Chapter Text
“Wonu-ya, are you okay?”
Get a grip, Jeon Wonwoo, he tells himself. It’s only Seungcheol’s parents, that’s all. It was bound to happen, one way or another, this meeting.
“Nothing is wrong.” Wonwoo exhales, sharp and curt.
The foolishness of these humans’ trivial sentimentalism must be getting to him. He’s faced insubordinate bastards down in the deepest trenches of Hell. Beat those fools into submission. Tear their limbs to shreds and nailed their organs to the cross. Because what else could be crueler than this mocking reminder of their lost godly status? Wonwoo flexes his hand, the glint of gold bouncing off his pinky. For all these fools envy and desire the crown, they do not know the throne of corpses only grows. It eats and eats and eats with an insatiable hunger - until all that remains is nothing.
But these fools do not realize that. Red, red, red is all his kind knows - of blood, anger, and power.
Undoubtedly, he thinks, this meeting is nothing compared to that. And yet-.
Seungcheol slips his hand into Wonwoo’s. Wonwoo’s deathly chill against Seungcheol’s lively warmth. Their fingers intertwine, an insurmountable bond melded from the forges of passion. Even the most masterful metal smiths down in Hell could not create any that holds up to the beauty of their love. None could hope to compare to this stained glass heart that now paints this world in an ethereal color. One forgiving and loving, enduring even through the apathetic march of time. For a moment, Wonwoo despises the part of him that could never be. Though he has learned to feel human, he knows he is and will never be one.
That, for all the longing and yearning, he is a demon cursed with the wickedness of humanity. An aspect of themselves humans loathe and fear, despise and cower.
Wonwoo’s undead heart rises with a tension that drowns out the rest of the world.
Only Seungcheol’s worried voice cuts through the tell-tale thumping.
“Wonu-ya, I could call off this meeting. They’ll understand.”
Seungcheol cups his face, doe-like eyes gleaming with concern. His love-filled eyes that, despite the absence of magic, have enthralled Wonwoo at first sight. Maybe he should check his family lineage just in case - because how else could anyone explain how the Crown of Hell fell in love with a mortal?
Wonwoo supposes there is no better time to test this hypothesis than meeting his inlaws.
“No, my love. There is no need for that.” Wonwoo smiles at the streak of pink Seungcheol fails to hide in time as he turns away, stammering.
At first, it was jarring to hear humans call each other by their real names, their sobriquets said on occasion. Names in Hell hold much greater power. For one that knows a demon’s True Name has complete control over them.
As much as he loves him, Wonwoo is all too aware of the dangers it brings. Despite this, Seungcheol remains unaware he has this demon in the palms of his hand anyway. The strongest denizen of Hell, Jeon Wonwoo - brought down to his knees for a human with eyes of pure love. A younger, more prideful Wonwoo would thrash anyone who dared to hint at the notion. This Wonwoo loves the freedom this human name gives, how his lover says it. Like a siren, his voice beckons with promises of comfort and security.
That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy having his way with his human, though. Seeing his lover struggle to regain his composure is a sight to behold. The love of his life, Choi Seungcheol, rendered too flustered to speak because of a few words. How easy it is to get a reaction out of him. How easy it is to read every bit of this human, to know how much Wonwoo affects him. That his tiny human loves and desires him just as much. This knowledge sends a delicious thrill of possessiveness up his spine. Be patient, he tells himself. The time will come later to act upon it.
Seungcheol, in an attempt all too familiar, tries to excuse himself. Wonwoo is faster and pulls him into his iron-clad embrace, nuzzling at his neck. As expected, he squirms in place, whining about Wonwoo ruining the emotional moment. Wonwoo digs his chin into exposed shoulders and angles his face.
“Ya, what am I to do with you, hm?” Seungcheol gives up, instead petting post-shower hair. “I thought all demons would be scary, but look at you now. A cute, clingy kitty cat-.”
Without warning, Wonwoo flips their positions, pinning Seungcheol’s arms up.
“I seem to have recalled an interesting turn of events last night. Or did I tire you out to the point of forgetting?” Wonwoo whispers, low and sultry. His free hand snakes his way up Seungcheol’s sweater, drinking in the sight of him writhing to break free. When his hand comes across a patch of purple, he decides to press down on it, eliciting a moan. “Hm? Cat’s got your tongue, darling?” Wonwoo teases, popping up cat ears and tail. Seungcheol is so fun to tease like this, sulky and whiny, a bit mouthy at times. The cat in him purrs with eager anticipation, for he has trapped the perfect little mouse to toy with. Before Seungcheol could retort, the doorbell rings.
Oh, right, that. Damn it.
The cat hisses, displeased. The little mouse snickers, only to yelp as the cat nips him in response. With a long-suffering sigh, Wonwoo gets up. The dessert shall have to wait for now.
Jeon Wonwoo is a demon.
And demons know how to bend any human to their will.
But just because they know does not mean they will outright exploit them. Contrary to popular belief, demons will not try to sabotage the terms and conditions of the Hell Contract. Because, like human contracts, his kind is liable to lawsuits. Anything done against the human’s consent opens their schedule to visit the tribunal. And nobody likes that. That is why there is a special place in hell for lawyers, one curated for those absolute lunatics. And, yes, even for the average miserable law student contemplating suicide.
The reason is simple. Any self-respecting member of Hell society knows not to fuck around with them. Most apparitions refuse to inhabit their bodies over concerns of consent. The succubus and incubus stay far away to avoid HR courses in sexual conduct. Body snatchers would rather skin themselves than face accusations of literal identity theft. Many sirens refuse to sing in their presence, unwilling to disturb the peace.
Hell, even extra-terrestrial beings will not abduct them. Lawyers are fearsome creatures.
“So, how did you two meet?”
Lee Yoobi, a renowned solicitor, appraises Wonwoo.
Fuck.
“Honey, you’re using your lawyer voice again,” Yooyeon chides, soft and gentle. After gesturing that she will be watching him, Yoobi turns her attention to the food. Giggling, Yooyeon slaps her arm, then refocuses back to Wonwoo.
“Don’t mind her, Wonwoo. She’s like that, a bit grumpy but harmless.”
Wonwoo is good at reading people. He has to. It’s literally in his blood.
Yet, the blank, resting bitch face leaves little room for him to interpret.
What does a demon do in this situation?
“We met through a mutual friend.” It is as close as it can get to being somewhat the truth.
In reality, Yoon Jeonghan caught him stalking profiling Seungcheol. After reprimanding Wonwoo, Jeonghan began teasing him for his hopeless crush. “Love at first sight? I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic, Jeon,” Jeonghan singsongs. Before he could retort, the lawyer offered to set them up.
“Because he deserves to be happy. Isn’t that more than enough?”
Wonwoo thinks about that every day. Is Seungcheol happy being with him?
“Ah yes, Jeonghan, right?”
“That is correct.” Wonwoo cuts into his steak. Love him or hate him, Yoon Jeonghan is a force of nature. Wonwoo, the actual demon between the two, still isn’t sure how to feel about him.
“Seungcheol has told us a lot about you, you know. And I can see why he’s so besotted with you. Stoic yet soft-spoken, quite the handsome gentleman. And someone who wears glasses, too. You match his ideal type in every way! ” Yooyeon teases, giggling.
“Mom!” Seungcheol groans into his hands.
Oh? Wonwoo files this information somewhere in his brain. Good to know.
“What? Am I wrong? Wonwoo looks ten times the man that bastard could ever hope to be!”
Right. There are humans who, for some unfathomable reason, decide to engage in illicit affairs. Once, Seungcheol admitted his ex cheated on him with a work colleague. He will never forget the shadow that crossed his love’s face, the fragile attempt at a smile that never reached his eyes.
“Perhaps our relationship was too stale for him. He must have felt that I was too predictable, too boring now. So…” he sighs, defeated, “he sought someone else to rekindle that spark.” The thought of that stirs rage inside him. Disloyalty is one Wonwoo does not and will not tolerate.
“I’m honored to hear such kind words from you both. And yet, as it stands, I have not earned your praise, Ms. Kim,” Wonwoo responds.
“And how do you intend to remedy that?”
Wonwoo turns to Yoobi, who studies him. Yooyeon hovers over her, unsure how to break the tension in the air. Seungcheol waits with bated breath. The question has sucked all the tentative contentment out of the room. Yet, there is a strange energy emitting in this silence. So this is what humans call nervous anticipation, Wonwoo notes.
“Honey bunches…”
“I’m sure you’re aware of the nature of my job. I deal with people who believe they can outsmart the system.” The subtext is clear: don’t bullshit me, Jeon Wonwoo.
“Rest assured, I will treasure Seungcheol until the end of time. For I love him with the force of a thousand suns,” Wonwoo promises. He hopes his conviction carries through. A few seconds pass by, Yoobi assessing him with quiet intensity. Finally, she nods. That must be a sign of approval because her wife begins to tear up, much to the rest of the family’s chagrin.
“Oh, honey! I knew you’d come around!”
“Yoo, please, we’re eating-.”
“Mom, please, we’re eating-.”
Eventually, the conversation moves on to more lighthearted topics. Tension seeps from Wonwoo’s shoulders and back, allowing him to relax. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about, he thinks. There is a conceivable chance the dinner will end well-.
“So, how did you two get together?” Yooyeon drops the question.
Wonwoo almost chokes on his steak.
Fuck.
How was Wonwoo supposed to explain this? That, by some happenchance, they crossed paths, and he fell in love at first sight? Stalked Observed Seungcheol from a distance for years because he was too shy to interact? That resident menace Yoon Jeonghan took pity on him and dragged his kitty ass into the friend group?
“How pathetic little meow meow you are, Jeon,” inner Jeonghan mocks.
What did that even mean?
And then, with more help from Jeonghan, set up the haunted house trip so they could be alone? Fucked their precious son on the Pentagram like a filthy heathen?
Oh no, Wonwoo thinks. Memories of that time flood into his brain. For what felt like hours, he has willed himself to avoid those unspeakable things he wants to do. Even for a demon, he has almost perfect control over his desires. Almost - because of this human. Jeon Wonwoo is not a sweets demon, but Seungcheol is a dessert he’ll gladly consume again and again and again and again.
Every moan, whine, whimper comes back to taunt him like the ghosts of Christmas past. Seungcheol, strung out on the floor, writhing from pleasure. Naked, vulnerable, and oh-so beautiful. In a calm panic, he rests his hand atop Seungcheol’s thigh. That was a mistake. His hand feels the same solid mass of warmth Wonwoo raised to his shoulders to thrust deeper into him. With each thrust, he feels them building up to the final fitful display of raw passion-.
“Like any other love story, Mom. We spent a lot of time together, realized we shared many things in common, and from there, it clicked,” Seungcheol says, patting his back. How embarrassing for them to catch the great demon of Hell off guard like this. Focus, Jeon Wonwoo.
“Ah, come on, Seungcheol. There has to be more than that! Don’t be shy, tell us more-.”
“Mother, Mom is bothering me,” Seungcheol sulks.
“Yooyeon.”
The said lady pouts and pleads with Yoobi to take her side. Seungcheol takes the time to look over Wonwoo, his smoothing pats letting up.
“I am fine. I took too big of a bite. My apologies.” Wonwoo winces. It is not a great excuse, not by any means. But from observing humans, this is a natural enough behavior that he hopes will not raise suspicion. How fortunate his human self has mesmerized people from seeing what’s underneath.
“That reminds me. We used to scold Seungcheol to slow down and take smaller bites because he would be too eager. His eyes were much bigger than the plate,” Yooyeon quips. She then begins to mime a tiny child glomping down food.
“Mom, I don’t do that anymore.” Seungcheol huffs, crossing his arms.
“On the contrary, I watched you attempt to fit half a slice of cheesecake into your mouth. Nothing to be ashamed of. I find the habit quaint.” Wonwoo smiles to himself as Seungcheol mutters betrayal under his breath. Only for his eyes to laser in on plump, pouty lips and return to thinking about what those lips can do. The sounds he could draw out of him every night. Demons prey on desperate humans, and Wonwoo is no different. He drinks in the tears his love sheds whenever he teases him for hours-.
Wonwoo rubs the side of his head. Goddamnit.
“Wonwoo, are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, rubbing his arm. Wonwoo is all too aware of Seungcheol’s presence, leaning within kissing distance. Leaning in the way he does whenever he is impatient, begging for his attention-. How the leather collar hugs, snug against love-kissed skin-. So, this is why God has forsaken him.
“It seems work has worn me out a bit, that’s all.”
“Oh? What do you do for a living?” Though she remains unassuming, Wonwoo knows he piqued her attention. Good.
“I’m a photographer.”
“Oooh, a photographer! Do you have photos we can look at?”
His mind catalogs through thousands of photos of Seungcheol. Of which he will never admit to having taken during his secret investigation. Seungcheol tending to animals, walking through pleasant shops, his endearing gummy smile, and more. Wonwoo will treasure them always. The only problem is that his mind did not bring up those happy memories. For some reason, the ones he remembers are less than appropriate to mention, much to his chagrin.
How could he tell them his camera contains predominantly nude photos of their son? In compromising situations, no less?
The slow burn of panic begins to settle in his heart. Get a grip, Jeon Wonwoo!
“Wonwoo has an InstaPound.” Oh, thank God. Wonwoo could kiss him on the spot. Seungcheol pulls up his photo and hands it over to Yooyeon. The women look through his account, with Yooyeon making approving comments.
“Oh, I like this photo the most. What do you think, honey?”
It was the photo of Seungcheol atop a hill, set at night.
Across the blood-stained sky, droplets of starlight twinkle on the tips of his fingers.
Without the clouds, the river of silver shines unobstructed. Millions scattered across the nether realms, strung together to form celestial illustrations. Born from the essence of gods, Seungcheol’s grandmother used to say, weaving stories out of thin air. Against the threat of an all-consuming void, the gods split a piece of themselves to light the skies. Nearby, the soft breeze flipped through messy notebooks detailing the stars’ positions. And the gods, the young boy asked, what were they born from? Were they always there? Could they hear him right now? But of course, my child, they’ve always been here. No matter where you go, the gods will heed your call. For how else do the stars know of your wishes?
Except, Wonwoo thought, the truth had been much different. The sky had split asunder, giving way to indecipherable chaos. The deities hadn’t been there to save their worshippers. No, they sought to punish humanity, for they gained autonomy. Their egos could not tolerate humans breaking free from their arbitrary divine tenants. The moon, which the gods corrupted, had begun to feed on humanity’s dreams. It grew and grew and grew, its voracious appetite born from its desire to outshine the sun. Now, this world will soon die and reset. Yet, the deities’ servants sealed away pockets of these dreams into orb-like lights. As the ultimate act of retribution, they condemned them to Hell.
“Even though that tale ends in tragedy, I can’t help but thank those servants for the beauty of their sacrifice. When my grandmother died, I felt the world crumble beneath me.” Seungcheol pauses, inhaling the crisp air. Here they were, sitting at the precipice of what was to come, at the crosspoints of life.
“My biological parents never cared to raise a person. They only wanted the illusion of a family, to appear perfect in the eyes of those around them. Yet, it was clear this did not last long. Soon, my grandmother took me in. I felt love in the way even a child understood to be different from before…” Fireflies swarm their peripherals, floating within reach.
“So when she passed away, I had nowhere to go. Despite their talk of family, none of my relatives took me in. My biological parents had long split and left, never seen again. I was a ghost to them.”
Seungcheol turns away, but not in time for Wonwoo to watch the stardrops fall. He is no stranger to voids, both physical and emotional. Loneliness is something all demons learn to capitalize on, for it breeds desperation. It leaves them vulnerable. Yet, despite their proximity, the gap between them feels impossibly big. And that is something Wonwoo cannot leave alone. He pulls him into a hug.
Wonwoo wants to say something, anything that could cheer him up. But what words could convey his intent without sounding patronizing? Perhaps, he thinks, as Seungcheol cries, some things are better off unsaid. Seungcheol understood him far better than anyone else. And Wonwoo, too, hopes to be the same. He looks up at the stars. Like how they watched over him, he, too, will watch over the child that loved stars.
“It’s lovely. I can see how much you care for Seungcheol,” Yoobi remarks.
“Of course, Ms. Lee. Seungcheol means the world to me. I must admit I am not as well-versed in expressing myself. But my camera speaks for me when my voice fails. I consider every photo of him my greatest treasure.”
“Oh no, now you’ve gone and made me cry.”
“There, there, darling,” Yoobi soothes her back, fond exasperation lacing her face.
“But they’re so cute, honey! How could I not cry?”
Even as the sight unfolds, Wonwoo turns toward his love, whose heart he can hear flutter. He slips their hands together, feeling the electric zip of affection coursing through. Seungcheol smiles, bashful yet content. They will be fine. Everything is under control.
“So. Besides photography, what else do you like to do for fun?”
Your son, his mind thinks, unhelpful. Wonwoo blinks. Maybe not.
With the dinner beginning to conclude, Yooyeon takes it upon herself to clean the table. Wonwoo watches on as Seungcheol objects. As the host, he cannot allow their guests to work. Yooyeon, being the ever-doting mother, disagrees. Amidst the chaos, Yoobi sneaks off with the plates to the kitchen, glancing back. Taking it as his cue, he follows, curious.
Underneath the soft, cozy glow, harsh, sleep-deprived lines wrinkle her stoic face. Life has taken a toll on her. He offers silent sympathy. Overseeing a functioning society of foolhardy heathens does that to you sometimes. Outside, cheery bells ring, light and dainty. Turning on the faucet, Wonwoo hands her rubber gloves. Together, they scrub, content in this silence.
“You know, Wonwoo, I didn’t expect this turn of events.”
“Neither did I, Yoobi. Or rather, Lee Yubin.” Yubin huffs, amused.
“I should have known Seungcheol went and fell in love with the great Crown of Hell.”
“As the humans would say, life is full of surprises.”
“Touche.” She sighs. Silence overlaps them for a moment, allowing Wonwoo to collect his thoughts. Interesting. Lee Yubin and Kim Yoohyeon, the women whose names reside on long-forgotten gravestones.
I was a ghost to them.
He thinks back to those harrowing words and the story of the stars. He thinks about the files of the seven girls who never returned from boarding school. Children sent far away on account of correcting “abnormal” behavior, a note reads. Another states, “They will learn to love God.”
He knows what lies between the lines, the words left unsaid.
“You seem happier now.”
“At peace, perhaps. It’s been so long. The pain is manageable for the most part.”
“I see.”
“Meeting Seungcheol was the best thing to happen to us. Yoohyeon prefers to focus on the present. To cherish these fleeting moments now that Seungcheol has given her a second chance at life.”
“And what about you?”
“It’s hard to say. I love Seungcheol, this little family we have. And yet, sometimes, I can’t help but feel…” she trails off, “...hollow. Like I can never feel whole again.”
Wonwoo understands.
“I still think about that place, you know. Of the actions we could’ve taken to prevent the tragedy from unfolding. Because what we were dealing with was something none of us comprehended. Something far beyond our understanding, and we paid the price for that. To this day, I don’t know how I found Yoohyeon again, though I suspect it has to do with him.”
“I don’t suppose you know how that came to be?”
She shakes her head.
“If I were to be honest with you, I’m afraid. That everything I know is a lie. That everything I experienced was a dream designed to punish me. That I will never find the answers I sought for so long. But worst of all…” Yubin pauses.
“I fear that if I find out, I may lose everything again.”
Long after the two departed, Wonwoo lies awake, Seungcheol sleeping. He’s not sure what to make of their conversation. What should have been a pleasant dinner revealed revelations he had yet to understand. Seungcheol’s adopted parents, who he finds are two of the lost group of girls. Who, through some strange turn of events, have found and raised him. The other five remain missing. In his hand is a document listing unaccounted souls that never arrived in Hell or Heaven weeks ago. He puts it aside, for the night is late, and slithers his arm around Seungcheol.
Evil never rests, but god forbid he will lose sleep over things out of his control for now.