figures waiting nearby.

His face lit up. “Seonghwa! Wooyoung!”

Mingi’s hand shot up to wave before he could stop himself. Relief crashed over him, a sudden, giddy warmth at the sight of familiar faces. He hadn’t seen them in weeks, months, maybe, and a part of him had been quietly afraid they’d just… disappeared again.

But instead of matching his joy, their reaction was immediate and strange.

They froze mid-step, like someone had slammed an invisible wall between them. Their warm smiles vanished. Wooyoung’s playful energy snuffed out in an instant, replaced by sharp, cold alertness. Seonghwa’s posture shifted subtly, closing off, protective.

And their eyes...

They weren’t looking at Mingi at all. They were locked on Yunho.

The tension hit like a physical force, a ripple in the air that left Mingi’s skin prickling. His excitement faltered, replaced by a confused frown. “Hey,” he said slowly. “What’s...”

“Mingi.” Seonghwa’s voice cut across his, calm on the surface but edged like a blade. “Who’s this?”

His eyes flicked over Yunho with precise, clinical assessment, like he could peel back layers just by looking.

“Oh,” Mingi said quickly, stepping in to smooth things over, gesturing between them. “This is Yunho. He’s… a friend.”

The word felt thin, almost insulting. It didn’t come close to describing what Yunho was to him, what Yunho meant. But it was the safest thing to say.

Yunho, predictably, didn’t look remotely bothered. His smile was warm, even gentle, the perfect image of a charming, harmless man.

Until he moved closer. His hand slid to the small of Mingi’s back, a touch subtle and devastatingly possessive. Mingi’s breath caught, a shudder racing down his spine. Heat pooled low in his stomach, sharp and dizzying. Shame followed fast on its heels. He shouldn’t like it this much, shouldn’t lean into it the way he wanted to.

Yunho felt it. Mingi knew he felt it. Because his smile widened just slightly, its edges sharpening like a knife hidden beneath silk.

Seonghwa’s gaze dropped to that hand, and his jaw went tight. It was the kind of look Mingi had seen Seonghwa wear in rare moments of anger; cold, unyielding, dangerous.

And for one wild second, Mingi thought Seonghwa might rip Yunho away from him right there in the street.

“Uh…” Mingi’s voice faltered. He blinked between them, completely lost.

Wooyoung stepped in, sliding closer to Mingi’s other side. It was subtle, like he was just joining the conversation, but there was nothing casual about his posture. His presence was a shield, his usually teasing expression wiped clean and replaced with sharp, assessing focus.

“Well,” Yunho said smoothly, breaking the silence with honeyed ease. “It’s nice to finally meet Mingi’s friends.”

No one smiled back. The air felt heavy, thick enough to choke on.

Yunho’s thumb traced a slow circle at the base of Mingi’s spine. The touch was soft, intimate, almost soothing, but it didn’t soothe. It was a claim.

And when Yunho glanced at Seonghwa and Wooyoung, his expression remained warm, harmless… except for the brief, unmistakable flicker of something darker in his eyes.

Mingi’s pulse stuttered.

He felt like prey with a predator at his back, and hated how much that realization thrilled him.

Wooyoung’s hand landed lightly on Mingi’s arm, grounding, protective. Mingi should’ve been comforted by it. Instead, his body flinched, sharp and instinctive, like his skin itself didn’t want that touch.

He shifted imperceptibly closer to Yunho.

The motion was small. But Wooyoung noticed. His eyes narrowed just slightly, his thumb brushing over Mingi’s sleeve like he was trying to anchor him. “I didn’t know you had friends outside of us,” he teased casually, too casually.

Mingi blinked, startled. “First off, rude.” His voice pitched high, defensive. “I do have friends.”

Wooyoung arched a brow in mock challenge. “Oh? What friends?”

Mingi’s cheeks burned. “Uh… that woman who works the night shift at Carmilla’s, Loren? She and I are basically on a first-name basis.”

Yunho’s warm laugh rumbled beside him, low and teasing. “She's like 50 years old. And she called you Mangi the last time we stopped in.”

“That’s close enough!” Mingi yelped, swatting at Yunho’s arm. His embarrassment deepened when he realized Yunho was looking at him like he hung the stars. “And you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Always,” Yunho murmured, his voice soft and molten. The word lingered between them like smoke before he added, lower still, “Angel.”

Mingi’s breath caught, warmth flooding his chest and sinking lower. God, he loved it when Yunho called him that.

But across from him, Seonghwa’s expression cracked, just for a second. His perfectly composed mask slipped, revealing a flash of something sharp and pained before he smoothed it away again.

“Mingi,” Seonghwa said carefully, his tone even but taut. “We’re sorry we’ve been gone so long.”

Wooyoung tugged lightly at Mingi’s sleeve, his voice softer than usual. “Yeah. Didn’t mean to vanish for, you know, two whole months or whatever.”

Mingi huffed, indulging the half-apology.

“We were hoping to grab dinner with you,” Seonghwa continued, his gaze softening. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

Mingi’s face lit up. “Sure! We were gonna get ramen.” He gestured down the street. “You guys should come.”

Seonghwa hesitated, his eyes cutting toward Yunho, calculating. His jaw flexed. “…We wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Yunho’s laugh was light, but something sharp glimmered beneath it. “Okay, I can definitely tell when I’m not wanted.” He stepped back half a pace, still smiling.

“No!” Mingi blurted, panic spiking. He spun toward Yunho, desperate to fix this. Terrified that his friend’s dismissal would endanger his relationship with Yunho. “No, it’s not like that...”

“It’s okay, Min.” Yunho’s voice was tender, devastatingly gentle. His thumb stroked slow reassurance over Mingi’s back. “Go with your friends. I’m sure they’ve already broken all kinds of rules just to see you tonight.”

Both Seonghwa and Wooyoung went rigid. They exchanged a glance so sharp, so weighted, that it practically sliced through the air. Mingi felt it but didn’t understand it.

“Rules?” Mingi echoed, confused. “What rules...”

Before he could finish, Yunho leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Mingi’s cheek. The world tilted. Mingi’s knees nearly buckled. His entire body lit up like a struck match, heat roaring through his veins, dizzying and overwhelming.

When Yunho pulled back, his smile was soft. Tender. Victorious. “I’ll see you later, angel.”

Mingi could only whisper, “…Yeah.”

Yunho turned to leave, but not before glancing back over his shoulder at Seonghwa and Wooyoung. His expression never wavered, still perfectly warm, perfectly harmless.

His words weren’t.

“Good to see you still… care,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Even if it’s only for scraps of what’s already fallen.”

Seonghwa’s hands curled into fists. Wooyoung’s jaw clenched tight.

And then Yunho was gone, swallowed by the glow of the city, leaving a silence so loud it buzzed in Mingi’s ears. Mingi turned to his friends, heart pounding, throat tight. “What the hell was that about?”

The walk to the ramen shop was unbearable.

Wooyoung stalked a step ahead, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders tight. His generally carefree attitude seemed to be nowhere in sight. Seonghwa walked beside Mingi, his usual calm presence brittle and tense.

Every so often, Mingi glanced over his shoulder, half-hoping, half-dreading Yunho would come back. His cheek still tingled where Yunho had kissed him.

Inside the shop, the clatter of bowls and soft jazz did nothing to cut through the oppressive silence. They ordered. They ate.

It wasn’t until Mingi’s bowl was nearly empty that Seonghwa finally slammed his chopsticks down.

“Mingi.” His voice was low, stripped of all patience. “You need to stay away from that man.”

Mingi froze, broth halfway to his lips. “…What?”

Wooyoung’s gaze lifted, grave and steady. “He’s bad news,” he said softly. “You have to trust us.”

Mingi’s chest tightened. “But, why? How do you even know that? Do you know him?”

“No,” Wooyoung said, jaw tight. “But we know of him. That’s enough.”

“That’s not enough!” Mingi snapped, his voice rising. “You two disappear for months, you show up out of nowhere, and now you’re... What? Ordering me to cut him off with no explanation?”

“Mingi...” Seonghwa began, but Mingi cut him off, the words bursting out like a dam breaking.

“He’s been here, hyung” Mingi said fiercely. His voice cracked. “Every single day for months. I see you maybe once every few months if I’m lucky, but Yunho? He stays. He’s here. He listens. He…” Mingi’s throat tightened painfully. “He likes me.”

Wooyoung flinched like he’d been struck.

“And I like him,” Mingi continued, desperate now. “He’s the only thing that makes my life feel… meaningful right now.” Mingi’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You don’t understand, my life isn’t… big like yours. It’s small, but it's mine. And he’s part of that. He makes it feel worth it.”

Seonghwa’s composure slipped, his eyes shining with something deep and aching. He reached up and put a hand on Mingi's shoulder, the touch grounding, but unwelcome in this moment. “Mingi, please. We’re not saying this for fun, and we’re not trying to control you. Just, trust us. We just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Then give me one reason.” The plea came out broken, raw. “Can you please just give me one good reason to walk away from the only person who makes me feel alive.”

The pair exchanged a look, but neither of them spoke.

The silence hurt worse than any answer.

The ramen shop door banged shut behind Mingi, the neon sign above it humming in the night. Yunho faded into the dark of the shadows, watching. He stood half-hidden across the street, hands buried in his coat pockets, the cold doing nothing to cool the heat that coiled low in his body. This was supposed to be simple.

Seduce. Awaken. Consume.

It was the way of things.

The Fallen burned bright, their bodies fragile vessels for what they used to be. Demons like Yunho existed to stoke that fire, to draw it out through worship and sin, to drink every last drop of power until the vessel was spent and useless.

That was the plan when he first saw Mingi: beautiful, broken Mingi, staggering through life without knowing what he truly was.

Yunho’s mouth curled faintly at the memory. Mingi had been perfect prey, cast out, lonely, so ready to be touched and claimed. All Yunho had to do was play his part. Smile soft. Speak low. Show kindness and regard. Make Mingi think it was love.

And it had been working. It was working. Except, when he looked in Mingi’s eyes…

His back hit the brick wall as he tipped his head up, staring at the cold scatter of stars. A laugh scraped out of him, low, disbelieving, almost pained.

It had been lust at first. Hunger. That was safe. That was right.

But this? This made his chest ache like something fragile and human lived inside him. It made him feel chosen, almost holy, and it was wrong.

He should have been thinking of the altar, of the moment Mingi’s body would awaken and blaze with that celestial power, ready for Yunho to devour. He should have been imagining Mingi’s ruin, not Mingi’s smile.

Instead, all he could think about was the look on Mingi’s face tonight when he’d asked him to stay, when he'd stepped up to intervene with his friends, weary and proud, trembling but unbroken, and the wild, dangerous thought surged up before he could stop it: I want to keep him.

Not just his body, though Yunho’s hunger for that was constant and unrelenting. Not just his fall, though the taste of that power would be the sweetest thing he’d ever known.

He wanted all of him. Every laugh, every tear, every secret. He wanted to hollow Mingi out and fill him with himself until there was no room for anyone else, not Seonghwa, not Wooyoung, not even the memory of who Mingi had once been.

And that was a problem. Because demons consume, they don’t love.

A shadow shifted near the window, and Yunho stilled. Mingi sat at the table, bowed slightly forward, hair hiding his eyes. Seonghwa and Wooyoung flanked him, speaking in low, careful voices. Angels. Yunho tensed. He knew they wouldn't say anything about what he was. They couldn't really. But he wasn't naive enough to believe they wouldn't warn Mingi away. 

When Seonghwa’s hand settled on Mingi’s shoulder, something feral and ugly rose in Yunho’s throat. His claws threatened to break through his skin, teeth lengthening before he forced them back. His smile, the one Mingi knew, felt like a mask stretched too tight.

Mine, his mind whispered, dark and dangerous. He’s mine.

The door swung open again. Mingi stepped out, hugging himself against the cold. His face was shadowed, tired...sad. 

Yunho’s body leaned forward before he could stop it, drawn like a moth to the flame of his distress. He wanted to go to him, fold him close, whisper that he didn’t need them, didn’t need anyone but him.

But he stayed hidden. He always stayed hidden. Fists clenched in his pockets until his nails cut his palms, black blood welling and disappearing before it could stain.

Mingi didn’t see him. He didn’t need to.

The man’s existence was branded into Yunho now, seared into his veins like fire.

When Mingi finally disappeared down the street, Yunho moved. He stepped into the space the other had been standing in moments before, breathing in the faint trace of his scent like it was incense, like prayer.

His voice came rough, low, unguarded, a vow torn from somewhere deep and dangerous. "You’ll never be alone again, angel. I’ll make sure of it.”

The words hung in the cold air, too heavy, too close to something Yunho couldn’t name. Something he shouldn’t name. For a breathless moment, his eyes burned bright red in the darkness, a flare of power, of something raw and trembling beneath his skin.

Then, just as quickly, he snuffed it out. What was he saying? That twisting ache in his chest wasn’t anything holy or soft, it was just the need to claim, to consume, to see Mingi on his knees and know he belonged to him.

That was all it was. It had to be.

Once he tasted Mingi’s full power, once he pushed him past the point of no return, he would want nothing but to drain him dry, to drink every last drop of that sweet, bright ruin.

Mingi wasn’t a man to be cherished; he was a vessel, a chalice brimming with divine ruin. And Yunho was thirsty.

One night. One altar. One surrender. Then ash. That’s all this was, Yunho told himself as he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and turned into the shadows. Just hunger. Nothing more. But his claws curled, scraping at his palms until black blood welled and vanished. And in the dark, he almost, almost, believed the lie.

Chapter Text

In the days after the confrontation with Seonghwa and Wooyoung, Mingi’s world narrowed. The city remained vast and sprawling, a gray labyrinth of cracked sidewalks and buzzing neon, but inside Mingi’s chest, space seemed to collapse, narrowing into something small, sharp, unbearably bright. Narrowed down to one man.

Yunho.

Every breath Mingi took was full of him. Every thought looped back to him, spiraling tighter and tighter until there was no beginning, no end, just Yunho. Where he was. What he was doing. Whether he was looking at Mingi… or not. 

It was ridiculous. Dangerous. Mingi knew it was dangerous.

He told himself to stop, to breathe, to get a grip.

And then Yunho would touch him.

God, the touching.

At first, it had been innocent. A hand on his shoulder when they greeted each other. The light brush of fingers when Yunho passed him a drink. The steady, guiding press of a palm at the small of his back while crossing a busy street.

It didn’t stay innocent for long. Nowadays, Yunho’s touches lingered.

An arm around his shoulders that stayed until Mingi forgot where Yunho’s body ended and his began. A thumb pressed to his wrist, slow and deliberate, stroking over the pounding pulse beneath his skin, pressing in just so. A kiss to his cheek, fleeting, soft, devastating, that left Mingi shaking for hours afterward.

These weren’t casual gestures anymore. They were claiming. It was like Yunho was everywhere.

His scent clung to Mingi’s clothes. His voice echoed in Mingi’s dreams. Sometimes, late at night, Mingi would swear he felt Yunho behind him, solid heat pressing against his spine, velvet voice curling through the darkness. Mine. Mine. Angel.

Mingi would wake gasping, heart pounding, guilt clawing at his throat. But beneath the guilt, desire burned hotter. It was wrong. Blasphemous. And yet, God help him, Mingi wanted it. He craved Yunho, craved him in ways that went beyond touch, beyond simple lust.

He wanted Yunho’s hands. He wanted Yunho’s voice whispering filth and devotion in the same breath. He wanted to be possessed so completely that there was no part of him left untouched, unclaimed.

And, he wanted Yunho’s time. His laughter. His stupid little jokes. His quiet, steady presence. It wasn’t just his body Mingi was willing to give. It was everything.

And the worst part, the part that made Mingi’s knees weak and his soul tremble, was that sometimes, sometimes, he thought Yunho might want him back in the same ruinous way.

Yunho’s gaze would catch on him, heated, lingering too long to be casual. His touch would soften for half a heartbeat, almost tender. Sometimes he said Mingi’s name like a prayer, quiet and devoted. And every time Mingi thought this is it, that Yunho might finally take what they both wanted,

Yunho pulled away.

He would vanish without explanation. Hours, sometimes days, which was new for him. 

It left Mingi raw, restless, aching. Each disappearance felt like punishment, though he didn’t know what sin he’d committed to deserve it.

It started to feel like a game. The chase. The anticipation. The unbearable sweetness of almost being devoured, almost being claimed, Only for Yunho to slip away at the last possible second, leaving Mingi shaking and empty.

Still, he stayed. He couldn’t leave. Because deep down, Mingi didn’t just want to be caught.

He wanted to be ruined. Completely. Utterly. Destroyed and remade by Yunho’s hands alone.

And if Yunho hesitated, if there was something dangerous and broken in the way he sometimes looked at Mingi? Well. Mingi couldn’t bring himself to care.

Because no matter who Yunho was, no matter what Seonghwa and Wooyoung warned, Mingi wanted him anyway.

Tonight, Yunho was quiet. Too quiet.

His stride was long, unrelenting, pulling Mingi through the maze of empty streets like a tethered thing. Each step echoed in the silence, sharp and deliberate, as if Yunho couldn’t afford to hesitate. A strange thrill coiled in Mingi’s chest, tangled with dread. Something about tonight felt different, too charged, too deliberate. Like standing at the edge of a storm and knowing it’s about to break.

When they reached the old church, Yunho didn’t slow; he pushed open the heavy doors with a kind of reverence that made Mingi’s breath catch, and the familiar scent of incense and aged wood rolled over them. Candles flickered along the aisle, their glow painting Yunho’s face in shifting gold and shadow. In that light, he didn’t look soft at all. He looked dangerous. Beautiful, yes, but like a blade is beautiful, sharp enough to cut.

For one strange, dizzying second, Mingi wondered if Yunho had planned this. If he was the reason they were here.

“Sit with me,” Yunho murmured, voice low, coaxing. “Let’s pray. Together.”

Mingi froze. Pray? His throat tightened. “Yu… I don’t know if I know how.”

“Then don’t think about it.” Yunho stepped closer, gaze steady, unreadable. “Prayer isn’t words, angel. It’s surrender. Let yourself feel it.” A faint, unreadable smile tugged at his mouth. “Give yourself over to it.”

Mingi’s heart stuttered violently. He should have said no. He should have stepped back, questioned this whole strange, surreal night. But Yunho’s eyes held him captive, warm and soft, yet unyielding. The kind of gaze he couldn’t look away from. So he moved with him and sank to his knees anyway, awkward and uncertain, awkwardly attempting to fold his hands until Yunho had pity on him and reached over to take them between his own.

God, Yunho’s hands were warm. Too warm. The touch sent a shiver tearing through Mingi’s body. A beat of silence passed between them, heavy, thick with things unspoken. Finally, Mingi whispered, “You’ve been… touching me more lately.”

“Yes,” Yunho said simply. No hesitation. No shame.

Mingi’s breath caught. His fingers trembled in Yunho’s grip. “Don’t, if you don’t mean it, ”

“I mean every touch,” Yunho interrupted, voice like velvet drawn over a blade. A hand slid higher, cupping Mingi’s jaw, thumb brushing reverently over his skin. “Every whisper of my fingers, every mark I’ve left on you… I meant it.”

Mingi swore the world tilted under him. “Yunho, ”

“I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you,” Yunho murmured, using one hand to lift Mingi's to his lips. The other dragged down his neck to rest against his chest, right over his pounding heart. “And now you’re here. Alone with me, in this place.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “And you’re mine, angel. Whether you know it or not.”

Heat seared through Mingi’s chest, shameful, glorious, alive. Every fiber of him was tuned to Yunho’s presence, trembling, waiting.

But beneath the ache, a flicker of unease remained. Mingi steeled himself before addressing the niggling feeling in the back of his mind. “You've been strange lately. Close but...not. Sometimes I think I get you,” Mingi said quietly. “And sometimes it’s like you’re someone else entirely.”

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Yunho. “Maybe I am,” he said, and for a moment, Mingi thought he saw something flicker behind his eyes, pain, anger, longing, all tangled into one unrecognizable thing. The other man's laughter unsettled him. He opened his mouth to ask what Yunho meant, but Yunho’s hands slid up to cradle the back of his neck, his touch both tender and unyielding.

“Yunho…?” Mingi’s voice was tentative, unsure.

“Shh.” Yunho’s thumb traced a slow circle against his skin, a deceptively soothing gesture. “Don’t think so hard, angel. Just feel.”

His tone was soft, reverent even, but there was an edge beneath it, a tremor of desperation, like a man about to do something unforgivable.

Mingi’s breath hitched. His chest felt too tight, torn between the comfort of Yunho’s words and the uneasy heat curling low in his gut. Yunho’s gaze swept over him then, lingering, memorizing, claiming. His jaw worked, his throat bobbing as if he were forcing something down.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Yunho asked, voice low and raw. It wasn’t quite a question. It was a plea. A command. Mingi’s heart squeezed.

“Of course I do,” he whispered.

That broke something in Yunho’s face, just for a second. Then it was gone, replaced by a soft, almost fragile smile. “Good,” Yunho breathed. His hands slid down to Mingi’s wrists, wrapping around them gently at first… then firmer, like shackles of silk. “Then come with me.”

He rose to his feet, drawing Mingi up with him. The movement was careful, reverent, as if lifting something precious and breakable.

“Yu, where are we going?” Mingi asked, breathless, his pulse racing. But he followed. 

Yunho didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered over his own shoulder to the altar, and his expression shifted into something unreadable. Finally, he murmured, “To the only place worthy of you.” He stepped backward, leading Mingi up the steps, each footfall echoing like a heartbeat.

“Come here, angel,” Yunho said, his voice dark velvet, coaxing and commanding at once. “Let me worship you.”

The words set Mingi’s pulse racing. He let himself be moved, half-dazed, until he was spun, lower back and palms brushing the cold, smooth stone. The church seemed to hold its breath around them, candlelight flickering like fragile stars.

“Why here?” Mingi whispered, his voice cracking. “Yunho… this feels wrong.”

“Wrong?” Yunho’s smile was soft, indulgent, and yet his eyes were too bright, too sharp. “No, angel. This is the holiest place there is. What better place to give yourself to me completely?”

Mingi’s breath hitched. His body warred with his mind, one screaming to resist, the other burning to submit. And then Yunho leaned in, his lips brushing Mingi’s in the barest ghost of a kiss.

The thread snapped.

The kiss deepened instantly, hungry and consuming, Yunho’s hands gripping Mingi like he was something to be claimed. Mingi melted into it, into him, every nerve alight, every thought obliterated by the sheer force of Yunho’s want. Their bodies pressed together. Yunho’s mouth was rough, commanding, desperate. And Mingi gave in, clinging to him, gasping into his lips as desire surged hotter, darker, until there was no line between worship and ruin.

Then Yunho’s hands shifted, gripping Mingi’s hips, forcing him back against the altar and then up on top of it. Mingi gasped, a ragged moan breaking free as cold stone dug into his hips and spine. It felt like submission and blasphemy all at once. “Yu, slow down,” he breathed, half-laughing, half-pleading. “You’re killing me here.”

Yunho froze.

For a heartbeat, Mingi thought he’d misspoken. Then he saw it, the flicker of anguish in Yunho’s eyes. The way his chest heaved, the tremor in his hands. He bowed his head against Mingi’s sternum, breath ragged. Don’t look at me, his posture seemed to say. Don’t see me like this. The intimacy was strange, tender, after the storm of their passion moments ago, and Mingi instinctively ran a hand through the other’s hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, grounding him. His heart stuttered in his chest at the feel of this man in his arms. 

The soft weight of him, the warmth, the sound of his breathing. It anchored Mingi in a way nothing else had in his life. This chaotic, dangerous, impossible man had given him something he hadn’t even known he'd been missing: a life worth living. God, he loved this man. 

“You’re…” The words came rough - almost shy, tentative - the words spilling out of him now that he could identify the feeling. “You’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time, Yu—”

Yunho shuddered like the words had cut him open. His fingers dug into Mingi’s skin hard enough to bruise, then, abruptly, he wrenched himself back, pulling almost completely away. He looked… vulnerable. Frightened. Mingi’s hands reached up to pull him back in, hoping to erase whatever put that look of devastation in his eyes. 

“No,” Yunho said again hoarsely, catching his hands, voice breaking with something Mingi couldn’t name. “We can't do this.”

Mingi froze, chest pounding, stunned. “…What?”

The world tilted. A moment ago, Yunho had been on him, kissing him like he wanted to consume him, touching him like a man starving. And now? Now he stood there, still and pale in the candlelight, as if he were made of stone, as if even breathing might shatter him. Mingi’s pulse thundered in his ears. The altar underneath him suddenly seemed colder, the candlelight more fragile, flickering as if the church itself held its breath, waiting.

“You, ” Mingi’s voice broke, raw with confusion and hurt. “You can’t do this. You can’t look at me like that, touch me like that, and then just, just walk away!” He pulled his hands away and shoved Yunho hard in the chest, tears burning his eyes. “You want me, I know you do. You touch me like you, like you own me!”

Yunho flinched, a guttural sound tearing from his throat. “I do want you,” he admitted, voice ragged, almost too low to hear.

“Then why are you pushing me away?!”

Yunho’s hands curled into fists, trembling. His jaw worked like he was fighting himself, some terrible war waged inside his chest. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked. “Because if I take you…” His breath hitched. “…I’ll lose you forever.”

The words didn’t make sense. They hung between them like smoke, twisting and bitter. “What the hell does that even mean?!” Mingi’s heart ached like it might split apart. “Yunho, I don’t understand, ” He pushed himself up, body sliding against the rough stone of the altar, unthinking. “Ah, fuck!” The stone edge had chipped, unusually sharp, catching on his palm and slicing deep. A searing sting. Hot wetness.

Blood.

A thin crimson line smeared across the altar, vivid against cold, pale stone.

“Mingi, no!” Yunho’s voice shook with fear.

But it was too late. The stone beneath his hand pulsed once, like a living heart, and then, his blood vanished into the altar. The candles exploded upward, light flaring gold and blinding as a low hum vibrated through the air, rattling Mingi’s bones. Then came the flood.

Light and sound exploded through Mingi’s body, tearing him open from the inside. Memories slammed into him, a thousand voices crying out in divine harmony, each one sharp enough to wound. He saw: Gold-tipped wings unfurled, vast and perfect, so bright they hurt to look at. The sound of worship, of prayer, of home. Seonghwa and Wooyoung, reaching for him, their faces streaked with tears as he fell away from them into a sea of fire and smoke. The burning agony of his wings ripped from his body.

Mingi’s body arched, tattoos burning molten gold against his skin as he screamed, a sound of ecstasy and agony both. And- 

When it finally ended, he collapsed, trembling, at the base of the altar, chest heaving, sweat dampening his brow.

And standing above him was Yunho.

But not Yunho as he had been—not the soft, dark-haired man who kissed him like worship and whispered his name like it meant salvation.

This Yunho burned. His eyes glowed crimson, molten and merciless. Claws half-curled, poised to tear. The faint shimmer of horns crowned his head, gleaming through the smoke and ruin. A beauty so violent it bordered on divine—too much for mortal sight.

Mingi’s knees nearly buckled. The flood of memory tore through him; the glory of the heavens, fire that sang, faces he’d once loved and lost...and yet none of it compared to this. The agony of remembering heaven was nothing beside the hollow in his chest when he realized that Yunho, his Yunho, had never been what he claimed to be. Not human. Not safe. Not his at all.

“You…” The word scraped out of him like glass. Mingi staggered upright, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest as if he could hold himself together by sheer force. “You’ve been lying to me.”

Yunho flinched, the glow of him flickering for a breath. His monstrous form wavered, the weight of guilt bending his shoulders. “I...yes.” His voice broke apart, low and guttural. “I did lie to you. From the start.”

Mingi’s head snapped up, eyes wet, rage bright enough to rival divinity. “So it was all a game?” His laugh was jagged, strangled. “All the whispers, the touches—the way you looked at me like I was yours. That was just bait?”

“No.” Yunho’s voice cracked open into something raw and feral. He stepped forward, then stopped, claws dripping his own blood onto the stone. “It began that way. I wanted your power, your blood. I wanted to consume you. To end what you are.” His breath came fast, uneven. “But, somewhere...somehow - I fell. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I could.”

Mingi stared at him, trembling. His throat worked, trying to swallow the rage boiling in him. “You fell? You mean like me?” His voice was venom, soft, and dangerous. “You’re telling me the monster who lured me here to slaughter me suddenly decided he’s in love?”

Yunho’s breath hitched. “I know how it sounds,” he said hoarsely. “I know it’s too late, but- ”

“Too late?” Mingi’s laugh broke into a sob, sharp and ragged. God, his head hurt. He felt like the pressure would tear him apart from the inside. “You destroyed me, Yunho. Piece by piece. You brought me here tonight to consume everything that I am. And now you expect me to believe this is love?”

Yunho’s voice broke entirely, raw and pleading: “It is. Maybe not the way you’re used to,” he rasped. “It’s not chaste, I know that. It’s ruin. It’s hunger. It’s fire that won’t burn out. I need you, Mingi. Not your power, not your blood, you.”

Mingi’s laugh came out like a sob, jagged and hollow. “And you expect me to believe you? After everything?”

“Mingi- ”

“Don’t say my name!” he roared, the sound splintering through the church like breaking glass. Tears streaked his face, fury and grief indistinguishable. “All this time, you were the monster in the dark, and I, ” His voice broke on a sob. “I loved you.”

Yunho staggered as if the words were a physical blow, breath hitching. His claws fell uselessly to his sides. “Angel…”

Mingi’s chest caved inward, grief choking him. It was too much: the rush of memories, the unbearable weight of truth, and the sight of Yunho, this beautiful, terrible creature who had undone him.

He turned and ran.

Yunho didn’t chase him. He stayed frozen, watching Mingi’s back vanish through the heavy doors, his body trembling with restraint and ruin.

Only when the church was empty did he move. He dropped to his knees before the bloodstained altar, claws scraping the cold stone, head bowed low in defeat.

Mingi stumbled into the apartment like a man half-dead. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one tearing through his throat. His hands shook so badly he could barely force the door shut behind him. The lock clicked, and he slumped against the wood, trembling, his chest heaving like he’d been running for miles.

But there was no outrunning the memories.

They struck like lightning, sudden and searing. A sword of fire raised high, cutting through the dark. The screams of demons being torn apart by holy flame. The acrid stench of smoke and brimstone clinging to burning cities. The sound of worship, terrible, exultant, deafening, as judgment rained from the heavens.

And over it all, like a brand seared into his mind: Yunho’s crimson eyes, bright as embers. Yunho’s voice, rough and reverent, whispering angel, like a prayer turned curse.

“No,” Mingi gasped, clutching his head. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor as another vision slammed into him like a physical blow: his own wings unfurled, vast and blinding, before they were ripped away. “No, no, no, stop!”

The lights overhead flickered violently, then burst with sharp pops, plunging the room into darkness.

“Mingi!”

Seonghwa’s voice rang out like a lifeline. When Mingi forced his head up, Seonghwa and Wooyoung were already there, silhouettes in the dark, their faces pale and strained with fear.

“Mingi, listen to me,” Seonghwa said carefully, stepping forward like a man approaching a wild, wounded creature. “You need to breathe. Ground yourself. Now.”

“Don’t touch me!” Mingi screamed. The sound ripped out of him raw and ragged. He staggered back until his shoulders slammed into the door, his whole body trembling violently. His back burned, like something deep beneath his skin was clawing to break free.

“Mingi, ” Wooyoung’s voice cracked, grief and panic tangled in it. “We felt it happen. We felt you awaken. It was like… like the sky splitting apart. We came as fast as we could.”

Mingi’s wide, wild eyes snapped to them. “You knew?”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched. “…Yes.”

The single word was a blade, and it cut deep.

“You-” Mingi’s laugh was sharp and broken, more sob than sound. “You knew! And you let me stay with him.”

“Mingi-” Wooyoung reached for him, his hands pleading in the dark. “We tried, but we couldn’t just come out and tell you. We’re already breaking so many rules just by being here like this. If we’d said anything about what you are, or what he is-”

“You should have told me!” Mingi roared. His voice shook the walls, the air itself vibrating with his fury. “You should have stopped me before I...”

His voice broke. Before he what? Before he gave his heart away? Before he gave his soul away? The image of Yunho’s face surged up behind his eyelids, merciless: crimson eyes burning with hunger, claws slick with blood, that beautiful, terrible smile that still made Mingi’s knees weak.

“Do you know what he is to me now?” Mingi demanded, his voice cracking like glass. “Do you know what it does to me to even look at him after what he planned tonight?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence was damning.

He took a shuddering breath, hands coming up to cradle his aching head. A keening moan tore out of him, "It's so much. What am I supposed to do with all this?"

Wooyoung’s voice was soft, hesitant. “Mingi, listen, this has never really happened before. Not like this.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered, a shadow passing over them. “It has. At least once that I know of,” he said quietly. And that single sentence made the room still, like even the air was holding its breath.

Both Mingi and Wooyoung turned toward him.

“What happened?” Mingi asked, his voice rough and raw.

Seonghwa hesitated, his throat working as though the words physically hurt him. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, broken. “…He chose ruin.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Seonghwa’s shoulders slumped. For a moment, he looked… fragile. Like a man hollowed out by centuries of grief. “And I’ve spent every day since wishing I’d stopped him,” he said, voice breaking on the last word.

Wooyoung turned his face away sharply, his jaw tight, like he couldn’t bear to watch Seonghwa unravel. 

Seonghwa crouched in front of him, expression sharpening with grim resolve. “That’s why you have to listen to me, Mingi. You’ve awakened now. That means you have three paths, three, and no more.”

Mingi’s stomach twisted. He swallowed hard, throat tight. “…Tell me.”

Seonghwa held up a hand, counting them off. “The first,” he said, steady and measured, “is to stay human. Stay like this.”

A thin thread of hope sparked in Mingi’s chest, only for it to die at Seonghwa’s next words.

“But your mortal body isn’t meant to contain what you’ve remembered. Your power will keep leaking through until it destroys you from the inside out. Days, months… maybe two years at most. And then you’ll burn out.”

Two years. Maybe less. The words were ice water down his spine.

“The second,” Seonghwa continued, “is to rise. To reclaim everything you once were. All your memories. All your power. Your true form. You would become whole again.”

Images slammed into Mingi: his hands wreathed in fire, cities crumbling beneath his wings, voices screaming his name in worship and terror. His own face, cold and unfeeling. He staggered back with a strangled sound. “No. No - I - I can’t. I don’t want to be that thing again. I don’t want to be… that.”

Seonghwa’s voice grew urgent, desperate. “Mingi, you don’t understand. You were a protector. A weapon forged to guard, not to destroy. Rising would give you purpose again. Strength. You wouldn’t have to live like this, small and broken and lost.”

Mingi shook his head violently, tears streaking his face. “I like living like this. I like feeling. I don’t want to go back to being some cold, righteous machine that kills because it’s told to and get to feel nothing at all!”

Seonghwa flinched as if struck.

“Then the third option,” Wooyoung said softly, so softly it was almost a whisper, “is ruination. You'd fall completely. Shed what’s left of your divinity and… cross over.”

“Cross over?” Mingi echoed, hollow.

“You wouldn’t die,” Seonghwa said. His voice was heavy with sorrow. “You’d change. You’d forefit your divinity entirely.” He hesitated, jaw tightening, before finally forcing the words out. “…You’d become a demon.”

The word landed like a blow.

Mingi recoiled, a guttural sound tearing from his throat. His breath came fast and shallow. “I spent my entire existence hunting demons,” he choked out. “I was the fire that burned them away. The blade of judgment.” His hands curled into fists, nails digging so deep they broke skin, blood welling in his palms. “And now you’re telling me my choices are to burn out, rise back into that thing I was, or-” His breath caught, Yunho’s face flashing behind his eyes like a wound that wouldn’t close. “-or become like him?”

“Mingi-” Wooyoung’s voice broke, full of anguish. “We’re so sorry you have to make this choice.”

Mingi’s sobs came ragged, broken, his whole body shaking with the force of them. “You gave me three choices,” he spat, his voice shredded and raw. “But they’re not choices at all.” His face crumpled, tears falling hot and fast. “How am I supposed to pick between three flavors of hell?”

He collapsed forward, clutching his head, rocking like a man on the edge of shattering.

Seonghwa knelt beside him, his own face carved from grief so deep it almost looked human. Wooyoung followed, kneeling on his other side. They each placed a hand on his shoulder and bowed their heads as he wept.

Chapter Text

Mingi sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands tangled together. Shadows pressed against the walls, memories of the church flaring behind his eyes. He’d calmed a bit now that the initial helplessness had worn off, but he still felt raw, like his nerve endings were exposed.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung sat across from him like they were afraid to get too close. He was grateful for that. If either of them touched him right now, he wasn’t sure if he’d fall apart or lash out.

Seonghwa drew in a steadying breath, his expression grim and urgent. “Mingi,” he began carefully, “I know you don’t want to hear this. But you need to understand exactly what’s at stake. You need to know what each choice really means.”

Mingi let out a humorless laugh. “Sure. Because I was dying to hear more bad options.”

Seonghwa ignored the jab. “If you choose to stay mortal, your body won't withstand what you’ve remembered, what you’ll keep remembering. Your memories, your essence, your awakening… they'll leak, and slowly, they will destroy you. Your body will break down rapidly. You'll weaken. Every day will be a struggle to keep yourself together, until...”

“Until I die,” Mingi muttered, tone flat. “Yup. That one’s pretty straightforward. Brilliant. Next.”

Seonghwa’s hands clenched. “If you choose to rise, to reclaim yourself as an angel… it is not automatic. You must awaken fully, channel every fragment of your former power. To do that, you must purge the corruption, if any remains, from your life and body. That includes…” He hesitated. “…him.”

Mingi froze, eyes narrowing. “…Him? Yunho?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa’s voice was steady, but his jaw tightened. “It is necessary. Rising requires the removal of that which corrupted you, the one who caused this...”

Mingi’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “Removal. You want me to kill him?”

Seonghwa didn’t flinch. “It’s the only way. A selfless act of sacrifice. Without it, you can't reclaim your divinity. You can't ascend.”

“Sure,” Mingi spat. “Kill the man I...” His voice broke, and he turned sharply away. “…Yeah. Okay. Fantastic plan. Totally reasonable. And option three?”

Seonghwa’s voice dropped, almost fearful. “Ruination. Giving yourself over completely to the corruption. Let it consume you, body and soul. Like the ritual Yunho was attempting, but you will submit to it fully. Not to him, but to the essence of what he embodies. You surrender everything. Power, purpose, morality, restraint. You become… something else.”

Mingi flinched. “…A demon,” he breathed.

Wooyoung’s hand landed on his knee, aiming for comfort. Mingi wanted to scream.

“You would still look like you, at first,” Seonghwa said, voice rough. “Still feel like you. But the change wouldn’t stop there. It never does. That hunger, that darkness, it will spread. Your love, your desires, even your anger… they’ll twist into something you don’t recognize.”

Wooyoung shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “Seonghwa...”

“No,” Seonghwa snapped, too sharp, too fast. Then his shoulders slumped, and his voice turned raw. “I’ve seen it happen. Once, a long time ago.” His eyes glistened, unfocused, like he was watching some private nightmare.

“He was… the brightest thing I’d ever known.” His breath hitched. “And when he fell, I thought I could reach him. I thought if I just held on, some piece of him would stay.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “But that’s not how it works. He was gone long before his body finished changing.”

His voice dropped, almost breaking. “And when you look in the mirror, Mingi, you won’t see yourself anymore. You’ll only see what you’ve become.”

Mingi’s throat closed. A part of him wanted to ask: Who was he? Did you love him the way I love Yunho? But the words stuck. Instead, he rasped, “So you’re saying if I choose ruin, I stop being me.”

“Yes,” Seonghwa said fiercely. “You will be unmade. If you fall, you won’t have a choice. Not ever again.”

Wooyoung’s voice was small but clear. “Mingi… you might think you’d be doing it for Yunho. For love. But once you take that step, you’ll never know if what keeps you is love or just hunger.”

Mingi’s chest heaved. He dug his fingers into his knees, trying to hold himself together. “So, let me get this straight. My choices are: rot in this body, kill the man I...” His voice cracked, “...the man I care about, to become something I already hate… or turn into a monster and never know if what I feel is even real.”

“Those are the paths,” Seonghwa confirmed. His voice was steady again, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

Mingi laughed, hollow and sharp. “Hell, hell, or hell. Fantastic. You really know how to sell it.”

“Mingi” Wooyoung began, but Mingi cut him off with a glare.

“You want me to be an angel again,” Mingi said coldly. “Because then you get to keep me. Keep me in your perfect little system where we all follow the rules.” His lips curled. “Funny, though, how you two keep breaking those same rules just to sneak down here to see little old mortal me.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched. “You’re not mortal.”

“Don’t give me that.” Mingi’s voice was sharp as broken glass. “You’re doing exactly what I was cast out for. You just hide it better.”

Wooyoung winced, but didn’t deny it. Seonghwa’s composure faltered, a flash of guilt flickering across his face.

“Exactly,” Mingi said bitterly. “So don’t sit there and tell me I have to blindly choose your path. Your rules. Your morality. Because even you can’t follow them.”

Seonghwa’s voice softened, pleading now. “We just… want you to live. Trust that, if nothing else.”

Mingi looked away, voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t… want to be an angel again. Not like that.”

Wooyoung reached for him, cautious. “Then don’t be a warrior. Be a guardian, like me. Protect, don’t destroy.”

“No!” Mingi surged to his feet, his chest heaving. “I don’t want any of it! I’ve always wanted things I wasn’t supposed to have. Felt things I wasn’t supposed to feel. That’s why I fell in the first place, because I couldn’t control it.”

Seonghwa’s voice snapped, sharp with anger and fear. “So you’ll choose ruin?”

Mingi swallowed hard, shaking his head. “…I can’t even think about that without feeling sick.”

“Then you’ll stay mortal?” Seonghwa demanded, almost desperate.

Mingi’s voice cracked. “I don’t know what I’m choosing! I just know I can’t choose any of what you’re offering me right now.”

Wooyoung exhaled shakily. “…Then take the time you need. But know this, Min, time is against you. The longer you wait, the faster you’ll burn out.”

Mingi stood there, trembling, staring at the floor like it might split open beneath him. “…I just need to be alone right now.”

Seonghwa hesitated, then gave a single, sharp nod. “…We’ll give you space. But whatever you decide…” His voice softened. “…We’ll still be here. Even if it breaks every rule.”

Mingi’s throat ached. “Even if it kills me?”
The silence that followed was answer enough.

The night air was damp and cold, clinging to Mingi’s skin as he walked.

He didn’t remember the last few days, not really. He moved through the world on autopilot: sleep, eat, work, home. He didn’t remember leaving the apartment, only that one moment he’d been sitting on the couch, head in his hands, and the next, the door had shut behind him and he was outside. The city stretched around him like a labyrinth of shadows and neon light. Cars passed in a blur, but the world felt distant, unreal, as if he were walking through a dream.

Or a memory.

His boots scuffed against the cracked sidewalk. Step after step. He didn’t have a destination, but his body moved with purpose, guided by something older than thought.

Seonghwa’s words kept replaying in his head, each one like a shard of glass: Rot in this body. Kill the one you love. Lose yourself forever.

It wasn’t a choice. It was a cage, dressed up as freedom.

Mingi’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. He’d always wanted more. More than the rigid perfection of heaven. More than silent obedience. More than duty.

He had wanted warmth. To be seen, known, touched, like mortals were. He’d wanted to feel alive.

His breath hitched as the memories surged, fragmented and sharp. The scent of incense and candle wax. The glow of golden halls, angels singing in perfect harmony. His own voice among them, precise and cold. And then the ripping pain as his wings were torn from his back, white feathers scattered like ash on marble floors, his own scream echoing through the heavens.

Mingi stumbled, bracing himself against the side of a building, gasping for breath. His vision blurred with tears. The city blurred around him, his feet carrying him onward, faster now. He barely saw the streets, the closed shops, the pools of dirty water reflecting streetlights.

When he finally stopped, he was standing in front of the church.

Of course he was.

The great wooden doors loomed before him, shut tight. The building was dark, its stained-glass windows like unseeing eyes.

Mingi’s chest tightened. He pushed the doors open and slipped inside.

The silence was immediate, heavy and sacred. The air smelled of wax and old stone, familiar in a way that made his throat ache.

He moved down the center aisle slowly, his boots echoing on the worn floorboards. The altar rose ahead of him, stark and white in the dim light filtering through the high windows.

This was where Yunho had tried to consume him. Where his entire fate had shifted. Mingi circled the altar, fingertips grazing the edge of it. The surface was rough, cold beneath his skin.

“This is where I’m supposed to decide, huh?” His voice cracked in the empty space. “Rise or fall. Light or dark. Angel or demon.”

He laughed, but it sounded hollow. He closed his eyes and let himself feel, everything he’d been trying to bury. The warmth of Seonghwa’s hand on his cheek. The way Wooyoung’s smile had once made him feel safe. The cold, perfect order of heaven. The pain of losing it.

Beneath it all, a hunger had always lived inside him, restless, aching, shameful. Not just for love, but for touch. For heat and breath and mortal closeness. For things angels weren’t supposed to crave: possession, obsession, being wanted so fiercely it burned.

Heaven had demanded perfection. Stillness. Obedience. But Mingi had always wanted too much.

That hunger had been his first sin, the reason he’d been cast out, because he’d looked at the world and realized he’d rather burn with desire than exist untouched and cold forever.

And yet… he couldn’t just embrace that hunger by becoming a demon. He had seen what demons were, had felt the danger of their power, and knew he didn’t have Yunho’s restraint. The thought of letting that chaos loose inside himself made his stomach turn. He would consume everything, including himself, if he went down that path.

No, he realized. He didn’t want that.

Humans weren’t perfect. They weren’t eternal, they weren’t angels, they weren’t disciplined or untouchable. But they had limits. Limits he could survive within. Limits he could manage. Staying human meant he could still love Yunho, still feel desire, still be with the one he wanted most, without letting the hunger destroy him.

He let the thought settle, bitter and sweet all at once. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t heroic. It was just… necessary.

Mingi opened his eyes, staring at the space where Yunho had knelt with him, asking him to pray. His throat burned. “I love you,” he breathed, almost a prayer, almost a curse. “And I… I want to stay me. Even if it's only moments. Even if it’s not enough.”

His knees gave out, and he sank to the floor at the base of the altar. His hands pressed to the stone, cold biting into his skin. The choice would come, maybe it already had. But he knew one thing for certain: He had to choose it for himself.

The church sat in stillness as the evening passed into night.

Mingi stayed kneeling at the base of the altar, his forehead pressed to the cold stone, his hands braced on either side like he could hold himself together through sheer will.

Then the air shifted, warmer, heavier. It curled with the scent of smoke and iron and something darker, something primal that sent a shudder through Mingi’s bones. His breath caught. Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head and turned.

Yunho stood in the shadows at the far end of the aisle.

He looked… wrecked. His clothes were rumpled, stained dark in places, the fabric clinging awkwardly to his body. Dirt and soot streaked across his pale skin, and dried blood marked his palms and cuticles. Dark lines traced faintly beneath his skin, almost like bruises spiderwebbing toward his jaw.

He was unearthly. Terrible. Demonic. Beautiful.

The sight of him stole the breath from Mingi’s lungs.

God help him, even like this, especially like this, he wanted. His body ached with it, his soul knotted around it. He wanted to cross the space between them, cradle Yunho’s face, whisper forgiveness. He wanted to worship him. Be worshiped by him.

And that same wanting made him sick with self-loathing.

Mingi’s lips parted. No sound emerged. His throat worked uselessly. Hands curled into fists against the stone. Yunho said nothing either. He just stood there, breathing hard, every inhale ragged, every exhale a battle. His eyes glowed faintly red, hunger and plea tangled with shame.

The silence stretched so taut it felt like it might snap.

Finally, Mingi’s voice cracked the air like a whip. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Yunho flinched, shoulders curling inward, making his massive frame look almost small. “…I know.”

Mingi laughed, sharp and bitter, the sound breaking something fragile inside him. “Of course you do. You always know, don’t you? Always watching. Always planning. Always two steps ahead.” His chest heaved. “Tell me, Yunho...was this your plan from the start? Break me open. Make me want you. Let me fall into your arms, and then what? Did you dream about how I’d taste? The sounds I’d make as you drained the life out of me?”

Yunho’s body shuddered, every line taut with guilt and desire. “Yes… I meant to...meant to take you, Mingi. I wanted to end it… I wanted to...” He choked, voice breaking. “…But I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Mingi’s laugh was bitter, jagged. “No. Don’t lie to me. You meant to kill me.”

“I won’t lie to you.” Yunho’s voice shook, ragged and raw. “Not anymore. I meant to claim you. To take what was yours and… end you, if that’s what it came to.” His fists trembled at his sides. “But when it was you...” his breath caught, “...I couldn’t. Even when I wanted to. Even when I told myself I had to.” Yunho’s chest heaved like the words were tearing out of him. “I couldn’t finish it. Not with you. Not when I… feel like this.”

Mingi surged to his feet, fury igniting beneath his skin like fire, tears burned away by grief and rage. His voice rose. “Seonghwa told me my choices,” he spat. “Did you know? Did you know what they were?”

Yunho swallowed, throat bobbing, the faint red glow of his eyes pulsing beneath the dim light. “…I have an idea.”

“Then let me spell it out for you.” Mingi began to pace, circling Yunho like a storm, his voice rising with each word. “Option one: I stay like this. Mortal. Broken. And my memories, my essence, they’ll tear me apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left.”

His voice dropped to a trembling whisper. “I’ll burn from the inside.”

Yunho’s jaw clenched, his hands trembling, the faint black veins creeping beneath his pale skin almost alive. “…Mingi”

“Option two,” Mingi snapped, cutting him off. “I rise. I become heaven’s perfect little weapon again. The sword of divine judgment.” He stopped in front of Yunho, tears pooling hot in his eyes. “You know what that takes?”

Yunho didn’t move, didn’t breathe, the tension of his demon-borne nature coiled like a spring in his chest, each moment a battle against himself.

Mingi’s voice broke. “It takes killing you.”

For a heartbeat, the air thickened. The scent of smoke and iron and something darker, the essence of corruption, of ruin, of sins innate to Yunho, hung between them, curling low in Mingi’s stomach. Every instinct screamed at him. And yet… every part of him still ached, still wanted, still burned with an impossible, desperate longing.

Yunho staggered back like he’d been struck. His lips trembled. “…Oh.”

“Oh.” Mingi laughed, but it was hollow, a jagged thing that hurt to hear. “Oh. That’s all you’ve got?”

Yunho’s eyes fell to the ground, like he couldn’t bear to look at him. Good. Mingi wanted him to hurt. He wanted him to feel the same shame and desperation that he himself was feeling.

“And then there’s option three.” Mingi’s fists clenched at his sides, trembling. “I could fall completely. Give myself over to ruin. Become a demon.” His lip curled. “Like you.”

Yunho’s breath hitched, sharp and pained. “…Mingi…”

“Like you,” Mingi repeated, voice cracking. His whole body shook with the force of it. “But apparently that’s the worst fate of all. Do you know what they say about angels who choose the fall?” His voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “They say we lose everything. Our essence. Our souls. Ourselves. Everything we were ceases to exist as it did.”

He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, his face twisting. “You think you’re bad?” His chest heaved. “I would be worse.”

Yunho’s eyes gleamed wetly, tears threatening. He took one careful step forward, but Mingi snapped, “Don’t.”

Yunho froze. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides.

“You’ve ruined me,” Mingi whispered, his voice fraying. “You’ve made me want things I was never supposed to want. And now I’m standing here staring down three doors, and every one of them leads to hell.”

Yunho’s breath shuddered. When he finally spoke, it was hoarse, barely audible. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t...Mingi, I love you.” The words tore out of him like a confession dragged from the bone. “I love you, and I’m sorry, and if I could take it all back...”

“Don’t you dare!” Mingi’s voice broke on a sob, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. “Don’t you dare tell me you’d undo it.” Tears streamed hot and unchecked down his face.

“Because you know what, Yunho?” His voice trembled, gutted. “I wouldn’t. Even now. Even after everything. I wouldn’t.”

Yunho stared up at him, stricken, his body shaking like a man standing at the edge of a precipice. “…Mingi.”

“I hate you,” Mingi sobbed. “I hate you so much.”

“I know,” Yunho breathed, shattered.

“And I love you.” Mingi’s voice cracked completely, raw and unguarded. “God help me, I love you. And I would rather feel this…this total fucking devastation a million times over if it meant I got to keep loving you.”

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing.

Then Yunho sank to his knees. Slowly. Reverently. Like this was the only worship he knew.

“Mingi,” he rasped, tears streaking down his soot-streaked face. “If that’s what it takes…” His trembling hand reached behind him. When it returned, it held a dagger.

The blade gleamed even in the half-light. Pure silver, etched with holy runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Its hilt was bound in white leather, now stained dark where blood had seeped through. The very air around it seemed too pure, making Mingi’s lungs ache.

Yunho pressed it into Mingi’s hand, curling his fingers tightly around the hilt. “If killing me is what you need to rise, if that’s the only way to save yourself-”

He bowed his head until his forehead nearly scraped the cold stone floor. His voice broke like glass. “Then do it.”

Mingi stared down at him, breath ragged, vision swimming.

“You… idiot,” he choked, tears spilling. “Do you want to die?”

“No.” Yunho’s voice cracked, gutted. “But I would do anything for you, angel. Anything.” He lifted his head just enough to meet Mingi’s eyes, his own wet and desperate. “If this is what it takes for you to rise… so be it.”

Something inside Mingi broke wide open. His knees gave out, and he collapsed beside Yunho, the dagger clattering uselessly between them. His shaking hands cupped Yunho’s ruined face, dragging him close until their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

“This isn’t your choice,” Mingi said, his voice fierce through the tears. “Don’t you understand? It was never supposed to be your choice.”

Yunho made a broken, keening sound, clutching at Mingi’s waist like he could keep him tethered to this world. "I want to keep you," he whispered. And in that moment, Mingi knew, terrible and absolute, that no matter what he decided, someone he loved would break. Maybe Yunho. Maybe himself.

Or maybe both.

The air between them was so thick with grief, it was suffocating. Mingi knelt on the cold stone, Yunho clinging to him like a man already dead. The holy dagger gleamed between them, its silver runes glowing faintly, humming with restrained violence.

Mingi’s tears dripped onto Yunho’s ashen skin, sliding down his cheekbones like tiny beads of light. He wanted to stay here forever, in this moment of raw, awful truth. He wanted to never move again.

And then, a slow, mocking clap echoed through the vast cathedral.

Mingi’s head snapped up, his whole body going rigid. Yunho jerked back, spinning toward the sound, a menacing growl vibrating in his chest.

“Well,” a voice drawled, light and sing-song. “This is all very sweet. Very… saccharine.” A pause, and then a laugh, bright and dangerous. “But tragically, it’s also completely unnecessary.”

A figure lounged lazily across the cathedra, the high stone seat at the far end of the altar, usually reserved for saints or priests. Now it was occupied by something far more dangerous.

The figure reclined like a cat in a sunbeam, one booted foot dangling off the arm of the chair, his head tilted in amused contempt. His hair caught the faint light, wild and dark, curling at his temples like horns that didn’t quite exist. His smile was sharp and toothy, a flash of white in the gloom.

Every inch of him screamed imp, playful, and lethal all at once. A predator pretending to be harmless simply because it was more fun that way.

Yunho’s breath hissed out between his teeth. “…Hongjoong.”

At the name, Mingi’s blood turned to ice. The world tilted.

The memories slammed into him all at once, no gentle unfolding this time, no fragmented flashes. They came like a storm, violent and absolute, ripping through his mind until he gasped.

Fire. A holy sword raised high, the blade so bright it burned the sky. Demons screaming as they were cut down. The heavy weight of judgment in his hands. And then, Hongjoong. Smiling just like this. Standing before him in some long-forgotten battlefield, unafraid even as Mingi’s blade pressed against his throat.

“Do it,” Hongjoong had whispered, his voice a velvet dare. “End me. Tell yourself it’s God’s will.” And Mingi had hesitated. He had faltered.

And when the order came again, kill him, destroy him, burn the corruption away, he had lowered his blade. He hadn’t killed him.

That failure had been the last straw. The final proof that Mingi was unfit, too soft, too human to serve as heaven’s weapon. The reason his wings had been torn from his back. The moment of his fall.

The memory tore through him, leaving him shaking. His vision blurred, rage and shame, and horror boiling over all at once. His voice came out strangled, broken. “You!”

Hongjoong’s grin widened, fangs glinting. He spread his hands like a magician revealing his final trick. “Me.”

Yunho glanced between them, his face stark with confusion and dawning dread. “Mingi, what-?”

But Mingi wasn’t listening. The fury rising in his chest was a tidal wave, swallowing him whole.

“You...” Mingi surged to his feet, his wings aching beneath his skin even though they weren’t there. His fists shook. “I was supposed to destroy you! You’re the reason...” His breath came ragged, choking on the truth. “You’re the reason I fell.”

Hongjoong tilted his head, all innocence. “I’m the reason? Oh, no, my dear, sweet little seraph.” His voice was soft, lilting, almost gentle. “You were the reason you fell.”

The words hit like a blade sliding between Mingi’s ribs. “I-"

“You hesitated,” Hongjoong continued, rising to his feet with a lazy grace that made the air around him shimmer with menace. “You wanted what I was. You envied. You looked at me and saw freedom, didn’t you? Saw desire, temptation, hunger… and you wanted it all for yourself.”

His grin sharpened, eyes glinting wickedly. “Tell me, Mingi. When you stood over me with that sword, did you imagine what it would feel like if I weren’t kneeling before you in defeat, but standing behind you, whispering in your ear?”

Mingi’s breath caught. His face burned with shame. “Shut up.”

“Did you imagine what my hands would feel like on your throat?” Hongjoong purred, his voice dropping, low and poisonous. “Or maybe you didn’t need to imagine. Maybe you knew even then that you’d never lift that sword against me, not because you were merciful, but because you were greedy.”

“Stop!” Mingi roared, his voice shaking the rafters. The holy dagger clattered to the floor with a sharp, echoing ring. He pressed his hands to his ears like he could block out the sound, the memory, the truth. But it was too late. He remembered everything. And remembering hurt. It was all too much.

And Hongjoong,  Hongjoong only laughed, the sound rich and delighted, rolling through the cathedral like bells tolling at a funeral.

Yunho moved then, stepping instinctively between them, his body shielding Mingi even as he trembled with rage. His eyes flashed, body coiled.

“Hongjoong,” he growled, voice dark and dangerous, “leave.”

Hongjoong’s grin widened into something feral. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. This is far too entertaining.”

His gaze slid past Yunho, landing on Mingi like a caress and a curse all at once. “After all,” he purred, “it’s not every day you get to watch an angel finally see himself clearly.” He turned his back on them, running his fingers down the length of the altar. “I should know.”

Yunho stood, a trembling barrier of fury and devotion between Mingi and Hongjoong.

Hongjoong, meanwhile, looked… delighted.

“Mm,” he hummed, tilting his head like he was considering a fine wine. “All those theatrics, heartbreak, a holy weapon dramatically cast aside, this has everything. Truly, Mingi, you have a knack for drama.”

“Hongjoong,” Yunho snapped, voice a low growl. “This isn’t a game.”

“Oh, darling,” Hongjoong purred, rounding on them once more, “everything is a game. It’s just a matter of whether you know the rules.”

His sharp grin flashed toward Mingi. “And you, my sweet cherub, have been playing without even realizing you were a piece on someone else’s board.”

Yunho turned sharply toward Hongjoong, claws still out, shoulders tight. “Why are you here?”

Hongjoong’s expression softened, not mocking now, but earnest in a way that felt almost dangerous. He descended the dais and made his way to the other. “Because you’re my family, Yunho. My idiot, stubborn, hopeless little brother.”

He reached up and flicked Yunho’s forehead lightly, ignoring the claws poised inches from his chest. “You think I’m going to sit back and watch you fall apart over some lovesick angel without at least trying to fix it?”

Yunho blinked at him, caught off guard. “Fix it?”

“Yes, fix it,” Hongjoong said, like it was obvious. “You’ve both been playing by heaven’s rules. Rise or fall, purity or ruin, light or dark, blah, blah, blah.” He twirled his hand like he was bored. “I, however, don’t give a single flaming damn about their rules.”

His eyes gleamed, sharp and wicked. “And lucky for you, I happen to know a loophole.”

That got both of their attention. Yunho stilled, wary and hopeful all at once. Mingi’s breath caught, his tear-streaked face lifting slowly. “…Loophole?”

Hongjoong’s grin turned conspiratorial. “Oh yes. Because, my not-so-wing-ed friend, you’re not as trapped as you’ve been led to believe. You don’t have to rise back to heaven’s leash or plunge into the abyss with us demons. Though I don’t really understand the hesitance on that front.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping low and intimate. “You can stay here. Stay yourself. Just as you are.”

Mingi’s lips parted in disbelief. “That’s...” He swallowed hard. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it’s very possible.” Hongjoong’s tone was blasphemously light, like he was discussing the weather instead of rewriting divine law. “You see, power like yours? It only becomes dangerous when it builds and builds with nowhere to go. Eventually, it burns you alive from the inside out.”

Yunho’s jaw tightened. “Hongjoong,” he said quietly. His voice held a grief Mingi didn’t understand.

Hongjoong’s gaze flicked to him briefly, then back to Mingi. “So, the obvious answer is, don’t let it build. Siphon it. Channel it into a vessel that wants it.”

Mingi’s brow furrowed. “…A vessel?”

“A willing one,” Hongjoong confirmed, almost cheerfully, his hand reaching over to smack Yunho’s chest patronizingly. “Someone you trust. Someone who can hold the overflow without shattering immediately.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “When it becomes too much, you simply… pass it along.”

Mingi’s stomach turned. “That sounds like possession.”

“Please,” Hongjoong scoffed. “Possession is crude. Violent. This is far more elegant. It’s sharing. A bond.” His smile curved, a little too sharp. “Think of it like pouring a drink into another glass before it spills and stains the tablecloth.”

Mingi hesitated. “…And the vessel?”

“Oh, they’ll burn out eventually.” Hongjoong said it casually, almost sing-song, like it was a minor detail. “Not immediately, of course. Could be decades, maybe even centuries before that happens. Plenty of time for you to live a nice, long, relatively human life together.” He winked, his grin too bright. “Comfortable. Domestic. Maybe even… happy.”

Mingi’s heart stuttered in his chest. The possibility was like a lifeline, so tempting it hurt. He glanced at Yunho, but Yunho’s face was unreadable, his eyes dark pools of longing and fear.

“So what,” Mingi whispered, voice trembling, “I… find someone willing to take this from me? And then I’m free?”

“Essentially,” Hongjoong said breezily, as though they were discussing a trade deal instead of the fate of Mingi’s soul. “But there are rituals, of course...and fine print. There always are when it comes to this kind of thing. It must be done under very specific circumstances.”

“Rituals,” Yunho repeated warily.

Hongjoong’s grin sharpened, all predator now. “Yup. So here’s the deal. The next full moon. Right here, at this altar. You bring yourself and your vessel. I’ll walk you through every step.”

“And… that’s it?” Mingi asked, incredulous. “You just… want to help?”

“Oh, sweet boy,” Hongjoong said, his tone rich with amusement. He reached out and patted Mingi’s cheek like he was a particularly adorable puppy. “I want to see Yunho happy. And I adore a fallen angel. You’re like stray kittens, all trembling and fierce and soft.”

Mingi bristled, swatting his hand away. “I am not...!”

“You are,” Hongjoong interrupted smoothly. Then his grin turned wicked, his words deliberately provocative, “Oh, and Mingi. Tell Seonghwa I expect him to make an appearance as well. He can bring his little friend if it makes him feel safer, but his presence is non-negotiable.”

Mingi’s eyes went wide, his entire body going rigid, Seonghwa’s voice ringing in his head, ‘he was the brightest thing I’d ever known.’ Well, shit.

Hongjoong just smirked at him, stepping backward toward the shadows like he was bowing out of a performance. “Be here at the next full moon. Bring your pretty little guardian. And try to get your shit together in the meantime, Yunho. I can’t keep cleaning up your messes.”

He gave them a jaunty little salute before vanishing into the dark like smoke, his laughter echoing in the rafters.

Chapter Text

The echo of Hongjoong’s laughter still lingered in the rafters. Mingi took a deep, shuddering breath. “Do you  - trust him?” he asked quietly, voice barely more than a whisper.

Yunho glanced at him, chest still rising and falling from the intensity of the night. “…I mean, demon. But yeah. I really do.”

Mingi nodded once, sharply, as if the weight of that small affirmation was enough to steel him. Then he turned on a heel and started towards the doors.

“Where are you going?” Yunho’s voice cracked, a mixture of fear and disbelief, and he lunged to catch up.

“You heard him,” Mingi said over his shoulder, calm, almost detached. “I need a vessel before the next full moon. I have to do this myself.”

Yunho’s eyes widened. “Are you stupid? It’s me. I’m the vessel.”

Mingi stopped mid-step, turning his head just enough to glare. “And you just decided that for me, did you?”

“Mingi!” Yunho’s voice rose, urgent, raw. He grabbed Mingi’s arm before he could step into the night, spinning him around to face him. His hands framed Mingi’s shoulders, firm but not cruel, eyes burning. “…Look at me. I’ll do it. I’ll be the vessel. I don’t care what it takes. I told you I’d do anything for you, and I meant it. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

Mingi’s chest heaved. For a moment, the fury and exhaustion and heartbreak tangled together until he could barely think. And then… slowly, he let himself absorb it. He let himself see Yunho, not just as a demon, not just as someone he was supposed to hate, but as someone who had chosen to stay with him, despite everything.

“I am still pissed you were planning on eating me.”

“I know. I’ll make it up to you. I swear it.”

“I need some space between now and then. For me. To clear my head.”

“Anything you need.”

Mingi’s chest heaved. The fury, the heartbreak, the disbelief, they all tangled together, heavy and sharp. He stared at Yunho, trying to measure the truth in his eyes. This was a big decision. For both of them. “Honjoong said the vessel would burn out too…You really mean it?” 

“I do,” Yunho said, steady, voice low. “Every word. You don’t have to trust me yet. But I’ll prove it.” He looked like he wanted to reach out, grab Mingi's hand, but was too nervous to test the waters. "Besides, he said 'centuries'. Keeping you for centuries sounds pretty good to me." 

Mingi hesitated, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He wanted to reach out, wanted to believe, but the memory of what Yunho could do, and almost did, weighed on him.

“I’m still so angry with you,” he muttered, voice tight. “…But maybe I can try to forgive you.”

Yunho’s hands remained firm on his, but he didn’t press. “I’ll earn it. I swear.”

Mingi’s lips twitched, half a smile, half a grimace. “…Swear to God?”

“If I have to,” Yunho replied with a smirk, and there was no hesitation, no doubt.

The corner of Mingi’s mouth lifted, slow and defiant. “Alright. Then we do it your way. For now.”

Yunho’s grin was dangerous and proud all at once. He used his hold on Mingi’s hands to pull them closer together, hips bumping, “Oh, you have no idea what you just agreed to.”

Mingi rolled his eyes, smirking despite the tension. “I'd say 'Heaven, help me,' but...”

The past few weeks had been hell.

Mingi’s body didn't feel like his own anymore. It burned too hot, like a forge left unchecked, his skin always fever-warm and damp. At night, he woke drenched in sweat, his sheets tangled and clawed apart from dreams he couldn’t fully remember. His muscles ached like he’d been running for days without stopping, and sometimes he swore he could feel his bones straining under the weight of… something vast and wrong.

The memories didn’t help. They came in flashes, searing and sharp, fragments of things that didn’t feel like his life but lived in his head all the same.  Sometimes they hit so hard he staggered, breathless and clutching at whatever was nearest. Other times, they crawled beneath his skin, whispering and relentless, until his own thoughts drowned under their weight.

He was tired. Weak. And he hated it.

Every step toward the church tonight was an act of sheer willpower. His legs felt too heavy, like they didn’t quite belong to him anymore, and his chest was tight with exhaustion. The fever made the cool night air feel like a lie, no relief, just more heat trapped beneath his skin.

He hadn’t seen Yunho since the day at the church. The space between them had been good, necessary even, but it hadn’t made the changes in his body any easier to bear. It only meant he’d had to face them alone.

The time apart had sharpened something inside him, though. He understood himself now. He knew what he wanted: he wanted Yunho.

Not as some abstract, dangerous demon lurking in the shadows, but as the man who had chosen to stay with him. Who had offered himself as a vessel, and in doing so, tie himself to Mingi’s life in the most intimate, terrifying way possible.

He wanted the human life, but he wanted Yunho too. If the man was willing to do this, to risk himself for him, then Mingi wanted it too. Wanted them both, tangled up in whatever mess this was going to be.

And yes, he was still furious, still pissed beyond reason, but he also knew that forgiveness wasn’t impossible. Yunho had been reckless, yes, but he had chosen. And choice mattered. Morality, divine law, it all felt blurry tonight, like a painting with the edges smudged beyond recognition. He drew a deep breath, letting the clarity settle in his chest. This was right. This had to be right.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung trudged behind him, their unease obvious. Mingi said little about where they were headed, but he was incredibly grateful that they'd been convinced to come along. “You don’t need to know everything,” he told them when they asked, the barest edge of amusement in his voice. “Just… follow me. Trust me on this.” They didn’t fully trust him. Probably didn’t need to.

The church rose out of the night like a dark monolith, its stone walls bathed in silver light and deep shadow.

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed as they approached, his every step slow and deliberate, almost reverent. “This feels wrong,” he whispered, more to himself than to them. “Everything about this is wrong.”

Wooyoung nodded tightly, jaw set. “Right? I mean, happy to be here, Mingi, don't get it twisted. But, yeah… wrong.”

Mingi pressed his hands against the heavy wooden doors and paused, glancing back at them. “I need you both here. Just… trust me.”

They exchanged a look but said nothing more.

Inside, the air was thick and cloying, heavy with incense and something darker. The usual sense of sanctuary was gone, replaced with an uneasy stillness. The church felt off, like the very walls were holding their breath. Seonghwa scanned the shadows, his body taut with alertness. “This doesn’t feel like holy ground anymore.”

Wooyoung swallowed hard, nodding. “Feels like somebody rearranged the rules. Or… broke them.”

And then, impossibly, a laugh rippled through the cathedral. “Still as beautiful as the night sky, I see.”

The three of them froze.

Shadows writhed along the vaulted ceiling like living things before sliding downward, coalescing into a figure perched casually atop the cathedra.

Hongjoong.

The air shifted, sharp and cold, and Seonghwa went rigid beside Mingi. His face drained of color. “You…” His voice cracked, raw with rage and disbelief. “What is this?”

Hongjoong tilted his head, a wicked smile curling his lips. “Now, now, Seonghwa,” he purred, velvet smooth and cutting. “I’m not all bad. Don’t you remember how brightly I used to shine?”

The words seemed to strike like a physical blow. Mingi didn’t fully understand them, though he was making some educated guesses, but the tension between the two was unmistakable, anger tangled with history, intimacy laced with grief. It was… uncomfortable.

Wooyoung caught Mingi’s eye, brows climbing high. Mingi’s lips twitched in response. The silent exchange said everything: 'Are you seeing this?' 'Oh, I’m seeing it.'

It felt like watching a soap opera unfold in real time, except this one might end with someone’s throat getting torn out.

Seonghwa’s voice cut through the air like broken glass. “You devil.”

Hongjoong’s grin turned feral as he rose, shadows clinging to his form. “Oh, come now. Don't be such a wet blanket.” His tone dropped lower, intimate and mocking. “You loved what I was once, didn’t you? All bright and terrible. And me…" His smile curved, sinful and cruel. “…I loved that, too. But you have to admit, sinning is so much more fun.”

Seonghwa’s hands curled into fists, knuckles white. His breath came fast, uneven. Desire, rage, grief. They all twisted together, impossible to separate. “Stop with the games,” Seonghwa snapped, but his voice trembled despite his fury. Hongjoong laughed, low and delighted.

“Games? Darling, this isn’t a game. I’m merely here to fix the mess your lot created.” He swept an elegant hand in a mock bow. “You should be thanking me.”

“You’re depraved,” Seonghwa spat.

Hongjoong’s grin sharpened to something indecent. “Stick around a little longer,” he purred, “and I'll show you how depraved I can be.”

Seonghwa froze, practically clutching his chest like a scandalized old priest.

Wooyoung’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Mingi had to bite his cheek to keep from joining him. The sheer chaos of it all was almost funny. Almost.

Hongjoong’s delighted laughter rang through the cathedral, rich and wicked. Then, abruptly, his attention shifted to Mingi and Wooyoung, his smile smoothing into something more calculated. “Now, now, dears,” he said lightly, “the night is young, and the moon is high. Let’s see what we can do about all this… tangled business.”

A chill slid down Mingi’s spine. Instinctively, he scanned the shadows. Where is he?

Yunho wasn’t there.

Panic stirred low in his gut. He searched the altar, the pews, anywhere Yunho might appear. Nothing. Hongjoong noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Don’t worry, my statuesque friend,” Hongjoong said, voice silky smooth. “He’s on his way. He needed to be prepared.”

Mingi’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Prepared?”

“Oh yes.” Hongjoong’s grin turned cruelly playful. “You’ll be pleased to hear he’s been very eager. Like a puppy.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, as though sharing a secret. “Be sure to give him a pat when you see him. He always was soft for a demon.”

Mingi’s breath caught. The words landed like a warning and a taunt all at once. Hongjoong just smiled, all teeth and shadows. “Shall we begin?”

Before anyone could reply, the heavy door creaked open behind them. Mingi whirled toward the sound, and there he was. Yunho stepped into the cathedral, framed by moonlight. Relief surged so fast it hurt, Mingi's chest tightening as his body moved instinctively toward him.

Yunho filled the doorway like a shadow given form. He looked… wrecked, but resolute. He wore only a robe loosely tied, his skin gleaming faintly under the moonlight. For a split second Mingi thought it was sweat. Until he saw the intricate sigils carved into Yunho’s skin, glowing faintly red, like living tattoos. Blood still smeared along some of the fresher cuts.

Chapter Text

The magic around them thrummed like a heartbeat, steady and relentless.

Mingi stood at the edge of the sigil, bare feet just shy of the glowing lines carved into the stone floor. The circle pulsed like it was breathing, light rippling out in time with the frantic thrum of his pulse. He swallowed hard, but his throat stayed dry. His skin was too tight, too hot, every nerve screaming. It felt like trying to fit a sun into a glass jar. His mortal body was cracking under the strain, and the divinity inside him wanted out. 

His tattoos, once dormant, now glowed almost constantly under his skin, a map of divine power leaking through. Every flare of light was a reminder that he didn’t have much time left. Forget 'two years'. If they didn’t do this binding soon, he’d burn out completely. Maybe literally. It was a toss-up at this point.

“Local man found self-immolated at foot of altar in some unknown pagan ritual,” was a hell of a headline, he thought bitterly. Well. No time like the present.

He stripped down self-consciously, layer by layer, fingers clumsy as he tugged at his shirt, his sweats. He could feel eyes on him, but he stubbornly ignored them as best he could. The cool air raised goosebumps across his fever-hot skin. His breath hitched when the final piece of clothing fell away, leaving him naked under the candlelight. It felt obscene.

Taking a deep breath, Mingi took a step forward, then another across the barrier. The air grew heavy and electric, as if the space itself recognized him. He swallowed hard and lowered himself to sit, his knees folding beneath him. His hands curled into fists against his thighs. Everything in him trembled, fear, magic, anticipation, and his heart beat so hard it hurt.

Yunho was just outside the circle, waiting for him. He stood in only a loose robe, the sight enough to steal Mingi’s breath. "You…” Mingi cleared his throat, tried again. “You sure you want to do this?”

Yunho arched a brow, then glanced down at himself, at the sigils San had meticulously carved into his flesh, glowing faintly under the candlelight. “Min,” he said dryly, gesturing to his entire torso, “I’m literally branded head to toe for this ritual. I am very sure.”

Mingi huffed, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, but this isn’t just a one-night thing, Yunho. Once we do this…” He gestured vaguely between them, between their blood-stained palms and the circle around them. “You’ll be tied to me. Forever. And you’ll die when I do.”

Yunho didn’t flinch. “I know.”

“Or,” Mingi added, voice rising, “my divinity could burn you out. It’s a risk. A huge one.” He cut himself off, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “…You could die because of me.”

Yunho tilted his head, unbothered. "And I might lose control and kill you tonight," he said with quiet finality, “It’s a risk we’re both taking.”

Mingi stared at him, his voice breaking as he whispered, “Yeah, but… am I worth it? Is this worth it? Should I just...” His breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked ready to bolt. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“Mingi.”

His name, sharp and commanding, stopped his spiral cold.

Yunho crossed the space between them in two strides, kneeling so close that their knees brushed. He cupped Mingi’s face in his unmarred hand, thumb pressing firmly against his jaw.

“Of course it’s worth it,” Yunho said, fierce and unshakable. “This is what you want. It was your choice — and you haven’t gotten many of those in your life.” His voice softened, almost breaking. “If I can help you be the person you want to be, even if it’s only for a short time… that’s enough for me.”

Mingi blinked, eyes glistening. “Because you… love me?”

Yunho’s lips curved into something devastatingly sincere. “Because I love you,” he said, steady and certain. “Because I want you. To have you, to keep you. To be with you.”

A shiver ran through Mingi as Yunho lowered his forehead to his. “Plus, the idea of you belonging to me—and me to you, in this fated, divine way… it’s kinda driving me insane,” Yunho murmured, laughing low, almost feral. “Scratches every possessive itch I’ve ever had.”

Mingi gaped at him, torn between swooning and smacking him. “…You’re such a creep.”

“Demon, remember?” Yunho shot back instantly, smug and sharp. “Comes with the territory. Don't act surprised now.”

Mingi groaned, shoving at his chest weakly. “I should be surprised you turned this vulnerable moment into some kinky possession fantasy right before a life-or-death ritual.”

“Oh, come on,” Yunho teased, catching Mingi’s wrists easily. His voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur that curled through Mingi like smoke. “We’ve both been thinking it.”

“Absolutely not,” Mingi said far too quickly. His ears burned. “…Maybe.”

“Definitely.” Yunho’s smirk returned, but there was tenderness beneath it. He kissed Mingi then, soft and deliberate, a promise more than a demand. When he pulled back, his gaze locked on Mingi’s with burning intensity. “So, what’s it going to be, Min? Are we doing this?”

Mingi’s answer was a whisper. “Yeah,” he breathed, trembling. “We’re doing this.”

The runes flared, pulsing in wild rhythm, like the heartbeat of something bygone. Mingi lay back in the circle, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The air felt thick enough to drown in, tasting of incense and lightning and blood. Power crawled over his skin like a lover’s hands. His body strained, too full, too hot. His tattoos burned with a cold light, almost like they knew what was coming. 

God, he felt like an offering, naked, trembling, laid out like an altar.

Not exactly how he’d imagined his first time with Yunho. He’d expected some awkward fumbling, laughter, maybe a little rough play here and there. Not firelight and ancient magic, with people waiting just outside the doors to see if they lived or died.

Still, Yunho was here. Yunho wanted him. And Mingi wanted Yunho so badly he thought he might shatter.

God help him, he craved it. Yunho’s hands, Yunho’s mouth, Yunho’s voice growling his name. Even if it burned him to ash.

“Lucky me,” he thought wryly, “my boyfriend’s literally built to handle fire.”

Mingi startled when claws skimmed his ribs. Yunho’s touch was careful, reverent, tracing the curling lines of angelic ink like scripture. “You are holy,” Yunho murmured, his voice low and rough, a prayer shaped in Mingi’s name. “Even fallen. Even lost.”

The words gutted him. Mingi had been called holy before. By priests, by angels, by creatures that never really saw him. But Yunho’s voice was different. Yunho wasn’t worshipping some idea of purity. Yunho was worshipping him. Every broken, yearning piece of him.

“You are mine,” Yunho said, the reverence sharp now, fierce. “My altar. My devotion. My ruin.”

Mingi’s throat went tight. He wanted that. Wanted to be kept, to be ruined by someone who knew exactly how to piece him back together.

When Yunho stripped the rest of the way down, Mingi’s breath caught. He’d seen that body before. The height, the impossible strength Yunho carried so easily, but not like this. Not painted in blood and magic. The runes carved into Yunho’s skin blazed in the candlelight, some so new they still bled in delicate, stinging lines. They pulsed in rhythm with the circle beneath them, binding him to this ritual, to Mingi. He looked like some primeval and feral god of war come to claim his sacrifice.

“Yunho,” Mingi whispered, awed and helpless. “You’re… beautiful.”

Yunho froze, the words striking somewhere deep. Then he smiled, sharp and unbearably tender. "You are everything," he said fiercely.

Mingi barely had time to breathe before Yunho’s mouth was on his, the kiss harsh and claiming. He melted into it, pliant and desperate, letting Yunho take control because he needed him to. If he tried to steer this, he’d tear himself apart.

The heat escalated too fast, a roaring tide, the power inside him feeling as though it's it would expand past the confines of his body. Yunho’s hand slid lower, teasing and coaxing until Mingi was writhing, the circle beneath them flaring with every sharp gasp. His body trembled, magic spilling from him in fits and bursts like a dam breaking.

“Yunho, please,” Mingi choked out, his voice breaking. “I...God, I need you, I need...”

“Shh.” Yunho’s other hand rubbed soothing circles into his thigh even as he stretched him open, unbearably careful, claws fully retracted. “I’ve got you, angel. I’ll give you everything.”

“Now,” Mingi sobbed. His nails raked the glowing stone beneath him until his fingertips split and bled. “Please, Yunho, I can’t—just take me—”

"Just a little longer," the other cooed, though Mingi could feel his control falter. His shoulders shook, his breath coming ragged as he fought himself. “If I lose control, I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Mingi gasped, wild with agony and need. “And even if you do...” His voice broke. “I don’t care. Just don’t stop. Don’t leave me.”

The last words destroyed Yunho. With a guttural sound, he gripped Mingi’s hips and thrust forward in one slow, merciless push.

Mingi shattered.

Pleasure, pain, power, there was no difference now. His body arched, his voice ripping free in a raw cry. The tattoos on his skin flared blinding white, and the runes beneath them surged in response, the circle humming like a living thing.

Their hands found each other blindly, fingers entwining like a vow. Blood from the ritual cuts smeared together, dripping between their joined palms and staining the runes below as they gripped one another.

The circle hummed louder, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to rattle Mingi’s bones from the inside out.

“Feel me,” Yunho groaned, voice reverent and desperate all at once. “Every inch of me. Every ounce. This is us, angel.”

Mingi couldn’t think past it, past the fullness, past the way pleasure and power tangled inside him until he didn’t know where one ended and the other began. He felt too big for his body, stretched to the edge of himself, tattoos blazing white-hot. “It’s...fuck, Yunho, it’s too much,” he choked.

“You can take it.” Yunho’s claws dug shallow furrows in the stone beside Mingi’s head as he thrust deeper, rougher, losing control by degrees. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

And Mingi was made for him. Each thrust drove another wave of divine energy out of him, spilling into the air, too much for his body to contain.

The energy screamed through the circle, and Yunho absorbed it all, even as his own runes split and bled under the strain. His body trembled with the effort of holding himself back, of not taking too much.

But now that he'd felt this devastating, consuming ecstasy, Mingi didn’t want restraint. He wanted obliteration.

“More,” Mingi begged, wild and fevered. His legs locked around Yunho’s waist, dragging him deeper. “Take everything, Yunho! Don’t stop...don’t ever stop!”

“Careful.” Yunho’s voice cracked, half snarl, half plea. “If I take it all, there will be nothing left of you, angel.”

“I don't care!” Mingi screamed, tears streaking down his face. “Take all of me...I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”

Something inside Yunho broke. His thrusts turned brutal, frantic, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that tasted like blood and magic and desperation. Mingi clung to him, nails tearing at rune-covered skin, both of them past words now. 

“Mine,” Yunho growled between kisses, between thrusts. The word was a vow, a curse, a prayer. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

The circle screamed with light as their climaxes collided, magic exploding outward in a blinding wave. Mingi cried out, body shattering beneath Yunho’s as divine energy poured from him in one final, unstoppable surge. Yunho took it all, every drop, every echo, until his body trembled violently, barely containing the torrent of power. His runes blazed white-hot, the smell of burning flesh mingling with incense as the bond sealed between them.

And then… silence.

The light dimmed, soft and steady now. The markings beneath them faded to a faint glow, like the dying embers of a fire.

Mingi lay trembling beneath Yunho, utterly spent, his breath coming in ragged sobs. The storm inside him, the fractured memories, the violent divine magic, had stilled. For the first moment since his awakening, he felt… whole. Balanced. His body no longer a battleground, but a vessel finally at peace.

Above him, Yunho sagged forward, chest heaving, muscles struggling to hold his weight. Sweat dripped onto Mingi’s skin, mingling with blood and salt. Slowly, impossibly, the glowing runes carved into Yunho’s body began to fade, extinguishing one by one.

The monstrous parts of him faded too, claws retracting, hellfire eyes dimming to a warm, deep brown, his skin losing its unnatural hue. Yunho was still powerful, still otherworldly, but… more human now.

Mingi’s breath caught. The bond had changed Yunho, too. “Yunho,” he whispered, awe and love breaking through the hoarseness of his voice. His trembling hand cupped Yunho’s face. “Look at you…”

Yunho pressed a kiss to Mingi’s palm, right over the ritual cut. His lips were soft, reverent. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice rough, terrified of the answer. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m… better than okay.” Mingi’s voice broke on the words. “You didn’t take too much. I'm okay.”

Yunho’s relief was visible, a sharp exhale that shuddered through his whole body. His lips curved in a small, tired smile, not a demon’s feral grin, but something tender. Something human.

“Worth it,” Yunho murmured, though Mingi could see the lingering pain on his face. His chest ached so fiercely it almost hurt.

When Yunho kissed him again, slow and lingering, it felt like a promise. “You’re worth it,” Yunho whispered against his lips, sealing the words with his mouth, with his magic, with his very soul.

In the quiet of the aftermath, Mingi lay sprawled beneath Yunho, his chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin. The circle still glimmered faintly around them, the magic a soft, pulsing glow like the remnants of a dying star.

Yunho was draped over him, heavy and warm, his breath ghosting across Mingi’s collarbone, eyes closed as he attempted to adjust to his new, more human frailty. For a long, perfect moment, there was nothing but the sound of them breathing together.

Mingi’s fingers traced aimless patterns along Yunho’s back, still half-dazed. “Yu,” he whispered, voice raw. “My brain doesn’t feel like it’s too big for my head anymore. I think we did it.”

Yunho hummed low in his chest, too exhausted to speak, but the tiny upward twitch of his lips and a gentle nuzzle to Mingi's throat said enough.

Then—BANG.

The heavy doors to the ritual chamber slammed open so hard they rattled on their hinges.

“Mingi!” Seonghwa’s voice rang through the room, sharp with alarm. “Are you okay? The ground was literally shaking! I swear to the heavens, if these demons...”

“Hyung!” Mingi yelped, bolting upright so fast Yunho groaned at the sudden movement.

He grabbed frantically for anything to cover them— the nearest thing was Yunho’s discarded robe, which he yanked up over Yunho’s exposed body like a flimsy shield.

His entire face went crimson. “GET OUT!” he screamed, voice cracking halfway through.

Seonghwa froze mid-stride. And then his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing: Mingi flushed and naked under a very naked Yunho, both of them tangled on top of a glowing magic circle.

Seonghwa’s face went from shock to utter horror in a heartbeat, hands coming up to cover his eyes. “Oh my...,” he breathed, choking on the words. “You...you...”

Before he could finish, Hongjoong strolled in behind him like he owned the place, looking far too pleased with himself. The imp’s grin on his face was positively wicked.

“Knew you liked to watch,” Hongjoong purred, clapping Seonghwa lightly on the shoulder as he passed. “But barging in this early? Bit rude, don’t you think?”

Seonghwa made a noise like a strangled kettle. “I...I wasn’t...! That’s not...!”

Hongjoong just laughed, rich and cruel, while Mingi wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

“Can everyone leave while my dick is out, please?!” Mingi barked. He felt Yunho’s body shake with barely contained laughter, the little exhibitionist.

Seonghwa made a panicked retreat, practically tripping over himself as he bolted backward through the doorway. Hongjoong lingered a moment longer, smirking down at the two of them like a cat with cream.

“You know,” he said casually, “this was way more entertaining than I’d hoped. Don’t take too long basking in the afterglow, though. We’ve got one more piece to finish.”

He turned to follow the others outside, calling back over his shoulder, “Oh, and thanks for bringing your little angel friend along, Mingi. I’ve been craving his company for centuries now.

Hongjoong’s grin widened. Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, the doors slammed shut again, leaving Mingi and Yunho alone in the suddenly too-quiet chamber.

Mingi groaned and flopped backward against the altar, dragging the robe over his face. “I hate my life,” he muttered, voice muffled.

Yunho just chuckled, low and rough, before collapsing on top of him again. “At least you’ve got me,” he said, smug even through his exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Mingi grumbled, peeking out from under the robe with a glare. “Lucky me.”

The heavy doors creaked open again, and this time, everyone came back inside, carefully, cautiously. The room still smelled of smoke and salt, the air heavy with spent magic. The runes on the floor were dimming, their glow fading to a sullen red.

Hongjoong clapped his hands together, beaming like a delighted host at the end of a particularly scandalous dinner party. “Well done, everyone. Beautiful performance. Very moving.”

Mingi immediately yanked Yunho’s robe tighter around himself, his face flaming all over again. “And I can't put my shirt on because?”

Hongjoong waved his hand dismissively, "It'll just get in the way, love." 

Yunho stretched languidly beside him, gloriously naked and utterly unbothered. “What now, Joong?” he asked, his voice smooth and bored, like this was just another Tuesday.

“Now we make it permanent.” Hongjoong’s grin turned sharp, predatory. “Well, semi-permanent, I guess. Your bodies need a mark, a binding sigil, or all of this effort will unravel before the next blood moon.”

Seonghwa stepped forward, frowning. “What kind of mark?”

“We can call it a tattoo if you like,” Hongjoong said, savoring the word. “Etched with blood - his in yours,” he pointed at Mingi, then at Yunho, “and yours in his. A promise written in flesh.”

Mingi’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Wait, like… visible? People are gonna see it?”

Yunho gave him a slow, wicked smile. “I hope they see it.”

“Yunho!” Mingi hissed, face flaming. “Can you control yourself for like a minute?”

“Why?” Yunho said simply, voice gone low and possessive. “Everyone should know you’re mine.”

Mingi sputtered, tugging the robe tighter while glaring at Wooyoung, who was very conspicuously not looking… and very obviously struggling not to laugh. Mingi hated him.

Hongjoong produced a set of slim ritual needles, gleaming ominously in the candlelight. “So, an angel marks the demon,” he explained, tossing the needles to Seonghwa, who caught them on instinct with a grim expression. “And a demon marks the divine.” He twirled another set between his fingers, his grin all teeth.

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened. “This is sacrilege.”

“Obviously,” Hongjoong said sweetly. “That’s what makes it so delightful.” He turned to regard Mingi. “You might want to lie down for this, handsome. It’s gonna hurt.”

“That’s reassuring,” Mingi muttered, glaring at him but doing as he recommended. He yelped when he felt strong hands holding his shoulders to the floor, and looked up to see San kneeling above him, his fingers an iron grip.

“Don’t move,” he said. “It’ll hurt more if you move.”

With Mingi distracted, Hongjoong, sliced down Yunho’s arm to get his blood flowing and sank the first needle into Mingi’s skin. The pain was sharp and white-hot, unlike anything he’d felt before. He gasped, reaching out and clutching Yunho’s hand like a lifeline.

The blood drawn from Yunho shimmered unnaturally as Hongjoong used it to etch intricate sigils over Mingi’s heart, each line burning like fire as it sank into his skin.

“Hold still, lovely,” Hongjoong crooned, far too delighted. “You’ll want this to be symmetrical. Artistry matters.”

“You are a sadist,” Mingi ground out, squeezing his eyes shut, squeezing Yunho's hand tighter. 

"Says the masochist," Yunho laughed, a deep, dark sound, and tilted his head back, offering his chest to Seonghwa like a challenge. “Go on then, little lightbringer. Mark me.”

Seonghwa’s lips thinned, his expression a war between fury and shame and some other, darker feeling. Still, his hands were steady as he dipped the needle into Mingi’s blood and began, following Hongjoong’s whispered instructions. The sigils glowed faintly gold against Yunho’s skin, light and shadow clashing as they sank into him.

Wooyoung hovered nearby, clearly fascinated and horrified. “That’s… actually really beautiful,” he admitted, then squeaked when San’s eyes flicked to him.

“Stop staring at me!” Mingi yelped, attempting to move his arms up to cover his chest, only to be thwarted by San’s iron grip.

“No one’s looking,” Wooyoung lied blatantly, spinning around so fast he nearly fell.

“I’m looking,” Hongjoong said smugly, leaning in closer. “And my, my, you blush so prettily, darling. I can’t decide if I want to ruin you or frame you.”

“Hongjoong!” Yunho barked.

“What?” Hongjoong said innocently. “Can I not appreciate good artwork?”

The final needle stroke sank into Mingi’s skin with a hiss. The sigils on both men flared simultaneously, Mingi’s glowing deep crimson, Yunho’s burning gold.

For a heartbeat, the entire church pulsed with their combined power.

Then the light snapped inward, sealing into the marks etched on their bodies. The glow dimmed, leaving behind semi-permanent markings, intricate, unmistakable, binding them to one another.

Mingi gasped, the sensation like a lock clicking shut deep inside him. The divine energy inside him settled, calm and contained. Beside him, Yunho exhaled slowly, his features appearing as human as the first day Mingi met him.

“Done,” Hongjoong announced with a flourish. “For now.”

Yunho’s head whipped around. “Wait, what do you mean, for now?”

Hongjoong’s grin was pure mischief. “Mortal flesh is a fragile thing. The seal will hold until the next blood moon. Then…” He gestured casually between them. “We’ll have to do it all again.”

Mingi groaned. “You mean...”

“Yes,” Hongjoong said brightly. “Another ritual. Another round of bloodletting and passionate, sweaty bonding.” He winked at Mingi as Yunho groaned. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

Chapter Text

The church was unrecognizable when they emerged from the inner sanctum.

Where once there had been scorched runes and blood-soaked floors, there was now pristine marble and perfectly aligned pews. The air smelled faintly of incense instead of smoke and salt. It was… wrong, in a way, how quickly Hongjoong could erase the evidence of everything they’d done here tonight.

“There you go,” Hongjoong said with a clap of his hands, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Your holy house of worship, good as new. No one will suspect a thing.”

Seonghwa’s jaw worked furiously as he stared at the spotless altar, his entire body vibrating with restrained fury. “You desecrated a sacred space.”

Hongjoong’s grin widened, all teeth and sin. “And then I fixed it. You’re welcome.”

“I hate you,” Seonghwa ground out.

“Oh, I adore that you hate me.” Hongjoong’s voice dropped to a purr. He stepped closer, his eyes glinting mischievously. “See you at the next blood moon, pretty boy. As always, it was a pleasure working alongside you.”

Before Seonghwa could respond, Hongjoong caught his hand and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the back of it. Seonghwa froze, a blush rising high on his cheeks. For half a second, he didn’t pull away, just stared in quiet contemplation, until he realized everyone was watching. He sneered, yanking his hand back like it burned. “Try that again and I’ll smite you.”

Hongjoong laughed, low and wicked. “Promises, promises, beautiful.” He threw a final wink over his shoulder at the taller man. Now finished with tormenting Seonghwa, Hongjoong turned back to Yunho, his usual smirk slipping into something rare, seriousness. “You’re okay?” he asked quietly. “Going with him?”

Yunho hesitated, his eyes flicking to Mingi. Mingi met his gaze, stubborn and sure, even through his lingering blush. “Yeah,” he answered on Yunho's behalf. “He’s coming with me. We… have some shit to talk about.”

Hongjoong studied them for a beat, then nodded. He reached up and tugged Yunho’s head down to press a quick kiss to his temple.

“Thanks, hyung,” Yunho muttered, almost shyly.

“Don’t get sentimental on me.” Hongjoong turned and patted Mingi’s shoulder with exaggerated fondness. “Welcome to the family, hot stuff. Can’t wait to see you at the next blood moon reunion. Maybe we’ll bring Jongho around, really liven things up.”

Mingi stared at him, baffled. “Who is Jongho?”

“You’ll see,” Hongjoong said mysteriously, already drifting toward the shadows with San trailing behind him. The latter turned and caught Wooyoung with a smoldering look before disappearing into the darkness.

Wooyoung made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, halfway between a gasp and a curse. “Yeah, that’s... that’s fine. Totally fine,” he muttered, cheeks pink.

Mingi turned to Seonghwa and Wooyoung, emotion tightening his chest. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Both of you. I know what it means… coming here. What it could cost you.”

For a moment, Seonghwa’s composure faltered, just enough for Mingi to see the flicker of fear, the weight of what they’d done. Then he exhaled sharply and crossed his arms again. “I don’t love that we were a part of this,” he said, voice tight. “If Heaven finds out, we’re finished. But-” he hesitated, jaw flexing, “-I’d do it again. Just… don’t make me regret it.”

Mingi smiled faintly. He knew that was as close to I love you as Seonghwa could get.

Wooyoung didn’t bother pretending. He threw his arms around Mingi, clinging tight. “We’d risk worse for you,” he murmured. “You’re one of us, whether Heaven likes it or not.”

Mingi’s throat went tight. “Oh, so you’re my guardian angel now?”

Wooyoung pulled back just enough to flash him a grin. “Might as well be!”

Seonghwa groaned and seized Wooyoung by the collar, hauling him back. “Alright, we need to leave. Before we get pulled into another pseudo-demonic ritual.”

Wooyoung yelped, stumbling after him. “We’ll see you soon, Min!” he called over his shoulder as Seonghwa dragged him out the front gate.

The church quieted again. At some point during the commotion, Yunho had pulled on a spare set of clothes, the simple black shirt clinging to him like a second skin, Mingi tried not to stare. He stepped up beside Mingi, sliding an arm around his waist, thumb tracing slow circles into his hip.

“Time to go?” he asked, voice low.

Mingi nodded, leaning into the warmth of him. Together they walked out into the cool night air, into whatever came next.

Mingi’s apartment felt impossibly small after everything they’d been through that night. The ritual, the binding, the weight of all that magic, and now this: a studio apartment, four plain walls, a sagging couch, a kitchen sink that still dripped no matter how many times he swore he’d fix it. The normalcy of it was almost suffocating… but it was home.

He kicked the door shut behind them, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re gonna need a bigger apartment,” he muttered, voice low and still a little hoarse.

Yunho dropped dramatically onto the couch, sprawling like he’d been shot. “I’m gonna need to get a job.”

Mingi snorted, tossing his keys onto the counter. “Good luck with that. You don’t even have a birth certificate.”

Yunho grinned, wicked and unbothered. “That’s not a problem. I know a guy.”

Mingi raised a skeptical brow. “Oh, sure. Totally reassuring.”

“Besides,” Yunho added lazily, stretching like a cat, “I still have some of my demonic powers. I’m sure I can figure out a way to use them to my advantage.”

“I cannot believe I ever thought you were a good boy.”

The smirk Yunho gave him was sharp but softened into something far more dangerous. He tilted his head, eyes dark and warm all at once. “I can be your good boy,” he said smoothly.

Mingi’s face went red immediately. “Shut up.”

He turned away before Yunho could see the way his mouth twitched, but he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the hand that shot out to grab his wrist. Yunho stood from the couch and pulled him close, lips soft against his, the touch achingly gentle after everything that had happened tonight.

“Hey,” Yunho murmured against his mouth.

Mingi blinked, dazed. “…Hmm?”

Yunho pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry our first time was so…”

“Public? Coerced? Bloody?” Mingi offered, trying for levity but only managing a half-hearted smirk.

Yunho chuckled low in his throat. “Actually, I really didn’t mind all that.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

The humor faded then, leaving Yunho looking unexpectedly vulnerable. “I’m just… sorry it wasn’t everything you wanted it to be.”

For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint dripping of the sink. Mingi’s chest ached at the sincerity in Yunho’s voice, this demon, this being of chaos incarnate, who had ripped his life apart and stitched it back together all in the same night.

He reached out, threading his fingers through Yunho’s hair. “We’ve got time,” he said softly. “Next time… it’ll be different.”

Yunho’s mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Next time, huh?” His lips brushed over Mingi’s jaw, down the column of his throat. His voice was velvet wrapped around a growl. “Tell me, angel. What did you want it to be?”

Mingi’s throat worked, but before he could answer, Yunho’s teeth grazed his skin, sharp but teasing. The sound Mingi made was more whimper than word. “I-uh…”

Yunho chuckled darkly, kissing down to the hollow of his throat. “Did you want me to be gentle?” His tone was mocking-sweet, like he already knew the answer. “Touch you softly. Whisper pretty things in your ear. Worship you like you were something fragile?” His hands slid slowly up Mingi’s sides, reverent.

“Mm. No,” Yunho murmured, shifting his weight with quiet, decisive strength. He pulled Mingi into his lap, forcing their bodies flush. Mingi choked on a gasp, instinctively wrapping his legs around Yunho’s hips.

“That’s better,” Yunho hummed, satisfaction dripping from his tone. His hands caught the hem of Mingi’s shirt and tore it straight up the middle, the movement casual but slow enough for Mingi to feel every brush of fingers.

“Yunho!” Mingi yelped, trying to sit up. “That was one of my favorites, you utter bastard!”

Yunho didn’t even glance at him. His mouth was already lowering to the ritual mark over Mingi’s heart. The flesh there was raw, pulsing with faint heat like a hidden second heartbeat. Yunho licked over it slowly, then sank his teeth into it in a claiming bite. Mingi cried out, back arching, pushing forward into Yunho's hold, pleasure and pain indistinguishable. His ruined shirt was instantly forgotten, discarded like ash.

Yunho didn’t stop there. Teeth scraped over Mingi’s collarbone, biting and sucking, marking his way down inch by inch. His mouth was relentless but careful, a predator playing with prey he wanted to keep. Mingi twisted beneath him, hands clutching helplessly at Yunho’s shoulders, trying to feel everything at once.

“Yunho!” Mingi gasped, voice breaking. His body burned, alive and trembling.

“You love this,” Yunho murmured, mouth dragging across his sternum. His thumbs pressed into Mingi’s hips, holding him still. “You need this.”

Mingi’s hips bucked helplessly. “Yes...God, yes...”

“That’s my good boy.” Yunho kissed up the line of his throat, voice dropping into something coaxing. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I don’t...” Mingi trembled, unable to focus. “I can’t...”

“You can.” Yunho’s tone stayed low, almost patient. “Use your words, angel. Do you want my hands? My mouth? Do you want me to worship you until you’re shaking?”

The thought alone made Mingi moan, his head falling to Yunho’s shoulder.

“No,” Yunho said suddenly, a wicked grin curling his mouth. “I know what you like.”

He grabbed the back of Mingi’s neck, forcing him to meet his gaze. His eyes burned molten gold, otherworldly. “You like it when I push you. You want me to take you apart until you forget everything but this.”

Mingi made a broken sound, his pupils blown wide with need.

“You want me to claim you,” Yunho hissed against his ear. “To tell you you’re mine while I fuck you so deep you forget you ever belonged to anyone else. Until you forget everything but me.”

Mingi’s breath came in short, desperate gasps. He couldn’t even speak.

“That’s it,” Yunho purred, seeing his silence as submission. “Just let go, angel.”

With effortless strength, Yunho scooped Mingi up. Mingi laughed breathlessly, startled, clinging to Yunho’s shoulders, the ridiculousness of it briefly clearing the fog in his mind, “You’re actually carrying me? Like I’m some damsel and not almost as tall as you?”

“You say that like you don’t love it,” Yunho smirked, his teeth flashing.

“I don’t...” The protest died when Yunho growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through Mingi’s bones and cutting off his words. His whole body went pliant under that sound, heat curling tight in his stomach. In a smooth, powerful motion, Yunho tossed him onto the bed. Before Mingi could catch his breath, Yunho had stripped him bare, yanking his pants down so quickly Mingi yelped.

“Really?” Mingi’s voice cracked.

“Relax, angel,” Yunho said, already undoing his own clothes with maddening slowness. “You won’t need those.”

He was on Mingi then, all heat and hunger. His hands dragged roughly down Mingi’s sides, nails scratching deep, drawing helpless gasps from his throat. His mouth latched onto a nipple, biting hard while his other hand pinched and rolled the other to match.

“Yunho!” Mingi cried, half a plea, half a prayer, brain going fuzzy once more. 

"I know you, baby." Yunho laughed darkly and soothed the bite with a slow, wet swirl of his tongue. “You like when it hurts just enough,” he murmured, voice wicked. “Tell me you like it.”

"Like it..." Mingi whimpered, too far gone to form a more coherent response. His trembling body was answer enough.

“Good boy,” Yunho praised in a dark purr, hands gentling where they stroked his sides. 

He moved lower, kissing, biting, marking his way down until he reached Mingi’s thighs. He spread them wide, thumbs digging into the crease hard enough to bruise. “Such soft skin here,” Yunho muttered, almost reverent. Then he bit down viciously. Mingi yelped, hips jerking, but Yunho slammed him back down against the bed. "Stay."

The command went straight through Mingi’s spine. He stilled instantly, trembling.

Yunho’s grin sharpened. “Perfect.” Then, without warning, he swallowed Mingi down to the base in one ruthless motion.

Mingi choked on a moan, his hands flying to the sheets as his back arched violently. It was too much, too sudden, his mind scattering as Yunho’s tongue worked him with deliberate cruelty, alternating between ruthless suction and light, maddening flicks that left him gasping.

When Mingi tried to thrust up, desperate for more, Yunho’s hand pressed down firmly on his stomach, pinning him flat. “I told you to stay,” Yunho growled against him, the vibration sending another shock of pleasure racing through Mingi’s body.

“Please,” Mingi sobbed, incoherent.

Yunho hummed like he’d been given a gift, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Please what, angel?”

“Please...fuck, Yunho, please...need you...” Mingi babbled, his voice high and wrecked.

Yunho’s smile was wicked. “You've got me.” He went back down with punishing suction, relentless until Mingi’s vision went white.

But just before Mingi broke, Yunho stopped. Mingi sobbed, hips jerking upward in protest. “Yunho! Please, please...”

“Not yet.” Yunho’s voice was absolute. He kissed the inside of Mingi’s thigh almost tenderly, then moved up his body in a slow, deliberate crawl.

As he reached Mingi’s mouth, he grabbed his chin and kissed him hard, letting him taste himself. “You’re mine,” Yunho growled against his lips. “Say it.”

“Yours,” Mingi gasped instantly. “Only yours.”

“Good boy.” Yunho’s eyes gleamed. "You want me inside you, angel?"

Mingi's neck strained wth the force of his nod, arms going up and around Yunho's shoulders, fingers grasping. Yunho reached down, slicking his fingers with lube he'd found in the nightstand, his touch unhurried but firm. He spread Mingi open with one hand, thumb circling his rim with teasing pressure.

Mingi whined, hips rocking helplessly. “Please...need you...I can take it. I'm already open...”

“Shh,” Yunho soothed, though his tone was dark. “I’ll give you everything, baby. But you’re going to take my fingers first.”

He slid one finger in slowly, deliberately. Mingi gasped, clutching at the sheets.

“Good,” Yunho praised. “Relax for me.”

Another finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching. Then a third, all at once, unrelenting. Mingi moaned, hips jerking. “Yunho.”

“Don’t move. I told you I want to see you hold still for me,” Yunho coaxed, and Mingi froze, trembling violently.

“That’s it,” Yunho murmured, crooning filth as he fucked him open with his fingers, deep and fast. Mingi's body shook with the strain of keeping still. “So fucking tight. I could keep you like this forever, stretched out on my hand, begging me to go deeper.”

“Yes,” Mingi sobbed, tears streaking his face. “Please, yes...”

“You like being ruined, don’t you?” Yunho’s grin was pure sin. “You like when it's almost too much. Say it.”

“I like it,” Mingi cried, choking on his own breath. “I like it when you use me. Please, more...”

“Perfect.” Yunho curled his fingers just so, stroking the spot that made Mingi's mouth drop open in a silent scream. “You’re mine, angel,” Yunho snarled, his voice deepening, more demon than man now. He draped his body over Mingi’s, pressing him down into the mattress. His mouth descended on Mingi’s throat, biting, tasting, claiming. “Only mine. No one else will ever touch you like this. No one else will ever make you feel like this.”

By the time Yunho finally pulled his fingers free, Mingi was wrecked and shaking, his body loose and pliant, his hole fluttering around nothing.

Yunho slicked himself, positioning. “You ready to take me now?” he growled, voice low and feral.

“Yes...Yunho, please...” Mingi’s plea was a sob.

“Good boy.”

With one brutal thrust, Yunho buried himself to the hilt. Mingi cried out sharply, nails clawing Yunho’s back, body bowing in exquisite agony as Yunho began to fuck him open. Mingi whimpered, every muscle taut with the shock of being so utterly filled. He could feel every inch of Yunho inside him, stretching him impossibly wide, stealing his breath and replacing it with white-hot sensation.

“Fuck,” Yunho snarled, voice guttural. His hands clamped hard on Mingi’s hips, pinning him in place. “So tight. You’re going to kill me, angel.”

Mingi’s nails raked down Yunho’s back, desperate and wild. “Yunho, oh my god...”

“Not God,” Yunho growled, snapping his hips forward in a brutal thrust that stole Mingi’s words. “Just me. Only me.”

The pace was devastating. Yunho’s thrusts were deep and unrelenting, dragging raw cries from Mingi’s throat with every snap of his hips. His body trembled violently, overstimulated beyond reason, his voice breaking as he sobbed Yunho’s name over and over like a prayer.

In his pleasure-filled delirium, his hand moved on its own accord, tugging at Yunho’s, dragging it up to his throat. Pulse racing, breath shallow, it was a silent, reckless dare. Yunho’s laugh, low, dark, and sharp, rolled through the room. “Good boy,” he growled, tightening his fingers just enough to make Mingi gasp, to make his body shiver and quake against him. “You love this. Don’t you?”

The pressure wasn’t enough to cut off his air completely, just enough to make Mingi gasp, his vision swimming. The loss of oxygen turned every thrust sharper, every drag of Yunho’s cock unbearably intense.

“Yes!” Mingi choked, voice ragged. “God, yes...harder, please, don’t stop...”

“Ask me again, angel,” Yunho ordered, tightening his grip.

Mingi’s pupils were blown wide, his body arching helplessly under Yunho’s hand. His lips trembled as he tried to form words. “Please...fuck, Yunho, please...need you, need you to ruin me...”

Yunho's hips slammed forward at that, fucking Mingi so deep that the breath was punched out of him. The sound he made was wordless, a shattered scream. “Perfect,” Yunho crooned, his free hand slipping between them to wrap around Mingi’s cock like a reward. He stroked in time with his thrusts. Slow at first, then faster, his grip merciless.

Mingi went wild, sobbing and writhing. “Yunho...oh, fuck, oh fuck, I can’t...”

“You can,” Yunho growled. “You will. You’re going to come for me, angel, with my hand around your throat.” He squeezed tighter, cutting off Mingi’s next desperate cry. Mingi’s eyes rolled back, his body convulsing as the mix of pressure and pleasure sent him spiraling out of control.

“That’s it,” Yunho purred, his voice a dark, filthy promise. “You’re mine. Every sound, every tear, every fucking breath belongs to me.”

He thrust harder, faster, until the bedframe slammed into the wall with each movement. The sound mingled with Mingi’s choked gasps, the wet slap of skin on skin, the raw litany of Yunho’s praise and filth. “You’re so good like this,” Yunho hissed, his own voice breaking with need. “So wrecked for me. Say it. Say who you belong to.”

Mingi clawed at Yunho’s forearm, his chest heaving as he tried to form the words. “…Y-you...” His voice broke on a sob. “Yours! Yunho, I’m yours!”

“Again.”

“Yours!” Mingi screamed, the word ripped from his soul.

“Such a good boy,” Yunho snarled. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate. “Now come for me, angel.”

He jerked Mingi’s cock ruthlessly while keeping his throat tight and pinned for a moment longer before releasing. Mingi shattered with a strangled scream, his whole body bowing as white-hot pleasure ripped through him. The orgasm tore him apart, leaving nothing but Yunho’s hand, Yunho’s voice, Yunho’s claim.

Yunho didn’t let go. Even as Mingi convulsed, sobbing and gasping, Yunho kept thrusting, milking every last spasm of release and pleasure. His growls turned low and feral as he drove himself on. His rhythm grew erratic, harder, hungrier, as if he were trying to fuse them together with sheer force. Mingi’s own release had left him trembling, but Yunho kept going, overwhelming him with heat and possession until there was nothing left but the ragged chant of his name in Mingi’s raw throat. “Yunho...” It was a broken, pleading sound, half worship, half surrender. Each thrust drove Mingi higher, stealing his breath, his thoughts, his very sense of self.

A low, vicious growl tore from Yunho’s chest. His hand tightened at Mingi’s hip, holding him completely still, and with a final, brutal thrust, Yunho buried himself to the hilt, biting down at the same moment, sinking his teeth into the juncture of Mingi’s neck and shoulder. The deep ache mingled with the overwhelming fullness, sharp and perfect, pulling another broken cry from Mingi’s lips. He felt Yunho’s body seize, muscles locking as he spilled into him, heat flooding him in thick, pulsing waves. Mingi gasped, his vision going white at the edges, he couldn’t tell where his body ended and Yunho began. It was too much, too deep, too good. 

At last, Yunho released his bite with a ragged exhale, his tongue smoothing over the mark as if in apology, in reverence. He stayed buried deep, his weight pressing Mingi into the mattress, his chest heaving with each uneven breath. Their hearts beat together, uneven and frantic, every inhale and shiver syncing into one shared rhythm, one shared body.

Sweat cooled along their skin, but Yunho’s palms stayed warm as they smoothed over Mingi’s back in slow, steady circles. He murmured low sounds, half words, half hums, at the edge of Mingi’s ear, not quite language but grounding all the same. He brushed damp hair from Mingi’s forehead with the gentleness of a prayer, kissed the corners of his mouth, his jaw, the marks he’d left on his throat, soothing them with soft lips as if sealing them closed. “You did so well for me,” he murmured, voice rough with praise and exhaustion. “My perfect angel.”

Mingi made a weak, broken sound, too wrecked to speak.

“Shh.” Yunho’s hand stroked slowly through his damp hair, gently easing himself out of the other so he could gather Mingi into his arms. “Breathe. That’s it. I’ve got you.”

Mingi obeyed without thinking, lungs expanding shakily under Yunho’s touch. He felt the tremor in his own body start to ease, the wild rush of his pulse softening into something steady, like waves after a storm. Each exhale left him lighter, each inhale filling him with the warm, smoky scent of Yunho’s skin.

“Better?” Yunho asked at last, quiet but certain, the edge of command gone.

Mingi let out a small, broken laugh and nuzzled against his chest, cheek pressed to the demon’s skin. “Better,” he whispered. Then, softer, almost shy: “Everything I wanted.”

Yunho’s answering smile was slow and warm. He cupped the back of Mingi’s neck, thumbs rubbing slow circles, coaxing every last shiver out of him. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Because next time, angel…” his voice dropped to a velvet promise, “I'm gonna ride you until you black out.”

Mingi groaned, burying his face deeper into Yunho’s neck, but his body trembled with anticipation despite himself. He felt Yunho’s warm laughter as his arms tightened around him, broad palms sliding down his spine, massaging, soothing, grounding. Yunho shifted them slightly, pulling a blanket over Mingi’s cooling back, tucking it around him like a shield.

As he lay there on his too-small bed with the man demon he loved wrapped around him, tracing the vivid marking carved into his flesh that matched his own, Mingi knew. This was better than divinity. Better than the cold, distant worship he’d been taught to crave. This was a living god, raw and imperfect, with hands that bruised and lips that burned, holding him so tightly he could feel himself belong.

Worth the fall. Worth everything.

For a long moment, they simply breathed, Yunho’s fingers still tracing small shapes across his back, every movement a wordless reassurance: safe, here, mine.

Then Mingi huffed a tired sigh, his voice muffled against Yunho’s skin. “We still need to talk, though.”

Yunho’s answering laugh was warm, rich, and just a little wicked. “Later,” he murmured, tightening his arms around Mingi possessively. “For now… just stay.”

Mingi did.

Chapter Text

The church was alive with motion, a low hum of anticipation filling the air. Candles flickered in uneven clusters around the altar, throwing strange, dancing shadows across the room.

Mingi stood at the center of it all, his body thrumming with heat. It had been building for weeks now - a pressure under his skin, like his bones were too small to contain him. Every day had been a little harder, his hands shaking with exhaustion, his throat dry no matter how much water he drank.

He was ready for this ritual. Needed it.

And Yunho… Yunho had been there through it all, relentless and tender in equal measure. He stood pressed close to Mingi now, shirtless and marked from collarbone to waist in fading bruises in the faint shape of Mingi's teeth and nails - and Mingi knew his own throat and wrists were just as decorated. A year later, and they were still utterly obsessed with one another. Everyone knew it. Mingi leaned against Yunho’s chest, tracing absent patterns over the runes that lingered faintly on his skin from last year's ritual. Yunho bent his head to press a kiss to one of the more impressive marks behind his ear, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Mingi shivered despite himself.

“You’re humming again,” Yunho murmured against his skin.

“Not my fault,” Mingi whispered back. “Feels like I’m about to split apart. You’d hum too.”

Yunho chuckled, low and pleased, and let his teeth scrape deliberately over the mark at his throat. “Hmm...Remember the last time we were like this?” Mingi rolled his eyes, but the flush gave him away.

A soft sound from the shadows drew their attention as Hongjoong emerged, smooth as a phantom, his grin sharp and predatory.

“Hello, lovelies,” he purred, circling them like a predator inspecting a rare specimen. “Long time no see.”

Yunho didn’t even flinch. “You’re late.”

Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “Fashionably. There’s a difference.” His gaze caught on Yunho’s bare torso gleaming in the candlelight. “Ah. I see you’ve been keeping busy.” He threw Mingi a lascivious wink while Yunho smirked, unrepentant.

“And speaking of keeping busy,” Hongjoong added, circling them like a cat toying with its favorite birds. “Imagine my surprise, walking through Times Square the other day, only to see your demon boyfriend twenty feet tall on a billboard, smoldering down at the masses.”

Mingi felt his face heat. “…It’s not like he needs more people staring at him.”

“Oh, I approve,” Hongjoong said, delighted. “Convincing the entire human population to worship you voluntarily? Inspired. Demonic persuasion at its finest.”

Yunho preened under the compliment. “What can I say? The camera loves me.”

“It’s clearly mutual,” Mingi muttered under his breath, then scowled when Yunho’s smirk widened.

Hongjoong laughed, savoring every ounce of tension. “Ah, Mingi. Possessive as ever. You know, I still don't understand why you turned your nose up at joining us in damnation. You'd make a hell of a demon with that jealous streak." He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

Yunho leaned in close enough that only he could hear: “I only see you, baby.”

Mingi’s breath caught. His grip on Yunho’s wrist tightened, part warning, part claim.

Hongjoong’s delight was obvious as he gestured behind him. “And speaking of mutual admiration,” he said, “allow me to introduce Jongho. Our youngest. He’s still learning the ropes of general depravity, Mingi, so please bear with him.”

A broad-shouldered demon strode forward from the shadows, solid as a wall and radiating a composed mischief. He gave Mingi a once-over, then said bluntly, “You’re taller than I thought.” His gaze shifted to Yunho. “And you are definitely batting out of your league.”

Yunho lunged, tackling him into a playful scuffle that sent a holy relic clattering to the floor. Mingi laughed, shaking his head, while Hongjoong sighed dramatically. “Children,” he said. “They get so excited. Now…” he clapped his hands, voice teasing, scanning the room, “where’s your self-righteous friend?”

As if summoned, Seonghwa and Wooyoung entered the chapel together. Seonghwa’s glare could have sanctified the room on its own.

“Hello, beautiful,” Hongjoong purred, nearly swooning. “Still breathtaking, I see. Honestly, chastity’s a waste of you.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched in frustration. Mingi’s chest tightened; he hadn’t been sure Seonghwa would come back at all after last time. Hate, love, obsession - whatever bound him to Hongjoong was a curse and a tether both, and the air between them still burned with it.

Movement at the edge of the room drew everyone’s attention as San emerged from the shadows, gaze locked on Wooyoung with an intensity that could melt steel. Wooyoung stopped dead in his tracks. His entire face went crimson. San’s dark gaze swept over him slowly, hungrily, like he was already unwrapping a present.

“San,” Hongjoong said mock-sternly, “you’re frightening the cherubs again. At least let him breathe before you attempt to swallow him whole.”

Wooyoung made a strangled sound that didn’t help his case.

San tilted his head, expression unreadable, and purred, “He looks like he wants me to.”

Wooyoung’s ears turned scarlet. “I do not!” he blurted, then immediately clamped his mouth shut as everyone turned to look at him. San’s grin widened, slow and devastating.

The group went about preparing for the ritual: Yunho removed the rest of his clothing, San already tracing sigils into his skin with a ritual dagger while Mingi held the materials nearby. Jongho hovered behind Hongjoong as he added the finishing touches to the altar, eyes wide with mischief, while Seonghwa and Wooyoung stood to the side with a critical eye. Mingi and Yunho exchanged soft smiles, completely attuned to one another amidst the controlled chaos. Even in this sacred, profane space, Yunho’s fingers would brush Mingi’s hip whenever he passed, a low, constant claim.

Mingi caught him looking once, even as markings were carved deep into the flesh of his thighs, eyes molten, and whispered, “You really can’t stop touching me, can you?”

Yunho leaned in, voice rough with want. “Not when you look like you’re about to burst. I want to be the one to hold you together.” Mingi slapped his hand away. 

The heavy doors squeaked open, causing seven pairs of curious eyes to whip towards the intruder. 

A young man in seminary garb stepped inside hesitantly, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. “I-I’m… I’m sorry, I was supposed to be checking on the chapel…”

Mingi couldn't imagine what they all looked like to this man. Hongjoong's smile as he descicrated the sacred space, Seonghwa's righteous indignation, San crouched over Yunho’s bare chest, carving ritualistic markings into his flesh, the faint pulse of magic. The sight was enough to make him stumble over his own words. “What… what in heaven’s name…?”

Hongjoong was the first to move. Of course, he was. He glided toward the newcomer like a shadow, voice warm and inviting but with a razor edge beneath. “Well, well, well. What have we here? A lamb wandered in among wolves?” 

The young man flinched, but didn’t back away. Brave, or foolish. Maybe both.

Mingi glanced at Yunho and gave a helpless shrug. “Weird how normal this feels,” he muttered.

Yunho laughed softly, brushing Mingi’s hair back from his face. “Normal for us, maybe.”

Their eyes slid back to the intruder as Hongjoong’s grin sharpened. “Fresh, unspoiled… ripe for a little guidance.”

Before he could get closer, Seonghwa stepped between them like a blade unsheathed. “Not yours,” he said coldly.

The tension was immediate, electric. Hongjoong’s gaze flicked to Seonghwa’s, two forces colliding without words. “Oh, come now,” he drawled, circling slowly, predator around prey. “What harm could a conversation do?”

Seonghwa didn’t move, didn’t blink. “I know you, Hongjoong. Your conversations end in damnation.”

The befuddled stranger looked between them, bewildered and pale, clearly aware something was happening but too lost to fully understand.

Yunho leaned down toward Mingi, voice low and amused. “Ten bucks says the kid has no idea which one to be more afraid of.”

“Ten bucks says he’s about to run screaming,” Mingi muttered back, though he couldn’t quite look away. Watching Hongjoong and Seonghwa interact was always akin to watching a car accident. You knew something terrible could happen at any moment, but you couldn't tear your eyes away

Hongjoong finally broke the standoff with a sharp, theatrical clap of his hands. “Well, introductions, then! Everyone, meet Yeosang.” His grin turned positively wicked. “Our guest of honor this evening… or perhaps just a guest. That’s up to him.”

The poor man startled at hearing his name spoken so confidently, visibly reassessing his life choices.

Hongjoong’s tone turned silken, coaxing. “Welcome, Yeosang. Consider this your first… glimpse. A taste of what waits beyond your tidy little chapel walls.”

Seonghwa bristled, metaphorical feathers ruffling as he puffed out his chest. “Enough.”

“Oh, don’t be such a bore, Hwa.” Hongjoong tsked at him, but he did step back, eyes glittering with the promise of a hunt.

Yeosang was still shaking, but instead of bolting, he lingered, rooted to the spot by fear, fascination, or some mix of both.

Around them, preparations for the ritual continued without pause. San calmly returned to carving new sigils into Yunho’s skin, Jongho and Wooyoung bickered near the runes, and Mingi found himself watching it all with a strange sense of peace. This was chaos, yes, but it was their chaos. And as the sigils began to glow faintly, heat humming under his skin, Mingi realized how glad he was to be here again. 

He turned to find Yunho already watching him, and they shared a small, private smile.

Behind them, Hongjoong murmured with unrestrained delight, “Oh, Seonghwa, this will be fun. You, me, one fragile little priest caught between temptation and salvation.”

“You won’t get your claws in him,” Seonghwa’s glare could have leveled mountains. “Not while I still stand.”

“Then I look forward to your fall.” Hongjoong smirked, and the dance between light and shadow began anew.