#devil jungkook

But down here, it’s dark. The long and steep descending stairs start out gray, green moss that matches the surrounding flora creeping into every crack of the steps under you and the stone walls around you. All of it is hidden from humans and anyone unauthorized; you wouldn't know of the steps behind the thick slab of rock unless you knew the command to move it.

With every step down, the gray turns darker, colder, as if the stone is more charred the lower you get. Fitting, you guess. The very last steps and the other huge slab of rock posing as a door are nearly black. On either side of the door, someone has mounted a torch, its fire burning with the eternal flame. It's the only light source present beside the remaining daylight reaching its last, thin rays down from the top of the stairs.

It’s admirable, really, how his effort to remain ‘dark’ trumps his living standards and convenience. But you haven't been sent here to judge someone’s sense of style. A moment after knocking on the obscenely large door and wondering how on earth anyone is supposed to hear it, the rock slides slowly against the ground underneath, a deep, grinding sound filling your ears.

A red-horned lady dressed in black leather appears. A demon. “You have an appointment?” she asks casually, one hand on the rock beside her head.

“Uh… no?” you answer, confused rather than arrogant. “But it’s important.”

She purses her lips, glancing back behind the door. If she’s considering letting you in or awaiting someone’s approval, you can’t tell.

Finally, she turns back to you, and with a nod, she opens the door wider to let you through. The first rock at the top of the stairs glides shut behind you, cutting off the last of the daylight as you step through the gap in front of you.

Despite the descent down feeling like walking into a literal darkness, this feels even more so. Do they really keep it pitch black inside?

The woman leads you through a tunnel, the stone walls fortunately decorated with a few more eternal flame torches. Your white strappy sandals—almost luminescent in the warm, dim light—echo against the ground, and your eyes land on the woman’s braided hair and her long, thin tail as she walks in front of you.

She definitely fits the vibe; your flowy, layered white chiffon dress with the lightest of blue details sticks out like a sore thumb.

Soon enough, the tunnel opens up into a large room, the woman gesturing past her and forward. As you walk, you feel eyes on you, but you keep your head held high. It’s the demons loitering, comfortably yet fashionably positioned on wine red furniture like couches and loveseats, black stone pedestals, or even on the floor. The men and women are dressed in either black or red; most of it leather. You won’t deny that they have a certain… pull, their colorful eyes either sultry or glaring as they follow your shape.

At least there’s a gigantic live chandelier illuminating the space.

Two seconds later, you reach the… throne. You’ve heard about this place and what it looks like, but actually being here is another thing. More than anything, you thought the man himself would be present, maybe draped confidently and lazily over that very throne. But it’s vacant?

Peering to your left and then right, your gaze catches on the wall of mirrors opposite the throne, some large and others huge, but all framed with intricate gold.

“An angel?” a low voice suddenly muses from inches behind you, its owner’s breath stirring your hair. “What brings you here?”

Startled, you turn, only to see the devil himself, an amused smirk playing on his lips as his black eyes peer down at you. Goosebumps line your arms.

“I think you know why, sir,” you answer politely, watching as he rounds you.

Of course, you’ve heard a few things about him as well, but you’ve never met anyone who’s met him. As far as you know, the contact between the devil and the upper levels has been minimal for quite some time now.

What you have heard about him, however, includes how handsome he is. Tempting, even. And that’s definitely correct. He’s dark-haired, tall, and dressed in all black as he backs up toward his stone throne, still watching you. The expensive dress shirt is fitted perfectly, accentuating his thick, muscular arms and the impressive build of his chest, a few open buttons exposing a naked strip of it. At the same time, he’s got a surprisingly slender waist.

“Like what you see?” he asks, rolling the sleeves up his thick forearms as your eyes travel down his pants and clearly muscular thighs. 

When you lift your eyes, however, you see that he’s definitely checking you out too, your white, partly sheer dress a real rarity down here, you assume. 

“Let him go,” you instruct softly, not letting his words get to you. “Do that and we’ll be out of your way.”

“No,” he smiles, for some reason having changed his mind about taking the throne and instead taking step after slow step toward you again.

You see it in his dark, sultry eyes, and you feel it—no, you smell it—in the air.

“That doesn’t affect me, you know that. I’m a pure being.”

He comes to stand before you, looking down at you as if trying to figure you out is his new favorite hobby. “Exactly how pure are you? I guess I can try to make you… un-pure.”

“Pure as in you can’t influence me with your lust pheromones. So, will you let him go?”

“No.”

“Please?”

He tilts his head, surprised but still smirking. “I have never heard an angel say ‘please.’”

“Some of us are rather nice, you know. Most of us, actually. Being respectful increases your chances of success, I find.”

“Hm. I like it.” He licks his lips, his gaze dipping down to your mouth. “What do I get in return?”

“In return? Why not just be nice in return?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You find his eyes, asking genuinely. “What do you want then?”

“Hmm,” he hums again, briefly looking away as he considers. A second later, his intense gaze warms your face. “What if I say ‘you?’”

“Why would you?”

You can still feel his demons' eyes on you. Half of the fifteen or so present are women—all quite pretty, even if the intense stares fill you with unease—and you've heard about how he fucks them. But while you're sure you're not the first angel to venture into his home, you're still a rarity. You'd be a challenge, or at least a change.

“I don’t usually like angels; I find you stuck up and uptight. But it’s been a while since I saw an angel, even more so a female angel.”

Right.

“Maybe for a reason?”

He tilts his head again, this time the other way. “Are you implying I force myself on women?”

“No, but you’re definitely bordering on harassing me right now.”

He takes a big step backward, bowing slowly and theatrically, but not necessarily mockingly. 

“I apologize,” he says, straightening up and smiling down at you. This time, it's less arrogant and more… happy? “I have a thing for pretty women. More so when they come here, looking all innocent and pure. But even though I might be the devil, I would never force myself on anyone.”

It is, however, an easy decision to hold off on wholeheartedly trusting his words because, like he said, he is the devil. And technically, he’s a lot more powerful than you. You, an angel, are nothing more than the equivalent of one of his demons. While you don't think he's interested in hurting you, he's not supposed or allowed to, and that's the closest thing to a guarantee regarding your safety that you'll have.

“Apology accepted,” you state, believing that staying in his good graces truly is the best choice. Still, you allow yourself to politely and softly correct him. “You have an outdated worldview, you know? Wearing white doesn’t mean innocent or uptight.”

He raises his eyebrows curiously. “It doesn’t? But you all wear white? And you are innocent and uptight?”

“Technically, correlation doesn’t mean causation, even though I’d argue that we are innocent, maybe not per the same definition you consider. I don’t know who you’ve met, but I wouldn’t call all of us ‘uptight' either.”

“Really? But something like… sex… is a sin, is it not?” he questions, speaking slowly. The way he pronounces the word 'sex' has something stirring inside you, his voice dripping with something you can't precisely name.

“Sex is not a sin, no,” you explain, looking at him. 

You can’t tell to what degree he’s seriously wondering versus how much he’s just steering the conversation where he wants it. But he does look at you, clearly curious and trying to figure you out. 

Taking a step closer, you lift your hand before pausing and letting it hang mid-air. “Do I have your permission to touch you?”

Perhaps even more surprised, he quirks an eyebrow to go with the smile he's still wearing before he nods his permission.

Slowly, you close the distance, and with gentle fingers, brush his black hair away from his face, softly tracing his cheek. He’s incredibly handsome, quietly watching you.

“Pleasure is what you want?” you ask, searching his face for clues. You know roughly what he wants but not necessarily why.

He nods. “I thought it was a sin, though?”

You shake your head. “As long as you’re respectful, pleasure is not a sin.”

His apparent curiosity puzzles you. Everything can become a sin if you hurt others by doing it; shouldn’t he know that? Or is he still stuck in the old ways of looking at things, where anything good is a sin?

Realizing that it’s the easiest way to hopefully get what you want, you let your fingers follow the curve of his sharp jaw and then his neck, until they reach the collar of his black shirt.

“Can I undress you?”

“Go ahead,” he answers, entertained.

You lower your hand to his chest, adding your other to undo the buttons. It’s silent as you work, though you know he’s still looking down at you, watching with amusement as you open button after button and pull the shirt out from where he kept it tucked inside his pants. Not to mention the audience of demons you still have, their previously quiet voices having gone entirely silent.

You breathe slowly as more and more of him is revealed to your eyes. You knew he was muscular, but to this extent? His golden skin is warm and inviting, and he’s all bulging muscles and prominent veins. If virility had a face…

He lets you step closer to pull the shirt down his shoulders. A second later, you have it in your hands, making a conscious effort to handle it with care. The fabric, which you guess is fine Egyptian cotton, is incredibly soft against your skin, sleek almost like silk, and a result of perfect craftsmanship.

Reluctantly, you let it carefully fall to the floor, your eyes returning to the man in front of you. If the shirt was perfect craftsmanship, you don’t have words for what he is.

“So you do like what you see?” he asks, clearly very amused.

It has you chuckling because anyone, no matter species or orientation, can tell that he’s one of a kind.

“I do. You're gorgeous.”

It’s like he almost… beams at the compliment, which you’d argue is even endearing.

Carefully, you put your palm back on his warm chest, letting it slowly slide down his skin before it stops right above his belt.

“You’ll tell them to leave?” you ask as you glance around, at least ten or so demons currently watching intently, their focused eyes ranging from yellow to black.

With a wave of his hand, they disappear, one by one dissolving into black smoke. But when you’re alone—the new silence a different kind—and your fingers reach for his belt, the devil puts his big hand over yours, holding it in place.

You look up at him.

“You don’t have to.”

He has the darkest eyes you think you’ve ever seen. Deep, deep pools of pitch black, yet they’re surprisingly gentle when he offers you an out. 

“Are you going to let him go if I don’t?”

He’s quiet, appears to be thinking. It’s a bit of a surprise to see the devil look even the slightest bit conflicted. He clearly doesn’t want to give you what you want without a fight, but… persuading you into doing something you really don’t want to would maybe… make him feel bad? It’s not something you expected from the devil.

You think about it, assuming his non-answer gives you a bit of wiggle room. You could probably convince him to release his prisoner without having to touch him further, but… you kinda wouldn’t mind.

“If you are nice to me… I want to.”

For a long moment, he watches you, serious yet… curious. Then, he nods his promise, and while you wouldn’t put it past the devil to be a liar, he appears genuine.

“Okay then. Will you get naked for me?” you ask softly, walking slowly toward his throne. It's big, most of it sculpted from stone except the insides, which are made of soft, padded, black leather.

The devil's belt clangs behind you, but when you turn, pointing to his throne to wordlessly ask for permission, he's just standing there, watching you with that same confident smile you saw earlier. Your request is answered with a casual nod, and so you take a seat.

“How do I look? Does it suit me?” you ask, placing your arms on the armrests and crossing your legs.

“No,” he grins, “you’re too pretty.”

“Oh?” you say, smiling. It’s always nice to receive compliments, after all. 

“Tell me, then, devil, what brings you pleasure?” you continue, leaning back to the side and lifting one leg over the armrest. Your long white skirt still keeps you decent, its rather high slits—practically invisible when standing—granting you freedom to move.

“All sorts of things,” he says, his eyes glued to the way you slowly but surely pull the white fabric hanging between your legs higher, revealing more and more of you.

“Do you know what an angel tastes like?” you ask. His gaze, entirely focused on what you’re doing, brings you immense satisfaction. Especially paired with the way he licks his lips.

“No.”

“No?" You definitely thought he would've done it with an angel at some point. "Would you like to?”

Transfixed, he watches you reveal your bare core to him. Seemingly forgetting about his promise of getting naked, he instead closes the distance and drops to his knees. His hands are warm when he grabs your knees, spreading you wider and taking in the sight of your offer with what you interpret as enthusiasm. But then he closes his eyes.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts…”

You chuckle in surprise. “A—are you… saying grace?”

Opening his eyes, he smirks at you. “...Amen.”

And barely half a second later, you feel his mouth on you as he begins to eat you out as if he’s a starved man, and you’re an all you can eat buffet, only open for five more minutes. His warm, wet tongue works your pussy hard, making your breath hitch as your poor nerve endings are jolted.

Gasping, and with your legs nearly automatically closing around his head, you pull on his hair. “Careful,” you scold him gently.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against you, returning to eat you out, still sloppily but calmer.

Groaning deeply, he sends vibrations throughout your entire body. “Is there some kind of magic potion in here?”

“No,” you say, your voice breathy as you try to deal with the intense sensation of his mouth on you. If you weren’t so preoccupied, you might’ve laughed. “I can control you just as little as you can control me.”

You keep your fingers in his raven hair, tugging a little and finding it incredibly soft. The devil doesn't seem to mind.

“You sure? 'Cause your pussy’s calling for me in a way I’ve never felt before.”

“Y—yes,” you breathe, your back arching when you feel him flick your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“What if I just keep you here? Fuck you as often as I’d like?”

“And you think I'd—I’d put up with that?” you groan, breath uneven.

He hums, eagerly licking up your cunt before he tears away again. “Wait until I'm done with you. I'll make you want to stay here forever. You’ll be begging for me, I promise.”

As if to show you how serious he is, he pulls you closer to the edge of his throne by your thighs, spreading you wider. Your hips move on their own, unsure how to handle the sensation of his lewd mouth.

“Show me your tits.” 

You’d think someone eating you out would be a quiet ordeal.

“Show me your tits, what?” you repeat, looking down at him and meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches again when he moves his fingers to rub your slick clit.

“Show me your tits, please.”

“I don’t know,” you tease, chest heaving embarrassingly heavy.

“Please,” he begs, and you nearly laugh when the devil leans his head against your thigh—still hanging over the arm rest—and gives you what you can only describe as puppy eyes. He’s not innocent; there’s a mischievousness blended into his black eyes, and he’s still very much rubbing your clit in slow circles, but you can appreciate the gesture for what it is.

“Fine,” you say, the amused smile impossible to hide.

Using one hand, you move it up your dress, gripping the milkmaid top and pulling it down, letting your tits spill out.

The devil rises to his knees, keeping one hand on your cunt while taking a nipple into his warm, wet mouth. The lazy circles on your clit, an even and bearable kind of stimulation, he mirrors with his tongue around your nipple. Sighing, you return your hand to his hair.

But only a second later, he lets go of your nipple, keeping his face a mere inch from yours. “Can I put one in?”

You nod, his husky voice really doing things to you, and your hands drop to his wide, muscular shoulders.

Like the devil he truly is, he holds eye contact, his dark eyes seeing what feels like every corner of your soul as he sinks a finger inside you.

“Sucking me in, huh?”

You focus on his pretty face as he moves one long finger slowly in and out of you. Knowing exactly what he's doing, he curls it to rub your sweet spot.

“Kiss me.”

For half a second, his movement inside you stops. It’s not the only sign of his surprise, his face shows it too.

“You don’t kiss?” you ask, embarrassingly out of breath.

“Not very often, no,” he smiles. “Can I add another?”

You nod, biting your lip when he works another finger inside you. It’s not a struggle; you’re soaked and relaxed, but it still elicits something like a whimper from you. There’s something in his gaze as he watches you, and then he leans in. It’s slow, even more so in comparison to the fingers he fucks in and out of you at a medium pace, setting your insides on fire.

His lips graze your open ones. He keeps them there, barely touching yours, for a while.

“Devil,” you breathe against him, a quiet scolding for not giving you what you want.

He laughs but a second later finally grants you your wish. His lips are soft, and he kisses you with experience even though claiming not to do it often. But it’s surprisingly innocent. No tongue, no sloppily mixing of saliva, just lips.

In contrast, he pulls back a few inches—and you follow, still holding onto his shoulders—so that he can use both his hands on your cunt and try to make you come. And make you, he does.

His left hand, already pushing two of his thick, long fingers in and out of you, speeds up, the sounds of it almost vulgar. The new addition—the other hand—he uses to rub your clit in determined circles. In response, your thighs try to close around him, and you both hear and feel him chuckle as he kisses you again. There’s not much you can do but grip his shoulders tighter and whimper against his mouth.

When you can barely breathe, the onslaught of sensation rapidly bringing you closer to the edge, you throw your head back.

“Devil,” you plead quietly.

“Mhm?”

But you don’t really have anything to say, and you guess he very well already knows you’re close, seeing as even your thighs start to shake and your breaths lose even more depth.

You feel him kiss your jaw, and a moment later, you’re closing your eyes and biting your lip to stay quiet, but the gasp comes anyway. Stars shoot across your eyelids and the warm pleasure washes over you and your entire body.

He lets you hold onto him, continuing his actions until your whimpers turn into those of overstimulation. At that point, he stops and removes his hands from you.

Chest heaving, tits out, you open your eyes to see him a few inches away, his hands now on the armrests as he cages you in. He grins proudly, looking down at you, and you’re a breathy, shaky mess under him.

“So, what do you think?” you ask, smiling coyly.

His eyebrows rise. “Huh?”

“About tasting an angel?”

“Oh. Ten out of ten.”

It makes you laugh, and you find yourself thinking that… he’s kinda sweet.

“What about you? Did I make you see heaven?”

Rolling your eyes, another chuckle escapes you. 

“So, is that enough for you?” he asks, and while his dark eyes are warm, you can tell even through the relative darkness that his pupils are blown, and it's clear that he's hoping for a certain answer. And even if you’re not technically providing sexual favors as a way of payment (anymore), the original purpose of all of this was to provide him pleasure.

“What do you want?” 

He looks at you with a smile you can’t describe as anything but handsome. 

“While merely eating you out has been the highlight of the century, I'd love to continue. But again, I don’t force myself on anyone,” he reminds you, his voice smooth as he rests all his weight on one arm, using the other to gently tuck your hair behind your ear and then trace your jaw. “If it were up to me, though, I’d already have you bouncing on my cock.”

You gasp at the dirty words coming from the sweet smile.

“You have a filthy mouth, you know that?”

“Too filthy? Want me to rephrase that in a… pure way?”

“Depends. Can you?” you ask, amused.

“Of course,” he says, “If it were up to me, I’d already…”

His voice trails off as he struggles to think of something, and every second makes it funnier to you.

“Too difficult?”

“You know what? Respectfully, I’d love to make you come on my cock.”

His words elicit another laugh from you, something that has him grinning widely.

“Good enough?”

“Sure.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page?”

“Mhm.”

“Perfect."

Effortlessly, he grabs you by your armpits and lifts you onto the armrest, turning you outward. You watch him come to stand between your legs, your fingers itching to touch him.

“Oh?” He pauses whatever he was going to do, looking down at your hand on his stomach. 

You observe it together, how it glides over his warm, smooth skin as it travels south. He’s so impressive; so thick and built. Literally all thick muscle under warm skin. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t complain about what could be considered teasing, so you continue, loving the sound of his breaths becoming just a bit less even.

Your hand moves over the opened belt and the soft fabric of his dress pants. There’s an evident bulge there; it's big, and you swear you see it throb.

“Can I?” you whisper, biting your lip.

“Please.”

He’s thick under your touch. Hard, thick, and warm, even through the pants.

“Oh, you’re a monster,” you say, clearly impressed with what you feel as you rub your hand over the bulge.

“Not unless you want me to.”

It’s something about the way he says that that’s… sweet? Something about it, about him that makes your heart race and your nerves light up and… your heart also skip a beat. Slowly, you unbutton his pants and pull the zipper down. He helps you by pulling his pants and black underwear down his legs, stepping out of them and his socks and shoes.

“Are you really supposed to be this pretty?” you wonder, gazing up at him. “'Cause you’re… beating the male angels by a long shot.”

It’s true. As he stands proud before you, you take a second to really marvel at him, top to bottom. The black, luscious hair, the dark eyes, strong jaw and eyebrows, the masculine nose. His muscular shoulders—there’s even a vein there, at the front—and his bulging biceps and abs. The defined v-line and waist, his thick, throbbing cock, precome glistening at the tip, and his muscular thighs. Everything.

“You know this isn’t entirely me, right? Just as I assume you have actual wings?”

Eyes on the prize and hands quick to follow, you grip him, enjoying the tiny little gasp he lets out. Even getting to stroke him satisfies something in you, although it makes you crave him more too.

“No, I didn’t know that. I’ve only ever heard that you’re handsome.”

“Yeah. Not all of me adheres to whatever standards of beauty you have,” he says, and while he’s still smiling confidently, you wonder if he keeps some things hidden because he might not like whatever they are. In comparison, you keep your wings hidden because they’re big and rather clumsy to walk around with.

“What are you gonna do with that?” he asks, curiously looking down at your hand slowly stroking his cock.

It’s a marvelous sight already, his hard cock flushed a pretty pink. His breaths are even—his stomach tensing deliciously with every single one—but there’s… an inherent sigh to them? Smiling, you use your grip on him to carefully guide him closer, lifting the hem of your dress that’s fallen down your legs up and out of the way. 

He watches you adjust, and there’s a collective groan when you guide him to your cunt. Despite licking you very clean not long ago, you’re of course drenched again, and you see how he takes in a few shorter breaths when you coat him in your wetness.

But when you place his thick head at your entrance, intending on teasing him just a little before letting him in, he’s already pushing inside.

“Fuck,” you gasp, throwing your arms around his neck to hold onto him. He leans forward, his face just an inch away and his eyes locked onto yours.

"What does my little angel like?" he grunts, gripping your thigh with one large, warm hand and pressing the other against your back as he rolls his hips into you.

"Whatever you want, devil," you say, your reminder breathy. "As long as you're nice to me."

"Of course, but I live to please."

You lean your head back, shutting your eyes as you feel him slide in and out of you, filling you to the brim every time. "I thought you were supposed—supposed to be selfish."

"Who says I'm not?" he asks, ghosting his lips over your throat.

You don't answer him, your mind too busy processing the slow kisses he places against the skin of your neck. "I feel you everywhere," you mumble instead, words more air than voice.

"Good."

"Am I right to assume that… fuck… you've never… fucked an angel before, either?"

"You are, yeah," he answers against your skin.

"And I've—never fucked a devil before."

"Well, there's only one devil, so.."

You chuckle, desperately hugging him closer when he suddenly ups the gear, the force punching the air out of your lungs. "Oh, my…!"

"You okay?" he asks, and his voice carries traces of… worry as his hips slow down momentarily and he leans back to look at you.

But the change of pace was surprising rather than too much, and so you nod. "It's okay, I'm good."

Relief spreads through his round eyes, and you laugh.

"Why are you cute?"

"Cute?"

"Yeah? I didn't expect you to be either kind or cute, but you are?"

"Sure about that?" he asks, putting more force behind his thrusts again. But he only proves your point, intentionally increasing the force and pace gradually this time.

You gasp, small whimpers pushed out of you with every hit against your insides. But then you make eye contact again, and while he's so incredibly sexy, he also happens to give you another glimpse of his big, round eyes.

"You might be the devil, but you have the kindest eyes I've ever seen," you laugh, clinging onto him.

"I guess I'll have to be less kind, then," he says, moving one of his hands in between your legs, the pressure of his skilled fingers straight on your clit making you gasp once again.

"Why?" you breathe, words barely able to leave your mouth as more than a whisper. "I like kind."

His lack of reply goes practically unnoticed when he instead chooses to fuck you even harder, your sounds increasing in both volume and frequency and your nails surely leaving marks on his warm, wide back.

"Oh, God," you groan when he taps your clit determinedly.

"Taking her name in vain, huh?" he teases, but at this point, his voice is strained too, and his breaths are definitely labored.

"It's a habit."

"Still a sin."

You chuckle, out of breath. "I thought you complained that angels were too innocent? But sudd—suddenly, I'm not innocent enough?"

"Angel…" he starts, tone teasing. "You're being fucked by, literally impaled on, the devil's cock. You're obviously not that innocent."

"This is far from sin, though," you defend against his neck. "We're both… doing this will—willingly; no one is hurt in any way by this. Quite the… opposite, really."

"Really?"

"Yes. In a surprising… turn of events, you're actually much more… pleasant than I thought you'd be."

"Pleasant?"

"Yeah? And kinda endearing."

"While I fuck you like this?" he wonders, making a point of rolling his hips into you with extra precision, expertly hitting the sweet spot inside you with every thrust.

You lean your head back, shutting your eyes. "Yes. Mhm, just like that. Fuck."

"Like what? This?" he repeats his actions, earning another set of moans from you.

"Yeah. God, you're so good. I feel you everywhere."

"Good."

"Mhm." You bite your lip, barely able to think. "You're so good. Fuck, I'm close."

Clinging to him, you let the shallow breaths he fucks out of you warm his ear and the side of his neck.

"You feel like heaven, little angel," he leans down to mumble against your neck. He doesn't say anything else besides that, just keeps going at the same pace, drinking up your reactions as you near the edge.

You tense up, your entire body pulsing when you finally come, and the moan that slips out of you is quiet and breathy.

The devil fucks you through it, although slower for a while. All until you notice that he speeds up, evidently starting to chase his own high.

"Wait," you beg, still out of breath.

The devil, definitely not as evil as you would've guessed, slows down and even stops entirely. Still inside you, he looks down at you. It's those big eyes of his; they're not good for you.

He doesn't voice his confusion, just waits for your words.

"Do something for me?"

"What?" he's quick to ask, in no way beating the kind allegations.

You move, feeling his very much still hard cock slide out of you. The only sounds in the room are your breaths; his more strained and therefore louder than yours, and even if you don't watch him as you slide down to position yourself properly on the throne again, you feel his eyes on you.

"These are your mirrors? That you watch people through?" you ask, gesturing to the wall of five or so large mirrors, hanging on black stone wall as you adjust your dress. The reflected you looks alive but definitely more put together than you feel. Your hair is a little messy and your face flushed, but that's mostly it.

He stands confused in front of you, wondering what you're up to and why you seemingly wanted to stop. "Yes."

But you didn't. Instead, you pat the spot between your legs. "Sit."

The devil watches you with a confused and maybe even hesitant look, still catching his breath.

Your eyes turn even more hopeful. "Please?"

As if going 'fuck it,' he turns around, sitting down. You lean to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of his face as you wrap your arms around him, splaying your hands across his sweaty chest. He's so warm and firm under your touch, so large and muscular, and he even smells like nothing you've ever experienced.

"Do you usually have sex here? On your throne?"

"Sometimes, but I prefer the bed. More comfortable."

"When you do, though… Do you watch? The mirrors?" you say, nodding toward the large mirrors twenty feet away.

"Mhm. If they ride me then I watch."

"You watch them?"

"Yeah, I don't typically watch myself," he smiles.

"I want you to," you reveal, your voice quieter, more hopeful. A little mischievous, even.

At your words, you watch him lift his head, finding your eyes already observing him through the largest mirror, its intricate golden frame nothing compared to the vision reflected within.

Your gaze travels over his body; his golden skin, the bulges of his muscles, and the paths of his veins. Besides handsome, you've only ever heard him described as difficult and evil, but can something this beautiful really be evil? Sure, there's a darkness in his eyes that's probably not only due to their color, but… You don't know, you're just not sure.

"How many times do you usually come?" you ask, feeling him momentarily tense up when your hand slowly trails his stomach on its way down.

"In a week? A month?"

"In a row."

He looks at you through the mirror, eyebrows raised slightly. "Once?"

"Can you come more times, though?"

"Don't know," he answers. "Haven't tried. I usually just give the ladies what they want and however much they want first. By the time I come, everyone's spent."

You smile warmly at him. "Well, would you like to…? Try?"

"Sure."

Your heart beats with excitement as you move your hands to the armrests, pushing yourself up and folding your legs under you, just to gain some height against him.

"What are you up to?"

"Do you trust me?" you ask, gently pulling his torso back toward you.

"Do I trust you? An angel who I've just met?" he asks, and although his choice of words are skeptical, his voice isn't, and he leans back against you just like you wanted.

You understand, of course, you do, but… you'd say you'd trust him if the roles were reversed. And after all, you're an angel, and he's the devil.

"Keep your hands here, on the armrests," you instruct.

Obeying, he places his large, veiny forearms on the armrests, letting his hands hang off the edges. Satisfied, you wrap your arms around his chest, stroking his warm skin. You were told he can't affect you, can't make you abandon your logic in favor of his own agenda, but maybe they were wrong because he feels a little too right.

Slowly, you let your right hand descend again, finally gripping his hard cock, still coated in your wetness.

"I want to see how many times you can come. Is that okay with you?" you ask, nothing more than a whisper in his ear. To your delight, you glance down, seeing goosebumps erupt on his arms.

He doesn't answer you verbally, just nods.

"Okay. And if you don't like it, I will stop. But I hope you do."

He's thick and hard in your grasp, and you waste no time, moving your hand up and down, up and down. He's not the loudest, even though you don't think he purposely keeps the sounds from you. But the sound of his breaths, growing more and more shallow, and the way he seems to grip the armrests, tell you he's enjoying it when you pick up the pace. It brings what you'd consider a little too much satisfaction your way.

"I'm going to edge you, that okay?"

"Mean," he huffs, to which you laugh.

"I'll try to stop right before you ejaculate. That way, if I succeed, you can experience more orgasms."

"How does one make 'ejaculate' sound hot?" he comments, and while he's trying to remain his cheeky self, you see how his hand fidgets as you keep stroking him at a fast pace.

Somewhat… flattered?, you don't even think before you press a small kiss to his cheek.

Not long after you started, his big, muscular body starts to tense, and you notice his grip on the armrests tighten again, the veins on his hands and forearms popping.

You stop, carefully pinching his cock, hoping it was right before the edge. He lets out a groan, still tense and fidgeting.

"How does it feel?" you ask, sincerely hoping you're doing it right. It's not the easiest when you don't really know him or his body and preferences.

"It feels… good."

"Good. Look at yourself, please."

He does, biting his lip. You know, because you're also looking at him through the mirror in front of you. He's so beautiful, so intimidating yet inviting, splayed out in a way you'd still very much describe as confidently. His legs are spread, and his cock, hard and flushed an angry red, looks even bigger in your small hand. You see him look at the image of himself, hooded eyes showing no discernible emotion as his gaze travels up and down.

"I'll continue now," you warn, resuming the motion of your hand but at a slower pace.

He sighs, licking his lips, and you can tell that he tries to keep still.

"You're doing so well," you tell him, meeting his focused eyes in the mirror. His jaw is tense, and his eyebrows furrowed.

He groans in response, either to your words or your tightening grip on his slippery cock.

"You're so good. So good for me."

"Hmm?"

"Yeah. Gorgeous and handsome and kind and respectful, trying so hard to please."

You hope he doesn't interpret your words of encouragement as insulting or belittling in any way because they're not meant to be. But you think your calm, soft voice gets the point across. There's a faint hint of something in his posture, as if he's dropped a little of his arrogance.

You move your other hand, softly circling his left nipple. It hardens under your ghosting touch, and to your delight, you hear him inhale forcefully and feel him lean back further against you.

Jerking faster, you work him until you notice the signs again. The hardening grip of his hands on the armrests, the tensing of his stomach, and the increase in breaths. You see another pearl of precome appear, and so you stop, fingers pinching.

"Okay?" you check in on him.

He licks his lips. "Yeah."

While you wait for the orgasm to subside again, you move your hand from his nipple to slowly stroke his chest.

"You might be a more adept devil than I am," he laughs, out of breath.

You smile, trying to take it as a compliment. "But do you like it?"

"I do. It's frustrating, but it feels… amazing."

"Good, that's the point. Work up to it but postpone ejaculation. Works for most but not all enjoy it. Or they're just too impatient."

"Unless they have no choice?" he teases, turning his head as if to look back at you as much as he can.

"Oh, you have a choice, mister. Just say the word, and I'll stop."

Demonstrating, you let go of him, both hands hovering above his skin.

"No. Don't want you to."

"Don't want me to what?"

"To stop. Continue," he orders, grabbing your hands and putting them back on him, one on his cock and the other on his chest.

"Sure?" you ask, but you don't doubt that he's truthful. In fact, you don't think he would've let you even try what you're doing if he wasn't feeling it.

"Yes," he nods. "Please."

The added 'please' definitely does something to you, and you go back to stroking his chest comfortingly, smiling warmly at him even if he doesn't see it.

This time when you resume, you not only jerk him at a moderate pace and pinch and roll his nipple, but you nibble on his ear as well. It makes him grip your thigh and arch his back briefly.

"You're doing so well," you let go of his ear to whisper.

It takes less and less time to get him right to the edge with every turn, and this time—when his chest is heaving, and he's worked up a new sheen of sweat—you decide that it's the last.

With your fingers pinching his cock again, you kiss his neck and stroke his black hair. "Hold it," you encourage, noticing that he struggles more than before. He's so tense, his breathing so quick and labored, and he can't keep still. After a few seconds, he relaxes, breathing heavily and deeper.

"Good boy. I'll let you come for real this time, alright?"

He nods, but you can tell by the mirror that his eyes are closed.

For the last time, you reposition your hand around him, swiping your thumb over the head to collect the few pearls of precome that have oozed out to aid the glide. He jolts, clearly sensitive. You don't think you've ever felt a cock this hard in your hand, and it has you licking your lips as you admire it. He really is so, so pretty.

You begin again. Slow at first, up and down, thumb gliding over the head and the ridge below it. The devil leans his head back further, resting it on your shoulder. Of course, you don't pass up on the chance to kiss him where you can; his cheek, his jaw, and a little bit of his neck and ear.

His grip on your thigh tightens further when you pick up the pace, also stroking his chest all the way from his neck to his very defined abs. When you focus on his nipple again, he lets out a loud moan.

It doesn't take long until the signs reappear, but this time, you stroke him through it, mumbling praise in his ear and watching when he tenses up. His eyes are shut tight, and he lets out the most divine whimper you've ever heard a man make. Vulnerable but not quite pathetic. He comes a lot, his muscular stomach painted in white, some of it getting onto your hand as well.

You continue.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," you remind, not even giving him a break but stroking him into oversensitivity. You know some find it painful, but you hope it's not for him. "I think that you can come again."

He tenses and fidgets, his hand squeezing your thigh, but he doesn't say anything, so you take it as permission to keep going.

"You're such a good boy for me, Jeongguk. So, so good."

To your satisfaction, he remains hard and only a few moments later, he's coming again. His bottom lip bitten, a small whine slips past anyway as his cock throbs in your hand. It's only a small rope of come this time.

Breathing hard, he keeps his eyes shut, and his hands alternate between gripping your thighs and the armrests. His skin glistens with sweat.

"One more; we'll try for one more," you encourage, letting up the pressure and only stroking him with your thumb and index finger.

So obediently, he allows you to keep going, his stomach more flexed than relaxed and his head thrown back, eyes shut tight and lip still harshly bitten. Waiting for him to tell you to stop—or to go soft—you're pleasantly surprised when he groans deeply, and there's yet another small spurt of come painting your hand.

This time, you stop when the orgasm dwindles, letting go of him carefully. You wipe your hand on your dress where it won't be visible either way, and then you stroke his chest slowly, comfortingly.

"You okay?"

Keeping his eyes closed, he doesn't sound to be more than barely conscious when he mumbles a "yeah."

You smile, pecking his cheek again and stroking his hair. He hasn't said anything about it nor showed any discomfort, so you assume he's fine with your perhaps unusual show of affection.

For maybe five minutes, you caress him, the room comfortably silent. With every minute, his breathing calms and his body relaxes. Lightly, you trace the lines and ridges of his chest with your nails, smiling at the goosebumps on his arms.

Then, a black cloud of smoke appears. And another. And two more. They solidify into wide-eyed demons, staring at you, understandably surprised and worried as they spot their master basically unconscious, naked, and coated in his own release. Two of them look at each other, but no one seems to find their words.

"He's fine," you assure, tracing his jaw with featherlight fingers as his forehead slowly drops to lean against your neck. "He agreed to release the trickster, so I'd be grateful if one of you went and got him."

One of the demons nods, dissolving into black smoke again.

While you wait, you point to the devil's shirt on the ground, nodding gratefully when one of the other demons steps forward to pick it up and hand it to you. You don't know how much he cares, but as more and more demons appear, you make sure to cover the devil's soft cock with the shirt, just in case. You have no intention or desire to humiliate him in any way.

Wiggling out from behind him isn't the easiest, but you manage, adjusting your dress and your hair in front of one the mirrors just as the first demon appears with Jin in tow.

The trickster adjusts his purple linen shirt, tucked into black pants, as he peers over to the practically knocked-out devil.

"What happened here?" He shares the demons' wide-eyed expression, peering between you and the devil, and while you definitely look clean and put-together enough to not be involved, you know Jin knows.

"Nothing. Now come on. This is the last time we're getting you out of here. Next time, we'll let him keep you."

Jin nods, but by the growing smirk on his face, you can tell he's not about to stop his tricks.

You gesture toward the dark tunnel, walking a few steps behind Jin. The demons are all back now, most of them quietly watching you as you leave. One of them walks you, quietly opening the door for you as well, and you slip past it, faced with the steep stairs up to the earth plane. The slab of rock up there is ajar again, golden rays hitting the top part of the stone stairs.

You make it halfway up, fifty of the hundred or so steps, when you hear the grinding of the door reopening behind you. Halting, you look back to see the devil stand at the bottom, shirtless but wearing his unbuttoned pants and with his black hair messy.

The muscular build, so clear when he's holding onto the door, is such a contrast to his dark eyes. You're not sure if it's mostly the angle as you're looking down at him, but they look rounder than before. More innocent. Although he still looks rather confident, there's no trace of the cocky devil you first met.

"What can I say to make you come back?"

And just like that, it becomes real, and you fill with something heavy and unpleasant, watching him with somber eyes.

"It's not a good idea."

More like, it's a terrible idea. You're not allowed to, and it would be so incredibly risky.

"Please?"

You're not sure whether you enjoy having been right about him or not. But all you can do as you back up the stairs is to give him a shake of your head and a sad smile. He doesn't say anything else, and you turn, climbing the rest of the steps, Jin already nearing the top. He waits for you there, and when you're one step away, you glance back.

Having just turned his head, the devil doesn't notice that you've halted to watch him one last time. He's clearly stayed, quietly watching you climb all the way up. Defeated, he heads back inside, his head lowered, and the door shuts behind him.

You feel torn. Of course, you knew that you'd only visit him once and leave, either successful and with Jin in tow or alone. But you'd leave. And Jeongguk, the devil, would stay, doomed to sit at his throne in the underworld for eternity, never able to take even a step outside.

<previous | next>

From the moment you first saw him, you were in love. His big doe eyes, his chunky little cheeks, his soft little hands and feet. Although he had no horns or black eyes, you tried hard not to see his father in him, which was difficult sometimes.

The worst memories for you were taking him to get baptized as a newborn. He had screamed from the moment you had entered the church and nothing you could do would calm him.

The moment the blessed holy water touched his skin, you watched as it seemed to burn and blister his infant skin in just seconds. You went out to your car in the church parking lot and calmed him the best you could before strapping him into his car seat. You got into the driver's seat and you cried.

You cried because while he seemed to be a normal little baby, your son, the baby you feed with your own body, sing to, bathe and love, you were occasionally reminded of what he was and that you might only have him for a very short time.

He still whimpered in the back seat just as you did in the front. Guilt and sadness and fear prompted you to get out of the car and into the back seat where you unfastened him as his pout only worsted your feelings. You took his small body in your arms and held him to your chest. Your nose snuggled into his mess of fluffy dark hair.

"I love you. No ones ever going to take you away from me. I don't care what you are, you're my son more than anything." You let your tears fall onto his head.

That wasn't the most scary thing you had been through though. The worst were the nightmares. The first was just under a month after he had been born.

You had sat up in your bed covered in sweat, the house felt like an oven. Your heart was beating hard even before you had heard it coming through the baby monitor.

It sounded high and angelic along with the happy coos of your son. As your groggy mess faded with the race of your heart you also realized it was in a language you not just couldn't understand, but had never heard anything like it before.

It took no time at all for you to practically leap from your bed, and dash from your room and down the hall to your son's room.

As you pushed his door open you saw him. You felt like your heart was beating in your throat now as you saw him with his back to you holding your son, bathed in only the moonlight that the sheer curtains of the nursery let in.

The singing had turned to a soft hum. You realized how wrong you were upon pinning his voice as an angel. You saw the horns sprouting from his wavy hair that dangled as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to fight, you wanted to do anything to save your baby and keep him from being taken away from you. He was a newborn, it wasn't even time.

You couldn't do anything though, and you didn't know why.

Horrifyingly, you found yourself yet again drawn to him, in awe at his presence yet again.

"You can't…" you managed to choke out.

"I will." He didn't turn as he spoke to you.

Some gasp, others whisper, but none dare approach the throne. 

In a place where only the strongest, most ruthless dare go, an angel sits. She’s dainty in the way all angels are, dress made of purest white and rivaling the color of her hair, intricately braided. Despite the generous size of the throne, the relaxed wings that sprout from her small body still hang from the sides, almost touching the ground.

A lone angel is no match for any of the demons, no less the dozens summoned, yet the air stands still. 

On her lap, sprawled out and barely conscious, is their master. 

He’s naked, ruined. One arm hangs loosely around her neck, the other limply to the ground. Motionless, his black tail is curled around his thigh, and his cock lies spent, his stomach coated in his own release.

How?

Your fingers trace the devil’s muscled abdomen slowly. Higher, higher, to his heart. You gaze up, meeting the creatures’ careful eyes.

“Hell is overtaken.”

They don’t argue, and soon, more smoke fills the room, this time white. Demon after demon controlled and taken away by angels as more stand guard.

The devil mumbles a plea lowly, helplessly, his dark eyes half-lidded and exhausted, and his raven hair matted to his forehead.