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don't let me tempt you / ch.2

pairing: angel!seokjin x angel!f.reader ⇢ au: angels & demons ⇢ genre: forbidden romance, friends 2 lovers, comedy(?), fluff, eventual smut (not in this chapter), lite angst ⇢ summary: Seokjin is temporarily banished from Heaven and you're not all that good at paperwork. ⇢ chapter wc: 4k ⇢ rating: fic rating is explicit/18+ for eventual smut; chapter rating is 16 & up bc they're the equivalent of ken dolls rn, but minors please DNI anyway. This isn't for you. ⇢ chapter warnings: LOTS of religious imagery but please remember that this isn't meant to be accurate, it's crack Good Omens style nonsense. Author is an atheist. Swearing. Drinking. Implications of loss of faith. If there's any tags you think I'm missing, please let me know - I'd hate to be the cause of any upset or discomfort ⇢ a/n: thank uuuuuu @ugh-yoongi for reading this over, i adore you

chapter 1 here

chapter 2

736 BC

August 12th. 6:13pm. Sunshine.

It’s been ninety-one years and twenty-six visits to Earth since your first cup of tea. Since then Seokjin has shown you could enjoy so many more earthly pleasures than you thought possible. He makes an effort to show you something new every time you visit, and humans, as it turns out, are so much more creative than angels give them credit for. You’re really starting to enjoy it here. Every time, you wish you could stay longer. And so you learned you could convince Turiel to add routine patrols on all your banishments - by all accounts you’re only ever visiting Earth on ‘Official Business’.

(‘Managed to convince’ isn’t really the right turn of phrase, more like you briefly floated the idea and Turiel near bit your hand off to add more to your workload.)

Of course the visits mean more reports in theory, but truth be told there aren’t that many banishments to keep on top of, and you spend far less time with the other banished angels than anyone else need know. That isn’t the case for Seokjin’s visits. No, you could spend an entire day in his company and feel like it’s been no time at all. For those reports alone, you need to twist the truth.

Your stomach growls and Seokjin tuts.

“If you didn’t wait thirteen years between visits,” he grumbles. “Your stomach wouldn’t be so loud.”

You open your mouth to say that the only reason you have any interest in Earth is because of Seokjin and his friends (though maybe by now they count as yours too, it’s something you’ll have to ask Taehyung) but the sour look on his face gives you pause.

(Ah yes. Taehyung. Your readers will probably be wondering why he’s still alive. Well, they all are. As it turns out the change from human to vampire was irreversible, and all Seokjin had been able to do was make it so they’re not quite as immortal as angels and demons are. In short - one could kill the three of them with a stake to the heart, if they should wish. When you found out Seokjin had omitted the truth (his words) about their lack of demise, that had been the biggest (and only) argument you’ve had in the centuries you’ve known him. Jimin had cried. It was very embarrassing.

Of course, you’d moved past it, because there was little to be done to change anything, and you actually rather like the company of the vampire trio. Yoongi is another anomaly, he should be dead too, and he kind of- he sort of is. Seokjin calls him a ghoul. But having met him, you can’t say he’s as evil as the handbooks make ghouls out to be. A grouch, definitely, but you can see why Seokjin likes to keep him around.

Anyway, the point of this opening was not Seokjin’s lie of omission. The point is Seokjin’s current disposition.)

“Why are you in such a mood?”

“I’m not in a mood,” Seokjin shoots back.

“You are,” you counter.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Seokjin flicks you on the forehead.

“Ow!”

“Please stop,” snaps Namjoon from the corner of the room. “Some of us are trying to study.”

You crane your neck to spy on the book he’s reading. Heraclitian Philosophy.

Seokjin notices you looking. “Namjoon fancies himself as one of the new age philosophers,” he whispers. “He won’t listen but I keep telling him they’re a bunch of miserable fu-”

“I can hear you,” says Namjoon, pointedly.

You and Seokjin share a private smile.

“We missed you,” he murmurs.

“Missed you too,” you say, cheerfully.

You dip a spoon into the pot Seokjin is standing over, and he chastises you for tasting too early (it’s not ready, so he says) but it’s so good that you can’t help yourself.

“Mmm,” you hum, appreciative. “My favourite.”

He’s strawberry red again.

“Where do strawberries grow?” you ask.

Seokjin laughs. “You always ask such weird questions.”

You bonk him on the head with your spoon.

“Answer please.”

“Dunno,” says Seokjin with a shrug. “I haven’t seen any here.”

“In Europe!” Namjoon calls over.

“Thank you!” you shout back.

“Why do you ask?” says Seokjin.

“I want to try one.”

He tilts his head, a curious puppy if you ever saw one.

“I invented them,” you answer his unasked question.

“You?”

You frown. “Yes, me.”

“You made food?”

“I made lots of things.”

“But you didn’t try anything?”

“Well why would I? I made lovely things in pretty colours just like they asked and sent them off to Agriculture.”

Seokjin smiles sardonically, saying, “such a good little angel, aren’t you?”

You beam even though it’s a non-compliment, and Seokjin rolls his eyes, but this time the look in his eye is one of affection.

“What else did you invent?” Seokjin asks, and off you go, listing all the things in your roster until you lose your breath.

After dinner, Namjoon goes out to meet the others for a dinner of their own, leaving you and Seokjin sitting in front of an open window, sipping tea and catching up on the happenings over the last decade.

Seokjin seems down. He leaves his tea to go cold and picks at loose threads on his tunic.

After a while, you ask, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Your friend’s face falls into a dejected pout. “Time’s almost up,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Thirty years left and I’ve hardly been anywhere. Hardly seen a thing.”

Seokjin always claims he’s not sentimental, but you look at the home he’s built for himself, the friends he keeps, the trinkets that adorn the room, some four-hundred years old, and you deduce that there is little truth to that statement. What he isn’t is someone who tends to feel sorry for himself.

It’s unsettling, seeing him like this.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him. “Once you’re back home you’ll have your miracles, and you can have all of this and more in Heaven.”

Seokjin rolls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I’ll be there too,” you tack on.

His responding smile is a little pitiful, but a smile is a smile, and if that’s all he’s got, you’ll take it.

729 BC

January 28th. 6:56pm. Snowing.

Taehyung says he’s invented a game. It’s called truth or dare, and the objective is to tell the truth when you’re asked a question, or do something at the other player's request. Despite asking on several occasions, there seems to be no clear rules on how to win.

“This isn’t a criticism of your creativity, Taehyung,” you say gently. “But it seems as if there’s no real point in playing if your point scoring system is flawed.”

Taehyung stares at you. Jimin hides a laugh behind his hand.

“How do we know when to end the game if there’s no objective winner?” you ask.

They ignore you, and Namjoon suggests it would be better to write down the dares and questions and draw them from different jars. For yours, you write down things like eat exactly 2/7ths of an apple and what time is it?

Jimin pours drinks, because apparently there’s also ‘forfeits’ in the form of ‘taking a shot’ if you can’t answer truthfully or complete a dare, but you can’t imagine why either thing would be such difficult tasks to complete.

“Why would I lie, though?” you ask again. “It’s my job to be divine.”

“You’ve lied for me on more than a hundred occasions,” Seokjin reminds you.

“Nonsense,” you say, haughtily. “That was for the greater good.”

Jimin and Taehyung share a funny look.

Namjoon coughs. “Shall we just play?”

You grumble something about rules being made to be followed that the others pointedly ignore, and Yoongi is the first to draw from the dare pile, and Taehyung- who is reading over his shoulder- shrieks.

Run naked to the end of the street and back <3

Oh.

Yoongi turns as red as a ghoul can go (which is to say, not very) and says he’s glad he can turn invisible, and promptly disappears from view. The only suggestion that he even leaves the room is the door opening and closing. Jimin says pointedly that he bets Yoongi is still in the room, but a minute later the door goes again, and Yoongi appears once more at the table, pink-cheeked and panting. Jimin scowls like a child and calls him a spoilsport.

The game continues in this vein until Namjoon gets your dare.

“Put on socks?” he says, confused.

“Yes!” You nod. “It’s very cold.”

Seokjin laughs. “You really are an angel.”

You beam at him.

Namjoon goes to find socks.

“Stop making googly eyes at each other,” says an exasperated Jimin. “I’m bored.”

Taehyung nudges the jars toward Seokjin. “Your turn.”

He makes a drawn out show of searching for the best one while not actually looking, claiming he can tell who wrote it by the way they folded the paper. He pulls out one he says was ‘obviously’ written by Yoongi, but by the gleeful look on Jimin’s face, you wonder if it was really him.

“Kiss your favourite person in the room,” reads Seokjin. He stares very hard at the paper. He’s not even blinking.

Taehyung and Jimin break the silence with a giggle. Namjoon is back, with more socks on, and his eyes dart between you and Seokjin. And now your eyes have turned into curious little fiends too, looking from Seokjin to the paper to Seokjin to the paper, to your hands, which are suddenly very interesting for no reason at all.

Seokjin looks at you for a long time. Seokjin turns red. And then Seokjin kisses Yoongi on the cheek.

“Forfeit!” yells Namjoon.

723 BC

March 9th. 8:02pm. A little chilly, but not unpleasantly so.

Today, the cold weather has you craving kimchi jjigae, and Seokjin has only complained three-hundred times about it. He says he made a table full of food, he asks why you can’t wait until everyone else arrives, he says of course you’d want the one thing he hadn’t made. He makes it anyway, and mutters that none of his other friends are as demanding nor as needy, including Taehyung.

The reason for the sheer amount of food adorning the table is because today is Yoongi’s birthday, and Seokjin is throwing him a party. Even though he’s sort of dead… and doesn’t need to eat. (It’s both pointless and confusing.)

You sit in front of the fire, bowl of jjigae warming your belly, kicking your legs contentedly while you wait for the guests to arrive.

Seokjin is anxious. He adjusts the position of the furniture six times. He wipes over his ornaments twice. He sweeps the floor three times and shoots you a glare when you try to help by using a little miracle to evaporate every speck of dust in the entire house. Normally he appreciates the privilege your miracles bring, since he lost access to his own, not tonight apparently. At first you attribute his sour mood to the idea of people he hardly knows invading his space, because while Yoongi is the quietest being you’ve ever known, he’s somehow friends with everyone in a twenty-mile radius. But Seokjin has hosted before - it’s nothing unusual for him to play host for others and dissolve into the background once everyone starts enjoying themselves.

No. Something else is going on here.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.

“Talk about what?” Seokjin mutters with a scowl, distracted by fussing over a china pot that’s apparently three millimetres out of place.

“Whatever it is that has you acting like you’re not enjoying my company.”

Seokjin looks up at you, expression unreadable. The silence hangs uncomfortably until it’s interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. It’s the first guests, bringing with them gifts of food and wine.

People filter in quickly after that. You don’t know many, but those you recognise offer a friendly hello or a polite bow in your direction. You tend to keep your distance from most people, at least those who don’t know your true identity as an Angel of the Lord, but you do enjoy their idle chatter. It’s ever so interesting, the matters that concern them, the small things that bring them joy in their (without any disrespect) insignificant lives. You’d tried engaging a human in conversation once, at a market Seokjin brought you to, but Taehyung had laughed and suggested you needed more practice interacting with people. After that you lost your confidence.

Perhaps tonight could be another opportunity, if Seokjin has enough wine to make his guests less suspicious.

You jump up, fetching bottles and cups from the other room and passing them around with a smile. The humans accept them gratefully. There’s nothing like alcohol to get people talking. Thirty minutes later the room is full, and loud, and everyone is on (at least) their third drink. With a wave of your hand, the guests' cups are refilled, and thankfully it’s only Seokjin that seems to notice. He waves you over from the other side.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Helping,” you say.

“We don’t need to get everyone drunk before he arrives.” He stares at the door.

“I don’t think Yoongi would mind,” you say. “Hasn’t he been half-drunk every time I’ve seen him?”

“Oh, not him,” Seokjin says absent-mindedly.

You frown.

“Who then?”

Just then, the door bursts open and a dishevelled Yoongi is carried through on the shoulders of Taehyung and Jimin, with a panicked Namjoon following closely behind - hands outstretched as if that would help Yoongi if he were to fall.

Everyone cheers. Someone pours them a drink. Seokjin continues to stare at the door.

Weird.

After leaving Seokjin to his own devices you decide to work the room and quickly discover how right you were about the alcohol. It’s been forty-five minutes and you can’t escape a man who doesn’t seem to know whose birthday it is, but is very glad for the opportunity to talk about his herd of goats and all the trouble he’s having with one particular fox.

“I wouldn’t mind if it was a one off but it seems like the bastard has it out for me.”

“That’s terrible.” You commiserate, trying to look interested while scanning the room in search of an out. The few people you know well enough to call for help from are otherwise occupied. Taehyung is pouring wine into Jimin’s open mouth. Yoongi and Namjoon are sitting around the table deep in conversation with an elderly woman and her husband.

“-usually one a day,” he says, slurring his words. “Sometimes two!”

“Awful,” you agree.

Seokjin is standing by the door, face impassive, talking out of the corner of his mouth to a man who wasn’t here earlier. He’s impossibly tall, doesn’t look like anyone else in the room, all sallow skin and sunken eyes. Seokjin has a wrinkle in his nose suggesting there’s a bad smell nearby. You’d bet your immortal soul it’s the man next to him.

“-at this point it’d take a bloody miracle to save my herd-”

“A miracle,” you echo, hardly listening, too busy looking at how the man holds out his hand. The eager gleam in his hollow eyes. How Seokjin’s lips curl with distaste but he shakes his hand anyway.

“I’m fucked if it carries on,” your companion says, voice breaking.

“Yeah,” you breathe. There’s a pit forming in your stomach. “Fucked.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, me too,” you say. “I’ve just got to- uh- go… Over there.” And you’re weaving through the people in the room to get to Seokjin and the stranger who has your hackles raised like no one else has had in centuries.

“Seokjin!” you say with false brightness, smile tight. “Who’s your friend?”

Seokjin turns to you, eyes wide and desperate.

“Not now,” he whispers. “Please.”

You stand firm, undeterred. “I’m Seokjin’s friend-”

And then the man turns his glare on you, and you see it. You smell it.

A demon.

You can hardly contain your gasp.

The demon grins. His teeth are unbrushed. “The angel says she’s your friend, Seokjin, and you haven’t told her what you’ve been doing? Who you’ve been talking to. Tut tut.”

Your gaze snaps to Seokjin who looks like he’s about to be sick.

“Told me what?”

“Not now,” Seokjin snaps.

You’ve never seen him like it, not once in three centuries. Face suddenly hard and unmoving. Not even during your fight about his friend's lack of mortality. The pit in your stomach grows. Something horrible is happening and you can’t figure it out.

“Go home,” he says, resigned. “We’ll talk later.”

“But it’s Yoongi’s birthday-” you start, but the hard line of Seokjin’s lips tell you your argument is pointless.

“He’s my friend, Angel,” he says, voice raising enough to attract a few looks from the people nearby. “Mine. Not yours. Go.”

Seokjin shouts. Shouts often, in fact. A drama queen if one ever existed. But Seokjin doesn’t shout at you. Not like that. One last wary glance between your friend and the demon at his shoulder, and you’re back at your desk wondering what in Heaven just happened.

723 BC

March 10th. 6:42am. Cold. Uncomfortably so, but perhaps that’s just the vibe in the room.

Seokjin doesn’t notice you’re back. But then he is fast asleep in his chair, several empty bottles at his feet. There’s drool running down his chin.

“Wake up,” you say. The miracle helps him along with stirring. You’re impatient this morning. He blinks awake, and upon seeing you standing above him, he groans.

“M’too drunk for this righnow.”

“Then sober up.”

Seokjin scowls and slurs in an accusatory tone, “you took my miracles, remember? You’ll hav-to wait for me to do it the human way.” He’s very green. “Pass me a bucket won’t you, m’gonna be sick.”

You arch an eyebrow, thoroughly disgruntled, and he groans louder as the alcohol dissipates from his bloodstream.

Now sheepish, Seokjin straightens up awkwardly. He doesn’t look at you.

“I don’t care for the way you treated me last night,” you begin.

Seokjin nods.

“Yes. Sorry.”

“I also don’t care for your meeting with demons.”

Seokjin shifts awkwardly, rubs at his forehead, but the apology you expected is noticeably absent.

You suck in a breath. “Aren’t you going to explain?”

He nudges one of the bottles on the ground with his toe, watching it turn on its side, letting the silence hang heavy around you.

After a minute, you can’t bear it any longer. “Seok-”

“Can’t you see I’m miserable?” he cuts in.

You sigh. “Well, yes I had noticed.”

You know it’s been a long time since he’s been home, there’s bound to be some apprehension about returning. But you’ll be there too. You’ve got sway with the committee now that you’ve been “putting in the work” with the banished angels, you can put in a good word for him, get him into a position that gives him more freedom to visit Earth now and then. You explain all this, but Seokjin shakes his head, but apparently that wasn’t a good idea because he holds it in his hands and groans.

“Angel, you don’t get it,” he snaps. “Why would I want to go back? Back to that place where they only give a shit about one corner of the world-”

“That’s not true-” you interject.

“It is true,” Seokjin insists. “The past four-thousand years it’s been Jerusalem this, Jerusalem that. Bethlehem and Jordan and Egypt.”

“They’re great places!”

“Yes, but everywhere else is great too. What makes one place better than the rest? What was the point of making all of this beauty if the one book of any importance doesn’t talk about it? If it’s just going to be gone-” He snaps his fingers. “-in two thousand years. All anyone goes on about is Noah, and Abraham, and Joseph and his stupid fucking coat! What is the point of me? Of us?”

“It’s in the plan-”

“Oh- who cares about a coat? What could the plan possibly say about that?” Seokjin is standing now, red faced and pulling at his hair. “What about these people?” He’s raising his voice again. “These people here? The people on the other side of the world? Where are their stories? Why isn’t anyone writing about them?”

“They will!”

“When?”

You don’t know. You don’t know anything.

“When it’s significant!”

“Isn’t everyone significant? Isn’t that the point?”

Yes. Yes and no. They’re obviously significant to each other, but not necessarily in the grand scheme of things. Seokjin doesn’t like that answer. His frown deepens when you suggest his faith is being tested.

“That was the stupidest idea they could’ve come up with,” Seokjin rants. “the notion of testing and tempting. No one can live without breaking one of these ridiculous made up rules or else our souls be damned for eternity. What’s the point? Be miserable for your entire life or be miserable for eternity. Can’t anyone enjoy anything without worrying for their immortal soul?”

“I don’t like this conversation,” you say.

“Of course you don’t,” says Seokjin bluntly. “Makes you uncomfortable, does it? You know I have a point and you don’t like thinking badly of our Heavenly Mother.”

You frown. “I’m not thinking badly of Her. It’s just- I don’t know. I don’t like it when you make me question things. We’re made to obey.”

Seokjin scoffs. His eyes are so unusually cold. “I don’t want to obey.”

Your breath catches.

“What are you saying?”

Seokjin hesitates. There’s a moment where you think he won’t say it, but then - “I hate it up there, Angel,” he says, and your throat goes dry and tight and uncomfortable as you remember the way the demon’s tongue rolled around the word angel, how it’s so different from the way Seokjin addresses you. You recognise the demon now, know him for exactly who he is and what he did to your friend. Leviathan, Prince of the Seraphim, tempting mankind and angels alike into heresy.

“You can’t seriously want to join their side?”

Seokjin’s face goes tight. “Of course I don’t. I want to be on my own side.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare at one another.

“I’m not going back,” he says, brows knitting together.

“You have to.”

“Angel-” he says it gently, with a tenderness so at odds with the way he spoke only moments before. “I can’t. I won’t be a hypocrite.”

“No-” you shake your head, reaching out and taking his hands in yours. He stares at you, confused by your insistence and your tears threaten to spill over. “Seokjin you don’t understand- if you don’t go back, they’ll know, they’ll kill you for defecting-”

“They can’t-”

“They can,” you insist. “Holy fire.”

Seokjin pales.

“You haven’t got your miracles. You can’t survive it.”

He drops your hands. Sinks into the chair behind him and stares blankly at the wall.

“Come back when you’re called, Seokjin,” you say, resolute. “For my sake.”

His eyes flit to meet yours.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“It won’t be as bad as you think,” you say desperately, but you don’t know who you’re trying to convince at this point. It might be your home but Seokjin has never liked the way it’s run. But he’ll be safe, and that’s what matters. “I’ll help you.”

Seokjin smiles weakly. “Alright, Angel.”

“Another thing I don’t care for is the way you’re calling me Angel.”

“Why?”

You reach out, pick a loose thread from the shoulder of his tunic. “It implies we’re too different.”

“Aren’t we different?” he says.

He’s not looking at you. Instead his absent gaze is turned into the empty fireplace, staring at the ash left over from the night before.

“Not in that sense.”

Seokjin’s lips twist in a way that silently says not yet.

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