An Eternity of Shadows

by litana

Summary:

Kang Yeosang is a kpop fanboy, the owner of a magical sentient tea shop, and the worst grim reaper in history.
It's not his fault he likes plushies and pastels and playing Animal Crossing in his PJs.
Just like it's not his fault he keeps dying in horrible, unfortunate ways, only to be reborn and do it all over again.

When two of the idols of his ult group (Treasure Sea) stumble half-dead into his shop, Yeosang's world flips on its head. As he becomes entangled with the men he's admired (respectfully and not at all obsessively) from afar, a deeper conspiracy unfolds, and the very purpose of his existence comes into question.

~ ~ ~
This story is completed, and will be updated twice a week. There are some heavy themes which will be noted at the beginning of each chapter. I hope you enjoy!

The E rating is earned starting in chapter 9, and all spice will be marked in case that's not your thing :)

Chapter 1

Yeosang expected a nice, quiet evening relaxing in his cozy apartment over his shop, curled up with his game console in the soft, overstuffed and worn armchair by the window, watching as large flakes of snow came drifting down from the darkened sky.

He does not expect to be rudely interrupted by his shop door slamming open downstairs.

The locked shop door, with the crooked (he’d misjudged parallel lines when he’d hung it up, so sue him) “Closed for now, see you tomorrow!” sign jauntily hanging on the front.

Frowning, he wraps his blanket around his shoulders and walks out of his apartment, locking the door for good measure with a wave of his hand over the knob, and heads downstairs with only a short regretful glance at his comfy chair.

The smell of blood hits him as soon as he enters the stairwell, accompanied by a shifting unease in the walls.

Ah. It’s that sort of visit then.

Stepping quietly down the stairs, he enters the backroom of his shop, the smell of herbs and spices he uses to make his teas barely overpowering the intense smell of iron and sweat. Wrinkling his nose and cursing his sensitive senses, Yeosang pushes through the heavy, dark purple curtain, freezing at the sight before him.

The man from his wet-dreams stands in the center of the room, hunched over from supporting the weight of a second man (also, wet dreams) who’s barely conscious. And not just, oh they’re hot as fuck kind of wet dreams.

No.

These are the literal men who turn up in his dirtiest fantasies—because Yeosang has a secret which he hides from his closest friends. Well, in reality the pair of vampires that invade his shop multiple evenings a week (while he makes a show of being exasperated by their presence) pretend not to know, which is good enough for him.

Yeosang is a kpop stan—and two members of his favorite group (Treasure Sea), his biases (Yunho and Mingi) from that group, are standing (or in Mingi’s case, leaning heavily) in the center of his shop.

“Sanctuary. I invoke Sanctuary. Please.”

Yunho’s voice is threaded with barely contained panic. Yeosang grabs his inner squealing fanboy by the neck and shoves him into the back of his brain. He’ll let him out later, when he’s alone in the privacy of his apartment. For now, he needs to focus on the task at hand.

“You understand the rules of Sanctuary?”

Yunho nods desperately. Mingi groans and slumps further into Yunho’s grip. Falling into his role, Yeosang steps forward, not missing the quick sweep of Yunho’s eyes down his slight figure, and notes the confusion in his gaze.

He is well aware that he doesn’t look like someone who should be running a Sanctuary, let alone defending them from whatever chased them into the shop. But his appearance plays to his advantage.

“Sanctuary granted. If you bring harm to me, or to any who enter this space, your Sanctuary will be revoked and I will take appropriate action to remove you.”

Again, the look of slight doubt, quickly overtaken by relief as Yeosang gestures for them to come behind the counter towards the back room. Mingi looks like shit and Yeosang needs to examine him before it gets worse.  

The door of the shop clatters as someone rattles the handle. Yeosang lays a hand on the wall, feeling the shop’s heightened unease. It locked the door against whoever is trying to force it open, which means the visitors have no intention of invoking, or upholding, the rules of Sanctuary.

“Were you followed?” Yunho winces, limping (favoring his right leg, Yeosang needs to remember to take a look later) and struggling visibly under Mingi’s weight. The man looks to have fully lost consciousness. Yeosang steps forward to slide under MIngi’s other shoulder. He watches Yunho’s eyes widen in shock as he easily supports the taller man’s weight.

Gulping, Yunho shrugs, a look of confusion on his face. “We… were in the area, and got into it with some assholes on the street. One of them cursed Mingi. I was able to create a distraction but I guess they followed us here.”

Something in Yunho’s words doesn’t ring true, but if Mingi was cursed, that meant they’re likely tracking him.

Yeosang sighs, bringing them through the curtain and tucking it back so that he can still see into the shop. The door rattles again; it won’t be able to hold for much longer. Keeping people out is Yeosang’s job.

He lays Mingi on the old couch squished into the corner, draping the man’s legs over one armrest because, unlike Yeosang’s petite form, he is far too tall to fit. As Yeosang reaches out a hand, the cabinet under the sink bangs open and a first aid kit complete with basic neutralization serums and balms comes flying out to smack into his hand. The shop’s nerves are showing—its finesse isn’t the best on a good day. Wincing at the sting in his palm, Yeosang quickly flips open the lid as the door cracks and slams open.

The shop shifts in irritation, and Yeosang shares the sentiment. That’s the third door gone in a month. This is supposed to be a Sanctuary, dammit. Where has all the respect gone?

Granted, the first door fell to a self-inflicted conflict between himself and a potted lemon tree, and the second door was an accident that came from Jisung seeing a spider, shrieking, and tripping into the frame in his effort to get away.

But still.

It’s a rhetorical question, of course, since his shop isn’t even recognized as an official Sanctuary. Instead, he likes to think of it as a Sanctuary for the people who can’t go anywhere else. Doesn’t mean he’s not tired of replacing his door.

Mingi groans, a pained noise, which has Yeosang dropping to his knees beside the couch. Running his hand over the injured man’s shirt, the fabric shreds away to reveal a purple splotch spreading like an ink stain over his pale skin.

Just the cup of tea for a curse breaker like him.

Smiling, he raises a hand and watches Yunho jerk forward.

“I’m not going to hurt him. The rules of Sanctuary bind me as well.”

Only a slight untruth.

Yunho shifts forward to brush Mingi’s hair away from his forehead with a shaking hand, but doesn’t move to intercept Yeosang as he lays a hand on the mark. Focusing, he draws the cursed energy towards him, gathering it underneath his palm. Mingi shifts restlessly, sweat breaking out on his brow. The curse is strong, but clumsy. The caster jammed it into Mingi’s soul, rather than weaving it delicately into the fabric of his essence.

Shoddy work, in Yeosang’s opinion.

In a matter of seconds, he has it contained in the cup of his hand. The bruised mark on Mingi’s skin stays behind—that will take a bit more effort to dispel, and by the sounds coming from the front of the shop, he’s out of time.

Yunho’s eyes widen as he looks at the swirling, purple, bulging miasma hovering over Yeosang’s palm. Yeosang knows the next part will probably scar the idol for life, but oh well. He needs the power boost.

Yunho makes a choking noise as the curse slips into Yeosang’s mouth, swallowed down with a gulp. Ignoring the shocked look on the idol’s face, Yeosang picks through the first aid kit and hands over a tub of salve.

“Here. Layer this on the curse mark and stay in this room. Do not pass the threshold of the curtain.”

The man takes the balm, eyes flitting towards the front of the shop where the sound of multiple heavy boots can be heard.

“There are at least ten of them, you can’t—”

Yeosang grins and feels the power of the curse spreading through his body.  His own shadow stretches to cover the floor of the room.

Yunho’s mouth snaps shut, and Yeosang ignores the pang of hurt that comes with the sudden fear in the other man’s eyes.

Rising, Yeosang pets the warped floorboards and picks up his abandoned blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders once more.

“Keep them safe.”

Tucking his shadow back into place, Yeosang heads into the front of the store. An array of weapon laden mercenary types await him, and he barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Tucking his hands beneath his blanket, he leans his elbows on the counter.

“We’re closed for the evening. You might have noticed the sign. Or the locked door.”

He looks over to see his door lying broken on the ground, the crooked closed sign cracked and hanging by a single nail. He lets out a weary sigh and shakes his head, raising an eyebrow at the unwanted visitors.

“I’d ask if you seek Sanctuary, but judging by the state of my door, I suppose not.”

A man steps forward, a scar marring his face from hairline to chin, bisecting his right eye and leaving a cloudy globe behind. It tugs his mouth down into a perpetual lopsided frown. His shaggy brown hair is drawn back into a bun—figures. The man-bun, always a douchebag sign.

“We’re following a pair of trespassers. Take your cute little self upstairs and the only damage to you will be the door.” His voice is low, tinged with a growl. A shifter then, likely a wolf. Seems like the leader of this merry band of idiots.

Doesn’t take much to tell he’s lying through his sharp, yellow teeth.

“The laws of Sanctuary state no violence will be perpetrated upon those, or by those, within. I’m willing to overlook the door if you leave now.”

A few of the men snicker, and one of them deliberately shoves a potted plant, intending to topple it over. A soft pillow appears on the floor to cushion the fall and Yeosang tuts.

“Next time, we’re investing in a better door.”

The shop rumbles in agreement and quickly scoots the various plants and other breakable objects to the edges of the room. A thin young man with skin that shimmers slight like the surface of an oil slick shifts uncomfortably, watching the impromptu reorganization with wary eyes.

“Sir—” he begins, voice shaky, only to be cut off by a smack on the back of the head, delivered by a hulking man who has to be part goliath.

The scarred man steps up to the counter and leans into Yeosang’s space, a bad case of halitosis making Yeosang’s eyes water, before tilting sideways to look through the curtain. Yeosang can sense Yunho standing there. How he can do that, he isn’t entirely sure, but that’s a problem for later.  

“Oh, there you are, pretty. How’s your princess doing? Still got a bit of life left in him, right Bray?”

A slender woman chuckles, pulling a dagger from her belt and flipping it in the air. Yeosang doesn’t bother holding back the eye roll this time.

“Mmm yep, he’s simply delicious. Though” She pauses, a long, curled tongue darted out to whip over thin, blue lips. “…something tastes… different.”

Well, yes. Since he ingested the curse, Mingi isn’t the one she’s tasting.

Yeosang figures that grim reaper isn’t a flavor she’s overly familiar with.

He shifts in front of Yunho, his shorter frame not doing much to block line of sight, and murmurs, “if you interfere, Sanctuary is revoked, and Mingi will die.” After a moment’s hesitation, he feels the man move back from the curtain, his body heat retreating to leave Yeosang’s back cold.

Yeosang taps his foot on the floor, watching as the wood wall of the shop spreads to cover the now broken front door, effectively locking them in.

“Boss—” the same, nervous kid from before clearly notices the lack of exit.

But the boss doesn’t respond. He’s too busy being dead.

Blades of shadow shoot out from Yeosang, spearing through the eye sockets of the scarred mercenary and slamming out of the back of his skull.

Silence. The mercenaries remain frozen, before turning as one to look at an unassuming man standing in the middle of the group. He steps forward, green tinged skin crackling with sickly energy as his aura spills out to mix with Yeosang’s shadows in a macabre duet.

Yeosang grimaces and sets his blanket aside. Fucking necromancers. This is turning into more of a hassle than he’d counted on.  

“Bray. Do it.” The leader’s voice is wispy and cold, grave dust carried on his breath.

Considering his options, Yeosang decides he doesn’t really like any of them.

One, he can pull rank, but then the necromancer and all his cronies will know exactly who’s Sanctuary they stumbled into.

Two, he disposes of all of them (except for the kid, that one seems fine), effectively depleting his power-stores.

Three, he reaps them, consumes their souls, and descends into hellish darkness.

Ugh. Option two it is, then.

He needs to make this quick. Necromancers are full of nasty tricks. Despite being death-adjacent himself, he finds them detestable.

Bray, the curse caster, makes a wheezing noise as her features began to curl inward, skin desiccating, bones crumbling. The curse inside of Yeosang swells as he siphons her lifeforce before the necromancer can catch it, grinning as the soul slips through his skeletal fingers.

Everything moves quite quickly after that. A sign from the necromancer has the others leaping into action, blades swinging towards Yeosang and daggers flying through the air, while he stands calmly behind the counter. A gust of wind whips through the shop, sending the daggers off course. Spikes of darkness shoot up from the shadows of the mercenaries, punching through ribcages to pierce their hearts, rendering them useless for resurrection. He watches with satisfaction as the necromancer begins to panic, the man’s eyes darting towards the now solid wall where the door once stood.

When the unwanted guests lay unmoving (dead except for the kid, who’s untouched, aside from pee soaked pants) and riddled with shadows upon the floor, Yeosang turns to the necromancer, now bound by ropes of gloom.

Tsking, he leans down, realizing that he recognizes the fool.

“Hugo! Buddy! You’ll make a nice gift for the council. Maybe they’ll finally get off my ass about showing up to a meeting.” Humming, he pats the floor once more, which swallows the bodies into the basement of the shop. The living kid and the necromancer would go to the Council Guard, while the dead…

The Sanctuary rumbles, it’s version of a burp, as the bodies disappear into the floor. Yeosang turns to see Yunho standing at the curtained archway, staring at him in shock that is quickly morphing into desperation.

Right. Back to Mingi.

He hurries over, not at all surprised when Yunho flinches backwards violently at his approach. Not every day you see a grim reaper in action and survive the experience.

Sucks that his bias definitely thinks he’s a monster. He’ll probably be banned from fan-signs for life. Not that he’d ever been lucky enough to win a raffle but still…

Shaking aside his wandering thoughts, Yeosang approaches the couch where Mingi lays, pale but no longer the ashen color of a corpse, only to be yanked backwards by a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch him, reaper.”

A jolt shoots through him, and Yunho lets go with a hiss of surprise.

That was… weird. Everything about this is weird. Despite turning around to face Yunho, he can sense Mingi on the couch behind him like a beacon. Spidey-senses are not in his typical arsenal of grab bag powers accumulated over some hundreds of lifetimes.

Luckily for the two idols, Yeosang is very picky about his meals. Makes him a shit reaper but a not so shitty person. Minho’s words, not his own.

He looks up to meet Yunho’s furious eyes, seeing the resigned determination in his gaze. The man knows that he doesn’t stand a chance and he’s still willing to get between a reaper and his friend. Yeosang sees Yunho trying to reconcile the man before him (slight build, delicate facial features, a birthmark beside his eye, reddish hair curling to frame his face) with the reaper he’d just seen in action. Curling in his shoulders to look especially small, he blinks up at Yunho.

“All I have done is uphold Sanctuary and provide medical aid. I will not harm either of you. Besides…” fuck it, Yeosang might as well put his cards on the table, “…this is kinda the best night of my life. Is it too much to ask if you’ll sign my photocards before you leave?”

Yunho’s mouth drops open and he stumbles back a step. Yesoang’s shoulder twinges, bruised from even the brief grasp of Yunho’s hand. He’s torn between being appropriately irritated and inappropriately turned on by the idea of wearing Yunho’s marks. Eyeing Yunho’s large, slender hands, he wonders what they’d feel like—nope, not the time. He’ll take out that thought later, when he’s tucked in bed and this is just a crazy memory to tell Minho about when he inevitably shows up to demand free booze tomorrow night.

A pained chuckle comes from the couch behind him.

“Leave him alone, Yuyu. He saved my life—our lives, if he got rid of the assholes following us.”

Yunho kneels beside the couch in a flash.

“Princess, fuck, you scared me, why the hell did you jump in front of me like that—” Mingi leans up and catches Yunho’s lips in a kiss, effectively silencing him. Yeosang wills his eyes to stay in his skull and tactfully stares up at the ceiling. Very interesting. Lots of soot stains. He should really start cleaning up there more regularly.

A moment later, a blushing Yunho clears his throat and looks at Yeosang apologetically.

“Um. Sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. Mingi’s right, you saved us.”

Both men bow and Yeosang rapidly shakes his head.

“Don’t thank me—don’t you know not to thank unknown creatures? Ok, well, now you’ll definitely need to sign my photocards or else you’ll owe me a favor and you don’t want to owe me a favor—” he’s babbling, why is he babbling? Oh right, two of the most beautiful men on the planet are bowing to him.

Yeosang shuts up and kneels beside the two, reaching out a hand and hovering it over Minji’s broad, marred chest.

“I can get rid of this, if you’ll let me.”

At Mingi’s nod, Yeosang rests a hand upon his chest, studiously ignoring the way his skin feels like silk beneath his palm, and begins the meticulous process of peeling the curse stain from his flesh. Right as he’s finishing up, another mark, a bit deeper, catches his attention.

“Have you been cursed before?”

Mingi freezes, and Yeosang sees a panicked look flash between the two idols.

“Um, nope, first time.”

Well, that’s definitely a lie.

“Okay… then you won’t mind if I remove this not-curse mark that’s at least ten years old?”

A sharp intake of beath from Yunho accompanied by Mingi’s heart beating faster beneath Yeosang’s hands is all he gets in answer. Then the rapper nods, tipping back his head to stare at the ceiling.

Odd.

Concentrating, Yeosang wraps his mind around the old mark. It’s scarred deeply into Mingi’s soul, woven with a finesse that, if Yeosang hadn’t just consumed the life-force of the curse-caster, he wouldn’t have the juice to untangle.

But, he’s hyped up on more power than he’s had in months, so he curls mental fingers into the mark and begins the delicate process of unhooking it from Mingi’s soul.

The funny thing about curse-breaking is that, no matter how long it takes in your mind, it rarely takes more than a minute in reality. So, 78 seconds of eternity later, Yeosang blinks his eyes open, holding a small, reddish marble in his palm.

Mingi lets out a shuddering breath and rubs his chest, before slowly sitting up and staring at Yeosang in wonder.

“Princess…” Yunho’s voice is low, wary.

“It’s gone, Yuyu. The—the weight, the panic. It’s gone.” He glances at Yeosang as Yunho makes a small noise, and flushes. “Um. From the… not curse. That I definitely didn’t have.”

Yeosang snorts, exhaustion hitting him in a wave. So much for being powered up. Unraveling a curse that deeply embedded had taken all he had.

“I didn’t realize reaper’s could heal.” Yunho’s voice holds only curiosity, his earlier animosity fallen away with Mingi out of danger.

“The only thing we have in common as a species is reaping souls. The rest of it? Depends on the reaper. I can break curses and do some healing, but that’s about it, aside from the—shadows.”

Yunho’s face twists and Yeosang knows he’s thinking about the dead mercenaries. He raises an eyebrow and lets his shadow twist across the floor.

Mingi sits up, looking at the shadow in fascination.

“Can you like control the shadows or is it—”

A muffled moan comes from the front room, reminding Yeosang that he needs to wrap things up with the necromancer.

“If you have any questions for the leader of the group that tried to kill you, feel free to ask. You can’t hurt him without violating Sanctuary, though.”

Yunho shakes his head. “We don’t… it was kinda an accident? That we ran into them?”

Yeosang isn’t sure how you accidentally run into a swarm of mercenaries, but he isn’t going to push it. He shrugs and heads out to the front of the shop, Yunho trailing after him, leaving Mingi resting on the couch. The tall man starts to get up, groans, and flops backwards to sprawl across the cushions once more.

“I’ll just… stay here.”

The necromancer squirms in his bindings as they approach, especially panicked as Yeosang crouches down in front of him.”

“Ok, Hugo, time to go! The council is going to be so thrilled to see you again.”

Hugo mumbles something that sounds a little bit like, “my name’s not Hugo it’s Harold” but Yeosang isn’t bothered with the specifics. The necromance gulps and whimpers, flailing in his bindings.

Yeosang scribbles a quick note to the council and pins it to Hugo’s shirt. He bends down and starts to heft the necromancer up by grabbing him under the armpits, while Yunho steps forward, favoring his leg, and grabs the man’s feet. Between the two of them, the necromancer ends up in the transportation circle, along with the now sobbing kid, which flares at a word from Yeosang, and carts the intruders off to the council detainment cells. Yunho, now breathing heavily, leans against the wall.

“Can I… look at your leg? It’s injured.”

Yunho’s lips flatten and he jerks his head. “It’s fine.”

Yeosang backs towards the curtain leading into the backroom of the shop. The idol remains against the wall, right leg barely touching the ground.

“Uh-huh. So, you’re leaning on the wall for aesthetic effect?”

The taller man groans, thumps his head on the wall twice, and then slowly slides down to the floor. Yeosang walks back over to sit down beside him.

“May I?” he asks, hovering his hands over Yunho’s thigh where he can see a dark stain half-hidden by his black jeans.

Yunho nods, eyes fixed on Yeosang’s hands as he lays them gently over the area. The denim is stiff with drying blood, coming from a gash in the man’s leg. A cut with no damage to the overlying fabric.

“Psychic whip?” he queries, getting a miniscule nod in return. He hums and, using the last dregs of his magic, seals the gash. When he’s done, Yunho lets out a slow breath, tension draining away. The tall man gets to his feet, and Yeosang tries to follow, but his legs aren’t interested in obeying his brain’s instructions.

That’s fine. He’ll just sit here. Totally normal thing to do.

Frowning, Yunho grabs his arms firmly and pulls him up, until he’s shakily balanced on his own feet. It’s his turn to lean on the other man as they trudge back to where Mingi’s waiting.

After depositing Yeosang in the old chair near the couch, Yunho moves Mingi’s legs to sit on the couch, pulling them back across his lap once they’re settled.

“I… don’t know your name.”

Brain fuzzy with the immense amount of magic he’d dumped into this evening, Yeosang struggles to keep up.

“Huh?”

Yunho leans forward, gazing at Yeosang intently.

“Your name. I assume you know me and Mingi because we’re, well, famous, but I don’t know yours.”

“I’m Yeosang.”

Yunho smiles.

Yeosang nearly melts into the floor. That smile should be illegal. It has to count as a weapon of mass destruction in at least eight countries.

“Right, um, do you want tea? This is a tea shop, I make tea here, no one really comes for Sanctuary because it’s not official—” wait, how did Yunho know about it? His Sanctuary isn’t officially listed because, well, the council hates him. They can’t ban him from making his shop a Sanctuary, but they did refuse to publicize his existence.

“Tea would be great. I need to call my hyung for a pick-up, if that’s alright.”

Hyung? Does he mean someone else from Treasure Sea? Like… Hongjoong? Oh God, is he going to meet the Kim Hongjoong? Or worse, Seonghwa? The seven person group is incredibly famous, daring, and talented and Yeosang is a little (more than a little) obsessed.

He distracts himself by struggling to his feet to make tea, a soothing chamomile ginger, accepting leaves and mugs from the shop as it sends them sailing gently (mostly, though the strainer does bang into the table twice) through the air to his hands. He hears a gasp from the couch and turns to see Mingi gaping at him.

“How’d you… is this whole place… alive?”

Yeosang smiles as the shop rustles happily.

“Sort of? When a place becomes a Sanctuary, it gains some sentience. My shop… consumed a very old bit of magic in the process. I respawned about five years ago, so it hasn’t been around too long.”

A mumbled so cool has Yeosang blushing as he sets the tea to steep. Yunho returns from his phone call, frowning.

“Hyung’ll be here soon. He’s…” the man trails off, biting his lip.

“Irritated? Irate? Liable to explode into a cloud of vengeful bats on arrival and lock us in our rooms like unruly kids?”

Yeosang snorts as Mingi’s descriptions continue to get more farfetched. Yunho ignores him, and leans on the counter next to Yeosang, who has to control his giddy anxiety at the proximity of the idol.

“You have photocards for us to sign, right?”

Eyes widening and body humming with excitement, Yeosang nods and nearly flies up the stairs, suddenly reenergized. Rummaging through his closet for his box of Treasure merch, he grabs his book of photocards and speeds back down to the shop.

Only to come face to face with a snarling vampire and the most ethereal creature he’s ever seen.

“Hyung, wait, this is Yeosang, the one who—”

The ethereal being steps in front of the vampire, places a hand on his face and pushes him back. The vampire makes an affronted noise that has Yeosang stifling a laugh. Though their features are not quite the same as those of their human forms, it’s easy enough to recognize the Kim Hongjoong and the Park Seonghwa standing in his workroom.

He is actually going to die. For real this time, no reincarnation, just dead and gone at the sight of two more of his idols.

“Um. Hello. I’m Yeosang. Would you like some tea?”

Seonghwa’s eyes crinkle and he holds out the hand that isn’t still covering half of Hongjoong’s face, the vampire pulling uselessly at the palm which seems to be… frosted over and sticking to his skin?

“I’m Seonghwa, and this is Hongjoong. Don’t mind him, he has a lot of misplaced anger. Oh, are those photocards?!”

Flushing the color of the flames flickering in his fireplace, Yeosang nods.

“He’s a TeaSea! And he saved us.”

At Mingi’s cheerful words, Hongjoong lets out an exasperated groan and finally begins to relax. Seonghwa allows the vampire to pull his hand away from his mouth.

“Sorry for threatening you. I’m a bit… protective, of my members.”

Yeosang shakes his head and shrugs.

“I’m used to it. I know the way my kind are perceived. For good reason, generally. But I promise, I’m considered a disgrace to reapers everywhere because I happen to have a strict moral code. And they think running a tea shop by day, bar by night, isn’t a very reaper-ish occupation.”

Seonghwa is now inspecting Mingi’s skin where the faint, fading remnants of the curse mark remained.

“Did you remove this?”

Yeosang, in the middle of pouring tea, nods.

“Mmm. It was a nasty curse.”  He wonders if he should mention the deeper mark he’d removed as well… the marble the color of dried blood sits heavy in his pocket. Something prevented him from eating it in the way he’d eaten the fresher curse—he has a bad feeling about consuming it.

Seonghwa hums, watching him with a soft yet intense gaze, which makes Yeosang just a bit shaky in the knees. Thank Gods Seonghwa is slightly distracted by the younger members—having the full attention of Park Seonghwa doesn’t seem like a recoverable event.

Yeosang spends the next half hour in a daze, as the four idols sign not one, but all of their personal photocards, and then ask to take the group photos with them, to have the other members sign, before returning them to Yeosang’s now shaking and overwhelmed hands.

“Oh, you don’t have to—this is more than enough, wow, like I could die happy right now—” not the best choice of words, probably, Gods why is he so awkward?

Mingi reaches out and pats his hand. Yeosang considers the merits of putting on a glove and never washing it again.

“Let us do this, seriously. You saved our lives, the least we can do is sign some collectibles for a fan.”

Seonghwa, now back in his human form (for which Yeosang is grateful, his unmasked fae features were enough to send him into a full on gay crisis), smiles softly at him.

“Mingi-yah’s right. I won’t thank you, but I will say—if you ever have need of a friend in the High Circle, you have one.”

Oh… shit.

The High Circle is the equivalent of fae royalty. There are two sides to the world, and the High Circle is firmly on the “all things good and light and right” while Yeosang is on the “dark, gloomy, kill first ask later,” side.

Both sides are necessary for the balance. The Council has equal (hah) representation. But the general public still sees things as right and wrong, light and dark, trustworthy and hide your kids from the monster under the bed.

“I… ok. Friends are good. Can always use more friends.” Not really, he generally finds friends to be a nuisance because one has to spend time with friends and Yeosang likes his solitude. Which is why he constantly questions how he’d ended up stuck with Jisung and Minho bothering him at least once a week. Not to mention Chan, the music producer who works across the street and the dancer he’s courting, as well as the witch who owns the bookstore down the road…

Seonghwa elbows Hongjoong in the ribs, earning a glare from the vampire that fails to hide his obvious affection for the taller man.

“You have a friend within the Kim coven, as well. Should you ever need it,” mutters Hongjoong.

The Kim coven. Of course. He hadn’t put it together, because he hadn’t known Kim Hongjoong was a vampire. Sure, everyone knows the members of Treasure Sea aren’t mundane humans, but exactly what they are isn’t publicized. For instance, he still doesn’t know if Yunho and Mingi are magical humans or something else entirely. The fact that Seonghwa and Hongjoong had shown up sans glamour meant they had come prepared for a fight, and now he knows their secret. Not to mention Mingi kissing Yunho in front of him. Will he need to sign an NDA? He should probably ask.

But back to the real issue… the Kim coven represents the vampire faction on the council. He’s… amicable with the Kim elder, but he highly doubts the ancient vampire will be thrilled to learn he’d been named a “friend of the coven.”

“I’m not sure your grandfather will approve of that, Hongjoong-ssi.”

Hongjoong grins, fangs on display despite his eyes remaining a warm brown, no trace of the crimson that marks him as a vampire.

“That’s just a bonus.” The vampire tilts his head, studying him and Yeosang suppresses the urge to fidget. All of this is becoming a bit much for him. It’s more interaction than he’s had outside of his customers and his small circle of friends for longer than he cares to admit. Add to that his starstruck panic, and he’s quite ready to return to his armchair, game, and a warm mug of cocoa.

Not to mention the bone deep exhaustion creeping in after emptying his tank of magic. The shop creaks in concern and Seonghwa frowns, silver brows arcing gracefully over dark, round eyes.

Boba eyes, he notes absently, head starting to throb unpleasantly.

“You must be tired, Yeosang-ssi. We’ll take our leave. But first—” he snatches the group photocards from Yeosang’s book, tucking them into the designer bag that suddenly appears over his shoulder, and shoving the bag into Hongjoong’s arms. “I promise to return these once I’ve had everyone sign them.”

Well, there are worse ways to lose his precious photocards than have them stolen by the very idols they picture. He fights a losing battle with a yawn, eyes watering at the force of it, and rubs at them with sweater paws, shirt slipping down a shoulder. Looking at the group, he catches Mingi and Yunho staring at him.

Both have the grace to flush and look away, but he hears Mingi mumble something that sounds suspiciously like fucking adorable under his breath, and Yunho gets up to walk to the front of the store, retrieving Yeosang’s blanket and tucking it around his shoulders. The tall man’s fingertips graze Yeosang’s exposed collarbone, eliciting another odd zing of energy, and he shivers, staring at the floor to avoid combusting on the spot.

Seonghwa raises a hand to trace a symbol in the air, silvery runes blooming in previously empty space, and a doorway unfolds in Yeosang’s workroom. A standard looking living room appears on the other side, and he can hear muffled conversation, as if underwater. The fae man shoos the two younger members through the doorway, both of them waving at Yeosang before scooting through. Hongjoong lingers, back to examining Yeosang like a bug. He is vaguely concerned that, if the vampire stares any harder, he might burn to a crisp.

Seonghwa clears his throat, but Hongjoong ignores him, taking a step towards Yeosang, who doesn’t have it in him to move away. Sighing, ropes of frost shoot from Seonghwa’s hands, wrap around the vampire, and toss him through the doorway, which snaps shut, cutting off his protests.

As the eldest member of Treasure Sea turns to Yeosang, exhaustion wins and he collapses onto the sofa. The cushions smell of a woodsy spice that he thinks must be Mingi’s cologne, barely covering up the smell of cursed blood.

“Oh, darling. You overdid it tonight, didn’t you.”

Breath catching at the pet name dropped so casually into conversation, Yeosang stares at his lap, eyes heavy. The shop shifts again, a thread of magic pushing into his soul through the floor where his feet rest. Seonghwa smiles and pets a hand over the wall beside him. If the shop was a bird, it would be fluffing its feather like a peacock.

“What a beautiful Sanctuary. Matches its keeper.”

Did he just… call him beautiful? No, that has to be a figment of his overwrought brain. He needs to go upstairs and sleep, but Seonghwa is still here for some reason, and he can’t exactly up and abandon him, that would be rude—

His thoughts blank out as lithe, muscular arms slide beneath his back and legs, and then they are moving quickly up the stairs. He blinks stupidly up at Seonghwa when the fae pauses before his apartment door and looks down at him expectantly.

“I could unlock your door, but I don’t want to overstep.”

Yeosang thought they passed the point of overstepping when Seonghwa carried him up the stairs bridal style, but rather than raise the issue, he lifts his hand to the knob and unlocks it with a soft snick.

As the door swings open, Seonghwa pauses on the threshold.

“May I?”

It takes Yeosang a minute to realize he’s asking permission. Contrary to popular belief, neither vampire nor fae needed an invitation to enter a private dwelling. Seonghwa’s just being polite.

“Um. You can just leave me here, I can walk on my own.”

Seonghwa smiles down at him. “And… if I say it will make me more comfortable to carry you inside and make you something warm to drink?

Well, when he puts it that way, accompanied by that blinding smile, how can Yeosang say no?

Besides… there’s a gentle pulsing warmth, at odds with the ice the fae controls, that comes from the places Seonhwa’s arms press into his back and legs. Seonghwa holds him tightly, as if he’s not looking forward to letting go.

Which is how Yeosang finds himself tucked into his armchair, feet up curled underneath his butt, wrapped up like a burrito in a blanket and accepting a steaming mug of rich hot chocolate from Seonghwa.

“You… really didn’t need to do all this.”

Seonghwa looks over from where he’s running his fingertips over the spines of Yeosang’s books.

“I know. It’s just my way of showing my appreciation, for your rescue of Yuyu and Mingi-ah. Now—get some rest, Yeosang-ssi.”

“Just… just Yeosang, is fine.”

The silver haired man tilts his head, and his lips curl into a soft smile.

“Goodnight… Yeosangie.”

With a sparkle of silver runes, Seonghwa steps through a doorway, leaving behind a perfume of lavender and lemons.

Yeosang stares at the empty space while he savors the heavenly hot chocolate on his tongue.

The armchair hums beneath him, sides squeezing gently in the shop’s form of a hug. Yeosang smiles.

The night hadn’t turned out like he expected… but he can’t find it in him to complain.

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

Hongjoong processes the evening's events.. and his reaction to Yeosang.

Hongjoong is not surprised in the least when Hwa tosses him through the portal and stays behind. The fae had gone into full caretaker mode, and he couldn’t blame him. Even his notably guarded heartstrings had been tugged by the waifish reaper who looked near dead on his feet by the time they’d made to leave. Add to that his adorable sweater paws and the fact that he’s a dedicated TeaSea…

Hongjoong gives Hwa less than a week before he tries to adopt the man.

If it was any other member alone with any other reaper, he’d be worried. But Hwa can more than take care of himself, and Hongjoong actually knows a bit about Yeosang, courtesy of his grandfather (no blood relation, but the old bat likes the familial flavor). Hongjoong even met Yeosang’s prior incarnation, though it seems like the reaper doesn’t maintain the memories of his past lives. Probably for the best… his prior incarnation was kind of a prick.

The reaper, in his many reincarnations, is a member of the Council and all-around thorn in the Councilors’ sides—since he never bothers to show up. His current incarnation hasn’t gone to a single meeting.

He'd listened to the old man bitch about “duty” and “lack of propriety” enough times to like the reaper before he’d even met him. Reclusive nature aside, everyone seems to think Yeosang is relatively harmless—he doubts any of them would believe him capable of dismantling the team who’d attacked his Sanctuary that night.

Speaking of…

He looks over at the couch, where Yunho and Mingi sit, huddling together, apprehension radiating off of them.

Good. They knew better than to try to hide in their rooms.

“What the ever living fuck were you two thinking?”

The pair glance at each other, having one of their private wordless conversations, before speaking at once.

“I had a vision—”

“I got a feeling—”

They stop and share a glare, before trying again.

“I dragged Yuyu with me—”

“Mingi came with to protect me—”

Another glare, and Hongjoong decides to interrupt their attempts at taking the blame.

“Which came first, vision or feeling?”

Mingi swallows, and then raises his hand. “Um. Me. When I left after rehearsal, I got slammed with a migraine out of nowhere, which hasn’t happened in forever, but you know it almost always means I’m about to get a bad one, so Yuyu got me home and then it hit and I… I know I promised not to follow them and to tell you but—”

“Then I got a feeling, that we had to leave now, or else we’d lose the chance and so we—”

“He was in danger, hyung, those mercenaries were headed to the shop—”

“I didn’t see the possibility of them targeting us instead, I just thought—”

“The feeling was bad, but not like we’re in mortal danger bad so we didn’t—”

Hongjoong turns to the wall and begins slowly hitting it with his forehead.

Silence from the couch, then “I think we broke him,” whispers Mingi.

“To summarize. Mingi had a vision about Yeosang, someone you didn’t know, in danger. Yunho then had a feeling that said unknown man had to be rescued, now, or else it would be too late. And the rescue of this unknown man prompted the two of you to run off and nearly get yourselves killed.”

The silence returns. He turns around to glare at them.

“New rule. No following visions or feelings without telling me, or Hwa, what’s going on.”

The two humans in his circle have the grace to look ashamed of themselves at least. As one, they nod, heads low.

Hongjoong sighs and walks over to the couch, kneeling down before the two men. He places a hand under each of their chins and lifts their faces gently.

“Now, is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Yunho blushes and Mingi drops his face into his hands. The empath speaks first.

“Yeosang, he… there’s a connection. When I touched him, it was like getting shocked by a blanket just out of the dryer. Not bad, exactly, but surprising.”

Hongjoong keeps his face neutral while internally throwing a full on tantrum. He had been banking on the humans not feeling the connection until he had a chance to talk to Hwa about what to do.

“You know how I’ve had a feeling that our Circle isn’t complete with seven?”

Both humans nod, expressions of shock and a bit of hope dawning on their faces.

“Yeosang… might be the missing piece. So I can’t entirely blame you for following your feeling,” he pokes Yunho in the cheek, “and your vision,” he finishes, with a flick to Mingi’s forehead.

Yunho looks relieved, but Mingi hides his face in his hands again.

The oracle mumbles something, and Hongjoong grits his teeth, hoping he didn’t just hear what he knows he heard.

“Mingi…” his voice holds a bit of a hiss, his stress beginning to bleed through.

Yunho sighs, face flushing again, until he resembles a very dejected tomato.

“Mingles kinda maybe kissed me… in front of Yeosang.”

God damn it.

Not that he expects the reaper to go running to social media to report that Yungi is, in fact, a thing and not just fanservice. But it still means that Yeosang now holds enough blackmail material that no amount of photocards can make up for it.  

“Ok just… I need to talk to Hwa and then we’ll figure something out. For now, get some rest, and do NOT contact Yeosang. No matter how much of a connection we all… feel.” He bites the last bit pointedly at Yunho whose brows crease into a frown.

Well fuck, now he’s going to cry, and Hongjoong hates it when the younger members cry because he’s bad at comforting them and then he feels guilty and—ugh. Tonight needs to end.

Luckily, after a handful of sniffles, Yunho stands up and pulls Mingi to his feet. After a lingering hug (and an almost kiss that Hongjoong pretends not to see) the oracle trudges to the door to head to his own apartment, a floor above, that he shares with Seonghwa and San. When Mingi disappears from view, the empath beats a rapid retreat to his own bedroom.

After tracing Mingi’s presence safely up the stairs and into his apartment, Hongjoong lets himself collapse onto the pile of pillows on the floor, and waits for Seonghwa to return.

The missing link.

The man who could make them eight, a complete circle.

Someone that fate and time have aligned to bring into their lives. As much as he hates the idea of fate, he knows that the seven of them are together through more than happenstance. Both he and Hwa came back into the world under strange circumstances that have no reason to coincide with the births of the younger five members. For Yeosang to be reborn, to cross paths with this incarnation after the seven of them were already together… no, Hongjoong can’t play it off entirely to good timing.

He hadn’t felt a connection to the reaper’s prior incarnation, but he also didn’t know any of the members aside from Hwa at the time. He’s struggling to reconcile the gorgeous (because he has eyes, damn it) man that blinked sleepily at him and nearly brought him to his knees by indecent exposure of a collarbone with the grim reaper that’s had the council tearing out their hair for centuries.

Where has Hongjoong’s normal sense of suspicion gone? He should be doubting that innocent mask, sure it’s a façade for something sinister, but instead, he wants to… cuddle him. He doesn’t even like cuddling. What the hell?

He’s sure that Hwa is likely coddling the reaper at this very moment, because he no doubt felt the connection as well. By tomorrow, the other three members of their circle will know something’s up.

The air shimmers, and Seonghwa steps through, a small, warm smile on his face. He immediately looks at Hongjoong, collapsed on the pillows, and the smile spreads into a grin.

“Joongie—”

He groans.

“I know, Hwa. So do the twin terrors, which means Youngie and Sannie will know by morning.”

Seonghwa sits down beside him in the pillows and Hongjoong allows himself to be tugged into the taller man’s lap.

“He’s perfect, Joongie. We always asked why, why now—but here it is. All eight of us, a fated Circle.” Hwa wraps his arms around Hongjoong’s middle, resting his chin on the vampire’s head.

Hwa’s the only one he lets hold him, when the fae senses he needs the comfort. It had taken decades (literally—their families had locked them in the fae realm for 40 years, and they’d spent the first ten years at each other’s throats) before he realized that Hwa… was it for him.

Not that he’d managed to express it in so many words to the fae man, but he knows that Hwa knows… and isn’t pushing him. The “slowest burn in history” according to Wooyoung, who Hongjoong had mistakenly and very drunkenly confided in a few years ago.

He relaxes back into Hwa’s firm chest, letting his presence wrap around him like a blanket.

“How is he?”

Seonghwa sighs. “Delightful. Adorable. Lonely. Immensely powerful, though I don’t think he knows the half of it.”

“He doesn’t have access to his past lives.”

The fae shakes his head, confirming Hongjoong’s suspicion.

“No. He’s got the soul of the oldest reaper in existence, but his memory resets each time. It must be exhausting. And isolating.”

The oldest reaper… he wonders how it compares to the age of his, or Hwa’s, souls. He’d spent millennia trapped in a shadow and Hwa spent about the same amount of time frozen in a block of ice, so really, they’re in the same boat as Yeosang on the memory front.

“I always wondered why the council despised him so much—they feel threatened. If Yeosang ever unlocks his past, he’ll become one of the most powerful entities in the realms. To get that old… he can’t even be trying to break free of the cycle.”

Hwa silently cards his fingers through Hongjoong’s hair, easing the tension in his body.

“He did say that he's not good at being a reaper. Maybe… he doesn’t want to beak free. I think… if anyone wouldn’t hold a grudge against their murderer… it would be Yeosang. I just have a—”

Hongjoong smirks. “—feeling,” he completes. Hwa laughs softly, the sound dancing through Hongjoong’s soul in a melody he longs to capture in a song. Hwa strokes his fingers down the sides of Hongjoong’s neck, massaging the knots of muscle he finds. If feels heavenly and sends a shiver of warmth down his spine.

“Hwa—”

“Yes, beloved?”

Always with the pet names. Hongjoong shivers again, cursing his reaction to the sweet words. He grumbles, shifting restlessly in the taller man’s lap. With a show of (admittedly attractive) strength, Hwa lifts him to turn in his lap, so that they’re face to face. His dark eyes smolder with a banked fire and he leans forward until their lips ghost together. Instead of the kiss that Hongjoong expects yet knows will never come because Hwa is waiting for him to finally get out of his own head—the fae cups the back of his head and guides him to his delicate neck.

“Drink, Joongie. You need it.”

Hongjoong hesitates, as he always does. “Hwa—”

“I need it.”

Rich blood courses over his tongue, frosted with Seonghwa’s magic, as he gives in.

He always does.

Chapter 3

Summary:

A bit more of a look into Yeosang's life -- and a suspiciously familiar and unpleasant individual

No CW for this chapter

I figure a light chapter might be needed today. For everyone struggling with and impacted by recent decisions in their country, take care of yourselves and stay safe.

Unfortunately, his thoughtful gift of Hugo the necromancer does not prevent the council from summoning him the next evening, an hour after he closed the shop for the night. He considers the possibility that the gift prompted the summoning… and decides he won’t be giving any gifts in the future.

Staring at the flaming blue rune merrily scorching its way into his polished counter, Yeosang debates ignoring it.

Pros: he won’t have to sit on an uncomfortable stone chair in a cold echo chamber of pretentious, prejudiced whining disguised as political discourse.

Cons: he’d burn through whatever goodwill his gift might have garnered and risk someone showing up to physically cart him to the Council chamber, which would be, at best, embarrassing, and at worst, result in his next reincarnation and after the events of last night, he rather liked this one.

The rune crackles ominously before him. It isn’t causing any permanent damage to the Sanctuary, more just an annoying itch, but the shop expresses its displeasure with an irritated rumble and a roll of the floor beneath his feet.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go. So pushy,” he adds, as the floor rolls again, shoving him towards the closet that hides his teleportation circle. Grumbling, he opens the door and steps into the circle before he can change his mind.

It spits him out in a cold stone antechamber, smooth gray granite unmarked save for a repetitive motif of interlocking circles. It’s meant to represent unity, or some other such bullshit. The Council is the opposite of unified—but the constant arguments serve to offload some tension, preventing large scale conflict from breaking out between the different factions.

Of one, he’s the sole representative. Generally, the Council is more than happy to pretend that reapers and other death inclined individuals don’t exist, as long as they stay in the Underworld, confining their misdeeds to the other side of the veil. Which suits him quite well, as that means he can stay home, cozy in his shop, chatting with his customers and avoiding his unwanted responsibilities.

Which makes their repeated, insistent summoning of him during this lifetime rather frustrating.

Pushing through the chamber doors, he trudges over to his rarely used seat, ignoring the shocked looks thrown his way. Yeosang’s pretty sure it’s been at least two or three lifetimes since he’s bothered to show up. The shorter lived members of the Council staff likely have no idea who he is.

Now, he doesn’t remember a lot from his past lives, but a few key details stick with him. One of which, he takes vindictive pleasure in reenacting every time he ends up in this stupid chamber.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a large cushion with faded red stitching and little golden bells, and pops it on the seat, before sitting down. He isn’t sure if it’s an attachment to symbolism or simply the Council being petty, but his chair is made of stone, carved with skulls, and abhorently uncomfortable.

Many lifetimes ago he’d decided to bring the most ridiculous cushion he owned to spite them.

Yeosang wraps his soft cardigan tightly around his body, burrowing into the wool turtleneck he wears underneath. Some sort of irony, probably, that he hates the cold despite being technically undead. He wonders if hating the cold is an always thing, or just a “this lifetime” thing.

Ignoring the growing whispers, Yeosang settles in to wait, entertaining himself by inspecting the current Council representatives. About half of the seats are already filled, the members of each Councilor’s staff hovering near their leader, which means he still has a bit of time to worry about why the Council was so insistent on his presence.

The Kim Coven Elder (and apparently Hongjoong’s grandfather), shrouded in a stereotypical high collared black cloak, leans against his seat, deep in conversation with a fae lord coated in a delicate layer of frost, eyes the pure crackling white of fresh ice. Likely an emissary of the High Circle. He hadn’t realized the two factions were on such good terms, but after seeing Hongjoong and Seonghwa together… he supposes it makes sense.

Last night still feels like a fever dream, hazed over by exhaustion and the sheer impossibility of it all. He hasn’t heard from the beautiful men he’d protected—not that he’s surprised. It’s been less than 24 hours, they don’t have his phone number, and he fully expects to never see them (or his precious group photocards) again.

A young woman with long black hair lounges in the leather seat reserved for the human faction, the representative of all humans who have magic of one sort or the other. Witches with their herbs and charms, warlocks with questionable patronage, clerics serving self-proclaimed gods, empaths, oracles—it's less a faction and more a grab-bag.

The humans were constantly pushing to have more representation on the Council. They’d yet to make any headway; whenever one of them got too vocal, the longer-lived members of the Council simply waited it out—refusing to reconvene until the annoying human died (naturally or mysteriously) and was replaced by a more malleable counterpart.

Her eyes meet Yeosang’s and she smirks, flicking a wave in his direction, before going back to playing on her phone.

His mind wanders back to Yunho and Mingi. Though he can’t be sure, he suspects that they’re human rather than one of the other magical species. He wonders what powers they have—neither displayed anything beyond exhaustion, poor decision making skills, and the ability to make Yeosang melt under their smiles.

Yeosang avoids looking at the last occupied seat, but can do nothing to avoid the glaring eyes attempting to spontaneously immolate him. Unfortunately, his feeble attempts at avoidance (largely consisting of picking aimlessly through the items in his bag, of which there were two—a book and his game console) do little to deter the representative of the Angelic Host from coming his way.

Yeosang swallows and meets his gaze. Know thine enemy, and all that.

The man looks vaguely familiar, wings the color of rose gold arching up over his shoulders and black hair dusted with stars framing a face set into a deep frown.

“You are the reaper everyone keeps talking about.”

Everyone? Who was everyone? Shit, maybe he really should have shown up the first few times he’d been summoned.

“Uh. Yes. I’m Kang Yeosang. And you?”

The man scoffs and crosses his arms. “Kim Kyungmoon. You’re rather unimpressive, for a monster.”

That was unnecessarily rude. Sure, reapers are the sworn enemy of the angelic host, but not in a “kill on sight” sort of way. More of a, “we agreed on someone to hate so that it’s clear we’re the good guys” sort of way.

He knows he doesn’t look impressive. He likes soft, pastel clothing (his current cardigan is cream with a lavender collar and cuffs). His red hair is fluffy when he doesn’t bother styling it (today included) and his skin is near translucent. Minho routinely compares him to a twig, pointing out that even Jisung when he was human could have easily benched him. Yeosang has declined the young vampire’s drunken offer to do just that more times than he can count.

He doesn’t take it personally. He can’t remember what his past lives looked like, but he rather enjoys the underestimation afforded by his current form and preferences.

“Not all monsters wear capes,” he says, shrugging at the angel, who stares at him in confusion, the malaphor clearing the angel’s head to fly off into the distance. Or maybe it’s the pop culture reference. Who knows.

“That… doesn’t even make sense.” A snort from two chairs over draws their attention to a sturdy sprite who steps directly out of the stone wall, parting it as if made of liquid.

“Oh, I like you. Much more fun than your previous incarnation. Glad you finally decided to join us.” The sprite’s rumbling voice is soon lost in the general din as one by one, each seat is filled, the space outside of the circle packed with various underlings. Only Yeosang sits alone in an island of empty space.

With one last glare, the angel stalks back to his seat, which Yeosang is annoyed to see looks more like a soft cloud than a chair.

When only one empty seat remains (the dragon’s seat is a formality more than anything as they never attend, but no one dares exclude them), the representative of the High Circle of the fae calls for order, and the meeting commences.

Within minutes, Yeosang’s bored out of his mind. The conversation revolves around something relating to the Underworld and the restless dead—so maybe he should be paying attention but none of them bother to ask for his input.

Instead, he resorts to counting the gemstones in the mosaic decorating the floor near his feet. After staring at it long enough, he swears he sees the motif swirl to resemble a dragon’s head, but that’s probably just from the abysmal lighting in the chamber. He occasionally shifts on his pillow, causing the little bells to jingle jarringly, earning a glare from Kyungmoon, a snort from the human woman, and a heavy sigh from the hulking representative of the shifters who is taking up a lot of time on the floor. When forty-five excruciating minutes have passed, he decides that demanding his presence was clearly a cruel joke and resolves to never show up again.

“Now, to our last order of business—” the floor shifts, spitting out the necromancer (still living through clearly worse for wear) into the center of the chamber. The man’s aura is dampened, old rot rather than the energy of fresh death.

“This one attacked a Sanctuary, resulting in risk to those under its protection and its Keeper.”

Murmurs of concern spring up and Yeosang shifts uncomfortably. Did the necromancer attack another Sanctuary before his own?  

“Luckily, the attack was repelled and those protected within were unharmed. This creature—” he gestures at the whimpering mess of a necromancer, “—has admitted to willfully breaking the laws of Sanctuary. What’s more, he has disclosed a greater plot to attack the Sanctuaries, rendering their protection null.”

So… had he been the target that night? How did Mingi and Yunho get mixed up in it, if that was the case?

Of course, no one bothers addressing the fact that he was the one attacked.

Yeosang tunes out again as the discussion turns towards the appropriate punishment for such a heinous act, as well as a scheme to root out the source of this conspiracy, which again circles back to something about the Underworld. As the veil that separates the Underworld from the living realm is largely considered impassable and indestructible, Yeosang isn’t sure what purpose attacking the Sanctuaries serves. They are neutral ground for all factions, used for everything from clandestine meetings, peace talks, weddings, parties, and some even had rooms to rent if you needed a protected place to stay. Business in all of the realms depended on them.

“…do you think, Yeosang-ssi?”

The elder of the Kim Coven is looking right at him. Or at least, probably, it’s hard to tell with the deep shadowed hood and all. Shit, he’d asked him something and Yeosang hadn’t been paying attention—

“I said, do you require the Council’s aid in strengthening your Sanctuary?”

This… has to be a test. Because there’s no way the Council has any intention of supplying aid, but if Yeosang says no then he would be seen as rejecting the Council but if he says yes then he’d be seen as weak…

“Um. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to inconvenience the Council. No one really uses it in its formal capacity, anyway, so I can handle the occasional problem.”

The various members of the circle stare at him in varying levels of disbelief or outright derision.

Okay. He’s done.

“If that’s all you needed to ask me, this could have just been a letter or something, was it really necessary to—”

A loud peal of laughter cuts him off, the human woman leaning forward to grin at him. “Did you really just, ‘this meeting could have been an email,’ the whole Council? Ballsy. I like it.”

“Chaeryeong!!” hisses a woman with long silver hair standing behind the human, eyes cutting over to the Kim Elder, whose steepled hands haven’t shifted despite the interruption. Shrugging and rolling her eyes, the woman (Chaeryeong, apparently) settles back in her seat, pops a piece of gum in her mouth, and begins playing Tetris at full volume on her phone.

“That brings up something I wish to discuss,” says the Kim elder, seemingly unphased by the cheerful tune now echoing in the stone chamber. “It has come to my attention that your Sanctuary is not listed in the official records.”

Come to his attention, as though the old bat isn’t the reason his Sanctuary isn’t listed in the first place. “Seeing that you have conducted yourself with nothing but the utmost professionalism and neutrality the past five years,” another snort from Kyungmoon, and seriously, why does he look so familiar? “I move to correct that oversight.”

Is this what having a friend in the Kim coven looks like? He really can’t complain. More people coming to the shop means more magic for it to consume—his own magic can only sustain it so far.

“That’s ridiculous, you can’t expect us to publicly recognize a Sanctuary run by a reaper!” Kyungmoon stands up, outrage painting his face.

Wow. What a shock. Time to see who else would side against him.

The hulking bear shifter frowns at Kyungmoon.

“You are allowing your personal history to color your decision, Eden-ssi.”

Great, not just a species specific prejudice but a personal grudge. Yeosang will definitely be avoiding any future Council meetings. Chaeryeong’s right, this could have been a fucking email.

The elder vampire has to have someone capable of helping him send an email, right?

In the end, no one else bothers to go against Elder Kim's decision, and Yeosang finds himself the proud Keeper of an official Sanctuary. Kyungmoon storms from the chamber, seething, shooting a nasty glare at Yeosang on the way out.

Ah well. They were never destined for friendship.

Yeosang wanders towards the door, ridiculous pillow shoved under his arm, when a shadowed figure falls across his path.

“Yeosang-ssi. It is good to meet you in this lifetime.” The unspoken, ‘it would have been better to meet you in your prior lifetimes as well’ is not lost on Yeosang, as he looks into the hooded depths of Elder Kim’s face, seeing only the deep ruby glint of his eyes and the suggestion of a sharp nose.

“I—”

“I look forward to seeing you at future meetings.”

Well, shit. Yeosang had really been banking on this being a one-time event.

“I don’t think—”

“You are a friend of the coven and the High Circle, after all.”

Why couldn’t he have rescued boring, run of the mill members of society? Did he have to go getting involved with the grandchildren of the most powerful members of the Council?

Not that he’s regretting it (a book of signed photocards is proof that his suffering was worth it), but still.

“I’ll… do my best to attend the next gathering, Elder.”

A hearty chuckle drifts from the depths of the hood. “If your best is anything like what you did to protect the Circle of my kin, then I imagine it will suffice. Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Kang Yeosang-ssi.”

A Circle? That’s far more formal than just a group of band members.

The vampire glides towards the door, before stopping once more.

“And do stop by the coven house, sometime. I'm positive my grandson will be more than happy to give you a tour.”

Yeosang chokes on his spit. In his ensuing coughing fit, the vampire contingent disappears in a swirl of black smoke. With a far too casual roll of his eyes, the icicle encrusted fae steps through a shimmering doorway identical to the ones Seonghwa made, leaving him alone in the now empty chamber.

Empty except for a… presence. Yeosang glances around curiously, but it disappears as quickly as it came.

But for a moment, he could have sworn eyes the color of seafoam watched him from the dragon’s seat.

Shaking his head, Yeosang quickly steps into the portal circle in the antechamber, greeted by the warm scent of tea leaves and the reassuring presence of the shop.

Until a gust of frozen air smacks him in the face. The front door, which he had haphazardly stuck back into its frame, has fallen off, and a pile of snow and ice sits on the threshold.

Groaning, Yeosang flings his bag on the counter and pushes up his sleeves.

Enjoy his evening, indeed.

 

 

Chapter 4

Summary:

Jongho doesn't know what the big deal about this Yeosang guy is... until he sees him, and his world shifts on its axis.
He thinks Yeosang might be out to kill him. Those sweater paws are deadly.

“Hyungggg why can’t I come with you?”

Wooyoung’s whining voice cuts through the general noise of the practice room as the members and staff mill about, waiting for the choreographer’s arrival. Hongjoong and the producer hyungs are in deep conversation, Yunho and Mingi, strangely reserved, are running choreo quietly in the corner with San, and Wooyoung is pestering Seonghwa about… something.

Jongho, having been up half the night with nightmares, is exhausted and simply not in the mood. He wishes it was the afternoon already—then he could be at vocal practice with his teacher, focusing on something he both loves and excels at. Instead, he has to get through four hours of dance rehearsal for their comeback. While he’s been getting a lot better at choreo, to the point where he no longer needs extra evening sessions with Yunho (not that he minds extra evening sessions with Yunho because Yunho is gorgeous and he... is not going to think about that) he still prefers to be singing rather than dancing. Luckily, his role as lead vocalist means that he often gets away with it.

“Jongie, mom is being mean to me!!” He easily dodges as Wooyoung launches himself, koala style, at him.

“I don’t need to know about your kinks, hyung.”

Wooyoung screeches indignantly and goes tumbling past Jongho, only to be snatched out of the air by San, who sighs deeply.

“Sannie, everyone hates me!!!” shouts Wooyoung, flinging his arms around his… boyfriend? Jongho still isn’t sure what labels apply to who and for what in this group.

San sighs again and tugs Wooyoung down to sit in his lap, while Seonghwa looks on, unamused.

“Youngie, I already explained why it’s not a good idea. We already overwhelmed Yeosang-ssi once and you—”

“Don’t know how to curb my enthusiasm yes, I know, hyung, but if he’s really the last link in our circle—”

“No, Wooyoung.” Hongjoong’s voice comes from across the room holding no room for further disagreement.

With a huff, the witch flops out of San’s lap onto the floor, and begins playing with San’s fingers, ignoring the eldest members of their group.

Doing his best to ignore Wooyoung’s antics and focus on caffeinating himself sufficiently for practice, Jongho watches Seonghwa cross the room to plop down beside him.

“I was hoping you would come with me, instead.”

Him? Go where? Shit, what had they been talking about… something about Yeosang, the guy who saved Yunho and Mingi, and who’s supposedly connected to them, though Jongho doesn’t see why they need eight to be a complete Circle.

Seeing his blank expression, Seonghwa sighs. “Jongie-yah, I’d like you to come with me to drop off the photocards at Yeosang’s shop. Its already been almost a week—I’m sure he thinks I stole them.”

He’s maybe the only member not interested in meeting the mysterious Kang Yeosang.

“Why me, hyung?”

The silver haired man smiles, and Jongho’s reminded of why he’d do anything to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles. When Seonghwa smiles, a sliver of summer sun slips into your soul, promising to keep you warm on the coldest of days.

“Because you’re the only one I trust to act normally.”

An indignant squawk from Wooyoung is quickly muffled by San lying on top of him. Jongho looks at the flailing pile of limbs that was once Wooyoung, and then back at Seonghwa, who’s watching them with an expression of pained fondness.

“You have a point. But why not Hongjoong-hyung?”

Seonghwa grins slyly, eyeing their captain across the room.

“Joongie can’t find it in him to be suspicious of Yeosang-ssi, so he’s having a crisis.”

Hongjoong twists his head over his shoulder to glare at Seonghwa, and Jongho snorts, slightly more intrigued by this Yeosang character. Their leader is suspicious of everyone, even Jongho, when he first joined the company. Granted, that may have had to do with his siren half raising the possibility of coercing the company to grant him a spot. That possibility was quickly discarded when the older man first heard him sing, but Jongho didn’t blame him.

Sirens are rare and generally maligned as murdering sea monsters—half-bloods like Jongho are nearly unheard of. And yet, here he is, raised by his father with next to no information on his mother, aside from the bare minimum he needed to know when it became apparent he took after her in spirit if not in appearance (aside from a dusting of iridescent scales that travelled down his neck to his chest).

There’s a reason he prefers not to show much skin.

“I have vocal practice this afternoon so it’ll have to be later in the evening.”

Seonghwa nods, looking grateful that Jongho agreed without further protest. “Of course. Probably better to go later, to not run into as many people in the shop.”

Oh right, the guy runs a tea shop or bar or something. He hadn’t really been paying attention when Yunho told Wooyoung the story of their near-death experience. He should probably care more about the person who saved his hyungs’ lives, but Yunho and Mingi regularly have near-death experiences so…

Seonghwa keeps talking, oblivious to Jongho’s inner dialogue, “We can grab dinner, if you’d like! Just the two of us.” There’s that smile again. That smile does weird things to Jongho’s stomach. Things that he knows Seonghwa wouldn’t mind him feeling, knows everyone in the group would accept (hells, most of them are fucking around with at least one other member) but Jongho just isn’t ready to confront it.

“That sounds nice, hyung.”

Hours later, when Jongho is physically exhausted from a day of rehearsals but mentally invigorated from his vocal practice, he meets up with Seonghwa outside their apartment building. His hyung is dressed in a black turtleneck, caramel suede pants, and heeled boots, his outfit completed by a long, slim fitting black coat. He looks elegant and expensive, the dark colors contrasting his silver hair perfectly, every bit the almost royalty of his bloodline. Beside him, Jongho feels scruffy, though he knows he looks passably okay in his cream sweater, black slacks, and toffee colored wool coat.

Seonghwa opens a doorway to a shadowed alley, and takes Jongho’s hand to pull him through. He can feel the warmth of his hyung’s palm through his leather gloves and he fights his heart’s giddy flutter.

He has a crush, so what.

There’s no way that a gorgeous high fae like Seonghwa, who spent nearly forty years maturing in the fae realm alongside Hongjoong, would have any interest in Jongho, who’s a simple twenty-three year old human with dirty blood.

He knows none of the members think of his blood as dirty just by being mixed, but he’d heard it enough growing up that the insecurity never quite faded. Luckily, being a member of Treasure Sea means that his presence as an idol far outweighs his ancestry. He’ll never escape the random bigoted asshole, but their fandom is amazing, and quick to defend him against internet crusaders. His life now is nothing like his prejudice stained childhood.

They walk to a small shop with well-lit windows, a green door that smells of fresh wood and paint, complete with a slightly crooked sign which reads “open for visitors, magical and mundane!” in a cute, curling script.

Not what he expects the home of a grim reaper to look like.

The surprise continues inside, where he’s greeted with a cozy interior, a long polished counter running the length of one wall, bare lightbulbs that are the perfect flavor of bright hanging from the ceiling in a seemingly random array, plushy armchairs sitting in groups around low tables, with stools lining one end of the counter. Shelves of books and knickknacks line the walls, and plants drip from every surface.

As he steps onto the thick tapestry rug on the floor, a shiver runs up his legs, and he could swear he sees the rug ripple, before settling back down.

There are a fair number of people in the shop, including a few evergreen dryads sitting at a low table with cups of tea, a pair of vampires at the counter, a scattering of mundane humans and a group of shifters that have pulled three tables together to fit their rowdy crew. Too rowdy for a tea shop. Jongho looks closer and—yep, each of them has a beer in hand and a smile on the face.

Glancing back at the counter, he notices the taps and modest selection of liquors near the end with the stools. A young man with blonde hair and pixie like features is flitting back and forth behind the bar, cleaning and mixing drinks between chatting up the customers.

He has small, translucent wings vibrating like a hummingbird on his back.

“He’s… even less imposing than I thought.”

“Hmm?” Seonghwa looks over, distractedly, eyes sweeping the shop eagerly. “Oh, that’s not Yeosang—I don’t see him, I wonder if he’s in the back. Come on.”

Seonghwa leads him towards the non-bar end of the counter, where a thick purple curtain obscures the doorway to a room in the back. Noticing them, the bartender speeds their way.

“Hi! I’m Felix, what can I get you this evening?”

His wide blue eyes sparkle under the lights, a fine wash of glitter on his cheeks. If he wasn’t standing next to Seonghwa, Jongho would have said this was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

“Ah, we’re actually looking for Yeosang-ssi? I have something of his I’d like to return.”

Looking back and forth between them with a slowly dawning recognition, Felix’s eyes widen further to the point where he looks like an animated cartoon. His mouth opens in a small “o” before he starts nodding emphatically. He sticks his head through the curtain, words muffled by the cloth, before popping back out.

“He’ll be right out! You’re—wow, you’re from Treasure Sea, right? Oh that’s so cool, this is the best day of my life—” he sticks his head back through the curtain, yelling audibly this time, “hyung why didn’t you tell me you know famous people!!” before skipping back down to the barstools, wiggling a bit to the beat of the soft music playing in the shop, and leaning over the counter to talk to the vampires and gesture madly in their direction.

One of the vampires looks over and smirks, raising a hand to wave at them. Confused, Jongho looks at Seonghwa, whose eyes narrow on the vampire before he sighs and offers a familiar wave in return. The second of the two vampires gapes at the exchange before turning to Felix and beginning a complex hand slapping routine that is either celebratory or evidence of a shared seizure, Jongho isn’t honestly sure.

So much for low profile.

Before he can ask his hyung how he knows the vampire, the curtain sweeps aside, and Jongho has to admit he’d been wrong.

The most beautiful creature in the many realms stands before him, mouth dropping open in shock, face going redder by the second.

“I—you—Seonghwa-ssi, you’re back, I didn’t—” he trails off into muttering which is still quite audible, “oh, no, I am not mentally prepared for this, fuck I have tea stains on my shirt—” while wiping his hands repeatedly on his apron.

His ruffled, light blue polka-dot apron.

Now, Jongho doesn’t like wearing cute things. He doesn’t like cuddling stuffies like San, or making silly faces like Yunho. But that isn’t to say he doesn’t appreciate cute things.

And he definitely appreciates Yeosang, as the small man stands there, back to silently gaping at a giggling Seonghwa.

“Hi darling. Can we talk in private, perhaps?”

Felix, doing a poor job of pretending he isn’t eavesdropping, drops a glass with a shatter and the overly excited vampire sprays a mouthful of beer across the bar. The other vampire flicks both of them in the foreheads with a heavy sigh, but Seonghwa just smiles beatifically and blinks expectantly at Yeosang.

After another moment of staring and mouthing silently at them while turning the color of a tomato, Yeosang snaps out of it and pulls aside the curtain, gesturing them through. A small room that’s part kitchen, part workspace, and part sitting area is revealed, lit by a collection of candles and small hovering globes of light.

While there had been hints of magic in the main shop, it still clearly catered to a partially mundane crowd. This room is a different story.

Magic soaks the ground, sending another thrill of power up Jongho’s legs, causing his siren spirit to stir in recognition. The magic here is wild, old—uncategorized and raw. It calls to him and he has the intense and sudden desire to sing.

He quickly reins in the instinct; the last thing he wants to do is accidentally charm their host. Could a grim reaper even be charmed? Not the time to find out.

“Um can I get you anything to drink? We have just about everything.”

Seonghwa sets his bag on the table and lays a gentle hand on Yeosang’s, where he’s been fraying the edge of his apron nervously, and tugs his fingers away from the cloth. Running a finger over the fabric, the fray disappears.  

“A cup of tea would be delightful.” With an obvious effort to tear his eyes from the mended apron, Yeosang nods and turns to Jongho, who is staring. He knows he’s staring. Hwa-hyung is relying on him to be the normal one and here he is, staring like an idiot.

“And for you?”

“Uh.”

Seonghwa snorts, a sound at odds with his elegant persona, serving to snap Jongho out of his staring fit.

“Tea is good. With honey, if you have it?”

Yeosang brightens immediately. “I have orange blossom honey, and a new jar from the Misty Isles that has a hint of salt which you really wouldn’t think would work but it really does, and oh maybe the rosemary—no? Ok, fine, you pick then—”

Is he… talking to the shop? He definitely isn’t talking to them—he’s bustling around at the worktable with his back to the room.

Jongho can’t help but stare again (Yeosang is wearing loose jeans that somehow still manage to highlight his very cute butt, and Jongho is fighting the urge to dunk himself in the sink) as loose tea leaves drift out of jars into Yeosang’s waiting palm. A mug made of rough blue glazed clay with splotches of jade green slides to a stop in front of him, while a delicate white teacup printed with a pattern of golden lace stops in front of Seonghwa. Finally, a jar of honey slides down the counter to stop right in front of Yeosang.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Yeosang pats the worktable and portions tealeaves into a strainer.

His hyung strokes the table gently and murmurs a “thank you, very pretty,” and Jongho swears that the air grows warmer, though the fireplace remains unlit.

When the tea is set to steep, Yeosang comes to the table and sits in the empty chair, glancing at them from beneath thick eyelashes before his eyes dart away. He’s nibbling nervously on his lower lip and Jongho gets the insane urge to run his fingertip over the plump flesh to save it from further abuse.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Ah! Here you go, as promised.” Seonghwa places a padded envelope on the scarred surface of the table and sits back. Jongho sees Yeosang’s hand shake slightly as he opens it, before an expression of shocked excitement washes over his face.

“You—this—oh my God, you really got all of them signed! This is amazing, I can’t believe it, thank you Seonghwa-ssi! And you, Jongho-ssi.”

The formal address catches him off-guard, and he realizes he never introduced himself. Clearly Yeosang knows his name, but he still feels like an ass.

“Ah, yeah, no it was nothing, really, with what you did for Yunho and Mingi, we—” oh right, not supposed to thank him or say anything about owing him, “—were happy to show our appreciation in this small way.”

Yeosang turns his smile on Jongho.

Jongho considers fleeing the country.

The reaper’s eyes crinkle with the force of his smile, his strawberry birthmark wrinkling along his laugh lines, skin glowing in the soft lighting.

He’s beautiful, and Jongho is doomed.

Yeosang gets up to pour the tea, settling the now empty pot back on the counter before turning around.

At that moment, the floor beneath his feet shifts (Jongho is sure of it this time) and Yeosang loses his balance, stumbling directly into Jongho’s chair. He catches the other man as he tumbles into his lap, hands nearly wrapping around his small waist to steady him.  

A rush of something heady, familiar, impossible sweeps through him. The sensation of seeing a cabin’s light sparkling in the darkness and knowing you are only steps away from home. His heart beats faster, warmth spreading from the place where Yeosang’s legs rest on his own. At the same time, a strange itch starts on his sternum.

Then the man on his lap whimpers, clutching his chest and doubling forward over the table. The walls creak in alarm, and Jongho quickly sets him back on his own chair, scooting backwards. Did he do that? Did he squeeze too hard?

Seonghwa reaches forward and grazes his fingers over Yeosang’s cheek.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Jongho ignores the spasm of jealousy at the pet name, not even sure which one of them he envies. He focuses instead on Yeosang’s labored breathing, which slowly evens out.

“It’s… nothing. Sorry. I’m fine. I don’t know—what set it off. Just an old injury, flares up sometimes.”

Jongho has an ear for the music of words, and Yeosang’s are tinged with a lie. But it doesn’t feel malicious; the man probably just doesn’t want to share something personal with two people he barely knows.

Seonghwa frowns but doesn’t push beyond saying, “One of our members is an accomplished healer. If you ever have need of his skills, you need only ask.”

Jongho suppresses a snort. Wooyoung would be over the moon if Yeosang showed up needing healing.

Face still shadowed with pain, Yeosang smiles tightly and shakes his head. “I’ll be alright. Speaking of healing, how is Mingi-ssi doing?”

Again with the formality. It’s almost endearing but Jongho longs to break the wall that Yeosang clutches around him.

Seonghwa seems to be thinking along the same lines. “Yeosangie, please call us informally. I speak for all of us when I say that would make us very happy, if you’re comfortable.”

It is obvious by the sudden blush and wide eyes that Yeosang is very much not comfortable, but he still mumbles “okay… hyung” under his breath.

“You’re too cute. Anyway, Mingi-yah is doing just fine. The mark fully faded yesterday, which is good, because we have a performance in a few days and Mingi would be upset if he had to choose a less revealing shirt.”

If anything, Yeosang blushes harder. Is he imagining Mingi’s outfit? Probably. Who wouldn’t? Jongho has eyes and likes men—he appreciated that all of the members are ridiculously attractive, while he… is fine. His voice is his main quality, not his looks, and he’s ok with that.

He is. Really.

Yeosang sips his tea, wrapping long, delicate fingers around the steaming mug. “I’m so glad. I was worried, but didn’t have a way to contact you to check, so I’m really glad you came by today.”

Seonghwa smacks a hand on his forehead. “I completely forgot to get your phone number last time! Here, give me—” he holds out his hand to Yeosang, who looks stunned, and a phone flies out of his pocket into Seonghwa’s palm. Without anyone touching it, the lock screen unlocks and the contacts list opens. Seonghwa grins and pats the table again, cheerfully saying ‘thank you’ to thin air.

“Wait—” stutters Yeosang, but Seonghwa is already rapidly inputting multiple numbers—likely the entire group, if Jongho knows him.

After a few minutes of furious typing, Seonghwa hands the phone back to Yeosang, who takes it as if cradling a million dollar piece of art, with equal parts awe and terror.

“There. I sent myself a text, so that I have your number. I hope that’s ok?”

Yeosang takes a few deep breaths before slowly putting his phone back in his pocket. “Ok. Yeah. That’s... Wow.”

“I don’t want to take up more of your time, Yeosangie. We should get going, Jongie-yah.”

Right. They have to leave, and Jongho might never see this perfect creature again and he’s pretty sure he might not survive it—

“It was really nice to meet you, Jongho.” Yeosang’s dark eyes are fixed on him, a small shy smile on his face. Jongho wants desperately to do something crazy, like hug him, but instead babbles, “message me so that I have your number too!”

But it comes out as: “messmethaIvnumtoo?”

Yeosang frowns in confusion. Seonghwa chokes on a laugh.

Jongho prays the magical moving floor will swallow him.

“Goodbye, Yeosangie.” Seonghwa creates a doorway, ruffling Yeosang’s hair as he steps through. Jongho waves awkwardly and quickly follows, but not before he hears,

“Bye, Jongie-yah.”

Chapter 5

Summary:

Enter Minho, Jisung and Felix!

~ ~ ~
“Want us to hang around, in case your own brain tries to kill you again?”
Yeosang raises an eyebrow at Minho, who shrugs. “Five or six lifetimes ago. Probably an isolated incident. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
~ ~ ~

Short chapter today-- they are going to get a bit longer soon :) Thank you for all the love so far!!

“Theoretically, what would it mean if an old scar suddenly started bleeding again?”

Yeosang is aiming for casual, leaning on the counter beside Felix, facing the two vampires he counts among his small circle of close friends.

Minho sips his wine, face impassive, while Jisung frowns and Felix stares at him in exasperation.

“Wait, are we not going to talk about the fact that THE Park Seonghwa and THE Choi Jongho of THE BEST KPOP GROUP IN EXISTENCE were just here, visiting you?!

Oops.

“Ah, they um, came in a few days ago? Well, not Jongho but Seonghwa, and a few of the others.”

Felix raises his eyebrows, makes a few incoherent sounds and waves his hands in the air in an attempt to make it clear that this is a VERY BIG DEAL.

“How are you so chill about this? What’d you guys talk about? Hyung please I’m dying here!!!”

Yeosang considers his options. Felix doesn’t know he’s a reaper, so he needs to fudge the details… time for a distraction instead.

“They signed a few photocards for me. I guess I could part with one…” he holds up three of the signed group cards in front of Felix’s face. The pixie immediately begins hovering, iridescent wings snapping out to flutter faster than a hummingbird. A few of the mundane humans at the bar oohed, one of them trying to snap a picture, only to be met with Minho’s flat, cold stare. The customer quickly puts his phone away and returns to his cocktail with a shiver.

“Oh my Gods yes please this is so cool!! Thank you thank you thank you I will work as many shifts as you want I’ll close the shop I’ll—”

Jisung reaches across the bar and slaps a hand over Felix’s mouth. The pixie’s eyes widen and a pretty flush paints his cheeks. The younger vampire grins at him with a hint of fang, but then Felix darts his tongue out to lick Jisung’s palm, causing the vampire to rear back and make a show of wiping his hand on Minho’s shirt.

Interesting. Yeosang hopes Felix knows what game he’s playing. He resolves to interrogate Jisung. Plying Minho for information is like taking a wood chisel to a steel wall.

“Back to your theoretical question…” Minho downs the last of his wine, catching a drop on his thumb and sucking on the digit while making direct eye contact with Felix who swallows deeply and lands back on the ground with a thump, “…it would depend on what scar we’re talking about. If you are theoretically talking about a soul-scar that follows an individual through reincarnation, then it might theoretically mean that said individual had encountered the person who put the scar there in the first place.”

Yeosang had really been gunning for a different answer. But Minho knew him in his past lives, not that they really talked about it—if anyone knows what’s going on with him, it’s the elder vampire.

Jisung runs a finger around the rim of his margarita, swiping up the last of the sugar (he thinks salt is sacrilege and Felix likes him enough to let him get away with it) and licking it off his skin. Felix's freckled cheeks are growing pinker by the moment. “You mean, like their murderer got reincarnated too, and then they meet again lifetimes later, bound for revenge? But then they fall in love but their love is forbidden so they have to defy fate to be together?!”

Jisung watches way too many dramas. Yeosang rolls his eyes and leans forward to rest his cheek on the cool surface of the bar. The shop’s comforting warmth seems to pat him on the head.

Felix rubs his back gently, an unexpected skinship from the bartender he’s starting to count as a friend. “If your soul-scar is bleeding, isn’t that kinda a good thing hyung? I thought that the only way a reaper can be at peace is by confronting their murderer, or something?”

Wait… what the fuck?

Before he can respond, Minho starts cackling loudly, drawing the attention of the surrounding patrons. “You—oh my God, I call dibs right now. He’s gorgeous, funny, and brilliant—Felix, consider this our official intention to court you.”

The pixie blinks. “Court… me?”

Jisung looks back and forth between the three of them, trying to process.

“Wait—you know hyung’s a reaper? And duh of course we want to court you—Minho-hyung, weren’t we already courting him? I’m confused.”

Shaking his head and staring at Minho with dawning happiness, Felix shrugs. “I’m good at reading people, Sangie-hyung. It’s why I’m such a good bartender. Also… your shop is very talkative.” He grins and looks at Jisung. “I love baking, sunflowers, and anything blue. You guys can take me to the aquarium on Friday evening—they’re open late for a special exhibit on jellyfish.”

Yeosang whips out his phone and snaps a picture of Minho’s face as he stares in open-mouthed adoration at the beaming pixie. He’s never seen the elder vampire speechless (that he could remember, at least). He’s officially in camp-Felix, and tells him so.

Jisung suddenly blurts, “jellyfish are 95% water!” which has Felix giggling and the younger vampire blushing and burying his face in his hands.

After high-fiving his official favorite bartender (not that he has another one on staff), Yeosang thinks about Felix’s words. He’s not wrong—a reaper’s purpose is to find the one who’d killed them and take revenge, thus closing the cycle of unfinished business and succumbing to true death.

But… Yeosang doesn’t want to die. He just wants to live a lifetime that he actually enjoys, for once.

He's never felt a drive to search out his killer. Looking in the mirror at the large scar that stretches from the dip of his sternum to his belly button doesn’t inspire rage or fear. Instead, he feels a bittersweet longing whenever he runs his fingers over the raised, ugly mark.

In the midnight hours, he’d often place a palm on his chest, as if willing his soul to reach across time and space to the one who left the scar behind.

The mystery of the scar plagued him… but never enough to go digging for answers.

Until now.

Because now, the scar was oozing black ichor. And the only possible cause…

Had stared at him for thirty minutes straight. He hadn’t missed the way Jongho’s eyes kept following him, when the singer didn’t think Yeosang was looking. He found the attention both bewildering and overwhelming, so he’d done what he does best:

Ignore it completely.

There is no way he interpreted Jongho’s staring correctly. Maybe he sensed that there’s some unfortunate murder-y connection between their souls, and that was why he was staring at him? Yeah, that has to be it.

Is Jongho really the owner of the soul that killed him over two thousand years ago?

Ugh. He hates introspection. Much better to pretend he’s content knowing nothing about his past.

“Felix, I need you to close the shop tonight.”

The pixie drags his eyes away from Jisung, who is still hiding behind his hands, and nods with a cheery smile. “Sure thing! Jisungie, want to learn how to make a mojito?”

Snorting at the panicked expression on Jisung’s face, Yeosang looks back at Minho. The vampire downs the rest of his wine and wraps an arm around Jisung’s waist. “Want us to hang around, in case your own brain tries to kill you again?”

Felix freezes in the process of mixing drinks for a couple of infernal origin who are eyeing Yeosang curiously. “Again?”

He raises an eyebrow at Minho, who shrugs. “Five or six lifetimes ago. Probably an isolated incident. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“What an excellent anecdote, thanks Minho.” Sighing, Yeosang heads towards his workspace. “Really, how bad can diving into my own memories be?”

Minho winces. “Your funeral. Maybe. Hopefully not. If it is, we’ll find you in your next life. Bye, Sangie.” He pulls Jisung off his stool, heading towards the door. “Felix, I’m stealing this one. Bartending lessons next time.” Extracting himself from Minho’s arm, Jisung dives across the bar to smack a kiss on Felix’s cheek, causing him to scatter a shot of vodka on the bar.

“See you Friday at sundown, Lix!”

The shop grumbles at Yeosang, absorbs the liquid, and shakes under Felix’s feet.

Well. Time to face his past.

Here’s hoping Carlyle isn’t manning the info desk.

~ ~ ~

Carlyle, his piece of shit prior incarnation, is of course manning the fucking desk. He’s the first thing Yeosang sees upon dropping into the rarely visited depths of his consciousness.

A massive desk that seems to have no end stretches across the chamber, stacked with neat piles of papers that Yeosang itches to disturb, if only to irritate Carlyle. It’s a cruel fact of his existence that the only past that he can remember is the life immediately before his own.

So memories of Carlyle’s stick-in-the-ass personality and generally unpleasant nature haunt Yeosang to this day.

“Oh, look, it’s the current iteration, come to challenge himself to a staring contest. Who will win this time? You or… you?”

“Fuck off, argyle.”

Carlyle frowns. Or at least, Yeosang imagines he does. The swirling fog in place of his face makes interpreting its expressions slightly difficult.

“You’re the one that dressed me in this stupid sweater.”

“I swear to—” argh, ok he needs to stop stalling.

“I… met our murderer. Maybe. Probably. But maybe not, maybe I should just go—” suddenly, countless Carlyle’s surround him, blocking his view of the room.

“Argyle—”

“Go to the beginning.”

Yeosang stares at them as the words echo from every blank, swirling face. He’s never been allowed to see the beginning, his first life. Anytime he tried, he woke up with a horrible migraine.

The countless Carlyle’s are gone, leaving just the one sitting behind the desk in his ugly mustard and cream argyle sweater, brown bowtie and tan pants completing the boring-ass ensemble.

“I… can’t. Last time I tried, my brain nearly bled out my ears.”

“Too bad.” A door to the left, one of dozens, hundreds, that lined the infinite walls, slams open. Yeosang stares at it, warily.

“Isn’t there, like, a sparknotes version or—”

“If you won’t go, then it will come to you.”

With a roar, a wall of water comes crashing down, and Yeosang is crushed into the darkness, the room vanishes, his lungs filling with salt and the tang of iron as a cloud of red swirls around him. He strains, feeling his bones crack under the weight of the ocean, clawing towards the hint of light above.

He will not die in his own fucking mind (again), not when he finally has something good going for him.

Shoving the pain to the side, Yeosang pushes, reaches—

And breaks the surface.

He gasps in a breath and—

Stands in a courtyard, quiet save for sweet birdsong trilling from a stooped and gnarled olive tree. The sky shimmers with light that filters through a watery lens, sun distorted and rippling, as if standing beneath a reverse snow globe, air inside and water surrounding the glass.

A man sits on the edge of a white marble fountain, holding a sword in his hands. Flecks of brilliant green scales dance across his face, gills closed but just visible on the sides of his neck. He looks up towards Yeosang, and says something that’s garbled, a cluster of sounds shouted from below the surface.

The man smiles gently, his eyes heavy with sadness. Yeosang’s feet carry him to the man, his own words just as elusive. If he could only understand… oh. The man is… kissing him. Passionately, deep, hot and wet and desperate and Yeosang’s body is on fire because nothing, nothing, has ever felt like this before. He clutches Yeosang to him as if trying to crawl inside of his ribcage and hide from the world.

Yeosang pulls back and strokes his fingertips through the tears coating the man’s shimmering skin.

The sharp point of a sword is pressed against his spine.

I love you.

Pain, exploding out of his chest as his blood twines with that of his killer, dripping down between them as they fall to their knees, sword binding their hearts as one. A roar, immense, vicious and triumphant, grows in the air, as the sky shatters and the weight of the ocean comes crashing down.

Yeosang’s eyes flick open as every bone in his body breaks again under the force of the water.

His dull closet greets him, filled with extra blankets and his winter coat and that one ugly pillow Jisung gave him that he only brings out when the vampire sleeps over. 

He shifts forward, groaning as that slight movement sparks pain through his legs which are numb and burning. How long was he sitting here? He glances at his phone…

4am.

He’d taken his deep dive at 10pm.

Six hours. Six hours lost in the recesses of his own shitty brain and what did he learn?

His original death consisted of getting stabbed in a weird murder suicide and then drowning when a wall of water fell from the sky and pulverized him.

Ok. So some of the details must be a little off, but he’d been distracted because the man…

Had the same little scales (green rather than iridescent) that Jongho probably thought Yeosang didn’t notice. The same dark eyes, same smile—

The same soul.

Six hours to confirm that the youngest member of his favorite k-pop group is indeed his reincarnated murderer.

Great.

He’s so fucked.

Chapter 6

Summary:

Who knew DM’ing with your idols (AND HAVING THEM DM BACK) is so draining?
~ ~ ~
A fun fluff chapter (and a brief cameo of Chan and Hyunjin)

Things are going to get spicy soon... it's rated E for a reason
There will be warnings of what parts to avoid if spice isn't your thing

Read Chan and Hyunjin's side story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71030491

Yeosang wakes up with a pounding headache, an aching chest, and a burning throat.

Nightmares plagued his sleep, his brain running through an endless reel of kiss-stab-drown from the moment he closed his eyes to the moment he wakes up in a foul mood.

He lies in bed, snuggling into his fluffy pile of blankets (one can never have too many blankets) and pillows (he has a veritable nest of pillows and plushies) and stares at the light blue ceiling with dark wooden beams above him. He has to get up. He has a shop to run, and his daytime employee had called out sick, likely unwilling to brave the icy rain that’s tapping sharply against the large window beside his bed. He doesn’t blame her; snake shifters aren’t known for being particularly fond of winter storms.

With one more squeeze of his dragon plushie, Yeosang tosses back his blankets, shivers miserably, and stands up. He quickly throws a long, knitted cardigan over his sleep shirt and shoves his feet into his slippers, before heading into his kitchen. A steaming mug of tea is waiting for him on the table courtesy of the shop, which had started greeting him with a beverage a few months ago, after a getting a massive boost of magic from an ambitious warlock who thought he could drain the Sanctuary to feed his patron.

Turns out, his patron wasn’t interested in breaking a cardinal rule of the magical world, and offered up the warlock as an apology instead.

All in all, his shop had grown immensely in power as a Sanctuary over the past five years he’d been in charge of it, and regained more sentience than he’d expected.

Humming the latest TS song from their comeback, he notices a bunch of notifications on his phone that he had ignored last night when he crashed, exhausted, into bed at 4am.

Weird, considering Minho rarely texted him, Jisung was banned from sending more than three messages a day after he spammed Yeosang’s phone with memes prompting Yeosang to block his number for a week, and the others only texted when they needed something (which happened rarely) or when they wanted to get together (even less often).

Curious, he swipes into his messaging app and promptly throws his phone across the room in a panic. Why that was his first reaction, who knows, but now he’s left staring at the phone as if waiting for it to launch back through the air and bite him.

He has to be dreaming.

Or Minho had decided to fuck with him.

Because there’s no way…

Creeping towards his phone, he gingerly picks it up again and returns to his unread texts, glancing at the previews.

Wooyoung – Hihi!! Hyung said I shouldn’t…

Mingi – Hey just want to say…

Yunho – I know I can’t…

Seonghwa – Sorry if the members…

This… has to be a joke. But Seonghwa did say he was taking his number, and he had typed in a bunch of contacts—and they were named, so there’s no way it isn’t real…

Yeosang drops his phone on the couch, sits down at his kitchen table and sips his tea. Methodically. Calmly. Not at all internally panicking. He can keep it together.

Really.

He can.

The pile of signed photocards sparkle at him with little anime hearts from the coffee table where he’d left them last night, too exhausted to put them away.

Cradling his tea, he walks over to the couch and sits down, grabbing a pillow and curling around it with his knees against his chest. He stares at the phone.

Pros to reading the messages: he’ll be DM’ing with his favorite idols, directly messaging them, an arguably life-changing experience.

Cons to reading the messages: maybe they’re fucking with him and intending to trick him into being creepy and then he’d be arrested by the police or something equally terrible and his life might be ruined and he’d have to die just so that he’d be reincarnated as someone new…

Ok. So that train of thought is somewhat unlikely. Being realistic, he’ll just embarrass himself terribly and not leave his shop for the foreseeable future.

Who’s he kidding?

There is not a world in which he doesn’t read those messages.

It isn’t like he has to respond or anything.

Wooyoung (11:38pm)
Hihi!! Hyung said I shouldn’t bother you
But I reallllly wanted to meet you yesterday
And he shouldn’t have given me your number
If he really didn’t want me to text you
so
hi I’m really happy you saved Mingle’s life

Wooyoung (7:10am)
oooh captain has a surprise for you!!!

Then nothing. Yeosang blinks at the messages. Wooyoung… texts exactly like he talks, in the interviews and variety shows Yeosang had watched. Maybe the idol is still putting on a persona but it seems genuine.

Opening the next message, Yeosang feels a flush run over his face.

Mingi (2:15am)
Hey just want to say I’m really glad I met you
Since I can’t thank you
Instead can I give you a compliment?

Mingi (2:34am)
you’re probably sleeping
so here’s the compliment
you’re really cute
and I hope I get to see you again

Yeosang can’t help it. He squeals, shrilly, in his apartment. A few of his books shift as the shop creaks in alarm. He pats the cushion apologetically.

Mingi, the SONG MINGI, thinks he’s cute? How dare he. And he wants to see him again? Yeosang quickly opens up Yunho’s message.

Yunho (11:38pm)
I know I can’t ask you to forget
what you saw
between me and Mingi
but if you could please not tell anyone
I’d really appreciate it
also

And then nothing. Huh. Obviously he isn’t going to tell anyone that he saw Mingi kiss Yunho. Part of him wishes he didn’t know he saw Mingi kiss Yunho. Because now, Mingi kissing Yunho would feature heavily in his dreams.

Hwa (6:05am)
Sorry if the members start bothering you
Wooyoungie stole my phone
and took your number
how are you?
you looked like you were in pain
sorry if that’s invasive
you don’t need to answer
i just worry
especially about pretty grim reapers

Yeosang carefully puts his phone down on the table, shoves his face into his pillow, and screams. Not just Mingi, but SEONGHWA, casually dropping compliments? Isn’t this against idol rules about interacting with fans? Sure, he had sucked a curse (make that two) out of Mingi’s body and killed a bunch of people to save them but, really, this seems like an over-the-top response.

Maybe they’re just grateful and expressing it this way, to avoid accidentally thanking him and owing a grim reaper a favor.

Right. That’s it. Just expressing gratitude in a silly way. It doesn’t mean anything.

Oh God. He wants it to mean something. Because he’s a fan living a fanboy fantasy and he can’t stop the spiraling “what ifs…”

How the hell is he supposed to respond?

Rather than face that decision, he gets dressed and ready for the day, and heads downstairs to open the shop. He shoves his phone in his pocket without looking at it.

The shop is quiet, warm morning light shining through the front window, deceptive against the negative temperatures outside. His plants are thriving (courtesy of the shop, he is a terrible plant parent and they’d all be dead if he was in charge) and fill the space with fresh air and the faint smell of soil. He fiddles with the display on the counter, switching it around to center on a hibiscus tea flanked by two citrus options, going for something tropical to offset the wintery day. The shop blooms a few magenta blossoms, making for a cheerful display.

Walking over to the brand new door, he unlocks it and taps the glass, smiling as the sign flips to “open”. There. All in order for the day.

And now…

He has nothing to do but wait and stew in his own thoughts.

Yeosang avoids looking at his phone all morning, a heroic effort deserving of praise. He serves his usual harried customers grabbing a tea or a pastry on their way to work, reads a bit more of his book, and plays on his switch. Before he knows it, lunchtime arrives and he happily chats with the people, mundane and magical, who come in for an after lunch treat or a cozy place to have a meeting.

A blast of cold air makes him shiver as Chan, a wolf shifter who works at the entertainment company down the road and is a decently famous producer in the k-pop world, comes rushing in, hat drawn low and mask on his face. People occasionally recognize him, more and more frequently after a recent album topped the charts, and the man has no clue how to deal with it.

For him to brave the possibility of being perceived… it must be a crisis.

The shifter perches on a stool and begins drumming his fingers on the bar, chewing his lip and muttering to himself.

Definitely a crisis.

“Hey, Chan-hyung. How are you?”

Oblivious to the startled looks of the other patrons, Chan pulls his shirt over his head to reveal a softly glowing golden mark spreading over his chest.

“Chan—damn it, don’t get naked in my shop—”

“Yeosang, this is—it is what I think it is right? It just showed up today and I don’t know who else to ask, Binnie’s not at the studio today and I can’t exactly ask Hyu—” he cuts off, blushing, and looks at Yeosang with pleading eyes.

“Congratulations, Hyunjin is your destined mate.” Yeosang deadpans, rolling his eyes at the shifter. “Now can you please put your shirt back on.”  

Chan’s eyes take on a panicked look and his mouth drops open.

“How did you know—I mean, I’m not even sure it’s him, we've already... and it didn't show up 'til now... why now? What if its someone I’ve never even met, Hyunjinnie's not a shifter so maybe he doesn’t want me like that—” the door to the shop bangs open and Yeosang winces, really hoping the hinges survived the hit. A young man with elfin features, a shock of white hair, and shimmering skin bursts into the shop, glancing around, before beelining to the counter where Chan sits, frozen.

“Hi Yeosangie. I’m taking him now.” He grabs Chan by the arm and drags him off the stool while the shifter gapes at him, shirt dangling uselessly from his hand. Yeosang smiles, seeing a matching golden mark on the air elemental’s forearm.

“Bye Chan. You’re an idiot. I almost feel bad for Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin grins, pearly teeth pointed, and tugs Chan towards the door.

“He makes up for it! He does this thing with his tongue—” he calls out over his shoulder, the rest of his words lost as Chan, now completely red, makes a strangled sound and yanks Hyunjin out the door.

The murmur of conversation slowly starts up again now that the whirlwind (luckily, not literally, this time) of Hwang Hyunjin has exited the stage.

Ok. If Hyunjin can blast into a public space and claim his man while attempting to share sexual details of their relationship, Yeosang can respond to some light and meaningless flirting in a text message.

Multiple text messages.

Swallowing down his panic, he pulls out his phone and opens it. There’s one new message, from Hongjoong.

Hongjoong (11:05am)
hi Yeosang-ssi
here’s a link to a ticket for the prerecording tomorrow
if you want come see us perform

Yeosang blinks at the link and, with a shaky hand, clicks it. Sure enough, it routes him to a ticket that notes “artist guest” at the top. There’s nothing else from Hongjoong after the link.

He quickly searches for the music show and finds out that yes, they are performing tomorrow and people are gonna be lining up all night for a chance to see them at 5am when the pre-recording starts.

And here he is, with a ticket. Is he supposed to line up? Or get there closer to when it starts?

Nearly vibrating with excitement, Yeosang takes a deep breath and messages back.

Yeosang (1:16pm)
hi, Hongjoong-ssi
I would love to come to the performance!
I’ve never gone to a prerecording
I’m not sure how it works

A few minutes later, a reply comes through.

Hongjoong (1:22pm)
that’s great!
just come to the main door around 430am
show your ticket to the staff at the door
they’ll give you a badge and show you where to go

Yeosang (1:25pm)
wow this feels like a lot
you really don’t have to do this for me
I’d be happy just waiting in line

Hongjoong (1:27pm)
let me
please
besides
if I made you wait in line, Hwa would ice me
and he’s scary

Yeosang giggled. Hongjoong is far less intimidating through a phone.

Yeosang (1:30pm)
ok I’ll see you tomorrow then
I mean
see you perform

Hongjoong (1:31pm)
you’d better come backstage after
or else I won’t be the only one in danger
😉

An emoji. An emoji from KIM HONGJOONG Yeosang is going to die, combust on the spot, and he hasn’t even responded to any of the other messages. A series of rings at the door signal a bunch of customers piling in, and he forces himself to focus, mixing their tea leaves and steeping it for just the correct number of minutes and listening to the shop when it recommends a hint of saffron in one of the cups.

When they’re taken care of and settled into the cozy chairs by the fireplace in the corner, he returns to his phone, hovering over the other messages, before opening Seonghwa’s.

Yeosang (2:18pm)
hi Seonghwa-ssi
they’re not a bother
it’s just crazy to me that you all want to talk to me
I’m feeling ok
it’s a chronic thing
I don’t want you to worry
but it’s nice
having someone care
😊

There. Appreciative. Not too vulnerable, not too creepy—hopefully he doesn't sound like a complete idiot. Two down. Three to go.

Yeosang (2:24pm)
hi Wooyoung-ssi
I’m glad I saved Mingi-ssi’s life too
and
I guess I’ll be at the recording tomorrow!

He can’t help but smile. Something about talking to Wooyoung just makes him happy.

Yeosang (2:26pm)
hi Yunho-ssi
I won’t tell anyone
I promise

Which left… Mingi.

Mingi, who called him cute. Mingi, whose life he’d saved. Mingi, who’s the reason he got interested in k-pop four and a half years ago.

Yeosang (2:38pm)
hi
you made me blush
thanks for that
I’m coming to the prerecording tomorrow
and Hongjoong-ssi said I have to come backstage
so
you’ll see me then
I’m glad I met you too

Nope, he is not going to type that. Even if it is maybe the truest thing he’s ever considered sending in a text message. He closes the app, locks his phone, and slumps onto a stool behind the counter, thoroughly exhausted.

Who knew DM’ing with your idols (AND HAVING THEM DM BACK) is so draining?

His phone dings.

Oh shit. He hadn’t… considered that they would respond. Why didn’t he consider that? That’s how conversations work, you text, then the other person texts, then it happens again—

Ding ding ding—

He switches the phone back to silent. He’ll… deal with it later. There are customers, he has a shop to run…

Said shop ripples the countertop so that his phone slides on the smooth surface to hit his knuckles. He glares at the counter and feels the shop’s laughter.

Great. Even his sentient home finds his plight amusing.

Chapter 7

Summary:

WooSan is a mess, Yeosang is panicking, Hongjoong makes an ass of himself... and why is Eden so familiar?

Buckle in for some angst, friends. It'll all work out, I promise!

San loves Wooyoung.

He really does.

But if he has to listen to one more round of “oh my gosh hyung is he cute will we meet him can I adopt him” he’ll need to invest in a pair of noise canceling earbuds.

“Why isn’t he responding to meeee?!” Wooyoung whines, coming over to drop into San’s lap in a graceless heap.

San circles his arms around the witch and squeezes hard enough to cut off the whining with a wheeze. As Wooyoung resorts to swatting him and squirming, reduced to incoherent squawking, Yunho casually perches on the arm of the couch beside them.

“Do you think, maybe, it’s because its 4 in the fucking morning, he barely knows any of us, and that he doesn’t know how to respond to—” the tall man picks up Wooyoung’s unlocked phone and glances at his messages with Yeosang, “—five cat memes, a key mash of excitement, and a string of unrelated emojis?”

Muffled beneath San’s torso, Wooyoung mumbles something unintelligible, and shoves at San’s chest. Gasping dramatically, as if rising from a deep dive, the witch sits up and flicks back his hair.

“The emojis tell a story, Yuyu. I just… I just want him to like me.”

The edge of San’s patience curls with singed jealousy. It’s so Wooyoung coded. Dangle something new in front of him and he just—latches on, until something more interesting distracts him.

Until he gets bored. Then he comes back to San.

San is his constant, and Wooyoung is San’s.

Soul-mates.

Well, maybe. Neither of them are shifters so there’s no “mate-mark” to declare them a fated pair. But they say they’re soul-mates, have matching tattoos and everything. And he does know Wooyoung better than anyone else.

For example, he knows there’s more to this morning’s tantrum than Yeosang not responding to Wooyoung’s deluge of text messages. He flops sideways on the couch, dragging Wooyoung with him, until they’re lying lengthwise with the witch tucked against his chest.

The smaller man immediately burrows close, face pressed to the crook of San’s neck.

“What’s going on, Wooyoungie?” San murmurs, running his hand down the witch’s back.

“It would just… be nice to have another person around who knows what it’s like to be seen as a monster.”

San tightens his arms around Wooyoung, heart breaking. Now he feels like an ass for being jealous. He hadn’t even thought—of course Wooyoung would latch onto Yeosang.

“You know we don’t see you as a monster. Just like we don’t see Jongie-bear as a monster. But… I don’t blame you, for wanting that.” He presses a kiss to the crown of Wooyoung’s head and sits up. The witch watches him with sad eyes that quickly clear when a stylist summons him over for hair and makeup. The switch is instantaneous—the troubled Wooyoung that only San gets to see transforming into the over the top bubbly sarcastic goof that the rest of the world knows.

San sighs and gets up to stretch, wandering over to the corner to do a last minute run of the choreo for today’s performance. It isn’t their first time performing their comeback song, but it’s for a bigger audience and he wants it to be perfect. Besides…

Yeosang will be in the audience.

And San can’t say he isn’t curious. Aside from Wooyoung, he’s the only member that hasn’t met the grim reaper who saved Yunho and Mingi’s lives and has a thing for pastels and overly large sweaters. That last bit of information had him internally squealing for about five minutes when Seonghwa described, in detail, exactly how adorable Yeosang was with his sweater paws.

The oldest member of their group had also mentioned a rather impressive number of cartoon character plushies in Yeosang’s apartment. Maybe he’ll get the chance to introduce Yeosang to his own plushie collection.

Hongjoong calling for them to gather distracts San from his wandering thoughts. As they circle up, seven together in a ritual moment before every performance, just like always, San searches deep within himself.

For a hint of… anything. A sign that this, what he’s doing, is enough.

Nothing.

Not even a stray rumble of rocks tumbling down the mountain for which he was named.

He sighs and settles in, plastering on a small smile to avoid his resting “I’m gonna kill you face” (so named by Mingi of all people).

The lights slowly rise and the sound of the crowd drowns out the opening chords of their song. The audience is a black mass, hidden by the hot lights of the stage, but San swears he can feel a pair of eyes on him, distinct from all the rest, and he shivers as something warm settles in his chest.

The music courses through him and his body moves with the rhythm, voice lifting to cut through the hard hitting beats.

This, doing this, is what he loves.

And no one can tell him he isn’t enough.

~ ~ ~

Yeosang is not, by any standard, a morning person. Which makes his choice of running a tea shop that opens for breakfast somewhat questionable. He typically has to drag his chilly, sleepy self through at least one mug of tea before he’s functional.

A cup of sugary coffee if it’s a particularly sluggish morning.

Today, however, is a different story. Having an “artist guest” ticket to his ultimate group’s prerecording turns him into a bright ray of sunshine ready to greet the (still pitch black) day.

He shifts from foot to foot nervously across the street from the music station, looking apprehensively at the crowded line of people huddled under blankets. He has the panicked thought that he might get eaten alive if he tries to walk past that line to approach the door.

He checks his phone. 4:15am. A little red bubble says “24” on the text app. Five more messages since he last checked his phone at 4am.

Yeosang still hasn’t read the responses from yesterday, caught up in a situation involving three demi-demons, a minotaur, and a satyr. The problem centered on some sort of love… tangle? He suspects it would be complicated on a good day—trying to understand the situation from the perspective of its drunken participants proved impossible.

By the time he was done negating the effects of an orgy-inducing aura the satyr piped into the air in an attempt to woo his erstwhile lover(s), comforting a sobbing young half-devil who refused to get off the floor, and explaining (forcefully) that the minotaur was not welcome to demonstrate his superiority by lifting and throwing a table, it was 9pm, the shop was shooing the rest of the patrons out the door, and Yeosang was ready to collapse.

He spent the next thirty minutes ripping apart his closet in an attempt to find an outfit which he felt vaguely good in, eventually settling on a pair of loose linen pants, a soft russet turtleneck, and a white cardigan with overlong sleeves. After a moment of hesitation, he put away the loafers he had initially grabbed, and instead pulled out a pair of low heeled suede ankle boots that he’d bought on a whim two years ago and never worn.

Yeosang laid out the outfit and tumbled into bed.

He’s grateful for the extra layer of the cardigan this morning, as he pulls his thick winter coat tighter around his body, staring at the notifications on his phone. He should probably look at them, in case there’s a change in the plan today or one of the members wants to talk to him about something specific…

Seonghwa (9:15pm)
hi yeosangie
I’m really happy you’re coming to see us tomorrow
try to get some sleep tonight!

His heart perks up at the idea that he makes Seonghwa happy.

The next message is from a new group text between himself, Yunho and Mingi. He snorts at the group name.

two idiots and their hero

Yunho (5:28pm)
consider yourself officially sworn to secrecy
regarding anything in this chat

Mingi (5:32pm)
Wow
dramatic

Yunho (5:33pm)
he needs to understand the gravity of the situation

Mingi (5:37pm)
basically
I’m an oracle
and Yuyu’s an empath

Yunho (5:40pm)
and we had a
combo feeling / vision thing

Mingi (5:41pm)
that’s why we ended up at your shop that night

Yunho (5:45pm)
that’s not the secret though hyung already knows about that

Mingi (5:46pm)
but he doesn’t know all of it
and since it kinda involves you
we thought you should know

Yunho (6:50pm)
or not?

Mingi (7:22pm)
Yeosangieee
are you ignoring us?
the people you risked your life to save??

Yunho (7:23pm)
who’s being dramatic now

He… probably should have read his text messages. Oops.

For now, he’s got too many questions to ask them right before a performance, so it’ll have to wait.

The last thread comes from Wooyoung, consisting of five cat memes (all of which he immediately saves to send to Felix to send to Minho), a series of keyboard smashes which he thinks vaguely contain the message “I’m so happy you’re gonna come watch us!!!”, followed by a series of seemingly unrelated emojis.

Unless it’s a code. Is it a code? Is this something young and hip that Yeosang is supposed to know and doesn’t know because he’d shown up fully formed at the age of twenty feeling like a 1850s spinster?

Shit. He needs to ask Hyunjin. He was the most “hip” of the people he knew well enough to ask.

Only one notification remained.

Jongho (3:20am)
hey
I’m really sorry
if I did something to hurt you
I know you said it was a chronic thing but if I made you uncomfortable
i’m sorry

Eyes widening, Yeosang scrambles to respond without even considering having a panic attack about it.

Yeosang (4:26am)
Nononono!!
you didn’t I promise
it really is just a weird reaper thing

He thinks about the moment he’d tripped (aka, when the shop purposefully sent him tumbling in Jongho’s lap), when the singer’s hands had closed around his waist, large enough to span almost all the way around, palms warm through his sweater. A pleasant shiver goes down his spine.

Yeosang (4:28am)
you didn’t make me uncomfortable
sorry I literally fell into your lap
lol

Oh God, he’s so awkward, why is he like this? And now it’s time for him to walk past the shifting, restless crowd to the front doors where he’d show his ticket and probably get laughed at and turned away—

Ding

Jongho (4:29am)
you can fall into my lap anytime
😉

Yeosang’s face goes up in flames. His feet carry him absently across the street, right up to the doors without hesitation, because Jongho, notoriously reserved CHOI JONGHO, just flirted with him.

When the security guard stops him, he shows him the ticket and the guard nods, hands him a lanyard, and a staff member gestures for him to follow. If the crowd is bothered, they don’t show it. Helps that he’s not the only person going inside with a special ticket and lanyard.

The staffer deposits him in a cordoned off area of the audience to the side, with plush seats and small tables. He perches awkwardly on one of them, startled when a brownie pops up to offer him a hot coffee (yes please, three sugars and cream), which he sips, slowly able to relax as no one pays him much mind.

He recognizes some of the others sitting in the area as members of the kpop scene—a few idols, a well-known producer that Yeosang met at one of Chan’s parties, and an up-and-coming actress in a popular k-drama.

The rest of the audience begins to filter in, signs and star-sparkling light sticks and excited chatter filling the space. When the lights dim, Yeosang silences his phone and leans forward, just as excited as the fans screaming their biases names.

As the opening chords vibrate through his body, the larger-than-life silhouettes of Treasure Sea come into view.

How, in the many realms, is this real?

Hands down… this is the best week of his (many) lives.

~ ~ ~

“If I knew this was going to be an issue, I would have said something sooner, Eden-hyung!”

“If you—Joong-ah, you didn’t think I’d want to know that two of the members were nearly killed a week ago?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, but Eden blasts onwards, jaw clenching every few words.

“And not just almost killed—also saved” he makes air quotes, “by a GRIM REAPER of all things?”

Before his hyung can continue ranting, Hongjoong jumps in. “Why does it seem like you care more about the grim reaper part than the Yunho and Mingi almost dying part?”

Eden blinks at him and snaps his mouth shut, inhaling deeply through his nose. Hongjoong has rarely (possibly never) seen the man so worked up about anything.

“Hongjoong. Yunho and Mingi do enough stupid shit that almost dying isn’t that uncommon.”

Well. He has a point. There’s a reason his two idiots are prohibited from racing off after feelings or visions without informing him first.

Eden continues, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “So yes, I am pretty concerned about the reaper part of things. Please tell me you didn’t thank it—or, worse, that they didn’t thank it?”

A sliver of annoyance fizzles through Hongjoong’s bones at Yeosang being called an “it”. That, combined with the desire to spare the idiots from Eden’s lecturing, prompts him to bend the truth a bit.

“We know better than to thank him. But still, he saved their lives, and he’s a fan—” Eden’s face does a weird twisting thing where he looks like he is both swallowing and actively trying to vomit a lemon “—so I invited him to the pre-recording.”

Hongjoong waits as his producer-hyung goes through the five stages of grieving, but seems to get stuck at rage.

“You WHAT?! Kim Hongjoong, of all the foolish—just because he looks pitiful doesn’t mean you need to feel bad for him—”

How does Eden know what Yeosang looks like? Not that Hongjoong thinks the reaper looks pitiful; Yeosang’s oversized fluffy pastel sweaters just make Hongjoong want to protect him from the evils of the world. The fact that the world, in general, considers grim reapers as one of the “evils” is irrelevant.

“It’s not about feeling bad—”

The air shivers as Eden’s wings fan out—a loss of control that has Hongjoong frowning. His hyung is acting as though Hongjoong inviting Yeosang to a performance is a personal slight.

“Do not feel bad for him. Feeling bad for a reaper is like feeling bad for ruining a spider’s web by getting caught in its threads.”

It isn’t like Eden to be completely unreasonable, and if he did know about Yeosang, then…

“Reaper’s are predators, Joong-ah. You know better than to let one trick you into allowing it close to your family.”

Hongjoong thinks about how strange it is that none of his paranoid tendencies locked in when he met Yeosang—was that some sort of magic? It’s fucking difficult to glamour him, let along Hwa, but every reaper’s abilities were a closely kept secret. Could Yeosang really…?

“I… I’m sorry, Eden-hyung. I should have taken more care.”

Eden nods, golden eyes slowly settling back to brown, wings folding in.

“Good. Now—”

But Hongjoong isn’t listening. Because, with Eden’s wings no longer blocking his view, he can clearly see the two figures standing behind him.

Wooyoung’s outraged face is eclipsed by the look of stunned hurt on Yeosang’s.

Hurt which quickly washes into shame, before morphing into something far worse. Resigned acceptance. As if this is exactly what he expected to happen.

“Kyungmoon. Eden.” A burst of soft, bitter laughter tumbles from Yeosang’s mouth as he rips his hand free of the death grip Wooyoung has on it. Hongjoong watches the witch startle, outrage morphing into something much deeper, and he throws a panicked glance at San.

As the younger man darts forward to grab Wooyoung, Eden advances on Yeosang. Hongjoong hesitates—right now, nothing about Yeosang screamed “I’m a horrible monster of the night” but he can’t reconcile the pure hatred on his hyung’s face…

“Reaper. Not satisfied with defiling the Council, now you’re here to prey upon their grandchildren as well?”

San slaps a hand over Wooyoung’s mouth and drags him back as Yeosang jolts backwards as if struck. The reaper’s eyes flit briefly to Hongjoong’s before he begins to back up, hands out.

“I’m going, I won’t—won’t bother you again. I—” Hongjoong feels a frigid presence settle at his shoulder and winces. Hwa’s anger is enough to give him frostbite, and he watches Yeosang’s eyes widen as he takes in the furious fae.

The reaper stumbles back another step. “I’m so sorry, I’m—sorry.”

“Yeosangie—” Hwa’s voice is shards of ice in the air.

Too late.

Yeosang is gone, fleeing back out of the door of the waiting room and leaving it to slam shut behind him.

In the ringing silence, Hongjoong feels all of the member’s eyes settle on them. Eden rubs the back of his neck and shrugs his shoulders, turning as if to leave.

As if he hadn’t just helped Hongjoong make a terrible mistake.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Kyungmoon?”

Eden freezes.

Literally.

Hwa stalks forward, trailing frost over the floor, silver hair floating up to form a cloud around his head. “My uncle told me about your behavior at the Council meeting. Silly me for thinking you’d leave your personal pissing contest at work instead of dragging it here.”

Hongjoong winces. It’s rare for Seonghwa to get mad, but when he does—

“Yeosang saved Yunho and Mingi’s lives. He sheltered them, killed multiple people to protect them, and removed a curse mark from Mingi’s soul. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what a soul curse can do to a person, do I?”

“Two curse marks, actually.” MIngi’s quiet voice cuts through Hwa’s chilled fury with deadly precision. Because Mingi is the last person to get involved when things get nasty.

Still frozen to the ground, Eden turns his head over his shoulder to stare at the oracle, who twists his hands nervously in front of him.

“Hyung, he removed the old curse mark. The—the one from… when I was a kid.”

That… can’t be possible. Hongjoong had been there with Mingi as they went to specialist after specialist, saw him spiral when the panic attacks kept getting stronger, helped him find a therapist that could give him skills to cope with the deep scarring trauma that curse left in his soul.

Their fans knew Mingi battled with anxiety—he’d been somewhat open about it through the years. But no one outside of their immediate circle knew that oracle had almost died of the curse’s effect a year after their debut.

Eden’s mouth opens and closes a few times, something almost approaching shame slowly rolling over his face.

“I—Mingi-yah, I didn’t—I’m sorry, but I can’t just let some reaper—”

Hwa waves a hand and ice creeps up over Eden’s mouth, sealing his lips.

“I know why this is personal to you, Kyungmoon. But I will not let you speak ill of the final member of our Circle.”

At Hwa’s words, the fight goes out of their producer, and Hongjoong watches him deflate before his eyes. A bloom of warmth melts the frost, and Eden stumbles into a chair.

Seonghwa crouches in front of him, voice gentle. “I know the pain you carry, Eden. But Yeosang doesn’t deserve your misplaced cruelty.”

Hongjoong turns to see Mingi, looking seconds away from passing out, leaning against Yunho, who has an arm around the oracle’s waist. Jongho is hovering behind them, face impassive. And San… still has Wooyoung wrapped up in his arms, back to chest, and Wooyoung is…

Fuck.

Wooyoung is skating very close to the edge, with a desolate look in his eyes that Hongjoong had prayed he’d never see again. The witch is staring at him with a look of utter betrayal.

“Ok, enough. I invited Yeosang today, and I am responsible for the way we have treated him. Hyung—” he glares at Eden, “—I will apologize to him on your behalf—” the angel opens his mouth “—unless you’ll do it yourself?” Eden snaps his mouth shut and grimaces.

He can’t yell at their producer, he can’t yell at their producer—with that mantra playing in his head, he turns to San.

“Get a manager and take Wooyoung home. Seonghwa, go with them.”

Hwa fixes him with a gaze just shy of glacial, and Hongjoong stares back, pleading. After a moment, the fae relents, huffing out a breath visible in the chilled air, and steps away from Eden.

Looking over at where Wooyoung is now hanging limp in San’s grip, Hwa sighs. “Come on, love, let’s get you home.”

“No.” Wooyoung’s voice is quiet, venomous, as he continues to stare at Hongjoong. Fucking hell, he just needs to get them home, he can’t have this fight here, where anyone might overhear—

“Clearly we have a problem with monsters in this group. Who’s next? Me? Jongho?”

“Wooyoung—”

“With all due respect, Captain— Fuck off.”

The witch stalks out of the room without another word, leaving San and Seonghwa to hurry after him.

Hongjoong looks back at Eden, only to find him gone, a sparkle of magic the only sign that he’d ever been there.

Coward.

But as he looks at Jongho, whose eyes are wide and mouth thin with lines of stress, Hongjoong is pretty sure he’s just as bad.

“Jongho…”

Their youngest looks at him and Hongjoong nearly breaks at the look of disappointment in his eyes.

“You fucked up, hyung. And now he’s gone.”

All because Hongjoong stood there like a fool in the face of Eden’s venom, breaking Yeosang’s trust in the process.

“You’re right.”

Jongho, Mingi and Yunho all look surprised at the admission. He knows he isn’t the best at admitting when he’s wrong, but he owes it to them right now.

“Who’s coming with me to find Yeosang and watch me apologize for making an absolute ass of myself?”

Yunho and Mingi immediately throw a hand in the air, high-fiving each other, and begin a weird handshake. It gets more complicated every time he witnesses it.

Jongho stays quiet, staring at the floor. “I’ll pass. I… sorry for saying that, hyung. I was out of line.”

Their maknae looks so fucking sad and Hongjoong hates it. He’s a failure, as a captain and a hyung. He should have seen this coming, but how? Whatever insider knowledge Hwa has about Eden is news to him. The whole thing was a fucking mess.

“Nah, I deserved it, Jongie-bear.” The younger man wrinkles his nose at the pet name and Hongjoong smiles, letting a bit of fang show. “Want one of them to come with you?” He can tell both Yunho and Mingi are torn between wanting to find Yeosang and wanting to take care of their youngest member.

Jongho shakes his head, to the immediate relief of the twin terrors. “Nah. I’ll just grab a manager and go. Stay safe, hyungs.”

And then it’s just him and the idiots (so called with affection).

“So. Do either of you have a feeling about where he went?”

Chapter 8

Summary:

Yeosang copes with the fact that things never change while Hongjoong scrambles to make things right.

Yeosang really should have known better.

He might not remember a lot from his past lives, but he remembers enough to know that some (most) of them ended when he decided to try trusting people. It’s one of the reasons his best friend is someone who has lived long enough to be a constant through his lives—it’s easier than… this.

Shame, ugly and hot, bites at the lining of his stomach as he curls into himself on the floor of his shop. It’s closed for the day, since he’d planned on being at the performance and then, maybe, spending time with the members or something equally foolish.  

His shop shifts unhappily, the rug rising up to wipe at his tear-wet cheeks.

Eden.

He knew he recognized him at the Council meeting.

He’s a fucking idiot. Of course it was all a lie, just a way to make him the butt of a joke…

Had that been the purpose of inviting him? Get his stupid fanboy hopes up just to crush him with the reality that he would always be seen as a monster?

When the final recording ended, Yeosang had hovered near the entrance to the VIP area, unsure of where to go. He’d received a cryptic text from Wooyoung that said “incoming, don’t move” a few minutes prior, so it wasn’t entirely shocking when the idol crept around the corner and whisper called him over to a half-hidden doorway behind a curtain.

“Hi hi hi hi hi!!!” he shrieked, volume no longer contained now that they were away from the audience. A few other performers glanced over with wide eyes at the sudden increase in noise, and then rolled their eyes after seeing it was Wooyoung, causing Yeosang to giggle and flush deeply.

“Um. Hi, wow, you were so amazing! All of it was incredible, I can’t believe it, also I really liked the meme with the cat and the pasta I’m gonna send it to—” he snapped his mouth shut before more babble could pour out, sure he was going to evaporate from embarrassment. Wooyoung cooed at him, pinched his cheek, and grabbed his hand tightly.

Yeosang blinked down at where their hands were intertwined as the other man pulled him briskly down the hallway. “Come on, I’ll take you to our waiting room, Sannie is super excited to meet you and I think Mingle’s might cry when he sees how cute you look—” Yeosang made a choking noise and Wooyoung smirked at him over his shoulder, not slowing down.

They reached an open door and Yeosang could hear raised voices, one of them Hongjoong’s and the other…

Kyungmoon?

Wooyoung slid to a halt, hand still gripping his, eyes darting over the scene. Though his back was turned, Yeosang would recognize those rose-gold wings anywhere—why was… oh.

Eden. Someone had called him Eden at the Council.

Fuck.

He started to tug his hand away from Wooyoung, who only held it tighter. Not good. He needed to get out, now, before Kyungmoon saw him and—

“Reaper’s are predators, Joong-ah. You know better than to let one trick you into allowing it close to your family.”

A lance of hurt shot through him as the words struck home. Because that’s all he was, according to the world. And Hongjoong…

Was apologizing. Agreeing.

He ripped his hand away from Wooyoung and began to back towards the door. Kyungmoon’s words struck him like poisoned darts, one after the other, and Yeosang could have handled it, but then Hwa… who had called him beautiful, was staring at him furiously, as if he was shit scraped off of a shoe.

It could have been worse, Yeosang reasons, as he drags himself up to stand at his worktable, leaning heavily on its scarred surface.

He could have been chased out of the venue by conjured wolves. He vaguely remembers the sensation of being torn apart, his rapidly healing body keeping him alive (and viciously conscious) until he was shredded beyond repair. On the list of ways to die, zero out of ten, would not recommend.

So. Yeah.

Could have been worse.

Yeosang takes out his phone and considers wiping it completely, just crushing it and getting a new number but then he’d have to give the new number to Minho who would tell Jisung who would tell Felix who would make sad eyes at him until he spilled the entire embarrassing ordeal.

Not a possibility. He’s taking his shame with him to the grave. Or at least to next week’s wine-night with the vampires that will probably result in him trauma dumping despite his best intentions.

At least he won’t remember this in his next incarnation.

Sadly, he has to get through the rest of this one.

Squinting to avoid seeing much of anything, he sets about deleting the text threads with the members. The last to go is Jongho’s—his thumb hovers, and he’s going to do it, he is…

Yeosang slams the phone face down on the table, shoulders shaking, as sobs tear out of him.

“I hate being me,” he mumbles, cheek pressed to the table. His tears soak the wood, and he feels the shop fizz with a punch of energy— strong emotions are like candy, including his own. At least his shop is getting something productive out of his pity spiral.

Heaving a sigh, he slaps his palms down on the table.

Ok. Time to make something productive of the day.

He glances over at his shelves, scanning the assortment of small jars sitting there, some swirling with cursed energy, others filled with herbs and crushed dried flowers. He stoutly ignores the ugly, squat clay pot on the end, which houses the red marbled curse from Mingi’s soul.

Yeosang pulls out the list of orders he needs to fill for teas, magical and mundane, and gets to work.

He lets the familiar motions of mixing and grinding herbs take over, tears falling freely onto his hands. The teas can benefit from a bit of extra power. Might as well make something of his sorrow.

It’s the emotion he knows best.

~ ~ ~

Finding Yeosang will take more than just a feeling, apparently.

Yunho stands with Mingi and Hongjoong on the street where Yeosang’s shop absolutely, 100% is supposed to be, and stares at the empty alley. An alley which is far too small to conceal a glamoured, invisible shop.

Now, Yunho is surrounded by incredibly powerful individuals with many unique talents. But the ability to simply make an entire shop including its magical signature disappear?

That takes something else entirely.

Mingi is frowning at the alley, and takes a tentative step forward, sliding his foot gingerly across the invisible threshold… only for it to hit a piece of trash buffeting around in the wind.

“Well… fuck.”

Yunho looks over at his hyung, who’s glaring at the alley as if it has personally offended him and his ancestors.

This is stupid. He could just text Yeosang, apologize, ask how he could make it up to him… Gods, the look on his face had been heartbreaking. His pain… his pain.

That’s it.

Yunho focuses, focuses on the pain he’d felt pouring out of Yeosang as he’d fled, and…

There. Keeping his eyes closed, ignoring Mingi when he makes a questioning sound, Yunho follows the throbbing thread, the color of a fresh bruise, letting it tug him forward, absorbing it until his entire body feels like a frayed wire, pain blossoming in his bones, until—

His head smacks into the doorframe of the shop that sits exactly where it’s supposed to be. Mingi and Hongjoong gape at him and the now visible green door.

A sign reading “CLOSED” in jagged script glares at him. He tentatively reaches out, hissing and yanking back as a sliver embeds itself in his finger. The stoop trembles and sends him stumbling onto his ass in the snow.

The entire shop seems to vibrate for a moment before—

Nothing.

An empty alley, swirling with trash once more.

“Um… I think that means we’re not welcome.”

“Wow, thanks Mingles, I had no idea.”

Despite his snark, he accepts Mingi’s hand and lets the other man pull him up. Mingi cheekily pats the snow off of his butt, squeezing for good measure, before sighing and staring sadly at the alley.

Hongjoong’s eyes are crimson, a fang peeking out over his lip as he worries it with his teeth.

“Let’s go home.”

Yunho’s eyes widen. They’re just… going to leave? Everything in his stupid overly emotional soul revolted—they had fucked up, they needed to make it right, Yeosang is hurting and he could…

What? He could what? Fix it?

No. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago. Emotions aren’t something to fix—but if he could only take some of the pain away…

Yeosang is allowed to feel sad. Yunho just wants to be there to wipe away his tears.

Just like he’s meant to do.

That’s the part he and Mingi hadn’t told their hyungs…

They don’t know Yeosang yet, but they will. According to Mingi’s vision, at least.

When Mingi had projected the vision into his mind, Yunho felt all seven of their souls intertwined with Yeosang’s. But not Yeosang as a reaper…

Yeosang as a living, breathing, being with cheeks warm and pink in the late afternoon sun. With tears that taste sweet on their lips as his body, soft and pliant, falls apart so beautifully beneath their hands.

The gentle swish of feathers and silk.

Yunho knows how easily fate can shift. One wrong step, and the spinner’s web would branch onto a path they could not follow, and Yeosang would be lost.

“Why the fuck did you let him leave?” He doesn’t mean to yell at Hongjoong, but his words split the quiet street with a snap. The vampire doesn’t flinch, just looks at him with a sorrow that reflects his own, and it’s too much. Wave after wave of pain sweeps over him, and Yunho crumples into a ball, pressing his forehead into his knees.

He feels Hongjoong crouch down beside him, rubbing a hand down his back. “It’s gonna be ok, Yuyu. I’ll text him, explain that Eden-hyung’s a dick, that I’m dick, and that we’re sorry.”

“What if he doesn’t want to see us again?” Mingi’s breath catches at his words—he knows the oracle is suffering from the exact same spiral of panic that he is—he can feel it.

Hongjoong frowns and squeezes the back of his neck. “We’ll give him time. But I’m not going to let him go without making sure he knows that we didn’t mean to hurt him. He—he’s the last piece of us. You know how hard I fought for Jongho, when I realized. I’m going to do the same for Yeosang, no matter what it takes.”

Yunho sighs and turns his face into his hyung’s palm. He trusts Hongjoong—he isn’t lying. But the pain he’d felt…

It will be a fight to get Yeosang to listen to them at all. Clearly. As evidenced by the growing bump on his forehead from the doorframe and his throbbing finger where a splinter of wood still sits.

“Ok, hyung. Let’s go home.”

Chapter 9

Summary:

Yeosang realizes that some things are worth fighting for.

And this fic starts to earn its "E" rating.

TW: past suicidal ideation, referenced rape

If spice isn't your thing, skip from "San crashes their lips together..." to "He drifts as Wooyoung's body..."

Turns out deleting the text threads does not prevent the members from sending him new messages.

Who knew.

He could block their numbers. Theoretically, Yeosang knows that’s how phones work, but he can barely catch up to the new technology with each reincarnation, so he has no idea how to do it. And asking someone would mean explaining the situation which he still doesn’t want to do…

So instead, he ignores the notifications. Which means he eventually misses enough of Jisung’s three times a day texts that the vampires show up at his shop after he closes for the night to stage an intervention.

It isn’t even wine-night.

“Ok, what the hell happened to Mr. I’m living my fanboy fantasies and might run away and get polyamorously married to seven gorgeous men?”

Yeosang glares at the grinning vampire and aggressively pours a shot of soju, downing it, before placing two more shot glasses on the bar and sliding them towards Jisung and Minho.

“That’s not even a word, Sung.” He takes another shot, raising his eyebrows at the vampires until they join him.

“Alright, spill. You’re avoiding your phone which means you’re avoiding the possibility of them contacting you so… which one of them did you fuck?”

“Minho!” he shrieks, attempting to swat the snickering vampire with a bar-towel but missing because he was already a few shots into his bottle of self-pity.  

“I didn’t—it was all a joke to them, ok? I went to the performance and it was incredible and then Wooyoung took me backstage and then—” he cut off, considering his options, and takes a swig of whiskey straight from a bottle behind the bar, before continuing, “—fucking Kyungmoon of the Heavenly Host was there because guess what? He’s EDEN their fucking producer and he’s spouting off about how reaper’s are the spawn of the devil—”

“I mean, technically—” Minho mutters, watching with fascination bordering on concern as Yeosang takes another swig.

“—fuck off, Min, we’re descended from Lillith not SATAN, then Hongjoong just stood there and fucking apologizes to ANGEL PANTS and Seonghwa stares at me like he wants to freeze me into a fucking snowcone and then I just… just…”

Yeosang lets his hands fall heavily onto the bar, sniffling.

“Oh Sangie-yah.” Minho stands up and reaches over the counter, pulling Yeosang over the bar and settling him in his lap. The vampire pets his hair while Jisung grabs his hands.

“At least you weren’t abandoned to bake to death in the Sahara desert this time.”

Had… that happened to him? With Minho, one could never tell. He swears the vampire enjoys inventing terrible ways Yeosang’s past lives had ended.

“I just… thought it would be different. I’m stupid.” He didn’t tell them about his trip into the archives. About Jongho.

Minho sighs and scoots Yeosang into Jisung’s lap so that he can stare him in the eye.

“You are not stupid, Sangie-yah. I—” he breaks off, mouth twisting, before continuing, “—I am not supposed to interfere with…” he waves his hand at all of Yeosang, “…but you’re right. It is different. They—” he breaks off again, scowling, and mutters, fucking blood binding, before rolling his neck and saying, “Look. You’ve got all the answers in your brain. And maybe this is the lifetime where you finally slap Argyle in the face and shake them loose.”

Yeosang snorted. “Carlyle really is a dick.”

“Arguably your worst incarnation thus far. And that’s including the version with the tentacle kink.”

OK, that has to be a lie.

Yeosang groans and wiggles out of Jisung’s lap, wobbling a bit as the shots of liquor on an empty stomach hit him all at once.

“I hate—” he hiccups, “—that you know more about me—” he shakes his finger in Minho’s face, “—than I know about myself.”

Minho wraps an arm around his waist and herds him into the back and up the stairs to his apartment, saying “you know that you can access your memories, right?”

Yeosang grimaces. “But at what cost? More time with Argyle? No thank you. I’ll stick to your anecdotal recaps.”

Both vampires crowd into his living room, ending with Jisung once again snuggling him on the couch and Minho banging around his kitchen.

The shop hums happily—it loves when Minho cooks. Much lower risk of something burning than when Yeosang is in charge.

Yeosang fishes his phone out of his pocket and stares at it morosely. When Jisung plucks it from his hands, he doesn’t bother putting up a fight.

“Ok, hyung. Do you want me to block their numbers?”

It would be so easy to say yes, to let Jisung work his technological prowess and make it all go away, but thinking about it makes his stomach turn over unpleasantly, in a way that has nothing to do with (or at least not entirely to do with) the amount of alcohol burning a hole in its lining.

As if sensing his turmoil, Jisung opens the app and holds it out so that Yeosang can see the messages. Surprisingly, there are only a few. Either the members had restrained themselves, or Hongjoong had told them not to bother with the little pathetic reaper they’d so excellently embarrassed.

He can’t imagine Wooyoung restraining himself if he actually cared, so it was probably the latter.

Sighing miserably, he clicks on the first unread thread.

Hongjoong (5:42pm)
hey
I am really sorry about what happened
I know that probably means nothing
and that you have no reason to believe me

Hongjoong (7:23pm)
we came to your shop
or tried to
there was an alley
Yunho did some empath shit and we saw your door
but your shop knocked him on his ass in the snow
so we figured you didn’t want to see us

Hongjoong (4:03am)
I told the twin terrors that I’d give you time
but I also promised them that I wouldn’t give up
so
please
text me back?

The texts are spread out over the past week in which he’d been ignoring his phone. He stares at the words, struggling to understand. Hongjoong… is giving him time? Time to what? Get over being vilified by their producer? Get over Hongjoong agreeing with him?

Jisung lets out a whistle.

“Wow. I didn’t realize you were actually living out a fanboy fantasy. He’s totally whipped for you—”

Yeosang smashes a pillow over Jisung face, muffling the absurdity coming from his mouth.

“He’s not—that’s not—ugh!”

Rather than continue processing whatever Hongjoong was trying to say, he clicks into the next thread.

Yunho (3:16am)
this might sound creepy
ok
it is definitely going to sound creepy but
I can feel you hurting
and I hate it
I hate that we caused it

That text is from the day of the performance; the next one is from this morning.

Yunho (8:21am)
Hyung said we had to give you time
but I’m scared
that time might mean another lifetime

Yunho (8:35am)
I’m only human
I don’t have another lifetime

Yunho (8:42am)
neither does Mingi

Muffled protests come from behind the pillow. Luckily, vampires are resilient, as Yeosang shoves the pillow further into Jisung’s face. Ignoring the fluttering pangs of hope spilling into his chest, he clicks on the last thread. The only thread that he hadn’t deleted.

Jongho (4:29am)
you can fall into my lap anytime
😉

Jongho (8:01am)
*link attached*

Frowning, Yeosang clicks on it. The chords of a soft jazz song begin to play through the room. It’s instrumental, beautiful and soothing.

Jongho (8:02am)
one of my favorites to listen to

The next day, another text.

Jongho (8:01am)
we made snow ducks yesterday
*photo attached*
San smashed mine.

A small giggle escapes him at the progression of photos from a snowball, to a duck, to a smashed duck, to a candid shot of San running away with snow melting down the back of his neck.

Jongho (8:01am)
hyung banned Wooyoung from texting you
so he’s writing all of his thoughts in a journal instead
be prepared to have him read it to you
he’s got a whole performance planned

Jongho (8:05am)
running 4 minutes late today
☹

Jongho (8:01am)
back on time
idk what Joong-hyung did to Eden-hyung
but he gets this constipated look on his face
whenever he sees Joong-hyung
it’s a good look on him

Yeosang snorts, forgetting to keep the pillow on Jisung’s face in favor of leaning forward slightly, holding the phone with both hands, as he reads the last text, from this morning.

Jongho (8:01am)
when I see you again
can I call you hyung?

His fingers are flying over his phone before he bothers to think about it.

Yeosang (10:32pm)
I’d like it
if you did

Jisung’s renewed screaming has Yeosang smacking him with more pillows, closing his phone and setting it on the table, just in time for Minho to appear with a steaming bowl of food.

“Dinner first, pillow fight later.” He scoops Yeosang off of Jisung and dumps him rudely on the couch, snuggling his vampire mate into his arms instead.

Pouting, Yeosang does as instructed, eyes snapping back to stare at his phone as he eats.

Is it on vibrate? Had he turned the volume up? Shit, is it still on ‘do not disturb’? He should check, he should—

Bzzzzt

He scrambles to grab it, almost tipping over his bowl, but Minho bats the phone out of reach.

“Nope. Eat first, flirt later.”

Yeosang begins to protest, but falls silent as his stomach growls beneath Minho’s glare. He shovels food into his mouth, savoring the rich flavors that suddenly taste better than anything he’s ever eaten before.

Because…

They don’t hate him.

He still isn’t sure exactly what happened, but it seems like they want to see him again. To explain. To apologize? He’s never had anyone (other than Minho, and he doesn’t count) persist in contacting him when he falls off the grid. And here they are, “giving him time” but not leaving him alone.

It doesn’t feel creepy.

It feels… nice.

To be remembered.

Setting the empty bowl on the table with a thud, he holds out his hand and coils a shadow around his phone, dragging it back into reach.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Have fun sexting.”

Ignoring his outraged yelp, Minho stands up, carrying Jisung who is now wrapped around him like a koala, and waves.

“Don’t stay up too late, Yeosangie.”

Before he can snap back that he is a two thousand year old (approximately) monster of the night and he doesn’t have a bedtime, the vampires are gone in a swirl of black mist.

Huh. He didn’t realized Minho could do that.

Filing away the information that Minho is probably far older than Yeosang initially suspected, he takes a deep breath and opens his phone.

Jongho (10:41pm)
does that mean
I’ll get to see you again soon
hyung?

Jongho (10:48pm)
I smiled at my phone
and Wooyoung caught me
now he’s staring at me suspiciously

Jongho (10:55pm)
I’m hiding in the bathroom
with the door locked
because nothing is sacred in this house
he has no boundaries

Yeosang giggles softly, heading into his bedroom to curl up in his nest of pillows and plushies.

Yeosang (11:01pm)
I’m smiling at my phone too
but I’m not sure if I can trust it
because of what happened
I’m still me
still a reaper
still a monster.

Between the alcohol, the food, and the relief that maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t lost them, Yeosang’s head is fuzzy and his words a bit looser than normal.

Jongho (11:03pm)
my mom is a siren
and my dad is a human
so
I’m only a half monster
which I’d argue is worse than a full monster
I can’t even monster correctly

Yeosang (11:04pm)
sirens aren’t monsters!

Jongho (11:05pm)
hyung.
sirens eat people
alive
the more screaming, the better

Yeosang (11:09pm)
well
reapers consume souls
the purer the better

Jongho (11:12pm)
Uh-huh.
have you?
consumed a lot of souls?

Yeosang (11:14pm)
not pure ones

Jongho (11:15pm)
oh no
what a monster
consuming corrupted souls

Yeosang (11:18pm)
ok
so
maybe we’re both bad at being monsters
unless
you secretly eat people
?

Jongho (11:20pm)
too leathery

Jongho (11:25pm)
that was a joke

Jongho (11:31pm)
hyung?

Yeosang (11:33pm)
sorry sorry!
had to washup before bed

Jongho (11:34pm)
had me worried there
I thought I scared you off
and you only just started talking again

Yeosang (11:36pm)
hah no
not scared
at least
not scared of you eating me alive

Jongho (11:39pm)
but still scared?

Jongho (11:45pm)
you don’t have to tell me

Jongho (11:59pm)
goodnight hyung

Yeosang (12:05am)
good night
Jongho-yah

~ ~ ~

Water fills Mingi’s lungs, heavy and metallic, salt burning in his throat as he gasps, clawing desperately towards a surface that moves farther and farther away, until sunlight is nothing but a memory in his dying mind.

A weight around his neck, dragging him down, limbs tangled with seaweed, body broken upon the rocks.

Pain, crystalline, cutting through his oxygen deprived haze to make sure his last moments are suffered in agony.

He wonders if it really takes this long to die, or if it’s a figment of his delirium.

A cold hand brushes across his cheek, wiping away the tears lost to the dark ocean, and Mingi sees him, Yeosang, bloody and beaten, stealing the last bit of air from his lungs with a soft press of his lips.  

Mingi lets his eyes drift shut, pain receding as death finally takes root.

~ ~ ~

Yunho wakes slowly, the depths of his nightmare clinging to him, weighing down his limbs. He feels Mingi stir beside him, and he shudders with a sudden chill, curling into his boyfriend’s arms as his lungs ache with drowned memory.

“Mingi-yah… what the fuck was that?”

The oracle shakes his head, pressing his face against Yunho’s neck.

“I don’t think drowning is the way to go, Yuyu. Remind me of this, if I ever say I want to go scuba diving again.”

Yunho laughs with a sniffle, his cheeks coated with tears. He rubs his face into Mingi’s skin, earning a “eugh” as his snot mingles with the sheen of sweat on MIngi’s bare chest. Mingi tugs his head up to rest on the pillow, so that Mingi can tuck his own head into the crook of his neck.

He lets his fingers dig into the muscle of Mingi’s broad back, grounding himself in his familiar body.

“Do you think he remembers dying, over and over again?”

He doesn’t have to specify who he’s talking about. They’ve barely talked about anything else in the days since Yeosang (understandably) ghosted them.

Mingi shrugs, muscles shifting under Yunho’s hands.

“He’s been so alone Yuyu. I don’t want him to be alone anymore.”

Yunho nods, brushing his lips over Mingi’s head.

“I can feel his pain. I’ve… always felt it. For the past five years or so, there’s been this… edge, like a papercut you only feel when you squeeze a lemon. It kept me up at night, and now I know it was him. His sadness. He’s so fucking sad, Mingi, all the time.”

Mingi’s shuddering breath whispers over his skin, and Yunho shivers. As much as the nightmare still lingers in his mind, he’s also plastered against his very hot, mostly naked, boyfriend and his body… is interested.

“What if—What if he never lets us in?”

Hearing the anxious confusion in Mingi’s voice, Yunho decides that his body has the right idea.

“I don’t know, Mingles. I can’t take away his pain. But…” he slides a hand down Mingi’s back to cup his ass through the thin material of his underwear and smiles as his hips jerk forward, “…I can take the edge off yours.”

Mingi starts mouthing kisses along Yunho’s jaw, ass pressing back into his hands. “I’m not in pain, Yuyu.”

Yunho smiles and slides his other hand down to press against Mingi’s groin, feeling him harden against his palm. “I dunno Princess, this seems pretty painful.”

He rolls them, trapping Mingi under his body, forever loving the way that the tall man seems so small beneath him.

“Who knew drowning was such a turn on for you,” Mingi mumbles breathlessly, tilting his head to make room for Yunho to dip down and nip along the column of his neck, careful as always to avoid leaving marks.

He can’t wait for the day he doesn’t have to be careful. The day everyone will know Mingi is his.

“You steal my breath, princess. I’m always drowning when you’re around.”

Mingi snorts, shoving at his shoulders, and Yunho smothers a grin against the other’s lips.

“That was awful, Yuyu.”

“You love me.”

Wrapping his strong thighs around Yunho’s hips, Mingi rolls them back over and begins to slide down his body, leaving kisses as he goes. Mouth hovering over Yunho’s very interested cock, Mingi glances up, eyes hooded.

“Yeah, I really do.”

~ ~ ~

San finds Wooyoung sitting on the roof. Once upon a time, that would have been highly concerning, but he’s confident enough in their bond to know, despite Wooyoung’s desperate outburst the other day, they aren’t entirely in the danger zone.

But the vacant look in Wooyoung’s eyes says they’re skirting far too close to the line.

“Wooyoungie?” He sees that the witch is holding his journal… and slowly shredding it, scraps of paper floating away on the swirling winter wind.

San hurries forward and tries to pull the journal from Wooyoung’s freezing hands, but the other man resists, squeezing the journal until it incinerates in a puff of violet flame. San blinks, shocked, and raises a hand to gently curl around Wooyoung’s nape.

“Sweetheart… please. Talk to me.”

With a silent sob, Wooyoung crumples into his arms. San cradles him, surrounding him with his warmth, a quirk of being dragon blooded (one of the few useful things his heritage gives him). The witch’s voice is small when he finally speaks.

“Hongjoong’s right. I don’t deserve to talk to him.”

Ah. It’s one of those nights.

“Nightmare?”

Wooyoung shrugs, trying to squirm his way out of San’s arms, but he just winds his limbs tighter around the smaller man, firmly preventing escape. With a huff, Wooyoung settles.

“I… was back in the coven. Except, this time, they didn’t chase me off. They… did what they threatened to do, if I stayed.”

San stiffens, fury beginning to course through his veins.

“They raped me, over and over again, until I was nothing more than an animal, bound to instinct with a shattered mind. Just the demon, not the man.”

San buries his face in Wooyoung’s hair, breathing in his sharp, spiced scent.

“I always make it about me, San. I woke up, and all I could think was, I wish he was here with me, so I didn’t feel so alone.”

It hurts. It fucking hurts, that San is right here and it’s not enough. It’s never fucking enough.

He’s not enough.

Not enough for his dragon ancestry to mean anything, not enough for his family to see that he isn’t wasting his time being an idol, not enough for Wooyoung to see that he’s the fucking love of San’s life.

Then Wooyoung turns and pushes his face into San’s chest, and he can’t help but sigh in relief at the pressure of Wooyoung’s skin on his own.

It’s him that Wooyoung leans on, when his mind goes somewhere dark.

That has to be enough.

“I’m hollow, Sannie. There’s an emptiness inside of me and I don’t know if it can ever be filled.”

San looks down into eyes that are threaded with a purple glow, face painted with desperate desire.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

Wooyoung slowly grinds his hips down into San’s, throwing his head back on a gasp, a high whine tearing from his lips to lose itself in the night.

 “I—I want—hyung, please—”

Fuck, he loves it when Wooyoung calls him that.

“Ask me, sweetheart.”

Wooyoung’s next words come out on a purr, his demonic heritage starting to take over. The movements of his hips turn sinuous, writhing in San’s hold. He bites back a moan as Wooyoung’s ass rubs over his dick. 

“I don’t want to be empty anymore.”

San crashes their lips together, a violent thing of teeth and tongue, pressing his fingertips into Wooyoung’s hips as the incubus works his pants down to free his cock from the confines of his underwear.

San sharpens his nails to rip his lover’s tight leggings, not giving a shit that they’re his favorite pair. If this is what he can have, he’s going to take it without hesitation.

Wooyoung’s movements become frantic as he lines up and sinks down on San, his body sucking him in, prep unnecessary when your lover is a literal sex demon. San groans, fucking up into him with a familiarity that comes from years of this, years of being Wooyoung’s refuge in the storm of his self-hatred.

Ever since the day he’d found the witch, beaten nearly to death and bleeding at the gate of his family dojo. Something had driven him out of bed that night, some long buried instinct, the whisper of mate sitting on the back of his tongue.

In these moments, he lets himself believe that beautiful lie. That Wooyoung is his, that he won’t leave him for something better, someone less broken that San, a descendent of a dragon rejected by the dragon itself.

“Fuck, Sannie, I’m close, please, fuck—” Wooyoung’s back arches and he’s coming, wet and hot, rutting against San’s abs and grinding down, until San breaks, pulsing inside, his release dripping out around his spent cock.

As Wooyoung collapses forward, thrumming with near palpable power, San lets his head fall back against the brick wall lining the rooftop.

He drifts as Wooyoung’s body flutters around him, mind returning to his own nightmare that drew him up to the roof that night.

Buried under endless rock, crushed slowly, body healing as quickly as his bones ground to dust, burning chains digging into his flesh.

And the voices of those he loved, above him. Laughing. Unaware.

Dying only to keep living, an infinite horror, with the plea of their names on his lips.

Wooyoung isn’t the only one who knows what it is to be alone.

~ ~ ~

Hongjoong wakes to cool fingers combing through his hair. Hwa is sitting up beside him in bed, playing Animal Crossing quietly on his handheld, controlling his little character with one hand while the other continues to play with the soft, recently dyed blonde, strands.

He stretches and Hwa’s hand falls away. Making a noise of protest, he grabs the offending hand and places it back on his head, where it belongs. Raising an eyebrow, Hwa smiles and resumes threading his fingers through his hair.

“Morning, Joongie-yah.”

“Mmm…” he yawns, “morning, hyung. Sleep ok?”

Seonghwa frowns and Hongjoong reaches up to smooth away the line between his brows. He traces his hand down to Hwa’s lips, tracing them with a featherlight touch. Seonghwa’s eyes widen with a fraction of surprise as his lips part gently beneath Hongjoong’s fingertips, cool breath washing over his skin.

“I’ll take that as a no. Me neither.”

Hongjoong scoots around until he can lay his head in Seonghwa’s lap, taking advantage of one of the few spaces where he can just… be. Outside of this room, he’s the captain of their team, the leader of their circle, the oldest second only to Seonghwa. But here, with Hwa’s touch weaving through his hair, he can let go.

He shifts closer, cheek pillowed on the other man’s thigh, and not for the first time wonders what would happen if he shifted a little higher towards… no. Not now. Not with a nightmare still hovering on the fringes of his mind.

“I dreamed about being trapped.

Seonghwa goes still—Hongjoong can feel the surprise vibrating through him. It’s rare for him to talk about this, let alone bring it up without encouragement (often in the form of Yunho’s insistence that sharing one’s feelings is a form of healing).

“Tell me about it?”

Hongjoong sighs, studying Hwa’s socked feet with his head still resting on the other’s lap. The socks have little snowmen on them saying “have a frosty day!”. Probably a gag gift from Mingi.

“Most of the time, I don’t remember anything before waking up in this body, with Grandfather’s blood in my mouth. But I get these dreams… where it’s just darkness, thick and heavy, slipping down my throat and seeping through my skin, until it’s an extension of me or I’m an extension of it. I feel so… infinite. Like I’m there, trapped in a fucking speck of space, but also… everywhere shadows reach.”

He pauses, running his fingers over the silky fabric covering Seonghwa’s leg. He doesn’t miss the slight catch in Hwa’s breathing, and ignores the tiny happy jump his heart makes at being able to affect such a beautiful man with a simple touch.

“This time… those shadows, they were a person. Or part of one. I felt—Yeosang. As if I was part of his shadow, a piece of me dragged through time, through his many lives, until it was the right moment. For me to… exist, as a person, and not just a disembodied soul that can’t even remember how it got disembodied in the first place.”

He traces his fingers a bit higher on Seonghwa’s thigh, feeling the muscle twitch under his touch.

“Any time I ask Grandfather, he just gives me this mysterious smile, mutters some cryptic nonsense, and demands I teach him how to ‘find that one app with the funny videos’ on his phone.”

Hwa snorts, shifting a hand to massage the back of Hongjoong’s neck. He leans into the touch, a barely there sound of need slipping from his lips.

The hand freezes and falls away, and before Hongjoong can miss the grounding pressure, Hwa pulls him upright to straddle his lap, faces inches apart.

“What are you doing, Joongie?”

That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it?

Hongjoong honestly has no clue.

He loves Hwa, he is in love with Hwa, has been for over a decade and yet only recently did his body start to perk up at the idea of more. After a very embarrassing evening where he’d gotten drunk on blood wine and asked Yunho point blank if his dick was broken because he wanted to have sex with Seonghwa in theory, but found it immensely difficult in reality, Yunho gave him a book on sexualities and quietly marked a section for him to read.

Mortifying? Yes.

But informative? Also yes.  

Which is great, but now it leaves him with the problem of what to do now that his body has finally caught up to his mind and heart.

Staring at Seonghwa, seeing the slightly wild look in his eyes, Hongjoong decides it’s maybe not that complicated.

His lips meet Hwa’s for the first time.

There are no fireworks.

It’s better.

Their kiss tastes of the scent of clean sheets, the warmth of a blanket set out in front of a crackling fire, the brush of moonlight on his skin.

When their lips part, and Hwa’s breath mingles with his own, he learns something he’s always known.

Kissing Park Seonghwa feels like coming home.

Hwa trembles under his hands and Hongjoong pulls back to see his dark eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“What is it, baby?” The endearment slips out without thought, and in light of the pleased flush it brings to Seonghwa’s cheeks, Hongjoong decides it’s his new favorite thing to say.

“I just… I didn’t know if you’d ever want this. And that was fine, I was fine loving you, being at your side in whatever way you wanted but I always… hoped.”

Seonghwa looks down, a flicker of guilt in the way his eyes flicker away.

Hongjoong looks at him, this man who he’d fallen into and never fallen out of, and realizes the words aren’t that hard after all.

“I love you, Park Seonghwa.”

He commits the way Seonghwa’s eyes fill with stars to memory. He’s already written so many songs about this man—and it will never be enough to explain how the universe could fall to pieces around them and he’d still be lost in Hwa’s eyes.

“You never stop surprising me, Kim Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong slides off of Seonghwa’s lap and stands, stretching, relishing the way Hwa’s eyes track the exposed skin of his abdomen as his shirt rides up. He doesn’t have San’s abs or Yunho’s toned body, but he’s happy with how he looks—especially when he sees the hunger flickering in Seonghwa’s gaze.

“No one like me, Hwa.”

With a slow smile, Seonghwa stretches lengthwise on the bed and now it’s Hongjoong’s turn to stare, transfixed, at the elegant lines of his body.

Apparently, kissing Seonghwa has unlocked the last door holding back his physical desires.

“Fuck,” he mutters, feeling blood rush places that he’s never had to deal with before. Seonghwa grins up at him, very purposefully dragging his eyes down to where Hongjoong’s body is having a whole new experience, before meeting his gaze once more.

“We’ll go slow, Joong. As slow as you need. Just know…” Hwa stands, coming to a stop with a breath of space between their bodies, “…as patient as I am, never doubt how much I want you.” The fae growls the last into his ear, voice dropping to a register he’s never heard outside of the studio.

Hongjoong’s legs go out from beneath him and he sits on the edge of the bed with a thump.

“Come on Captain, we’ve got a busy schedule today. Can’t have our fearless leader being late.”

Hwa easily dodges the pillow Hongjoong chucks at him and skips out of the room, giggling.

“What’s got hyung all excited—oh.” Wooyoung’s head pokes around the corner and he smirks as he takes in Hongjoong’s ruffled appearance.

“So…” the witch leans a shoulder against the doorway, “wanna tell me who’s the top? Cuz me and Mingi have a bet—”

Glaring, Hongjoong is very pleased when his second pillow smacks Wooyoung straight in the face.

Chapter 10

Summary:

The gang's back together again, but Yeosang may have forgotten something important. Angst with a good amount of comfort and fluff incoming!

TW: graphic descriptions of wounds

Jongho sometimes gets lost in his own head and tunes out the chaos around him, but there’s no missing the tension in the studio this morning.

After the third time Mingi trips over his feet, knocking into Wooyoung who snaps at him, which makes Yunho scold both of them devolving into an argument Hongjoong breaks up with a heavy sigh—

Recording a dance practice video is a bust, and the choreographer calls it off with a frown.

“Ok, I don’t know what’s going on, but anything we record today will need to be scrapped,” says one of their managers, frustration quickly morphing into concern as he takes in the general gloomy atmosphere of the members.

 “Take a five minute break, then we’ll switch over to working on the new choreo instead.”

Yunho grimaces but nods in agreement, and quickly grabs MIngi’s hand to pull him from the room. With their abrupt exit, the rest of them shuffle off to sit, an awkward silence descending on the room.

As Jongho settles down on his own away from the other exhausted members, it seems like he’s the only one that doesn’t have dark circles beneath his eyes. Though Seonghwa-hyung is at least in a chipper mood—something to do with Hongjoong, if the small, pleased smile on his face whenever the captain speaks is anything to go by.

Jongho squashes the little part of him with his silly little crush that wishes Seonghwa would look at him that way.

Things don’t get better over the course of the day.

“San, you keep stepping on the wrong foot—it’s throwing off the entire rhythm. Can you—” Wooyoung cuts Yunho’s correction off with a snap, “Fuck, Yunho, give it a rest, we’ll get it right, stop being a hardass.”

Jongho winces at the thunderous expression on Yunho’s face. He rarely gets mad… but when he does, it is not pretty. He quickly imposes himself between them, using his broad form to block Wooyoung from view.

“Let’s calm down and keep practicing. Yunho, can you show me what you mean about the footwork, I think I keep fucking it up too—”

Congratulating himself on a suitable distraction, Jongho sees Wooyoung deflate and sag against San, shoulders slumping.

A crashing sound pulls his attention to the side, where Mingi has tripped for the fourth time (somewhat ridiculous, even for him), this time managing to take out one of the cameras. He bites back a laugh at the stricken expression on Mingi’s face as he stammers out apologies to the cameraman who looks resigned to his fate.

The last straw for their staff, who look just about ready to call it quits and leave them all to their unfocused misery, happens when Seonghwa is down on his knees, practicing a sinuous body roll, and Hongjoong chokes on his water.

Jongho slaps him on the back as he coughs, smirking. “You ok there, hyung?”

Hongjoong has a despairing look in his eyes as he groans and bangs his forehead against Jongho’s shoulder, mumbling, “he’s trying to kill me.”

Jongho can appreciate the sentiment, as Seonghwa rolls to his feet and stretches, shirt riding up to expose abs that he absolutely does not want to lick.

At the sight of their fearless leader red-faced and distracted, the staff declare it’s time for lunch, and kick them out of the studio.

Jongho figures they can use some good news.

“So… Yeosang texted me back last night.”

His words drop into silence broken only by the sound of rustling instant ramen packets and chewing, and slowly, it begins to lighten. It starts with Yunho and Mingi, who wear equal looks of shocked happiness. Then Seonghwa lets out a sigh of relief and Hongjoong smiles, squeezing Jongho’s hand in a rare show of skinship. San and Wooyoung both have wet eyes, sniffling, as grins spread over their faces. San is the first to speak.

“He… did? Is he ok? Does he hate us?”

Jongho shakes his head. “It’s gonna take a bit before he trusts us. But he wants to see us again.”

Seonghwa nods sharply and looks at Wooyoung with purpose. “We need to go grocery shopping.” The witch blinks at him, clearly not following the rapid shift in conversation. “We… what?” The eldest sighs heavily and waves his hands in the air, a bit of snow drifting from his fingertips to melt on the table. “Grocery. Shopping! Food! To make dinner!”

Wooyoung still looks lost. “Hyung, I don’t—”

Jongho takes pity on him. “I think hyung is saying that we should have Yeosang over to dinner. And you’re the only one of us he trusts to join him in the kitchen.”

Seonghwa’s kitchen is a sacred space. Hongjoong is completely banned, having burnt the bottom of a pot while attempting to make noodles. Since he survives entirely on blood, coffee and the occasional alcoholic beverage, it isn’t much of a hardship. Mingi is similarly barred since he broke at least one thing every time he set foot in the room, now relying on Yunho to squirrel snacks into his room. San is allowed to enter (it is his apartment, after all), but only for simple meal prep, or under Seonghwa’s direct supervision.

Seonghwa points at him excitedly. “See! That’s our maknae, he understands me!”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Teach us the ways of Hwa, Jongie-yah.”

Wooyoung’s eyes light up. “I’d say you’re plenty versed in hyung’s ways, Captain.”

Hongjoong chokes on his drink for the second time that day, glaring at Wooyoung’s falsely innocent expression, while Seonghwa flushes, looking sheepish but satisfied.

Jongho laughs, heart lighter than it’s been in days, as the last of the gloomy atmosphere drifts away.

“None of you are that difficult to read, hyung.”

Wooyoung huffs. “Speak for yourself. I am mysterious and unpredictable.”

San smiles fondly at the witch. “Okay, agent of chaos. Who was it that had a meltdown when his beauty products got arranged in the wrong order on the shelf?”

For someone that’s a bit of a mess, Wooyoung is very particular about a few things. Shrieking indignantly, he flings himself at San.

Seeing the members acting more like themselves for the first time in a week, Jongho discreetly pulls out his phone.

Jongho (1:23pm)
hi hyung
are you free for dinner
on Thursday?

A few minutes later, his phone vibrates.

Yeosangie-Hyung (1:26pm)
I guess I can ask Felix to close-up that night
why?

Jongho suppresses a smile by biting into his lower lip. The thought of seeing Yeosang again… is making his heart do embarrassing things.

Jongho (1:27pm)
Hwa-hyung and Wooyoungie are making dinner
and we want you to come
please?

No immediate response, but he’s not surprised. They have a long way to go before Yeosang trusts them again.

They all head to a group recording session after lunch, the staff nearly sagging with relief when it goes smoothly. By the time the session finishes, Jongho is near vibrating with the anticipation of checking his phone, which is ridiculous because he is the least likely person (except maybe Hongjoong) to be chronically attached to his device but it’s Yeosang and he’s not normal about Yeosang.

He grabs his phone from his bag, trying not to look too eager, and tilts the screen away from prying eyes. It’s not that he doesn’t want the others to read the messages, he just… likes having this for himself.

Yeosangie-hyung (2:05pm)
ok
where
and what time
?

He can’t hyperventilate. If he hyperventilates then Wooyoung will notice and ask him what’s wrong and then he’ll have to admit that getting a message from Yeosang is enough to send him into a full baby gay crisis.

It isn’t that he has no relationship experience, but there’s never been anything lasting or meaningful. Gods know he’s never acted on his crush on Seonghwa… or his attraction to Wooyoung, which he reasons he can’t be blamed for because who isn’t attracted to Wooyoung?

The life of an idol isn’t built for relationships. It’s probably why the others paired up, though not exclusively. Mingi and Yunho, San and Wooyoung, Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

And then Jongho.

They never purposefully leave him out, it’s more that he’s scared of being excluded so he preemptively leaves himself out. When Wooyoung gets into a mood and starts something with one (or more) of the others, Jongho takes it upon himself to leave. The rest of them naturally assume it isn’t his thing. He never finds the courage to tell them that it is, definitely, 100%, his thing— he just lacks the confidence to stay.

The fear that if he stays, if they see him (complete with iridescent scales and a small layer of fat that just doesn’t go away no matter how many hours he spends at the gym) then they won’t want him… is too strong, so he just runs away.

Which means the bubbling excitement in his stomach when he cautiously flirts with Yeosang over text is terrifying.

Jongho (5:12pm)
*pin*
there’s the address
we get home kinda late
so dinner probably at 830pm
if that’s ok?

Yeosangie-hyung (5:15pm)
that works for me
thanks for inviting me Jongie-yah
😊

Jongho grins. Thursday can’t come soon enough.

~ ~ ~

Thursday arrives far too quickly. Yeosang is once again tearing apart his closet, but this time he has an audience of three.

“Ooooh hyung I didn’t take you for the sheer sparkly type!”

Yeosang’s eyes widen, and he snatches the offending shirt out of Felix’s hands, glaring at a cackling Jisung. “I’m not! This—” he shakes the shirt, “—this is his fault!” he points at the vampire who starts laughing hard enough to tip over onto the bedspread. “Why are you even up here? Who’s manning the bar?”

Felix grins and continues to rummage through the back of the closet. “I asked the shop to close for an hour. You need my expertise.”

He… asked the shop? And it listened? That traitor. Yeosang glares at his bedroom wall. The shop remains mutinously silent.

Felix crows with excitement when he finds another consequence of Jisung’s attempts to “make Yeosang look good enough to eat”. As the pixie brandishes the cream, cropped scoop neck top with a soft wide netted overlay, Yeosang experiences a moment of madness where he actually considers wearing the revealing shirt to dinner.

He looked good in it.

The single time he’d put it on in the privacy of his bedroom.

Unfortunately, Felix senses weakness and gasps, quickly adding the shirt to the “possible” pile. Minho, looking up from where he’s scrolling on his phone and ignoring the fashion induced chaos, glances at the shirt and says, “there’s a pair of loose black silk pants in there, they’ll look good with the shirt.”

Yeosang glares at the older vampire with a look of betrayal.

“What? I can’t have you embarrassing me on your seven-way date. I practically raised you. Repeatedly.”

“It’s not a—ugh, I hate you, and since when did you raise me, I literally respawn fully formed at age 20 every time—”

Felix makes a triumphant noise, emerging with the pants. “Minho-hyung, you’re right, this is perfect!” Before Yeosang can protest, the rest of the “possible” pile disappears back into his disaster of a closet, leaving only the shirt and pants combo on the bed. The pixie taps a finger on his lips, which are glossed with a slight glittering sheen. He pops out a hip as he thinks, and Yeosang snorts as both Minho and Jisung openly stare at Felix’s ass.

With an exaggerated bend, the pixie leans down to grab a pair of low heeled black boots, before standing up with an entirely unnecessary shimmy. Yeosang reaches over and shoves a clean tissue into Jisung’s mouth. He’d have done it to Minho, but he didn’t want to lose a finger.

As the younger vampire splutters and spits out the paper, Felix grins at them over his shoulder, completely aware of the chaos he’s created. The pixie is good for his friends—despite Jisung’s youth, Minho still tends to get stuck in the past. Felix shakes up the dynamic, dragging them both firmly into the present.

Yeosang refuses to examine the pang of longing that goes through him when he watches their budding relationship.

“Ok, here, go try it on—” Felix shoves the clothes at him and pushes him towards his bathroom.

“Why do I have to change in the bathroom, you’re the ones invading my bedroom—” his protests fall on deaf ears and he finds himself staring at the closed bathroom door. Sighing, he strips out of his loose jeans and black sweater, replacing his comfortable clothes with the chosen outfit, and fiddling with the fabric until it falls just right across his chest.

The scooped neck sits low on his shoulders, exposing his collarbones. The soft fabric hugs his ribs, stopping just above his navel, while the wide netting layers over it, covering but not concealing his narrow waist and the softly defined abs that he’s quite proud of. It also makes it difficult to see the scar that edges out from beneath the fabric. The long sleeves mean he won’t be too cold. Besides, he doubts the group intends to take him outside in the wintery evening air.

The silky black pants settle on his hips, high enough that he doesn’t feel uncomfortable, hugging his waist before flowing wide legged to brush the top of the ankle high boots he slides onto his feet. He always enjoys wearing heels, provided they aren’t high enough to draw the attention of people who still have issues with what sorts of clothes belong on what sorts of people.

After finger combing a small amount of product into his hair and settling a piece to curl over his forehead, Yeosang opens the bathroom door and steps out.

And promptly slams the door shut again with a noise of disgust.

“How dare you defile my bed, Lee Minho!!” he shouts through the door.

An indignant yell comes from the vampire. “Why are you blaming me?”

Yeosang cracks the door back open and cautiously peers out. Thankfully, everyone’s hands (and clothes) are back where they belong. “Because Jisung is hyperventilating and Felix is an angel who would never do such a thing.”

The so-called angel smirks at Minho who opens his mouth to protest, before huffing and dragging the giggling pixie into his lap.

“You look amazing, hyung! But…” Felix slips out of Minho’s arms and zips forward to get right in Yeosang’s space, “…can I do your makeup?”

Faced with Felix’s wide, hopeful eyes, Yeosang doesn’t stand a chance.

Forty-five minutes later, he’s stepping out of Minho’s car, the vampire grumbling at Yeosang’s refusal to give him the exact address

“I already messaged Hongjoong and told him to return you in one piece or I will wage a one vampire war upon his bloodline. So unless you want to start a political incident, text me later to let me know you’re ok.”

“Yes dad. And since when are you on texting terms with Hongjoong?”

Minho gives him an unimpressed look. “Since I’m one of the few elder unattached vampires in a city run by the Kims.”

Well, that makes sense.

Wait.

“Are you telling me, this whole time, you’ve known the leader of my FAVORITE k-pop group and didn’t bother to tell me?” Yeosang’s voice rises to a slightly inappropriate volume but really, how dare his supposed best friend enact this travesty.

With a blank stare, Minho rolls up his window and pulls away without responding.

So much for the wonders of friendship.

He walks briskly towards the address, keeping his coat firmly wrapped around his body to block out the chill, coming to a stop in front of a small but modern apartment building. He walks up to the door and sees a series of buzzers, but no names (obviously, they want privacy). How’s he supposed to know which one? Jongho hadn’t given him an apartment number…

Pulling out his phone, he sends a quick text.

Yeosang (8:23pm)
hi Jongho-yah
I’m downstairs
I don’t know which buzzer is yours?

His response comes in the form of clattering on the other side of the door, before it opens to reveal Wooyoung in all of his excited glory.

“Yeosangie!! You actually came!”

Yeosang isn’t expecting the hug that follows, Wooyoung flinging his arms around his neck and squeezing him tight. The sudden warmth and simple joy of Wooyoung’s touch threatens to make him cry, and he hesitantly wraps his arms around the other man’s back.

After a moment, Wooyoung jolts back, eyes wide. “I—I’m sorry. I just… I missed you. And I’m really glad you’re here.”

The raw honesty in Wooyoung’s voice shreds the last bit of doubt in Yeosang’s mind. They want him here—at least, Wooyoung does.

The idol leads him up two flights of stairs, stopping in front of the only door.

Rather than opening it, he turns and takes a deep breath, staring at Yeosang… nervously?

“I’m really sorry. For what happened last time. For not… defending you, the way I should have.”

Wooyoung twists his fingers together in front of his body, shifting on the balls of his feet. Yeosang steps forward to take his hands, squeezing gently.

“It wasn’t your fault, Wooyoung-ah. I’m really glad I’m here, too.”

Wooyoung is staring at their intertwined hands with an expression of hopeful wonder. Yeosang can’t help but be both endeared and very confused. Surely holding hands with him isn’t enough to merit that reaction. After a moment, the man shakes his head, smiles softly at Yeosang, and pushes open the door.

“Look who I found!”

“Oh my God it’s almost like you found the person we already knew was downstairs you’re a genius!” snarks Hongjoong, grinning at Wooyoung to take away the sting. Yeosang is struck by the realization that he desperately wants Hongjoong to look at him that way, with an open smile and mischief in his eyes.

Shit. He is so fucked.

Wooyoung is pouting, still holding on to Yeosang’s hand.

“Don’t be rude to me. I cooked you dinner.”

“Pouring blood into a mug doesn’t count, brat.”

Yunho wanders out of the kitchen, a bright smile on his face, dressed in a black muscle shirt that clings to his chest and leaves his long arms bare. Yeosang’s tongue glues itself to the roof of his mouth, the exposed skin making it impossible for him to focus. “Can’t argue with that, Wooyoungie. Hi Yeosang-ah. Lemme get your coat.”

Yeosang blinks up at Yunho, words failing him, sliding out of his coat and handing it to the taller man. Who stares at him, mouth falling open. “I… you—well. Um…” Yunho quickly turns away, flushing, but not before Yeosang hears a muttered fuck. Wooyoung barely contains himself, staring at Yunho’s retreating back with glee.

“Ohhh he has it bad. But—” he looks Yeosang up and down, “—he’s not wrong. You look really fucking hot. Who did your makeup? It’s incredible.”

Feeling a little offended at the assumption that Yeosang couldn’t have done the makeup himself, but admitting that Wooyoung is entirely correct in assuming so, Yeosang tries to keep up with Wooyoung’s rapid speech.

The idea that an idol, the idol whose photocards he has painstakingly collected over the past four years, thinks he looks good enough to have him stumbling over his words… is a bit much for Yeosang’s sanity.

“I—um. Thanks, Wooyoung-ah.” Yeosang slips out of his boots, immediately losing the few inches of height he had on Wooyoung, leaving them eye-to-eye. The man’s eyes light up and he drags Yeosang into the kitchen.

“Hyung, the guest of honor is here!!”

Seonghwa turns around and Yeosang’s brain short circuits for three distinct reasons:

1. His newly dyed black hair makes him look like a prince out of a dark romantasy novel

2. He has a smudge of sauce at the corner of his mouth that Yeosang itches to clean (kiss, supplies his treacherous brain, coming back online for just that comment)

3. He is wearing an apron that reads “is it chilly in here” with heart shaped cutouts where one’s nipples might be

He is, thankfully (he should be thankful, really) wearing a shirt beneath the apron, leaving the exact location of his nipples (shit, he should not be thinking about Seonghwa’s nipples) to the imagination.

He brain jolts back to awareness as Wooyoung skips forward, licks the bit of sauce off of Seonghwa’s mouth before pressing their lips together in a quick kiss.

Seonghwa looks torn between horror at having an audience and amusement at Wooyoung’s antics, glancing quickly at Yeosang to gauge his reaction. Yeosang is very busy making a strong effort to remain both upright AND conscious.

A long, drawn-out sigh from the doorway leading to the living area draws Yeosang’s attention back to Hongjoong, who is staring at Wooyoung in reproach. “Seriously, Youngie?” When the man’s eyes go comically wide, the vampire just shakes his head. “Don’t even try it.” He turns to Yeosang who can’t help but smile. “I’m sorry about him, he’s a spoiled brat, you’d think he was the youngest, not Jongho.”

Speaking of… where are the others? Are they not coming? Did he… do something to make Jongho uncomfortable? They’d been talking a bit more every day and Yeosang doesn’t think he did anything but it’s impossible to actually know over text so now he’s second guessing—

A long, slender finger smooths out the crease in his brow and Yeosang is once again looking up into Yunho’s (still slightly flushed) face.

“You’re thinking too hard. Its ok to be anxious, but we want you to feel welcome here. We really fucked up last time.”

“Is that… what this is? An apology for things being—not great, before?”

Yunho smiles at him, his large hand lingering a bit on the side of Yeosang’s face, fingertip brushing the edge of Yeosang’s birthmark, before dropping to his side.

“Partially. We also just want to spend time with you.”

That’s what he can’t quite make sense of. Why? Yeosang knows where his obsession comes from—a mixture of his fanboy tendencies, the weird connection he feels to all of them and his newfound knowledge that Jongho probably killed him (and himself?) in his first lifetime. But there is no reason for them to feel any connection to him in return.

Yunho chuckles and leans down so that his mouth hovers at Yeosang’s ear. “Wooyoung was right, by the way. You look incredible.”

And… no more thoughts. Yeosang’s mind is a happy, blank slate. Nothing but cheerful jingling bells and cotton ball fluff.

Standing up straight, Yunho grins and turns to face the sudden commotion in the front room.

“Hyung, we’re back! I got the soju, and some beer, and the strawberries. And Sannie bought a new plushie because it ‘looked too lonely to leave behind’ so I am officially the more reliable shopper—”

“Mingiiii don’t insult Bangul like that!!”

Yeosang pokes his head around the corner to see San clutching a giant raindrop plushie with an embroidered crying face while Mingi struggles under the weight of multiple plastic bags. He hurries forward to help, startling the pair who both stare at him with wide eyes. San speaks first, hiding his face behind his new plushie.

“This is embarrassing, I didn’t want my plushie obsession to be exposed so soon in our friendship. We can be friends, right?” he mumbles, face pressed into the soft toy. Yeosang takes half of the bags, and tells himself that the way Mingi’s eyes trail over his arms as they flex under the weight has to be incidental.

“San-ah, all of TeaSea knows about your plushie obsession. You literally did a v-live introducing us to them last year. I feel honored to meet its newest member. Bangul, was it?”

San peeks out from behind the raindrop and smiles, eyes crinkling. “I knew you’d be my favorite. Everyone, Yeosang’s my favorite now.”

Wooyoung shrieks a protest and hurls a dishtowel in San’s direction, nearly smacking the new plushie, but Yeosang sends a coil of shadow out to grab it from the air before it makes contact.

Is he athletic? Absolutely not. But does he at least have good reflexes and a penchant for working out? Luckily, yes.

Mingi continues to stare at him, mouth hanging open.

Oops. Maybe not a good idea to casually do Grim Reaper things.

“Wha… that’s… you’re so fucking cool man!”

Yeosang flushes and heads towards the kitchen to deliver the bags. “Um, I’m really not, I’m kind of a mess actually, just trip over nothing at all—” as if the universe wants to prove him right, he promptly gets tangled in his own feet as his sock snags on a stool and he tumbles towards the counter, only to smack into a warm, firm chest.

Seonghwa’s hands hold his arms firmly as he rights him, passing the bags to Hongjoong, and brushes a thumb over Yeosang’s blushing cheek.

“You really do look lovely this evening.”

Yeosang mumbles something unintelligible and glances anywhere else to avoid the intensity of Seonghwa’s gaze. Seeing his panic, the man giggles, a high-pitched breathy sound that makes Yeosang’s silent heart do concerning things.

This is all Minho’s fault with his seven-way date conversation. And Felix’s fault for encouraging him to wear the outfit that has them all staring and Jisung’s fault for… well, he isn’t sure, but it’s definitely Jisung’s fault too.

He hears the door crack open one more time and his treacherous heart jumps… because there is only one member missing. As Jongho’s voice filters into the kitchen, Yeosang can’t help being drawn into the living room to the source of that soft tone.

“Hyung!” and there he is with a gummy smile flashing blindingly bright in Yeosang’s direction and it’s as if the past, every past, layers itself over this moment and something buried deep, pallid with lack of light, screams its way to the surface of Yeosang’s consciousness.

“Hi, Jongie-yah.” He takes a step forward and sees Jongho recoil. The voices of the others fall silent. What’s going on? He tracks Jongho’s horrified stare down to his chest, does he not like the shirt, is that why—

And then he freezes, breath stuttering, as a black stain spreads through the cream like ink dropped into a glass of milk. A thick drip of ichor slips from beneath his shirt to run down his stomach, disappearing into the black waist of his pants. Shock gives way to pain, and he crumples to the floor.

His sternum buckles inward, spine bowing under the agony, and Yeosang clutches his chest. He can’t breathe, he’s never felt pain like this, he doesn’t have to remember his past lives to know he’s never felt pain like this—

Voices swim around him as he curls into a ball on the floor, gasping, drowning in the black blood that fills his lungs, his vision dimming until everything goes dark.

 

~ ~ ~

“Fuck—Yeosangie, what—hyung, get in here NOW!”

Yunho falls to his knees next to the reaper, shared pain lancing through him. That’s ok, pain is good, that means Yeosang is still alive, conscious. He reaches out with shaking hands and pulls Yeosang’s crumpled form into his lap, heart breaking at his small whimpers of distress.

Seonghwa rushes into the room and crouches beside them, using a small kitchen knife to quickly cut Yeosang’s shirt away.

His eyes widen as the wound comes into view, a nasty, ragged gash extending from mid-sternum to navel, the scarred tissue torn open and bleeding steadily.

“Hyung, what…”

Hongjoong’s eyes are wide, and Yunho feels the barely contained panic emanating from their leader. “I—fuck, hang on—”

Whipping out his phone, Hongjoong presses a few buttons, and begins speaking rapidly to whoever picks up on the other side.

“His scar just tore open, what the fuck do I do—no, we didn’t do—look, fuck you too, now help me damn it—if you’re sure—OK, I get it, you don’t need to yell—”

Clearly, whoever it is does need to yell, because the voice is audible even to Yunho’s human senses without being on speaker. With a final muttered curse, Hongjoong hangs up and refocuses on Yeosang’s bleeding body in Yunho’s lap.

“Jongho.” Hongjoong’s voice snaps like a whip across the room, spurring the youngest into motion from where he’s frozen by the door.

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I didn’t—I don’t know what’s going on, I’m sorry—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, come here—sit down next to him, give Hwa your hand—"

Seonghwa looks at Hongjoong sharply, and Yunho swears he can see a decade’s worth of communication pass between them in an instant. Seonghwa’s eyes harden and his jaw clenches, before he nods sharply and helps Yunho sit Yeosang up to lean against his chest.

Yeosang is mumbling something, fingers spasming towards his chest before his arms give out and fall twitching at his sides. Jongho comes forward and kneels, staring at their oldest members with panicked eyes.

“Hyungs, what—” Seonghwa cuts Jongho’s palm with the knife and presses their maknae’s hand against Yeosang’s torn chest. Yeosang’s body spasms and Yunho groans as the pain crests and breaks, his vision graying at the edges. With a strangled scream, Yeosang goes limp, and for a terrifying moment Yunho panics before the pain eases.

Something sweet and warm runs like honey through his veins. The skin beneath Jongho’s bloody palm crawls across exposed bone to knit back together in a macabre display. A shuddering breath sighs from Yeosang’s lips and he relaxes against Yunho’s chest, limbs curling in as if to protect himself from further agony.

In the silence that follows, no one moves. Jongho remains frozen with his hand pressed to the silvery scar, breath coming in sharp gasps. Hongjoong slowly falls onto his butt, leaning against Seonghwa, who is staring at the reaper and their youngest with something soft and sad in his eyes.

Predictably, Mingi and Wooyoung start to speak at the same time, but the oracle beats him to it.

“What. The fuck. Was that?”

Wooyoung raises his hand. “I second that question.”

San raises his hand too “I… third it?”

Seonghwa’s stiff posture melts and he drops his head into his hands. “Hongjoong…”

“I know, Hwa.” Their captain is still staring at the place where Jongho’s hand rests, now moving slightly up and down with Yeosang’s even breaths.

The reaper hasn’t stirred, seemingly deep asleep. He’s so small In Yunho’s arms. This is not how he imagined his first time holding Yeosang would go.

“Yuyu, help me move him to a bed, I think he’ll sleep for a while yet.”

At Seonghwa’s direction, Yunho stands, barely stumbling under Yeosang’s light form.

“Wait! Can I… take him?” Jongho holds out his arms, something desperate on his face, and Yunho carefully passes Yeosang into the youngest’s arms, fighting his instinctual desire to keep the reaper close.

As Jongho walks towards the bedrooms, Yunho turns instinctively to Mingi. He breaths in his boyfriend’s scent, roses from his bodywash, a woodsy cologne and something that’s simply Mingi.

When the soft click of a door signals that Jongho and Yeosang are out of earshot, Yunho looks expectantly at his hyungs.

But instead of offering an explanation, Hongjoong pulls out his phone again and gets to his feet. Seonghwa frowns at him. “You’re calling him back?” he asks.

Hongjoong nods. “He owes me a fucking answer.”

Seonghwa offers a strained smile before saying, “Good luck with that.”

Hongjoong speeds out into the hallway, front door closing softly behind him.

“So…?” Wooyoung’s voice holds blatant confusion and Seonghwa sighs, pulling the witch into his lap while San curls up behind the eldest and holds them both. Yunho tugs Mingi down to the floor and sits between his stretched out legs. He needs the comfort of feeling small in Mingi’s arms to shake away the image of Yeosang dying on the floor. Because he had been dying—Yunho could feel it.

Seonghwa’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks.

“To become a reaper, you have to die at the hands of another. And you have to hate your murderer so much that your hatred propels you into the cycle of rebirth and… fast-tracks it. Reapers gain power with every cycle, so that by the time their murderer is reborn, they have the ability to consume their killer’s soul and finally be at peace.”

Yunho thinks about the easily flustered Yeosang who carries such deep and quiet pain, and struggles to reconcile it with what Seonghwa is describing.

“To be driven by hatred for centuries, sometimes millennia… most reapers go insane long before they confront their murderer. They consume souls, exalt in the pain of the innocent, leech power from the very essence of the world.”

“But Yeosang isn’t—”

“No, Youngie, he’s not.”

“Then why—”

Seonghwa shushes the witch in his arms, pressing a kiss to his head. “I don’t know, love. That’s something we need to have Yeosang explain.”

“If he even knows,” mutters Mingi, hands twisted in the fabric of Yunho’s shirt.

Yunho looks at his hyung, absorbing the waves of his pain, of Mingi’s anxiety and Wooyoung’s sadness. Only San is keeping it together, a solid, calm presence in the face of the others’ roiling emotions.

“What was that wound, on his chest? Why did hyung—with Jongho—”

“Every reaper has a soul scar. A representation of their murder. I suspect that wound is Yeosang’s. And—”

“Soul scars bleed when their murderer is near.” Jongho’s quiet, melodic voice cuts through Seonghwa’s explanation. “And that’s me. Isn’t it, hyung.”

Yunho sees Seonghwa wince, before nodding slowly. Well shit. He gets the feeling that his hyungs know far more than they’re sharing. A bolt of anguish crosses Jongho’s face, joining the cacophony of pain in Yunho’s head and he groans, rubbing his temples and pressing his face into his knees.

“Did you know?”

Hwa stands and moves towards Jongho, who sidles around towards the front door.

“I… thought it might be possible. The vampire, in Yeosang’s shop? He’s an old… frenemy? Of Joong, and he shed some light on Yeosang’s situation and I—”

Without a word, the youngest pushes past Seonghwa, only to run into Hongjoong, who grabs him by the shoulders, spins him around and shoves him back into the apartment.

“Hyung—”

“Sit down.”

“But I—”

“Jongho.”

Jongho sits. Yunho isn’t surprised. No one disobeys Hongjoong when he uses that voice.

Seonghwa looks up at the vampire with tired eyes. “Is he coming?”

Hongjoong sits down on the floor, cross legged, and leans against the foot of the couch. “No. He said, ‘You broke it, you fix it’ and hung up. He sounded almost… pleased, the fucker.”

Seonghwa snorts. “Sounds about right. Jongie-bear…” the maknae looks at Seonghwa with watery eyes, “when Hongjoong mixed your blood with Yeosang’s, when your touch healed him, did it feel like he hated you?”

Jongho stares at him, uncertainly. “I… I don’t know, hyung.”

Yunho knows the answer, had felt it clearly. “It wasn’t hatred. When you touched him, he felt…” love he thinks, but he knows that answer isn’t his to tell, and he barely understands it anyway— “…protected. Safe. It’s the first time I’ve sensed that feeling from him.”

Jongho stares at him and Yunho scoots forward. “Trust me, baby-bear. You make Yeosang feel safe. The rest of it…” he glances at his hyungs, who look as exhausted as he feels.

“The rest of it needs to wait for Yeosang to wake up and talk to us. For now…” Seonghwa glanced at the kitchen where the food, now cold, sits forlornly. “Let’s put away the food. Yeosang will be hungry when he wakes up.”

Chapter 11

Summary:

In the aftermath of the evening, the members take care of Yeosang and he realizes they might actually like him... a lot
Featuring sweet fluff and Wooyoung getting a bit heated up-- and needing his hyungs to cool him down.

CW for spice from "Gods yes" to "Finally sated"

In his dreams, he hears a voice singing softly, melody sparkling and pure, lovely and heart-breaking at the same time. He drifts in its contour, cradled in the soaring notes and whispered secrets of the lullaby.

When he wakes, the voice is gone, but he feels calm and safe.

Two things he hasn’t truly felt since popping back into existence five years ago.

Even the ever-present ache in his chest is gone.

His chest…

Oh fuck.

All at once, it comes flooding back. Seonghwa’s ridiculous apron, Yunho’s flustered smile, Jongho ‘s soft voice, his own black blood spilling out of his chest—pain like nothing he’d ever felt, and then nothing.

Darkness.

Warm, pleasant darkness.

He’s tucked under a pile of blankets, face smushed into a soft pillow, with Bangul the raindrop tucked under one arm.

Someone sits beside the bed, the sound of pages flicking softly despite the room remaining unlit. Yeosang doesn’t need to look over to recognize Hongjoong’s quiet presence.

Ugh. They invited him over for dinner and he ruined everything and even if they don’t know what him bleeding all over the place means they are probably completely disgusted. Maybe he can pretend to keep sleeping until Hongjoong leaves and—

“How are you feeling?”

Well, so much for that plan.

“I’m… ok.”

More than ok. He feels incredible. And it makes no sense.

“You scared us.” The sound of a book being put aside, and then the mattress dips slightly as Hongjoong sits beside him, close enough that Yeosang can feel his slight body heat against his back.

He curls tighter around the plushie. It’s big enough to cover his entire chest and just the right amount of soft to squeeze. “I’m sorry. For ruining dinner. For making you all take care of me. For… all of it.”

Hongjoong hums softly. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t ruin anything. Besides, we’re the reason you’re hurting—of course we took care of you. I—I am sorry, Yeosang. For what happened last week. I know that you don’t intend to hurt any of the people I care about. Eden is full of shit and I—I fucked up.”

The apology isn’t entirely unexpected but hearing it… helps. But doesn’t fix the current situation.

“I can’t entirely blame you for doubting me. Especially now. I shouldn’t have come here knowing—” he cuts off, biting his lip. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how fucking stupid he’d been, he hadn’t even thought about the soul scar and how it had reacted to Jongho last time.

“Knowing…?”

Yeosang curls even tighter around the plushie, fighting back tears. He hates this, hates being a reaper, hates that he can’t even be a reaper correctly, that he has to like his murderer—

Pathetic.

Hongjoong’s hand begins stroking up and down his back, his touch a soothing balm that has Yeosang’s shoulders relaxing against his will.

“If you knew that your wound would react to one of us, why didn’t you say something?”

Shame courses through him.

“I… forgot,” he says, mumbling into the plushie.

The hand on his back pauses.

“You… forgot. That your soul scar would rip open and bleed because Jongho carries the soul of your long ago murderer?”

Great, it’s all out in the open. Figures. He’s pretty sure Hongjoong and Seonghwa are way older than they look. Of course they’d know the significance of the scar.

Hongjoong’s words make Yeosang sound even more like an idiot. Why didn’t Minho remind him?? The elder vampire knew what would happen and let Yeosang waltz off to his “seven-way date” without a care. He is really beginning to question their best friendship.

“Um… yes? I’m sorry, I’ll go, I know I shouldn’t be here, I’m sure me being here is the last thing you want now, so I’ll just—” he rolls out of the bed, ready to flee because he’s the reaper destined to consume Jongho’s soul and Yeosang doesn’t want that, he’d rather die again and respawn in some desolate corner of the world where he can stew in his loneliness for the next few eternities.

Hongjoong catches him before he reaches the door, arm curling around his waist. Someone has dressed him in a sweatshirt that drowns him in fabric and smells faintly of coffee, and Yeosang resists the urge to bury his face in the collar as he tries to slip out of Hongjoong’s grasp. The vampire is unyielding, tugging him back to the bed and forcing him to sit down beside him on the edge of the mattress.

“Do you actually want to leave?”

Of course not. He wants to stay and feel safe and bask in the feeling of being warm for the first time in forever but he can’t be that selfish. Eventually, he’ll hurt them. Hurt Jongho.

“You shouldn’t want me to stay, Hongjoong-ssi. I’m dangerous, a risk to you and your family. Just like Eden said.”

Hongjoong flinches and despite his earlier words, Yeosang knows it’s true. He tries to get up again, but Hongjoong curls his arm tighter around his waist, tugging him into his side.

“Eden is full of trauma induced prejudice—he watched a reaper kill his family when he was young. But that doesn’t excuse his behavior, or mine, and he fucking knows it, but he’s too proud to apologize. Yeosang, why do you think you’re a risk to us?”

He has to be joking.

“Hongjoong-ssi—”

“Hyung.”

Yeosang gulps, the word catching on his tongue like toffee. “…hyung, if you know about the soul scar then you know how reapers work. I—I’m supposed to consume Jongho’s soul so that I can finally be free of—of being—a monster.”

He stares intently at his lap. Any second now, Hongjoong will force him away, kick him out. He’d have to leave Seoul, leave behind his Sanctuary and settle somewhere else, where the temptation of what he could have had is far away. He’d leave the shop to Felix—the Sanctuary already listens the pixie (sometimes more than it listens to him). Minho and Jisung would miss him (maybe) but they’d visit (probably).

He waits.

Hongjoong’s fingers run over his side, a gentle pressure at odds with the strength still preventing him from escaping.

“Says who?”

“Huh?” Yeosang is really the peak of eloquence tonight.

“Who says you’re supposed to hurt him?”

“Well, I…” he trails off. That’s just… how reapers are made. It’s what they do. He’s an anomaly, bad at doing the very thing he’s been reincarnated over and over again to do.

“Do you want to hurt him? Any of us?”

Yeosang’s reaction is visceral and immediate. “No! Of course I don’t, that’s why—”

“Then why do you think you will?”

“Um. Well, I—look, I’m a terrible reaper but that doesn’t mean I won’t eventually snap or something.”

Hongjoong snorts, then breaks fully into laughter. Yeosang stares at him indignantly.

“What? You don’t think I’m capable of snapping?”

The vampire wheezes on another laugh, arm loosening enough that Yeosang could move away…

But for reasons that he refuses to acknowledge, he simply leans further into Hongjoong’s side, feeling Hongjoong’s laughter vibrate through his chest.

“Many people consider me quite terrifying, thank you very much,” he mutters.

Hongjoong slowly regains control of himself, leaning back on his palms on the bed and looking over at Yeosang where he sits, arms now crossed, sulking.

As he tucks his hands deeper into the long sleeves of the sweatshirt, he can acknowledge that maybe he isn’t the most scary person on the planet but still…

“You’re worth the risk. Even if there is a possibility of you ‘snapping’ which I doubt.”

“I… why?”

Why do they care so much?

Hongjoong tilts his head, gaze intensifying, a bit of crimson flickering in the depths of his pupils.

“I—shit. I really wanted to do this differently but I need you to understand that we aren’t—we aren’t going anywhere. You’re the last piece of us, Yeosang. Of our Circle. If you’ll have us. Which I know is a big ask because I completely fucked everything up and—”

Yeosang slaps a smudge of shadow over Hongjoong’s mouth, silencing him. Because he needs to think without hearing the impossible words spilling from the vampire’s lips.

They want… him? To complete their Circle?

“How do you know?” he asks Hongjoong, trying to keep his voice steady while his organs do their best to vibrate out of his body.

Hongjoong makes a muffled sound and rolls his eyes. Oh. Right. With a twist of his fingers, Yeosang pulls the shadow back into himself.

Hongjoong rubs a hand over his lips before speaking. “I always know. There’s a connection—you’ve felt it, I bet. An expanded awareness.”

He thinks about how he could sense Yunho’s presence that first night in the shop, how static seemed to jump between them when they touched. Not to mention how safe he feels in their presence. He doesn’t even feel like this with Minho, and he trusts him (though he’ll go to his next reincarnation before he admits it) more than anyone else in the world.

“I… yeah. There’s something, but that doesn’t mean—I’m a grim reaper, Hongjoong. You can’t want—that—in your Circle.”

“It’s not about wanting, Yeosang. You are the last piece.”

Well that… stings. Hongjoong must see it in his expression because the vampire’s eyes widen and he smacks a hand over his own face.

“Fuck, that came out wrong. Yeosangie, we want you, regardless of you being the last piece of the Circle. The two things… they’re unrelated. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Yeosang feels his face begin to flush, and he buries it in the plushie. When Hongjoong says they want him…

“I—ok. Can I—can I think about it?”

“Of course. Just… please give us a chance, Yeosang-ah. This isn’t—none of this happened the way I’d hoped. I wanted us to get to know each other better before bringing it up but I can’t let you leave thinking we don’t want you here.”

Yeosang lowers the plushie to find Hongjoong watching him, a little frown marring his brow. He sits up and smooths a finger over that crease much as Yunho had done for him earlier that night.

He wants it. Gods, he wants it to be true, to be real, more than he’s ever wanted anything. So what if he’s a failure of a reaper? He might as well go all the way and join the Circle of his murderer. So what if that Circle is made up of gorgeous K-pop idols that make him acutely aware of every single one of his flaws, physical and metaphorical? He isn’t known for making particularly healthy decisions, why start now?

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, finally answering Hongjoong’s question.

Hongjoong lets out a shuddering breath and briefly holds Yeosang’s palm against his cheek before letting go and standing up.

“Thank God. I’m not sure the twin terrors would have let me walk out of here alive if I didn’t manage to convince you.”

Yeosang giggles, trying to picture Mingi and Yunho menacing Hongjoong, and failing entirely.

“Come on. You still need to eat dinner, or else Wooyoung will pout for at least a week, and I can only handle about 48 hours of him pouting before I feel the urge to chuck him into his own cauldron.”

His giggling turns into full on laughter and he stands up, tucking his hands into his sleeves and giving in to the desire to bury his face in the collar of the sweatshirt like a turtle. Hongjoong stares at him and shakes his head.

“You really shouldn’t be allowed to look so adorable after walking in here tonight looking hot enough to leave Yunho tongue tied and me… thinking things that I probably shouldn’t be thinking.” The words are tacked on as an afterthought, the vampire sounding almost perplexed at his own reaction.

Yeosang blushes behind the shield of his sweatshirt. “Hyung, you can’t—ugh, don’t just—just say things like that, I can’t be normal about this if you says things that—”

“Are true?”

Yeosang groans, burying his face in his sweater paws.

“I’ve been a fan for so long and now I actually get to know you—it’s a bit much,” he mumbles. He feels Hongjoong’s hand land on his back and looks up, finding the vampire far too close, close enough that he can see the graceful way his thick eyelashes brush the sharp line of his cheek.

“Don’t worry, Yeosangie. We are equally overwhelmed.”

Hongjoong herds him out of the bedroom towards the living area where he can hear the others talking softly. Yeosang freezes, suddenly realizing something very important. “Um, won’t my soul scar just open up again if I see Jongho?”

The vampire pauses, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Ah. When you, um, started bleeding I called Minho and he—well, he didn’t exactly tell me what to do, kept muttering about a blood binding—”

Again with the blood binding. He really needs to ask Minho about it next time he sees him.

“—but it gave me enough of an idea that if you are meant to consume Jongho’s soul then maybe if we fed you a bit of his essence it would—”

Oh no.

“Hyung… what, exactly, did you do?”

Hongjoong stares fixedly at the floor before mumbling, “we fed it some of Jongho’s blood.”

Gods damn them all to the underworld.

“You WHAT? That—that isn’t—now it’s just going to want more blood, shit, I’m definitely going to lose control at some point and if you seriously don’t think I can be scary just ask Yunho what I did to protect them—” a large, slightly calloused palm closes over his mouth as a tall body presses against his back.

He resists the urge to melt backwards into the sudden warmth.

“I will happily vouch for your scariness, Yeosangie.” His ability to resist is a complete failure, and he lets Yunho’s arms cradle him, leaning into his embrace.

Hongjoong smiles apologetically and shrugs. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Reaching up, he peels Yunho’s hand from his mouth, barely noticing when the empath laces their fingers together instead. “That was such a risk, hyung! If I die, I just respawn like a fucking video game character, it’s not a big deal—”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

Mingi is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at him. “If you die now, that means we don’t get to see you again. Me and Yuyu, we’re not long-lived—” yet mutters Hongjoong, and Yeosang tucks away that snippet to address later, “—so if you die, we lose you and I—I don’t want that.”

He sniffles.

He goddamn sniffles and Yeosang feels like he kicked a puppy.

“Ok. I’m sorry. I won’t be so casual about dying.”

Mingi immediately brightens, any hint of tears forgotten. “Awesome! Now come on, San warmed up dinner.”

That… little shit.

San warming up dinner turns out to be more literal than Yeosang expects since he uses his hands, not the oven or microwave. “I’m dragon blooded. Though beyond running warm and heating up food, I don’t have much to show for it.”

An evil smile spreads over Wooyoung’s face as he piles food onto a plate for Yeosang. “I dunno Sannie, I’d say you’re definitely endowed with some draconic traits.” As San’s face goes red and Hongjoong heaves a sigh, Yeosang digs into the food and can’t stop a small moan of appreciation from escaping.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung are magic in the kitchen. The flavors melt in his mouth, the meat is seasoned perfectly, the spice level is just right…

Wooyoung is staring at him with a hungry expression and San’s mouth is slightly open.

“Youngie, if he’s gonna make noises like that every time you cook, we’re gonna need to set some ground rules.” Yunho’s voice is strained and when Yeosang looks over, the tall man’s cheeks are flushed and his pupils slightly dilated. Mingi is in no better shape.

Well, shit.

They really do like him.

As he turns back to his food, very careful to keep his appreciative noises to a minimum to avoid a kitchen incident, Yeosang’s silent heart settles.

He really likes them too.

~ ~ ~

When the door to the apartment swings shut behind Yeosang and Hongjoong, the latter having volunteered (demanded) to dive Yeosang home, a collective exhale sighs through the room. Tension immediately drains out of the bodies around him.

Must be nice.

He’s strung tighter than a guitar string poised to snap. Wooyoung can feel his power beginning to surge, insidious heat turning his blood to honey, and an involuntary whimper slips from his lips.

He winces, not wanting them to think he’s just a whining, needy mess, especially when the trigger is simply Yeosang existing because apparently the reaper’s small noises of enjoyment and shy but brilliant smile are all it takes for the incubus to come roaring to the front of his brain.

At the sound, Seonghwa looks over from where he’s putting away the leftover food while San washes the dishes beside him in the kitchen. Yunho and Mingi are defying physics by squeezing their long limbs into a single chair, and Jongho must have slipped out the door when Wooyoung was busy convincing his cock that it doesn’t need to rise to the non-occasion of Yeosang breathing his same air.

“You ok, Youngie-yah?” Seonghwa asks, leaving the rest of the food to San and coming over to stand in front of him.

He’s not often ashamed of his impulses, having come to terms with his lot in life (it could be worse, he could be part trash demon or something), but right now he hates himself because here he is, making it all about him, when the whole group of them had one hell of a challenging evening.

“I’m fine, hyung, just gonna go sleep—”

A hand tangles in his hair, jerking his head back sharply to meet dark eyes. The pain of his hair tangling in Seonghwa’s grip prickles down his spine and he moans, legs threatening to give out. His hyung smiles, face gentle, at odds with his grip.

“You’re not the only one feeling a bit out of sorts, love.” His eyes cut over to the armchair, where Yunho, having beaten the laws of physics and firmly entangled himself with Mingi, is shoving his tongue down his boyfriend’s throat, to said boyfriend’s deep delight, if his needy whimpers are anything to go by.

Feeling slightly better that it isn’t just him feeling the effects of Yeosang’s intoxicating, beautiful, adorable, sexy presence, Wooyoung lets himself melt forward into Seonghwa’s arms.

“Still want to go to sleep?” murmurs San from behind him, caging him in, hands landing on his waist and taking his weight as his legs fully give out.

In between mouthing at Seonghwa’s neck, relishing the smooth skin beneath his tongue, Wooyoung manages to convey something along the lines of “sleep no, bed yes” and then they’re moving, San scooping him up and Seonghwa keeping close behind.

Purple flames flicker as an amethyst sheen coats vision. His power seeps out from him, free to play, to touch and to taste. His underwear grows damp with slick, and he watches San inhale sharply, his lover’s fingertips digging into his sides as San tosses him roughly onto the bed.

Wooyoung surges back up, determined to continue tracing the familiar paths of Seonghwa’s body with his tongue, but San’s hands pin his wrists over his head, while Seonghwa grabs his ankles, effectively preventing him from moving.

He squirms against their hold, his body burning up in the confines of his clothes, he just needs them to touch him, something—

“Shh, sweetheart. We’re going to take care of you now. Let hyung use you, yeah?”

Gods yes, he needs to be used, to be wanted, as long as they want him then they won’t leave him. If his mind were less hazed by lust, that thought might require more examination but right now, Wooyoung doesn’t give a shit about anything aside from having a cock in his body in some capacity and they are taking too fucking long.

“I need—fuck, hyung, please, Sannie lemme go I wanna—”

A piece of cloth is shoved roughly into his mouth, a cord tying the gag in place.

“Tap twice on the bed if you need to stop, love.”

Yes, he knows his fucking safe cues, why are they torturing him, they know what he needs, he needs them to fuck him—

A hard hand grabs his jaw, forcing him to meet Seonghwa’s eyes. “Tap twice to show me you can, Wooyoungie. We’re not doing this if you drift too far. Not tonight.”

Fuck him, fuck this, they don’t get to decide how far he can drop, he needs this, needs them to ruin him. A deep growl spills out of his throat and the gag burns to ash in his mouth, violet flames erupting from his skin. With a burst of strength, he rolls over, pinning Seonghwa beneath him.

Wooyoung barely recognizes the voice that spills from his mouth with a hiss. “If you won’t fuck me, I’ll take what I need. Make it feel so good for you, lovely mine, I’ll—”

Sharp teeth bite into the nape of his neck as frost rolls over his skin, dousing the flames. His power roils, a miasma of silk on naked skin and moans of pleasure filling the room as he struggles against San’s grip.

“No, fuck you, I need—let me take—why, why don’t you want me, am I not enough? please, hyung, please—”

Cool lips cover his own, soft and easy, swallowing the sobs that tear from his chest. The pain in his neck eases as San releases the bite, his tongue stroking over the wound with a wet caress. The quiet care they show him pushes away the screaming, desperate torrent of his power.

San speaks softly from behind him, arms curling around Wooyoung’s chest to pull him close as Seonghwa continues to kiss him. “We want you, I need you—and it has nothing to do with sex.”

The part of him that wants to be ruined, consumed to the point of forgetting his pain screams an objection but Wooyoung forces himself to listen, to let San’s words settle into his bones. With a trembling sigh, he breaks away from Seonghwa’s lips but stays close enough to feel his cool breath wash over his face.

“I’m back, I’m sorry, I lost—fuck, I haven’t lost control like that in forever.”

San nuzzles into the back of his neck and he winces, the bite throbbing. “Shit, Sannie, did you take a chunk out of my spine?”

San grumbles, words muffled against his skin, “I kinda lost control too… the dragon—it’s been more active, since meeting Yeosang.”

Honestly… its kind of hot. Or at least, it would be, if he didn’t feel like a scruffed dog.

Seonghwa runs his hands soothingly over Wooyoung’s body, slipping beneath his clothes to slowly strip him of the confining fabric. When he’s completely naked, both of them huddle close, the contrast between San’s heat and Seonghwa’s cool skin feeling amazing against his aching muscles.

Gods, he’s a fucking mess.

He threatened to take what Seonghwa wasn’t offering, just like the monster his coven named him to be all those years ago.

“I’m so sorry, hyung,” he mumbles, burying his face in Seonghwa’s chest. The elder runs his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, holding him close, as San peppers light kisses over his shoulders.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I knew you were struggling with your power, but I was so caught up in my own worry about things with Yeosang that I didn’t—take care of you, the way I should have.” Seonghwa pulls back to look him in the eye. “Can I make it up to you?”

He sniffles, curling closer to Seonghwa, subtly pushing his hips back into San as he does. Or not so subtly, if the low chuckle that washes over his skin is any indication.

“I think that’s a yes,” San says, and Wooyoung can hear the smile in his voice.

Seonghwa slowly kisses his way down Wooyoung’s body, nuzzling the crease where his thigh meets his hip, and he shivers at the barely there touch of frost on Seonghwa’s lips.

“Beautiful,” murmurs San, moving to kiss him deeply. With San lying half over his chest, tongue exploring his mouth, and Seonghwa finally taking his cock between his soft lips, Wooyoung sags into the bed. His power stops snapping at him, settling like a satisfied cat in a patch of late afternoon sun.

The cool suction of Seonghwa’s mouth drags moan after moan from his lips, and when San shifts him to lie on his side, dick rubbing against his ass (when did he get naked?), he nearly whimpers with relief. San hikes Wooyoung’s thigh up over his own, dick sliding through the slick pouring from his hole, and presses in with one smooth thrust to the hilt.

Wooyoung cries out, hips pinned between Seonghwa’s insistent tongue and San’s hard cock, squirming between them as San sets a languid rhythm, stroking deeply into Wooyoung’s body as if they have all the time in the world. Each thrust rubs directly over his prostate, and his hands twist into the sheets as he cums hard into Seonghwa’s mouth.

His hyung swallows his release happily, eyes sparkling, and doesn’t let up, continuing to twirl his tongue around the head of his cock until tears of overstimulation are pouring down his face and its glorious and perfect and he never wants it to end.

“You’re my soulmate, Woo. I’m never gonna leave you.” San’s words rub into his skin, sinking into his mind to settle in his heart, a barrier against the desolate lust of the demon living in his soul.

“Fuck, Sannie, I’m yours, Gods don’t stop, fill me up, please, fuck—”

His hips jerk forward into Seonghwa’s mouth and he swallows him down, his throat constricting around Wooyoung’s cock as San slams into him, chasing his own orgasm. San’s mouth closes over the bite on the nape of his neck and sucks, hard, and he’s coming again, shaking as he feels the warmth of San’s release flood him.

Finally sated, his power coils in on itself and the intensity fades. The amethyst coating his vision burns away and he sighs, content between two of the people he loves the most.

Seonghwa releases his cock with a last, lingering lick which makes Wooyoung moan and clench on San’s slowly softening cock in his ass, dragging a growling groan from his chest.

“I’m gonna get stuff to clean you up, Woo,” he says, ignoring Wooyoung’s immediately whining protest at being empty and sliding out of bed. Seonghwa scoots back up his body to kiss him, pushing three fingers inside of him at the same time, and he moans when he tastes himself on his hyung’s tongue, suitably distracted from the sticky feeling of cum and slick dripping down his thighs.

“You are worth so much more than what your body can give us. We will always want you, because you’re you—not because of the sex. Though the sex is fucking amazing, don’t get me wrong.”

He giggles and drops a kiss on Seonghwa’s nose.

“Thank you. For always caring, even when I’m a whiny, bratty pain in the ass.”

Seonghwa snorts and hugs him close.

“It’s part of your charm, Wooyoungie.”

San, returning to the bed with a warm, wet cloth, rolls his eyes. “You’re a fucking gremlin sometimes, but I love you anyway.”

Wooyoung raises a hand to smack him in offense but his limbs are heavy and he’s exhausted, so he settles for sticking out his tongue, letting San gently wipe him down and dress him in fresh PJs.

“You’re both sleeping here tonight. I’m not taking objections at this time.”

“Hey, this is my bed, I get to make the rules.”

Wooyoung rolls over and smothers San with the nearest plushie.

“I said, no objections allowed. Go to sleep.”

San’s muffled grumbling makes Wooyoung smile and he snuggles into his chest, pulling Seonghwa’s arm over his waist.

“G’night hyung. Sannie. Love…” he mumbles, sleep pulling him under in a warm blanket of darkness.

Chapter 12

Summary:

Minho is a little shit and Jongho panics when he learns that Yeosang definitely, absolutely, works out.

No CW, just a mostly fluff chapter with a bit of Minho/Felix angst.

“Why the hell didn’t you remind me that, I don’t know, my chest might explode if I went to their place for dinner?”

On his phone screen, Minho rolls his eyes. “Remind you that your soul scar might start bleeding in the presence of your murderer who you have already identified as Jongho, the member that invited you to dinner? Seems like something you wouldn’t forget.”

Minho is making sense, and that’s incredibly irritating, because he wants to mad, damn it! 

“Fine! I’m questioning the bonds of our friendship, but fine. Goodbye, hyung.”

“WAIT YEOSANGIE-HYUNG I STILL WANNA HEAR ABOUT YOUR SEVEN-WAY DATE!”

That’s Felix’s voice.

“Minho. Is Felix sitting next to you right now.”

“Um… I am definitely not sitting next to Minho-hyung eavesdropping on a private conversation.”

Yeosang glares at the screen. Minho slowly tilts it to get Felix in the frame, who waves cheerily.

“So? How was it?”

“It was great, Felix, except for the part where I bled all over the floor and almost died.”

Minho scrunches up his nose, looking very much like the orange cat that’s draped over his shoulders.

“Stop being so dramatic. I knew you’d be fine. This has been far too many life-times coming for me to let you overthink your way into throwing away your only chance at happiness.”

An extremely concerning yet very possible scenario unfolds itself in Yeosang’s mind.

“Lee. Minho. Tell me that you did not fuck with my memory so that I’d conveniently forget about my soul scar and go to dinner without a care in the world.”

The vampire has the grace to look slightly ashamed. By which, his left eye twitches twice and his mouth turns down into a miniscule frown. Almost an admission of guilt, in Minho terms.

“I… did not fuck with your memory so that you’d forget about your soul scar and go to dinner without a care in the world,” he repeats in a flat voice.

Yeosang’s grip tightens on the phone to the point where the plastic case creaks a warning. Without another word, he ends the video call.

Fucking. Lee. Minho.

Fuming, Yeosang tosses his phone on the table and thinks about his plans for the day. It’s Friday, and he’d taken the day off at Jisung’s urging. At least one of his friends cares about his near death experience.

He has a few curses he’s working on for Changbin, and he wants to collect as many winter decorations as possible for his Animal Crossing Island—that will take up the better part of the morning. Groceries, a quick stop at the bookstore down the street to drop off a de-cursed amulet and a new set of teas for Seungmin and Jeongin, and a late night gym session would round out the day nicely.

His phone buzzes—seeing it’s Minho, he sends the call to voicemail. He does this three more times before the vampire appears to give up on calling, and switches to texting.

Yeosang opens and closes the messages without looking, leaving the irritating vampire on ‘read’. Sue him, he’s allowed to be petty. He isn’t ready to admit that Minho’s interference is likely the only reason he went to dinner and therefore the only reason he made up with the members.

There is, however, a new text from Seonghwa which he eagerly opens.

Hwa-hyung (8:05am)
hi Yeosangie
just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright today
did you eat breakfast?

Yeosang (8:08am)
hi hyung
I feel great actually
though last night kinda seems like a dream
I’m eating breakfast now!

Yeosang quickly scrambles for something to eat, as if Seonghwa will know he’s lying via text.

Hwa-hyung (8:10am)
a good dream, hopefully?

Yeosang (8:15am)
a bit of both?
definitely ended as a dream
Hongjoong-hyung explained that you all think I’m the last piece of your circle
but it’s still
hard for me to believe

Hwa-hyung (8:17am)
why?

Why? Why?! Yeosang isn’t sure how they can’t see it—they’re famous gorgeous international celebrities and he just has a sentient shop, breaks curses, makes the occasional magical tea, and controls blades of shadow to tear his enemies into pieces.

Ok, so that could be cool in the right circumstances. But not in comparison to Treasure Sea!!

Yeosang (8:20am)
hyung
I’ve been a TeaSea for four years
and now suddenly I’m not only meeting my idols
but you all want to be… friends?
with me?
you have to see how insane that is

Hwa-hyung (8:23am)
I get that
all my non-idol friends are people who knew me from before
so they don’t see me as a celebrity
I guess I didn’t think how it’d be different for you

Yeosang (8:25am)
that’s ok
it’ll just take some time
for me to understand why I’m worth the trouble

Hwa-hyung (8:26am)
Yeosangie
you’re not a burden
we like you a lot
friends is a good place to start
😉

Yeosang chokes on his rice and quickly chugs his rose and orange blossom tea to wash down the grains that seem devoted to making a home in his lungs. A good place to start?

He isn’t blind. An evening with Treasure Sea made it clear that most of the members of the circle are a bit (or a lot) beyond platonic friends.  

After he’d finished eating his re-dragon-warmed dinner, the group had migrated to the living room. Well, the group minus Jongho, who booked it out of the apartment like his ass was on fire, executing an impressive dodge when San attempted to tackle him to the floor before he could escape.

Yeosang didn’t take it personally—he was still a little worried that he might snap and attempt to consume Jongho’s soul without warning.

He ended up on the couch sandwiched between Yunho and Mingi, who slung their arms over the back to overlap each other. Their hands occasionally brushed over his shoulders, causing him to shiver—and them to grin at each other over his head.

The realization that some of his fantasies about the idols might come true was both mind-blowing and made his silent heart threaten to jump out of his chest.

Hongjoong ended up sitting on the floor leaning against San’s legs, and Wooyoung curled up in Seonghwa’s lap. The witch seemed… elastic, stretching and weaving as he moved, sinuous in a way that Yeosang hadn’t noticed before. When Wooyoung began to mouth over the cut edge of Seonghwa’s jaw, he simply tilted his head, giving the younger more access.

The rest of them continued talking as if a PG-13 scene from one of Yeosang’s favorite fan-fics wasn’t playing out in the armchair across from him.

At one point, Yunho’s arm slipped from the back of the couch to curl over Yeosang’s shoulders, tugging him into the taller man’s side. Coffee flooded his nose, and with it, the realization that he was currently happily drowning in the empath’s sweatshirt. No way the sweatpants were his—even rolled up, they were too short to be Yunho’s. Yeosang suspected they belonged to San based on the faint scent of cinders, who seemed to own a large number of grey sweatpants based on the TS dance practice videos and challenges Yeosang would never admit he watched.

He let himself lean into Yunho’s side, startling when Mingi’s hand landed on his knee, heat soaking through the thin fabric of his borrowed pants. A blooming warmth, sparks flickering into being in the night sky of his soul, welled in his stomach. And then Wooyoung flicked his eyes up to meet his own, pupils dilating as he took in the innocent (because it was innocent, right?) touches between him and the two men sandwiching him on the couch.

Yeosang had ripped his gaze away, biting his lip hard to suppress whatever embarrassing sound that was probably going to escape him. He swore he heard Hongjoong huff a laugh, and when he worked up the courage to look up again, San was watching him with a small smile that did nothing to detract from the fire in his gaze.

However, a moment later San jolted, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists on his lap, and he rapidly looked away.

Suitably overwhelmed, confused, and exhausted, he didn’t object when Hongjoong offered to drive him home soon after.

So, aside from Jongho and San who are sending significantly mixed messages, when Seonghwa says friends is a good place to start… Yeosang decides to let a spark of interest bloom in his heart.

Hwa-hyung (8:34am)
got to go to practice soon
sorry if I flustered you
what are your plans for the day?

Yeosang (8:35am)
I think you like flustering me
just playing Animal Crossing
then doing errands

The next text is a string of numbers and letters, followed by a series of smiling emojis. Yeosang’s eyes widen with excitement and he grabs his game console from the charging block.

Typing in the code, his little character is soon sailing to Seonghwa’s island. He spends the next half-hour happily exploring the other man’s immaculately organized and weed-free world. So engrossed in the game, he absently swipes accept on his phone when a video-call from Jisung comes through.

“What’s up, Sungie-yah?”

“Yeosang—”

He hangs up before Minho can say more than his name. Low blow, using Jisung to trick him into answering.

Minho (9:10am)
Yeosang.
Felix is mad at me
he said I have “a questionable moral compass”
don’t make that face

He isn’t… Yeosang feels his lips tighten and forces the muscles to relax. Ok, yes, he is making a face.

Yeosang (9:12am)
you deserve the face I’m making
and Felix is wrong

Minho (9:13am)
I knew you’d see it my way.

Yeosang (9:13am)
you don’t have a moral compass

Minho (9:14am)
traitor

Yeosang (9:14am)
you deserve worse than your new boyfriend being mad at you

Minho (9:16am)
but now Jisung’s mad at me because Felix is mad at me

Yeosang (9:16am)
you also deserve worse than your old boyfriend being mad at you

Minho (9:17am)
this is all your fault

Yeosang (9:17am)
MY FAULT?
how is this my fault?
you’re the one who fucked with my memory
and almost got me killed
and ruined my shirt

Minho (9:18am)
fuck
Sungie loved that shirt

Yeosang (9:18am)
that’s what you take away from this experience

Minho (9:20am)
will you tell them I apologized to you
so that they’ll stop being mad at me

Yeosang (9:21am)
are you apologizing

Minho (9:22am)
…yes?

Yeosang (9:22am)
I hope they go on a honeymoon without you

~ ~ ~

By the time he heads to the gym at the end of the day, the moon and stars flicker with molten silver in the night sky.

He’s riding a high from a productive day. His hand stings a bit from where a nasty curse nipped him, but an ornate, antique dagger is now curse free and ready for Seungmin’s sales pitch. A weird, old scroll with dubious contents is similarly curse-free and already in Changbin’s appreciative hands. His cabinets and fridge are freshly stocked, and he’s planning on cooking a simple meal for Wooyoung and Seonghwa, to thank them for feeding him the best food he’s ever tasted.

Dropping by the bookstore that Seungmin (a witch specializing in locating interesting artifacts and selling them on the mostly grey market) owns with Jeongin is always a source of entertainment. Jeongin, while technically a fox spirit and Seungmin’s familiar, has long since learned to maintain a human form, and Yeosang is pretty sure that has a lot to do with the way Jeongin stares longingly at Seungmin when he thinks the witch isn’t looking. Seungmin is either as oblivious as Chan, or stubbornly pretending not to notice, and Yeosang enjoys watching them dance around each other.

He isn’t sure how he’d ended up surrounded by illegally attractive, very gay men who are (knowingly or unknowingly) in love with each other… but it doesn’t make him feel quite as lonely as before. Not that he sees himself falling in love with anyone from Treasure Sea anytime soon, or expects them to fall in love with him, but… it’s nice, to have an entire group of equally illegally attractive and seemingly queer men showering him with attention.

Seungmin regularly sends Yeosang cursed items to detangle, in exchange for infusing his teas with various magical properties. Yeosang pretends not to know about the questionable ways Seungmin procures his artifacts and Seungmin doesn’t flinch when Yeosang occasionally shows up and vomits on his doorstep before passing out.

It avoids the need to suffer through Minho judging him. It’s not his fault that he has a bad reaction to reaping souls.

Yeosang steps into the gym, waves at the kid staffing the desk, and heads into the locker room to change.

By the time an hour passes, he still has plenty of energy to burn, and he admits that something’s different. He’s normally dragging after twenty minutes, let alone sixty. Even the grizzled old ogre that runs the gym noticed, complimenting him on a new PR with a vaguely surprised look on his face—though that might just be the chronically bulging eyes that don’t quite look in the same direction.

It takes a brisk five mile run before he figures it out.

His chest doesn’t hurt.

Rather than verging on caving in with every breath, his sternum rises and falls, just as it should.

Turns out living with chronic pain is rather limiting. Who knew?

Now that its gone, he realizes just how bad it had been.

Finally deciding to call it a night when his shirt is thoroughly soaked with sweat and a pleasant burn runs through his muscles, he feels a familiar presence brush the edge of his mind. Turning quickly, he scans the mostly empty gym and frowns. Not many people come in this late on a Friday night, preferring to go out and do normal weekend things that Yeosang doesn’t have the desire (or social group) to do.

Seeing only two naga females on the treadmills, their matching hot pink bodysuits eye catching against the bland grey walls, and the ogre who gives him a thumbs up as he towels off, Yeosang shrugs and heads towards the showers.

Taking advantage of having the space to himself, he turns up his personally curated TeaSea playlist and lets the hot water soak away the stress of the past week.

~ ~ ~

No. Fucking. Way.

He decides to check out the small, quiet gym recommended by San and who’s there?

Yeosang, who Jongho has completely avoided since last night, ignoring his concerned texts, and had fully intended to continue avoiding until he got his head back together. Which, given his ability to overthink, panic, and largely run away from interpersonal conflict, was going to be… never.

Instead, there he is, sweat soaked black tank plastered to the defined chest and abs Jongho had the misfortune to notice yesterday. Now that Yeosang isn’t covered in blood and dying (because of him), his traitorous body fully appreciates the view and he needs to retreat because tenting his exercise shorts in a relatively empty gym is not the way to go.

Shit.

He spins around and books it back out of the doors, ignoring the very confused look the kid at the desk tosses his way, and crouches on the sidewalk outside of the gym to hyperventilate. It’s dark enough and he’s plain enough in his all black gym clothes and mask that people don’t really notice him, and if they do, their eyes pass over without recognition.

Jongho knows he’s a coward. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Hongjoong when he says there’s no danger of him hurting Yeosang. The reaper hadn’t started bleeding again last night—and Jongho’s treacherous heart had leapt at the sight of him smiling, a warmth in his skin that hadn’t been there before. But he can’t cut the panic lancing through him at the thought of seeing that ugly wound tear open again.

He has to get over it, if Yeosang really is the last member of their circle. The other members are already planning ways to see him, scheming how to get him backstage without their managers wondering who the hell he is, even betting on who’d work up the guts to ask him out on a date.

Jongho, meanwhile, is panicking at the idea of saying “hi” at the gym.

He really is pathetic.

Sighing, he drops his head into his hands and rubs his eyes. He really, really needs a work-out to clear his head but he can’t go back in there and face—

“Jongho-yah?”

…Yeosang.

“Um. Oh. Hi hyung. I didn’t—you go here? To the gym?”

Yeosang quirks a small smile and Jongho’s heart merrily writes a new ballad.

“I do go here.” He pauses, face flushing. “Why are you out here and not inside? Did you—oh. Did you… leave because of me? Well, I’m done now so you’re good to—go in. If that’s what… you want?”

Yeosang’s adorable tendency to stumble over his words when he’s flustered slowly dissipates Jongho’s panic. It helps that he’s been talking to him for at least thirty seconds and there’s no blood in sight.  

“Did you eat dinner yet?”

Yeosang blinks at him, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before slowly shaking his head. Jongho also opens and closes his mouth, because where the fuck had that come from?

“I can work out later. Street food ok?”

Ah. His mouth to heart connection has eliminated his brain from the equation. Excellent.

“You… want to eat with me?”

Yeosang’s voice is small and unsure. Jongho hates it.

“Yeah, I do. I missed out on spending time with you last night because I panicked and ran away from the apartment.”

A shy smile made of stardust breaks over Yeosang’s face and Jongho’s heart skips a beat.

They start walking, their shoulders brushing every so often despite the empty streets.

“Did you panic because of all…” Yeosang gestures at his chest with a grimace, “…this?”

Jongho winces. It’s not like he can hide it, he’s purposefully avoided him for 24 hours.

“In some other life, I put that scar there.”

Yeosang comes to a stop, turning to face him, waiting.

“The hyungs said that reapers are born from the hatred of their killer,” he adds softly.

“I don’t hate you, Jongho.” Yeosang’s words fall gently into the night, hovering between them.

Sure, he doesn’t hate him now…

“But did you, before? Hate me?”

Yeosang sighs. “Unless you remember killing me a few thousand years ago, it wasn’t you Jongie-yah.”

A few… thousand? Before he can ask how the hell Yeosang is still sane after that many lifetimes, the reaper keeps talking.

“Besides…”  Yeosang flushes, visible beneath the dim streetlights, and mutters “…I don’t think I hated you then, either.”

Jongho desperately wants to know what that flush, the quiver in Yeosang’s voice, means. But the reaper begins walking again, hands shoved deep into his pockets, burrowing into his large coat.

They walk to a food stall selling tteokbokki and hotteok, and Yeosang insists on paying (hyung privileges). They settle on a park bench, their breath frosted against the dark night sky, cradled in the starlight that kisses Yeosang’s flawless, pale skin.

Yeosang shivers, and Jongho thinks that, if he was a bit less of a coward, he’d scoot closer. Instead, he eats his food, savoring the spices and simple, familiar flavors that beat a fancy restaurant any day. The silence stretches like taffy, languid and sweet.

“Your scales are beautiful in the moonlight.”

Jongho freezes, hand automatically flying up to his jaw, where he knows a patch of opalescent scales sits. He never bothers covering them up outside of performances because no one ever notices.

But Yeosang notices. And he thinks they’re beautiful.

Jongho has never been called beautiful. Not that Yeosang is calling him beautiful, but he said his scales are beautiful so maybe it isn’t so much of a stretch…

“May I?”

Yeosang’s hand is hovering, slender fingers outstretched, at the edge of his jaw. The other man has an odd look in his eyes, flustered but determined, a focused line between his brows.

The last time anyone touched the scales, it was Wooyoung, caught up in a drinking game, grabbing his jaw and planting a wet kiss on his lips, before cackling and hiding behind Seonghwa, begging for protection. Jongho had made a scene of gagging and wiping his lips, diving at the giggling witch, but inside, his mind spun over how it had felt, to be touched like that.

Is he touch-starved? Yunho seems to think so, often worrying over Jongho’s tendency to pull away, but he doesn’t like skinship, not in the way the others do. Even Hongjoong, for all of his prickly tendencies, seeks out physical affection. He’s pretty sure that whatever weird courting dance Joong has going on with Hwa-hyung is finally coming to an end—which, honestly, is great news for him.

There are only so many times he can listen to Seonghwa moaning Hongjoong’s name in the shower.

Yeosang bites his lip and begins to withdraw his hand, eyes flicking down towards the snow covered ground.

Shit, no, he doesn’t want him to draw away—he grabs Yeosang’s hand and brings it to rest against his jaw, right over the silky patch of scales.

Yeosang’s fingers are soft and a little bit cold because he’d taken off his gloves to eat hotteok. His fingertip traces the place where scales become skin and a breathy sigh whispers out of Jongho’s chest as the sensation of being touched runs through him like wildfire.

Yeosang takes his time exploring, pressing gently and then letting up, scratching a nail over a scale and smiling slightly when Jongho shudders. Where had the flustered mess of a man gone? This Yeosang has a quiet confidence that sends Jongho reeling.

After an eternity that’s probably more like a minute, 90 seconds tops, Yeosang drops his hand.

“Thank you. I’m sorry if that was weird, they just—look so pretty.”

He drops his gaze to his lap in the hope that Yeosang won’t see the slight water in his eyes. He is not tearing up at a simple, polite compliment.

“That’s not… what people normally say.”

The reaper pulls a bag of mochi out of his pocket and begins peeling one out of its wrapper.

“People say all kinds of shit. People say reapers are evil incarnate, to run the other way if you see us on the street. But you all keep running directly towards me, so maybe it’s about listening to the right people.” Yeosang pops a mochi in his mouth, chewing with a happy hum.

Distracted by the way the pillowy candy parts Yeosang’s pink lips, it takes Jongho a moment to register that the man is holding out another in his direction.

“Want one?”

There’s a bit of powdered sugar on the corner of Yeosang’s mouth. Jongho needs to stop looking at it. The sugar. Because he’s looking at the sugar and not Yeosang’s lips and how they curve into a smile the longer he stares…

Yeosang’s thumb runs over Jongho’s lower lip as the reaper presses the sweet into his mouth. A sprinkle of sugar drifts down onto his shirt, dusting him with candy snow.

Swallowing the treat and scrambling to move beyond the feeling of Yeosang’s fingers against his lips, Jongho huffs at the other man, who is watching him with a grin. Yeosang hands him another mochi and holds up his own.

“A toast! To monsters deciding to listen to the right people.”

A spray of pink powdered sugar decorates Yeosang’s mouth as he bites down. Jongho slowly takes a bite of his own bright orange candy, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Yeosang’s tongue streaks a wet path over his lips.

Jongho has never wanted anything more in his life than to learn if Yeosang’s lips taste as sweet as he imagines they do.

The bag crinkles as Yeosang stores it away, and the moment scatters into the frosted night. Tucking his hands back into his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the cold, Yeosang stands up.

“I should get home. I’ve got to open early to make up for taking off today.”

Jongho is about to offer to call him an Uber, when Yeosang’s coat snags on a splintered part of the bench, sending him flailing backwards. Before he can fall, Jongho wraps an arm around the smaller man’s waist and tugs him down to sit on his lap.

Jongho’s heart pounds wildly—with Yeosang’s back pressed to his chest, he’s sure the reaper can feel it. Especially when there is no heartbeat to compare it to.

Yeosang’s chest is still aside from his puffed breaths.

“I’m so sorry, Jongho-yah!” The reaper scrambles to sit up, but Jongho, in a moment of emboldened madness, hugs him a bit closer instead.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you could fall in my lap anytime,” he mumbles.

A muffled groan emanates from where Yeosang has his face buried in his hands. Jongho takes the opportunity to press his forehead between the reaper’s shoulder blades, chuckling.

“Ugh. All I do is embarrass myself.”

Jongho smiles. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” He loosens his arms to let the other man stand up.

Except Yeosang shifts to sit sideways, his face inches from Jongho’s own. The reaper raises a hand to brush deliberately over Jongho’s scales once more, tracking his finger down until it hits the edge of Jongho’s collar, just barely dipping beneath. He imagines how it might feel to have Yeosang’s hands map out the scales that lie hidden beneath his clothes.  

“Just when I’m embarrassed?” Yeosang’s voice is deep and he shakes with a sudden surge of need, need to sing, to steal, to keep—

Yeosang’s lips brush over his cheek.

As quickly as it rose, his siren settles, a gently swirling pool in his soul.

Yeosang… kissed him. Oh God. He, Jongho, is the first one to get a kiss and yes it was a kiss on the cheek but this is NOT in the betting pool he hadn’t even joined the betting pool on the group text—

As if seeing his developing panic, Yeosang laughs softly.

“Glad I’m not the only one who gets flustered.”

Flustered is an understatement. In an effort to distract himself from staring at the way the moonlight slips through Yeosang’s eyelashes to dust shadows over his cheeks, Jongho pulls out his phone.

“Let me call an Uber for you, hyung.”

Yeosang shakes his head and stands up. Jongho immediately misses his warmth.

“I’m good, I’ll just step back home.”

Step?

“Goodnight, Jongie-yah.”

And Yeosang steps into a shadow and disappears.

Leaving Jongho staring at the subtle swirl of air, with the faint scent of powdered sugar left behind.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jongho pulls out his phone and grins, opening up his messages.

“Wooyoung Rename this GroupChat or I Swear to GOD—”

Jongho (9:25pm)
is it too late to join the betting pool?

Chapter 13

Summary:

Yeosang is flustered, Mingi is a mess, Seonghwa is perfect, and the shop is showing off.
And things get just a little bit heated...

No CW for this chapter! Just a lot of fun fluff. Enjoy!

Jongho (8:01am)
Captain-hyung managed to burn a teacup this morning
Wooyoung banished him from the apartment

~ ~ ~

two idiots and their hero

Mingi (9:04pm)
hi Yeosangie-hyung
if you’re free
do you wanna game with me and Yuyu?

Yunho (9:04pm)
you can pick the game
and you can come here
or we can come over
or online!
if you’re more comfortable with that

It’s been a week since his encounter (he refuses to call it a date despite Jisung’s insistence that it was definitely an impromptu date) with Jongho, and Yeosang is getting used to the members texting him throughout the day. The only person he doesn’t really hear from is Hongjoong—according to Seonghwa (who has taken to nagging Yeosang about his questionable eating habits and dropping off homemade snacks on occasion) the captain is holed up in the studio working on a new track. Even the members barely see him outside of their schedules.

Tonight finds him sitting in his apartment buried in the business of catching up on the k-drama Minho and Jisung are currently obsessed with. He forgave Minho for his transgressions after a suitable amount of groveling which involved the vampire filling his fridge and freezer with home cooked meals and not complaining (much).

Felix is still holding out on the vampire. Apparently, he’s now avoiding both Minho and Jisung, though he refused to talk to Yeosang about it when he tried to gently ask yesterday during the pixie’s shift behind the bar. Felix’s best friend, Changbin (a warlock and music producer who Yeosang met at his gym), had promised to keep an eye on the pixie when he expressed his worry that Felix was spiraling.

He’s sure they’ll figure it out eventually—but he hopes Felix will at least talk to Jisung. The younger vampire looks downright miserable. Yeosang kicked him out of the shop an hour ago, shooing him over to Chan’s studio to mope around the shifter instead. Chan, newly and happily mated, is the perfect victim for Jisung’s pining.

Yeosang (9:10pm)
I’m just watching a drama
always down to game
you can come here
if you want?

Yeosang wouldn’t mind going over to the Treasure Sea building, but he’s very cozy in his softest pair of pajamas and slippers, and it’s cold, and the thought of dealing with the train right now seems terrible. He could shadow step but he really shouldn’t be wasting the energy.

Had he been showing off for Jongho the other night?

Maybe.

But he’d paid for it in the morning, his body exhausted and aching from the overuse of magic. Luckily, now that his shop is officially listed as a Sanctuary, a few visits from magical heavy hitters imbued the shop with a surge of energy. He’s even hosting a bachelorette party next month.

The phone call with the maid of honor had been fascinating. Not to mention surprising because he hadn’t, up until that moment, had a phone in the shop. So he was rather confused when said phone appeared on the counter and began ringing.

“Hello, is this Kang Yeosang-ssi?”

“Ah, hi, yes, can I help you?”

“Gods, I hope so, because you are my last resort.”

Well that sounded promising.

“Um… ok?”

“Right. I would like to invoke Sanctuary to host an event next month.”

“What sort of event?”

“… a bachelorette party. And yes, I truly need Sanctuary because the bride is marrying her sister’s ex-fiancé, and her sister is a pyro-mage capable of summoning a phoenix storm.”

And so… Yeosang spent the next few hours looking up flame retardant fabrics and resolved to have Changbin drop a warding spell on the shop the next time he came by.

Is it the most dignified use of his Sanctuary? Definitely not. But magic is magic, and the shop needs it to survive and he can’t provide enough of it on his own without reaping innocent souls. Dark souls simply don’t carry the same power.

Yunho (9:11pm)
we’d love to!

Mingi (9:11pm)
what kinda snacks do you like?

Yunho (9:12pm)
is it ok if Hwa-hyung makes a doorway?
sometimes people hang out outside of our apartment
and try to take pictures or follow us and shit

Mingi (9:13pm)
so mom and dad are worried

Yunho (9:13pm)
and don’t like us going out late

Yeosang (9:15pm)
of course that’s ok
but that’s awful
about the stalkers

Yunho (9:20pm)
ok hyung’s gonna make a door
and it’s just a part of being famous

Mingi (9:21pm)
pros outweigh the cons
😉

A minute later, Yeosang’s phone rings with a video-call, Seonghwa’s face popping up on the screen.

Shit, he is absolutely not prepared to see Seonghwa, he looks like a complete mess—which is fine for Yunho and Mingi, they’re far less intimidating despite inspiring highly inappropriate thoughts, but Seonghwa…

Seonghwa is perfection and Yeosang can see himself turning the color of a beet in the self-cam in the corner of the screen as he answers the call.

“Hi hyung.”

“Yeosangie! Sorry for calling suddenly, just want to make sure you’re ok with me making a doorway to your shop.”

Seonghwa’s dark hair is a bit tousled as if he (or someone else) has been running their fingers through it. He’s dressed down in a simple black t-shirt that unfairly hugs his defined chest and exposes arms that make it incredibly difficult for Yeosang to focus.

“That’s ok. Both the calling, and the doorway. It’s… nice to see you, hyung.”

And it is. Something in Yeosang settles at seeing the his soft smile and hearing his gentle voice.

Seonghwa beams at him. “I’d like to make it a permanent doorway, from our apartment to your shop. That way you can visit whenever you like, and I’ll feel better knowing we can come to you if you ever need us.”

A hurricane of butterflies fills his stomach. He should probably sit down before he passes out.

“Yeosangie, are you ok?”

No, he is definitely not ok, he’s been given a standing invitation to visit the Treasure Sea apartment building which is ridiculous and wonderful and overwhelming and impossible—

“I’m… processing.”

Seonghwa frowns and bites his lip. “I understand if it’s too much, I can just make a portal for today instead—”

Yeosang jolts, shaking his head. “No! No, it’s ok, I want you to make a doorway!”

And now he sounds far too enthusiastic. Great.

Seonghwa’s smile is back in full force. “Ok, just give me a moment…”

The call cuts off, and a silvery mist forms in the corner of the workroom. It slowly spreads to form a tall rectangle before becoming translucent, revealing Seonghwa standing in a living room on the other side.

With a series of sparks, glyphs light up on the floor at Seonghwa’s feet, mirrored on the floor of shop, until the outline of the doorway flashes once and snaps solid, rooting itself into the ground.

A tremor goes through the shop and Yeosang stumbles back as Seonghwa steps through. Power floods up his legs, and the shop stretches like a pleased cat waking from a mid-afternoon nap.

“Ah, hyung? Just how much magic did you put into that doorway?”

Seonghwa frowns, turning to look at his handiwork with an appraising eye.

“The normal amount? Why?”

Yeosang gestures to the air around them, which is swirling with little glowing motes of energy. As if the shop overloaded and the excess is escaping the very walls.

“Oh. Huh. I just wanted to make sure it was stable. I guess… I didn’t account for your shop. I think…” Seonghwa kneels down and lays a hand on the floor, a warm glow emanating from his palm. His eyes light up with excitement and he whispers, “incredible,” before standing back up and spinning around to face Yeosang.

“My magic rooted the doorway in the magic of the shop, and it connected to my power, and it’s… feeding it? And being fed? A sort of… symbiotic process, I think.” Seonghwa’s eyes are sparkling, and he grabs Yeosang’s hands with a squeeze.

It feels a bit one sided to him, with the amount of power the shop suddenly seems to have, but he’s saved from pointing it out by Mingi’s head poking through the doorway. The man’s eyes go wide as he stares at the glowing motes filling the air like fireflies.

“Woah… Yuyu, hyung’s done with the doorway!” Mingi steps through, and is immediately surrounded by swirling motes that stick to his outstretched hands like cotton balls. The idol laughs, poking at them with his fingers, and gasping as they flare a brilliant rainbow of colors. Yeosang feels another burst of energy, and his vision flashes white, leaving him blinking rapidly as a faint afterimage of a trio of faces with black pits for eyes slowly fades.  

“Yeosangie-hyung… you ok?” Shaking his head, he focuses on Mingi, who’s standing in front of him, a bag bulging with snacks in one hand.

“Mm, I’m alright, just—hang on.”

He lays a hand on the wall

please stop showing off

He feels the shop huff in return, but the motes wink out of existence, until only one remains, hovering next to Seonghwa. He tilts his head and holds up a hand, the mote dropping into his palm. Yeosang swears he can feel a sigh of happiness from his shop. Rolling his eyes, he flicks the wall affectionately.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it! Bye, Yeosangie.” Seonghwa hesitates, then leans forward to brush his lips over Yeosang’s cheek. Then, with a cheery wave, the fae glides back through the doorway, leaving Yeosang speechless, cheek tingling from the brief kiss.

Yunho scoots through, barely missing Seonghwa, and the doorway fades into a shimmering, translucent rectangle.

Which leaves Yeosang facing Yunho and Mingi in front of the couch where Mingi almost died. It’s been less than a month, and Yeosang’s life has completely reorganized itself into something wonderful and unfamiliar.

The two idols look… squishable. With hair fluffy from a recent wash, bare faced, wearing long sleeved shirts and track pants… he’s pretty sure they are both what Felix would call “boyfriend-coded.”

“You didn’t tell us what snacks you liked, so we brought a bunch of options.” Mingi holds up the bag and shakes it, which stretches the plastic just enough to send the snacks exploding out to tumble towards the ground.

“Ah, shit—” Mingi makes a mad grab for the snacks, serving only to scatter them further. Grinning, Yeosang waves a hand, and a shadow swallows up the snacks, darting up the stairs. What would have been a strain on his power barely brushes the surface. The shop hums happily, subtly throwing out a few more motes of energy.

Yunho’s eyebrows rise and Mingi’s eyes go wide. To avoid looking at their beautiful, happy, kissable faces, Yeosang heads towards the stairs, leading the way up to his apartment.

“Come on in, it’s not as nice as your place but it’s just me here so…” he trails off and shifts nervously on his feet. With Jongho, he’d slipped into hyung mode and come off at least slightly eloquent but with the two gorgeous men towering over him, he’s reduced to a stuttering mess of embarrassment.

Yunho is watching him with a small smile, waves of calm emanating off his body. Yeosang watches as the taller man moves forward and holds out his arms.

He could bolt and make himself busy organizing the snacks or…

Yeosang closes his eyes as Yunho’s arms close gently around him.

Yunho’s body is warm and solid against him. His heart beats steadily under Yeosang’s cheek where it rests on the empath’s chest. Hands settle on his shoulders as Mingi presses against his back, long arms wrapping around both of them, leaving Yeosang sandwiched between the two. His sparking nerves finally settle, breath easing out of him in a woosh, and he lets himself melt into their embrace.

A vibrating chuckle threads through their little knot of limbs as Yunho laughs.

“You were right, Princess. He does look good between us.”

Cue a flash-fire rinsing all thought from his head, leaving him blinking up at Yunho in a daze. He can’t… mean it like… Right? Yunho looks down at him with a grin and Mingi’s hands slide down to settle on his waist, nothing suggestive just… present. Warm breath brushes his neck as the man behind him bends down, that low voice that growls out rap verses and captures the hearts of fans around the world murmuring into Yeosang’s ear.

“I had a vision of us, just like this… but there were less clothes involved.”

Ok, cue his brain throwing every other fantasy out the window in favor of projecting this one loudly onto the space behind his eyes.

Yeosang whimpers, and throws a prayer to whatever God has power over involuntary erections, desperately hoping Yunho doesn’t notice. He drops his forehead onto Yunho’s shoulder, burying his face in the soft fabric of the empath’s shirt and forces himself to breathe. Think boring thoughts. Don’t think about Mingi's hips pressed up against his ass. Better yet, maybe get out from between them, that’s a much better plan—

He slips out from the sexy idol sandwich, taking nice controlled not at all flustered steps to the coffee table, beginning to organize the snacks. Ok. By color or by type? Color looks better but type would make it easier to grab while playing games… oooh! There’s Nutella sticks! And marshmallow bars.

Yunho giggles and Mingi walks up to bump his shoulder. “In case it’s not clear… we really like you. But… I know I can be a lot. Sorry.”

Understatement of his life. And the oracle did not sound sorry in the least.

“I’m not—used to this. My normal level of skinship is a drunk Jisung acting like a koala until Minho peels him off. I haven’t… um…” he gestures vaguely between the three of them, face heating as he tries and fails to admit that he hasn’t even been kissed in this lifetime, let alone done anything more.

Luckily, they take pity on him and drop onto the couch, leaving space in the middle for him, and only crowding him slightly when he sits down.

Yunho grabs a bag of chips and pops one into his mouth while Yeosang turns on his TV and gaming console.

“So… which one of you wants to play with me first?”

Yunho chokes on a chip and Mingi slaps him hard on the back, shoving a bottle of water into his hand.

Yeosang blinks innocently and holds up the controllers.

“I’ve only got two, so you’ll have to take turns.”

“You’re a fucking menace, Kang Yeosang,” groans Mingi as Yunho drops his flaming face into his hands.

Yeosang grins at them and snuggles back into the couch.

Hah. Serves them right.

Chapter 14

Summary:

Yeosang goes reaping, and Wooyoung is there to pick up the pieces.

TW for: implied child abuse, violence, vague suicidal ideation

Jongho (8:01am)
please save me
Woo replaced all of my shirts with crop tops
and is refusing to tell me where he put them

Yeosang (8:02am)
look in Mingi’s closet
behind the shoes

Jongho (8:07am)
you are an angel
Woo will live to see another day

~ ~ ~

Eight Makes One Team

Sexy Witch (4:20pm)
Yeosangie!!!
Welcome to the partyyyy

Mommy (4:21pm)
You waited until exactly that time
On purpose.
don’t be such a bro

Sexy Witch (4:21pm)
that’s offensive you take that back

Dragon Ball San (4:22pm)
Youngie
there’s only room for one bro in this group

Mingles (4:23pm)
it’s me right I’m the bro

YuYu (4:23pm)
sure Princess
definitely you

Yeosangie (4:25pm)
this is both exactly what I expected
and worse.

Dragon Ball San (4:26pm)
oh
it gets worse than this
we’re all sober right now

Sexy Witch (4:27pm)
so you think

Mommy (4:29pm)
Joong is going to kill you

Sexy Witch (4:29pm)
don’t you mean…
daddy?

YuYu (4:29pm)
he just pulled out a flask
in the recording studio
for context

Mommy (4:30pm)
the day I call Joong “daddy”
is the day I throw myself into the sun

Sexy Witch (4:30pm)
hot.

Yeosangie (4:31pm)
are you all recording today?

Mommy (4:31pm)
mhm
if this goes well
Joong might return to the land of the living

Dragon Ball San (4:32pm)
our maknae is killing it
as always

YuYu (4:33pm)
speaking of our maknae…
Yeosangie shared something very interesting last night

Yeosangie (4:34pm)
don’t do it.
Yunho you promised

Mingles (4:34pm)
but…
I didn’t 😊
our maknae got the first kiss

Sexy Witch (4:34pm)
WHAT

Mommy (4:35pm)
that’s adorable 😊

Sexy Witch (4:35pm)
I AM LITERALLY
PART SEX DEMON
HOW CAN THIS HAPPEN TO ME

Yeosangie (4:37pm)
it was on the cheek!!!
also
Wooyoung.
WHAT?!

Dragon Ball San (4:36pm)
Youngie is a quarter incubus

Yeosangie (4:36pm)
this explains so many things

Mingles (4:37pm)
I’m a little jealous ☹

Yeosangie (4:37pm)
…you’re the one who had a vision of me naked

YuYu (4:38pm)
don’t put those images in my head we’re at work

Sexy Witch (4:37pm)
that’s it we’re going on a date

Daddy (4:38pm)
all of you put down your fucking phones and get your asses in the booth
and Wooyoung
CHANGE MY NAME RIGHT FUCKING NOW

The smile painting Yeosang’s face doesn’t fade over the next hours of flitting around the shop, keeping an eye on a Sanctuary protected business meeting happening in the side room while attending to his customers. Silka, the snake shifter that helps out during the day, lazily leans on the counter in a patch of sunlight, still sluggish from the cold weather.

Playing games late into the night while cuddling with Yunho and Mingi on the couch left him sleep deprived with champagne bubbles popping happily through his veins. He’d ended up sprawled over their laps, shoulders resting against Yunho’s chest and legs over Mingi’s thighs, the three of them focused on a life-or-death Mario Kart championship. It turns out that Yunho brought an extra controller, so they didn’t have to share.

 When Yeosang won the final race, Yunho flopped dramatically over the back of the couch and Mingi rolled onto the floor, lying face down next to the ice cream he’d spilled which was slowly melting into the carpet. Yeosang’s laughter took them all by surprise—himself included.

A crashing sound breaks Yeosang from his thoughts as a pair of elfin fae jump away from the newly broken window.

Shards of glass litter the floor around a strange dark rock oozing with sickly energy. Walking forward briskly, he gestures the fae toward the counter and kneels down beside the offending projectile.

Cursed, obviously.

Prior to the infusion of energy from Hwa, the shop might have been unable to contain it. As it stands, it wraps the rock in a basket of gently glowing vines, allowing Yeosang to scoop it up and carry it towards the back of the shop. A rug curls around the shards of glass and sinks into the floor. Tendrils of vine and wood stretch across the shattered window frame, cutting out the chill. The shop adds little glowing flowers for flavor.

The mundane humans in the shop gasp and chatter excitedly to one another, while the magically inclined shift uneasily, whether from sensing the curse or knowing that someone throwing a rock through the window of a Sanctuary was not something to take lightly. Yeosang smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner but is probably more of a grimace, and slips into the back, past Silka whose slitted eyes narrow on the sphere in his hands.

Setting it in a bowl, he cups his hands over the curse and lets the vines fall away. Oh, this is nasty. He considers his options. One, he can seal the curse and bury it in the depths of the shop’s cluttered basement, which runs the risk of someone using it as a focus to scry on him. Two, he can seal it and deliver it to the council where who knows who will have access to it. With the added concern that they may decide to interfere with his Sanctuary by claiming he can’t protect it. Three, he can consume it, take a massive boost, and find an equally blighted soul to reap to burn off the negative energy.

He had hoped that the swell of magic feeding the shop would suppress his nature, but the need to reap is growing stronger every day. If he keeps ignoring it, he risks losing control.

Two birds, one cursed rock.

Option three it is.

He lifts the curse from the bowl, feeling it attempting to burrow into his soul on contact. Yeosang exhales over the rock, before inhaling slow and deep, weaving the curse into his breath, pulling it down into his chest to settle, a throbbing mimicry of a heartbeat.

Whoever is attacking the Sanctuaries has stepped up their game. He should probably report this to the Council.

But first…

Yeosang’s shadow stretches, curling up to slink over his shoulders. It bulges unevenly. Anyone watching might see imprints of screaming faces pressing outwards, as if desperate to escape.

Luckily, he doesn’t have an audience.

“Silka, you’re in charge. I need to… run an errand,” he calls through the curtain. Not waiting for a response, he lets his shadow sweep him into darkness.

His body swirls, flesh and bone turning to black mist, coasting through the shadows of buildings and unsuspecting people enjoying the late afternoon sun before the wet chill of the late winter night sets in. He sinks into instinct, letting the curse tug him towards a soul that matches its bloody violence.

Yeosang steps out of the shadows in front of a modest house with pretty flower boxes in front, metal gate closed with a nameplate declaring a single surname. He doesn’t read it, doesn’t need to know the name of the soul that will soon join the screaming hoard that lives in his shadow.

He knocks on the door.

A girl answers, nine, or maybe a small eleven, staring at him with flat cardboard eyes. He kneels down before her and tastes her pain.

Salvation the shadows whisper, slipping through her mind.

She steps back and allows him in, stepping silently to the side.

The curse pulls him up the stairs like a lover leading him to bed, where a man sleeps, snoring, reeking of the alcohol spilled from the empty cans strewn across the rug. Yeosang’s shadow stretches, blanketing the room, and the man twitches, drunken dreams morphing into nightmares. Helpless, pinned, humiliated agony—everything he inflicted on his daughter, returning to stab into him, ten-fold, and Yeosang inhales, holding his breath on the peak, savoring the taste of desperation and guilt, before he swallows the rotten soul whole.

The husk on the bed crumples, nothing more than rancid flesh laid over brittle bones.

A sound at the door. He turns to see the girl standing there, eyes solemn and unafraid.

Her nightmare is gone; a new scream added to the cacophony of Yeosang’s shadow.

The shop is dark when he returns. The afternoon has slipped into night, sunset come and gone while he lingered in the shadows.

He stumbles upstairs, flings himself into his bathroom, and throws up, acid and disgust and self-hatred doing nothing to expel the satisfied curl of power in his gut.

Monster. Murderer. Soul eater.

Yeosang clutches the edges of the toilet, sobs wracking his chest, and presses his cheek to the cold ceramic. Probably unhygienic.

He can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck.

~ ~ ~

Yunho is pretty sure he pissed off one of the managers—there is no way he pulled the short straw for being the last one to film his part in the music video or do his solo photoshoot this many times in a row.

Suppressing a sigh, he moves to his mark for “just one more take, we promise!” and relaxes his body into the dance moves, singing softly to lip-sync accurately. The rhinestones on the collar of his jacket are scratching uncomfortably at his neck, and sweat is dripping down his back.

“Ok, amazing Yunho-yah, that’s good! We’re done. Thank you for your hard work!”

Legs trembling from exertion on not enough food (he hasn’t eaten anything since waking up before the sun came up), Yunho bows and thanks the crew, before walking quickly towards the dressing area.

He barely gets two steps off the set before his chest lights on fire, doubling over in pain as his breath is forced from his lungs.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, who is it, which one of them—

Darkness, pain, sorrow, such deep, unending sorrow.

Yeosang.

“Yunho-yah, are you alright? Here, drink some water, you worked very hard today, come on, sit down—”

He takes the water, waves off the concerned gaggle of staff members, and forces himself upright to get to his bag, with his phone.

Eight Makes One Team

Yunho (9:15pm)
is anyone home right now?

Daddy (9:16pm)
studio
for fucks sake
Wooyoung if you do not change my name  
I will tell Hwa that you fucked San on his bed.

Sexy Witch has changed Daddy to Captain

Mommy (9:17pm)
…what

Mingles (9:17pm)
I’m at my mom’s
they fucked on your bed too, Captain

Captain (9:17pm)
who knows where I can burn my sheets

Yunho (9:18pm)
seriously, who the fuck is home
someone needs to check on Yeosangie
and I’m still at this fucking photoshoot

Sexy Witch (9:19pm)
I’m home, I’ll go now
what’s going on Yuyu?
also. CAPTAIN.
fuck you
not you Mingles, you’re perfect

Yunho (9:19pm)
he’s in pain
it’s bad, Woo
idk

Sexy Witch (9:20pm)
going now

Mommy (9:21pm)
glad you can take time out of your busy schedule
of fucking on other people’s beds

Sexy Witch has changed Mommy to Disappointed Parent

~ ~ ~

Yeosang doesn’t know how long he sits there, heaving until his stomach is empty and aching.

He doesn’t feel the soft thrum of the doorway activating in the shop below.

Doesn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs.

Doesn’t expect gentle hands to brush his hair away from clammy skin, press a cool washcloth to his face, replace cold tile with warm arms.

“Shh… I’ve got you, hyung.”

Wooyoung’s voice is quiet, out of place in his clamoring brain.

“Youngie? What… why are you here?” His voice rubs like sandpaper against the raw lining of his throat.

The witch pulls him to his feet and, keeping an arm wrapped around his waist, squeezes toothpaste onto a brush and hands it to him. In a daze, Yeosang brushes his teeth because his mouth feels fuzzy and sour.

“Yunho felt you panic. I’m done with my schedule for the day so I came to check on you.”

New tears well up and Yeosang sags against the counter. Wooyoung takes the brush from his hand and fills a cup with water. Yeosang rinses out his mouth, before staring at Wooyoung, waiting, needing him to decide on the next course of action because otherwise he’ll collapse in bed and curl around the ugly power in his stomach, digesting his guilt and shame and hatred of himself until he buries himself in the grave he never stops digging.

“Come on. Lemme make you something to eat.”

Wooyoung takes his hand, and Yeosang lets himself be tugged along, a child clinging to his parent’s coat in a crowd that towers endlessly over his head. In the kitchen, Wooyoung lets go of his hand and he whimpers before biting back the sound, tucking his hands into his sleeves and cringing backwards into the wall.

Monster monster monster chant the voices in his mind.

“Shh baby, it’s ok, you’re ok—” the witch walks over and grabs Yeosang’s waist, lifting him onto the counter between the fridge and the sink. Wooyoung runs his palms over Yeosang’s legs and the warmth of his touch begins defrosting the blurry glass wall separating Yeosang from reality. He leans into the touch, shoulders curving, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, ok?”

Wooyoung pulls back slowly, reaching into the fridge to grab ingredients for whatever he intends to make, and it’s easier, this time, to not panic at the sliver of distance between them. He keeps coming back, dropping small touches on his knee, the back of his neck, tangling their hands.

“I… ate a soul, today.”

Yeosang expects Wooyoung to freeze at his words, spin around, look appalled. Instead, he keeps cutting pieces of the kimchi Minho stocked in his fridge, scissors making a pleasing shick on each snip.

“A year or so after we debuted, guy groped me in a bar. I sucked out half his soul through his dick in the bathroom. Took at least thirty years off his life. And definitely gave him a case of erectile dysfunction.” Wooyoung’s voice is casual, conversational, as if they’re discussing a day at the office rather than the destruction of a person’s immortal soul.

“Then I went home, stood on the roof, and contemplated whether or not four stories was enough to ruin my body beyond Hongjoong’s ability to turn me.”

A different sort of pain curls in Yeosang’s stomach at the thought of losing Wooyoung before ever knowing him beyond a screen or stage.

“Sannie found me. I told him the truth that night, about what I did. And instead of pushing me away, letting me jump, he kissed me. Just to prove that he wasn’t afraid.”

Kimchi cutting completed, Wooyoung starts mixing something in a bowl, voice steady and quiet.

“It was my first kiss. I’d fucked men in alleys and fed on their lust but I’d never, ever, let them kiss me. I didn’t think I deserved it. Monsters don’t deserve love. My birth coven made that very clear when they beat me within an inch of my life and threw me out.”

The witch’s words hit him like daggers because he’s right, how dare Yeosang want these things, he doesn’t deserve—

“But that’s bullshit.”

Wooyoung turns around, two bowls of food balanced in his hands.

“We are monsters, I’m not gonna deny that. But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to exist.” He sets the bowls down on the table. “We deserve to survive, Yeosang. I didn’t choose to need sex, you didn’t choose to need souls, Jongho sure as hell didn’t choose the compulsion charm men into letting him eat them alive but here we all are, fucked by our circumstances and making the best of it.”

Wooyoung’s close now, tucked between Yeosang’s legs. He can count the dark eyelashes brushing softly over Wooyoung’s sharp cheekbones. Trace the subtle cracks in his lips.

Wooyoung’s breath caresses Yeosang’s skin as he leans in, brushing a soft kiss over his mouth. Tingling heat spreads from the brief contact, leaving Yeosang gasping, pulling the air from Wooyoung’s lungs as the other man leans back to meet his gaze.

“We deserve to be kissed.” A kiss brushes over the tip of his nose. “To be wanted.” Fingers thread through his hair to cradle the back of his head. “Loved.” Wooyoung’s lips press over his own, a real kiss this time, firm pressure grounding him.

Reminding him.

He exists, here in this moment with Wooyoung’s tongue weaving like silk into his mouth.

Yeosang pulls away with a gasp, and falls forward, pressing his face into Wooyoung’s neck, and lets his tears run freely over the witch’s golden skin. He holds him, pulling him off the counter to sit at the table with Yeosang on his lap. Between sobs, Wooyoung feeds him bites of food, and it’s just as delicious as last time. When Yeosang says as much, Wooyoung laughs, a loud cackle that makes Yeosang smile through his tears..

When the food is gone, Wooyoung brushes the wetness from his eyes and hands him a tissue for his nose.

He’s full of snot and his eyes are swollen and he’s sitting on the most beautiful man’s lap and it’s just—a lot.

“Fuck, I’m a mess. I… thank you. For coming over, for talking to me and cooking for me and, and—everything.”

Wooyoung grins, sharp and bright. “Hey, us monsters need to stick together. We’ll invite Jongie-bear next time, make it a throuple.”

Yeosang chokes on a sip of water, tear-streaked cheeks flaming, and slips out of Wooyoung’s lap.

He stretches, feeling the weight of the night fall heavy on his shoulders. It’s late, he’s sure Wooyoung needs to go, but he doesn’t want to be alone. But he won’t ask, he can’t be that selfish, Wooyoung has already—

“Do you have some clothes I can borrow?”

Yeosang stares at the witch who is wandering towards his bedroom as if he’s been in Yeosang’s apartment a million times.

“Um, yes, but why—”

“For me to sleep in, I’m not gonna cuddle you in jeans.” He says it with a remarkable amount of venom, as though the very existence of tight denim is an offence against the Gods.

Yeosang pulls out a black t-shirt and a pair of sweats, averting his eyes when Wooyoung immediately strips out of his clothes. The brief glimpse of smooth, toned limbs is going to haunt him as it is.

“Much better. C’mere.”

He follows Wooyoung as the witch snuggles under the covers and holds out his arms. Bangul the raindrop plushie sits next to him—Wooyoung must have brought it with.

“This is ok, right?” Wooyoung’s voice holds just a hint of uncertainty as Yeosang curls up with his head on the other man’s chest, grabbing the plushie to squeeze in one hand. He nods, and, in a moment of delirious bravery, presses a kiss to Wooyoung’s jaw, feeling the witch’s arms tighten around him.

“I really like you, Sangie. Thanks for letting me take care of you.”

A few more tears slip free as Yeosang cuddles closer, slipping one of his legs between Wooyoung’s, safe and warm beneath the blankets in the arms of a man who knows he is a monster… and likes him anyway.

~ ~ ~

When Yeosang’s eyes drift closed, tears still decorating his cheeks, Wooyoung can’t help but hold him just a little bit closer.

He’s never been one to love easily or quickly. Saying the words out loud makes him feel like it all might be ripped away from him. Much better to keep living in limbo, holding everyone just a little bit apart.

But now there’s Yeosang, a near stranger that his soul stretches to touch.

Loving Yeosang is easy.  

And if loving Yeosang is easy… maybe loving the rest of them is just as simple.

Wooyoung closes his eyes and presses his lips to Yeosang’s hair, smiling when he feels him grumble and snuggle closer.

They fall asleep like that, Yeosang resting half on his chest, entangled with each other, and San’s raindrop plushie squished between them.

Maybe next time… it could be San himself.

Chapter 15

Summary:

We get a lot of Hongjoong and Hwa in this chapter, and it's one of my favorites. A separate story centering on them will be coming soon! :)

CW: vague mention of suicidal ideation, panic attack

Things get spicy (for Hwa and Hongjoong) in the final section, from "Seonghwa watches as Yeosang steps through the doorway..."

~~~
Here's a side story for Seonghwa and Hongjoong's history :)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/69874626

Hongjoong forces himself to stand still, containing the restless energy threatening to explode out of him, fighting the urge to twist his fingers and bounce on his feet.

Yeosang seems to have no such limitation. The reaper shifts constantly, back and forth, worrying at his lip in a way that makes Hongjoong want to smooth away the hurt with his thumb.

“We don’t have to do this, Sangie-yah.” His grandfather might shove him bodily into a coffin and nail it shut for a week or so out of irritation, but he can handle it, if it’s for Yeosang’s comfort.

Yeosang sighs deeply and shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, I just… let’s get it over with.” He shifts back onto his heels and Hongjoong lays a hand gently on the reaper’s low back.

He absolutely does not think about how delicious the defined cut of Yeosang’s waist feels beneath his palm.

They stare at the intricate, gothic, wrought iron gates barring the entrance to the Kim coven house. Unnecessarily dramatic, in Hongjoong’s opinion, but adhering to the mundane world’s expectations of an ancient vampire greatly amuses his grandfather.

He reaches out and pricks a finger on the gate, causing it to swing open with a squeaky creak. Again, all for the ambiance. It’s not like they can’t oil the hinges. Rolling his eyes, he gestures for Yeosang to enter. The reaper hesitates, then grabs Hongjoong’s hand, flushing. He feels his own heart skip a beat, because apparently, he’s a schoolboy with a crush when it comes to Yeosang. Ridiculous.  

Yeosang’s fingers curl around his own in a tight grip as they walk up the path towards the house. Rather than continue to the massive front door with its guardian gargoyles leering down, Hongjoong leads them around to the side, to a smaller entrance. Pushing open the plain weathered oak door, he sweeps an arm out with a flourish.

“Welcome to the actual Coven house, sans dramatic flair.”

Hongjoong can’t help but laugh at the confused look on Yeosang’s face. They stand in a low hallway with cream-colored walls and a maroon rug running the length of the dark stained wood floor, lit by a sleek, curving inlaid silver light fixture overhead. The ceiling is painted black, lending the space a modern gothic edge.

Soft music is piped through the walls, something… familiar.

Yeosang begins humming and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Interesting soundtrack, hyung.”

Hongjoong groans and rolls his eyes. “He does this every time I visit, ever since Seonghwa showed him how to make a Treasure Sea playlist.”

Yeosang laughs softly, tension easing, though the death grip on his hand remains.

As if on cue, a pair of young naturally born vampires (one of them his cousin five times removed, or something like that) come down the hallway, sipping on colorful bubble tea and giggling at one of their phones.

“Oh my GOD, Joongie!! Clara, this is the oppa I was talking about, the really famous one—”

Hongjoong grabs Yeosang’s elbow and attempts to steer them past the two who somehow expand their tiny frames to block the entire hallway with teenage excitement. The shorter one, Clara, stares at him with big eyes.

“You’re… oh wow, this is crazy, I thought Zomi was full of shit when she said you were part of the Coven, oh my God, ok, ok can I, um, like, get your autograph?”

“Ah, well—”

“Oppa signs all of his albums for me, right Joongie?”

He can feel Yeosang’s barely contained laughter vibrating through their joined hands.

“I’m actually in a bit of a hurry, we have an appointment with Grandfather—”

“Hyung, I’m sure we have time for you to sign at least one photocard, right?” says Yeosang, the traitor, and Hongjoong glares at him while the reaper stares back with wide, innocent eyes.

Both girls laser in on Yeosang, eyes flitting between his face and down to their joined hands, then to each other, before coming back to rest on Hongjoong. He does not like the growing look of glee in their eyes.

“Oppa… is he your boyfriend?”

Yeosang makes a hacking noise, half cough, half panicked wheeze (serves him right), and both girls burst out laughing.

“Goodbye Zomi. See if I ever give you VIP tickets again. Nice to meet you Clara. I’m sorry you have to put up with my cousin.”

Clara grins and shrugged, saying, “I’ll have a photocard waiting, oppa. Don’t forget!”

Gritting his teeth into an approximation of a smile, he pulls Yeosang up the stairs at the end of the hall. The reaper’s wheezing evolves into full on laughter by the time they’re out of sight. His giggling is infectious, and Hongjoong’s face relaxes into a true smile in return.

“And that’s why I avoid the Coven house. Kids these days, no respect for their elders. No thanks to you.”

Yeosang leans on the wall and tilts his head, studying him. Hongjoong feels his skin prickle as Yeosang’s eyes drag down his body in open appraisal.

“You can’t be that much older than them, hyung.”

He feels fucking ancient.

“Me and Hwa were shoved into the fae realm for forty years as part of a treaty agreement between my Grandfather and Hwa’s uncle. Hwa needed to learn how to pass as a human and I needed to learn to refine my communication skills, apparently. He came with me when I was finally allowed to leave, and joined the company I’d been a part of before disappearing from the mundane world for a month. No surprise, the company immediately fell in love with Hwa and hired him on the spot.”

A frown folds between Yeosang’s eyes and the reaper looks down at their joined hands.

“And you? Did you fall in love with him too?” The moment the question slips out, Yeosang slaps his hands over his mouth in a panic. “I’m so sorry, that was—I can’t believe I asked that, ignore me—”

Fuck, he’s adorable. And as much as Hongjoong doesn’t like answering personal questions… coming from Yeosang, it doesn’t bother him so much.

“I hated him for the first ten years or so. He was icy and rude and thought he knew better than me about everything. But eventually we just… fell into each other. Then he saved my life, we soul bonded, and I realized that maybe eternity would be worth it if he was by my side.”

He leaves out the fact that Hwa saved him from himself.

Yeosang’s hands drop away from his mouth enough to murmur, “I’m glad he saved you. I—I’m really happy I know you, hyung.”

And there goes his heart again.

“I’m really happy I know you too, Yeosangie.”

Understatement of the decade. The comfort that comes from knowing his Circle is finally complete, feeling the aching empty space inside of him fill with warm shadow—he’s aware he can no longer live without Yeosang in his life.

And that’s not nearly as scary as it should be.

“Now, we’ve kept my Grandfather waiting long enough. He gets cranky in his old age.” He says the last loudly, as they walk towards a door of rich mahogany with golden inlay.

“I heard that, nestling,” comes a dry, amused voice from within. Hongjoong grins as Yeosang jumps, the reaper’s fingers digging into his palm.

“Don’t pretend it isn’t true,” he says, pushing open the office doors to find his grandfather sitting behind his desk, dressed in an impeccable, dove grey, three-piece suit, pure white hair pulled back from his face in an intricate braid, bright ruby eyes sparkling with mirth as he watches them enter. Yeosang freezes, gaping.

“You—he—” he turns to Hongjoong helplessly and points at the elder Kim. “Since when does he look like that?!”

Hongjoong snorts. “Wait til you see him in a track suit.”

His grandfather wrinkles his nose and glares at him. “I am never listening to that man again.”

The man is question is Mingi. Seonghwa’s last birthday party had been memorable, if only for the fashion choices. He turns to Yeosang and grins. “Don’t tell me he still wears the cloak to the Council meetings.”

His grandfather cackles, annoyance forgotten. “Of course I do, I have an image to maintain! Besides, it irritates Park Nunjoon.”

And his Grandfather takes personal delight in irritating Seonghwa’s uncle.

Yeosang crosses his arms and glares at the elder, who is still chuckling as he gestures for them to sit.

“Wine? Blood? That awful substance called IPA that the youngest nestlings seem to like?” He pronounces each letter of the beer with crisp clarity, making Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

“No, thank you. We didn’t come here to socialize.” The elder pouts and looks at Yeosang expectantly. The reaper shakes his head with a frown, takes a seat and leans forward.

 “Please just tell me why we’re here.”

“No one is any fun in this house,” mutters the old vampire, pouring himself a glass of wine and using a thick dropper to mix in a swirl of blood. “Fine. Two reasons. One, Joong-ah, I have decided I approve of your chosen romantic and sexual partners and will no longer try to set you up on blind-dates with eligible individuals from other covens.”

Hongjoong chokes on his spit, wheezing, as Yeosang turns redder than a poppy.

“Ah. Great. Thank you. I was really holding out for your approval.”

His grandfather purses his lips, looking at Yeosang with a long suffering frown. “See the disrespect I put up with, Yeosang-ssi? Who is it that saved your soul from eternal shadow?” He pauses and glares. Hongjoong blinks at him, keeping his expression blank. His grandfather sighs heavily. “Me. Who found a suitable and pleasing body for you to inhabit?” Another pause, for dramatic flair, because he clearly isn’t expecting Hongjoong to respond. “Me!”

The elder vampire stands up and walks grandly around the desk, posture just slightly stooped (the only sign of his age), stopping before the ever burning fireplace with crimson flames that fill the room with gentle warmth. “And who is it that sent you to the fae realm to fall deeply in love with the first member of your Circle, securing your position as one of the rising powers of our world?”

Yeosang makes a strangled squeaking sound. Hongjoong looks over to find him trembling, clearly moments from bursting into laughter and ruining his Grandfather’s dramatic performance. He wishes he would just go for it. It would save him from this torture.

“Not sure you can take credit for the last one, old man. It took ten years before Hwa and I could be in the same room without him flinging icicles at my head.”

His grandfather sits on the edge of his desk and huffs. “You were just as bad. Or am I misremembering when you accidentally tripped him into a well and refused to drop a rope?”

Oh for fucks sake. Hongjoong is never going to live this down. His entire image as a reserved, tough hyung and captain has been tossed out the window by his smirking grandfather.

“As much as this discussion of the trials and tribulations of my love life has been thrilling, you mentioned two reasons.”

With a final, victorious, fanged grin, his grandfather returns to his leather chair behind the desk and steeples his hands beneath his chin.

“Ah. Yes. Yeosang-ssi, I need to speak with the dragons, but they dislike me for some reason. You must convince them to attend the Council.”

Silence sweeps in, blanketing the room in a heavy hush, muting even the crackling of the fire. His grandfather casually sips his wine as if he hasn’t just dropped an impossible task in Yeosang’s lap.

“You need me to… what?”

The elder waves his wine glass in the air, holding it delicately in his palm.

“They’re fickle, arrogant spirits—” nothing like you Hongjoong mutters, earning a sharp look, “but they are easily taken in by curiosities. And you, Yeosang-ssi, are rather curious. Just rile up San-ah, his dragon will come right out.”

There’s an innuendo in there somewhere but Hongjoong is too busy watching Yeosang have a panic attack to focus on it.

Yeosang sits frozen in his chair, and when he reaches over to lay a hand on his knee, Hongjoong can feel him trembling.

“You’re overestimating my abilities, Elder Kim. Why would the dragons be interested in me?”

His grandfather hesitates, a miniscule pause, but it’s enough for Hongjoong to go on alert. There’s more to this than some inane whim.

“You’re the oldest reaper in existence, destined to a Circle that includes the ancestral descendent of One who Holds the Sea, with six other individuals of remarkable power. You hold thousands of years of memories in your mind. If not you, who?”

Hongjoong feels Yeosang go still. The muscle beneath his hand freezes, the flow of blood in his veins stagnant, his heart silent. Yeosang is a creature of magic, the mirage of life so convincing that Hongjoong forgets the reaper is technically undead.

“You’d be right, if I had access to those memories, but I don’t. I break curses and brew tea, I vomit every time I reap a soul, and I hide in my shop because the only memories I have of the outside world contain betrayal and pain. I am not the creature you make me out to be, Elder.”

His grandfather peers deep into Yeosang’s eyes. “You don’t have to access them. Do this for me, and I will give you the knowledge to break your cycle of rebirth without killing the siren. Your hunger for his soul is growing—you cannot hide it from me.”

Yeosang jerks as if electrocuted and scrambles to his feet, eyes flickering to Hongjoong.

He never mentioned Yeosang’s connection to Jongho. And by the way his grandfather smirks at him, the old man is pleased as punch by the effect his words inspired.

Yeosang’s breathing begins to come in short bursts, jerking irregularly in and out of his chest. Hongjoong doesn’t need to be an empath to feel his distress.

“Thank you, grandfather, for this fascinating conversation. We’ll be going now.”

The vampire smiles gently, resting his chin casually upon his palm. “The Fates spin webs askance to one another. It is in the gaps between their tangled threads that we can undo what they have written. Bring the dragons to the table, reaper, and I will help you slip through the Fates jealous grasp. Otherwise…” he pauses “…do tell me how the siren tastes. I’ve always had a preference for the unusual.”

A hiss slips from Yeosang’s lips and his eyes narrow, something dark, old and expansive brewing in his gaze. The reaper’s shadow stretches, a rug of darkness rolling out beneath Hongjoong’s feet to reach towards his grandfather. He sees the vampire’s eyes widen just a bit and feels energy building in the air.

“Yeos—”

A swirl of darkness sweeps him up, a cacophony of screams driving into his mind.

Freezing, awful, familiar screams.

Hongjoong flails for purchase, he needs to find Yeosang, he can’t get lost here, he won’t survive it again—

A hand closes around his wrist and yanks, and he stumbles into the warmly lit living room of Yeosang’s apartment. Energy shifts around them, running over him as if searching for injuries. Yeosang stands there, fingers clenched in a death grip around his wrist, staring at him in horror.

“I—I’m so sorry, I started to lose control and then I panicked and shadow stepped and dragged you with me, oh Gods that could have been so bad, shit, are you ok?”

Hongjoong is finding it incredibly difficult to answer, because Yeosang’s hands are cupping his face, thumbs brushing gently over his cheeks. The reaper’s frowning lips are inches from his own, his dark eyes still panicked but now it’s out of concern for him. Yeosang’s lips are full and pink, softly parted as he searches his face. Hongjoong can’t help but lean his face into the reaper’s palm, turning to press a kiss against the other man’s skin.

Yeosang’s breath hitches, and he pulls back.

“I’m ok. That was—weird. The darkness, it felt… alive?” He doesn’t mention that it also felt familiar. He needs to talk to Hwa about that particular revelation.

He doesn’t miss the way Yeosang stiffens, clearly uncomfortable. He guides them to the couch and begins running his fingers through Yeosang’s hair, tugging gently to guide the reaper to relax into his side. With a small sigh, Yeosang settles against him, arm coming around to wrap snugly over Hongjoong’s abdomen.

Knowing that Yeosang is willing to seek comfort from him heals the place in his heart that cracked the day he fucked up and broke Yeosang’s trust.

“My shadow holds all the souls I’ve reaped. That’s why it takes lifetimes before reapers can step through shadows or make blades of gloom or—lots of things, like I said, I am able to be scary when I need to be.”

He chuckles. “Ok, whatever you say.”

Yeosang smacks his stomach and pouts, snuggling closer.

He’s not complaining.

“Do you want to talk about it? What my ass of a grandfather said?”

Yeosang’s head shakes, and Hongjoong shivers as Yeosang’s mouth brushes over the sensitive skin of his neck.

“People always want to use me, as a weapon, or a bargaining chip. Whenever I think that maybe someone likes me for me, I end up humiliated and typically on my way to my next life.”

Well, fuck. No wonder he’d reacted so strongly to the shit with Eden.

“I thought you don’t remember much from your past lives?”

“It’s like looking through a fogged shower door—I get vague impressions, of betrayal and loss, and then Minho typically fills in some details. He… he always finds me. Says someone has to keep an eye on me.”

Hongjoong has a suspicion there’s more to that story, but he also knows the possibility of Minho telling him anything useful is less likely than Hwa letting him fry an egg in the kitchen.

“We don’t want to use you, Yeosangie. We just—” want to love you his brain helpfully supplies, but it’s way too fucking early for that to come out of his mouth, “—want to take care of you and get to know you.”

Yeosang pulls back and meets his gaze, and Hongjoong fights with the desire to press a kiss to the beautiful birthmark at the corner of his eye.

Ok, so apparently his heart, mind and body are fully on board with wanting Yeosang. Not unwelcome, but certainly unexpected. It took decades for him to be ready for things to move forward with Seonghwa, and Yeosang… is a splash of water against walls made of tissue paper, dissolving them with no effort at all.

“I want to know you, too. I want to believe that this can be real. I feel… safe, with you. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt safe before. Or if I did, I don’t remember. I only ever remember the bad.”

Hongjoong’s eyes prickle.

“Will you come back to the apartment with me, and let me and Hwa take care of you? We both have the evening off.”

Not entirely true; when Seonghwa heard that they were going to the coven house, he had informed the managers that he needed to reschedule the vocal coaching and PT session he was meant to be doing, to be home in case things went poorly and Yeosang needed to be spoiled.

Things certainly could have gone better.

Yeosang makes a small noise of agreement, and Hongjoong picks him up, speeding down the stairs to the doorway, and arriving in the apartment he shares with Yunho, Wooyoung, and Jongho in seconds.

“I—you people don’t have to carry me everywhere, you know.”

Hongjoong smirks down at him and tightens his grip. Sure, he doesn’t have to—but he likes how Yeosang feels in his arms.

“You know, when Jongho joined the company and we realized he was meant to be with us, San actually tried to pick him up and carry him.”

Yeosang snorts and Hongjoong feels a flood of happiness at making him laugh.

“I imagine that went over well.”

“Mmm Jongie-bear tackled him, put him in a headlock, then panicked when Wooyoung suggested they take off their shirts if they were gonna keep wrestling, and ran away.”

Yeosang dissolves into giggles, burying his face in Hongjoong’s neck. “You can put me down now, though.”

With a regretful sigh, Hongjoong does as instructed, setting Yeosang on his feet, but keeping his hands on his waist. A heavenly smell wafts from the kitchen—a quirk of biology, that he can appreciate the smell of food but is unable to actually eat it. Hwa’s head pokes out of the kitchen, face bare and rudely beautiful, and gives them a small smile.

“Hi darlings, dinner is just about ready Yeosangie. Joongie, I picked up the blood order from the bank today, and also grabbed a bottle of the spiced blood-wine you like. Youngie and Yuyu are upstairs having a double date night, and Jongho is still at the studio. We’ll probably need to go get him, he’s obsessing over the solo piece you gave him yesterday.”

Their youngest has a bad habit of demanding perfection of himself, to the point where he refuses to leave the studio for hours.

“I promised Yeosangie that we’d take care of him tonight. My grandfather was…”

“An asshole?” asks Hwa with a roll of his eyes. Yeosang snorts and walks up to him, wrapping his arms around Hwa’s waist in a hug that has the older man blushing and makes Hongjoong hum happily.

“Something like that,” murmurs Yeosang, still leaning into Hwa’s chest, before pulling back and eyeing his apron critically. Hongjoong spit blood all over himself the first time he’d seen Hwa wearing it, a joint gift from Wooyoung and San, which the fae wears proudly every time he’s in the kitchen. Granted, Seonghwa always has a shirt on underneath, to his growing disappointment… and Yeosang’s, apparently.

“You know, hyung… I think you’re missing out on the maximum effect of that apron.”

Ok, Hongjoong is definitely a little bit in love with the final member of their Circle, as Hwa’s face twists through shock, embarrassment, and finally settles on affection laced with hunger. It sends a thrill up Hongjoong’s spine. Fuck, why has it taken his body so long to catch up with his brain, with what his heart already wants? With Hwa… it felt like crossing that line would change everything…

Fuck it.

Hongjoong walks forward, presses up behind Yeosang, and yanks Hwa’s head down for a wet, open-mouthed kiss. Hwa stiffens in shock while Yeosang gasps softly, making no attempt to move away. Hwa lets out a shuddering breath and curls a hand around the back of Hongjoong’s head while wrapping his other arm around Yeosang’s waist to cage him in. Hwa’s cool tongue invades Hongjoong’s mouth, taking control that he willingly surrenders.

A breathy fuck whispered from the man pinned between them has Hongjoong breaking into giggles and Hwa pulling back to drop his forehead onto Hongjoong’s.

“Appropriate reaction, Yeosangie.”

They pull apart and Yeosang nearly collapses, but Hongjoong tugs him back against his chest, resting his chin on Yeosang’s shoulder.

“Slowest burn in history, I know.”

Yeosang turns his head to look at him. “You guys haven’t…?”

Hwa heaves an exaggerated sigh. “You can imagine the sexual tension. Well, Mingi doesn’t need to imagine, apparently he had a vision…”

Oh fuck, do not tell him Mingi saw him and Hwa— he drops his face into his hands, cheeks flaming. “I will never live this down.”

Yeosang snickers and walks into the kitchen to lean on the counter, watching as Hwa puts the finishing touches on dinner.

“At least your grandfather ‘approves of your chosen romantic and sexual partners’.”

Hwa wheezes with laughter as Hongjoong groans and glares at Yeosang, who smiles back innocently, eyes filled with mirth.

“Hwa, I think we might just have another brat on our hands.”

Yeosang flushes, rich laughter spilling from his chest, and Hongjoong’s heart settles as he feels the bond click into place. Whether or not Yeosang knows it… he’s a part of them now in a way that will never break.

~ ~ ~

Seonghwa watches as Yeosang steps through the doorway, which flares softly as he disappears from view.

The silence that follows is deafening.

It thrums, swelling with energy that’s been gathering since the moment Joong kissed him in the kitchen, beautiful Yeosang trapped between them, Hongjoong’s mouth demanding and desperate and perfect.

So fucking perfect, and the amount of effort Seonghwa expended to not cart the vampire off into the bedroom by the end of dinner was really heroic.

But now it’s just them. And he can feel Hongjoong hovering quietly, tension snapping back and forth between them.

Hunger, the likes of which he has never seen in Hongjoong’s eyes flares and pulses. The vampire’s fangs are extended, thin and delicate, and Seonghwa wants to feel them in his flesh. For so many years, the closest physical intimacy he had with Joong were the moments when the other fed from him.

He’d honestly thought that was the limit of what Joong wanted, and he was happy with it. He’s happy with him in whatever form their relationship takes. He fell in love with the vampire years before he even admitted to finding him tolerable. Not that he intends to tell him that—Hongjoong’s ego doesn’t need inflating.  

“Hwa…” Hongjoong stalks forward and Seonghwa holds up a hand. The vampire immediately stops, looking uncertain.

“I need to know what you want, Joongie. I… I want everything with you, anything you want, but I don’t want to push you—”

Hongjoong’s fingertips graze over his cheek and he shudders, words stuttering to a halt.

“I want… all of it. All of my firsts, with you and maybe with…” he watches Joong trail off, hand falling to fiddle with a fraying patch of textured fabric on his shirt.

“With Yeosang, too?” he finishes, smiling as Joong blushes and runs both hands through his hair.

“I don’t—is that ok? He’s… just… fuck.” Seonghwa bites back a laugh at Joong’s helpless expression and takes pity on him, slowly walking them back towards his bedroom.

“Kissing you with him between us almost made me come in my pants, so yeah, Joong, pretty sure its ok.”

Hongjoong trips over his feet and Seonghwa grabs him, taking advantage of the vampire’s distraction to bend down and lick into his mouth. He presses Joong against the wall, caging the smaller man within his arms, tentatively pushing a thigh between Hongjoong’s legs, rewarded by the vampire grinding down with a moan.

“Fuck—Hwa—the others, if they—”

He’s pretty sure the others have a betting pool going about the two of them, and would be over the moon to get some answers, but to spare Hongjoong from perceived embarrassment, Seonghwa hurries him into the bedroom and slams the door, throwing the lock, before shoving the vampire up against it.

Hongjoong melts under his touch, and Hwa doesn’t bother controlling the frost—it can’t hurt him. And being able to drop the control, to sink his fingers into Hongjoong’s hair and pull, drinking in the other man’s moans…

He’s slightly concerned about his ability to last.

Hongjoong shoves his hands up the back of Seonghwa’s shirt, and he feels nails drag down his skin. It rips a whimper from his lips and he begins kissing along Joong’s sharp jaw.

Years of pent up desire and need and love explode in a torrent. Seonghwa really hopes that Hongjoong will stop him if he goes too far, because right now, the image of the vampire panting beneath his touch, mouth red and wanting, is destroying the last shreds of his sanity.

Seonghwa runs the tip of his nose along Joong’s neck, darting out his tongue to lick the smooth line of the other’s collarbone, pushing aside the shirt that keeps getting in the way. Better yet—

He grabs the bottom of Hongjoong’s shirt and pauses, waiting for a sign that this is ok. They’ve seen each other naked, all of them have seen each other naked, it’s the curse of living in a too-small dorm together, but this—undressing each other with the intention to savor—this is new.

Hongjoong raises his arms overhead, allowing him to tug his shirt off, mussing up his dark hair in the process.

Revealing a smooth, flat abdomen with faint abs, pecs that he wants to bite and nipples that he can’t help but pinch, getting a breathy moan from Hongjoong in return. Seonghwa kisses his way down the other’s chest, pausing to nip at his navel before settling back on his heels, kneeling at Hongjoong’s feet.

The vampire’s pupils are blown, his chest rippling in quick breaths, a gratifying reaction since vampire’s don’t need to breathe. Seonghwa holds his gaze as he slowly reaches forward, fingertips brushing over the waist of Joong’s pants.

He wants nothing more than to nuzzle forward, rub his face against the outline of Hongjoong’s cock that he’s dreamed about on far too many occasions, but he forces himself to hold still, waiting.

Hongjoong reaches down, his fingers threading into Seonghwa’s hair, tugging him forward just a bit.

It’s enough. Enough to know that Hongjoong wants this, to give him permission to tuck his fingers beneath the button of Joong’s pants and slowly tug them down his legs.

Hongjoong gasps as air meets his newly revealed skin, leaning against the smooth wood of the door in only his briefs, while Seonghwa sits fully clothed at his feet. It’s heady, having the vampire naked and coming undone before his eyes.

He rubs his hands firmly over Hongjoong’s hips, squeezing his small waist, and grinning at the shudder that goes through the vampire’s body. “Joongie… I want to taste you.”

Hongjoong groans, head hitting the door with a thunk.

“Yes, fuck, ok please, Hwa, anything, anything you want—”

A dangerous thing to say.

He leans forward and mouths Hongjoong’s cock through the soft cotton, sucking at the dark spot already forming at the tip. The vampire lets out a broken moan, fingers tangling harder into Seonghwa’s hair. Each sharp, involuntary tug sends heat to his groin, his own cock already painfully hard.

Surging back up, Seonghwa kisses Hongjoong desperately, biting his lower lip, and letting his breath mist with ice crystals as he pulls away. The room is shimmering with a soft almost snow, outlining Hongjoong’s hair with a frosted glow.

“Lie down on the bed,” he murmurs, smiling as Hongjoong scrambles to obey. Seonghwa leans over him, hooks his fingers into the waist of Joong’s underwear, and peels them off his body. Feeling the vampire tense, he drops kisses on his lover’s calves, the inside of his ankle, the outside of his hip, before moving back to settle between Joong’s legs.

Seonghwa rubs his cheek along Hongjoong’s inner thigh before wetting his lips with his tongue and dragging them over Joong’s sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Hwa—”

He licks a stripe up Joong’s cock and the vampire lurches up, hips jerking and feet shifting restlessly on the bed. Seonghwa presses Joong’s hips down into the bed, shouldering his lover’s legs open, and takes his length fully in his mouth.

Whimpered panting interspersed with his name becomes the mantra spilling from Hongjoong’s lips as Seonghwa drowns in the pleasure of his taste, the weight of him on his tongue, his heat… he exhales, icy breath washing over Joong’s skin and the vampire cries out.

Loudly.

If anyone’s home, they will definitely know the bet’s been settled.

Seonghwa eases into a rhythm, swirling his tongue and letting Hongjoong’s cock hit the back of his throat, sliding down a bit further when Joong’s hands tighten mercilessly in his hair.

“Hwa, I can’t—fuck, I’m—I’m gonna come, hyung--!”

Seonghwa swallows and sinks to the root, nose pressed to Hongjoong’s pelvis, and hums. With a moaned curse, Hongjoong comes, shaking beneath Seonghwa’s hands, cock pulsing in his mouth as he swallows every drop.

Pulling off when Hongjoong whimpers from overstimulation, Seonghwa crawls up his body, smiling into the kiss Joong immediately drags him into.

“You have no idea how often I’ve gotten off thinking about doing that.”

Hongjoong’s eyes go wide. “You… got off to the thought of blowing me?”

That, and so much more. Things he never thought would be more than a fantasy, but now…

“Do you want more, Joongie-yah?” he asks, running his nose over Joong’s neck, kissing the delicate skin behind his ear.

“Yes, hyung, please I want—” Joong cuts off, flushing.

He needs to know, because whatever Joong wants, he’s going to get.

“Tell me, love.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath and focuses on the ceiling. “I want… you to fuck me.”

Seonghwa’s breath gets stuck somewhere behind his sternum and maybe it just gets tangled with his heart that is definitely five sizes too big like the fucking grinch or something because in all of his fantasies he never imagined that, always thought Joong would want to fuck him—

“Gods, Joong, you’re sure? We can always do the other way around, if that’d be more comfortable.”

Hongjoong slides his hands under Seonghwa’s shirt and pulls it off, pushing him to roll over onto his back, before working at his belt. Soon, he’s just as naked as the vampire, and finds himself the subject of intense scrutiny. He fights the urge to fidget as Hongjoong’s hungry stare drags over his body.

The vampire’s hand drifts towards Seonghwa’s groin, tracing the artery that pulses there beneath his pale skin, before closing around his cock.

He’d be embarrassed by the noise that comes out of his mouth if Hongjoong wasn’t busy sweeping down to capture his lips in a deep, desperate kiss. He feels Joong’s hand squeeze around his cock and he keens, thrusting up, the friction almost too much but so, so good.

“Please, Hwa. I wanna feel you.”

Liquid heat sears through his veins, battling the frost, leaving him shaking, and he moves without thinking, flipping their positions and caging Hongjoong beneath him once more. He slowly lowers down until his cock slides over Hongjoong’s, making them both moan. His fingers twist in the sheet by Hongjoong’s head, hand sliding until it can clasp the vampire’s in his own.

With a dragging kiss, he sits back on his heels and runs his fingertips, feather light, over Hongjoong’s thighs, pushing them up and fuck he’s gorgeous, maybe that’s a weird thing to think about someone’s asshole but Seonghwa is beyond caring.

He waves a hand and gathers the mist to his fingers to wet them, finally tracing a fingertip around Joong’s rim.

“Hyung I… I haven’t…” Hongjoong trails off, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezing shut.

Oh. He’d never…?

“Tell me, love.”

“I’ve never fingered myself.”

A bone deep surge of pride and satisfaction settles into Seonghwa’s gut. It’s primal, dark and possessive and he hisses through his teeth at the spike of arousal that shoots to his already straining cock.

“Shit, Joongie. Thank you, for… giving me this. For giving me you.”

Hongjoong slowly uncovers his eyes, and Seonghwa leans down to kiss him, softly, just moving their lips together, while he steadily presses one finger inside. Hongjoong gasps, eyes shooting wide and mouth dropping open, as Seonghwa gently moves his finger in and out, letting him get used to the sensation.

“Feel ok?” he asks, when Hongjoong remains silent, staring at him. Gulping, the vampire nods quickly and whimpers as Seonghwa presses in and up, brushing over his prostate.

“Shit, there—what—fuck, Hwa, more, I need more, please—”

Well, he isn’t going to deny him. Slicking up another finger, he presses it alongside the first, Joong’s body hot and silky around him, opening up so beautifully. Hongjoong hisses at the stretch and Seonghwa tilts his head, still moving steadily and scissoring slightly.

“Still good?”

“Yes, yes, burns so good, need it, need you—”

He’s never seen Hongjoong this undone, a writhing, panting mess beneath him, hips beginning to push down onto his fingers, hands coming up to dig into his back.

“You’re going to take another now,” he murmurs, head spinning with the control, so easily handed over by a man who bends for no one. Hongjoong stiffens and winces with the third, so fucking tight around his fingers, and Seonghwa pauses.

“I… I’m ok, it’s ok just keep going.”

But Hongjoong’s brow is furrowed in a frown and it’s his first time and Seonghwa needs to make this good for him. He pulls out his fingers, ignoring Joong’s whine of protest, and shifts to sit against the headboard.

“Come here,” he says, tugging Hongjoong over to straddle his thighs. He slips a hand beneath his lover, pressing two fingers back in easily, and drawing Hongjoong’s mouth to his neck with the other.

“Drink, Joong. It’ll distract you, help you relax. Yeah?”

Hongjoong shivers, hips shifting in small movements as he begins to ride Seonghwa’s fingers instinctively. His fingers find Hongjoong’s prostate once more, pressing, and the vampire strikes, fangs sinking into Seonghwa’s neck. Immediately, he feels Hongjoong’s body relax around his fingers, and he slowly presses the third back in, finding far less resistance this time. Hongjoong simply moans, licking and sucking at Seonghwa’s neck.

“Perfect, you’re so perfect baby, fuck, I could do this forever, love feeling you on my fingers.”

Seonghwa doesn’t know where the stream of words keeps coming from, tumbling out of his mouth with no filter, but Hongjoong seems to like it, hole spasming on his fingers and moans spilling from his bloody lips. Seonghwa presses all the way in to the last knuckle, twisting his fingers and slowly pulling them out, spreading and stretching, until Hongjoong is gasping and pulling away from his neck.

“Please, please, now, I need you, fuck me, I need—”

The vampire’s hips are rutting against his abdomen, hard cock smearing precum over his skin, and Seonghwa is floating in a dream because this can’t be reality, to have Hongjoong desperate and squirming naked in his lap, to be pressing the tip of his cock to Joong’s hole, to feel him stretch and take him in…

“Fuck, hyung, I—I don’t—”

Seonghwa strokes his hands gently over Hongjoong’s back, letting him adjust. “Take it at your pace, go slow.”

He sees Hongjoong’s impatience warring with discomfort and bites back a giggle. Slowly, the vampire works himself down onto Seonghwa’s cock, and he bites down hard his inner cheek to keep himself from coming on the spot, from the love of his life surrounding him in tight heat.

When he’s finally sheathed fully in Joong’s body, they both pause, trembling, and Hongjoong collapses forward against his chest, breathing heavily. “I just… need a moment. So full, Gods you feel so good.”

He strokes Hongjoong’s back, feeling his muscles shift and tense under his palms. Despite his body resting on a knife’s edge of sexual release, he feels content, safe and warm and loved.

Hongjoong begins grinding down experimentally, and Seonghwa groans, gripping his waist to help him move and burying his face in the vampire’s neck. Hongjoong slowly raises up, before falling back down with a breathy moan, shivering, and picking up the pace. Seonghwa presses open mouthed kisses to Hongjoong’s neck, focusing on the silky skin beneath his lips instead of the intense and mind-shattering pleasure consuming his cock.

“Hwa, Hwa I need—I—please—”

He’ll give him anything. Keeping one hand at the small of Joong’s back, Seonghwa wraps the other around the vampire’s cock, stroking in time with his movements. He can feel Hongjoong’s thighs start to tremble with the effort of riding him, but his lover has a determined look in his eyes.

Seonghwa begins thrusting up into Hongjoong’s warm, pliant body, quickening his strokes until the vampire is arching back, cum shooting in ribbons up their chests.

“Don’t stop, wanna feel you, please hyung—”

His body seizes up as a sudden wave of pleasure crashes over him, and he pulls Hongjoong down hard on his cock as he come deep inside. The vampire whimpers, lapping at the trickles of blood on Seonghwa’s neck, arms wrapped firmly around his body.

“Fuck, Hongjoong-ah.”

“mmm” comes the sleepy response against his skin.

Seonghwa shifts, slowly lifting Hongjoong up and off his cock, before sweeping him up into his arms. The vampire grumbles but doesn’t protest.

“Let’s get cleaned up. I’ll run you a bath.”

Hongjoong snuggles into his chest and drops a kiss over his heart.

“Love you, Hwa” Joong mumbles, words vibrating against his skin.

Seonghwa stumbles, his heart pattering away from him on a race against itself.

“You’re so soft and cuddly and adorable after sex, Joongie.”

A half-hearted slap to his chest, before another kiss, this time on his nipple. Seonghwa sucks in a breath and pinches Hongjoong’s ass, depositing him on his feet in the bathroom. The vampire watches him blearily as he fills up the bath, dropping in a lavender bath bomb which fizzes with an explosion of bubbles.

Hongjoong steps into the water, and pulls on Seonghwa’s hand until he joins him, sinking down to pull Hongjoong back against his chest. The vampire sighs, relaxing fully into his arms.

“You hold my heart, Joong-ah.”

He hears Hongjoong laugh softly. “I promise not to drop it.”

Seonghwa presses a kiss to the top of Hongjoong’s head.

“I trust you, Joongie.”

Chapter 16

Summary:

“The only way it could have been better would be watching you... instead of just hearing it over the phone.”

Mingi has a vision, Yeosang is stressed, and some fantasies might be strong enough to make his undead heart beat.

Spicy from "It's definitely hot in the shop now..." to "Yeosang sags into the mattress..."

Jongho (8:01am)
remind me why I thought it was a good idea
to go to the gym before sunrise

Yeosang (8:03am)
no clue
mornings should be spent in bed
with blankets.

Jongho (8:05am)
is that an invitation?

~ ~ ~

Manipulate the ancient race of dragons into talking to a pretentious, pain in the ass elder vampire?

No big deal, totally. Easy.

Yeosang scowls and shoves away from the table in the back workroom, beginning to pace. What does Elder Kim want from the dragons? Who is ‘The One who Holds the Sea’? Presumably it’s a dragon and San is their descendant, but Yeosang doesn’t even know that for certain.

Basically, he knows fuck all about what’s going on and has no idea where to start.

Well. That’s a slight lie.

He can start by texting San. But the past month has started to convince him that San isn’t interested in getting to know him after all.

Since going to the Coven house with Hongjoong (and enduring a tension filled dinner in which he desperately wanted to climb both of his hyungs like trees and beg them to take care of him in ways that involved a bed or maybe the kitchen table, he wasn’t picky), he saw or texted with the other members constantly. He doesn’t know how they make time for him in their insanely packed schedule, but they seem determined to make him realize that they are serious about wanting him.  

Though the way in which they want him is… confusing.

He knows it’s more than physical want, but when he sees the deep romantic relationships they seem to have with each other, it’s hard to imagine finding a place among them.

Every evening, Wooyoung pops through the portal for their ‘Yeo and Woo Good Night Show’ (so named by the witch himself) which consists of a cuddle, a brief (far too brief, in light of Yeosang’s increasingly vivid late-night fantasies) kiss, and the demand that Yeosang recount exactly what he ate that day to make sure he’s taking care of himself. He suspects Wooyoung has been coerced into this by Seonghwa because the fae knows he can’t resist Wooyoung’s charms, but he’s not complaining.

Jongho is now a regular at his gym, and continues to text him at 8:01am every morning with random anecdotes. Seeing the maknae work-out would give him high blood pressure—if he were a living person with a beating heart, which he isn’t. Jongho always wears a skintight long-sleeved exercise shirt (likely to hide the scales) and long shorts, which do nothing to disguise the powerful muscles in his arms and chest, teasing tantalizing glimpse of his thick thighs and lean calves.

Yeosang isn’t the only one appreciating the view; he’s caught Jongho staring on more than one occasion. After a memorable moment in the locker room where the siren came in right as Yeosang was pulling on a fresh shirt and promptly walked directly into an open locker door, before flushing deep red and booking it into the shower, Yeosang stopped questioning where he stands with the maknae.

He gamed with Yunho a few more times online, staying up far too late and even drifting to sleep with the sound of Yunho’s voice in his headset. Yunho was so engrossed in the game, it had apparently taken the idol ten minutes to realize Yeosang wasn’t paying attention on the other end of the com.

Mingi came over when he had an unexpectedly free afternoon and kept Yeosang company as he worked. The rapper’s presence was far more distracting than helpful, though he can’t complain about the business his visit drummed up. Yeosang has a fair number of new customers coming in, hoping for a glimpse of one of the idols now rumored to frequent his shop.

Speaking of that… the company absolutely knows he exists now. Mingi’s visit ended with a harried manager ducking through the shop door, physically face-palming when he saw Mingi flirting with a pair of floral fae, and scooting through the gawping customers to retrieve the errant idol. After Mingi very casually introduced Yeosang with no explanation, followed by waving to the various excited (and luckily, respectful) fans, the manager looked about ready to pull out his hair. As they left the shop, the manager turned back to frown at Yeosang who rapidly busied himself behind the counter.

Mingi had not visited during business house since, and he’d gotten a text from Hongjoong saying that the managers wanted to sit down and meet him sometime.

The captain was once again buried in the studio, and Seonghwa had been out of the country for a few fashion brand events. Despite their overloaded schedules, Hongjoong found the time to send Yeosang a sample of a new song and ask for his thoughts (fucking incredible, made him want to cry and also maybe vomit because he was holding a literal unpublished piece of gold in his digital hands), and Seonghwa sent him daily behind the scenes photos of him wearing chic and expensive clothing that made Yeosang’s mouth fall open on more than one occasion.

And then there was San. Who hadn’t texted him once. Yeosang isn’t sure what he did to make the dragon-blooded man pull away, but he’s stuck in a cycle of worry that he must have done something to make San uncomfortable.

He should just text him, see if he wants to share a meal this weekend, before the group leaves for a promotional fan-meet in Japan. They’ll be gone for five days, and Yeosang is already moping about it.

He grabs his phone, stares at the lock screen with its swirling blue wallpaper, wills himself to open his messages… and puts his phone face down on the table. Huffing, he turns back to the herbs which are spread out before him, methodically grinding and rolling them out, before packaging them in sachets for Seungmin to infuse with a bit of magic. Not too much, because his teas go to the mundane as well as the magical, but enough that good health and sprinkle of luck might follow someone for a day or two after visiting his shop.

When his phone buzzes, his hands are covered in powdered rose petals that he quickly brushes off, grimacing when he realizes he’s probably leaving pink handprints on his pants, and swipes into his messages.

Two idiots and their hero

Mingles (8:53pm)
hiiii Yeosangie-hyung
me and Yunho
were just thinking about you

Yuyu (8:53pm)
something we do a lot

Mingles (8:54pm)
but this time it’s cuz I had another vision
of us

Yuyu (8:54pm)
the three of us

Yeosang (8:55pm)
what kind of vision
an oracle kind
or a ‘manifesting something you want to happen’ kind

Yuyu (8:56pm)
lol
we definitely want to manifest this one
but it was an oracle vision

Mingles (8:56pm)
we wanna tell you about it
but we also don’t want to make you uncomfortable
by moving too fast

Heat flashes over his skin in a pleasant prickle, he glances over at the fireplace to see if the shop has started a spontaneous blaze.

It hasn’t.

Yeosang (8:57pm)
why would it make me uncomfortable?

Mingles (8:57pm)
it wasn’t exactly PG

Yuyu (8:58pm)
one might consider it
adult content

It’s definitely hot in the shop now, warmth pooling in his stomach and curling lower. This… is going to be sexting, isn’t it? Is he ready for this? His body is certainly ready for this. He’s gotten himself off to thoughts of how it felt to be pinned between the two tall, gorgeous idols…

Yeosang (9:00pm)
makes me feel less guilty
the number of times I’ve thought about both of you
is not insignificant

Yuyu (9:02pm)
thought about us… how?

Ok, now he’s literally on fire, his shadows whipping out from him as his control wavers.

Yeosang (9:02pm)
nope, your turn
tell me
please?

Yuyu (9:02pm)
fuck.

Mingles (9:03pm)
don’t spoil the ending, Yuyu

Oh, he is not going to survive this. They’d barely said anything, and his cock is already filling out in his jeans. He cannot do this in the back of his shop, where Felix might poke his head through the curtain at any time. Quickly putting the herbs away (he’d finish with them later), he goes upstairs and, after a moment’s debate, makes himself comfortable in a nest of pillows on his bed.

Yuyu (9:04pm)
Sangie, you’re gonna kill me

Mingles (9:04pm)
you should see his face

Yeosang (9:04pm)
?

Yuyu (9:04pm)
um
you know how I’m an empath
and can feel emotions through our bonds?
well
you’re sort of bonded to us now
so
whatever you’re thinking about
feels really fucking good

That should probably embarrass him but instead, it just fans the flames swirling around his stomach. Also… sort of bonded? That’s a thought to unpack when he isn’t about to have his first sexual experience of his reincarnation.

Yeosang (9:05pm)
that is…
very hot

Yuyu (9:05pm)
Princess, he’s srysly gonna kill me
like, cardiac arrest
right here next to you on the couch

Mingles (9:06pm)
don’t worry, you won’t die
a dead guy couldn’t do what you were doing in the vision

Yuyu (9:06pm)
oh.
right

Yeosang (9:06pm)
are you just gonna tease
or tell me?

Mingles (9:07pm)
Yuyu loves to tease

Yuyu (9:07pm)
you love it

Mingles (9:07pm)
ya, true
but Yeosangie is so cute, we should tell him

Yuyu (9:08pm)
go ahead baby

Mingles (9:08pm)
we’re in the shower

Yuyu (9:08pm)
naked

Mingles (9:08pm)
as one is, in the shower
and you’re between us
back against Yuyu’s chest
and he’s running his hands over you

Fuck, Yeosang dreams about having Yunho’s stupidly large, graceful hands on his body. A whimper escapes him as he lets the scene play out in his mind.

Mingles
his fingers rub at your nipples, pinching
and you let out this fucking gorgeous moan
and I can’t help it
so I sink to my knees and swallow you down
feeling you deep in my throat
and fuck if the vision was accurate on size
because

Yuyu (9:09pm)
he’s a size queen

Mingles (9:09pm)
no lie there

Yeosang drops his phone on his face, wincing when the hard edge of the case smacks into his nose, as his entire body jerks, the phantom wet heat of Mingi’s mouth ghosting over his cock. Shit, he can’t hold his phone and read and imagine and take some of the pressure off his dick at the same time…

Yeosang (9:10pm)
um
is it possible
to listen to you
instead of text?

There is a two minute break in which Yeosang thinks he must have crossed a line, before—

“Decided that you need your hands free, hyung?” Mingi’s voice is deep, raspy, and sends a thrill down Yeosang’s spine.

“We’re in Mingi’s room now,” comes Yunho’s voice, sounding slightly out of breath as if they had sprinted to get privacy. “And Yeosang… Mingi asked you a question.”

The empath’s voice deepens with a thread of demand spiking directly into Yeosang’s psyche and leaving him a mess.

He stutters as he rushes to respond. “I—yes, yeah I want… my hands free.”

Mingi chuckles and starts talking, picking up right where he’d left off.

“While I’m choking on your cock, Yuyu’s sliding his hands down your back, bending you forward over his arm. You bury your hands in my hair—” fuck came Yunho’s voice, strained and shaky, “—and when Yuyu starts touching you, you jerk your hips into my mouth, pushing down my throat, and it feels fucking incredible.”

Yeosang moans and an answering groan comes through the phone.

“Are you touching yourself, Yeosangie?” Yunho’s voice cracks, catching in the middle of his name as the sound of skin moving on skin filters through the phone. He isn’t really, just pressing the heel of his hand against his cock to get some relief, but at Yunho’s words, he whimpers.

“Can I?” He wants permission, wants to be good for them—

Yunho breathes out a curse. “Fuck, baby, yes, yes I want you to touch yourself.”

Yeosang strips off his pants and boxers, pulling his shirt off too because he always feels awkward in only a shirt, and wraps a hand around his cock with a moan of relief.

“Gods, I could listen to you forever.” He can’t hear them both panting now, and the realization that he’s gonna listen to them getting off makes his cock jump in his hand.

“Yuyu stretches you, his fingers curling perfectly—” Yunho snorts and in a ragged voice says, “there’s no way you can know that from a vision, Princess.” Mingi scoffs and Yeosang can almost see his shrug. “But I know how your fingers feel in me, and I’m sure you’d be just as perfect for Sangie, right?”

Yunho bites off a groan. “Yeah, yeah I would, fuck Princess—” his words cut off with a muffled moan.

“When Yuyu finally pushes into you, he fucks your cock down my throat until I’m crying, digging bruises into your thighs.”

Yeosang grabs lube from his bedside table and coats two fingers, spreading his legs to push one inside. He whimpers and Mingi’s voice stumbles.

“Yuyu if you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum!”

Yunho laughs and gets a growl from Mingi in return, making Yeosang giggle breathlessly as the last bits of embarrassment shred away.

This is a vision of the future which Yeosang is 100% on board with.

“Ok, shit, Yuyu starts to lose control and fucks you harder and I’m touching myself because I want to cum with both of you, and I can taste you on the back of my tongue and your face looks so fucking gorgeous as you cum. Yuyu fucks you through it and buries himself deep and fills you up and I make a fucking mess of myself at your feet.”

It feels so good, Yeosang has three fingers deep in his ass, fisting his cock faster, and he’s so close—

“Come for us, Yeosangie baby,” rasps Yunho, and Yeosang’s back arches as he cries out, his release shooting out over his stomach. Matching groans filter through the phone, and he knows the other two tipped into orgasm as well.

Yeosang sags into the mattress, brain struggling to believe that just happened. But they aren’t talking on the other side of the phone, if it wasn’t for their breathing he wouldn’t even know they’re still there. Was he too loud, did it turn them off and now they are regretting this or—

“Sangie, are you ok?”

Gods, Yunho can probably feel him panicking, this is ridiculous, of course they want this, they started this, and now he’s spiraling because of his own insecurities, laying here naked covered in his own cum and ruining what should be a post orgasmic glow for all three of them.

“Yeah, I—no, I don’t know, fuck I’m sorry—” and now he’s crying, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and he doesn’t get it, doesn’t know why he feels so overwhelmed, his chest heavy and throbbing.

Yeosang stumbles up to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and hissing at the cold water on his sensitive skin, forgetting his phone entirely. He stares at himself, face tear streaked and blotchy, in the mirror. Biting his lip hard enough to bleed, a trickle of black blood running down his chin, he spins away from the mirror and throws on a pair of sweats and Yunho’s sweatshirt he’d yet to give back from the night he’d almost died in their apartment.

He hears his door open and a voice call out, “Yeosangie? It’s us. We—we just wanted to check on you. If you don’t—don’t want to see us, you can just, um, say something so we know you’re ok and then we’ll… go.”

No, he doesn’t want them to leave, he just wants to be something that isn’t him, to not be awkward and impossible and emotional and easily overwhelmed and all of the things that he is sure will eventually make them realize that he isn’t worth it.

But he’s stuck with himself, and he’s tired of giving up on happiness just because there’s a risk of losing it in the end.

Yunho and Mingi are wearing similar sweats, hair mussed and cheeks flushed, smelling of sex and each other. Yeosang wants to drown himself in their arms. Instead, he stands stiffly on the other side of the room.

“I… I’m so sorry, I got overwhelmed and started to overthink and panicked. I don’t blame you if you regret doing that with me, I know I ruined it all.”

Yunho’s eyes widen and he strides forward, crossing the room quickly to sweep Yeosang into a tight hug, one hand rubbing warmly down his back. “No, Sangie, you didn’t ruin anything, we were worried we moved too fast and pushed you into doing something you didn’t want.” Mingi walks over at a more sedate pace until he can wrap his arms around them both and rest his cheek on the top of Yeosang’s head.

“You were perfect, baby. I think I came so hard I passed out.”

Yeosang snorts despite himself at Mingi’s serious tone, twisting in Yunho’s arms to face the oracle.

“So I wasn’t… weird or too loud or anything?”

Mingi stares down at him, expression heated, and slowly bends to capture Yeosang’s lips in a soft kiss. His mouth is full, wide, encompassing Yeosang’s with warmth and gentle pressure before pulling away.

“The only way it could have been better would be watching you cum instead of just hearing it over the phone.”

His heart is pounding, his body strung tight, trembling in their arms.

“That, um, I haven’t—I haven’t had sex yet, in this lifetime, and I don’t… remember. Having it. In my other lifetimes even though I’m sure I did. So this is all… a lot. In a good way. Fuck, in a really good way. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Yunho’s hands tighten on his waist and he groans, barely biting back the request for those hands to move lower.

“So we’re your first…?”

Yeosang manages a nod and goes to cover his face, but Mingi’s hands trap his and keep him from hiding.

“Fuck, sweetheart, that’s… thank you. For giving us this.”

Well, shit, he’s going to start crying again because they treat him like he’s precious, like he’s worth caring for. All of them do.

And he wants to care for them too.

“Would you both like to stay? I… I’d like to cuddle. If that’s ok?”

Both Yunho and Mingi immediately nod, identical grins spreading over their faces.

“Ooooh Wooyoungie is gonna be so jealous!!”

That’s something he hadn’t considered; whether the members would be jealous of him spending time with the others.

As if reading his mind (which, though he knows Yunho can only sense his emotions, he still thinks is a definite possibility) Yunho says, “I’m just kidding, Sangie. Youngie won’t be upset, not really. We all talked together about how we like you and want to be more than friends, and decided to pursue that as each of us wanted. We… probably should have talked to you about it too.”

Yes, that would have been helpful, but Yeosang is at least happy to know the rest had discussed it… even though it makes him flush to imagine them openly discussing wanting to be with him.

They settle on the couch with ice cream (chocolate crunch with caramel) and a movie, chatting and cuddling until Yeosang’s eyes start to droop.

He leads them into his bedroom, looked critically at his bed for a moment, and concentrates. Before their eyes, it expands, the room stretching with it, until it can comfortably fit the three of them and his pillow nest. Mingi gasps at the display.

“That’s so fucking cool. You can just…” he waves his hands in an expanding gesture and Yeosang laughs. “Yep. Ever since Hwa-hyung made the doorway, the shop has way more power. So changing the size of the bed—” he pinches his fingers and shrinks the bed to the size of a book, before letting it expand again, “—is nothing.”

Yunho walks forward and runs a hand over the center of the mattress which is still warm from Yeosang’s activities. “So… you could make a bed that fits all eight of us?”

Yeosang gulps, images flooding his already overstimulated mind, and he sits heavily on the side of the bed as his legs give out. Chuckling, Yunho crawls into the middle and tugs Yeosang against him, pushing back the covers as Mingi joins them. The two curl around him, his back to Yunho’s front, Mingi’s arm reaching across to wrap over Yunho’s hip.

“Sangie-yah… can I have a goodnight kiss?”

Yeosang smiles and twists his head to meet Yunho’s lips, teeth dragging over the idol’s lower lip as he pulls away, heart fluttering—

Heart fluttering.

His heart.

Is beating.

What the fuck?

He’s dead. Undead. His heart doesn’t beat, it doesn’t need to, black ichor runs through his veins, drawn by magic.

But right now, his heart is pattering away as Mingi brushes kisses over his throat and Yunho captures his lips once more.

As they settle into sleep, Yeosang can’t help but press a hand to his chest, feeling his heart slowly relax, slowly, slowly… until it stops.

Yet in the stillness, he feels the phantom beat thrumming in his chest.

And a strange itching along his shoulder blades, which slowly fades as sleep takes him in its soft embrace.

Notes:

Yeosang has phone sex with Mingi/Yunho based on a vision Mingi had of the three of them in the shower.

Chapter 17

Summary:

What happens when a pixie, a vampire, a warlock, a witch, a dragon, a reaper, a... you get the idea. The Stray Kids crew makes a cameo, there's a bit of Wooyoung/Changbin chaos (because I love their friendship), and Yeosang finally learns what San's hiding beneath those grey sweatpants.

Smut warning from ":Yeosang hisses out a breath" to "he looks entirely wrecked"

This chapter is a bit of angst with a whole lot of fluff (and smut) and love.

Enjoy :)

San watches as Wooyoung books it out of their manager’s car the moment it pulls to a stop, hastily keying in their apartment code and speeding up the stairs with a bouncing step. San follows at a slower pace, not bothering to go to his own room, fully intending to spend the night in Wooyoung’s bed. They rarely sleep apart, save for the times one of them ends up with Hwa, Mingi or Yunho.

But when he reaches the door to Wooyoung’s room, he sees the witch packing an overnight bag, haphazardly tossing in clothes and toiletries, zipping the bag shut before anything can spill out.

San bites back a jealous snap and leans against the doorway. Wooyoung looks up from his bag and smiles at him, eyes warm with a faint purple glow. The incubus is flirting close to the surface. That’s why San had assumed they’d be spending the rest of the night in bed, lost in each other.

“You’re heading to Yeosang’s place?”

Wooyoung’s smile spreads, a shadow of something predatory in his gaze. “Mhm. He asked me to spend the night.” Something must show in San’s face, because the witch’s smile falls. “I didn’t push for it, I swear!”

“I know, Youngie, I trust you. We all do. I’m glad he asked. I figured he would, since Yunho and Mingi broke the ice.”

When Mingi had spilled about the phone sex followed by cuddling with Yeosang, San had spent two hours in the gym driving himself to exhaustion. By the time his muscles felt like they were going to peel off his bones like roasted chicken, he didn’t feel any better about himself.

It’s not like he hasn’t had the chance to spend time with Yeosang—he just… didn’t.

A fact that Wooyoung clearly noticed, since the next words out of his mouth are, “You should come with, Sannie. He misses you.”

San flinches, wrapping his arms around his torso. “I… can’t, Woo.”

The smaller man frowns, mirroring San’s posture. “I don’t get it. I know you like him. I see you trying to hide your feelings when one of us spends time with him.”

San lets Wooyoung tug him towards the couch in the living room, mindlessly pulling the witch into his lap as he sits down.

“The dragon wants him, Youngie.”

Wooyoung stiffens in his arms, heart thumping hard against the hand San has pressed to his lover’s chest.

“You… you’re sure?”

San snorts. “It nearly took over the night he was here for dinner. So yes, Wooyoung, I’m sure.”

“Oh.”

“Right. Oh.”

Wooyoung twists in his lap to straddle him, looking him in the eyes. “Would it be… like the last time?”

Last time being five years ago, when the dragon took over completely, forcing the company to make up an excuse about San being sick and needing quarantine, and then confining him to his family dojo, leaving him to tear himself apart. Until Wooyoung forced Hwa to portal him into the dojo and laid himself at the altar of the dragon’s mercy.

He’s sure that Wooyoung being an incubus is the only reason he survived the dragon’s attentions that night.

Since then, San kept a tight grip on the dragon that lives within him, refusing to commune with it and depriving himself of its powers. When he’d told Yeosang that heating up a bowl of food was the extent of his magic, he hadn’t been lying. The price of the dragon’s power was far too high.

“I don’t know, Youngie. But I can’t risk it.”

Wooyoung frowns.

“Sannie… Yeosangie isn’t helpless. In his own shop, he’s a lot more powerful than I am. Between that, and me being there, if your dragon tries to take over, we can shove you back through the portal and lock it from our side.”

San sighs. “That isn’t a guarantee, Youngie. What if you can’t?”

Wooyoung slides off his lap and puts his hands on his hips.

“San. You can’t hide from him forever. Get your shit, you’re coming with me.”

“I—”

“Choi San.”

Oh boy, it’s full name time.

“You’re being an idiot and you’re going to make him think you don’t want him, by staying away.”

He scrambles for an excuse, any excuse. “He invited you, not me! He probably doesn’t even want me there.”

He watches as Wooyoung whips out his phone, clicks a button, and waits a moment before—

“Hi Sangie, is it ok if I bring Sannie with me tonight?”

Gods damn it.

Wooyoung pauses, tilting his head to the side slightly, “Amazing! Yeah, we’ll be there in a few minutes,” another pause and then he grins, “Mhm, got it. I think Hwa stashed some in the pantry for you.”

Wooyoung hangs up and stares at San, smirking like the little gremlin he is. San sighs heavily again. Fucking Wooyoung.

“Ok, fine. But I reserve the right to get the fuck out of there if the dragon starts to make a scene.”

Wooyoung isn’t listening; he’s hurrying into the kitchen to rummage in the cabinets. Grumbling, San jogs upstairs to grab some clothes to sleep in as well as toiletries. Returning to the downstairs apartment, he finds Wooyoung bouncing excitedly in front of the doorway.

“This is a terrible idea,” San mumbles, letting Wooyoung drag him through the glowing portal into the shop beyond.

~ ~ ~

Yeosang is going to commit a homicide. Possibly six homicides. He hasn’t decided.

“You don’t know what it feels like to wake up with no memory of the night, no idea what the fuck happened to you, trying to piece it together by the bruises on your body! You don’t fucking know, Minho. So don’t tell me it ‘isn’t a big deal’ that you fucking altered Yeosang’s memory on a whim!”

Felix is screaming, face red and blotchy, wings fluttering madly, sprinkling bright red pixie-dust in a cloud around his head. He’s cornered Minho against the counter, and the vampire is cringing back, his eyes wide with an emotion Yeosang has never seen on him before.

Fear.

Jisung is curled into a ball on the couch, rocking gently, face buried in his knees. Yeosang is perched beside him, running a hand up and down the young vampire’s back.

Seungmin and Jeongin wandered into the shop ten minutes after Felix blasted through the door in an irate fury, the pair greeting Yeosang as though it was a completely average evening. When he asked why the fuck they were here to join the rapidly escalating party, Seungmin shrugged and explained that Felix lived in the apartment above the bookshop, and they’re invested in his happiness. Not to mention, their TV is broken (Jeongin tripped and knocked it over), so they’re bored.

Rounding out the merry band is the warlock with bulging arms standing beside Felix, seemingly ready to throw himself between the pixie and the vampire should Minho make a wrong move. Yeosang isn’t sure if Changbin would be able to do much if Minho really intended to harm Felix (which he absolutely does not, of that Yeosang is sure), but he knows the warlock has a nasty streak when it comes to protecting those he cares about.

The hazy, pale gray mist gathering around Changbin’s feet is not promising. The last thing this shitshow needs is an Eldritch horror showing up to join the fun.

Yeosang’s phone buzzes, and seeing Wooyoung’s name, he scoots off the arm of the couch into the corner to answer it.

“Hi Sangie! Is it ok if I bring Sannie with me tonight?”

San… wants to spend time with him? Desperate to escape the prime-time soap opera playing out in his shop, he quickly agrees, keeping his voice low to not disturb the continued shouting match happening in the middle of the room. After asking Wooyoung to bring the Nutella sandwich cookies that Hwa mentioned buying for him, he hangs up and tunes back in.

“Felix, I didn’t know, if I had known—”

“What, Minho. You would have made a different choice?”

Crickets. Even the shop holds perfectly still, not a creak in the floorboards despite Jeongin nervously tapping his foot.

“No. No, I wouldn’t have.” Yeosang feels a fizzle of energy raise the hairs on the back of his neck as the doorway activates behind him. “I—there’s more at stake than—fuck, I couldn’t watch Sangie have his only chance stripped away by fear!”

Warm arms settle around Yeosang’s waist, the scent of cinnamon (something he’d come to associate with Wooyoung) filling his nose as a sharp chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

“This seems… tense,” the witch murmurs, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

The others are far too embroiled in the drama to notice the new arrivals. Felix has tears streaming down his face, a devastating combination of anger and anguish twisting his mouth into a frown. Changbin has a hand on the pixie’s shoulder, keeping Felix grounded (literally) as his wings flutter madly. Minho’s face is blank, eyes hollow, and a Very Bad Feeling curls in Yeosang’s gut.

“Jisung has nothing to do with my choices, Felix. Don’t punish him for my sins. I just—I’ll—” the vampire’s eyes settle on Jisung, still curled into a ball on the couch, mouth trembling with the effort not to cry. “You should—be together, I shouldn’t…”

Oh, no he will fucking not.

Right as a swirl of smoke rises to sweep Minho away, vines shoot from the floor to twist up his legs, holding the older vampire in place. Minho’s eyes widen, snapping up to meet Yeosang’s gaze.

“Nope. You do not get to run away after turning my shop into reality TV for the past thirty minutes.” He stalks forward until he’s right in front of the vampire. “You meddled in my life. Now it’s my turn. Figure. Your. Shit. Out.” He punctuates each word with a flick to Minho’s forehead, leaving behind a satisfying red mark.

“And Felix—” the pixie looks up from where he’s now cuddling Jisung whose shoulders are shaking with ugly sobs, “—if you’re going to be mad at Minho, do it on your own terms. Don’t use what he did to me to justify your anger.”

The pixie flushes and grits his teeth, staring at his lap. “I… you’re right, hyung. I’m sorry.”

A slow breath hisses out of the other three in the room, as Seungmin and Jeongin glance at each other, then at the still restrained Minho who is now tugging uselessly at the vines which are curling happily around him like one of his cats, before beginning to open Yeosang’s cabinets seemingly at random. After a moment of hesitation, the shop cooperates with their search, and a few minutes later the scent of tea begins wafting through the room.

Changbin looks over at the couch, then to Yeosang, and his eyes widen.

“Wooyoung?”

“BINNIE!!”

Yeosang winces as Wooyoung screeches right next to his ear, and finds himself spinning backwards to stumble into San’s chest as the witch launches himself at Changbin with a shriek of joy.

Jeongin’s ears flatten to his head and he grimaces, keeping the table between himself and the aggressive display of affection currently happening between the witch and warlock. Seungmin is watching the scene with fascination, eyes narrowing on Wooyoung.

While he wants to know how the hell Wooyoung and Changbin know each other, Yeosang is immensely distracted by San’s warm hands resting carefully on his waist. He’s barely applying any pressure and Yeosang feels ice shoot down his spine. Does San even want to be here? Or did Wooyoung drag him along?

Yeosang steps forward and San’s hands immediately drop away.

Well. That answers that question.

Is it too late to bail and ask them both to go home?

“You’re welcome to stay as long as Felix locks up before you leave, but I’m going to bed.” Yeosang ruffles Jisung’s hair and presses a kiss to the crown of Felix’s head, before looking over at Minho. “The vines will let you go when the shop thinks you’ve earned it.”

“Yeosang…” Minho’s voice holds centuries of violence.

He wrinkles his nose at the vampire. “Maybe try talking about your feelings. I hear that’s what all the kids are doing these days.”

Ignoring the indignant hiss that comes out of Minho’s mouth, he walks over to the stairs, passing by Wooyoung who extracts himself from Changbin’s embrace and plants a wet kiss on the warlock’s cheek.

“Sorry BinBin, I love you, but we have a hot date with Yeosangie tonight.”

Changbin’s eyebrows rise so far, they may never be seen again. Fuck. Changbin’s perception of privacy is remarkably limited—he can only imagine the overly personal questions he’ll have to field the next time he sees him.

Yeosang glances once more around the motley crew and rolls his eyes. “Goodnight, everyone, I hate you all, don’t burn down my shop, and if you’re still here in the morning, I’m not making you breakfast.”

Wooyoung snags San’s arm as the man attempts to inch back towards the portal.

Ouch. Yeosang can’t ignore how much San’s clear reluctance to be here stings.

Seungmin raises a mug of tea in farewell, still staring at Wooyoung, who, Yeosang notices, is trying very hard to avoid looking at the other witch.

Huh. Something to ask Seungmin about later.

Leaving the mismatched gathering downstairs, the three of them (Wooyoung still gripping San’s arm tightly) make it up to Yeosang’s apartment. Letting them in, he smiles as Wooyoung produces the package of Nutella cookies with a flourish.

“For you, Yeosangie, my heart, my love, the apple of my eye, the—” Yeosang leans in and cuts him off with a kiss, savoring the startled but pleased look on Wooyoung’s face at the unexpected affection.

“Thank you, Youngie,” he says as he pulls away, snagging the cookies and munching on one while heading deeper into his apartment.

A sharp breath stops him. He turns around to see San’s hands clenching at his sides, jaw tensing.

Ok. This is ridiculous.

“San… I’m not forcing you to spend time with me. And… I’m sorry if I did something make you uncomfortable.”

The man snaps his head up to stare at Yeosang with a pained expression. Wooyoung sighs and slaps a palm over his face. “See, Sannie, I told you this would happen. Idiot.” The last is muttered under his breath, still clearly audible in the tense silence.

“I’m not—you don’t make me uncomfortable, I do want to be here I just—” he breaks off, sucking on his teeth.

“Then why does it look like someone’s driving needles under your nails?”

A whine that turns into a growl rumbles out of San’s chest. Wooyoung shifts a bit closer to Yeosang’s side.

“Because watching you restrain an ancient vampire with ease was kind of fucking hot and it’s really, really difficult to stay in control when my dragon wants nothing more than to wreck you.”

Well that… ok. Not what he was expecting. But Yeosang can work with it.

Snapping his wrist, bindings of shadow shoot out of the floor to wrap around San’s arms, yanking him to his knees, where more ropes of shadow twist around his legs. San pulls at the bindings, muscles flexing.

“It seems like me and your dragon need to have a chat.”

Two birds, one stone.

San’s voice is strained, sweat pouring down his face. “You… don’t—Sangie, I won’t be me I’ll hurt… fuck, Wooyoung you promised me—”

Yeosang glances at Wooyoung who is watching them with eyes that glow purple.

“I didn’t promise. I said Yeosang could take care of himself, especially in his shop. Case—” he gestures at Yeosang, “—and point.” He points at San as the shadows twine around him in a dark caress.

Wooyoung is right. Yeosang isn’t worried about San hurting him—he isn’t a true dragon, even if he is able to channel one. Which Yeosang is honestly shocked by, going off of the general lack of draconic powers that San seems to have.

San curls over, groaning, and Yeosang kneels before him, reaching out a hand to run his fingers through the man’s dark hair. “Let go, Sannie. I promise it will be ok.”

Terror stricken eyes meet his before the pupils shift to slits, the irises turning a deep crystalline blue. Abruptly, San stops struggling and tilts his head.

You. Curse-breaker. Oath-weaver. Betrayer. Reaper.

The voice crashes like a waterfall through Yeosang’s mind.

Keeper of the Sanctuary of Shattered Wings.

Softer, a rushing stream rather than a roaring ocean.

“You give me titles I don’t deserve, Ancestor.”

A rumbling growl that could be a laugh echoes through his mind.

Ancestor. You remember the courtesies, if not yourself. That’s something.

San sits back, the shadows shifting to allow him the movement while keeping him bound. Wooyoung stands frozen beside Yeosang, breathing in slight gasps, his pupils dilating as he fixates on the kneeling dragon.

“I would really like to spend the evening with my friends. Can we cut the dramatics?”

Ah, but I always liked the drama of it all. I felt you, Reaper, when you were born. Tried to get to you, to taste you, but the boy held me back.

San’s head snaps to look at Wooyoung, who trembles.

I remember that one. Delicious. A smart distraction.

San’s tongue, far longer and sharper than a human’s, darts out and licks over his bottom lip. Wooyoung whimpers—and Yeosang is pretty sure that’s not a sound of distress.

“Why do you want me?”

San huffs a laugh, audible this time.

If only you could remember…

San leans forward, nostrils flaring.

You smell like the ocean. Salt and blood.

Yeosang can’t move, trapped by that electric gaze.

So many souls in your shadow. A fine collection… but missing it’s crowning glory.

Yeosang steps closer, drawn in by the voice washing through his mind. San’s tongue whips out, sinuous, and flicks over his cheek.

Goodbye for now, sweet reaper.

Air rushes out of San’s chest and he hunches over, coughing. Yeosang disperses the shadows and catches San as he tumbles forward, hefting him up and onto the couch. Wooyoung pours a glass of water from the kitchen and sits beside San, helping him drink with shaky hands.

So, that went well. He’s caught the dragon’s interest, at least.

Yeosang strokes a hand through San’s hair, squeezing the back of his neck. “I told you it would be ok, San-ah. How are you feeling?”

San clears his throat and sits up, dropping his head onto the back of the couch with a groan.

“Confused and sore from the ropes but… fine? Not like… like last time.”

“What… happened last time?”

San doesn’t answer immediately, just keeps looking up at the ceiling. Wooyoung sits quietly, all of his usual vibrating energy contained and focused on the man between them.

Slowly, Yeosang leans into San’s side to wrap an arm around his chest. If San tenses or pulls away, Yeosang will back off…

But San shudders, melting into him, face pressing into Yeosang’s neck. Wooyoung leans in to kiss San’s cheek, and pulls Yeosang’s legs across their laps.

“How much of that conversation did you catch?” asks Yeosang softly, still petting San’s hair as he rumbles softly. He isn’t sure San notices he’s doing it.

“All of it. You said… you were reborn five years ago, right?”

Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath. “Was that…?”

San nods, eyes bleak, and stretches his arms over his head. His shirt rides up, revealing abs that Yeosang wants to map out with his tongue.

Damn it. His libido really needs to learn to read the room, now is not the time.

“Five years ago, my dragon took over and I completely lost control. I barely remember it. The company sent me to our family dojo where my grandmother was able to confine me. It didn’t break until Wooyoung…” San flushes a deep red and stares at his lap.

Wooyoung laughs, dark and heated. “Let’s just say I tamed the dragon. I was limping for a week but fuck…” he breaks off, eyes hazy, and Yeosang snorts a laugh.

“Worth it?” he asks with a grin.

“Gods, yes. Ten out of ten, would fuck again.”

With a groan, San drops his face into his hands, curling his arms around Yeosang’s legs.

“You laugh about it now, but Sangie, he couldn’t walk for a week. I—you could have died Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung waves a hand in the air. “We’ve been over this, Sannie. What am I good for if not taming unusual sexual urges?”

As tongue in cheek as Wooyoung’s words are, Yeosang suspects that the witch truly believes his own words.

“You’re one of the kindest, most beautiful people I know, Woo. Your soul, it’s… so pure. And I’m an expert in souls, so you have to trust me.”

Wooyoung stares at him, eyes wide and just a bit shiny. “You—” he huffs a laugh, “no one’s called me pure before.”

Needing the witch to understand, Yeosang leans forward and captures Wooyoung’s face between his palms. “You are more than your body, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s eyes skitter away. “Careful, if you keep saying that I might start to believe it.”

Realizing he’s not going to make more progress tonight, Yeosang leans back into San.

San’s warmth blankets him, and Wooyoung starts pressing his fingers into the balls of his feet. Content and somewhat tired from the power he’d used, he flops back to spread out on the couch like a noodle.

“Sleepy, baby?” Wooyoung murmurs, and Yeosang nods. He is sleepy, warm and safe, San doesn't hate him, and he wants nothing more than to wrap up this moment in a bubble and save it forever.

He feels Wooyoung shift as the witch crawls over San to hover above Yeosang, their thighs brushing as he supports himself on his arms.

Wooyoung’s cinnamon scent washes over him, and Yeosang breathes him in with a sigh.

He reaches up to trace the sharp line of Wooyoung’s cheek and tuck a strand of his silky hair behind his ear. The witch’s eyes darken under Yeosang’s touch and he slowly lowers himself down to his elbows.

Yeosang hisses out a breath as their bodies press together. Wooyoung grins and bends to press kisses along Yeosang’s neck. Suddenly, the witch stiffens and groans, and Yeosang tilts his head to see San’s hand kneading Wooyoung’s ass.

“Sannie—” the witch chokes out, another squeeze having him grinding his hips down onto Yeosang’s, and fuck, it feels incredible. His exhaustion melts away to make room for liquid heat dripping into his belly, curling between his legs as his cock starts to fill out.

Wooyoung is way ahead of him, already rock hard against his hip.

“Is this ok, baby?”

Yeosang moans at the pet name and breathes a yes, fuck, please , gripping Wooyoung’s hips to encourage him to grind down harder. The witch whimpers and clutches at the cushions—between San’s hands on his ass and Yeosang’s on his hips, he moves back and forth at their mercy.

Yeosang finds that he quite enjoys the way the witch crumbles apart between them.

“Youngie usually ends up in my bed, begging to be fucked, when he gets this needy.” San’s voice is sandpaper, roughened by desire, and rubs deliciously over Yeosang’s skin. “But tonight—”

Wooyoung cuts him off with a loud, whining moan. “I wanted both of you,” he gasps out, and Yeosang feels his gut twist at the naked, vulnerable need in the witch’s gaze. San presses harder on Wooyoung’s ass, pinning him and preventing him from moving, while watching Yeosang carefully.

“What do you want, Yeosangie? If this is too much, we’ll stop—” Wooyoung whines and wiggles pathetically, face pressing into Yeosang’s collarbone as he pants. He can feel tears on the witch’s cheeks.

For once, he knows exactly what he wants, and his achingly hard cock wins out over the embarrassment of saying it out loud. “I want to keep going, I want… to see what he looks like when he falls apart.”

Wooyoung whimpers at his words and San’s lips part in surprise before his gaze darkens, flickers of blue and gold sparking in his pupils, and he grips Wooyoung’s hair to pull the witch’s head up so that Yeosang can see his tear streaked face.

“Do you hear him, Youngie? Yeosangie wants you to come for us. Can you do that?”

Wooyoung nods as much as he can with San’s hand tangled in his hair. Yeosang digs his fingers into the witch’s hips, earning a choked gasp, and San grins, moving Wooyoung against him once more.

“Good boy.” Yeosang knows that San’s praise is directed at Wooyoung but it sends a shiver of heat down his spine to imagine San saying that to him instead. By the way Wooyoung trembles and sobs between them, it has a similar effect on the witch.

Despite the layers of fabric separating them, he can feel Wooyoung’s throbbing cock grind down against his own, pleasure curling up his spine. Yeosang arches up as much as possible, which isn’t much at all with the way San has them both pinned down and under his control. San’s muscles tense and shift, carved from flushed, living marble as he drives Wooyoung to his peak.

The witch gasps and cries, face twisting with pleasure, skin damp with sweat, hair falling across his face. “Fuck, please, please I’m so close, please, I need it, I need—” Yeosang wraps a hand around the back of Wooyoung’s neck and yanks him down, kissing him hard and wet, right out of his dirtiest fantasies.

Yeosang licks into Wooyoung’s mouth, savoring his heat, sucking on the pulse in his tongue, greedily drinking his gasps and whimpering cries. He feels his power spiking, has no doubt that the floor of the room is likely covered in his shadow as his body coils on the edge of release.

With a final hard thrust of his hips driven by San’s relentless grip, Wooyoung cries out, body spasming between them, rutting in little jerks against Yeosang as he comes. Yeosang is so close, body burning, vision whiting out as his back pulls taut—

San bends down and captures Yeosang’s lips, sucking the air from his lungs with a growl, and he snaps. He shakes apart beneath them, trembling, as San eases back, pressing soft kisses to his lips and petting his hair. Wooyoung is a limp weight on his chest, sighing happily with his face tucked against Yeosang’s neck.

San sits back and pulls Wooyoung up with him, into his lap, leaving Yeosang cold without his human blanket. It must show on his face because San giggles and tugs Yeosang up to curl into the dragon’s side. Stirring at the movement, Wooyoung smiles contentedly at them both before sliding off San’s lap to sit between his feet on the floor.

Yeosang watches as the witch’s fingers dance up to where San’s erection strains against his grey sweatpants.

Fucking grey sweatpants.

San groans, head thumping onto the back of the couch. Wooyoung looks up at Yeosang with a spreading grin, purple glow banked to embers but still flickering in his eyes.

“Yeosangie…?”

Yeosang nods immediately, appreciating the constant check-ins but desperately wanting to see what the grey sweatpants are hiding. Not that they’re hiding much at the moment. San hisses as Wooyoung frees his cock and Yeosang can’t fight the moan that spills from his chest as he thinks about having that inside of him. None of his toys (a meager collection obtained during a drunken and, in hindsight, mortifying online shopping adventure with Jisung) come close to measuring up.

Wooyoung licks his lips and swallows San down to the hilt in one, fluid glide. San lets out a stream of profanities, hands gripping the cushions, as his hips cant up into Wooyoung’s mouth. The witch slowly pulls off and grins.

“Yeosangie, put your hand on my head.”

Reeling from his orgasm and the implication that Wooyoung wants Yeosang to take control, he slides his hand into Wooyoung’s hair, tugging slightly, and tightens his grip when the witch moans. San taps the tip of his cock against Wooyoung’s lips, and Yeosang gets the message, and pushes Wooyoung’s head down onto San’s cock. He goes lax, moaning whenever he has enough space in his throat to make noise, while San watches with a reverent, fucked out expression. Yeosang builds up a faster rhythm, and San begins to thrust up, using Wooyoung’s mouth with abandon.

San’s breath stutters and he yanks Yeosang forward into a kiss, spilling with a groan down Wooyoung’s throat. Yeosang watches Wooyoung swallow, then gently pulls the witch’s head back. Wooyoung drops his forehead to rest on Yeosang’s knee, trembling and panting.

He looks entirely wrecked, but the purple has finally faded from his eyes.

Yeosang slowly becomes aware of two battling sensations: one, his underwear is sticking uncomfortably to his skin from drying cum and two, his heart is thumping steadily away in his chest. He swears he can feel the blood moving in his veins.

“I should… get cleaned up. You’re both gonna stay the night?” he says, looking at San uncertainly.

San’s arm tightens around his waist and he presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I was an idiot about this. I was just… scared of hurting you.”

Yeosang tilts his head up to press a kiss to San’s jaw. “It’s ok. I’m glad you’re here now.” He looks down and runs his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, the witch still kneeling on the floor. “I really like you, both of you. All of you.”

Wooyoung snorts. “You’re ours, Yeosangie. I’m not letting you go.” As if to demonstrate, he latches onto Yeosang’s back as he stands up, kicking his legs and demanding to be carried to the bathroom for the shower they both desperately need.

Wooyoung continues to mimic a backpack while Yeosang turns on the shower, grumbling when he points out that getting undressed will require him to let go. Sliding off of him, Wooyoung reaches immediately for Yeosang’s shirt.

He instinctively clutches the bottom, flinching back. The witch freezes, and Yeosang forces himself to let go. It’s fine, they’ve already seen the ugly scar, it doesn’t matter—he grits his teeth and raises his arms, allowing Wooyoung to pull his shirt over his head.

“Fucking shit, you’re gorgeous,” mutters Wooyoung, running his hands lightly down Yeosang’s chest. Wooyoung’s touch raises the hairs on his arms and he shivers. The witch’s hand pauses over his heart and he frowns, tilting his head.

“You… don’t have a heartbeat.”

Yeosang goes to cover his chest, shoulders curling. His heart slowed to a stop soon after getting up from the couch. He flinches at the reminder of his death adjacent existence.

“I’m not technically alive, Woo.”

The witch trails his hand down to toy with the waistband of Yeosang’s pants. “If that’s the case, I’ve really been missing out on sex with the undead demographic.”

An involuntary snort escapes Yeosang. “Happy to expand your horizons.”

Wooyoung’s fingers dip below the waist of Yeosang’s pants, and when Yeosang makes no move to stop him, he slowly pulls them and his underwear down his legs. Dropping to his knees, Wooyoung takes his time licking up the mess of cum and sweat between his legs. It’s vulgar and hot and Yeosang wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The shower fills the air with humid warmth, so he doesn’t have an excuse for the full body shiver that goes through him at the naked desire in Wooyoung’s eyes.

Swallowing hard, he takes a step back towards the shower and opened the door.

“Are you gonna join me, or just stare?”

Wooyoung’s tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly takes off his clothes, stretching his arms and arching his back, sliding his pants down with a highly unnecessary but very much appreciated roll of his hips, ending his little striptease by bending over and giving Yeosang a glorious view of his ass.

By the time Wooyoung turns around to step into the shower, Yeosang is flushed from more than just the hot water.

“You’re a menace,” he says, as the witch presses up behind him and wraps his arms around Yeosang’s torso.

They take turns washing each other’s bodies, and Yeosang almost cries from the simple pleasure of intimate skinship. There isn’t any sexual intent, aside from a few teasing touches from Wooyoung tracing over Yeosang’s flat nipples, before he bats the witch’s hands away with a scowl that shifts into laughter at the answering pout.

As they towel off, San comes in and insists on drying Yeosang’s hair, fingers combing gently through the wet strands until it’s fluffy and soft.

Tucking into bed with San and Wooyoung is a different feeling than being sandwiched between Yunho and Mingi. For one, Wooyoung snuggles into the middle, curling against Yeosang’s chest. One of San’s arms slides beneath Wooyoung’s head, while the other reaches across to stroke gently over Yeosang’s hip. Where being between Yunho and Mingi made him feel small and protected, here, as he drops a kiss onto Wooyoung’s forehead, Yeosang feels a hint of the age he holds in his soul. Wooyoung and San, despite the power that runs in their blood, are far too young to carry such a burden. Just like Yeosang, both risk their power consuming them and turning them into monsters.

As he watches them drift into sleep, Yeosang decides he will never let that happen.

Chapter 18

Summary:

We finally get a spotlight on Jongho... and really, this was one of my favorite chapters to write because he is such a lovely inspiration.

There is a bit of undernegotiated kink but a safeword is present and it is consensual.

TW: body dysmorphia (mild)

Spicy sections:
1. "Yeosang shrugs off the robe..." to "Yeosang sits up..."
2. "Jongho's mouth goes dry..." to "Wooyoung falls limp..."

The first thing Jongho notices when he wakes up in his hotel room in Japan is that he is definitely not in his hotel room in Japan.

An odd, watery light drifts through the curtained windows which sway gently in a salt-scented breeze that licks over his skin. It’s almost moonlight, yet distorted, silvery but with shadows that shift strangely upon the floor.

The space is silent save for a continuous, soft thrum. A heartbeat, steady, ominous in its consistency, a near vibration underfoot.

He gets up from the bed, silken sheets sliding off of his body, leaving him clad in loose pants, shirtless and barefoot, iridescent green scales running freely over his torso—far too many.

A dream?

Really fucking realistic if it is.

His neck feels strange, fluttery, and he raises a hand to find slits on either side… gills. Like a full-blooded siren. Experimentally, he hums a line from his solo stage, and his voice spills into the room, rich and sensual, heavy with power.

Effortless. A voice to bring civilizations to their knees.  

A quiet snick of a door opening, and Jongho turns to see a man padding towards him, a puff of steam following from the door behind him. A thin, near translucent robe falls over the man’s body, leaving nothing to the imagination, skin still damp and flushed from a bath. Wings stretch high over his shoulders, dark obsidian feathers shimmering with hints of iridescent blue.

“Are you drifting, love?”

Drifting, adrift, drowning, Jongho doesn’t know, he only knows that the man before him is exquisite, breath-taking, heartbreakingly familiar.

“…Yeosang?” he says, or tries to, but it comes out garbled, a name but not, something immense and lost to time. The man smiles and steps forward, until they’re standing chest to chest.

“Don’t drift too far. You know I cannot follow.” The words are laced with poignant sadness, of inevitable loss.

Yeosang’s arms curl over his shoulders, bringing them flush together, and all he can feel is the man’s lithe, naked body, barely obscured by the flimsy robe. Yeosang presses up, and their lips meet, the kiss soft and coaxing, slotting together in a familiar dance, as if this has happened thousands of times.

A moment that holds the weight of memory.

“Come back to bed, my love. One more night. Let me have just one more night.”

He goes without protest, the desperate fire in Yeosang’s eyes enough to bring him to his knees, and why not? It’s a lovely view, looking up at the other man, who stares at him in surprise that quickly morphs into something heated and dark.

Jongho reaches for the tie of Yeosang’s robe, slipping it free, jaw clenching as an expanse of pale, perfect skin is revealed, shimmering in the shifting light. He aches to touch, to kiss, to worship—so he does. It’s his dream, after all, no matter how strangely familiar this all seems.

Yeosang shrugs off the robe to pool on the floor as Jongho leans in to lick the sharp lines of his abs, nipping at his hip, pressing kisses into his thighs, before turning his attention to the man’s cock which is bobs at the perfect height.

He hums again and Yeosang moans, a shiver going through his body beneath Jongho’s greedy hands, muscles melting. He slides his hands around to grip Yeosang’s ass, holding him up as he kisses the tip of his cock softly, licking at the underside, rewarded with a drawn-out gasp.

Yeosang’s fingers dig into his hair, gripping, pinpoints of pain spurring him on to sink down over his lover’s cock, letting it brush the back of his throat before pulling off, setting up a rhythm that has Yeosang shaking and his own cock throbbing in his pants.

Humming again, this time directly around Yeosang’s shaft, makes the man sob, and a wave of power washes into Jongho’s body—the man’s pleasure, his to drink, to consume, his song dragging Yeosang into the depths.

“Sweet, love, please—I need you, please—”

Even in his dreams, he never imagined Yeosang begging for him. He’s happy just to please, to serve—but his lover tugs hard on his hair, pulling him to his feet and kissing him hungrily, before turning to lean over the bed in a display that nearly sends Jongho to his knees again.

Reverent, he runs his hands over the supple flesh of Yeosang’s ass before dipping between to stroke at his hole… which is already warm, wet, loose… as if he’d been fucked not long ago.

“Don’t wait, please, I’m still open, just need you—”

Instinct, memory, desperate hope, Jongho doesn’t fucking know— he just knows that sliding into Yeosang’s heat is like settling into a dance that skirts the edges of memory, angling to hit the spot that makes Yeosang shiver and cry out because he knows this man’s body as well as he knows his own.

He slides a hand around Yeosang’s neck, pulling him up until his back arches against Jongho’s chest, wings flaring out between them, trembling as Jongho pounds up into his willing body. Yeosang’s whimpers and moans send fire spinning through his veins, his cock throbbing as he’s driven closer, closer…

Jongho pulls Yeosang down on his cock, gripping his throat tighter, and grinds directly into his prostate, making him scream out a choked sob and spasm around him, hips jerking as he comes untouched. Lowering the man back to the bed, Jongho thrusts into him, getting lost in Yeosang until he’s pulsing, releasing deep in his lover’s body.

Spent, elated and exhausted and really fucking confused because this is the most realistic sex dream he has ever had in his life, Jongho carefully pulls out, watching as his cum spills down Yeosang’s thighs.

Yeosang sits up, wings draping over the bed, and pulls him down to lie beside him. The smaller man curls around him, their lips meeting in a soft, reverent kiss.

“I love you. I’m so sorry. Just remember that I love you.”

Yeosang is crying, crystal tears streaming from eyes that hold a sorrow so profound that Jongho’s heart splits with a pain that he can’t fathom. Why is Yeosang apologizing? Why does this feel like a bittersweet memory rather than a dream?

Why…

His thoughts drift.

Adrift.

Yeosang is saying something, but it’s lost in the thrumming, the heartbeat beneath the world, that grows louder and louder in Jongho’s ears. His eyes fasten on the object leaning against the wall, by the window, that he’d noticed in passing, distracted by Yeosang’s attention.

A sword, intricate silver inlay on the ebony sheath, hilt curving into a dragon’s head with two deep, iridescent pearls for eyes. The sight fills him with dread, and he jerks back and he’s falling and his chest is splitting open and—

His eyes snap open, sunlight breaking through the crack in the blackout curtains in the hotel room. He grabs his phone, trying to shake the dream that feels way too much like a memory.

8:03am.

Shit. He’s late.

Jongho (8:04am)
three minutes late damn
do you ever have dreams
that feel so real
it’s like they’re memories?

Yeosang (8:10am)
a whole three minutes
idk if I can forgive you
and yeah
all the time
but in my case they probably are memories

Jongho (8:12am)
do you think it’s possible that I could have memories of my prior life?
when I… ya know
murdered you.

Jongho watches the typing bubble appear and disappear, before a new text pops up.

Yeosang (8:15am)
idk Jongie-bear
do you wanna remember?

Jongho (8:17am)
Maybe?
if it meant knowing you

Yeosang (8:18am)
well, you know me now
and that makes me really happy

Jongho (8:18am)
me too, hyung
I miss you

~ ~ ~

Yeosang hesitates in the antechamber of the Council, glaring at the interlocking circles, and contemplating the misery that is undeath. Hearing murmuring in the chamber beyond, he takes out his phone.

Yeosang (9:20pm)
are you sure he won’t kill me on sight?
I think he can shoot lasers
from his eyes

Hongjoong (9:28pm)
Sangie
he’s probably just gonna ignore you
but
if he tries anything
just text me and Hwa
promise?

Yeosang (9:30pm)
☹
I can’t text you if I’m on the way to my next reincarnation

Hongjoong (9:31pm)
do u want me to have Hwa portal me there?
I’m allowed, as part of the coven

Yeosang (9:32pm)
no…
I can do it
you’re busy in Japan making TeaSea’s dreams come true

Hongjoong (9:33pm)
you matter more
if you need me, I’m there
ok?

Yeosang (9:33pm)
hyunggg

Hongjoong (9:34pm)
Yeosangie.
you better believe me

Yeosang (9:34pm)
okay okay
I believe you
wish me luck, fingers crossed Eden doesn’t kill me

Hongjoong (9:36pm)
text the group when it’s over
there’s a betting pool on whether or not you stab Eden with a shadow

Yeosang (9:37pm)
I hate you all

Yeosang puts his phone in his pocket and steps into the open chamber of the council, heading directly to his stone, skull encrusted seat. He swears it gets more ornate and uncomfortable every time he’s here. Scowling at it, he takes out his cushion of the day (a garish neon lime with golden beaded tassels) and is in the process of setting it on the chair when a throat clears at his side.

“Want me to make something a little more comfortable?”

He looks over to see the human representative, Chaeryeong, gesture at the seat.

“Um. Sure?”

She taps a finger with a sparkly teal nail on her lips and circles the seat, before running her hand down the back. A wave of shimmering prismatic energy flows out of her fingers to circle around the chair, and Yeosang admits he’s impressed. The rough, cold stone transforms into a sturdy wicker woven with colorful linen, the arms wide and curved, the cushions a soft, pale blue.

“Hmmm… rocking chair, yes or no?”

Yeosang lets out a breath and laughs. “What’s more likely to annoy them?”

Chaeryeong snorts and flicks her fingers. The bottom of the chair turns to a rocker, and Yeosang curls up happily on the cushion. It creaks ever so slightly as he rocks, and he shares a grin with her.

“This is kind of you. I’m Yeosang.”

She holds out a hand. He grips it and a surge of fizzing power zips up his arm. A warlock, a very, very powerful warlock.

“Chaeryeong. Changbin says you’re good people. And it’s the least I can do for my friends’ new boyfriend.”

Yeosang chokes, staring at her.

“I… I’m not— boyfriend—what?”

Her pealing laughter echoes around the chamber.

“Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t assign labels to other peoples’ relationships, I know. But from the way Mingi and Yunho talk about you, I really don’t think they’d mind.”

Of course, as the (deceptively young appearing) representative of the humans, he isn’t surprised she knows them. That doesn’t make this any less embarrassing.

“Anyway…” she looks around the chamber before giving Yeosang a little wave, “tell the boys I say hi, and that the Aunties want to see Mingi soon for a chat.”

He doesn’t have time to wonder who the Aunties are, because another figure is stiffly approaching his newly redecorated chair.

“Yeosang-ssi.”

He will not panic, he will not panic, he will not—

Eden bows, deeply, wings tucked tight against his back.

What. The. Fuck.

Yeosang looks around to see the various faction representatives gawping at the angel. The silence congeals in Yeosang’s lungs as he tries to figure out how to respond when a loud snort breaks the tension.

Eden snaps upright to glare at the Kim Elder whose pitched cackle rings through the chamber.

“Finally untwisted your panties, I see.”

Eden’s face turns the color of a plum and Yeosang can see the effort the angel puts into biting his tongue.

“I… can acknowledge when I have misjudged an individual, yes.” Eden turns back to Yeosang, his mouth pressed into a line. “I apologize for my actions, both at the last meeting and our subsequent encounter. I have… an unpleasant history with your kind and let it cloud my vision.”

Yeosang stares at him, trying to find any hint of deception but the angel looks genuinely… embarrassed. Not exactly remorseful, but at least somewhat humiliated by the proceedings.

“I appreciate your apology, Eden-ssi.”

A bit of the tension drains out of Eden’s shoulders, but rather than walking away, the angel comes to stand beside Yeosang’s seat, wings flaring slightly, cutting off his view of the room.

“Stop by the company sometime soon. The managers would like to meet you, work out the logistics of the public nature of your relationship with the members, since they’re courting you for their circle—”

Yeosang’s burst of panicked coughing has Eden looking down at him in concern.

Fuck, Hongjoong had mentioned that the company wanted to talk to him, and it makes sense. The members can’t just suddenly hang out with some random person without an explanation, what if someone took a photo, or started questioning why they were at his shop so often?

But Hongjoong didn’t mention anything about courting… Did he think he’d freak out?

He’s…

Absolutely freaking out.

“Um, ok, yeah, I can do that, but I don’t really, I mean Hongjoong-hyung said he’s sure I’m the last part of their circle but not, the whole, um, courting part, it’s not really something we’ve all discussed.”

He trails off, chewing nervously on his lip. Eden blinks at him before rubbing his hand down his face with a groan.

“I swear to… bunch of fucking idiots, the lot of them. Just come to the company with Hongjoong-ah when they’re back from Japan.”

Without waiting for a reply, Eden hurries back to his seat, rose-gold wings flaring out before snapping tight to his back once more.

Glancing around to make sure the meeting isn’t imminently starting, Yeosang pulls out his phone.

Eight makes one team

Yeosang (9:45pm)
Eden apologized
also mentioned I should come to the company
to work out logistics
since you’re formally courting me and all

Within seconds a pile of typing bubbles from Wooyoung, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Seonghwa pop up. And then disappear. And then pop up…

Captain (9:47pm)
fuck the betting pool
I’m going to kill him myself.

Sexy Witch (9:47pm)
…surprise!

Disappointed Parent (9:48pm)
it was supposed to be
too late Joong
I call dibs.

Captain (9:48pm)
we’ll do it together
you can freeze him
while I beat him up

Mingles (9:49pm)
so much anger
so small body

Captain (9:49pm)
yunho what room is Mingi in

Yuyu (9:50pm)
if I tell you
can I watch

Sexy Witch (9:50pm)
kinky

Yeosang (9:50pm)
so that’s a yes
on the courting?

Disappointed Parent (9:51pm)
yeah
but you don’t have to come to the company
if you’re not ready for that

Yeosang (9:51pm)
if I do…
can I watch a rehearsal?

Dragon Ball San (9:52pm)
easy to please
cute

Sexy Witch (9:52pm)
don’t we know it

Captain (9:53pm)
no sexting in the group chat

Sexy Witch (9:53pm)
since when?
that’s never been a rule before

Baby Bear (9:54pm)
just because you ignored it
doesn’t mean it wasn’t a rule

Sexy Witch (9:54pm)
☹

Yeosang (9:55pm)
I’ll think about the company
but my answer is yes

Disappointed Parent (9:55pm)
yes?
to us courting you?
officially?

Sexy Witch (9:55pm)
sdoifjwebflfberfial

Dragon Ball San (9:55pm)
Sangieeeee !!!

Mingles (9:55pm)
saw it coming

Yuyu (9:55pm)
felt it in my bones

Sexy Witch (9:55pm)
felt it in my boner

Captain (9:55pm)
I raised you better than this

Disappointed Parent (9:55pm)
you raised him?

Captain (9:56pm)
Hwa raised you better than this.

Disappointed Parent (9:56pm)
😊

With a giddy smile on his face, Yeosang puts his phone away and focuses just as the shifter steps forward to call the meeting to order.

Unlike last time, he actually tries to pay attention.

It helps that the opening statement is along the lines of:

Someone blew up a Sanctuary, killing its guardian and ten guests as well as a handful of innocent bystanders on the street, consumed its magic and unleashed a hoard of demonic flame-snappers upon the unsuspecting populace.

Needless to say, it catches everyone off guard.

To go so far as to destroy a Sanctuary, not to mention the intentional collateral damage… this goes beyond a play for power or taste for chaos.  

The various members of the Council throw vaguely accusatory snipes at each other, until Elder Kim stands and steps forward.

“While the exact aim is unclear, the motive for destruction is obvious. The Sanctuaries are the thread that binds the borders. Destroy the Sanctuaries, and the boundary between realms weakens. Consume their magic… and you hold a skeleton key to open any gate. Between any realm.”

The vampire pushes back his hood and looks directly at Yeosang. “The underworld included, of course.”

Oh great, now they’re all looking at him, just because he’s the representative of the denizens of the underworld does not mean he’s responsible for this shit.

As he opens his mouth to say as much, the mountain sprite sitting beside him interrupts. “Why now? Demons and ghouls and their ilk have been clamoring for freedom for hundreds of years. If they knew that screwing with the Sanctuaries was their key to freedom all this time—”

The icicle fae cuts in. “They didn’t know, that’s the only explanation.”

“If a gate is opened between the Hells and here, if a full demonic host can break through…” the bear shifter trails off, frowning.

“We’re royally fucked.” Chaeryeong emphasizes her words with a pop of bubble gum and Yeosang bites back a laugh.

Eden rolls his eyes. “Crudely put, but accurate. The last time the demons broke free, it took our combined might, dragons included, to seal them back behind the boundaries.”

The last time the dragons were seen at the Council was before Yeosang’s time. “You’re saying that the Hells have been locked for thousands of years and there hasn’t been a single instance where the boundaries failed?”

Icicle fae and the Kim Elder both shift slightly at his words, glancing at each other. “Well, there was one close call, but it… self-resolved, without the intervention of the Council.”

Something about that rings false, but Yeosang doesn’t have time to press further, because the mountain sprite speaks again, voice rumbling out of her three-foot nothing frame in a gravelly boom. “We need to strengthen the Sanctuaries. I will contact the Guardians who hold space in the natural places. We must each do the same.”

A round of agreement, which again ends with all of them staring at him. The resident Guardian.

“Me and my Sanctuary are just fine. I got a… power boost, recently. It’s more than enough.” The icicle fae heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes skyward while Elder Kim chuckles and Chaeryeong snorts.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. As the council slowly turns to other matters, he tunes out, having paid far too much attention already.

Unknown number (10:54pm)
power boost
is that what the kids are calling it these days

Yeosang looks up to see Chaeryeong waggling her eyebrows at him. He shoves his phone back in his pocket with a glare. Great. He can feel his face heating up. Now he looks like a tomato in the middle of a council meeting.

How he manages to flush pink despite having blood made of black ichor is clearly a cruel joke of undead biology.

By the time the meeting ends, Yeosang is more than ready to be home and cozy in his apartment. Standing up, he frowns in disappointment as his chair reverts to its prior stone form.

“Don’t worry. It’ll go back to being comfy when you sit in it again. Can’t have anyone else taking advantage.” She looks around suspiciously, as though one of the other Council members is going to try to steal his slice of comfort.

“See you soon, Yeosang-ah. And remember what I said about the Aunties. They don’t like to be kept waiting. Actually…” she pauses and tilts her head, eyes turned a shimmering unfocused silver, “…they’d be thrilled to meet you too. Come along with Mingi, when he finally gets off his ass to see the family.”

The family… oh. Oh Gods.

She means the Fates.

And an invitation to meet the Fates… isn’t optional.

Shit.

~ ~ ~

Jongho (8:01am)
hi hyung
we’ve got the fansign today
if you have any requests for candid photos of the members
ask now

Yeosangie-hyung (8:04am)
ooooh
anything that can be used as blackmail
and maybe a cute one
of you?

He hates doing aegyo. But for Yeosang, he’s immediately planning out at least five different poses and deciding which member he’s least likely to get shit from (none of them, they’re all terrible and will rib him incessantly) if he asks them to take the photos. Maybe he’ll just go with a manager. Yeah, that’ll be better.

Jongho (8:06am)
ugly photos of the members
and a cute photo of me

Yeosangie-hyung (8:08am)
😊
I miss you guys
and it’s only been a few days
that’s weird, isn’t it

Jongho (8:08am)
guess we’re both weird then

Fuck, ok, now he’s being sappy, but Yeosang started it so that’s his fault really, but it’s true, he does miss him even though it’s not like he sees Yeosang all the time. The idea that he can see him, if he wants to, is what matters—and being in Japan means that isn’t the case.

He puts his phone away, resolutely ignoring the hard-on he’s had since waking up—his brain decided to replay the dream last night. Texting Yeosang hadn’t helped—instead, his dick seems dead-set on being a problem. Flashes of heat, silky and tight, squeezing around him, have him groaning and pressing the heel of his hand to his cock.

He’s never gonna make it to breakfast like this.

Well, he needs to shower anyway…

He thinks of the dream, the way Yeosang opened up so beautifully for him, as he strokes himself, finishing with a groan under the spray of hot water. The droplets hitting his scales make him shiver, the patches far more sensitive than normal. Remembering the feeling of Yeosang’s fingers stroking the scales on his jaw and neck has him doubling over, cock pulsing with another orgasm, dry and nearly painful in the extent of his pleasure.

What the actual fuck.

Sure, he has a libido, but never like this. Never to the point of coming twice in a row from the mere thought of a man he’s never intimately touched.

Jongho quickly washes off, careful to avoid thinking about… anything. Yep, no thoughts, that’s safer, since he apparently can’t trust his body not to go off the rails.

By the time he makes it to the lobby of their hotel, it’s nearly time to leave, and Hongjoong looks at him with concern—it’s not like him to miss breakfast. He grabs a banana and a coffee, waving off his hyung’s questions, and settles into the car.

No thoughts. That’s the goal. No more thoughts, until he gets home and can take Yeosang on a date and act on his thoughts (maybe).

The fansign goes well, TeaSea’s excitedly and politely lining up to offer their compliments and ask for cute photos. One girl tells him that he’s the reason she had the courage to take vocal lessons—he sees shifting stripes beneath her skin and realizes she must be a natural shifter. Another shunned demographic, shifters that were born in animal rather than human skin and retained traits of their animal at all times.

He smiles and thanks her, touching her hand gently as he signs her photocard. She blushes and her eyes fill with overwhelmed tears, before she moves along the line.

Second to performing, this is what he loves most. He doesn’t have a lot of interest in modeling or brand representation, enjoys acting but not enough to deal with the hassle of auditions and rejections. Being able to inspire their fans to reach for their dreams… that’s what matters.

After the fansign is the surprise performance they prepared for TeaSea, their fans ecstatic at the unexpected show. Jongho performs the new ballad that he and Hongjoong wrote for the first time, and he’s overwhelmed by the positive reaction. By the end of the day, he’s buzzing with adrenaline, fed by the energy of the members around him.

“OH MY GOD I love Japan! Every time we come here, the fans are so amazing, and we have so much fun!!” Wooyoung is hanging off of San, bouncing excitedly as they take the elevator up to their floor in the hotel. The floor is entirely reserved for them and their staff, so there’s no need for discretion when they get off the lift.

After cleaning up and changing into shorts and a T-shirt, Jongho heads to Seonghwa’s room to meet up with the others for dinner. The managers come through with a feast of abura soba, and Seonghwa is over-the-moon, going through an extended process of topping his noodles and taking copious pictures. Jongho giggles, light and floaty with the performance high.

At the sound, Wooyoung grins and crawls into his lap. “Awww Jongie-bear, you’re so cute!!” The witch dives in to smack a kiss on Jongho’s lips, and for once, he doesn’t dodge. The kiss lands squarely where Wooyoung intends, and the witch immediately pulls back with a gasp.

Wooyoung’s lips are soft, pink and parted slightly in surprise. Jongho traces his thumb over the witch’s bottom lip and smirks, raising his eyebrows.

“Eat your food, hyung.” He lifts Wooyoung easily and turns him around to face the table.

Around the room, the members are trying (and mostly failing) to hide their surprise. He never encourages Wooyoung’s antics.

But he’s tired of running away. Tired of them thinking he doesn’t want this part of their lives.

So, he ignores the members sideways glances and calmly keeps eating, while Wooyoung relaxes back against him and slurps his noodles happily.

When the food is gone and they are all a few beverages deep, Jongho finds himself leaning back against the foot of the couch with Wooyoung sitting sideways in his lap, having gotten up once to go to the bathroom before immediately returning to his chosen seat.

Yunho and Mingi are tangled up on the cushions behind him, and he suspects Yunho is doing something inappropriate to Mingi from the sudden, bitten off moan. The mood seems to be generally shifting in that direction, with Seonghwa pressing light kisses to Hongjoong’s neck, though Hongjoong himself is doing nothing more than stroking his fingers through San’s hair as he dozes off against him, cheeks glowing from his single glass of soju.

Wooyoung shifts in his lap, leaning close, mouth brushing his ear. “Jongie-yah… do you want to come back to my room?”

Jongho hesitates. The easy answer is yes, but layers of insecurities and self-doubt start to pile up. His silence drags and Wooyoung smiles softly, tapping a finger on his lips. “It’s ok if you don’t. Just cuddling with you is really nice. You can be my personal teddy bear.”

Before Wooyoung can withdraw his hand, Jongho opens his lips and bites gently on the tip of the witch’s finger. Wooyoung’s eyes widen, and he hisses in a breath, free hand digging into Jongho’s shoulder.

The words are caught in his chest, but as he dares to trace his tongue over the tip of Wooyoung’s finger trapped between his teeth, he hopes he won’t need them.

“Is that a yes, Jongho-yah?”

Shit. Ok. Words, he can do words.

Gathering all of his courage, Jongho lets go of Wooyoung’s finger and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, hyung, I want that. But… can Hwa-hyung come with? I—I don’t know how much I—um.”

Wooyoung swallows hard, smile spreading. “You’re not sure how far you want to go?” he asks, tracing his fingers over the small patch of scales exposed at the collar of his shirt.

Sparks of sensation shoot from where Wooyoung’s nail scratches lightly over the edge of a scale. He doesn’t want to disappoint Wooyoung so having Seonghwa there, to help as a buffer, to satisfy the witch if he can’t…  but will Seonghwa want to be there, if it’s him? Maybe this is a bad idea—

Wooyoung stands up, walks over the Seonghwa where he’s now lying with his head in San’s lap, and pulls him to his feet. Seonghwa has a knowing smile on his face that sharpens into surprise when Jongho slowly stands up to join them at the door.

He sees Hongjoong smile, still carding his fingers through San’s hair, who is now fully passed out on their captain’s lap. Yunho and Mingi are lost in each other, hands traveling suspiciously under clothing, and Jongho looks away with a blush.

The trip down the hall to Wooyoung’s room takes the longest one minute and two seconds of Jongho’s life. Not that he’s counting. The combination of anticipation and the vibrating urge to run the fuck away leaves him on edge.

When the door opens, Wooyoung nudges them inside before throwing the extra lock and leading the way into the suite, bypassing the sitting area in favor of flopping onto the bed.

“Hyung, do you think I could steal this mattress for the apartment?” Wooyoung asks, making snow angels on the crisp sheets. Seonghwa suppresses a smile puts his hands on his hips. “Not sure how you’ll get it on the plane, Youngie-yah.” Wooyoung hangs his head off the bed, looking at them upside-down and pouts. “Why’re you all the way over there, baby bear?”

Jongho jumps, jerking away from the wall where he’d been hovering, unsure of what to do.

“Um.” His voice swells, coiling in his chest like a lump of chicken stuck in his throat, uncomfortable and full. He presses a hand just below his sternum, as if he can Heimlich his insecurities right out of his mouth.

Seonghwa takes his hands and tugs, pulling him over to the bed. Wooyoung rolls, pillowing his head on Jongho’s thigh, looking up at him.

“Jongho…” Seonghwa’s cool fingers rest under his chin, tipping up his face to meet his hyung’s eyes, “you know we love you, regardless of how physically intimate you want to be, right?”

Oh no, now they think he’s forcing himself to be here, shit—

“No, I know, hyung, I want this, I want—” he cuts off, words sticking to the roof of his mouth as a richer voice threatens to pour out. He grits his teeth and swallows, forcing it down. “I’m just scared, hyung. Of… of you both being… disappointed. In—” he gestures vaguely at himself, and Wooyoung immediately sits up, moving to straddle his lap.

Jongho instinctively settles his hands on Wooyoung’s waist as he leans in close, tracing his nose softly over his cheek, before his lips meet the shell of Jongho’s ear. “There is nothing about you that can disappoint me, baby bear. Quite—” Wooyoung drags a hand down his shoulder to squeeze one of his thick biceps, “—the opposite.”

Stewing in a mixture of aroused panic, Jongho looks over Wooyoung’s shoulder to meet Seonghwa’s dark, boba eyes. “Is that all that scares you?” Seonghwa asks, threading one hand into Wooyoung’s hair and pulling him back, giving Jongho space to breathe.

His chest expands, a cascade of melodies threatening to break free. “Hyung, I—” his voice is strained, rough, “—I’m scared that I’ll… sing. That I’ll force you to do something you guys don’t want to do.”

Seonghwa tugs harder on Wooyoung’s hair until the witch grumbles and gets off of Jongho’s lap. At which point he starts panicking because what if this means Seonghwa agrees with him, that he’s dangerous and they shouldn’t—

Jongho’s thoughts cut off as his hyung promptly takes Wooyoung’s place in his lap, long limbs curling around his broader frame. “I’m here now, with no coercion, Jongho-yah. And if your siren wants to play…” Seonghwa’s skin grows frosty beneath his fingers, a bite just shy of a burn, “…I’m happy to let it try.” Jongho shivers, half from the cold and half from the slightly twisted smile gracing over Seonghwa’s face.

“And for all that he’s a brat, Wooyoungie secretly likes to be told what to do, so your siren won’t be a problem for him. I wonder…” Seonghwa tilts his head, examining Jongho’s face, “…how many times could you command our little brat to cum, hmm?”

A needy moan falls from Wooyoung’s lips, leaving Jongho squirming beneath Seonghwa’s slight weight. Pressing close, the witch nuzzles into the eldest’s neck, eyes glowing purple as he meets Jongho’s gaze. “Sing for us, baby bear. Please?”

The drizzle becomes a shower, then a downpour, cascading from his lungs into the air to swirl with the power of the depths where light is but a memory. His voice expands, flooding the room, circling his hyungs with delicate chains of desire. Wooyoung sits back, eyes wide, entranced, panting, nails digging harsh crescents into his palms, while Seonghwa laughs, high and clear, ice crystals blooming in the air where their power clashes.

“Look at you.” Seonghwa’s voice carries reverence as he leans in to brush his fingertips over the scales spreading from beneath Jongho’s shirt. “So beautiful, our siren.”

He stiffens and bites back a moan at Seonghwa’s frosted touch, the scales sending zings of sensation straight to his cock. His hips jerk up involuntarily beneath Seonghwa’s ass and he can’t stifle the breathy cry that escapes.

“Lie back on the bed, Wooyoung.” The witch pauses where he’s slipping his fingers beneath the hem of Jongho’s t-shirt to caress the skin of his back, considers Seonghwa’s words, and goes back to tracing Jongho’s skin. He watches as Seonghwa rolls his eyes and, not leaving Jongho’s lap, sends a bitter cold gust of wind to smack Wooyoung back into the pillowy mattress.

“Hyung--!”

“Quiet. Don’t you want to be good for our baby?”

Fuck, he hates it when they call him a baby, so why is he melting under Seonghwa’s words? Wooyoung whines but stays put. Seeing him with fingers twisting in the sheets in his effort to obey is possibly the hottest thing Jongho’s seen… other than watching Yeosang towel off the sweat on his neck at the gym.

Seonghwa traces his fingertips over Jongho’s cheeks, pressing on his lower lip. “Can I have a kiss, Jongie-yah?”

Seonghwa could be asking for his kidney, and he’d still say yes. Rather than answering, he leans forward and presses his lips against Seonghwa’s. Cool breath slips into his mouth as he parts his lips easily beneath him, tongue flicking out to tangle with his own. His hands find Seonghwa’s small waist, thumbs rubbing along the ridges of his abdomen.

He pulls back and Seonghwa chases him, stealing another kiss, and another, until he’s a panting mess. Minutes, hours, who the fuck knows, later they’re interrupted by Wooyoung begging dramatically. “Please, please Hwa-hyungie, I need—”

Sighing, Seonghwa slides off Jongho’s lap, leaving his shorts embarrassingly tented and his face burning a steady red. Seonghwa leans over Wooyoung and traces a frost-tipped finger down the side of his neck, causing the witch to arch and cry out. The purple glow in his eyes intensifies, a flickering violet flame that spills into the dimly lit room.

Jongho moves to kneel at Wooyoung’s side when Seonghwa gestures him over. “Our little demon has been very patient… I’d like to make him feel good. Do you want to watch or touch, Jongie-bear?”

Oh. Oh fuck. His brain threatens to rebel at the thought of touching so maybe… watching. Watching sounds doable, less likely for him to fuck something up and Gods, just looking at Wooyoung who already looks wrecked simply from watching him make out with Seonghwa… because, fuck, that happened. The unfamiliar tingling in his lips is proof.

“I want to watch.”

Seonghwa smiles down at Wooyoung. “You going to put on a show for our baby, Wooyoungie?”

The witch whimpers and nods desperately, hand shooting out to tug on the hem of Jongho’s shirt. “Please, Jongie-bear, off?”

Jongho swallows deeply and before he can think too much and begin doubting himself, he pulls his t-shirt off, fully exposing the slowly spreading patches of scales that blend seamlessly with his skin. Seonghwa’s eyes immediately glue themselves to his chest and Jongho is more than a little pleased to see his hyung let out a slow, shuddering breath, hands clenching on his thighs.

“Oh, fuck, Jongho, what the fuck, how dare you hide this body from me, this is incubus cruelty right here, NEGLECT—” he ducks down to kiss away Wooyoung’s protests with a laugh. Yeah, okay, maybe he does look kinda good. No defined abs, but his pecs and shoulders definitely rival San’s.

Jongho releases Wooyoung’s mouth when the witch is thoroughly breathless. His lips are immediately occupied by Seonghwa lurching over Wooyoung’s body to grip his chin and draw him into a harsh kiss, nothing like the one before. Where that was soft, tentative, exploratory—this is biting, hungry, and raw.

Seonghwa catches his lower lip between his teeth and tugs on it as the kiss breaks. “You are so gorgeous, Jongie, why did you ever think you would disappoint us?”

With Wooyoung a panting mess on the bed between them and Seonghwa staring at him with blatant hunger, Jongho can admit his fears were maybe a bit illogical. With one more deep kiss, Seonghwa turns his attention to Wooyoung, curling a hand around the witch’s throat. “Safe word?” Wooyoung blinks at him hazily and Seonghwa starts to remove his hand, but the witch quickly says “ramyeon!”

Jongho doesn’t bother holding back his snort. Wooyoung glares at him but is forced to pay attention to Seonghwa when the eldest tightens his grip and leans down to nip at Wooyoung’s lips. “Good boy. Now. Clothes off.”

Which leaves him to watch as Wooyoung eagerly sits up to kneel on the bed and yank off his shirt, revealing miles of tan, silky skin, delicate yet defined chest heading into a flat stomach and the smallest fucking waist. His pants follow, shucked off along with his underwear, until the witch lies back down, gloriously naked.

Jongho’s mouth goes dry. Wooyoung is… wet, his thighs gleaming as he leaks onto the bed.

“All worked up, aren’t you?” Seonghwa trails a finger through the slick and the witch whines. Jongho’s eyes track the movement, unable to look away. Which is fine—he’s supposed to watch. They want him to watch.

You could be touching, whispers a little voice in his mind.

No, no, this is better, he can’t say why, just that he might pass out and ascend into a different dimension if he touches either of them right now.

“Can you blame me? He’s—” Wooyoung groans, “—so fucking hot, hyung, like some kinda forbidden fruit—” Seonghwa’s fingers disappear easily into the slick dripping out of Wooyoung’s hole, pressing inside of him. The witch arches, heels kicking into the bed and fuck it, touching sounds good after all—he grips Wooyoung’s hips and pushes him down, pinning him to the mattress. Wooyoung keens, voice breaking into a sob as Seonghwa fingers him roughly, thrusting in over and over again, neglecting the witch’s bouncing, straining cock.

Jongho never thought he’d look at a cock and think, wow, that’s a beautiful fucking cock, but here he is.

A constant stream of whimpered profanities spill from Wooyoung’s mouth as Seonghwa leans over and presses a kiss to Jongho’s jaw.

“Isn’t he lovely, Jongie-bear?”

That must be a rhetorical question because Wooyoung, writhing against his grip, sweat slicked and flushed, is a fucking wet dream come to life. And he seems to get off on them talking about him as if he’s not there.

“Yeah, hyung, he’s beautiful. So pretty, coming apart for us.” Jongho’s voice is rich with aged wine, power dripping through his teeth, and he does nothing to push it back, diving in and happily drowning in the depths. Instinct drives him to bend down and mouth at Wooyoung’s chest, laving his tongue over his nipples.

Oh yeah. Touching is much better.

“Please, please, I need to cum, please hyung, touch me, please, fuck—!” Jongho bites down hard on one flat nipple, still pinning Wooyoung’s hips to the bed. He needs, craves more, more of Wooyoung, his noises, his pleasure—

“Come for me.” The words swell out of his chest to crest into the air between them.

With wide, shocked eyes, Wooyoung cries out as his cock shoots ropes of white up his abdomen and chest. Seonghwa fingers him through it, pressing deep, earning a near scream (Jongho really hopes these walls are soundproofed) as Wooyoung’s hands scrabble for purchase on Jongho’s forearms.

Even when the witch sags back to the bed, Seonghwa doesn’t let up. Wooyoung twitches and whimpers in overstimulation, as Jongho is flooded by power—Wooyoung’s pleasure feeding his siren but not sating it. Never sated, always hungry, starved—

“Again,” he sings, sweet and deadly.

Sobbing, Wooyoung’s nails dig into Jongho’s skin as he comes a second time, fresh cum joining the mess already on his chest. Another heavy wave of satisfaction crests in Jongho’s soul and the pleasure spears into him, and he doubles over as an orgasm rips through him. Ears ringing and vision spotty, he catches movement on the bed, sees Seonghwa pushing his cock into Wooyoung’s lax mouth, the witch panting and shivering.

Despite having cum in his pants, Jongho’s voice rises. He bites down on it, waiting until Seonghwa’s thrusts become sloppy, Wooyoung drooling and choking on each deep stroke, until he knows his hyung is close, so fucking gorgeous as he chases his orgasm in Wooyoung’s beautiful mouth.

Jongho stretches out next to the witch, mouth ghosting over the shell of his ear…

“Be good for me, one last time.”

With tears pouring down his face, Wooyoung tenses, cock twitching weakly, as Seonghwa’s face twists into pleasure, hand tangled in Wooyoung’s hair to hold him close, before letting go and slumping back against the pillows.

Wooyoung falls limp, chest heaving and eyes closed, body covered with his own mess. As their panting breaths fill the air, Jongho blinks, the siren coiling up within him, smug and finally sated.

Fuck. He completely lost control, and Wooyoung—fuck, what if he went too far—

“Hyung, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” Wooyoung rolls, flopping an arm and leg over Jongho, cum smeared between their bare chests and if his shorts weren’t already ruined, they certainly are now. The witch nuzzles into his neck, dead weight on top of him.

“That was… so. Fucking. Incredible.” He punctuates each word with a kiss to the sensitive patch of scales behind Jongho’s ear.

“Oh. Um. Okay, that’s—ok.” Wooyoung snorts and Jongho flushes. He can’t be expected to form actual sentences, not when he’s one orgasm deep with a fucked out Wooyoung draped over his chest and Seonghwa, perfect, ethereal Seonghwa watching them with kiss bitten lips.

He settles for wrapping one arm around Wooyoung and reaching out for Seonghwa with the other. His hyung slides over immediately, scooting down to press a gentle kiss to Jongho’s hair.

They lay there in comfortable silence, until Jongho can’t ignore the rising discomfort.

“Ah, hyung? We’re fucking disgusting. Mind if we shower?” Wooyoung grumbles and gloms on harder, making Jongho roll his eyes fondly. Wrapping his arms more firmly around the witch, he sits up and stands, carrying him to the bathroom as Wooyoung lets out a sharp gasp, and Seonghwa curses under his breath, following them.

“Since when did you get so fucking hot, baby bear?” mumbles Wooyoung a bit accusatorily, head lolling on Jongho’s shoulder. He chuckles, watching as Seonghwa turns on the shower and begins shucking off his clothes.

“Glad you approve, Wooyoungie-hyung.”

“More than approve,” Wooyoung sways as Jongho sets him on his feet beneath the warm spray, “if you don’t make me cum like that at least three times a week, I’m suing you for abandonment.”

Jongho snorts and strips off his shorts, the last of his self-consciousness floating away, and steps into the large shower, Seonghwa following. The eldest begins wiping down Wooyoung’s skin, laughing softly. “Welcome to the brat-taming club, Jongho-yah. You’ve created a monster.”

As Wooyoung starts protesting that he’s well within his rights to demand orgasms, Jongho feels unexpected tears prick the back of his eyes. Because this, here, is no longer just a fantasy playing out in his mind late at night when he’s lonely and trying to pretend he’s fine.

The nights don’t have to be lonely anymore.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” asks Seonghwa, wiping at Jongho’s cheeks with gentle hands. He just shakes his head and smiles, kissing Seonghwa’s palm softly.

“Happy tears.”

Wooyoung tilts his head up from where it rests heavily on Jongho’s shoulder. “Ya know what makes tears better? Kisses.”

Giggling, Jongho kisses him, and thinks he’s on to something good. 

Notes:

1. Jongho has a sex dream that feels more like a memory with someone who looks like Yeosang but has wings
2. Jongho and Seonghwa take care of Wooyoung, and Jongho sings as a siren commands Woo to orgasm (there is a safeword so that this is consensual, but somewhat undernegotiated

Chapter 19

Summary:

A bachelorette party from Hell, a shadow of Yeosang's past hovers just out of sight, and the members are back from Japan.
Mingi isn't sure how Yeosang ended up half-naked on his lap, but he sure isn't complaining.

Spicy from "Whatever I want?" to "Yeosang's lips are right there..."

“I closed the shop for the day, so the space is yours. My usual bartender is at your disposal, and he’s ready with the custom cocktails you requested. The, er, rugs and chairs are mostly fire-resistant, and the Sanctuary can protect itself just fine which takes care of anything made of wood, so it’s really just the alcohol that’s flammable…” Yeosang trails off, watching Lillia, the maid-of-honor, nervously.

“Everything looks perfect, Yeosang-ssi. Gotta admit, after the first three Sanctuaries I reached out to rejected my request, I was a bit concerned by how quickly you accepted it.”

Ouch.

Yeosang pastes on a smile and shrugs. “I don’t have a typical Sanctuary. We’re not really the fancy party and political meetings type of place.”

Lillia tosses her golden curls to the side and nods briskly. “Ok. The girls should be here in an hour or so—do you mind helping me with the decorations?”

They spend the better part of the hour stringing up banners and sparkling garlands, Lillia gasping appreciatively when the shop eagerly assists. By the time Felix shows up and hops behind the bar to get ready, the shop is bedecked with golden décor, with new black fireproof upholstery contrasting nicely with the sparkling decorations.

Taking out his phone, he snaps a photo to send to the group.

Eight Makes One Team

Yeosang (7:22pm)
*photo attached*
if you hear sirens all the way from Japan
it’s me.

As Lillia greets the caterer and begins laying out the food, and the live band (recommended by Chan) arrives to set-up, Yeosang joins Felix behind the bar.

“So…?”

The pixie continues lining glasses with gold flecked salt and sugar, then moves on to slicing limes, avoiding Yeosang’s gaze.

“So… what, hyung?”

He leans into Felix’s view, nearly lying on the bar to get in the pixie’s line of sight. “Did you work things out with Minho?”

Felix flushes, his lips firming into a stubborn line.

“If you tell me… I’ll tell you what I got up to with San and Wooyoung that night.”

The pixie’s head snaps up, mouth opening into an “o”, before he narrows his eyes. “You don’t play fair.”

Yeosang giggles and pokes Felix in the cheek. “I just want to make sure you’re happy. I am more than willing to bind Minho to the floor again if necessary.”

Felix grins. “That was epic, by the way. And necessary. He probably would have wallowed in self-pity if you hadn’t.” The blonde man sighs, wings fluttering with a faint sheen of light blue dust as he turns to juicing the fresh fruit he’ll be using for the evening. “I talked, he listened, Jisung cried, I cried, Minho pretended that we couldn’t see him crying, and then… we fucked.”

Yeosang, having just popped a candied lemon slice in his mouth, promptly chokes and spits it out. Felix wrinkles his nose at the offending candy disrupting his pristine bar top, and beams at Yeosang.

“So I’d say we definitely worked out something.”

There’s an innuendo in there, Yeosang is sure of it.

“Please tell me you did not have sex on my worktable.”

Felix has the grace to look at least a little bit guilty. “I mean… we kicked everybody else out first.”

Rather than process that, he takes out his phone to see a pile of new messages.

Eight Makes One Team

Hot Mom (7:25pm)
looks beautiful, Yeosangie
please tell me you have a fire extinguisher

Captain (7:26pm)
did you mention to the pyromage
that I will wreak havoc on her bloodline
if you get so much as singed

Brat (7:26pm)
Hot.

Baby Bear (7:27pm)
didn’t know you were into fire-play Woo

Brat (7:29pm)
WOW
we share ONE orgasm and the respect is gone
GONE I SAY

Mingles (7:29pm)
I…
Did not see that coming

Brat (7:29pm)
I also did not see him coming
Because he kept his PANTS ON

Dragon Ball San (7:29pm)
don’t worry Mingles
he’ll tell you about it
in detail

Brat (7:30pm)
DONT PRTEND U DIDNT LKE THE RCAP

Yuyu (7:31pm)
I liked the recap, Woo

Brat (7:31pm)
someone appreciates me

Jongho and Wooyoung had… Yeosang rubs a hand over his scar, frowning. It’s not jealousy, exactly, that wells up—more a sense of… longing. Sadness, that he’s here and they’re there.

Yeosang (7:35pm)
Jongie, why didn’t I get a recap?

Hot Mom (7:36pm)
he just choked on his water and spit it on the table
Mingi is attempting the Heimlich
send help.

Yeosang grins, secure in the fact that they’ll be home soon and someday, maybe, he can go with the group when they travel.

He’s pulled away by Lillia confirming, for the tenth time, that Yeosang is prepared with no less than five fire-extinguishers and that Felix knows to guard the alcohol with his life. After taking their stoic oaths, the maid-of-honor sighs and drops her head into her hands, muttering under her breath.

“Okay. Well. It can’t possibly be worse than when Fiona caught Kurt cheating with Dalia. It took the fire department four days to put out the house.”

Felix looks at him with wide eyes, and Yeosang takes a brief moment to deeply regret his choices.

Ah well. Can’t back out now.

Silently, the pixie pours a shot of straight tequila, garnishes it with a lime and pushes it across the bar to Lillia, who downs it without question, pastes a smile on her face, and flings open the door for the arrivals.

~ ~ ~

In the end, Yeosang counts the evening as a win, for three reasons.

One, no one died.

Two, his Sanctuary is still standing, though singed.

Three, Felix was so busy that he didn’t have time to demand Yeosang spill details about his time with San and Wooyoung.

Is it a low bar for success?

Possibly.

As the last guests are leaving, Yeosang turns to where Fiona, the pyromantic sister, stands wrapped in metal vines that the shop created from the detritus of a garbage truck he’d been gifted (don’t ask) and sighs.

“Alright. By attacking your sister and attempting to set my shop on fire by summoning a flame wreathed phoenix, you have, with no lack of certainty, violated the laws of Sanctuary.”

Fiona hisses, Dalia calls her a bitch, and Lillia takes a swig of tequila straight from the bottle.

“However—” Yeosang continues, “—sleeping with your sister’s boyfriend is kind of a dick move so I’ll let it go.” Dalia turns to him in outrage, Lillia lets out a vaguely hysterical giggle, and Fiona looks slightly less murderous. “So, as long as you promise to exit the premises without further attempts at immolating your sister in the shop, I’m gonna let you go.”

Luckily for all of them, the two sisters make it out of the Sanctuary without further attempts on each other’s lives. And if he can hear fire sirens start up a few minutes later… that’s someone else’s problem.

Lillia thumps the now empty bottle on the bar and turns to him with a wobbly smile.

“Here.” She holds out her palm, where a glowing pearl sits. “A bonus, for the trouble we caused. Eden was right in recommending you.”

He holds out his hand without thinking, processing… Eden? Eden told her to go to him?

The pearl hits his palm and—Not a pearl at all. Magic, divine Magic, pure and concentrated, rockets through him, blasting out to coat the floor in a silver glow. He stares at Lillia, eyes going wide.

“You… why?”

Flaring her snow-silvered wings, the seraph smiles. “Because prejudice serves no purpose. And…” she tilts her head, studying him, “…there is something familiar, in the bloodlines of your soul.”

Yeosang has no idea what the hell that means, but with a humming pearl of power sitting in his palm, he isn’t about to question her.

Lillia steps back, a sparkle growing around her form. “Thanks again, Yeosang-ssi. I’ll be sure to tell my friends that your Sanctuary is worth every penny.”

She disappears with a flare of light, leaving him alone with Felix, the scent of cinders lingering in the air.

The shop hums with energy, shifting and stretching. Felix begins to hover, wings near invisible with their speed, as the floor buzzes.

After a moment, the air settles, and Yeosang lets out a breath. There’s an odd sense of escaped gravity in the air, as if the Sanctuary is a bit less tethered to the earth. Not a bad thing, necessarily, just… different.

“So… what’s San hiding behind those sweatpants?”

Groaning, Yeosang thumps his head on the bar and opens a new bottle of tequila, resigning himself to his fate.

~ ~ ~

Minho the Worst Best Friend in History (1:04pm)
I’m sorry

Yeosang (1:10pm)
what did you do

Minho the Worst Best Friend in History (1:11pm)
nothing new
I just never apologized
for fucking with your memory

Yeosang stares at his phone in shock as the train sways slightly around a curve.

Yeosang (1:11pm)
Lee Minho apologizing
what is the world coming to

Minho the Worst Best Friend in History (1:12pm)
blame Felix
he’s a good influence
disgusting really

Yeosang (1:13pm)
apology accepted
why’d you do it?

Minho the Worst Best Friend in History (1:20pm)
that’s a longer conversation
and I can’t tell you everything
come over to our place when you leave the company
I’ll cook

Yeosang (1:22pm)
fried chicken?

Minho the Worst Best Friend in History (1:22pm)
of course
you never want anything else

Grinning at his phone and oddly content knowing he might finally get some answers out of Minho, Yeosang gets off the train near the company and makes his way out of the station. He vaguely knows where the building is—he might have walked past it once or twice (not at all attempting to get a glimpse of one of the idols).

As he walks, he allows himself to panic. Better to get it all out of the way now.

Are the managers going to accept him dating the members? Are they dating? Is courting the same as dating? Or is that just some legal thing or magical binding thing or none of the above and he’s just blowing it out of proportion entirely? Would Eden be there? Sure, the angel had been cordial and apologized last time and is apparently recommending his Sanctuary to other members of the Heavenly Host (still processing that one), but that doesn’t mean he wants to see him again.

The building comes into view and Yeosang’s feet freeze to the ground.

He can’t do this. He’ll just embarrass himself and everyone will know he doesn’t belong there.

His phone dings again, reminding him he’s been ignoring it for the past five minutes.

Yuyu (1:31pm)
I can feel you panicking
are you here?

Yuyu (1:33pm)
Yeosangie

Yuyu (1:36pm)
I’m coming down

Yeosang (1:36pm)
nononono
I’m fine I’ll come in I promise I’m sorry

“Too late.” A shadow falls over him where he’s hovering near the curb one building down from the company. He looks up into Yunho’s masked face shadowed by a cap, and the empath reaches out to run a hand over his cheek. “Come on. It’s just us. This meeting just makes it easier for us to see you in public. And it gives you access to the company to come visit, if you want.”

He’ll be able to come see them? Just… swing by the most famous rising K-pop company in Seoul?

So caught up in the insanity of that idea, Yeosang barely notices Yunho taking his hand and leading him inside. The security guard at the front asks him for his ID, scans it, and hands him a badge. Putting it on, he follows Yunho up two flights of stairs, pausing outside of a room with a frosted glass wall.

“It’s just gonna be two managers, Hongjoongie, and Eden.” Yunho says the last name carefully, watching Yeosang’s expression. At this point, he just wants to get this over with.

“That’s ok. I’m ok. I—I can come watch you guys practice, after?”

Yunho grins, his smile soothing the strumming chords of unease in his body. “We’ll be at the studio; hyung will bring you with after the meeting.”

The promise of seeing all of the members again after their week in Japan and getting an insider view into the recording process has him squaring his shoulders and opening the door.

The meeting is surprisingly painless. The managers are unphased by Hongjoong’s glaring (the vampire seems determined to make it very clear that to fuck with Yeosang is to piss him off) and Eden just sits there with a blank expression looking bored. Yeosang signs a detailed NDA, the managers request discretion and also give him the number to their security team in case any problems arise.

At that bit, Eden snorts loudly and Yeosang bites back a smirk. He is his own security, after all. Under the table, Hongjoong’s hand is firm and warm on his knee, fingers rubbing small circles over his skin through a rip in his black jeans.

It’s more than a little distracting, and he barely listens as Hongjoong agrees to a series of conditions surrounding the members interactions with him in public.

Formalities complete, Eden scoots out of the room along with one of the managers, while the other, a woman who seems like a mundane human, smiles at them kindly.

“Yeosang-ssi, please understand that our priority is the members’ health and happiness, above anything else that comes with their fame as idols. If you are what makes them happy—” she pauses, pointedly looking at where Hongjoong has now interlaced their hands on top of the table, “—then we’ll support your relationship.”

Face burning, Yeosang mumbles his thanks and gratefully escapes with Hongjoong. The vampire leads him down the hall, pausing outside of a partially opened door and peering in, before pulling Yeosang inside and closing them in.

“Wha—” his words are lost in the sudden, gentle press of Hongjoong’s lips on his own. The kiss is fleeting, soft, at odds with the almost aggressive way Hongjoong approaches the world, and it’s all he can do to stay upright against the door.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks. Sorry it took me so long.”

Worth the wait, chants Yeosang’s frazzled brain.

Hongjoong giggles. Oh. He said that out loud. Oops.

“Can I tell you a secret, Yeosangie?”

Hongjoong could do just about anything at the moment, and Yeosang would be on board. Luckily, he manages to keep that thought inside, and simply nods, daring to run his fingers through the shorter strands of hair at the back of Hongjoong’s head.

“You’re the second person I’ve ever kissed.”

Yeosang freezes. That… can’t be right. Seonghwa must be the other person, but the members—he hasn’t kissed them? Does he not want to? But then why him, when they still barely know each other and he’s nothing special…

“I can see your thoughts spinning behind your eyes, Sangie-yah.”

He scrambles to shove his thoughts into words that make sentences and not just a jumbled fruit salad of sounds.

“I just—with the others, you don’t—um. Have, uh, sex? Not that kissing is necessary for sex, so that’s fine, but I—” he cuts himself off. Definitely a fruit salad.

Hongjoong laughs again and leans his head against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“I don’t have sex with them. Actually, secret number two—I had sex for the first time, with Hwa, a few weeks ago. Like you said… worth the wait. He’s… something else.” Yeosang can only imagine… actually, he is imagining and now he needs to stop imagining before his body does something embarrassing like get hard against Hongjoong’s thigh where the vampire has it pressed lightly between his legs. Which… can’t be a coincidence.

Luckily, Hongjoong keeps talking, giving Yeosang a distraction.

“It takes a lot for me to want someone, physically. For a long time, I thought that part of me was broken. I love the others, but have no desire to jump into bed with them. But you…” Hongjoong trails off and brushes his lips softly over Yeosang’s neck, making him shiver. “I wanted you from the beginning. When I met you, it felt… like coming home. Familiar. think… I must have known you, millennia ago, before you died and I got sucked into a shadow.”

Huh. Almost sounded like what happens to the souls he reaps. But since Hongjoong is here, whole and in a body, that can’t be possible.

“At some point you need to explain how that happened.”

The vampire sighs, his breath raising goosebumps over Yeosang’s skin, and steps back. “I’d love an explanation too, but Grandfather develops selective hearing loss whenever I bring it up. I have vague memories of existing as flesh and blood and then it’s just… darkness.”

Well that sounds awful.

“You… feel like home to me, too. I’m very glad I know you now.”

With a shaky inhale, Hongjoong kisses him again, tongue pressing insistently into Yeosang’s mouth in a way that has him melting, sucking on his lower lip as he pulls away.

“So… if you want to kiss me does that mean you also…” Yeosang trails off, looking at Hongjoong innocently. The vampire growls under his breath and nips at Yeosang’s neck. “Yes. I also. Fill in the blank, and the answer is probably yes.”

Yeosang is absolutely not filling in the blanks. And he is definitely not going to push his hips forward against the thigh that settles more firmly against him.

Hongjoong’s tongue drags over the side of his neck before he spins them around and opens the door. “Come on, can’t keep everybody waiting.”

Oh that’s just rude. Grumbling, Yeosang adjusts his pants to be a smidge less painful and follows Hongjoong to the studio, fortunately (or very unfortunately) with no further detours.

“Yeosangie!!!” Wooyoung leaps from his spot lounging on a low couch to fling himself into Yeosang’s arms. “How’d it go? Is it official? Do we get to keep you?”

San rolls his eyes. “For the last time, Woo, he’s not a pet.”

Wooyoung sticks out his tongue, still clinging to Yeosang, and looks at him expectantly.

“I signed a bunch of papers and I think the company gave their blessing?” He looks at Hongjoong, who nods, already busy with the recording equipment, and explains, “The company’s ready to back us, if any rumors pop up. But it’s up to us to convince Yeosangie that we’re boyfriend material.”

Yeosang feels his face heat up at the word ‘boyfriend’ as Wooyoung leans in, lips a breath from his own. “Huh. I don’t think it’ll take too much convincing, will it, Sangie-yah?”

Kissing them individually or in pairs is one thing—kissing Wooyoung in front of all of them has his anxiety rising rapidly. It must show on his face, because the witch pecks him on the cheek instead, and backs off.

Now that his view isn’t blocked by a clinging Wooyoung, Yeosang can see the rest of the room. Gods, he missed them, and it was only a week! Ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous.

“C’mere, hyung.” Jongho pats the couch beside him, and Yeosang settles in, leaning against the maknae’s shoulder.

“Ugh, no fair, how come the babies get all the attention?” Jongho glowers at Yunho, who stares at Yeosang with sad puppy eyes. Mingi quickly joins him, and Yeosang is faced with the devastating combination of the twin towers dejected faces.

“Um, I, well—” flustered, Yeosang is saved by Seonghwa kneeling down in front of him and brushing a sweet kiss over his cheek. “Hello darling. We missed you!”

After the TMI from Hongjoong, seeing Seonghwa has Yeosang’s flushed cheeks burning.

“I missed you too, hyung. All of you.”

Hongjoong claps to get everyone’s attention, clearly done getting set up. “Good news is that you’ll have a free pass to the company now—that badge will let you in whenever you want to come visit or watch a rehearsal. So no need to miss us so much.” He says the last with a small smile, a hint of fang peeking out from his lip.

A free pass. To the k-pop company of his dream group to see the members of that dream group who also want to date him…

Yeosang might, just maybe, be a little bit in love.

~ ~ ~

It is immensely difficult for Mingi to concentrate with Yeosang curled up on the couch hugging a pillow, listening to everything with an expression of shell shocked awe. He’s softly humming along with the music, completely unaware, and it’s fucking adorable. He’s beyond excited that Yeosang is giving them a chance, a real chance. He saw the way his eyes lit up when Hongjoong mentioned boyfriend material and he is determined to prove that’s exactly what they are.

Mingi is an excellent boyfriend—just ask Yunho. The empath is in the booth, frowning in concentration, as he works to hit a higher note than usual while Hongjoong keeps asking for small adjustments. A few of their staff have joined them (tactfully waiting until San opened the door to let them in) and a few cameras are recording. He’s sure the editors will cut any footage that shows Yeosang, but he can tell the cameras make the reaper uncomfortable, from the way he subtly turns his face away anytime one of the lenses pans in his direction.

The whole group in the studio at the same time is rare, but rather than layer individual parts, Hongjoong wants to hear all of their voices together for the final chorus of the song. After today, their next album will be complete—and the teaser along with the promotion schedule will be released tomorrow.

He can’t wait. Watching TeaSea’s reaction to their music and content is his favorite part of being an idol. It makes the late nights and early mornings, the bone-deep exhaustion and constant scrutiny, worth it.

Though this time, he’s most excited to see Yeosang’s reaction.

Over the next hours, he gets lost in the process, letting the rhythm flow through his body, spitting sharp rap from his lips. The entire group is hyped up, focused, and it’s one of their best sessions in months. Even Hongjoong has nothing critical to say when they finish the final touches and all pile out of the studio into the hall. Their production staff is glowing, thrilled with the progress.

It’s still early (only 9pm) and Mingi is amped up, the creative juices flowing—the perfect time to work on a project of his own. He looks at Yeosang, who’s hovering a bit behind the group, watching everything with a small smile. Wooyoung and Seonghwa are talking about dinner, and the managers are shuffling them towards the entrance to go home.

“Ah, I’m gonna grab some more time in the studio, work on a few things.”

Hongjoong, the hypocrite, frowns at him. “Mingi-yah, it’s late and we’ve got the jacket photoshoot in the morning.”

“So you’re not planning on hiding in your room and working til 4am, hyung?”

The vampire rolls his eyes and waves a hand in dismissal. “Fine, but you’d better be wide awake and ready to go at 7am.”

Yunho snorts. “When is Mingi ever wide awake at 7am? Best he can do is upright. And even that’s a stretch.”

Because he’s a mature man in his late twenties, he sticks his tongue out at his boyfriend.

Yeosang laughs softly and Mingi has a sudden, brilliant idea.

“Do you want to hang around, Yeosangie? If you stay, I’ll feel bad if I keep you up too late, and go home sooner.”

A little bit of a guilt trip never hurts and Mingi puts on his best innocently hopeful expression. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t fooling anyone, San rolling his eyes so hard that he can hear them move, because Yeosang still says yes.

Which is how he finds himself, an hour later, in the studio with a locked door and a half-naked Yeosang on his lap.

Absolutely not what he was intending.

Really.

But, as he drags his fingertips down Yeosang’s unexpectedly muscular chest (the man works out with Jongho, so he’s not sure why he’s surprised), he’s definitely not complaining.

Yeosang gasps and arches against him, hands digging into his shoulders, before traveling down to the hem of Mingi’s shirt.

“Can I?” breathes Yeosang, fingertips just slipping beneath his shirt to tease his stomach and Mingi plays it cool as if his cock didn’t jump at the light touch.

“Yes, fuck yes, whatever you want, angel,” he gasps out, and ok, maybe playing it cool is an overstatement.

Yeosang tenses, and Mingi sucks in a breath. Was the pet name too much? He knows he has a tendency to move fast when he’s comfortable—a mess of either panicked, frozen anxiety or boundless, stubborn enthusiasm, according to Seonghwa—and he doesn’t want to push too far.

“I like it. When you call me that,” whispers Yeosang as he slowly pulls Mingi’s shirt over his head.

Pet names, check. He adds it to his growing list of Things Yeosang Likes.

Yeosang slips off his lap and a protest rises to his lips, but quickly dies when the other man settles on his knees between Mingi’s spread legs. A bad habit, his tendency to manspread but right now, he’s not sorry about it. Not when it makes perfect space for Yeosang’s shoulders between his thighs.

“Whatever I want?” Yeosang couples the question with a slight smile, and he’s ruined, completely broken by the picture this gorgeous man makes looking up at Mingi from the floor, fingers digging into his thighs. He makes a ragged sound that he hopes Yeosang hears as a “yes, Gods, whatever, keep going” because words are not a possibility with Yeosang’s fingertips tracing the inside of his thighs before reaching for the button of his jeans.

Mingi lifts his hips off the chair to let the other man pull his pants down, kicking them off one leg with no shame.

After years of being uncomfortable in his skin, Mingi can finally say he knows he looks good. And from the way Yeosang’s hungry gaze trails over his skin—the other man wholeheartedly agrees.

Mingi sends a prayer of thanks to whoever invented soundproofed rooms.

Letting out a moan that Yunho would tease him for and Wooyoung would call pornographic, Mingi’s head drops back onto the chair as he slouches down. He tentatively slides a hand into Yeosang’s hair, and the reaper hums happily, leaning into the touch, as he drags his tongue over Mingi’s cock in his underwear.

And then Yeosang’s hand is pulling him out and even though he is reasonably well-endowed, Yeosang’s long, strong fingers wrap easily around him. The slide is rough, a little dry, and fucking incredible. It’s even better when Yeosang spits into his palm and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth.

“Shit, fuck, angel, your mouth, Gods I’m gonna write a fucking song about your mouth—”

He can’t control the words falling from his lips, praises tumbling out of his mouth intermixed with whimpers as Yeosang sinks further down on his cock.

Knowing, unless Yeosang has already done this with one of the other members, that this is his first time giving a blowjob? Almost enough to make him lose it on the spot.

Mingi realizes Yeosang doesn’t need to breathe at the same time he realizes that he also doesn’t have a gag reflex. Which means Mingi is a whimpering, sloppy mess by the time Yeosang’s lips meet the base of his cock, his hands (now free) caressing his balls gently, sending pleasure pulsing through him.

He isn’t gonna last. His hands are buried in Yeosang’s hair, tugging (when did that happen?) and he’s starting to thrust up into the reaper’s hot mouth, but Yeosang makes no move to pull off, simply holds himself in place and lets Mingi use him.

“Angel, I’m gonna come, you gotta pull off—”

Yeosang pins Mingi’s hips to the chair with a sudden, immovable grip (shit, Yeosang is so much stronger than him), and swallows around Mingi’s cock as it’s buried deep in his throat.

Helpless. He’s fucking helpless beneath the assault of pleasure that rushes over him, and he’s coming hard down Yeosang’s throat, hips twitching uselessly against the hands holding him down, until he sags back into the chair, completely spent.

Yeosang pulls back until only the tip of Mingi’s cock is between his lips, licking and sucking at him gently, catching the rest of his cum on his tongue. Shivers of overstimulation course through him, and he whines, tugging Yeosang off. The other man rests his cheek against Mingi’s trembling thigh, smiling contentedly up at him.

“I’ve wanted to try that, ever since I watched Woo suck off San-ah.”

Mingi stares down at him in disbelief. How the fuck is he real?

“And? What’d you think?”

Yeosang licks his lips.

Mingi can see traces of his cum on the other’s tongue.

“Ten out of ten. Would definitely do again. Did I… do a good job?”

From anyone else, it would be coy, fishing for a compliment, but Yeosang looks up at him with a face so open and vulnerable that Mingi knows he’s actually asking, that he’s actually unsure.

“You did so fucking good, Yeosangie.” Mingi tugs his boxers and pants back up, but leaves them unbuttoned because his cock is still far too sensitive after what might (sorry Yunho) be the best blowjob of his life, “I wanna take care of you too. Can I?”

Yeosang bites his lip and nods, standing up with a wince on shaky legs.

“C’mere. On my lap, facing away.”

With Yeosang settling against him once more, Mingi decides it’s against the rules for the reaper to sit anywhere else. He presses his face into Yeosang’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin behind his ear.

“Can I touch you, Yeosangie?”

Yeosang nods, breath hitching, his hands coming to rest on the outside of Mingi’s thighs. Feeling like the luckiest bastard in the world, Mingi slides his palm down Yeosang’s bare chest, taking a moment to rub his thumb over his small nipples and grinning at the yelp that comes from the other man. Reaching the waist of Yeosang’s jeans, he wastes no time unbuttoning them and pushing them down enough for him to slip his hand inside Yeosang’s underwear.

His silky soft, pastel blue briefs with lace edges.

Fuck, he is definitely dead and in heaven.

“Angel, you’re so beautiful. Gonna make you feel so good.” His voice is fucking wrecked, like he was the one with a cock down his throat moments ago.

Yeosang moans as Mingi gets a hand around him, and he’s as big as he looked in his vision, fuck, the idea that he can have everything he’s seen, that those futures will come true—has him getting hard again under Yeosang’s ass.

And ok, maybe he is a size queen, but a man likes what he likes, ok?

He spits into his hand and begins to stroke, twisting his wrist in a way that makes Yeosang whimper and jerk against him.

“You can move, angel, fuck my hand, use me—” with a sobbed moan, Yeosang starts to thrust up into his grip, and Mingi wraps an arm around his stomach to keep him from falling, keeping his hand tight and twisting rhythmically, until Yeosang cries out and comes over his fist.

Mingi strokes him through it, slowing when the reaper falls limp against him, gasping and trembling. He kisses over Yeosang’s jaw and neck, savoring the feel and taste of his skin, salty with sweat and sex. He cups Yeosang’s face with his clean hand, turning the reaper’s head to face him, while he licks the cum off of his fingers.

“You… that was… Mingi-yah, I don’t think I can move.”

Yeosang’s lips are right there, plump and rosy, and Mingi has to kiss them. A breathless moment later, he pulls back, resting his forehead against Yeosang’s.

“Me neither. I think you broke me.”

Yeosang wiggles on his lap, ass pressing into his now fully interested cock.

“You don’t feel broken.”

Mingi groans, tucking Yeosang back into his unfairly sexy underwear and helping him pull up his pants.

“We’re not fucking for the first time in the studio. I want you in a bed and—” he hesitates, still not entirely sure what Yeosang is comfortable with, “—with Yunho. If that’s something you’d want?”

Yeosang nods so emphatically that Mingi is a little worried for the safety of his spine. That’s a resounding yes, then. He can’t wait to tell Yunho—who will likely plan out a whole romantic evening for the three of them.

Was getting each other off in the studio romantic? Nah.

Was it worth it?

Fuck yes.

Chapter 20

Summary:

Yeosang gets a look into his past, and maybe some things are better left unknown.

Short chapter today (lore drop time!) which I don't entirely love but it moves the story along so I finally stopped fiddling with it.

The minute Yeosang steps into his shop, he feels Felix’s eyes laser in on him. Somehow, the pixie finishes making a bubbly fruity cocktail without looking, hands moving on autopilot, as he stares Yeosang down. A slow, evil smile stretches over his face.

He at least has the decency to wait until Yeosang joins him behind the bar to say, “is that a hickey on your neck, hyung?” Granted, he says it at full volume and the three customers nearest them look up curiously, which makes Yeosang flush, glaring at the giggling pixie.

“You are a menace, Lee Felix.”

Felix snorts and swirls away to keep washing out empty glasses. “Minho-hyung texted you, check your phone.”

Eight missed texts and a missed phone call. Oops.

Minho the worst best friend in history (8:10pm)
How’d it go with the company?

Minho the worst best friend in history (8:25pm)
I made dinner
Fried chicken
As requested

Minho the worst best friend in history (8:52pm)
Do you want me to tell you what I know
Or do you want to live an ignorant life forever

Minho the worst best friend in history (9:39pm)
Are you dead
Or are you having an orgy

1 Missed Call at 10:07pm

Minho the worst best friend in history (10:08pm)
I’m throwing out your chicken.

Well, that’s a lie. Minho never wastes food.

Yeosang sighs and hits the call button.

“Not dead, so I will automatically assume option two is correct.”

“Hello to you too, Lee Minho, the bane of my eternal existence.”

“I made you chicken, and this is how you treat me? Children. So ungrateful these days.”

Yeosang laughs despite himself and waves at Felix before heading up to his apartment.

“You’re just mad you’re older than me. Dead or orgy? Really? Those are the only options?”

Minho snorts. “Was I right?”

“I sucked Mingi’s dick in the studio and then he jerked me off. Does that count?”

Silence crackles on the phone and Yeosang congratulates himself on shocking Minho into speechlessness. Then a request for a video-call comes through. Smirking, he answers, unsurprised when Jisung’s face joins Minho’s on the screen.

“YOU DID WHAT?!” screeches the younger vampire, face shoved right into the camera. Minho pushes his mate to the side to narrow his eyes at Yeosang. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Yeosang raises his eyebrows and shrugs, propping the phone up against a cabinet as he sets about making a late dinner. “I already had phone sex with him and Yunho, so it seemed like the natural progression.”

Jisung makes a choking noise that turns into shrieking that vaguely sounds like “oh my god I have to call Felix right now” while Minho gapes at him. “Who are you, and what did you do with Yeosang the panicked gay?”

He wasn’t that panicked! At least not gay panic. It was more… your idols actually like you and want to do sex things with you panic. Which is a completely valid reason to panic!

“I was not a panicked gay, I was a panicked fanboy there’s a difference! Besides, you’re the one who made grand proclamations about this being my only chance to be loved or some shit.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “That was a dramatic moment for me, I’m sorry.”

“Your entire existence is a dramatic moment.”

“I am going to throw out your chicken.”

Well, that’s just sacrilege.

“Absolutely not, I am on my way for both chicken and answers.” He ignores Minho’s continued bitching, shoves his phone in his pocket and hustles out his door, slipping into a shadow and speeding towards the vampires’ house on the edge of Seoul. It’s a strain on his power but for chicken? Worth it.  

Ten minutes later, he’s slipping through an open window into the living room, sneaking up behind Jisung to pop directly out of the vampire’s shadow.

“Boo.”

Jisung screams and leaps off the couch, which sends Minho barreling out of the kitchen with a knife raised in the air. Laughter spills out of Yeosang’s chest as he takes in the expressions on his friends’ faces.

“That—you—since when can you teleport?!” Jisung splutters, waving his hands in the air.

Minho stomps back into the kitchen, muttering about inconsiderate houseguests.

“I can’t teleport, but I can travel in shadows. It’s way faster than the train. But it takes energy, so I don’t do it that often. But when I’m promised chicken…”

Minho sticks his head out of the kitchen, brandishes the knife in a rude gesture, and disappears again. Yeosang grins and flops down onto the couch, Jisung cuddling into his side, fright forgotten. Minutes later, he’s presented with a veritable feast of fried chicken with multiple sauces… and he starts to get a bit nervous about whatever great truths Minho is about to reveal. Because this feels like apology food in advance.

“So. Tell me why it was so important to make sure I connected with the circle.”

Minho taps his chopsticks on his plate, soft and rhythmic, staring at the floor with a frown. “I need you to promise to let me tell this story without interruptions. And you can’t ask me any questions.”

Holy shit, Minho is actually willingly giving up information. Is an apocalypse coming? It feels like an apocalypse is coming.

“Ok, I promise. This story… it’s about me? I’m not going to like it, am I?”

Minho looks up, eyes uncharacteristically serious, face devoid of his normal snark. “No questions. That goes for you, too, love.”

Jisung crosses his arms and pouts, while Yeosang mimes zipping his lips shut, and waits, desperately trying not to fidget.

“Thousands of years ago, there was a city beneath the ocean. People say it was blessed by the Gods, but like most supposedly God blessed societies, it was actually built on the subjugation and enslavement of other beings.” Jisung leans into Yeosang to whisper, I think the narrator is biased, earning a glare from Minho before the vampire continues.

“The king of the city fed upon the flesh of a captive dragon to extend his life, and used the power of the dragon to keep the city from drowning under the weight of the sea. Those that lived in the city took their prosperity for granted, studying terrible magics and experimenting on beings considered lower than themselves.

“The king was obsessed with the idea of becoming a God, of no longer relying on another creature’s magic to sustain him. He delved into soul binding and blood pacts, necromancy and resurrection, creating abominations and monstrosities without a care. But his efforts remained fruitless, and the dragon’s potency was fading.

“In the end, he made a pact with a demon, to unleash hell upon earth in exchange for immortality. His madness would drown the world in blood, and his enemies sought to destroy him, and the city, before he mustered the power to open the gate.

“The mad king had only one weakness. He had a son that sat on no throne, the child’s mother sacrificed to bind the boy to the dragon sustaining the king. The boy grew up in the shadows, separate from the city, unknown to most, save a few. And those few sought to free the boy, then grown to be a man, from his father’s clutches.

“Ice, sea, and blood—three men of different lineages, yet united in their belief that to end the king, the city must fall. And for that, the dragon must be freed. And to free the dragon…”

The boy had to die. Yeosang knows where this story ends. A movie plays behind his eyes as Minho speaks, memories so old that they curl like sepia toned photographs at the edges of his vision.

Glowing silver eyes, elegant fingers spinning ice crystals into beautiful patterns, dancing before Yeosang’s eyes.

Sharp pain in his neck washed away by languid heat.

Scales the color of seafoam beneath his fingertips.

“The three worked to free the hidden prince. They befriended him, gained his trust… and then killed him. The dragon was freed, the city and its evils drowned, the king consumed by the depths, his soul thrown into frigid hell.”

Ice crystals growing, consuming their creator. Shadows swirling with blood. Scales rotting in ravaged flesh.

Jisung sniffles, startling Yeosang out of his memories, hazy scenes fading to reveal the cozy living room.

“Finish the story,” he grits out, voice ragged. Minho closes his eyes and takes a slow breath.

“Though the king was dead, his soul endured. The Fates prophesied his return, claiming that he lurks beyond the veil, biding his time before he rises again to rend the world apart.”

Well, that’s promising.

Yeosang waits, but Minho stays silent. Predictably, after the silence draws out long enough to get awkward, Jisung breaks first.

“Hyung, great story, very dramatic, big Lord of the Rings energy, but like Silmarillion style where it feels like you’re kinda lacking the plot, but… what does this have to do with Sangie-hyung?”

Minho opens his mouth, makes a choking noise, punches himself in the chest, and flops back on the floor to stare dejectedly at the ceiling.

Somehow, Yeosang isn’t surprised.

“It's... me. I remember fragments, little cuts of time that don’t fit together.” A city underwater, dying at the hands of someone he loved, drowning—a dragon’s roar.

And if he’s the prince… ice, blood and sea seem obvious as well.

Seonghwa. Hongjoong.

Jongho, whose blood slid down a shared blade.

But none of it explains why he needs to be here, in this reincarnation, with this circle. But with the way Minho reacted to Jisung’s question…

“You’re blood bound not to tell me.”

Minho huffs. Yeosang takes that as an affirmative.

“It was Elder Kim.”

He’s careful not to phrase it as a question, and Minho groans, rolling over onto his stomach. His cat, Soonie, comes wandering over, curious as to why his servant has collapsed upon the floor, and curls up in the middle of the vampire’s back.

Hongjoong’s grandfather wants to speak to the dragons… why? And his history with the bound dragon gives the dragons a reason to hate him, not aid him, so maybe best they don’t know about that tidbit of information. San is the clear link, and a reason that the old vampire would want him to bond with the circle, but why bind Minho to silence?

Far too many questions, and asking them won’t get him anywhere—unless he goes to the source.

The Fates or the Elder himself.

Both terrible options, thank you very much.

“Minho-hyung… thank you. For the story. For giving me back a piece of myself.”

His oldest friend stands up with a small smile, scooping up Soonie in the process, in a move so smooth that the cat only lets out a single grumble of displeasure.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you more. You—” Minho cuts off, grimacing, “—I care about you. Especially this version of you because you’re a genuinely good person who’s a bit of a mess and not nearly as dickish as some of your past iterations. Just—please believe that I will always have your best interest at heart. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Well that sounds foreboding. Yeosang sighs, dropping his head back on the couch. He’s exhausted, drained from experiencing most of the emotional spectrum in one day, and just wants to sleep. Jisung pokes him in the cheek and tugs him to his feet.

“Come on, you’re sleeping here tonight, I’ll give you some clothes.”

Good, because he doesn’t have the juice to shadow step and taking the train is an insurmountable obstacle.

“You’re a good friend, Jisung-ah. I’m glad Minho didn’t scare you off.”

Jisung laughs softly, tossing a shirt and loose shorts into Yeosang’s arms. “Not for lack of trying. Ya know, I never thought I’d find one person, let alone two people, that just… get me. I’m really fucking weird, hyung.”

“I am aware, Jisung-ah.”

“I quoted every line of Howl’s Moving Castle during our Ghibli marathon and Felix only tried to smother me once.”

Yeosang’s laugh is muffled by the shirt that he pulls over his head before joining Jisung sprawled on the bed.

“And you’ve got seven people. I think that would terrify me.”

Yeosang curls under the blanket, considering Jisung’s words.

“I’ve always felt like a broken jar that someone started to repair but ran out of glue three-quarters through. Full of cracks and empty spaces. I don’t expect them to fill that emptiness, but they… make it less painful. They make me feel like maybe its ok to be shattered. And yeah, its fucking terrifying, and I spend at least thirty minutes a day—” a gross underestimate, “—convincing myself its real.”

Jisung rolls over to look at him.

“The other day, I was telling Minho about this cool exhibit about ancient Greece and he started bitching about Plato and I realized that actually knew the dude and it just—I forget how old he is, and then I start thinking why the fuck is he with a kid like me but then I—” the vampire places a hand over the center of his chest, “—I feel him, our bond. The fear goes away because even though I have no idea what he’s thinking at least sixty-four percent of the time, he chose me, and I chose him.”

Rolling to his feet, Jisung stands up and heads towards the door. “You deserve to have that too. Sleep well, hyung.”

The door closes softly behind Jisung, leaving Yeosang alone to muddle through his overloaded brain. Though he expects sleep to elude him, apparently one orgasm courtesy of Song Mingi and the ill-advised overuse of his powers make for good exhaustion, and he slips into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 21

Summary:

When San sees the ugly side of Yeosang's power, Yeosang is convinced he'll see nothing but a monster.

CW: self harm (mild)

Smut from "A slow sharp smile" to "I think you guys broke me..."

This is utterly degrading.

San tenses his jaw, thankful that it simply further highlights his angular features, and focuses on holding the pose requested by the director of the shoot. He’s wearing an open shirt, dark jeans low on his hips, with delicate silver chain jewelry draping his torso as he partially reclines on a low chaise.

He’s been looking forward to the brand photoshoot for weeks, excited to put his hours of modeling practice to the test. He also likes seeing the fan’s reactions—he’s not above admitting that it’s a definite confidence boost.

But he hadn’t counted on the newly invested dragon.

Truly, why must you make us stoop to this level? On display, like some peacock—

San slams up a wall, cutting off the dragon’s hissing voice in his mind.

“Relax a bit more, San-ssi, arm over your head—yes, that’s it, hold there.”

He does as instructed, keeping his abs tensed for muscle definition—he’s gonna be sore this evening, but nothing a good late night work-out won’t fix. Maybe he can call Yeosang, see if he’d like to join—

Oh, now that’s a good idea, far more interesting than this pathetic circus

Well, fuck. See, that’s the problem. Ever since the dragon and Yeosang had their conversation, it’s been a constant presence in his mind, demanding he seek out the reaper at every opportunity. San trusts that he won’t hurt Yeosang, but he stubbornly refuses to give in to the dragon’s demands… so he is once again avoiding him.

At least they’re talking regularly, if not seeing each other in person. San hopes its enough, for Yeosang to realize he does care.

Stop ignoring me, drakeling.

“Perfect, San-ssi, that’s a wrap!”

Pasting on a smile to disguise his discomfort, he stands up and shakes out his arms to get the feeling back, thanking the staff profusely before heading back to the dressing room to change into his clothes to go home. He’d deal with the makeup later; it isn’t very heavy, and he’d need to shower after the gym anyway.

The sensation of drowning rushes over him, water filling his lungs and causing him to cough, grabbing onto the wall for support. His manager pats him on the back and asks if he needs the doctor, but San waves him off.

He doesn’t need a doctor. He needs the dragon to stop throwing a temper tantrum.

Calm the fuck down or I won’t call Yeosang.

His lungs pop open with a painful crackle and he takes a deep breath.

“I’m fine, just inhaled some—” he’s not holding any water or food, “—spit. All good. Let’s go home?”

The dragon behaves itself on the way home, clearly placated at the promise of seeing Yeosang. San doesn’t understand his ancestor’s obsession with the man. When he attempted to ask the dragon about it, he was met with aloof silence.

Taking out his phone, he flips over to his thread with Yeosang.

San (8:02pm)
hi Yeosangie
I’m off early tonight
headed to the gym
if you wanna meet up?

He grabs his company phone and starts a PopLive, figuring he looks nice enough that he can turn his camera on. He chats with TeaSea, smiling when he sees Wooyoung pop up in the chat with some cute comment about how his lip-gloss makes him look kissable, always playing up WooSan for the fans.

How would they react if San just kissed Wooyoung full on the lips at the next concert, the way he always longs to do when the witch devours him with his eyes across the stage?

His cellphone dings and he glances down, seeing that Yeosang responded. He keeps reading the comments on the live, answering fan questions and dropping a few teasers about the photoshoot, before promising to post some behind-the-scenes shots later that night and saying goodbye in five different languages (he’s been studying).

Handing the company phone back to his manager, he looks at Yeosang’s message.

Yeosangie (8:16pm)
can’t tonight

Nothing else.

San frowns at his phone.

San (8:24pm)
you ok, Sangie?

The typing bubble pops up and disappears, again and again, before—

Yeosangie (8:26pm)
not really

San’s heart expands and snaps back painfully.

San (8:26pm)
do you wanna talk about it?

Yeosangie (8:27pm)
I need to reap soon
idk how much Wooyoung told you
it’s not pretty

They pull up in the garage of their complex, and San gets out, absently grabbing his bag and hurrying up the stairs, ignoring the restless stirring of the dragon in his soul.

San (8:29pm)
Youngie told me a little
but said you’d talk to me
when you’re ready

Yeosangie (8:34pm)
he has more faith in my communication skills than I deserve
can I call you?

San (8:34pm)
of course, hyung

A video call pops up and San clicks yes, met with Yeosang’s gorgeous, heart shaped face, eyes widening on the screen.

“Yeosangie?”

The reaper flushes and averts his eyes to the side.

“I—you, um, your chest—I mean, your shirt—lack of shirt. No shirt?”

San drops the t-shirt he was about to wear onto the floor.

“I just got home from a photoshoot, was about to change for the gym,” he says by way of explanation. Yeosang swallows, eyes trailing back to look him over, teeth tugging on plush lips.

“Right. Um. That’s—you’re—fuck. Why are you so hot? It’s incredibly distracting.”

San starts laughing, sitting down on his bed and leaning against the dove grey padded headboard. He waits, tracing his eyes over Yeosang’s sharp jaw and up to his eyes, lingering on the unique birthmark stamped over his skin.

“You’re staring.” Yeosang’s voice is quiet.

“You’re beautiful.”

Another blush accompanies a pleased smile. San counts it as a victory, and by the deep rumble in his mind, his dragon agrees.

“So. You have to go reap a soul?”

Yeosang sighs and nods, frowning. “Yeah. The darker, the better. It helps me pretend I’m less of a monster.”

“You’re not—”

“Don’t.” Yeosang’s tone turns sharp, and San snaps his mouth shut. Yeosang’s right; It’s not his place to decide what Yeosang is or is not, but he hates the pain in the other’s face.

“Ok. It helped when Woo came over last time, right?”

Yeosang stays silent, pressing his lips together, but San sees a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“What if me and Youngie come over, and wait for you to get home? So that you’re not alone? Or we could come with—”

“No!” Yeosang’s reply is immediately, almost panicked. “I don’t—you can’t see me—you, you’ll hate me, and I can’t…” he hunches forward, curling around himself.

Fuck, he wishes he could drag the smaller man into his arms and hold him until he understands there is nothing in the world that can make San hate him.

“Ok, ok—then, can we be there? When you get home?”

Yeosang stares at him, completely still and unblinking. That’s ok. San can wait. He takes the silent time to study the way Yeosang’s hair curls over his ear, the strands hugging the curved shell, barely brushing against the side of Yeosang’s neck. He watches as Yeosang’s head twitches slightly, followed by a sharp gasp, and then the reaper’s shoulders slump.

“You back with me?”

Yeosang nods slowly, staring at the ground. San desperately wants him to look up, body burning with the need to soak up his pain like leftover grease from a pan.

“Please look at me?”

Shadows swim in Yeosang’s eyes.

“Yes,” says Yeosang quietly, barely audible through the phone. Then stronger, “Yes, I want you to be here.”

San lets out a low sigh.

“Then we’ll be there. And Yeosang? There is nothing you can do that will make me hate you.”

Something desperate and scared flashes over Yeosang’s face, before it’s washed away by a wry smile. “Don’t be so sure, Choi San.”

San wrinkles his nose. “Ok, if you keep calling me by my full name, that might do it.”

When Yeosang laughs, it’s thin, but real. San smiles and reaches out a finger in front of the camera. “Imagine I’m booping you on the nose right now.”

“Why?”

“For being ridiculous. And cute.”

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself. I need to go—no point in pushing it off.” But Yeosang makes no move to get up. “You’ll… you promise you’ll be here? When I get home?”

San’s heart breaks at the shaky vulnerability in Yeosang’s voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, I promise.”

~ ~ ~

Yeosang isn’t sure what he expects when he gets home.

It’s not that he thinks San will break his promise.

He’s just… empty. And the idea that his apartment isn’t as empty as he is seems improbable.

His stomach threatens to rebel. Yeosang stands on the front step of his shop. He’s not sure how he got here. Not in the shadows—he can’t be in the shadows right now.

Because he fucked up.

It’s one thing for Wooyoung to tell him that he deserves love even if he’s a monster when he’s doing everything in his power to be less of one.

It’s something else entirely when he becomes the very thing he despises.

His shadow shifts, stretching to cover the street, and Yeosang doesn’t bother to reign it in. He touches the door of his shop, the Sanctuary creaking in alarm as he drags his shadow in behind him. Paint flakes off the doorframe as it scrapes past, bloated and grotesque.

Yeosang’s feet carry him upstairs, his steps heavy yet silent, his body a whisper away from shredding apart while his shadow spreads like an oil slick across the stairs.

He’s not sure how long he stands in front of his apartment door before it opens to reveal San, lips parting as he takes in the ugly sight before him. Because Yeosang knows, knows that he looks awful, the he looks the part of the monster he is.

Blood is splattered over his face, crusted beneath his nails, coating his hair. He can taste it, salt and iron grinding onto his tongue, an aftertaste of violence he can’t escape. His shadow unfurls, tendrils curling around him to reach towards San and Yeosang can’t stop it, can’t control it—

A deep growl rolls out of San’s chest and scales appear, running down his arms and up his neck, the color of a star kissed night, and his eyes flare cerulean flecked with gold, pupils cutting into slits. Yeosang’s shadow recoils, swirling around him, a frigid wasteland of despair.

“Yeosangie. You’re home. We’re here. Come inside.”

If he goes in, he’ll hurt them, just like he hurt the woman who got in the way, just like he—

A searing touch breaks through the shadow that had begun crawling over his face, a clawed hand landing on his chest to grip his shirt and drag him inside.

“Mine.” San snarls, mouth crashing down on his own, sharp canines nicking Yeosang’s lips as the dragon works his tongue into his mouth.

The warmth begins to chase away the ice, San’s thudding heart replacing the screaming souls, the wet heat of San’s mouth dragging Yeosang back to himself.

“The shadows can’t have you.”

Digging his bloody nails into his palms, Yeosang forces his shadow down, until light floods back into the room. Fuck, he’d been so close to—no, don’t think about it, Gods, San should push him away, he should run, he—

Kisses him again, gently, sweet brushes of his lips.

Yeosang starts to tremble, curling his hands into San’s shirt and pressing his face against the dragon’s chest. The scales are gone, and San’s eyes are back to their normal brown, warm and fond and everything Yeosang doesn’t deserve.

But he can see the dragon lurking behind his eyes, predatory and intent.

“I almost took an innocent soul tonight.”

Suddenly, Yeosang finds himself in the air, tucked against San’s chest as the man carries him towards the bathroom.

“Did you hear me? I said—”

“Shh… I heard you, Yeosangie.”

If he heard him, why…? They reach the bathroom and San shoulders open the door, revealing a candlelit space and a bath that’s full of bubbles. Wooyoung sits on the counter, humming and poking at his phone.

He looks up when they enter, eyes soft, no purple glow in sight.

“Hi Yeosangie.”

“I—”

Wooyoung lays a finger over his lips. “Bath first. Then you can tell me why you’re the worst and we should hate you and whatever other bullshit your brain is saying.”

Yeosang shuts up. Because that’s exactly what he was about to say. He allows Wooyoung to strip his clothes, ignores the way San’s warm hands linger on his naked waist, and steps into the bath.

He sinks down, shivering despite the hot water, his soul a barren tundra of shame and self-hatred.

“Do you want to tell us about it?” San asks, carefully scrubbing a cloth over the blood on Yeosang’s hands.

Did he? Maybe. Just rip the band-aid off, let them recoil and turn their backs.

“When I reap a soul… I see their memories, on repeat, over and over again until the soul melts into my shadow. This one… he hurts sex workers, badly—thinks they deserve it, that it justifies the horrific things he does. I found him at home. I watched as he ate dinner with his family, an attentive father, a loving husband—a lie.”

Wooyoung begins combing his fingers through Yeosang’s hair, massaging shampoo into his scalp. San drops the washcloth but keeps a hold of Yeosang’s hand, tracing the delicate veins beneath his pale skin.

“I tried to walk away. I don’t—it’s a bad idea, to take a soul where someone might see. But I couldn’t—the darker the soul, the stronger the pull. So I stayed. I waited until he was alone, his family upstairs. Every soul has a certain… taste. His was rot and mold, clotted blood and curdled milk. It’s like a fucking fuzz I can’t get off my tongue. And it wasn’t enough. His terror, his guilt, wasn’t enough.”

Yeosang flinches as Wooyoung cups his cheek, caressing his birthmark with light fingers.

“I wasn’t—after feeding, my brain gets hazy, and I went upstairs. There was this… pull. To her. He’d hurt her, his wife, she was bleeding in the bed and crying and when she saw me she started praying and apologizing as if his actions were her fault and I—I wanted to help her, stop the bleeding so I got close and, and—”

He breaks off, tearing his hands from San’s grip to dig them into his scar, the reminder that he’s fucking stuck in this life, this body.

“Shh, no, baby, no, give me your hands, please—” Yeosang flattens his hands over his chest, digging, cutting, curling away from Wooyoung as the witch nearly falls into the bath trying to stop him from hurting himself.

“Stop.” Burning hands, nails slightly darkened and clawed, clamp around his wrists and pull them away from his chest. Wooyoung winces and dabs at the fresh cuts with a washcloth. Yeosang glares at San and tugs on his wrists, but the dragon holds firm.

“I tried to fucking drain her, ok? His brutalized wife, bleeding on a fucking bed, and rather than help her, I—Gods, she tasted so good and pure like cotton candy and daises, and it wasn’t until I tasted her fucking blood on my tongue that I was able to break out of it.

He breaks off, heaving, and Wooyoung grabs the trash can, holding it beneath his face beside the tub for him to vomit, acid burning his throat. Coughing shakily, Yeosang pulls his legs up and curls his face into his knees, wrists still held in San’s unyielding grip.

“She passed out. Her soul snapped back into place and I think I called an ambulance but I don’t—I remember sirens and lights and the little girl was crying these big screaming sobs and then I was here. I lost time, Woo. I don’t know if I reaped another soul on my way home or if I hurt the police or—”

He shudders, his shadow snapping out, avoiding Wooyoung and diving for San—who grabs it in a hand and squeezes, hard, a jolt of pain shooting through Yeosang who groans and grabs his stomach.

Stop the dramatics.

Yeosang’s head snaps up to look at San, where slitted eyes stare right back, a vaguely disgruntled expression on his face.

There’s only one new soul in your shadow tonight.

“You can… see the souls?”

Dragon-San snorts.

Can’t you?

Well, yeah, but they were his own souls, he didn’t realize dragons could see them too. Dragon-San rolls his eyes and lets go of his wrists. Yeosang immediately wraps his arms around his chest.

“So I… didn’t hurt anyone else?”

You’ve been distressingly well behaved in this lifetime. Really going back to your roots, you were an insufferably good person then as well.

Dragon-San (or maybe just San?) reaches out to drain the tub and turn on the shower. Yeosang stumbles to his feet with Wooyoung’s help, trying to process the implication of the dragon’s words.

“You… knew me? When I was human?”

Another eye roll. The lack of maturity from an eons old dragon is disturbing, thought he isn’t in a place to talk… he’s an eons old reaper who’s a kpop stan.

Who said you were human? Thank you for the whole flinging yourself on the blade thing, very considerate of you.

Oh Gods…

Not just an ancient dragon.

But the dragon, the fucking BLOODBOUND dragon of his past, lives in San’s soul.

“Um. I. You’re welcome? I don’t—”

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Wooyoung’s voice Is tinged with annoyance, but his hands stay gentle as he guides Yeosang under the warm spray of the shower.

San’s face twists, his mouth opening and closing, before seeming to win some sort of internal battle. His eyes shift back to normal, the scales mostly receding, before he answers Wooyoung with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Woo, the dragon, VERY RUDELY, kicked me out of the driver’s seat there for a moment.”

Yeosang swears he hears a rumbling snarl echo in his mind.

San turns to him, and, completely ignoring the water that soaks his shirt, drags him into his arms. “TLDR—Yeosang didn’t hurt anyone—” he starts to protest and San mashes his face into his chest, apparently trying to suffocate him with his admittedly really nice pecs, “—other than the piece of shit he meant to hurt and also the dragon knew Sangie before he died?”

More than knew him. But Yeosang has no intention of opening that can of worms while he’s still at least seventy if not eighty percent convinced that San and Wooyoung should cut and run before he loses control again.

Wooyoung tangles his hands in Yeosang’s hair and pulls his head up to meet the witch’s eyes.

“Yeosangie, you stopped yourself before you killed her, and you probably actually saved her life by eating her fucked up husband, so I’m gonna count that as a win. And Sannie—” the witch grabs the back of San’s neck in a tight grip, “—tell your dragon to include me in the fucking conversation, next time.”

San’s eyes flicker and his voice carries a growl when he says, “make it worth my while, witchling.”

The grip in Yeosang’s hair loosens as Wooyoung wobbles and San shakes his head, groaning, “Clearly I need to set better ground rules with my psychic roommate.”

San slides a hand up to the back of Yeosang’s neck, his burning touch easing the knotted muscles that refused to loosen up despite the steady fall of water. Wooyoung caresses his cheek, rubbing a thumb beneath his eye.

“We’re here, sweetheart. We’re not leaving you. We will never leave you.”

Yeosang feels something unlock in his chest, the last wall crumbling and leaving his heart bleeding and exposed.

He shudders, shoulders curling in, and begins to cry, sobs ripping through him to join the water plastering his hair in dark strands to his skin.

“We have you, love. Let go. It’s ok baby, just let go.”

Yeosang drifts.

They wash his body clean of blood, and he only turns to the side to throw up two more times when the tang of iron hits his tongue, leaning heavily on Wooyoung as the witch gently conditions his hair. They bundle him into a soft towel and San picks him up again, carrying him into the bedroom while Wooyoung walks ahead, rummaging through his dresser for a clean pair of underwear.

San sits him on the side of the bed, and Yeosang manages to put on the underwear by himself, because he’s not a complete invalid, he’s just a stew of sadness and guilt and the faintest sprinkle of hope. And when Wooyoung returns to the bedroom with his own discarded clothes, Yeosang steals the witch’s shirt and pulls it over his own head, burying his face in it to breathe in the sharp cinnamon of his scent.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen and he groans. “You really shouldn’t do that. I’m trying to be good and take care of you and not jump you because you’re fucking gorgeous and very almost naked and seeing you in my clothes is doing things to me.”

Despite his turmoil and the fact that he’s still partially convinced that it would be for the best if he threw himself out his window, he giggles.

San’s mouth twitches into a small smile and he crowds him back into the bed, pressing him down into the mattress and knocking the breath from his lungs. He shoves ineffectively at San’s broad shoulders, finally poking his fingers into San’s side, tickling him until he rolls away, yelping as Wooyoung jumps on top of them and joins in.

They end up with San sitting up against the headboard, Yeosang sitting between his legs leaning back against his chest, and Wooyoung straddling Yeosang’s hips. San’s arms close around them both, tugging the witch in for a soft kiss.

Yeosang sighs and buries his face in Wooyoung’s neck.

“Thank you. Both of you. All three of you? I really don’t know how to address your dragon, San.”

“Me neither,” San mutters, fingers skimming over Yeosang’s chest and leaving shivers behind.

“You don’t have to thank us, Sangie,” says Wooyoung, leaning in the brush kisses over both of his cheeks.

“No, I do. For being here. For talking me out of my pity spiral. Normally I’d hermit in my apartment for at least three days before Minho showed up to drag me kicking and screaming back into the world of the living.”

Wooyoung turns his head and catches him in a kiss, lips caressing his softly, before pulling back to peck him on the nose.

Yeosang smiles, because even though he definitely almost committed a terrible sin and the police likely think he’s a murderer, he has two beautiful, ridiculous men in his bed staring at him with… love.

And they want to stay.

“So… what does seeing me in your clothes do to you Woo?”

San nuzzles into the back of his neck. “Don’t get him started, Yeosangie. He wrote a poem about your birthmark and how he wants to kiss it and only stopped reciting it when Hongjoong-hyung threatened to make dinner.”

Wooyoung slaps San on the arm and runs his hands up Yeosang’s chest to cup his face. “For the record, your birthmark is beautiful and when you smile it crinkles and is somehow both adorable and sexy which I find offensive because I am the only one who is allowed to be both super cute and fuckable—”

Yeosang leans in and kisses him, exploring Wooyoung’s mouth with his tongue, dragging him back in when he pulls away to catch a breath that Yeosang doesn’t need.

The witch blinks at him, dazed. “I guess… I can make an exception for you.”

San chuckles, both thumbs coming up to swipe across Yeosang’s nipples through his thin shirt and he moans, arching against Wooyoung.

“Fuck, ok—Sangie, if you tell me to stop, we stop. But—” Yeosang steals another kiss and Wooyoung shudders, “—if you don’t tell me to stop—” Wooyoung’s skin tastes sweet beneath his tongue, his neck beautiful with a blooming bruise from Yeosang’s mouth. Wooyoung gasps and whimpers, lunging forward to suck a mark onto Yeosang’s clavicle where the borrowed shirt falls off one of his shoulders. Yeosang’s fingers spasm on Wooyoung’s hips, a moan slipping from his chest.

Wooyoung pauses, fingers just slipping beneath the shirt to caress the smooth skin beneath.

 “Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs, breath tickling the shell of Yeosang’s ear.

Yeosang lets out a shaky breath that he doesn’t realize he’s taken and feels a single, strong thump in his chest. And then another.

He takes Wooyoung’s hand and guides it down to rest over his heart. As the witch’s eyes widen, Yeosang grabs San’s hand and brings it to rest on top of Wooyoung’s.

“The two of you literally make my heart beat.” He squeezes their hands, then raises them to his mouth to kiss both men’s fingertips. “I’m not telling you to stop,” he murmurs.

A slow, sharp smile spreads over Wooyoung’s face. “Sannie… hold Yeosangie’s hands for me.”

San pulls his arms behind his back, a single hand closing around his wrists to hold him in place. It puts his hands level with San’s groin… and Yeosang rubs a palm over San’s hardening cock. San hisses through his teeth and tightens his grip, hitching Yeosang’s arms up and away from any distractions.

“Behave,” San growls, nipping at the edge of Yeosang’s ear. The spark of pain shoots directly to his cock, causing him to squirm against them. Wooyoung presses himself down firmly, pinning Yeosang’s hips to the bed and grinding his ass down onto him.

“Fuck—Woo—”

Wooyoung rucks his shirt up beneath his arms, exposing his chest and licking across one of his nipples. The slick heat of his mouth feels incredible, and he whimpers, trying desperately to stay still. He wants to be good for them, he can be so good for them—

A rough hand shoves the hem of the shirt into his mouth, and he whines, biting down obediently.

“Good boy.”

Oh fuck, hearing those words in San’s soft voice, right out of his dreams… his cock is achingly hard in his boxers and he’s not sure how long he’s gonna last.

“Sannie…” Wooyoung kisses down Yeosang’s stomach, tongue tracing the dips of his abs, “…I heard something very interesting from Mingi.”

Wooyoung dips his tongue in Yeosang’s belly button, and he wiggles, earning him another sharp bite from San, this time on the meat of his shoulder.  

“Do we need to tie you up, next time we play?”

Images of being bound, at San and Wooyoung’s mercy, fly through his mind and he moans, freezing in place.

San chuckles. “Good to know. What’d you hear from Mingi?”

Wooyoung bites down on the band of his boxers and tugs them down his hips, leaving them around his thighs. His cock jolts as Wooyoung’s warm breath washes over him. “Apparently our Yeosangie likes silk and lace.”

Our Yeosangie. His heart thrills at the possessive tone in Wooyoung’s voice.

San groans behind him, hand spasming on Yeosang’s wrist, the other digging into his hip. “Would you wear something like that for us sometime, hyung?”

Yeosang nods desperately, unable to talk around the shirt still in his mouth.

“I wanna hear you.” San pushes him forward and let’s go of his wrists long enough to yank the shirt over Yeosang’s head, leaving him naked aside from the boxers that still trap his thighs. Before he can move, San pins his wrists again, wrapping his other arm around Yeosang’s chest. Fingers twist Yeosang’s nipple, and he yelps, arching into the touch.

At the same time, Wooyoung’s hand finds his cock, feather light touches glancing over the sensitive tip.

“Fuck!” he gasps out, legs kicking involuntarily, as Wooyoung’s mouth covers the head of his cock. San’s hand continues to wander his chest, sensation assaulting him from different directions, immense, inescapable, everything he wants and still he wants more—

“Wanna ride you—can I Sangie? Please?”

He wants—fuck, ok, Yeosang is more than 100% on board with this idea. ‘Yes, yeah, you can, Gods Wooyoung please, I want—” his voice breaks into a moan as San mouths at his neck, freeing his wrists to massage both hands into his chest, squeezing his pecs with a groan of appreciation.

“Fuck, I love your body. Don’t know how Jongie survives watching you at the gym. Can’t wait to see how pretty Youngie looks split open on your cock.”

The unexpected dirty talk from San, sweet and a little bit shy San, sends his hips thrusting into the air, desperate for anything to take off the edge.

“Can—can I touch you? Please? I want to—”

Wooyoung immediately guides Yeosang’s hand between his legs and something wet slips over his fingers, dripping from Wooyoung’s hole like lube but when did he have time to…?

“Convenient, isn’t it?” growls San, biting down on the nape of Yeosang’s neck.

Wooyoung smirks. “Perks of being quite literally made for sex.”

Ok, fuck, that’s hot as fuck, he’s really questioning his ability to survive this. Wooyoung whines, hips shifting over Yeosang’s fingers as he tentatively presses two inside of the witch’s body. Wooyoung groans, grinding down, hand back to working Yeosang’s cock, now with his natural slick easing the slide.

“Gods, yes, please Sangie, another one, fuck.”

Yeosang adds a third, groaning at the way Wooyoung’s body opens so beautifully for his fingers, greedily clenching down to keep them inside.

“Curl them forward, hard.” Yeosang scrambles to obey San’s instructions, and knows he’s managed it when Wooyoung cries out and tips against his chest, shaking and grinding back helplessly.

“Please, I’m ready, fuck, please Sangie, I need you, need to feel you, Sannie please—”

Wooyoung devolves into incoherent babbling when Yeosang pulls his fingers out, cuddling the witch close when he sobs at being empty. San runs a hand through Wooyoung’s hair, tugging his head up until the witch’s teary eyes meet theirs.

“Do you think he’s earned it, hyung?”

Yeosang’s body trembles, the mean edge to San’s words stoking the heat billowing in his stomach. Rather than trying to answer with words, because he’s not sure language is available to him at the moment, he grabs Wooyoung’s hips and guides him back.

“Can I? Can I please, Sannie, please—”

“Make our Yeosangie feel good.”

With a sigh of relief that transforms into a rich, melodic moan, Wooyoung sinks down on his cock, taking no time to settle before starting to ride him, body silken heat around his cock.

His cock is in Wooyoung’s ass, the Jung Wooyoung, holy fucking shit, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he’s not sure if he’s breathing but that’s him whimpering so he must be breathing—

“Just like that, baby, he’s taking you so well, you’re perfect for him, isn’t he Wooyoungie?”

Wooyoung throws his head back, bouncing desperately, his hips slapping down on Yeosang’s, wet and messy. Yeosang digs his fingers into Wooyoung’s thighs, knowing he’s leaving bruises but unable to stop himself, body tightening despite his efforts to push off his orgasm. He isn’t going to last, how fucking embarrassing—

“Woo won’t come until you do, sweetheart. He needs to feel you fill him up,” San murmurs into his ear and it’s all Yeosang needs to fall apart, thrusting up hard, knowing he hits Wooyoung’s prostate when the witch nearly screams and claws into his chest, coming hard into Wooyoung’s hot, willing body.

Sobbing, Wooyoung clenches around him, his release shooting out to cover both of their stomachs.

Yeosang gasps, trying to catch his breath with lungs that suddenly decide oxygen matters. “What… the... Shit. I—fuck.”

San chuckles, fingers swirling in Wooyoung’s cum, before raising them to Yeosang’s mouth. He obediently opens, sucking the digits clean while San rumbles behind him. He can feel San hard against his back, but he makes no move to chase his own pleasure. Instead, he reaches around to stroke Wooyoung’s back. The witch, collapsed over Yeosang’s chest with his face buried in his neck, mumbles happily as Yeosang slowly softens inside of him.

That was… incredible. Impossible. Infinitely better than anything he could have ever imagined.

Yeosang waits for the feelings of doubt, of panic, to roll in… but nothing. He’s just… content. Peaceful.

His heartbeat matches San’s where it thumps against his back. And Wooyoung’s, where the witch’s chest presses against his own. He’s not sure how long they lie there, tangled up in one another, before San nudges Wooyoung up and off of Yeosang’s lap.

Yeosang curls onto his side, nuzzling into Wooyoung’s shoulder, as San gets up and heads to the bathroom. He returns with a cloth and gently cleans both of them, wrangling Wooyoung’s floppy limbs into his underwear, before pulling back the covers and joining them in the bed.

Wooyoung grumbles sleepily, crawling over Yeosang to get in the middle. “Sannie… lemme take care of you.”

San nudges his nose against Wooyoung’s and it’s maybe the cutest thing Yeosang has ever seen. “You’ve got too much power to digest, baby, it’s making you sleepy.” The witch frowns, his lips pushing down into a pout. “But—”

“I can take care of Sannie, Woo… if that’s ok?”

San’s sharp, heated gaze falls on him like a brand. Wooyoung rolls onto his back between them and traces his fingertips over Yeosang’s face.

“That’s more than ok with me—Sannie-yah?”

A low growl rumbles out of San and Yeosang clenches his legs together.  

Having Wooyoung fucked out in the bed next to him, languid and sated because of him, gives him the confidence he needs to ask, “How do you want me?”

“Hands and knees, legs together.”

San could ask him to do anything in that soft, raspy voice of his and Yeosang would be helpless to obey. Is San going to fuck him? Or is he—

San reaches between Wooyoung’s legs, using his slick to coat his cock, then tugs Yeosang’s boxers down, and he shudders as his hot and almost intimidatingly large cock slips between his thighs, rubbing over his balls with each thrust.

“You feel incredible, sweetheart, you’re so good for me, fuck.”

Wooyoung watches them, lazily plucking at one of his own nipples, eyes glowing with a gentle purple flame. Yeosang focuses on staying up, looking between his legs to see the angry red tip of San’s cock thrusting between his thighs. A moment later, San presses a hand down between his shoulder blades until his chest hits the mattress. Firm hands pin his hips in place as San fucks his thighs faster, hips slamming against him in a way that Yeosang hopes leaves marks to admire tomorrow.

With a final thrust and a low moan, San pulls back and comes over Yeosang’s ass. He can feel it dripping down his legs and wishes he could see himself in a mirror.

“You’re so beautiful, Yeosangie.” Wooyoung sits up and begins to lick up San’s cum, cleaning his body until he’s a shivering jelly filled mess on the bed.

“I think you guys broke me, but like… in a really good way.” He pulls Wooyoung back into the middle and cuddles into the witch’s side.

“We’re really gross but I don’t wanna move.”

San laughs and throws an arm over them both. “We’ll shower in the morning.” Yeosang’s happy to hear San’s voice sounding a little wrecked… he was holding back tonight, and Yeosang wants to know what San looks like when he truly let’s go.

“Love you Sannie.” Wooyoung’s mumbled words are loud in the quiet room, and San sucks in a breath, shock painting his face. “Can I love you too, Yeosangie?” Yeosang’s eyes widen as he looks at San. San just looks back, the shock easing into something fond and soft and just a bit sad.

“I love you too, Woo,” says San, petting his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair as the witch sighs happily and burrows closer.

Yeosang is still scrambling for words when San speaks again.

“Good night, hyung. Thanks for letting us take care of you tonight.”

“I… I don’t—”

San brushes a finger over his lips. “Shhh… it’s ok. Just sleep, love. We’re here. We’ll stay.”

Yeosang sinks back into the pillows, curling around Wooyoung who is already snoring softly.

Not yet. He can’t say it yet.

But soon… soon the words banging around in his ribs like a caged bird desperate for the open sky are going to burst out, looking for safe harbor in the hearts of the seven men he’s coming to love.

~ ~ ~

In the quiet, broken only by Wooyoung’s soft snores, San stares at the ceiling above, mind reeling.

Does Wooyoung… even realize?

Or will he wake up in the morning and have no memory of finally saying the words that San has been achingly desperate to hear.

You don’t need words to know he is ours.

San bites down a groan. [I don’t need relationship advice from a disembodied dragon]

I have a body—riding with you is simply far more entertaining

[I’m going to sleep]

No, you’re going to lie here spiraling about whether or not your mate actually loves you.

San jolts and Wooyoung grumbles a protest, shoving one cold foot under San’s thigh.

His… mate?

He feels a deep, long-suffering sigh in his mind.

Did you think that bite mark was just for show?

His hand absently caresses the crease of Wooyoung’s thigh over his boxers, where the scar of a bite sits, just as vivid as when he put it there five years ago. The witch shivers slightly under his touch.

San can feel his bond to Wooyoung, bright and burning with violet flames, and yeah, it looks a bit (very) different from his bonds with the rest of the circle, which are simple things of crimson and silver thread.

Huh. Wooyoung being his mate… makes sense.

Another heavy sigh suffuses his thoughts.

I am rethinking the wisdom of tying myself to you, drakeling.

Chapter 22

Summary:

This chapter is dedicated to my love of Jongho and Yeosang together, and my need to see Jongho lose control. :)

Smut, fluff and a lot of love.

CW: rough sex (completely consensual)

It only took ten minutes.

Ten minutes for Jongho to realize… he had severely miscalculated.

Watching a sweat slicked Yeosang carefully working his way through a set that would challenge most professional athletes is not for the faint of heart.

And Jongho is about to faint like a Victorian maiden with the vapours.

Yeosang in a stained apron and sweater paws was adorable and pretty and everything Jongho never knew he wanted.

Yeosang in a sleeveless, skintight shirt and shorts that leave his broad shoulders, chiseled arms, and strong legs exposed threatens to give Jongho a heart attack.

And that was only the first gym buddy session.

His hopes of exposure therapy lessening the impact…

Nope.

Absolute, complete, utter

Bullshit.

Turns out, hiding an erection in gym shorts is very fucking difficult.

With a measured exhale, Yeosang sets the bar back in place and sits up, sweat dripping down his neck in a trail that Jongho wants to follow with his tongue. He should not be turned on by basic bodily functions but now all he can think of is other ways he could get sweaty with Yeosang and… he needs to turn around before his hyung catches sight of his glaringly obvious problem in the mirror.

Thank God they’re at home, at least. He can escape to his own apartment to avoid the embarrassment of admitting that seeing Yeosang slicked with sweat, skin flushed from exertion, makes him want to bend the reaper over the nearest bench.

“Thanks for fitting in an extra session with me. I went reaping a few nights ago and had some excess energy to burn off.”

He can think of a few other ways they could burn off that energy.

Shit. No. Keep it together.

Can’t think about lifting Yeosang up and fucking him against one of the mirrors.

“You ok, Jongho-yah?”

No, he isn’t fucking ok, his cock is threatening to mutiny if he doesn’t do something about it soon and his brain is stubbornly displaying a reel of ‘inappropriate things he wants to do to Yeosang in the gym.’

“Ah, yeah, sorry, think I might have pulled something in my back.”

What the fuck, Jongho, you’re an idiot, you didn’t even do exercises that could affect your back, you—

“Oh, lemme take a look, I might be able to massage it out.”

Shit, shit, he glances at the door, it’s closed, is it locked? Because the minute Yeosang touches him he is going to do something ridiculous like kiss him. And it’s not that he thinks Yeosang isn’t going to reciprocate… he knows that he’s been enthusiastically intimate with the others. Jongho shoving his fingers in his ears to block out Wooyoung’s rambling detailed description of Yeosang’s cock did nothing to stop the witch from loudly reminiscing like a buxom damsel from the cover of a paperback romance.

No, he’s not worried about Yeosang rejecting him… it’s that he’s never felt so out of control in his life.

It’s not even the siren—regularly letting the siren free with Wooyoung has helped him learn to better control it and taken the edge off that need. No, this is an entirely physical problem, where Jongho, the supposedly rational and reasonable person, wants nothing more than to rail Yeosang into the nearest surface.

Which isn’t like him. He’s normally on the softer side during sex, enjoying control but in a way that’s directed at his partner falling apart in pleasure. Not this primal urge to take and push until Yeosang comes apart sobbing on his cock, over and over again.

The sound of a lock clicking cuts through his thoughts. He looks up to see Yeosang turning away from the door, a small smile on his lips, as he walks towards him.

“Hyung…” he breathes, as Yeosang stops right before him, not touching but so, so close…

“Jongho.” Yeosang’s voice is quiet with a little shake that betrays just a bit of his anxiety, as if he’s afraid to scare him off. Yeosang’s eyes drift down Jongho’s body, and he burns with shame. It’s weird to get turned on at the gym, right? It’s got to be weird.

“I’m sorry, I—you’re just—fuck, you’re really fucking hot and I—I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t—”

Yeosang steps closer until they’re pressed together and it should be gross, sweaty and warm, but it’s not, it’s perfect, and Jongho’s arms come up without thinking to wrap around the smaller man.

“Why are you apologizing? I, um… maybe I haven’t been as obvious as I thought? About, uh, being really into all of you? Especially you? But it’s fine if this is just a bodily reaction and you don’t really want me… like that.” Yeosang trails off, biting his lip.

Jongho’s control is shredding away as Yeosang looks up at him with his heart shaped face and pink lips and dark angled eyes and that birthmark that he desperately wants to kiss…

“I do! Want you. It’s just—I’m—I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you and it… scares me.”

Ugh, he sounds so dumb. So… young, he’s supposed to be the mature one, he hates sounding like silly kid who can’t even—

“All of this scares me, Jongho-yah. I went from being a fan in a sea of fans to being your friend to suddenly being emotionally invested to the point where I don’t know what I’ll do if I… lose this. Not to mention that anytime I’m with any of you, it’s a heroic struggle to keep my hands to myself while my brain tortures me with fantasies that were never going to be more than fantasies…”

Yeosang trails off again, face bright red, and eyes bouncing away nervously. Jongho slides one hand up Yeosang’s back to cup his cheek, turning his face back to look at him. He takes his other hand and presses it to the reaper’s chest, where his scar lies hidden by his shirt.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” he asks softly, fingers tracing the rough lines of the scar through the fabric.

“Jongho, we’ve talked about this, it wasn’t—”

“You should be. Because something in me is desperate to ruin you, to take and take until I’m branded so deeply in you that everyone will know you’re mine.”

Yeosang shivers in his arms and whimpers, pressing himself harder against Jongho’s body and he can feel him, hot and stiff against his thigh.

“What if that doesn’t scare me?” murmurs Yeosang, biting down hard on the tense cord of muscle in Jongho’s neck. “What if that’s exactly what I want?”

Fuck, fuck he can’t—Yeosang can’t know what he’s asking for, he—

 “I locked the door for a reason, Jongho. I don’t want you to hold back.”

And then Yeosang is jumping up to wrap his legs around Jongho’s waist, and his hands rise to cup his ass because how can he not? It’s a really nice ass. Firm, full muscle with a bit of give as he walks forward until Yeosang’s back is pressed against one of the mirrors and crashes their lips together.

As their lips touch, their bodies pressing together from chest to hip as he pins Yeosang to the wall, heat surges through him to burn a line down his spine teetering on the edge of painful but tipping over into molten pleasure instead.

Jongho groans, grinding forward in the cradle of Yeosang’s hips. He bites on Yeosang’s lip when the reaper starts to pull away, one hand rising to grip the back of his neck and hold him in place. Yeosang whimpers beneath his touch, mouth pliant beneath his own. He can feel Yeosang’s smile beneath the kiss.

Eventually, Jongho has to pull away to breathe, the reaper giggling softly when he gasps in a gulp of air. He lets Yeosang slide down to his feet and drops his forehead to rest on his shoulder.

While he’s trying to catch his breath from the best kiss of his life, Yeosang moves a hand to the front of his shorts and slips his fingers beneath the band, teasing the head of his cock. He jerks, turning his face to suck a mark into Yeosang’s sweat slicked skin, muffling his moan.

“What do you want, Jongho-yah?” He punctuates his words by sliding his hand fully into Jongho’s shorts and wrapping it around him. It’s impossible to think with Yeosang’s warm, strong palm finally giving him a bit of relief and he hears Yeosang’s words through a wave of pleasured static.

So he can’t really be blamed for what his caveman brain decides to say.

“I wanna bend you over the bench and fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Yeosang’s hand is still wrapped around his cock, just resting there, pinning him to the spot as his cheeks flame and he groans. “Sorry, no filter, we don’t have to—fuck, I don’t even have stuff here—”

“Back corner, taped to the underside of the weight rack.” Yeosang’s face is also flushed, and he’s glancing down to the side, biting his lip. He pulls his hand out of Jongho’s pants, and the loss leaves him cold, but it lets him walk over to the rack and find…

A small bottle of lube and a strip of condoms taped to the underside, where no one would think to look.

He turns around and raises an eyebrow at Yeosang, who blushes and shrugs. “Um. I might have… mentioned, to Wooyoung, that I, ah, really enjoy seeing you work-out and he thought it’d be practical to, you know, in case we—um. Ended up. Here?”

Jongho tries and fails to swallow his laughter which echoes around the gym.

Their poor housekeepers must be traumatized.

Jongho grabs a towel and spreads it over the bench, placing the lube and condom next to it, nerves coming back in full force. What if he doesn’t do the right things, or goes too far, or—

A lick of something cold nips at the back of his calf, making him jump and spin around, eyes wide. A thin tendril of shadow stretches from Yeosang to lap at Jongho’s leg, curling up to spread, icy, over his chest.

“Us monsters stick together, right?” Yeosang’s shadow carries an echo of screams, and his siren comes surging to the surface, eager to tangle with something just as (if not more) dangerous than itself.

His worries about losing control and hurting Yeosang fade away.

Jongho’s laughter carries the melody of the sea, batting away the shadows and bathing the room in a languid humidity, a soft suggestion of a lazy day on the waves. He glances at the door to make sure it really is locked (it is, he’s just paranoid because the idea of any of the members walking in right now has a mixture of mortified arousal churning in his stomach) and sits down on the bench.

“C’mere, hyung.”

Yeosang approaches, shadows still loose and swirling around him, bites of ice whenever they brush his skin. The prickling goosebumps that rise in their wake do nothing to dim the heat in his veins.

“Where do you want me?” he asks in a soft voice, chest rising in flickers of breath.

“On your stomach, over my lap. If that’s… ok?” Gods, he hopes its ok because the image of Yeosang ass up over his thighs, at his mercy, has his cock hardening to a near painful degree.

In lieu of response, Yeosang pulls his sweaty tank over his head and drops it to the floor, shorts hanging low on his sharp hips, leaving his defined chest and abs on display.

Jongho’s mouth is open.

He should really close it.

Before he can manage that brain to mouth connection, Yeosang leans in and kisses him, sucking on his tongue, and straddling his lap as his hands slip beneath Jongho’s shirt.

“That’s… not what I told you to do.”

Yeosang tilts his head and gives him a crooked grin. “Take off your shirt first? Please?”

The soft please, with a little bit of a whine, strips him of the misconception that he is in control. A hint of a pout, and he’ll do anything Yeosang asks. Any self-consciousness he has about his body is forgotten under Yeosang’s hungry eyes as they roam over his scales, fingers tracing their path with a look of awe.

“You’re so beautiful, Jongho-yah.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and scrunches up his nose, grabbing Yeosang by the hips and manhandling him over his lap. Yeosang whimpers at the rough treatment and arches, ass still covered in his shorts up in the air, torso draped over Jongho’s thighs.

His shadow spreads over the floor around them, a subtle threat, and Jongho gives him a light slap on the ass, growling, “behave, hyung,” with a bit of music in his voice. Yeosang shivers and glances up over his shoulder, pupils blown and eyes wide. Swallowing, he nods, and the shadow recedes until it’s coiled beneath the bench.

Jongho slips his fingertips beneath the waist of Yeosang’s shorts, tracing the skin of his lower back, pressing him down into his lap. He tugs gently on the band and asks, “Can I take these off?”

“Stop asking, Jongie. If my shadows bite you, that means stop. You promised to fuck me until I can’t walk. But, um. I haven’t, ah, you’ll be—be the first. But that doesn’t mean I want gentle. I want you to… to take. What you want. I want to feel you for days.” He trails off and mumbles something that sounds like I’m so fucking awkward, fucking shit Yeosang, get it together which should make Jongho laugh but he’s caught on the fact that the others haven’t…

He was positive San, or one of the twin towers, had fucked him already but if not—he groans, fingers digging into the meat of Yeosang’s ass. He’s about to ask if he’s sure, if he really wants him to be the first—when Yeosang moans and pushes back into his hands.

Fuck it.

He pulls down Yeosang’s shorts and underwear, tossing them away and now he has a squirming, naked, gorgeous man over his lap, hard cock drooling onto the bare skin of his thigh. He shifts, spreading his legs enough to allow Yeosang’s cock to slip between them, losing whatever friction he had, and Yeosang whines.

“Not fair, please, I need—”

“You’ll take what I give you.” Jongho brings his palm down on Yeosang’s ass, hard. Yeosang yelps and Jongho half expects to feel the bite of a shadow, but instead, the reaper melts over his thighs, going limp. He hits the other cheek, pleasure blooming along with the red mark on Yeosang’s pale skin.

“More, please—” his voice is already strung out and needy, and Jongho grins. His hand comes down again, and again, until Yeosang is whimpering and crying quietly, still pushing his ass up into Jongho’s hands. He caresses the burning flesh, digging in his nails and Yeosang cries out, the loudest he’s been, and fuck if that doesn’t shred the last of his control.

Grabbing the lube, he coats his fingers and doesn’t bother to warm them, pushing one in slowly, but without warning. Yeosang’s cries get louder and his shadow shifts but remains coiled on the floor. He sinks down to the last knuckle, arm pressing down on the small of Yeosang’s back to keep him still. He teases another finger at his rim, getting a whimpered please and slips it in, stretching and scissoring, watching as Yeosang’s hole spreads around his fingers.

“Fuck, hyung, you look gorgeous like this.”

Yeosang wiggles and Jongho pinches one abused cheek, and he gasps, freezing.

“Be good for me, hyung.”

Desperate nodding meets his words, and he starts thrusting in with his fingers, glancing off the bundle of nerves that has Yeosang tensing on his lap. Yeosang’s foot kicks the floor when he adds a third finger and begins hammering into him, now targeting his prostate on each go.

“Jongie, please, I can’t, fuck, I’m gonna come, please can I—”

“No. Hold it.” He infuses a melody into his voice and Yeosang groans, twitching and sobbing as Jongho slows down, dragging his fingers out and spreading them until Yeosang’s hole stretches obscenely around his touch.

“You’ll come untouched on my cock when I’m ready to feel you clench around me, understand, hyung?”

He’s met with a whimper and pulls his fingers free, ignoring Yeosang’s whine and flips their position, so that Yeosang is lying across the bench and Jongho kneels behind him. If puts his cock at the perfect height to push into his swollen hole.

Jongho leans over and bites down on Yeosang’s shoulder before brushing lips over the shell of Yeosang’s ear. “Remember your shadows, if it’s too much.”

Pulling back, he lines up and presses the head of his cock against Yeosang’s rim, holding there, pinning Yeosang’s hips with an arm barred over the small of his back.

“Jongho-yah, please, I need you, I want feel you, fuck me, fu—”

He pushes in with one stroke, burying himself in Yeosang’s body, hips flush to his ass. Yeosang’s frozen, nor breathing, but when no shadow comes to bite him, Jongho pulls back and slams back in, setting a brutal pace, each thrust shaking a sharp cry out of Yeosang’s throat. His hole is warm and soft around his cock, and so fucking tight, that he has to work to drag himself out in order to slam back inside.

He yanks Yeosang back, sitting on his knees and pulling Yeosang up against his chest, so that his legs are spread wide for him to pull the man down on his cock. He grips his hips, thrusting up as he pulls him down, getting deeper and hitting Yeosang’s prostate on each thrust, if he’s judging by the sobbing moans falling from his lips.

Yeosang’s hands grip the edge of the bench to brace himself as Jongho uses his body to chase his own pleasure, heat building in his chest and he moves a hand to Yeosang’s scar, pressing against it, grinding as deep as possible until Yeosang is shaking and begging incoherently.

“You want to come, hyung?”

“Yes, fuck, please, please, let me come, I need to come, tell me to come—”

“Come for me,” he whispers, song slipping into Yeosang’s ear, the command curling around his mind. With a low groan, Yeosang tightens impossibly further around him and comes, streams of white coating his abdomen. Jongho shoves Yeosang’s chest down to the floor, holding him down with a palm on his back, and begins fucking into him, hard and deep, abusing his prostate with each thrust. He wraps a hand around Yeosang’s cock and begins stroking in time with his thrusts, ignoring his begging pleas to stop when the shadows do nothing but caress his skin with soft strokes, no hint of a bite.

“Do you think you can come again?”

Sobbing on a moan, Yeosang jerks his hips as much as he can, cock thrusting into Jongho’s hand.

Jongho pulls out and flips Yeosang onto his back, getting back inside before the man can do more than whimper a complaint at being empty. He hikes Yeosang’s limp legs up, bending him near in half, and goes back to targeting his prostate, leaning down to kiss the tears streaming down Yeosang’s cheeks.

“You know what to do if it’s too much, Yeosangie.”

Yeosang wraps his arms around his neck, dragging him into a kiss, squeezing around his cock. He’s not going to last much longer, it’s honestly a fucking miracle that he didn’t come the minute Yeosang’s heat closed around his dick, but the power of making him fall apart on his cock, of being given permission to ruin him won out.

“One more time, hyung. You’re so good, so fucking good, give me one more.”

With a broken whimper, Yeosang’s back arches and he shudders through another orgasm, as Jongho buries himself deep and comes, long pulsing jerks that Yeosang’s limp body takes without complaint.

Jongho slowly pulls out, kissing away Yeosang’s whimpers, and ties off the condom to throw it away before gathering Yeosang into his arms. “You’re incredible, hyung. Are you ok? Was that ok?”

Yeosang blinks at him blearily and smiles.

“It was perfect. You were perfect. And I definitely can’t walk so I hope you’re ok with carrying me back to my apartment for a shower.” He pauses, biting his lip. “And a cuddle? And maybe… you can stay the night?”

Jongho’s heart soars at the offer, refusing to acknowledge how much it would have hurt, if Yeosang didn’t want him to stay.

He rolls to his feet and can’t help the pleased smile when Yeosang reaches back to feel his abused cheeks. “Sore, hyung?”

Yeosang wrinkles his nose. “Mmm… I might need to demand a massage.”

“Ask Yunho, he’s got the best hands for it.”

Yeosang tilts his head, a quirk that Jongho finds ridiculously endearing. “You really don’t mind? The… sharing?”

It doesn’t occur to him to mind it. That’s just… how they are. It makes sense. Yeosang deserves all the love they can give him. “Nope. But… the possessive part of me is really glad you chose me, to be your first.”

Yeosang accepts his shorts and slowly slides them up, needing Jongho’s support to get them over his hips, and pulls his shirt over his head. Jongho dresses quickly and scoops him up, unlocking the door and heading towards the portal to Yeosang’s home.

“It’s always been you. Loved you at the beginning… love you now.” The words are mumbled sleepily against his chest, barely audible, and he nearly trips through the portal, immensely grateful to not run into any of the members.

“You… love me? Loved me? Wha—”

Yeosang looks up, eyes wide. “Oh… shit. Those were inside thoughts and now they’re outside thoughts, fuck, okay, well, yes, I love you. And… loved you, before, in my first life, which makes the whole murder thing a little bit weird and there’s some nuance there that I haven’t really told you which I probably should have told you—”

He cuts off his panicked rambling with a kiss, pulling back to leave a sliver of space between them, and smiles.

“I love you too, hyung.”

Yeosang gapes at him before turning into a tomato and burying his face in Jongho’s shirt.

Later, as they lie in bed, both stripping back down to their underwear in a silent agreement to sleep skin to skin, Jongho traces a finger over the graceful line of Yeosang’s spine. A faint scar mirrors the one on his chest, as if a blade went through and through. Which…

It probably did.

Yeosang shivers beneath his touch, snuffling softly in his sleep. Beneath his fingers, a faint pattern appears and at first, it is simply shadows in the dusk of the room but as Jongho leans closer…

He swears he sees feathers shifting beneath Yeosang’s skin.

Chapter 23

Summary:

A sprinkle of smut and fluff, before the angst really sets in.
Buckle up for an emotional ride

If you need a pick-me-up, read Chan and Hyunjin's story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71030491

Yeosang never wakes up warm in the morning. No matter how many blankets he piles onto his bed, some part of his body always endeavors to cosplay an ice cube.

But not this morning. This morning, he’s draped across a breathing space heater, cheek resting on a patch of shimmering scales that catch the bits of light filtering through the gauzy curtain.

“Morning, hyung,” comes a mumble from above his head. He looks up to see Jongho’s barely open eyes, round cheeks rising as he smiles. “Sleep ok?”

Yeosang nods, propping himself up on his hands to look down at the younger man. “Best sleep I’ve had in forever. No dreams, no thoughts—you wore me out.”

Jongho blushes, a small frown creasing his brows. “Did I—was I too rough? I know you said you’d stop me but—”

Yeosang swings a leg over Jongho’s hips to straddle him, pressing both of his hands into his smooth chest, curling his fingers to scratch lightly at his scales. Jongho gasps and shivers, lips parting.

“You were perfect, baby bear.”

Jongho groans, throwing an arm over his face and shoving at Yeosang with the other. He snorts and holds on, refusing to be dislodged from his perch on Jongho’s hips. He likes it here, thank you very much.

“Not you too!! Fucking Wooyoung with the group chat nicknames. I regret falling in love with any of you, you’re all terrible hyungs.” Laughing, Yeosang leans down and steals a kiss, smiling when Jongho’s hands come to rest on his waist.

“You love me.”

Jongho narrows his eyes at him, nose crinkling. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

Yeosang giggles, struck by the familiarity of it, sepia toned images slipping over reality, a different bed, a different time, different men but the same souls, intertwined eternally.

“You’re the first,” he says.

Jongho rolls him, pinning him to the bed and pressing a kiss beneath his jaw. It’s so thoroughly distracting that he misses the siren’s next words.

“..you?”

Yeosang blinks at him, heart fluttering. It’s been doing that since last night, fluttering in and out, as if it can’t quite decide whether or not to be alive. Jongho snorts and pushes up on his forearms, making space to look down at him.

“I’m the first to say I love you?” Jongho repeats.

“Oh. No, Woo beat you to that. You’re the first one I fell in love with.”

He doesn’t miss the way Jongho’s eyes widen and his breath hitches.

“You… why? Why me?”

Yeosang strokes his cheek, tracing the line between scale and skin on his neck. “Because you taught me that I was worth loving, at the beginning of it all. You… you didn’t murder me, Jongho.” He presses a palm to the explosion of gunmetal scales in the center of Jongho’s sternum, in the exact same place as his own scar.

“You died with me, put a sword through both of our chests. You promised you’d never leave me, and I thought you simply meant you’d stay with me at the end. I never thought…”

The memory came back to him, while he drifted on the edge of dreams late last night, after Jongho was snoring lightly beside him. Their last conversation. The prince, knowing he had to die, asking his lover to take his life, so that he wouldn’t be alone. The siren swearing he’d never leave him with tears in his eyes. A man with crimson eyes and another shrouded in frost. A blade binding their hearts as one. The ocean breaking the sky.

Jongho is crying, tears falling to dapple Yeosang’s face, and he reaches up to wipe his thumbs over the younger man’s cheeks. And then they’re kissing, deep and wet, tongues curling together as Jongho’s body settles firmly against him, a safe, warm weight protecting him from the terror of his past.

Their hips roll together, and Yeosang feels himself getting hard, feels Jongho not far behind. He’s probably still open from last night, his ass pleasantly sore but absolutely on board with morning sex. He mouths at Jongho’s jaw, nipping at the scales there and digging his hands into Jongho’s ass, guiding Jongho to grind against him.

“Fuck, hyung, want to—eat you out. Can I?”

Yeosang shoves his underwear down his legs and kicks them off, letting his legs fall open, by way of answer. Jongho groans, kissing his way down Yeosang’s body. He grips the back of Yeosang’s thighs, pushing them up towards his shoulders, and he shudders at how exposed he feels, then lets out what is probably the dirtiest, most porn worthy moan to ever come out of his mouth as Jongho’s hot, talented tongue begins licking at his rim.

“Yeosangie, are you—oh, shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll just—fuck, yeah, um I’m gonna—” Mingi yelps as Jongho chucks Bangul the sad raindrop (who is now a permanent fixture in Yeosang’s bed courtesy of San) at his face and holds up his hands. “I, uh, I’ll be in the hall but Yeosang I gotta talk to you check your phone!” The last is shrieked in a jumble of words as Jongho launches off the bed towards the oracle, sending him scurrying back into the hall.

“Um. That’s… he’s totally gonna tell… everyone,” says Jongho with a resigned sigh.

Yeosang stares at the ceiling as if it can give him the ability to rewind the last five minutes, to before Mingi saw Jongho’s face buried in his ass.

The ceiling stares back blankly.

Jongho flops back onto the bed, burying his face in a pillow. “They’re never gonna let me live this down.” Yeosang sighs and tugs on Jongho’s hair until he lifts his face. “We’re in this together. Next time we’ll just lock the door.”

Jongho’s face lights up at the promise of next time and Yeosang resists the urge to pinch his cheek, he’s so cute. Instead, he grabs his phone and sees a stream of texts and four missed calls from Mingi.

Mingles (6:05am)
Yeosangie we have a problem
a big problem
call me

Mingles (6:09am)
my aunts want to meet
my aunts
THE FATES
and I’ve been ordered to bring you with

6:10am - One missed call from Song Mingi

Mingles (6:12am)
you’re probably sleeping
which is a normal thing to be doing
I’d like to be sleeping
instead I’m having a crisis
HYUNG
A CRISIS

6:15am - One missed call from Song Mingi

Mingles (6:15am)
I’m coming over there
hopefully you don’t sleep naked
or do?
no, better with clothes, can’t have a boner to visit the fam

6:22am - One missed call from Song Mingi

6:25am - One missed call from Song MIngi

Well. That’s… not great. He recalls Chaeryeong’s warning in the council meeting… and groans, throwing his phone on the bed and rolling to his feet. Jongho gives an appreciative hum and Yeosang grins over his shoulder, finding the other man staring raptly at his ass. “I’m not done with you,” he mutters, before grabbing his clothes and quickly getting dressed. Yeosang giggles and does the same.

Stumbling into the hallway and yawning, he beelines for his kitchen, smiling gratefully at the waiting mug of coffee which is just cool enough to drink while still being delightfully warm (the shop is really getting into the barista lifestyle). Heading into the living room, he plops down next to Mingi, who has his face hidden in his hands.

“m’sosry” he mumbles, and Yeosang reaches out to tugs his hands away, leaning in to press a light kiss on his lips. “It’s ok, though I think Jongho might be scarred for life.” An affirmative grumble comes from the bathroom where Jongho is still getting ready, and Mingi groans.

“So. The Fates?”

Mingi tips his head to look at him, face somber. “Yup. The Fates. My aunts. Just try to imagine the holidays.”

He scoots closer on the couch, clutching his mug and leaning into Mingi’s side, snuggling against him until the tall man loses some of the tension in his frame and drapes an arm over Yeosang’s shoulders. “When are we supposed to be meeting them?”

“Um. That’s… why I barged into your apartment.”

A sinking feeling is growing in the pit of Yeosang’s stomach.

“It’s… now, isn’t it. We’re supposed to be going there now.”

Mingi’s dejected nod has Yeosang downing the rest of his coffee and darting to his bathroom to get ready. Jongho looks at him in alarm when he blasts in, combing water through his hair and fluffing it to make it look vaguely presentable. He throws on some light makeup, all he can manage without Felix’s expert hand, and spins to face Jongho some minutes later.

“Do I look ok?”

Jongho blinks at him.

“For… Mingi?”

He bustles back into the living room, tossing his wallet and keys into his coat.

“No, for the FATES who I’m apparently about to go meet!” Yeosang’s voice rises to a shriek and Jongho’s eyebrows disappear into his fringe. “Oh, shit, ok, you look good, hyung, but are you seriously telling me the FATES cockblocked us?”

Yeosang bursts into panicked laughter and he hears Mingi snort.

“First time for everything. Gotta go. But first—” he grabs Jongho by the back of the neck and pulls him into a deep kiss that has Mingi whistling from the couch and the younger man blinking at him with wide eyes. “Rain check on you eating me out, was really looking forward to that.”

Mingi chokes while Jongho goes bright red and thumps his head on the wall with a groan. “You’re killing me, hyung.”

Yeosang smiles, the picture of innocence, and grabs Mingi’s hand.

“Love you too, baby bear!”

Jongho’s indignant yell shoos them out the door.

~ ~ ~

Images of the scene in the bedroom keep playing through Mingi’s mind, and he cringes. Not because he’s jealous or upset that Jongho had that moment with Yeosang—no, it’s worse, so much worse.

Having tea with his mother is normally one of his favorite things.

Having tea with his mother while having highly erotic images of his boyfriends flashing through his mind? Images that she would likely pick right out of his brain?

This is going to be a fucking disaster.

“Thanks, Chaeryeong. It’s kind of you to give us a lift.” Yeosang’s sweet voice breaks through Mingi’s spiraling panic, and he manages to mumble a thanks to his cousin, following her into the damp, cold cave where the aunties make their home. Yeosang trails after them, and Mingi doesn’t have to be an empath to feel the waves of uncertainty rolling off of him.

“No problem. Mingi-yah, your mom wants to chat with you, and the aunties want to talk to oppa alone.”

At that, Yeosang whimpers, terror evident on his face. Chaeryeong turns to him and rolls her eyes. “Seriously? You are the most un-reaperly reaper I have ever met. You’ll be fine, they’re just a bunch of cranky old ladies. Keep going down the tunnel—they’re waiting.”

Yeosang takes a shuddering breath and steps forward, farther down the tunnel. Mingi squeezes his hand as he passes by. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Yeosang tries for a smile but his lips tremble, and Mingi just wants to grab him and run, out of this awful place of doomed prophesy.

He hates everything about coming here… except seeing his mom. She’s the bright spot in an otherwise dismal experience.

She greets him with a big hug, smiling wide as he offers her the silver and turquoise bracelet set with tiny light emeralds he’d bought a few weeks ago, immediately putting it on and admiring it. “My sweet boy, so good to his mother. How are you, darling? Tell me everything.”

He tells her about their comeback, their amazing TeaSea, San’s new additions to his plushie collection (a fluffy Maltese that reminds him of Yeosang and a Doberman that Yeosang says is far more accurate), Hongjoong’s latest kitchen mishap (he set a kettle on fire when Seonghwa wasn’t home to intercept him), Jongho’s grumpy but newfound interest in skinship (no, he’s not thinking about this morning, he is absolutely not thinking about this morning)—but he doesn’t mention Yeosang. Not yet. It’s as if telling her, bringing Yeosang to life outside of the Circle, might wash it all away like a dream.

Or maybe he’s just scared that his mom has seen a future without Yeosang in it.

But that’s the thing about having the direct descendent of Cassandra for a mom—she knows everything.

“So… are you going to tell me about him?”

Mingi makes a face and squirms under his mom’s knowing gaze, cupping his mug of tea to warm up hands that go clammy.

“Um.”

His mom laughs, eyes sparkling, and reaches across the table to take his hands. “Your reaper. Chaeryeong tells me he’s quite cute.”

He blushes, letting out an embarrassed squeak, and looks down at the table. Yeosang is more than cute, he’s adorable and sexy and beautiful and Mingi wants to pin him to the bed or maybe be pinned to the bed—fuck, no, he’s with his mom for the Gods’ sake. He slaps his brain and looks up to meet her eyes. Her lips are pressed into a line, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.

“He’s… yeah. I—I really like him. Have you—” he bites back the desire to ask her, have you seen him with me, in my future, or is all of this a pipedream that’s going to be ripped away, and instead says, “—have you met him before?”

She frowns, long silver hair falling in a sheet of liquid mercury down her back. He gets his high cheekbones and full lips from her and his height from his father—a man he never met.

“No. Not in person. I’ve seen past versions of him, in dreams, but nothing…” she frowns, eyes going distant. “Nothing in his future. I am blind to him. And it makes me somewhat blind to you, too, darling. It’s—unsettling.”

That’s… impossible. His mother is the most powerful seer alive—the Fates alone can see clearer, and they’re the source of prophecy itself.

“But that’s—”

His mother shakes her head and smiles warmly at him, squeezing his hands once more. “Enough of that, tell me more about the tour! I’ll be at a few of the concerts, can’t quite see which ones yet, the stadiums all look so similar! Oh, and make sure you bring a raincoat to London, you’ll get caught in a storm.”

And that’s what it’s like having an oracle for a mom.

Half an hour later, stuffed with cookies that he’ll need to spend a few hours in the gym burning off, his mom shoos him out the door. He finds Chaeryeong waiting in the hallway, eyes unfocused as she looks towards the chamber of the Fates.

“Um… Char? You ok?”

She startles, head jerking, and turns to him, face seeming to shift mechanically into her trademark wry smile. Her eyes though… the swirling grey eclipses her pupils, sending a shiver down his spine. “Hey coz. Good catch up with mom?”

Her voice is stilted, strained. She glances again down the hall.

“Is Yeosang… still with the aunties?”

“Huh?”

Ok, this is definitely weird.

“I said—”

Chaeryeong, the Servant of the Ten Faced God, cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “Oh. Yeah, he’ll be out soon. But you’ll have to find a different way home, I’ve got—stuff. To do. Elsewhere.”

“I—ok, but seriously, what’s going—”

With a small hiss, her form dissolves into mist and fades away.

Well then. That was rude.

A pulsing starts up in the base of his skull, urging him down the hall towards the chamber. He knows better than to enter—family or not, the Fates don’t take kindly to uninvited guests. But before he gets more than a few steps, Yeosang rounds the corner, walking slowly, hands pulled up into his sleeves and tucked to his chest.

“Yeosangie?”

Something immense, ancient and painful flashes through his eyes, before it washes away into a smooth smile. “Hi Mingi-yah. I’d like to go home now.”

Yeosang walks up and tucks himself under Mingi’s arm, fitting against him perfectly. The small man curls his arms around his waist and says, “brace yourself” before darkness swirls around them. Mingi can hear faint screams, can feel something pressing on his mind—but it’s over in a moment, and they’re standing in his living room.

“What was—holy shit, did you just teleport us?”

Yeosang huffs a laugh but there’s no joy in it. Something is seriously wrong. When he speaks, his voice is flat. “Shadow stepped. It’s getting easier, since I’ve gone reaping a bit more regularly.” He steps back, moving towards the portal to his own home. “Sorry for the lack for the lack of warning. I’ve—I’ve got go, I need to open the shop before my regulars revolt.”

He can’t let him leave. It slams into him, not a vision but a knowing, knowing that if Yeosang steps through that portal he’s going to lose him.

“Hyung, wait—” he reaches, out grabbing for Yeosang’s wrist, but a ribbon of shadow bats his hand away, and the last thing he sees are tears spilling down the reaper’s face as he disappears into the shimmering doorway.

A doorway that snaps shut and disappears with a pop.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck he needs to call—Seonghwa, he’ll be able to open a new portal, or maybe Wooyoung, he can teleport even though he’s always a little bit off on the landing, he stretches out his mind, feeling for them, but no one’s home, where the fuck are they, he’s spiraling, he needs to get to Yeosang but—

The migraine hits him, taking him to his knees as he vomits his mom’s half-digested cookies onto the carpet. A lance of pain splits his skull and his vision goes white.

Archway made of bone, wreathed in flame

Shrieking, leathery wings, blood dripping from jagged jaws

A crowned man, turquoise hair floating around him as if submerged, eyes black as pitch, skin stretched taught over the bones of his face

Yeosang, shadows curling around him

spilling forth, consuming the risen king, bloody crown crumbling to rust as his mouth opens in a silent curse

Dust in the air

The screams of demons and undead nightmares as light, radiant and pure, spills into being

Light and shadow intertwined, black ichor and red blood oozing from cracking skin

Feathers burning to ash.

Crumbling.

Dust.

Gone.

Mist of shadow fading in the hazy light of dawn.

~ ~ ~

“Mingi? Mingi, fuck, open your eyes, shit, Joong get Youngie, now!”

His eyes are on fire, and he screams, voice breaking, barely feeling the cool hands that fall on his temples and hold him still with a gentle grip.

“Sleep, love. I’ve got you. Sleep.”

Chapter 24

Summary:

All aboard the angst train... for the next few chapters.

TW: brief suicidal ideation

Yeosang tumbles through the portal and grips his side of the doorway, tearing at it with his magic, watching as it cracks and snaps shut, fading from existence. He gathers the remnants, feeding it rapidly to the shop.

He grabs his phone, functioning on autopilot. “Felix? Hey. I’m keeping the shop closed for the day, you’ve got the night off…ah, cool, sounds fun, tell Sungie I say hi and he owes me a Mario Kart rematch…nah, I’m ok, just got tied up with a complicated curse…yeah, see you soon.”

He hangs up. Crushes the phone in his fist and tosses the remnants to the table.

Yeosang heads up the stairs, steps steady. He should be feeling something, probably. Sorrow? Anger? Panic, maybe?

But that’s the thing about grief.

It’s not linear.

It doesn’t follow some prescribed pattern.

And his grief—it fills him, immense and heavy, leaving him numb with no space for anything else.

It’s straightforward, really, to pack a bag of his simplest clothes, dark T-shirts and worn jeans, a sweatshirt (Yunho’s, because he’s an emotional masochist), a pair of shoes he can walk in. No phone, no laptop, because he doesn’t trust them not to track him electronically if magical means fail.

Toothbrush, soap, he’ll buy whatever else he needs, he’s got more than enough saved up—what else…

Bangul catches his eye, staring at him with its sad, watery frown.

No. No, he’s not taking the plushie.

He swears there’s actual tears in its downturned eyes.

Ugh.

He takes the fucking plushie.

Bag packed, he hurries downstairs, gathering up a few salves, his first aid kit, what else… his eyes scan the shelves and catch on a small jar.

Where a rusty red marble of an old, nasty curse sits, placid and bound in the clay container.

Mingi’s curse.

He can’t leave it here. Not where someone might find it, use it to harm him.

He tucks it carefully into a padded pocket of his bag, ignores the sad raindrop plushie that’s squished between his sneakers and his toiletries, and looks around one final time.

Ok. Good to go.

Focusing, he pulls a tiny jar of pixie dust, painstakingly collected from Felix unknowingly dusting it over the bar, the back table, the floors—and begins to sprinkle it in a circle in the center of the shop.

The Sanctuary creaks, uneasy, sensing his intention. A wave of refusal, of sorrow, smashes into him.

“I’m so sorry. He’ll take good care of you, I promise. Just—please, understand. If I can come back, someday, I will, but for now… for now, I have to go. You deserve so much better than me.”

He slices a thin line into his palm and places it, bloody side down, in the center of the circle. Then, in one harsh swipe, he strikes through the blackened handprint, severing his connection with the Sanctuary.

It shudders, reaching for him—only to fall short, grabbing for the only tether it can.

The pixie dust.

He feels it, the moment the Sanctuary binds to the as of yet unaware pixie. The walls begin to glow, little motes of rainbow sparkles drifting through the air, flowers blooming silver and gold on rich vines. The shop, reacting to a new Keeper. A keeper made of light, unlike Yeosang’s darkness.

A golden shine threads through the rich mahogany bar, surface gleaming. The pillows fluff up and the fireplace crackles. After a moment, the dust settles, leaving a slight shimmer in the air.

In the center of his broken handprint lies a pearl, glowing softly.

His extra payment for the shitshow of a bachelorette party. Yeosang lets out a broken chuckle and picks up the pearl, tucking it against his chest, where it sits, a reminder of warmth where his heart lies silent and cold.

“Goodbye, my friend. Thank you. For keeping me sane. For… giving me something to care for when I couldn’t care for myself.”

The shop creaks, and a small vine spirals up from the floor to wrap around his leg in a hug… before blackening and falling away, crumbled and dead.

Right. That’s all he is now.

The ambassador of the restless and unhappy dead.

With one last, wistful look, Yeosang steps into the quiet shadows.

Exactly where he belongs.

~ ~ ~

What the fuck do you mean, you LOST him?!

You let him meet the Fates, alone? What were you thinking?

I can’t feel him, Mingi, I can’t—

Mingi snaps awake, the voices of his Circle, his family, ringing spectral in his ears.

Harsh truths that he deserves in exchange for letting Yeosang slip away, for not realizing something was wrong, for not seeing this coming.

Him, the oracle, the descendant of Cassandra herself, didn’t see this coming.

It’s been three days since Yeosang broke the portal between their homes. Seonghwa felt it break, thought something terrible had happened (TLDR: something terrible had happened) and came rushing home to find Mingi passed out on the floor, caught in the grips of a vision so powerful that his eyes were literally melting out of his skull. Luckily, Wooyoung was able to fix that little problem.

He can’t even remember it. As if whatever he saw was so horrifying that his brain refuses to let him see it again—fucking useless. He’s useless.

Maybe he should have died.

He grabs his phone—3am. He has to be up in two hours for an early schedule, some fucking photoshoot that had been rescheduled four times (none of them his fault) so now it’s at the asscrack of dawn.

He rolls over, the migraine that still lingers despite his assurances to Hongjoong and Wooyoung that he’s fine, thanks, please stop hovering, throbbing at his temples. Pressing his fingers into the sides of his skull, he stares at the empty space beside him in bed.

The space where Yunho sleeps.

Or used to sleep.

Yunho barely looks at him now. As if looking at Mingi physically pains him.

He gets it. He’s spent most of his life avoiding his reflection. It’s about time someone else jumped on that train.

Fuck, he knows he’s spiraling, can sense it, but Yunho—Yunho’s the one who catches him, the one who slides into his mind and cuts through the dark thoughts that nip at him like knives, death by a thousand self-inflicted cuts.

Shoving his face into his pillow, Mingi screams.

~ ~ ~

Jongho (8:01am)
hyung
where are you
please.
please come home

[Message not delivered]

~ ~ ~

Yeosang looks around the dingy motel room and sighs, shoulders slumping. He drops his bag on the bed (after checking the mattress for bedbugs, because you can’t be too careful) and locks the door, not that a locked door will deter any of the people that might be following him.

People that are incredibly stealthy in their pursuit, incredibly unsuccessful or… hadn’t bothered to follow him at all.

As painful as the third option is… it would be for the best.

Yeosang brings nothing but death and desecration to the table. He’s not friend material, let alone relationship material. Hells, he’s barely person material.

The Fates simply confirmed what he already knew.

Meeting the Fates had gone just as swimmingly as one might imagine.

After Mingi split off to visit with his mom, Yeosang continued down the hall, the air growing colder, damp and clammy, the farther he walked.

As the Fates came into view, he realized that Chaeryeong’s description was spot on.

“A bunch of cranky old ladies” indeed.

A massive, fleshy pillar rose from the ground, the vague impression of limbs and faces shifting within it, not too unlike his shadow after a reaping. Emerging, fully formed, from the grotesque trunk, like the stalk of a three-headed mushroom, were the torsos of three female humanoids.

Their skin was withered, papery and thin, stretched over sharp, skeletal faces. As Yeosang entered the chamber, they shifted, disappearing into the stalk that stretched wide and lumpy to connect to the ceiling, a terrible reimagination of a fused stalactite, and emerged to face him

Where eyes should be, translucent skin stretched across the hollows in their skulls, a faint glow within the empty sockets.

Reeeaapppper. You haaaave cccoooome

Their voice, triplicate and infinite, hissed into his mind, and his shadow flared out to curl around him like a cocoon, instinct when faced with an atrocity so ancient that he felt like a newborn, barely formed, in its presence.

He tried to speak but found his breath frozen in his throat. A pressure began to curl around him, ribs cracking and piercing into his chest, caving in around his heart, the last of the air wheezing out on a silent scream.

Sssssseeeee

No more was his vision filmed over with the cataracts of age, the sepia toned photograph sharpening into crystal clarity.

The dragon lay before him, breath gone cold, rattling in a chest that heaved with the effort of living in the face of a mortality wrought upon it by hubris and greed.

Yeosang, warm and alive, stood before it, unflinching beneath its razored gaze.

“Will my death free you from your shackles?”

The dragon’s head shifted, grinding over the damp stone upon which it lay.

“Do not bother me with your empty musings, little prince.” Its voice held the roar of a tempest and the silence of the depths. It rang through Yeosang’s body, but he felt nothing of its strength, for he was numb to sensation, numb to the world outside of the burning blood curse within him.

He barked out a mirthless laugh at the dragon’s words.

“I am prince of a false mirror, child of a monster that rules a city running rotten with the blood of innocent lives. My musings are far from empty, Ancestor.”

“If I entertain you, if I say yes, your death will free me… will you die for me, little prince?”

He shrugged. “If my death frees you, it frees me as well. I do not die for you, Ancestor. I die to see this city drowned beneath the weight of its sins and myself freed of my own cursed existence.”

The dragon watched him, silent and still, before letting out a breath laden with exhaustion.

“Then say your goodbyes, little prince.”

Vision skipping, skittering over time and places long forgotten, dragging Yeosang to a chamber warmed by firelight and the three men who sat around him.

“Absolutely not. There has to be—”

“There was never another way, you knew that when you dragged me out of the palace and made me believe that I could have a different life, that I was more than just a tool to be used and discarded.”

“That isn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, Elavni. Not now. Not at the end.”

Thunder stormed over the face of the vampire sitting across from him, and while it wasn’t Hongjoong’s face, Hongjoong’s soul shone crimson in his eyes. His mouth snapped shut, fangs biting into his lower lip. The man beside him reached over and wiped away the trickle of blood with his thumb, silver gaze never leaving Yeosang’s face.

“That was before we knew you. Before we loved you. Before you became the very air I must breathe, the blood that makes my heart beat.”

Yeosang didn’t bother to fight the tears falling down his face. Gods, how he loved them. Which was why he needed them to follow him down this path. He couldn’t fathom walking it alone.

“Maybe you are fools, but you are my fools.” He moved to kneel at the vampire’s feet, placing his hands upon his knees. “My love, I need you to understand. Do not waver now.”

The vampire crumpled forward, shoulders shaking with the force of his grief.

“He’s right” came a soft voice from behind him, woven with the breath of lovers hovering before the fall. “We found the dragon, confirmed our suspicions that our prince’s death will bring the city down. We act, soon, before the king can open the gate.”

Seonghwa, because it was Seonghwa, not a past life or some other iteration of him, but the fae himself, spoke.

“He grows suspicious of me, of all of his advisors. Yesterday I watched him slice into a shadow when he heard a whisper on the air.”

Yeosang grimaced. Did that madness lurk in his blood? If his death were not imminent, would that have been his future, to lunge at tricks of the light?

He walked to the man with the voice of the sea. “I… want you to be the one to do it. It’s a selfish thing, I know, to ask this of you but I—Elavni and Hwa will need to distract him, keep him from seeing our intent, and I… I do not wish to be alone. I do not trust myself not to shy away from the blade, when it comes time for it to pierce my heart.”

The siren with a fragment of Jongho’s soul watched him, the alien power of the deep swirling in his eyes, before he nodded, pain carving the laugh lines into canyons at the corners of his eyes. Yeosang breathed a sigh of relief. They would do this, for him, with him. They would end this madness, bury this era in the sands of history, its atrocities lost to salt and sea.

“Damn you,” choked out the vampire. “Damn you for making me love you. For consuming my very soul until I am nothing more than a vessel of devotion.”

Yeosang always thought Elavni should have been a poet, rather than an assassin. In another life, perhaps, where there was room for gentle words.

Yeosang pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Stay with me. All of you, please, stay with me this night. Let me be selfish, one last time.”

Fragments, fragments of passion, of love, pain and frost and shadow and effervescent joy, before he is flung once more into the courtyard, soft dawn light glinting off of shimmering emerald scales.

“I will always find you.”

The sword, binding them, the realization that his lovers had broken their word, that they never intended to survive this day, that they would die with him—

And nothing. His vision black, the world cold and empty. His heart, shriveling rotten, a pit to form the core of a stained and shattered soul.

The Fates watched him with empty eyes.

Yeosang stared at them as his vision cleared. Their voice filled his mind once more, a single tone, ringing pure.

The king hovers at the boundary, its anchors crumbling, the veil shredding away. The underworld is a breath away from consuming the living realms. Blood to blood, shadow to shadow, the child feeds upon the flesh of its father.

The Fates unseeing eyes began to burn.

The line must die with you.

The ceiling of the motel room is painted a faded, mustard yellow. It’s flaking in places, a bit cracked. Water damage, maybe. Seattle is known for its rain.

Yeosang thinks that maybe, he’s always known.  

His death isn’t freedom, but dissolution.

An unmaking of a soul that was never meant to be more than a tool, to flame out into ash.

He refuses to take them with him.  

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of An Eternity of Shadows