୨ nu / she/her/hers / 20+ / hiatus!! struggling grad student ୧
"oh my love, warmly call out for me when I'm by your side / I'll only fill you with love // above that endless sky / this night of stars pouring down / is looking at you sleeping next to me"
━ seventeen "same dream, same mind, same night"
୨ general / masterlist under the cut / inbox ୧
This is an 18+ writing blog. I routinely check my followers and block followers. If you have been blocked, then it means you haven't read my general post.
extras
networks: svthub
wondernus / himbonanami / nu-reads / nu-replies
formerly lipglossjun
most recent fic: the NDA
header: john constable - a cloud study, sunset (1821)
HIMBOCOUPS'S MASTERLIST / 18+ ━━━━━━♡꘎
━ WRITTEN:
yuck! | lsm | [part one] [part two]
⤷ how can you remain friends with benefits with someone who turns his plushies around during sex, pouts when you don't kiss him goodbye, and spends his time occupying your mind?
impressions | csc ♡
⤷ as impressionable as the scent he wears, he is the standout in a crowd of many. and you can't help but to inhale him deeply before the night fades away.
red horn | yjh
⤷ devils are contract workers - simply offer them a payment that they can never refuse, and your problems would be taken care of. the only thing is, what could a mere human possibly offer to a devil?
crawl | yjh
⤷ if there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. the problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise. crawling for the Devil is the least of your problems.
multitasking | kmg
⤷ multitasking only saves time when it's done right
between glitz and glamour | ljh ♡
⤷ love collects like the number of pearls on a string – scintillant under the shining spotlight, two ends clasped together to make one. however, one unforeseen tug can scatter the pearls, making them roll, bounce, and clack against the illegally sticky floors of the speakeasy. but one can’t help but chase the jewels, especially the one carved in the shape of lee jihoon.
epistolary yearning | lsm
⤷ a series of letters, speckled with notes of budding romance and longing, exchanged between a newly married couple separated by seas and the ongoing war the emperor sent his commander to end.
the NDA | hjs
⤷ the budding romance between two movie stars and a promise backed by a stack of legal contractual papers. how much would you allow yourself to go through in order to be his?
━ NIGHT VERSIONS:
N/A
━ SOCIAL MEDIA AU:
take a pic | ksy
━ KEY:
fics are ordered from oldest to newest in every section
SYNOPSIS: the budding romance between two movie stars and a promise backed by a stack of legal contractual papers. how much would you allow yourself to go through in order to be his?
PAIRING: actor!hjs x actor!reader (gn)
GENRE: romance, humor | suggestive
TAGS: costars to lovers, mutual pining | oral mention
WC: 2.1k
A/N: not using smut tags for this fic bc technically nothing happens. but I am still limiting it to 18+ readers. happy spring! I'm still not posting as often because I'm still working on my thesis, but thank you all for reading and enjoying my fics - ♡ nu
himbocoups's masterlist
As charming and alluring as he appears in online interviews and the multitude of print magazine spreads across the globe, it’s no surprise how the international sensation stuns you as he hovers his right hand underneath your chin before gently cupping it with just the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. His thumb lands on your bottom lip, slightly pushing into the velvet plush as he tilts your chin upwards. You’re unable to meet his eye, too afraid that you would either instantly combust into flames or go to jail immediately for daring to look Joshua Hong in the eye.
“Hey. Look at me,” he murmurs. He slides his thumb off your lip and pushes the pad of the finger onto the front of your chin. “Are you afraid of me?”
He looks at you with such intent in his eyes. The spotlight that shines on the two of you only seems to be illuminating his face, so much that you can see the dust particles settling softly into the strands of his styled hair and suspended in the space between his lips and yours.
You turn your head away from him, causing his hand to slip from its grasp. To your left, the audience composed of cast members, crew, production, and a number of Hollywood stars and agents watches as the scene continues to unfold. Continuing as you have once acted over several takes and then re-enacted several times over the length of the press tour, you look back at him with wide eyes. The expression on your face looks like a mix of confusion, hurt, and love. Your eyebrows furrow while you clench your jaw.
“Stop smiling at me so sweetly,” you mumble. It’s loud enough to be picked up by the boom mic hanging above the both of you.
“Smiling at you so sweetly?” he tosses the question back at you through a teasing smile. In one fluid motion, he picks up your hands from your sides and interlocks his fingers with yours. The only point of separation is the gap between your palms. “Why?” he asks while rubbing his thumbs against the fleshy part between your thumb and index fingers.
“Because I’d be led to assume that you like me” You attempt to pull away from him, but his grasp is firm. He pulls you closer. “And I don’t like that.”
“My smile or my feelings for you?” An awfully cheesy line, but it’s overused for a reason so much that the single question causes the entire audience to gasp or hold in their breath as if hearing it for the first time in their life.
There is a condensed amount of tension between your two characters that pushes and pulls the physicality and imaginative boundaries between their love and intimacy. You stare back at him with that stupid feeling of hope for nothing. Stuck as the character you played for months, you are starting to wonder if it is the character opposite of yours or the actor whom you like.
“Everybody, a big round of applause,” tonight’s emcee announces into his microphone and ends the scene.
As soon as you hear the applause and cheers, you pull away from Joshua’s grasp. For now, there is a physical space between the two of you that you would like to maintain, but the actor quickly breaks it by pulling you into a hug before passing you a bouquet of flowers from your manager. He holds your hand in his when the cameras start clicking, smiling widely into the ocean of flashing lights. You catch yourself staring at the few strands of hair that fall in front of his forehead, noticing how stiff the hair gel causes the strands to become. He doesn’t look back at you, so you smile, curving your eyes and creating apples in your cheeks as you have been taught to hide the fact that you’re deeply disappointed by the realization that you’re merely his coworker.
But that thought doesn’t matter when he has you pressed against his hotel door later in the night, the automatic lock uncomfortably digging into your side.
The whole world believes he goes to bed early, precisely at ten pm, after his viral “A Day in My Life” video shot in collaboration with a popular magazine channel. However, you know what his life is like past ten, how he would stand between your legs in his shower, hot water pounding against his muscular back.
Lips swollen, chest covered in hickeys, and hair smelling like his sponsored products, you would often find yourself in his arms in bed after the shower. Legs intertwined, he would mold his lips against yours before kissing you down your chin, your neck, your collarbone, and shoulder. Finally, he would place an exhaustingly soft kiss against your temple before he wished you goodnight. You would force yourself to sleep, heart beating loudly while you tried to ignore how turned on you were even after he had his head between your thighs for the past half hour or so. He would arrive on set an hour after you did, holding a tray of coffees and clutching his script tightly under his armpit. Passing drinks to his fellow actors, he would hand you yours with a warm greeting, without any hint of what happened the previous night.
He is always willing to bend the rules whenever he can, but only if the rules aren’t set in stone by the law. He respects his partners and himself too much to actually have sex before a romantic relationship is established. On some nights he tells you that he wants to take the relationship to the next step while your ear is pressed against his chest and the tip of his chin against the top of your head. Other nights your knees are pressed against the uneven shower tiles when you take him in your throat. How he makes an effort to pay attention to and wipe away the droplets that fall from his chest onto your face guts you deeper than how you take him. And his sonorous promise about a relationship echoes in his chest and in your brain as each ticking minute passes by as it approaches the end of your movie contracts.
The bouquet of flowers you were gifted at the event falls to your feet as you are guided to his hotel bed. The plastic wrap crinkles against the soft carpet, and stray petals cover more surface area. Joshua makes an effort to pick it up while laying you on the bed. Not breaking eye contact with you, he posits the bouquet on the nightstand in one fluid motion, with his left hand supporting the back of your head as if laying down a fragile artifact.
He shrugs off his outer layer, the smart and classic partially lined suit that was lent to him from the designer herself, dropping it on the floor as if its value is worth less than your flowers. You feel the warmth emanating from his body as he positions himself above you, and you’re immediately engulfed by him the moment his lips reconnect with yours.
A magnetic lure of intimacy has you whining as your head follows upward when he briefly pulls away from your lips for some air. He chuckles, a soft laugh, and the stretch of his swollen lips imprints a smile on yours before melding and creating a whole. His knees dig and rest against your core, and your hands explore his back, tracing the curvature of his muscles to the dip before the shoulderblades. You want to be closer to him so much that your fingers grasp at his skin, only to be left with his dress shirt scrunched and balled between your fingers.
Still, he gently bites your lower lip and tugs his head backward to allow the appendage to escape his grasp. Breathlessly, you watch him take his time to examine your face as if looking at something for the first time. You let his eyes roam between the different elements of your anatomy, connecting like stars of a constellation. You allow him to notice everything, from the creased powder under your eyes to the thin strand of saliva that escaped to your chin.
He flattens his tongue against your chin, sending chills down your spine. And you look at him wide-eyed as a hint of mischief sparkles in his eyes while he licks away the saliva. He gives you a quick peck on the tip of your nose before he automatically shoots up from his position.
“Stay here,” he tells you.
“Why?” You’re confused. Either way, there isn’t really anywhere that you would want to go nor has he given you a reason to leave.
“I have something for you,” Joshua hums while rushing over to the hotel closet.
“A present?” Interest and curiosity cause you to rise from your position.
“Something like that,” he replies. “Been planning it for a while.”
Half of his body is obscured by his open closet door, but you can clearly hear him unzipping and zipping different pockets and compartments of his bags.
“Should I close my eyes?” You tease him while taking your time to unbutton your top. You watch his movements from a distance while your fingers slowly move from button to button. You have no idea what the surprise could be, but you know how you would like the night to end.
He stands up around the same time you’re done unbuttoning your shirt. You round your shoulders and let the shirt undress you as it falls backwards and bunches around your wrists. The fabric lays against the hotel blankets and leaves your skin feeling cold.
He stands before you with an amused look on his face. Folded in his arms is an important-looking manilla envelope.
“Where’s your shirt?” He stupidly asks you as he takes a seat to your left. He drops the heavy envelope on a pillow before he reaches down to pick up the suit that he dropped on the ground. And he takes the time to drape it around your naked shoulders before turning to his other side to pick up the envelope.
“Ah-” he sighs while bending the metal clasps that secure the envelope. “Do you know if our hotel provides pens?”
“Huh?” You let your confusion escape your mouth. A part of you wants to believe his surprise has to do with some sort of foreplay that he hasn’t tried before. “It’s probably in the leather room folder next to the telephone on the nightstand.”
He reaches into the envelope and pulls out a stack of papers and drops it in your hands. “Read it over. I’ll hand you a pen.”
“Is this some sort of sex act?”
You lean over to nip his ear, but he leans forward to grab the hotel folder. Instead, you find yourself nipping air.
“I mean, it could technically lead to one. Or many?” He clicks the pen before handing it to you. “Sign when you’re ready.”
You frown while holding the pen and papers in your hand. In giant and bold letters across the top of the page are the words “NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.” His surprise he prepared so much for is an NDA.
“An NDA? You handed me an NDA?” Your mouth is left hanging open as you stare at him in shock.
“Sexy, right?” He winks at you before his expression morphs into something solemn. “Although, I do suggest you look this over with your manager and lawyer. It wouldn’t be a fair contract if only one side benefits from constructing it. But once you sign, we’ll finally be able to be together.”
“You make it sound like we’re getting a prenup.”
“Babe, think about it. It’s like a sequel to a prenup.”
You fear that no amount of facial procedures from the best esthetician in the industry can smooth the amount of wrinkles you are getting from this conversation. Although, you are taken aback by this situation, you can’t possibly comprehend how a planned hot night alone with the actor before you can turn into this.
Feeling flustered about signing legal documents when you thought you were finally going to fuck your co-star, you decide it’s probably best if you spent the night alone in your hotel room. You mumble something about looking the papers over while handing him his outerwear so you can properly put your shirt back on.
“You’re leaving already?” He lightly tugs the hem of your shirt as if to ask you to stay.
“I just remembered my manager wanted to meet me after the event.” A lie. “I’ll see you.”
✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.
pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader
teaser word count: 1.4k
actual word count: 140k (yes, u read that correctly)
genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.
(!) warnings for the full fic: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.
✧✎ a/n: as i descend to one knee and cup my hands together at your mercy, i offer a tidbit to the wonwoo fic i have finally completed after two years (lol). i know i ALWAYS say this, but i truly wasn't expecting the fic to be THIS FUCKING LONG! thankfully, i planned it well and although i lost momentum countless times (nervously side eyes the approximate & several 5 month breaks i took in between), my dedication to seeing the characters through & "completing" their growth was smth that i could not leave behind!
not having posted a fic for two years is prob a little much :0 so hopefully the length of this makes up for it (?) usually my writing is just teehee silly little romance agonizing slowburn surface level dilemmas of the self BUT THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK!
so read it if you want! don't read it if you don't want!
hearts & flowers, xoxoxo (me :*)
—MARCH 19TH.
“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”
No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.
The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.
“Uh, Wonwoo?”
“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.
“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”
“Whose been breathing down your neck?”
At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.
“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”
Her.
No, not her, you.
But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.
And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.
“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”
“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”
“Why don’t I believe you then?”
“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”
“Meaning me?”
“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”
Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed—a very short, disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.
“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”
“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”
“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”
He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.
“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”
“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”
“Minutely, they are being considered.”
“Liar.”
It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.
In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.
“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”
“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”
“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.
In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.
“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “
Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.
“This is such a fucking waste.”
And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.
“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.
“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”
His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.
“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”
“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”
“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”
“Stop.”
“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”
A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.
“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”
“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”
“You’ve cornered me?”
“I wouldn’t word it like that.”
“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”
“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”
“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”
“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”
“With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”
“Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”
✧✎ a/n: tada!
this is the introductory scene! i think i've read it so many times that i could probably recite it from memory at this point ;_; anyway! as i mentioned, i know that it's been a hot minute since i last uploaded any scenarios. but one way or another this monster is getting posted! i did NOT have this lurking on my poor tired macbook causing it to overheat and sputter and spew FOR NOTHING!!
i swear that i don't plan for my works to get this goddamn long. before i hardly planned at all. maybe now i plan too much? i guess i have yet to find a happy medium!! but again, i do hope the size of the fic makes up for all that missed time :_( life has been ruff. but this fic was there as a handy distraction mechanism (when i prob should have been facing reality fhwejfhwk) so i guess it's been a double-edged sword!
also just want to preface that the reader goes by an alias throughout the fic. i'm not sure if this is like... a very huge or popular concept nowadays? so if it hits your reading ear a bit weird at first i apologize! but i swear it has purpose!! *chekhovs rule* *winkwink*
ANYWAY! no more rambling!
i'm pondering the idea of adding a taglist for those who are interested, just as i did with honey boy :3 so if that tickles ur fancy then feel free to each out!
BUT PLZ HEED THE FOLLOWING:
the fic in its entirety will be split across 6 parts
the word count of each part ranges from 22-24k!
i do not YET have a set posting schedule, simply bc i am unsure of how long it will take ppl to get through each part
(so that would be smth i'd have to gauge afterward)
REVISIT THE WARNINGS!!
i will not be flagging mature/nsfw/triggering scenes throughout the fic as the fic itself already has a heavy nature to it
so pls read the warnings!
if there's any additional questions i encourage u to swing by :3
SYNOPSIS: the budding romance between two movie stars and a promise backed by a stack of legal contractual papers. how much would you allow yourself to go through in order to be his?
PAIRING: actor!hjs x actor!reader (gn)
GENRE: romance, humor | suggestive
TAGS: costars to lovers, mutual pining | oral mention
WC: 2.1k
A/N: not using smut tags for this fic bc technically nothing happens. but I am still limiting it to 18+ readers. happy spring! I'm still not posting as often because I'm still working on my thesis, but thank you all for reading and enjoying my fics - ♡ nu
himbocoups's masterlist
As charming and alluring as he appears in online interviews and the multitude of print magazine spreads across the globe, it’s no surprise how the international sensation stuns you as he hovers his right hand underneath your chin before gently cupping it with just the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. His thumb lands on your bottom lip, slightly pushing into the velvet plush as he tilts your chin upwards. You’re unable to meet his eye, too afraid that you would either instantly combust into flames or go to jail immediately for daring to look Joshua Hong in the eye.
“Hey. Look at me,” he murmurs. He slides his thumb off your lip and pushes the pad of the finger onto the front of your chin. “Are you afraid of me?”
He looks at you with such intent in his eyes. The spotlight that shines on the two of you only seems to be illuminating his face, so much that you can see the dust particles settling softly into the strands of his styled hair and suspended in the space between his lips and yours.
You turn your head away from him, causing his hand to slip from its grasp. To your left, the audience composed of cast members, crew, production, and a number of Hollywood stars and agents watches as the scene continues to unfold. Continuing as you have once acted over several takes and then re-enacted several times over the length of the press tour, you look back at him with wide eyes. The expression on your face looks like a mix of confusion, hurt, and love. Your eyebrows furrow while you clench your jaw.
“Stop smiling at me so sweetly,” you mumble. It’s loud enough to be picked up by the boom mic hanging above the both of you.
“Smiling at you so sweetly?” he tosses the question back at you through a teasing smile. In one fluid motion, he picks up your hands from your sides and interlocks his fingers with yours. The only point of separation is the gap between your palms. “Why?” he asks while rubbing his thumbs against the fleshy part between your thumb and index fingers.
“Because I’d be led to assume that you like me” You attempt to pull away from him, but his grasp is firm. He pulls you closer. “And I don’t like that.”
“My smile or my feelings for you?” An awfully cheesy line, but it’s overused for a reason so much that the single question causes the entire audience to gasp or hold in their breath as if hearing it for the first time in their life.
There is a condensed amount of tension between your two characters that pushes and pulls the physicality and imaginative boundaries between their love and intimacy. You stare back at him with that stupid feeling of hope for nothing. Stuck as the character you played for months, you are starting to wonder if it is the character opposite of yours or the actor whom you like.
“Everybody, a big round of applause,” tonight’s emcee announces into his microphone and ends the scene.
As soon as you hear the applause and cheers, you pull away from Joshua’s grasp. For now, there is a physical space between the two of you that you would like to maintain, but the actor quickly breaks it by pulling you into a hug before passing you a bouquet of flowers from your manager. He holds your hand in his when the cameras start clicking, smiling widely into the ocean of flashing lights. You catch yourself staring at the few strands of hair that fall in front of his forehead, noticing how stiff the hair gel causes the strands to become. He doesn’t look back at you, so you smile, curving your eyes and creating apples in your cheeks as you have been taught to hide the fact that you’re deeply disappointed by the realization that you’re merely his coworker.
But that thought doesn’t matter when he has you pressed against his hotel door later in the night, the automatic lock uncomfortably digging into your side.
The whole world believes he goes to bed early, precisely at ten pm, after his viral “A Day in My Life” video shot in collaboration with a popular magazine channel. However, you know what his life is like past ten, how he would stand between your legs in his shower, hot water pounding against his muscular back.
Lips swollen, chest covered in hickeys, and hair smelling like his sponsored products, you would often find yourself in his arms in bed after the shower. Legs intertwined, he would mold his lips against yours before kissing you down your chin, your neck, your collarbone, and shoulder. Finally, he would place an exhaustingly soft kiss against your temple before he wished you goodnight. You would force yourself to sleep, heart beating loudly while you tried to ignore how turned on you were even after he had his head between your thighs for the past half hour or so. He would arrive on set an hour after you did, holding a tray of coffees and clutching his script tightly under his armpit. Passing drinks to his fellow actors, he would hand you yours with a warm greeting, without any hint of what happened the previous night.
He is always willing to bend the rules whenever he can, but only if the rules aren’t set in stone by the law. He respects his partners and himself too much to actually have sex before a romantic relationship is established. On some nights he tells you that he wants to take the relationship to the next step while your ear is pressed against his chest and the tip of his chin against the top of your head. Other nights your knees are pressed against the uneven shower tiles when you take him in your throat. How he makes an effort to pay attention to and wipe away the droplets that fall from his chest onto your face guts you deeper than how you take him. And his sonorous promise about a relationship echoes in his chest and in your brain as each ticking minute passes by as it approaches the end of your movie contracts.
The bouquet of flowers you were gifted at the event falls to your feet as you are guided to his hotel bed. The plastic wrap crinkles against the soft carpet, and stray petals cover more surface area. Joshua makes an effort to pick it up while laying you on the bed. Not breaking eye contact with you, he posits the bouquet on the nightstand in one fluid motion, with his left hand supporting the back of your head as if laying down a fragile artifact.
He shrugs off his outer layer, the smart and classic partially lined suit that was lent to him from the designer herself, dropping it on the floor as if its value is worth less than your flowers. You feel the warmth emanating from his body as he positions himself above you, and you’re immediately engulfed by him the moment his lips reconnect with yours.
A magnetic lure of intimacy has you whining as your head follows upward when he briefly pulls away from your lips for some air. He chuckles, a soft laugh, and the stretch of his swollen lips imprints a smile on yours before melding and creating a whole. His knees dig and rest against your core, and your hands explore his back, tracing the curvature of his muscles to the dip before the shoulderblades. You want to be closer to him so much that your fingers grasp at his skin, only to be left with his dress shirt scrunched and balled between your fingers.
Still, he gently bites your lower lip and tugs his head backward to allow the appendage to escape his grasp. Breathlessly, you watch him take his time to examine your face as if looking at something for the first time. You let his eyes roam between the different elements of your anatomy, connecting like stars of a constellation. You allow him to notice everything, from the creased powder under your eyes to the thin strand of saliva that escaped to your chin.
He flattens his tongue against your chin, sending chills down your spine. And you look at him wide-eyed as a hint of mischief sparkles in his eyes while he licks away the saliva. He gives you a quick peck on the tip of your nose before he automatically shoots up from his position.
“Stay here,” he tells you.
“Why?” You’re confused. Either way, there isn’t really anywhere that you would want to go nor has he given you a reason to leave.
“I have something for you,” Joshua hums while rushing over to the hotel closet.
“A present?” Interest and curiosity cause you to rise from your position.
“Something like that,” he replies. “Been planning it for a while.”
Half of his body is obscured by his open closet door, but you can clearly hear him unzipping and zipping different pockets and compartments of his bags.
“Should I close my eyes?” You tease him while taking your time to unbutton your top. You watch his movements from a distance while your fingers slowly move from button to button. You have no idea what the surprise could be, but you know how you would like the night to end.
He stands up around the same time you’re done unbuttoning your shirt. You round your shoulders and let the shirt undress you as it falls backwards and bunches around your wrists. The fabric lays against the hotel blankets and leaves your skin feeling cold.
He stands before you with an amused look on his face. Folded in his arms is an important-looking manilla envelope.
“Where’s your shirt?” He stupidly asks you as he takes a seat to your left. He drops the heavy envelope on a pillow before he reaches down to pick up the suit that he dropped on the ground. And he takes the time to drape it around your naked shoulders before turning to his other side to pick up the envelope.
“Ah-” he sighs while bending the metal clasps that secure the envelope. “Do you know if our hotel provides pens?”
“Huh?” You let your confusion escape your mouth. A part of you wants to believe his surprise has to do with some sort of foreplay that he hasn’t tried before. “It’s probably in the leather room folder next to the telephone on the nightstand.”
He reaches into the envelope and pulls out a stack of papers and drops it in your hands. “Read it over. I’ll hand you a pen.”
“Is this some sort of sex act?”
You lean over to nip his ear, but he leans forward to grab the hotel folder. Instead, you find yourself nipping air.
“I mean, it could technically lead to one. Or many?” He clicks the pen before handing it to you. “Sign when you’re ready.”
You frown while holding the pen and papers in your hand. In giant and bold letters across the top of the page are the words “NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.” His surprise he prepared so much for is an NDA.
“An NDA? You handed me an NDA?” Your mouth is left hanging open as you stare at him in shock.
“Sexy, right?” He winks at you before his expression morphs into something solemn. “Although, I do suggest you look this over with your manager and lawyer. It wouldn’t be a fair contract if only one side benefits from constructing it. But once you sign, we’ll finally be able to be together.”
“You make it sound like we’re getting a prenup.”
“Babe, think about it. It’s like a sequel to a prenup.”
You fear that no amount of facial procedures from the best esthetician in the industry can smooth the amount of wrinkles you are getting from this conversation. Although, you are taken aback by this situation, you can’t possibly comprehend how a planned hot night alone with the actor before you can turn into this.
Feeling flustered about signing legal documents when you thought you were finally going to fuck your co-star, you decide it’s probably best if you spent the night alone in your hotel room. You mumble something about looking the papers over while handing him his outerwear so you can properly put your shirt back on.
“You’re leaving already?” He lightly tugs the hem of your shirt as if to ask you to stay.
“I just remembered my manager wanted to meet me after the event.” A lie. “I’ll see you.”
SYNOPSIS: the budding romance between two movie stars and a promise backed by a stack of legal contractual papers. how much would you allow yourself to go through in order to be his?
PAIRING: actor!hjs x actor!reader (gn)
GENRE: romance, humor | suggestive
TAGS: costars to lovers, mutual pining | oral mention
WC: 2.1k
A/N: not using smut tags for this fic bc technically nothing happens. but I am still limiting it to 18+ readers. happy spring! I'm still not posting as often because I'm still working on my thesis, but thank you all for reading and enjoying my fics - ♡ nu
himbocoups's masterlist
As charming and alluring as he appears in online interviews and the multitude of print magazine spreads across the globe, it’s no surprise how the international sensation stuns you as he hovers his right hand underneath your chin before gently cupping it with just the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. His thumb lands on your bottom lip, slightly pushing into the velvet plush as he tilts your chin upwards. You’re unable to meet his eye, too afraid that you would either instantly combust into flames or go to jail immediately for daring to look Joshua Hong in the eye.
“Hey. Look at me,” he murmurs. He slides his thumb off your lip and pushes the pad of the finger onto the front of your chin. “Are you afraid of me?”
He looks at you with such intent in his eyes. The spotlight that shines on the two of you only seems to be illuminating his face, so much that you can see the dust particles settling softly into the strands of his styled hair and suspended in the space between his lips and yours.
You turn your head away from him, causing his hand to slip from its grasp. To your left, the audience composed of cast members, crew, production, and a number of Hollywood stars and agents watches as the scene continues to unfold. Continuing as you have once acted over several takes and then re-enacted several times over the length of the press tour, you look back at him with wide eyes. The expression on your face looks like a mix of confusion, hurt, and love. Your eyebrows furrow while you clench your jaw.
“Stop smiling at me so sweetly,” you mumble. It’s loud enough to be picked up by the boom mic hanging above the both of you.
“Smiling at you so sweetly?” he tosses the question back at you through a teasing smile. In one fluid motion, he picks up your hands from your sides and interlocks his fingers with yours. The only point of separation is the gap between your palms. “Why?” he asks while rubbing his thumbs against the fleshy part between your thumb and index fingers.
“Because I’d be led to assume that you like me” You attempt to pull away from him, but his grasp is firm. He pulls you closer. “And I don’t like that.”
“My smile or my feelings for you?” An awfully cheesy line, but it’s overused for a reason so much that the single question causes the entire audience to gasp or hold in their breath as if hearing it for the first time in their life.
There is a condensed amount of tension between your two characters that pushes and pulls the physicality and imaginative boundaries between their love and intimacy. You stare back at him with that stupid feeling of hope for nothing. Stuck as the character you played for months, you are starting to wonder if it is the character opposite of yours or the actor whom you like.
“Everybody, a big round of applause,” tonight’s emcee announces into his microphone and ends the scene.
As soon as you hear the applause and cheers, you pull away from Joshua’s grasp. For now, there is a physical space between the two of you that you would like to maintain, but the actor quickly breaks it by pulling you into a hug before passing you a bouquet of flowers from your manager. He holds your hand in his when the cameras start clicking, smiling widely into the ocean of flashing lights. You catch yourself staring at the few strands of hair that fall in front of his forehead, noticing how stiff the hair gel causes the strands to become. He doesn’t look back at you, so you smile, curving your eyes and creating apples in your cheeks as you have been taught to hide the fact that you’re deeply disappointed by the realization that you’re merely his coworker.
But that thought doesn’t matter when he has you pressed against his hotel door later in the night, the automatic lock uncomfortably digging into your side.
The whole world believes he goes to bed early, precisely at ten pm, after his viral “A Day in My Life” video shot in collaboration with a popular magazine channel. However, you know what his life is like past ten, how he would stand between your legs in his shower, hot water pounding against his muscular back.
Lips swollen, chest covered in hickeys, and hair smelling like his sponsored products, you would often find yourself in his arms in bed after the shower. Legs intertwined, he would mold his lips against yours before kissing you down your chin, your neck, your collarbone, and shoulder. Finally, he would place an exhaustingly soft kiss against your temple before he wished you goodnight. You would force yourself to sleep, heart beating loudly while you tried to ignore how turned on you were even after he had his head between your thighs for the past half hour or so. He would arrive on set an hour after you did, holding a tray of coffees and clutching his script tightly under his armpit. Passing drinks to his fellow actors, he would hand you yours with a warm greeting, without any hint of what happened the previous night.
He is always willing to bend the rules whenever he can, but only if the rules aren’t set in stone by the law. He respects his partners and himself too much to actually have sex before a romantic relationship is established. On some nights he tells you that he wants to take the relationship to the next step while your ear is pressed against his chest and the tip of his chin against the top of your head. Other nights your knees are pressed against the uneven shower tiles when you take him in your throat. How he makes an effort to pay attention to and wipe away the droplets that fall from his chest onto your face guts you deeper than how you take him. And his sonorous promise about a relationship echoes in his chest and in your brain as each ticking minute passes by as it approaches the end of your movie contracts.
The bouquet of flowers you were gifted at the event falls to your feet as you are guided to his hotel bed. The plastic wrap crinkles against the soft carpet, and stray petals cover more surface area. Joshua makes an effort to pick it up while laying you on the bed. Not breaking eye contact with you, he posits the bouquet on the nightstand in one fluid motion, with his left hand supporting the back of your head as if laying down a fragile artifact.
He shrugs off his outer layer, the smart and classic partially lined suit that was lent to him from the designer herself, dropping it on the floor as if its value is worth less than your flowers. You feel the warmth emanating from his body as he positions himself above you, and you’re immediately engulfed by him the moment his lips reconnect with yours.
A magnetic lure of intimacy has you whining as your head follows upward when he briefly pulls away from your lips for some air. He chuckles, a soft laugh, and the stretch of his swollen lips imprints a smile on yours before melding and creating a whole. His knees dig and rest against your core, and your hands explore his back, tracing the curvature of his muscles to the dip before the shoulderblades. You want to be closer to him so much that your fingers grasp at his skin, only to be left with his dress shirt scrunched and balled between your fingers.
Still, he gently bites your lower lip and tugs his head backward to allow the appendage to escape his grasp. Breathlessly, you watch him take his time to examine your face as if looking at something for the first time. You let his eyes roam between the different elements of your anatomy, connecting like stars of a constellation. You allow him to notice everything, from the creased powder under your eyes to the thin strand of saliva that escaped to your chin.
He flattens his tongue against your chin, sending chills down your spine. And you look at him wide-eyed as a hint of mischief sparkles in his eyes while he licks away the saliva. He gives you a quick peck on the tip of your nose before he automatically shoots up from his position.
“Stay here,” he tells you.
“Why?” You’re confused. Either way, there isn’t really anywhere that you would want to go nor has he given you a reason to leave.
“I have something for you,” Joshua hums while rushing over to the hotel closet.
“A present?” Interest and curiosity cause you to rise from your position.
“Something like that,” he replies. “Been planning it for a while.”
Half of his body is obscured by his open closet door, but you can clearly hear him unzipping and zipping different pockets and compartments of his bags.
“Should I close my eyes?” You tease him while taking your time to unbutton your top. You watch his movements from a distance while your fingers slowly move from button to button. You have no idea what the surprise could be, but you know how you would like the night to end.
He stands up around the same time you’re done unbuttoning your shirt. You round your shoulders and let the shirt undress you as it falls backwards and bunches around your wrists. The fabric lays against the hotel blankets and leaves your skin feeling cold.
He stands before you with an amused look on his face. Folded in his arms is an important-looking manilla envelope.
“Where’s your shirt?” He stupidly asks you as he takes a seat to your left. He drops the heavy envelope on a pillow before he reaches down to pick up the suit that he dropped on the ground. And he takes the time to drape it around your naked shoulders before turning to his other side to pick up the envelope.
“Ah-” he sighs while bending the metal clasps that secure the envelope. “Do you know if our hotel provides pens?”
“Huh?” You let your confusion escape your mouth. A part of you wants to believe his surprise has to do with some sort of foreplay that he hasn’t tried before. “It’s probably in the leather room folder next to the telephone on the nightstand.”
He reaches into the envelope and pulls out a stack of papers and drops it in your hands. “Read it over. I’ll hand you a pen.”
“Is this some sort of sex act?”
You lean over to nip his ear, but he leans forward to grab the hotel folder. Instead, you find yourself nipping air.
“I mean, it could technically lead to one. Or many?” He clicks the pen before handing it to you. “Sign when you’re ready.”
You frown while holding the pen and papers in your hand. In giant and bold letters across the top of the page are the words “NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.” His surprise he prepared so much for is an NDA.
“An NDA? You handed me an NDA?” Your mouth is left hanging open as you stare at him in shock.
“Sexy, right?” He winks at you before his expression morphs into something solemn. “Although, I do suggest you look this over with your manager and lawyer. It wouldn’t be a fair contract if only one side benefits from constructing it. But once you sign, we’ll finally be able to be together.”
“You make it sound like we’re getting a prenup.”
“Babe, think about it. It’s like a sequel to a prenup.”
You fear that no amount of facial procedures from the best esthetician in the industry can smooth the amount of wrinkles you are getting from this conversation. Although, you are taken aback by this situation, you can’t possibly comprehend how a planned hot night alone with the actor before you can turn into this.
Feeling flustered about signing legal documents when you thought you were finally going to fuck your co-star, you decide it’s probably best if you spent the night alone in your hotel room. You mumble something about looking the papers over while handing him his outerwear so you can properly put your shirt back on.
“You’re leaving already?” He lightly tugs the hem of your shirt as if to ask you to stay.
“I just remembered my manager wanted to meet me after the event.” A lie. “I’ll see you.”
SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise. Crawling for the Devil is the least of your problems.
A/N: hello! currently working on my thesis so writing this was a way to blow off steam. I also wasn't going to write another devil!jeonghan fic so thank you to @whenyourenothere for convincing me! this can be read as a standalone fic or a part two of red horn. special s/o to @junkissed for helping me figure out the tags for this fic bc there's a lot <33 - nu ♡ | tagging: @jjeongddol
himbocoups's masterlist
It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward.
Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds.
The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color.
On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him.
You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today.
“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.
“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all.
He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.
This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment.
“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.”
“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him.
Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil.
However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress.
The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress.
“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action.
You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube it’s coated with prepares the toy for insertion.
Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”
But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.
“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”
You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past.
You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.
Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and the apartment windows propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet.
Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry.
“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass cheek. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him.
Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm.
“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”
Before you can re-experience all of what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet.
You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission.
Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door.
“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”
The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages.
Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.
He slams the door behind him and takes long and fast paced strides toward the bed until his figure towers over you. And the Devil himself smirks as he purposely leans down until his bangs dangle in front of his forehead and your entire upper body is pressed against Wonwoo’s sheets. His right hand presses into the space next to your left shoulder as he looks down at you with a pitiful look on his face.
“What?” He almost scoffs at you in his beautiful light and airy voice. “You didn’t once stop to think that maybe all of this was my doing? That you would relive your memories with who was it? Kwon Soonyoung and Xu Minghao? You’re more fucking stupid than I remembered. Were you fucked too hard by Seungcheol that you lost a few braincells? Or was it with Joshua when you accidentally hit your head too many times against the inside of his car door?”
He cocks his head to the side as he grabs your chin with his left hand. Cold to the touch, this miniscule action has you struggling to catch your breath. He tilts your head left and right as if to carefully inspect what is his.
“My pet,” he coos while letting go of your chin. Where his cool fingertips touched your skin now pricks with burning heat. And he takes his time to kneel on the bed while still hovering over your body. “This is the bedroom of the guy you get off to? You don’t think I know about how often you touch yourself while he fucks the people he brings over to this bedroom? And now you’re horny again? You want to fuck on the bed of the guy you want so deep in your gut?”
As stupid as you are, you find yourself shell shocked and in awe at the Devil on top of you so much that you unconsciously nod in agreement to every single humiliatingly detailed sentence that comes out of his mouth. The topic isn’t about Jeonghan and you, but the sexual tension established between the two of you knocks on your pussy and makes your mouth go dry. Fuck, maybe he is right. Fucking other men over the span of time since you last saw Jeonghan could never amount to what you felt when you were fucked by the Devil. Lost in your delusions, you could only get off to what you couldn’t have. And when the world’s most untouchable creature is currently so close to you that the collar of his black tee hangs so low that you can peek through the hole to see the expanse of his lean body, the warning signals your brain is desperately trying to send you are unfortunately dispelled by the eagerness of wanting to take a second dip.
“How much do you want me?”
“Enough,” you reply while staring straight into his eyes.
He wastes no time by pulling out his cock from his sweats as you sit up from your previous position. Cold and hard are the two adjectives you can use to describe the feeling of him tracing his cock along your open lips. But he won’t let you touch him. He won’t let you kiss him. He lets you starve as your eyes flitter between his cock on your mouth and his deceivingly beautiful face as he pumps his cock. And he taps his member on your lips, telling you to open your mouth wider. And you can feel him slip himself through the hole you made, how the veins on the underside feel against the smooth and warm inner part of your lips. You’re hungry. Starving. Basically wishing that he’ll let you close your mouth around him and suck him to the point you’re reminded that he had no soul to begin with.
So when he commands you to suck, you do as he says. You lick the tip, wetting and coating it with your saliva. Swirling your tongue around the length, you warm up the member in your mouth as more of his salty taste coats your tongue. Then you close your lips around him in a perfect “O” while shifting yourself on your knees so you can take him better.
You suck, hollowing your cheeks while gliding your mouth along his length. God, how you bend so easily for him. Your eyelids flutter as you continue to take him along his curved length. And moan while your mouth is plugged, a muffled moan of ecstasy when you feel him twitch while sandwiched between your lips. To make matters worse, whenever you look up at him as you edge yourself to take him in further, you see that he looks perfectly composed.
“Wider, slut,” he tells you while pumping what you can’t take. His hand is on your jaw again, and he squeezes your jaw between his long fingers so that it stays open. Your pool of saliva escapes the corners of your lips and trails along your chin before it drops on Wonwoo’s sheets. And he fucks himself in your mouth by manually moving your head along his length, barely giving you enough time to flatten your tongue against the whole of his length. He pushes his length into your mouth and groans when you gag.
He fucks your mouth to find satisfaction and get off on your uncomfortableness, watching you moan while struggling to keep up with his pace. His hand leaves your jaw and attaches itself to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair as he uses it to swing your head back and forth like the ping pong ball attached to a paddle toy. The two of you know that the rate in which he fucks your mouth is too much for you, yet you find pleasure in being used by the higher being while he fucks your mouth to the sounds of you struggling against his cock and the wet smack of your lips when you spit him out after he comes. You swallow what you have and hurriedly wipe the liquid white off your chin and lips. You watch him tearfully as he finishes with his cock in his hand and his seed on the bedsheets and your thighs.
“I- I’m sorry,” you stutter as his angry red length bounces in front of your teary eyes. You want to lean in again to put him between your lips before he can punish you. You want him to call you names and make you feel bad about yourself. You want him to pump himself while he looks at you attacking the slit on his tip like how you want him to eat you out. You want to swirl your tongue around the spongy smooth surface before using the tip of your tongue to dig into the area in which his precum emits.
Your thighs rub together to ease the unsatisfied throb of your core. You need stimulation from him in any way. Just a kiss. A touch. Anything from Jeonghan would probably edge you to completion, but he doesn’t want to help you. And you don’t want to give up this opportunity with him.
“I’m s-sorry Jeonghan. Jeonghan, I’m sorry. Please…,” you plead as you watch him look down on you with a face of disappointment. You want to physically reach out to him to tell him you’ll do better, to tell him to give you another chance. But you see him take a few steps backwards and you’re sent into a state of frenzied lust and panic. You’ve never been so desperate to please, to complete a request from a man. You’re so deluded by the Devil that it feels as if your entire world will end if you don't please him or hold yourself up to his standards.
Gone is the man who called you his Angel the first time he met you. In front of you is the Devil who willfully draws you in, who has you stumbling off of your housemate’s bed just so that you can crawl your way over to him in your blissful haze. The more Yoon Jeonghan steps backwards, the more your vision tunnels on his body as you crawl across the bedroom floor, not caring about how uncomfortable the hardwood floor is underneath your palms and your knees.
When you come to your senses, you realize that it’s a different kind of hardwood underneath your body. Your naked body is displayed on all fours on Jeonghan’s large mahogany office desk like an object on display. You don’t even remember if you had your clothes on in the first place. But it feels as if the Devil suddenly wanted to bring one of the several trinkets he has displayed along his office wall to play with at his desk. You were confident that you could show him how much you’ve changed since you last saw him. Yet he has a way of proving how wrong you are. You’re no match for the Devil, and he intends to keep it that way. And in a way, to be displayed in front of him, it makes you feel as if you’re one of his prized possessions.
Your eyes watch him as he circles around his desk while he looks you up and down. He’s no longer in his t-shirt and sweats, but in a classic white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black tailored slacks. Golden and thin-wired circular glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Protruding from the top of his head are his red horns. And this time, the long and forked tail that he previously kept hidden swishes behind his back. He brings the length of his long tail up to his left hand before tightly coiling it around the palm of his right hand like a long red rope. And one look from him through his glasses, a satisfying smirk and an arched brow, you know that you’re done for.
He takes the tip of his tail and traces it along your naked body, causing your body to jolt and shudder in response. He uses it like a teacher’s pointing stick, the tip running smoothly along the curvature of your body. He’s purposely toying with you, watching you try not to squirm every time he traces his tail anywhere near your glistening cunt.
“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He jests while planting himself at the edge of his desk behind your ass. It hits you that you heard this question before, and only now do you realize that the Devil has been playing with you all along. You feel him trace his tail along your cunt, letting a prong trace along your folds as if it were his finger.
“Fuck!” you gasp out loud. “That was you?”
You feel the stinging pain on your ass after you hear the crisp slap ring into the air. Your stomach tightens as your pussy clenches in response.
“Shut the fuck up Yn,” he grunts. “Cumsluts can’t talk.”
You moan when you feel his tail go underneath a fold, causing your thighs to go weak. But he pulls his tail away from your core to tap it against your outer thigh. Hold yourself up, the action seems to say. So you gather your strength to maintain your position, ignoring the soreness in your knees and the fact that he’s been with you ever since you stepped into “Craig’s” office. When you spread your thighs, your sensitive cunt opens up like a flower in bloom, warm and wet against the stale office air. Jeonghan doesn’t ravish its beauty like how Minghao often does. He doesn’t want to.
Although your forearms are tired and your thighs burn from exhaustion, your pussy pulsates like it’s its own living entity — full of life and eager to be filled. Right now, only Jeonghan can grant these conditions. And you’re willing to wait even if your horniness drives you mad.
He firmly grabs your ass, angling it so that your glistening pussy is in full view.
“From this point on, I’m going to make you scream my name like a requiem made for angels.” He forcefully pulls your ass back so that it’s pressed against his stomach while he leans over your figure so that his mouth is near your left ear. “I’ll ruin you if you try to crawl away. But I’d like to see you try.”
You’re pretty sure you already soaked his shirt in the place where your core was pressed against the fabric. It amazes you how he easily flips your body so that you’re laying flat on his desk with your legs propped up against the wood. Any further back, you would be in a mating press.
You wonder if he can read your mind, how much you want to ride him up and down his length and for him to coat you so much that you’re left with soft and silken skin. Even if he tied your hands behind your back, you would still go on your knees to unbuckle his belt with your teeth.
He’s been sensing your urgency since you summoned him. Looking at your sopping cunt and dragging the tip of his tail along your clit, he decides to ease the heat in your stomach by slowly pushing his tail into your core. You moan in response as you slowly adjust to its size, feeling everything from the way it fills your walls to the way it is as smooth as a glass dildo. You shudder at the way he pulls it out of you for a mere second before pushing it back into you, causing your stomach to twitch and your thighs to close around his hand.
He leaves his tail in you while he pries your thigh apart.
“What’s the use in thinking about mounting my cock if you can’t even keep your legs open? What’s an ego if you can’t even embody it correctly?” he mocks you before bringing down the hand that once held his tail against your heat. The impact feels as hot as the way your arousal burns. You cry out in elated pleasure; one convulsion is enough to push the tail halfway out of you. “Useless excuse of a human,” he laughs at you before grunting as he pushes his tail back inside, twisting it as he plunges it in and out of you. “You’re all talk, yet you bend at the thought of me.”
Cock-deprived, you clench around his tail as you gasp for air. Your pussy sucks the tail in and refuses to let go, making you mewl for Jeonghan to fuck you hard while he thrusts his tail in and out of you. “Nn-nh. Jeonghan! Ah- Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Use me.” You squeal and moan out loud as your high builds at an incredible speed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back arches off the desk and you feel as if you’re levitating. “I’m gonna come.”
“Come.”
You cream at his command, coating his instrument in a thick and white sheen. Your stomach folds inwards as you whimper from the pleasure. He pulls his tail out of you while coaxing more out of you by lightly tapping your nub as you convulse. Overstimulated, you come another time, babbling his name and telling him how good you feel as you squirt against his slender fingers.
“Look at you,” he coos. “You made a mess on my table only from my tail. What’s going to happen when you take my cock? You’ve already folded yourself into a fucking fetal positon, Yn.”
You can feel your liquid drip from your pussy to your ass before it pools on the table underneath you. You feel so relieved and relaxed from your high, but there is still this insatiable need for the Devil to fuck you.
When he does, his cock fills you and squeezes you dry. His head rubs against the top of your walls while his veins work like a ribbed toy — adding more pleasure than you have ever experienced. Fingers digging into your thighs, he pulls out and slams back into you, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You want to scream out his name as you clench around his length, sucking him in and never wanting to let go. But the image in front of you is a sight to behold, leaving you breathless as you watch it unfold.
You watch him through your half-lidded eyes, the scene of him as he throws his head back. You can see the way he swallows your cum that coats the tail he sucks in his mouth, how his Adam’s apple bobs when the liquid travels down his throat. You’re nothing but an instrument for his pleasure, and he sure knows how to show it.
He bucks his length into you so that it kisses the deepest parts of you, causing you to gasp and quake in your stomach. And he keeps it there with his legs pressed against your ass and the underside of your thighs. Slowly grinding against you, he revels in how you choke from the size of him and how you clench and unclench as if you’re struggling to hold on.
He pops the tail out of his mouth, a long string of saliva like a web between the tip of his prong and his tongue. He looks like a character from a lewd illustration, so beautiful yet so deadly. And you find yourself into another dimension as he thrusts further into you, grunting as he watches you scream for him.
“Fuck!,” you scream as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re going to tear me apart.”
“Gonna,” he grunts between every thrust, increasing his pace with every word. “Make. You. Feel. Everything.”
Your entire body trembles with pleasure, your breathing erratic. He continues to thrust into you, talking with his sweet tongue about how your slick and puffy pussy drives him insane.
“There’s nobody in this world who can fuck like I do,” he reminds you. “Now squeeze me hard as I cum in you. We’re going to be making a new type of liquid.”
SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise.
MESSAGE FROM NU: hello! long time no see. i've been building this one for a while, so i'm so excited to share this preview with you all. this can be read as a standalone fic or a sequel to red horn. info regarding taglist and posting date at the end of the fic. take care and see you soon - nu ♡
himbocoups's masterlist
It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward.
Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds.
The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color.
On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him.
You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today.
“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.
“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all.
He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.
This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment.
“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.”
“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him.
Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil.
However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress.
The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress.
“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action.
You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube prepares the toy for insertion. Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”
But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.
“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”
You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past.
You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.
Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and his window propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet.
Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry.
“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him.
Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm.
“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”
Before you can re-experience what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet.
You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission.
Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door.
“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”
The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages.
Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.
END OF PREVIEW // FIC OUT DECEMBER 2ND // TAGLIST OPEN
SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise.
MESSAGE FROM NU: hello! long time no see. i've been building this one for a while, so i'm so excited to share this preview with you all. this can be read as a standalone fic or a sequel to red horn. info regarding taglist and posting date at the end of the fic. take care and see you soon - nu ♡
FINAL FIC HERE
himbocoups's masterlist
It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward.
Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds.
The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color.
On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him.
You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today.
“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.
“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all.
He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.
This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment.
“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.”
“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him.
Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil.
However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress.
The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress.
“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action.
You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube prepares the toy for insertion. Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”
But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.
“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”
You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past.
You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.
Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and his window propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet.
Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry.
“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him.
Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm.
“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”
Before you can re-experience what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet.
You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission.
Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door.
“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”
The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages.
Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.
END OF PREVIEW // FIC OUT DECEMBER 2ND // TAGLIST OPEN
