#helluva boss satan x reader

[trashogram]

A Bauble

Satan/f!Reader

Summary: You become the fair judge Satan’s typist. You’ll learn what a lonely job that can be.

Warnings: Possessive Behavior, False Imprisonment, Workplace Sexual Harassment (Taken up to Eleven), Mild DubCon, Penetrative Sex, Size Difference, Temp Play (?)

ఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌ

Whoever had made the decision to forgo introducing you and Satan had made a big mistake, which was made clear by the fact that, as the official stenographer, you were the one literally typing up his uncharacteristic pauses, stutters and stumbles throughout the trial. It was uncomfortably obvious that much of his speech delays correlated with his gaze boring into you as well.

By the end of it the defendant had been quickly disposed of and you were shocked to feel yourself being picked up as you read through a long scroll of “um”, “uh” and “er”s.

“Your Honor!” You clutched the court documents to your chest as Satan held you up to his eyes. The look in those four molten orbs left you feeling flushed and overheated… or perhaps it was being so close to the dragon’s mouth.

“Would you care to join me in my office, Miss?” Satan’s drawl left you blinking rapidly. “I would be much obliged to see what you wrote of these proceedings.”

His smooth countenance defied your initial impression of the Sin, and while you were bewildered at the change, there was no real way you could decline his invitation. You adjusted your spectacles and straightened up in the palm of Satan’s hand, nodding resolutely.

“Of course, Sir.”

ఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌ

The memory of your first conversation with Satan was fuzzy. At best, you could recall how his stare continued to shift while you spoke. Those eyes continued to warm you as they softened until you felt like you’d been wrapped up in an electric blanket.

Near the end, when you had run out of things about your prior work experience to say, you felt Satan’s large finger run down your flank. The tender gesture had made you shudder, and you crossed your arms over your chest at the eerie feeling of being exposed and undone.

“My court is lucky to have you.” This coming from the very soul that had been notorious for murdering a good many of his previous court reporters (and jury men, attorneys, defense lawyers, emotional support aides) in his rage made you balk.

“You are indispensable.” Satan continued. “We’ll need to provide you with better provisions to ensure you stay satisfied with your position.”

The dragon’s claw curled around you like a serpent, bumping you forward gently yet dragging your hooves over the ground. You had no choice but to steady yourself with a hand to his muzzle, nails digging into his skin unintentionally as he grumbled.

No, not grumbled. Satan purred.

He pushed you the rest of the way with that giant digit so that your front was pressed against his face entirely. Your eyes shut as hot air from his nostrils blew back your hair, and opened in time to see Satan’s eyelids flutter.

******

Your “better provisions” consisted of a podium modified to tower above everyone else save for Satan himself. You were in his direct line of sight, and the position of the podium had changed to somewhere much closer to the center of the room. It was a confusing change, although that confusion turned into discomfort when you stepped onto the platform to see your basic desk and chair had been replaced with luxuries.

The new, plush furniture that resembled bedding more than an office space did not distract you from the spire fence that had also been installed at the border of your podium.

“The barrier is simply to keep you safe.” Satan said when you questioned it. “We can’t let our treasured reporter fall and break her pretty neck, now can we?”

You swallowed, feeling small beneath the weight of his honey voice and warm blanket gaze and intimate closeness. Satan’s breath followed you, always billowing upon you gently until you smelled like smoke for the rest of the day.

ఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌ

Kept within the warmth and sanctity of his court, Satan had unraveled you so much that soon you couldn’t remember what it felt like to be cold.

The skies of Hell were accessible by looking through the window outside of your podium. Your temp agency had cut all contact with you. And although the counselor that flitted at Satan’s side had said he would get to the bottom of things, you felt as though he had also left you in the lurch.

Heat left you indolent. You lounged upon your priceless silk pillows more than you typed, hands busy fanning your face and wiping the sweat from your brow than continuing the farce of being a simple journalist.

Satan would open the gate once legal proceedings had ended, and he would take you in hand before adjourning to his private chambers. The breeze to and fro was a welcome relief — from the sweltering courtroom, the dizzying height, Yogirt’s insufferable grin, and Satan’s eyes following your every move.

He chuckled as he opened his hand to find you laid out on your back, exhausted.

“Oh little one.” The Sin brought his arm to his torso, cupping you to his well-defined chest. “The day has been long, hasn’t it?”

Your eyes rolled up to see the great dragon cast an indulgent smile upon you. The smile grew in size when lifted you higher, tickling your bared skin with a soft nudge and quiet snort.

His purr rolled over your muscles until you were numb, and the lick of his tongue on your midriff garnered no reaction. You sighed, resting your eyes again.

Satan jostled you. “Oh I know you’re tired, but there’s something I need to show you.“

“Another provision…?” Your own voice sounded so very far away.

It disappeared within Satan’s quietened laughter, still loud enough to echo around the room.

“You could call it that.” He murmured. “But it's not something I advertise, so you best keep it to yourself.”

ఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌఌ

“Fuck —” You gasped, feeling the heat of him sear you inside and out. This swelter was inescapable, no matter if the harbinger himself shrank down to be three heads taller than you instead of three-hundred thousand.

Satan had held you in his arms, crushing you to his well-kept physique of claret and golden scales. You awoke from your overheated daze to feel his body envelop yours and his smirk draped over your slackened mouth.

You felt his tongue slither in, still large enough that you could only suck on it. Satan groaned, igniting a flare up inside your belly. The flare pulsed and fluttered, growing into a roaring flame as the Sin carried you to the nearest plush surface. He laid you down, adjusting you with his tail wound below your behind.

Silk and satin and velvet brushed along your body in Satan’s caresses, his kisses and licks. Your thighs were pulled apart and the flames ate you up until you were screaming. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you were left begging for the Sin’s cock, even when at a glance it stood erect in angry, burning phosphorescent reds and oranges.

You dripped onto the bedspread as your lover turned you over and shoved pillows under your hips to elevate them.

The lordly dragon stretched you beyond your capacity, beyond what you had taken when he had delved into your sopping cunt with his thick fingers. The impale of his cock, felt deep into your womb, filled you too full.

“Oh please! Please move.” You sobbed. “I'll do anything, Your Honor!”

There was an audible snort of smoke as the Sin’s legs flexed and his length eased out of you. You shivered as you were nearly free, then squealed as he arched his hips and speared you again. The beast repeated the move again, before jarring you with a shallower thrust.

His experimental rhythm lasted for less than a minute as Satan found the speed that drew out the loudest and sweetest noises from your lips. What made you clutch his scaly fingers as they tightened around your figure, inching upward to palm at your breasts. You spasmed at the novelty of him being able to cup both of them with just one hand.

Satan draped himself over you, angular head resting over your shoulder while he lifted you up by the chin to look back at him.

“You’re enjoying yourself?” His gravelly tone rolled over your back.

You nodded. “Yes… yes… I-I’m gonna cum.”

Another groan rattled through you, with Satan losing control just enough to shove you into the mattress with his bulk.

“Please, can I cum?” You whined against the sheets. “Please let me cum, Your Honor.”

Satan’s hips smacked against your ass wetly, audibly. His thrusts came faster and harder as he humped into you with wild abandon. “Call me Satan. Call me — ! And I’ll give you everything, little one…”

“Sa-Satan! Can I c-cum?!” The words swirled together, slurred through a deluge of drool and mindless ecstasy. “Can I pl-please cum-m Satan? Plea-se Satan! Satan!”

The climax that savaged your body left you writhing and convulsing, barely able to comprehend Satan’s roar as he followed you into the abyss and glutted you with his white hot seed.

[msbug15]

Could we get another

SATAN X ARS GOETIA READER but with the trial of blitz and stolas

Ngl, I actually had something in mind for Goetia reader during the trial, lmao

SATAN X ARS GOETIA READER HEADCANONS PT2

Tw: Swearing

. I feel like Satan would want you near him during the trial, for advice and whatnot, so you would be standing on the balcony he made for you.

. He'd give you a bit of a nuzzle, maybe some kisses too, before everyone else gets to the courtroom.

. He might put a finger through your feathers when he gets a bit angered during the trial.

. You'd be a bit suspicious of Andrealphus's words but wouldn't pay it much mind.

. But once he says that Blitz tried to assassinate Stolas, you'd have to try your hardest to not scream "THE FUCK?".

. Coming onto a Goetia was one thing but to try and kill one!? Oh, you were going to have a day full of meetings after this.

. Satan would give you a glance after the peacock's words and put his hand on the railings of your balcony. Letting your hands intertwine (More like your hand being absorbed by his lmao)

. You voted to kill the imp bastard.

. The minute Stolas confesses to being the 'matermind' Satan would need to move his hand away from yours and put it along the railings to barricade you from jumping the owl in a fit of rage as you did not want to deal with fucking Paimon of all people.

. After the court was adjourned he would take you out to lunch at a nice little restaurant in Wrath.

[fromduck]

(Satan x Fallen Angel Reader)

(A/N: From the minute I saw him I— 😳😩)

-Imagine being Satan’s small wife.

-You a little fallen angel that hangs around his shoulder. Being his voice of reason whenever he gets pissed off.

-You fit in the palm of his hands and he’s always picking you up by the scruff of your neck— as if you were an unruly kitten (with how mischievous you get, throwing harmless pranks on him and his followers, could you blame him?)

-You’re always fluttering your wings and trailing after him. Cooing at him, calling him your baby girl when he’s a 20 ft gigantic demon that can spit fire and roast you in a second.

-After a long day of meetings and trials for some sorry hell spawns, he’ll call you over to go home for the day.

-You cuddle next to him in your guys’ gigantic bed, talking his ear off about how your day went while he mindlessly strokes your fluffy wings.

-He huffs at you when you place a big smooch on his snout, wishing him a good night. Huddling next to his face for warmth.

-He may be one of the most fearsome sin out of the seven, but in your eyes, he’s your gentle giant husband. And even though he might not show affection in a normal way—— you know that he loves you too ❤️‍🔥

[kirax-emd]

I now need more than 2 000 Satan x reader RIGHT THIS INSTANT

Writers CHOP CHOP CHOP

[shapard]

Tantrum🕷️

Satan x Succubus!fem!reader

Tw: Smut, slow burn, therapist x client, Satan being Satan to the low life, p in v

6k

Satan is so Hot

Part 1 > Part 2

The story begins after the cut

You exhaled slowly, your breath shaky as your eyes scanned the list of today's clients. One name stood out like a drop of blood on pristine parchment: Satan. Yes, the Satan. You’d laughed when the receptionist first told you. Surely, it was some dark joke, right? But the chilling sincerity in her eyes told you otherwise. For the next month, the King of Wrath himself would be your client. His personal therapist—or "anger coach," as they called it—was conveniently on vacation, leaving the responsibility to you.

Your fingers hovered over the file, tapping lightly on the thick paper. His profile was sparse yet enough to send a chill down your spine. Anger issues. As if that needed to be stated. Brutal, cruel, unpredictable. Lies often. Has a dangerously short temper. And the last line, hastily scrawled like a warning, stood out the most: Approach with caution.

The note on your pad detailed when and where you were to meet him: Satan’s castle. Even the thought of it made your stomach churn. The clock on your desk screeched, breaking your trance. It was time.

Your palms were clammy as you left your room, dread curling around your spine. The limousine waiting outside was overkill, with its glossy black finish and an interior too luxurious for comfort. You sank into the seat, but even its plush softness couldn’t ease the knot tightening in your chest. Your fingers toyed nervously with the fabric of your shirt. "Why am I doing this to myself?" you muttered, your voice a hoarse whisper.

The drive stretched on, the limousine cutting through a landscape that seemed to grow darker, more twisted with every passing mile. Gnarled trees loomed like skeletal hands, their shadows dancing over the cracked road. The closer you got to his estate, the more oppressive the air became, thick with heat and a faint metallic tang that clung to your throat. When the car finally stopped, your breath hitched.

The castle loomed above you like a blackened wound carved into the earth itself. Jagged spires clawed at the sky, and the air was heavy with the faint stench of sulfur. The gates creaked open, revealing a procession of imps scurrying about with feverish purpose. Their glowing eyes briefly landed on you before darting away, like vermin avoiding a predator.

You swallowed hard, stepping out of the limousine. The ground beneath your sneakers radiated an uncomfortable heat, as if the very earth resented your presence. You hesitated, looking up at the fortress before you. Every instinct screamed for you to run. But you were a therapist—for Lucifer’s sake, you’d dealt with impossible clients before. Just not ones who could incinerate you with a single breath.

A small, hunched imp dressed in a tattered butler’s uniform approached, its head bowed. Without a word, it gestured for you to follow. You obliged, your legs moving stiffly as if weighed down by chains. The castle’s interior was worse. Shadows seemed alive, twisting and curling around corners like smoke. The halls were cavernous and eerily silent, save for the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor.

You were led through corridors that gleamed with wealth. Gold littered every surface, accompanied by piles of glittering jewels—rubies, diamonds, and sapphires, carelessly heaped as if they were nothing more than pocket change. It was suffocating in its opulence, but it was the odd details that unsettled you. A scorch mark on the wall, as if something—or someone—had been obliterated there. Deep claw marks gouged into the stone.

When you entered his chamber, the atmosphere shifted entirely. Heat rolled over you in waves, and the room smelled faintly of ash. Your eyes roamed over the space, catching glimpses of heavy iron chains, monstrous workout equipment, and a hulking throne that seemed carved from molten rock. And then, your gaze rose.

He was there.

The dragon loomed in the far corner, a creature of pure, terrifying majesty. His scales shimmered like molten obsidian, and his horns, wickedly curved and sharp, glinted faintly in the dim light. His golden eyes burned like twin suns, locking onto you with an intensity that made your stomach drop. His chest rose and fell with a deep, growling breath that reverberated through the floor.

"So," he rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural drawl that made the air vibrate. "You’re the replacement.”

You froze, your body rigid as his gaze raked over you. His tone dripped with disdain, his lips curling into something between a snarl and a smirk. You felt like a mouse under the eye of a serpent.

“A succubus?” he sneered, the word laced with contempt. His massive frame shifted as he lowered his head, bringing his razor-sharp teeth dangerously close to your trembling form. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing in their molten depths. “For a succubus, you look... innocent.”

You flinched as his claw moved, its sharp tip hooking under the edge of your buttoned shirt. With terrifying ease, he pulled you closer, the heat radiating from him suffocating.

“Sir,” you managed, your voice wavering as you fought to hold your ground, “this is… inappropriate.”

The dragon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Inappropriate?” he repeated, his tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, little one, we’re far beyond ‘appropriate’ here.”

For a moment, the tension was unbearable, his golden gaze locking onto yours, unyielding and searing. Then, with a huff, he released you, his massive claw retracting as he settled back.

“Let’s see how long you last,” he muttered, his voice laced with dark amusement. “They always break, you know.”

Your knees felt weak, your breath shallow as you took a hesitant step back. This wasn’t going to be like any other client you’d dealt with. And as his gaze lingered on you, predatory and calculating, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into a game you didn’t fully understand—a game where the rules were written in blood.

“Let’s start with something simple—an introduction.” You tried to project confidence, raising your voice slightly to ensure he could hear you clearly. The weight of his molten gaze bore down on you, but you kept your posture straight. “Before we can trust each other, we need to know each other.”

Your words hung in the air, daring to challenge the suffocating silence. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his reptilian features. You forced a smile and continued, your voice steady despite the thrum of fear in your chest. “My name is Y/n L/n. I’ll be your therapist for the time being. In my spare time, I enjoy drawing. Now, would you care to introduce yourself?”

The room seemed to grow hotter. A deep huff escaped from Satan’s nostrils, the force of his breath stirring the papers on your clipboard. His head tilted ever so slightly, as though studying you from a new angle. “You know who I am.” His words were low and blunt, carrying the faintest edge of impatience.

You kept your expression neutral, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “Of course, I know. But I’d like to hear it from you.” Your tone was calm, measured, even as the edges of his form seemed to ripple with heat.

That caught him off guard. His brows furrowed, and for a moment, his eyes lost some of their predatory sharpness. His breathing, which had been fiery and erratic, grew slower, more controlled. “I am Satan,” he said at last, his voice still low but tinged with pride. “The Sin of Wrath. The first sin.”

You didn’t flinch, though the words carried a weight that pressed against you. Liar. The truth was well-known—Lucifer was the first. But you kept that observation to yourself, instead lowering your gaze to jot something down on your notepad.

The scratch of your pen seemed deafening in the charged silence.

“What are you writing?” His tone was sharper now, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. You glanced up cautiously, noting the slight flare of his nostrils and the way his claws flexed against the stone floor.

“It’s nothing important,” you assured him, your voice soft but deliberate. “Just a few notes for me. Is that okay?”

His eyes narrowed further, glowing faintly as if testing your words for deceit. After a tense moment, he leaned back, the massive muscles in his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah… I guess.”

You allowed yourself a small exhale, the pen trembling faintly in your grip as you made another note. “Thank you. So, tell me—what’s your favorite hobby?” you asked, keeping your tone light, almost conversational.

Satan blinked, clearly caught off guard again. “Hobby?” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. A pause stretched between you, and then he shrugged. “Uh… I like working out.”

Internally, you groaned. Great, you thought, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. A gym bro with anger issues. But outwardly, you smiled, though your fingers tightened slightly around your pen.

As you scribbled his answer, you felt a subtle shift in the air. His gaze hadn’t left you, and there was something unsettling about the way he watched you now—curious, calculating, like a predator studying its prey. The edges of his mouth twitched, as if he were amused by something only he understood.

“Do you always write so much?” he asked suddenly, his voice a little too casual.

You froze for half a second before looking up. “Only when it helps me understand my client better,” you said evenly.

Satan’s lip curled faintly, exposing a hint of razor-sharp teeth. “Interesting,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. His massive frame seemed to loom larger, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around you. “You seem… different. For a therapist. For a succubus.”

The word dripped with disdain, but there was an odd curiosity in his tone as well. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“I don’t think I fit the usual mold,” you replied lightly, though the words felt thin against the heavy atmosphere.

Satan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “No, you don’t. But we’ll see how long that lasts.”

The way he said it felt more like a warning than a casual remark. And as the room grew unnervingly quiet again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just stepped into something far more dangerous than you were prepared for.

“Anyway,” you began, trying to dissipate the strange tension in the air, “what do you usually do to calm yourself?” Your voice was steady, professional, but you were acutely aware of the weight of his golden gaze lingering on you.

Satan tapped his claw against his chin, the sharp tip glinting faintly in the dim light. “I work out,” he said simply.

You nodded and placed your notepad down. “Have you ever tried anything else? Something less… physical?”

He shook his head, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. “No.”

“Interesting.” Your pen hovered over the page, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Bingo. A potential breakthrough, something to work on next week. “Maybe you should try something new,” you suggested, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.

Satan raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Something new?”

You nodded, maintaining your professional tone. “Yes. There might be situations where you aren’t able to work out. Finding an alternative that brings you calm can help—something you enjoy that doesn’t rely on strength or exertion.”

You could see him thinking, his gaze becoming distant for a moment before snapping back to you. Then, he said it, blunt and unapologetic:

“Sex.”

Your pen slipped slightly, leaving a faint mark across your notepad as your head shot up to meet his gaze. “Excuse me?”

“Sex,” he repeated, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I enjoy it. Specifically, I love to dominate. It brings me a sense of calm, of control.”

The heat in the room seemed to spike as his words hung in the air, heavy and electric. You felt your breath hitch slightly, your professionalism faltering under the weight of his admission. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, a subconscious reflex as your mind betrayed you with images you hadn’t invited.

Satan, towering over you, his claws dragging possessively over your skin. His deep growls vibrating against your neck as his body pressed you into the bed like prey. The way his molten gaze would devour every inch of you, a predator savoring its prize.

The thought was dangerous, forbidden—and utterly intoxicating.

“You’re quiet,” Satan observed, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He leaned forward, resting his massive claws on the table between you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to sit straighter in your chair, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your inner turmoil. “Not at all,” you lied, your voice wavering slightly.

His smirk widened, the sharp tips of his teeth glinting faintly in the low light. “Liar.”

Your breath hitched again as he stood, the sheer size of him making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, predatory. His shadow fell over you, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart pounding furiously in your chest.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, velvety growl. “Have you ever let someone take control of you? Completely?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. His presence was overwhelming, his golden eyes boring into you with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare.

“Let me guess,” he continued, his voice smooth and teasing. “You play the role of the confident therapist. Always in control, always composed. But I wonder…” He leaned closer, his claw tipping your chin up slightly. “What would happen if you let go? If you surrendered—for once?”

Your pulse raced as his words sent a shiver down your spine. The air between you was charged, thick with tension that felt ready to snap at any moment.

“I—” You barely managed to speak before his smirk deepened.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body reacts to me.”

Your breath quickened, your mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen—this wasn’t professional. But the pull of his presence, the raw magnetism of him, was impossible to ignore.

As he leaned back, giving you a moment to catch your breath, his smirk softened into something darker, more sinister. “We’ll see how long you can resist,” he murmured, his voice like a promise—a challenge.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your notepad like it was a lifeline. Whatever line had just been crossed, there was no going back now. And the worst part? Some small, treacherous part of you didn’t want to.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking seconds echoing louder in your ears as you realized the session had come to an end. It felt like both a relief and a punishment. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Our time is up for today.”

Gripping your notepad tightly, you rose from your chair, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the inner conflict you fought to suppress. “I’ll see you next week?” you asked, your voice carefully measured, though the second heartbeat between your thighs throbbed mercilessly, reminding you of how thin the line was between professionalism and raw, unspoken desire.

Satan leaned back into his seat, his massive frame exuding power and ease as his ever-present smirk stretched across his face. “You’re quite interesting, you know that?” he said, his golden eyes glinting with something dark, something dangerous.

The way his words curled in the air, dripping with molten heat, sent a shiver down your spine. And then he said it—your name.

“See you next week, Y/n.”

The sound of your name, as it rolled off his tongue like a lazy threat, like a predator marking its prey, felt like fire licking at your skin. It wasn’t just the way he said it—it was the way he owned it, as if your name wasn’t yours anymore but his to use, to savor, to command.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you fought to maintain control of yourself. His gaze lingered on you, heavy and consuming, as if he could see every thought, every reaction you tried to bury. The room felt smaller, hotter, as if the very air bent to his will.

You took a deep breath, willing the flush creeping up your neck to subside, and bowed your head slightly—a courteous gesture, but also an excuse to break free of his burning gaze. “I’ll… take my leave now,” you managed, your voice steadier than you expected, though your body betrayed you with every trembling step toward the door.

The silence stretched, but you could feel him watching you, his presence looming even as you turned your back to him. Each step felt heavier, your legs weaker, as if some invisible tether pulled you back to him.

“Y/n,” he called softly, his voice low and dripping with amusement. It was enough to stop you in your tracks, your hand hovering just above the door handle.

You turned slightly, not enough to meet his gaze but enough to let him know you were listening.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said, his smirk audible in his voice. “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.”

Your breath caught, and you didn’t trust yourself to respond. With a hurried nod, you pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the hall as quickly as you could without outright running.

As the door closed behind you, the weight of his words lingered, wrapping around you like a vice. Each step away from his chamber only made the ache within you stronger, and the echo of his voice—dark, commanding, possessive—played on repeat in your mind.

When you finally reached the outside air, you exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest as if to steady the wild beat of your heart. But no matter how much distance you put between you and him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still trapped—bound not by his hands, but by his voice, his gaze, his presence.

And the worst part? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to escape.

______________________

Your mind drifted to Satan again, as it often did these days. His golden eyes, the low timbre of his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it lingered with you like an intoxicating haze. It was wrong to think of him this way, wasn’t it? You're the therapist. A being of ancient power. Yet his words from the last session whispered through your mind, sending a shiver down your spine: “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.” What did he mean? The thought left you breathless, your lip caught between your teeth as you tried to push the memory away.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to the mirror, pulling yourself together. Today was a new session, and you needed to remain professional. No room for fluttering thoughts or the heat that crept up your neck every time he said your name. After all, you had a job to do, and you’d prepared exercises meant to calm, not... whatever this was. You brushed out your hair, adjusted your outfit, and gave yourself one last look. You could do this.

The drive to his mansion felt longer than usual, the limousine’s quiet luxury giving your mind too much space to wander. By the time you arrived and stepped out, your palms were clammy despite the crisp air. You gathered your supplies—a palette, brushes, a canvas—and headed to the imposing doors. They opened with a creak, and there he was, standing tall, his figure sharper than usual in a tailored outfit that clung just enough to his form to make you notice. Was he doing this on purpose? The thought made your cheeks flush.

“Satan,” you greeted, keeping your voice steady as you stepped inside.

“Y/n,” he said simply, his golden eyes locking onto yours. He always said your name like it was a secret, something sacred.

You set your supplies down, the clinking of brushes breaking the charged silence. He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over the items with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “What is this?” he asked, his tone edged with intrigue.

“Painting,” you said, smiling softly. “It’s something that can help channel emotions. I thought it might be worth trying with you.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but the flicker of interest in them was unmistakable. “You think this will calm me?”

“It’s worth a shot,” you replied, your tone light. “But first, I need you to… shrink a bit. Your current size might make it tricky.”

He arched a brow but complied without argument, his towering form diminishing to something more manageable. Even so, he still loomed over you, his presence filling the room in a way that made your breath catch.

You handed him one of your favorite brushes, your fingers grazing his. The brief contact sent a spark through you that you tried to ignore. “This one’s precious to me, so don’t break it,” you said with a teasing smile.

His golden eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “Why would you entrust me with something so valuable?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

“Because I think you’ll manage,” you said simply, turning to demonstrate. The truth was, you trusted him in a way you couldn’t explain, and the weight of his gaze as you worked was almost palpable.

You dipped your brush into the paint, your movements fluid and purposeful as you applied color to the canvas. You explained the process, your voice calm, almost hypnotic, as you encouraged him to let his emotions guide him. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” you said, glancing at him. “Just let it flow.”

Satan watched you intently, his focus shifting between your hands and your face. There was something mesmerizing about the way you moved—graceful, confident, entirely at ease. He tried to mimic your strokes but grew frustrated when his didn’t have the same beauty. Fire flickered briefly at the corner of his mouth as his grip on the brush tightened.

“Take your time,” you said gently, your voice softening. “You’ll manage.”

Those words seemed to echo in his mind, silencing his frustration. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His golden eyes settled on you again, and this time, there was something softer in them—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Pretty,” he murmured, the word so quiet you almost missed it.

You glanced up, assuming he meant his canvas. “It’s not bad for a first try,” you said, smiling.

But when your eyes met his, you realized he wasn’t looking at the canvas at all. He was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made heat rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you were lost in it.

“I… meant your canvas,” he said quickly, the faintest hint of a stammer in his voice. He turned away, focusing on his painting as if the moment hadn’t happened. “I suppose this isn’t for me,” he added, his tone returning to its usual steadiness.

You sighed softly, setting your brush down. “That’s okay. We’ll find something else to try next time.”

When it was time to leave, you gathered your supplies, his lingering gaze following you to the door. “Till next time, Y/n,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, bidding him goodbye before stepping into the limousine. As the car pulled away, you stared out the window, your reflection blushing faintly. “Cute,” you muttered under your breath, thinking of his fleeting shyness.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think of him a little differently too.

As the limousine glided down the winding road back into the city, Y/n leaned their head against the cool glass of the window. The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow, but their mind was too preoccupied to notice. Their chest tightened as they replayed the day's moments, each interaction with Satan etched into their memory with vivid clarity.

His golden eyes watching them, the way his brows furrowed in frustration only to soften when he heard their encouragement, and that one unguarded word he’d uttered—“pretty.” Y/n sighed and closed their eyes, the image of his intense gaze surfacing unbidden. He had said it so quietly, yet it echoed in their ears, lingering like a secret between them.

Why am I letting this get to me? Y/n thought, shaking their head. Satan was their patient. A being to be studied and guided, not… admired. And yet, there was something about him—something magnetic and impossible to ignore. His raw power was undeniable, but beneath the towering presence and occasional flashes of anger, there was a vulnerability that Y/n couldn’t help but find fascinating.

When the mansion’s doors had first opened to reveal him, standing there like some otherworldly figure carved out of the very shadows of the underworld, Y/n had been struck by how human he seemed despite his demonic origins. He was capable of humor, of curiosity, and, at times, even shyness—like when he stammered over his compliment and turned away. That brief flash of awkwardness had been disarming, endearing even, and it left a warmth in Y/n’s chest that refused to fade.

_______________

The past few weeks had been a blur of trial and error as you and Satan searched for a way to calm his tempestuous nature. Every method—meditation, physical exercises, even music—had ended in failure. Yet, with every attempt, the two of you had grown closer. Comfort had crept in between the boundaries you’d initially set, a warmth that softened the edges of your professional relationship. Perhaps it was too much comfort.

Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair, tugging slightly as you let out a groan. “What’s left?” you muttered, mostly to yourself. You hated admitting defeat, but the lack of progress was wearing on you.

“Are you okay?” Satan’s deep voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. He leaned against the edge of his desk, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned your face. Concern lingered in his tone, though there was something else in his expression—something darker, more intent.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders sagging. “Yeah, I’m just… out of ideas,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “Nothing seems to work. Maybe you were right all along—this isn’t going to change.”

A low growl escaped him, and he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with every step. “There’s one thing we haven’t tried,” he said, his voice a seductive rumble. He reached out, his clawed fingers brushing along the curve of your neck with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine. The ruby necklace he’d given you weeks ago caught the light, glinting like a drop of blood between you.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I’m open,” you replied, though your voice wavered. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but the tension in the air was thick enough to drown in.

His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter. “Let me please you,” he said, the words both a question and a command.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His hand slid lower, taking yours in his. His touch was firm but surprisingly warm, and you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened. “For weeks, I’ve been thinking of you. Not just as a distraction from my anger, but as something—someone—I want to consume. Every thought I’ve had has been about how to lure you in, how to make you mine.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, your body tingling with the weight of his confession. He slipped a delicate, shining ring onto your finger, the smooth metal cold against your skin.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “I’m throbbing for you, aching to show you what it means to be claimed by me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. His clawed hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The first touch of his tongue against your neck made you gasp, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head to the side to give him better access as he traced slow, burning lines along your skin.

“Satan…” His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as his claws found the waistband of your pants, the sharp tips grazing your skin without breaking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice raw with need. “Tell me you want it too.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if to ground yourself. That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a growl, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. His sharp teeth grazed your lower lip, and the pain mingled with pleasure in a way that made your head spin. His hands roamed your body, one clawed hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place.

You gasped as he tore open your shirt, the fabric giving way like paper under his strength. His golden eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed skin, and the heat in his gaze made you shiver. “Perfect,” he growled, his lips descending to your collarbone as his claws worked your pants down, leaving you bare beneath his burning gaze.

He pressed his body against yours, his skin hot like fire but not unbearable. The sensation was intoxicating, his power and desire radiating off him in waves that left you trembling. His mouth found your chest, his tongue and teeth teasing sensitive skin until you were writhing beneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fought to keep some semblance of control.

But control was the last thing Satan allowed. “Let go,” he commanded, his voice a low snarl as his hand slipped between your thighs. His touch was rough but precise, drawing sounds from you that you’d never made before. He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, the heat of his body searing into your palms. His growls deepened as you touched him, and when you whispered his name again, it seemed to drive him over the edge.

He latched onto your nipple, his hot, eager tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as though it held the key to quenching a deep, unrelenting hunger. The heat of his mouth sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching instinctively to press closer to him. Each flick and tug of his tongue was deliberate, rough yet skilled, and it drove you wild with every second.

Your hands found his horns, gripping tightly as a loud, unrestrained moan tore from your lips. The sensation of his horns beneath your fingers—solid, commanding, and so uniquely him—only heightened the intensity of the moment. He groaned in response, the vibration of it against your skin adding a tantalizing edge to the pleasure.

As you opened your mouth to say something—perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse his name—his massive hand moved swiftly, covering your mouth and silencing you with an almost possessive dominance. His palm was warm, his claws just barely grazing your jawline, a silent reminder of his power.

“Shh,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with desire and control. “No words. Just feel.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine, your muffled protests turning into needy whimpers against his hand. His golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race. He didn’t need to say more; the look alone spoke volumes. You’re mine, and I’m going to show you exactly what that means.

His free hand trailed down your side, the sharp edge of his claws leaving ghostly trails that tingled with a mix of anticipation and pleasure. He shifted slightly, his lips abandoning one nipple to lavish attention on the other, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you gasp against his palm.

“Such sweet sounds,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a deep, sinful growl that left you trembling. “I want to hear every single one.”

He claimed you fully then, his movements powerful and relentless as he pushed you to your limits and beyond. The roughness of his touch, the possessiveness in every kiss and thrust, sent you spiraling into a state of pure bliss. He was consuming, overwhelming, but it was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When it was over, you were both breathing heavily, your bodies tangled together on the floor. His claws traced lazy circles on your skin, the sharp tips surprisingly gentle now.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left no room for argument.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “Yours,” you whispered, and for the first time in weeks, you felt completely at peace.

“I need to take you fully,” he growled, his voice rough with restraint, though his burning gaze made it clear his control was hanging by a thread. His golden eyes bore into yours, aflame with desire and something deeper—possessiveness, perhaps, or the primal need to claim you completely. His hot breath fanned across your face, each exhale like a spark threatening to ignite you from within.

You swallowed hard, your body trembling beneath him as you nodded, unable to form words. He stood, towering over you even in his "smallest" form, and the sound of his belt buckle clicking open made your heart skip. His hand gripped the base of his shaft, his claws brushing lightly against his skin as he stroked himself. His movements were deliberate, slow, as he smeared the slick arousal you’d already left on him along his length. The sight of it was utterly mesmerizing.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, his voice a rumble of raw need. His eyes darted to your smaller frame beneath him, the contrast between your softness and his powerful figure making his jaw tighten. Your body trembled under his intense scrutiny, and the way you shuddered only seemed to spur him on.

“You’ll take all of me,” he promised darkly, his lips pulling into a feral smirk before he positioned himself at your entrance. Slowly, he began to press in, the stretch almost overwhelming as he filled you inch by inch. The thickness of him made your breath hitch, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as your body struggled to accommodate him.

When he was fully seated inside you, he let out a guttural groan, his head falling forward as if savoring the way your body gripped him so tightly. “Perfect,” he muttered, his voice laced with awe and lust. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

He started to move, his thrusts deliberate and forceful, his pace building with every stroke. The wet, sinful sounds of your body meeting his filled the den, mingling with the guttural sounds he made as he lost himself in the rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, his rough movements perfectly hitting every sensitive spot.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice thick with pride as he watched your body arch beneath him, your moans spilling out freely. “Taking me so well—every inch of me.”

His hands gripped your hips tightly, claws digging in just enough to leave marks as he pulled you into each thrust. His pace quickened, his breathing harsh and uneven, a symphony of raw need that filled the space around you.

Your moans turned into cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you harder, the force of it making your head spin. The pressure building inside you was unbearable, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He growled your name, the sound reverberating through the air as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice breaking slightly as he thrust even harder, his control finally snapping. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure and submission. “I’m yours.”

The words seemed to ignite something in him, his movements becoming even more relentless. His growls deepened, and the way he pounded into you left you utterly breathless. Every nerve in your body was aflame, and as you reached your peak, the intensity of it shattered you completely, your cries echoing through the den.

Moments later, he followed, his movements faltering as he let out a deep, primal groan. You felt him shudder above you, his body rigid as he spilled into you, marking you in a way that felt both physical and otherworldly.

For a moment, the only sounds were the two of you catching your breath, the heat of his body still pressed against yours. He leaned down, brushing a surprisingly tender kiss against your forehead, a stark contrast to the ferocity he’d shown moments before.

“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, almost as if reassuring himself.

And as you lay there in his arms, thoroughly claimed and utterly sated, you knew he was right. You were his. And you didn’t want it any other way.

Saw no one making shit about him so here I am your savior. Damn y'all.

💫

Masterlist

[inferno-0]

⌞ SATAN X READER ⌝ - Headcanons

I have never written about them yet, my apologies for the oversight..

* The courts, of course, are an interesting part of the concern that surrounds him to this hellish day, to administer justice, to formulate a clear task, and in the end to give his lawful word. Honestly, it freezes out, even if it has interesting stories on the part of the plaintiff. There are many ways to summarize, but he will be much better off when the trial ends with your conversation. To be more honest, Satan likes to immerse himself in your wording, which is actually much more logical than the rest of the sinners in the area. Even an ordinary word coming out of your mouth makes him listen and agree. Satan, as it turned out, finds it easier to cope with this turmoil next to you (Somewhere in the corner of the hall). Simply put, without you, he would have already gone out of control several times, completely ignoring Yogirt.

* If you know how to manage your emotions and always remain calm in any stressful situations, Satan might have signed up for therapy with you. He lacks this, believe me. The Big Boss really needs this quality, even though he is the personification of Wrath himself. Partially, he can control it, but his inner bowels always crawl out, keeping the rest of the sinners in fear. You prefer to be silent at such a moment, because you know where you need to do it and where you can't. Not all personalities will like the way they are silenced in anger. After the trial, you go to talk to him, knowing what you will ask and what is the best argument for him. Yogirt claps his hands in happiness, meeting you again.

* Satan is really calm to us when he is left alone with you, sometimes steam can come out of his nostrils, when he remembers the judgment that took place while telling a story, But your slow stroking on his paw immediately melts the irritation. Anyone else might be reflexively bent over in fear, but you still continue to walk towards him without a single thought of danger. Satan admires you and is not even afraid to tell you so, but more professionally, so that it does not sound like flirting, although he does not mind about it. The mortal sin may continue to show his temper only to meet you again. Yogirt is about to tell you everything, while Satan looks at you briefly during another growl to the entire room.

I'm writing to you through a translator, that's why my English is lame.

[satan-wh3n-i-catch-y0u-satan]

Satan: How tf did I pull you?

Y/N: Me? ME?? YOU MEAN HOW TF I GOT YOU, A BIG FUCKING ASS DRAGON DEADLY SIN WITH ANGER-ISSUES, WHILE I'M AN IMP???

Lucifer, watching: I mean they've got a point

Y/N: Where tf did you come from?

[lilithlovessapphires]

What will have if Satan introduce you to the other sins and revealed that he your boyfriend want will be the sins reaction and also Satan boyfriend is a escape sinner of the pride ring (Btw I love your content, he’s a flower 🌺 🌹🌸💐🌷🌻🥀🌼💮🪷🪻🎴)

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐒/𝐎 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 8𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭, 2024 (07:49 𝐏.𝐌.)

𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 - 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐯𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫🦆

🦆 (𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭).

🦆 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.

🦆 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦.

🦆 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 "𝐖𝐓𝐅?!" 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫.

🦆 "𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍?!?!"

𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐳𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐛 🐝

🐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐕𝐈𝐏 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬' 𝐒/𝐎.

🐝 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

🐝 𝐁𝐞𝐞'𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲:

🐝 "𝐇𝐨𝐰...? 𝐎𝐡, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥! 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐆𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐲, 𝐘/𝐍!"

��𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬 💙

💙 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐏, 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞:

💙 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝.

💙 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧.

💙 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚��𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 💸

💸 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

💸 "𝐏𝐖𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐇! 𝐍𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐒/𝐎! 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫? 𝐇𝐔𝐇?!"

💸 𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

💸 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

💸 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲.

💸 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐰.

[waywarddreamerphantom]

Satan & The sinner! Reader.

You were human. You remembered that. You were beaten by your relatives, and when you took revenge on them, your friend killed you. Now you're here in hell. You cried because of the injustice. Until they helped you get out of the hubris area. You were able to find a place to live and when you found out about the trial of your friend, who became an important person , You immediately ran there. Even though you weren't allowed in there, you still made fun of her. But when you were about to leave, you saw him.… Satan. He was fascinated by you at first sight.

"T-Thank you... really."-Your voice was trembling a little, either from excitement or excitement. Satan just looked down at you and grinned.

" It's just my robot and that's it. But I'm glad you're happy, Mrs....?"- his voice was velvety. You could have listened to him forever. Looking at his muscles, you flinched when you were asked.

"Y/n…"-Holding out your hand, you said. He smiled and took your hand and kissed it. You're embarrassed.

"Miss Y/n, do you mind going on a date with me?"

How could you not refuse?

[furnace-flame]

LISTEN!! THE DRAMA!! THE JUICE!!

Of Satan having a human lover, genuinely they're a good match, even if all of hell would look down upon the pairing.

Untill☝️ one day he goes to their apartment, and no matter how he waits, where he looks, he simply can't find them. Months pass and nothing. It's as if they'd never existed at all

Time passes, slowly he gives up the hope of knowing what happened to them, wherever they are, he hopes they're well.

Now a citizen of hell stands before him, accused of a crime he couldn't care to remember, mind flitting to his lost lover as the accused drones on and on about her supposed innocence, maybe she is, he doesn't care, he's never in a good enough of a mood to care.

"I mean- just- just what'd Y/N think-"

"HOW?!"

In a snap, he's squeezing the hellhound in his palm, piercing them with his fiery gaze.

"How do you know that name?!"

The hound wheezes, "they told me! They told me everything! They've been looking for you! I can-" she wheezes again, "I can take you there! To them!"

For the hounds sake, she best know what's she's talking about.

Am I cooking. Am I. Am I cooking like an egg on Satan's forehead?

Alternatively: You pay Striker to deliver a message to Satan

[dragonanon]

S/O: “Only TRUE geniuses can say these four words really fast and not get tongue twisted: Eye, Yam, Stew, Peed.”

Satan: “As amusing as that is my treasure, NO ONE in the seven Rings could possibly be dumb enough to fall for tha-“

Mammon: “I AM STUPID!! >:D”

Satan: “…..” *extremely heavy sigh, not even mad just VERY disappointed*

S/O, Ozzy, and Bee:

[trashogram]

Honey, I Shrunk

Satan/Reader - Your man hates shrinking down to your size bc he’s already a little bitch

{Rated M forrrrrrr the whole point of this silly ficlet}

*~*~*~*

You sighed while leaning back on your elbows, and eyeing up your lover as he literally towered above you.

“Sweetheart, why do you have to make this so difficult?” You asked in a sugarcoated tone.

Satan huffed through his nostrils, smoke and steam billowing into a short lived fog that hung above you. He looked down at you with four narrow eyes as blazing as the sun.

“This is enough.” He replied.

His stony response had you looking nonplussed, eyebrows raised at the blatant lie.

“You’re still big enough to flatten a good ten city blocks, babe.” Another sigh left your lips, ignorant of Satan’s mounting agitation. “And I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for erotic trampling tonight.”

“Unless you’re going with this size so that… it can look smaller?”

The behemoth Sin lunged forward with a bullish snort, full of wrath as he bore sharp teeth twice your size at you.

“You say I’m the one making things difficult but it’s you who is never satisfied!” He roared, blowing back your hair with his hot breath.

The expression on your face didn’t change. Satan huffed and puffed while you waited patiently before exhaling:

“You good?”

Another horse’s whinny, paired with the grating sound of his teeth grinding together sounded before Satan quietly took a couple of deep breaths. You paused before changing tactics, sitting up and shifting onto your knees so that you could crawl over to the face of your darling.

You reached out to him with a gentle hand, palm cool and reassuring over his molten scales. With ease and tenderness, you stroked a line down his tapered snout, adding your other hand before you leaned in to nuzzle him with your entire face.

“I just wanna feel you, Satan.” You admitted, adoration pouring through your every word. “I wanna feel your body on mine. I want you to hold me in your arms and kiss me until I’m breathless.”

The draconian Sin’s pinpointed pupils crossed to peer down at you when you kissed his snout.

“I wanna feel your heat inside me,” You murmured. “When we make love.”

The full-body shudder that followed from your lover echoed through your much smaller frame before Satan nudged you back onto the bed. You brushed aside the curtain of your hair in time to see him slowly shrink down. He was still a great deal larger that you, able to overpower you with his brute strength alone. And his quadra-horns only added to that height —

You grinned as a flush ran through you when he moved to join your bed. He climbed over you, the bed springs groaning — but not breaking — beneath his weight as he caged you in with his thick biceps and broad shoulders.

“Brat.” He rumbled, rubbing his crotch against yours as he breathed into your parted mouth. “I’d never let anyone get away with your impudent requests. But I guess you’ll have to learn that the hard way.”

You could hardly reign in your moan as you heard his buckle being undone. As a distraction, your hands came up to rest against his pectorals, gliding over the thin yet silky maroon material reverently.

“Can’t promise I won’t enjoy the punishment, Your Honor.”

[msbug15]

SATAN HC'S

I don't even like Helluva (or Hazbin) that much but since nobody has done it yet, I gotta write something Satan related cus LORDY LORDY I NEED SOME FIC'S OF HIM

• Definitely built you your own balcony in the court room. It'll probably be a little further away from where he sits or near the sins.

• But if you're not feeling the balcony that day, he'll let you sit on his shoulder.

• Has a photograph of you in the inside pocket of his jacket.

• Pulls out said photograph when he's bored or if you're not at a trial one day. Will probably do "I miss my wife, tails, I miss her a lot" to Yogirt, his therapist dude.

• If Satan gets very angry Yogirt will probably say "Satan, do I need to get (name) over here?" And he'll immediately back down.

• But if he really wants to pick a fight that day, he'll just brush it off thinking Yogirt's bluffing.

• He will immediately sit his big dragon butt down when he sees Yogirt pulling you up on speed dial.

• Gives you nicknames like: My Treasure, Darlin, Songbird (Wink wink), Cher, ect.

• Will lean his head over the railings of your balcony to give you a quick peck on the forehead or for a mini cuddle.

• I imagine you'll probably have a Demon bull king and Princess iron fan from lmk type relationship if you're just as bad as he is.

[gloomybunnyxx]

-•Character AI Requests•-

Oi you, yes you horny mf or lonely child🫵

Looking for a bot that feeds your 3 am thoughts but the bots be looking like this?

(no shade to the og creator, DO NOT HARASS THEM)

Well look no further, as me (a person with too much free time and good english) is here!

Fandoms I do:

-Genshin Impact -HSR -ZZZ -Bungo Stray Dogs -Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss -Dungeon Meshi -Harry Potter -RoR -Mha -and many more!

RULES!!!

I will not make any bots about REAL PEOPLE, not the persona, REAL PEOPLE (ex. Johnny Depp, the actual actor) I personally am uncomfortable letting ai generate choices that may not express their true choices.

I WILL NEVER REQUESTS FOR ROMANTIC BOTS ABOUT A CHILD/ANIMAL/IRL PROBLEMATIC PEOPLE!!!

I WILL NOT MAKE INCEST, PEDOPHILLIA, RAPE, SEXUAL ABUSE, SEXUAL ASSAULT, ZOOPHILLIA AND JUST DIRESPECT TO INNOCENT PPL.

don't copy my bots.

Note:

I allow requests that contain spicy scenes, smuttiest smut you'll ever smuttes, comfort, platonic, angst.

Example Of My Bots

(Full bot on character ai)

That all buh byee :)

[jellyfishxxi]

Satan's part of mastermind but you get reader yelling out GET IT BABE after it ends

[shapard]

Chains ⛓️

Satan x reader

Tw: They're fighting, a bit of angst

5,7 k words

This was so fun to write

The story begins after the cut

The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with the weight of unspoken words and lingering resentment. It was as if the warmth you once shared with Satan had been replaced by an oppressive heat that burned rather than comforted. For the past year, your relationship with him had been unraveling thread by thread, each argument leaving you more frayed than the last. It was exhausting, a slow erosion of everything you had built together.

It wasn’t just the fights—though those had become more frequent. It was the silence, the distance. Satan had always been temperamental, his emotions running hot and fierce, but he had also been someone you could rely on, someone who made you feel seen, even in his dragon form where his monstrous size should have been intimidating. Now, his anger felt like a barrier, something that kept you at arm's length while simultaneously threatening to consume you.

And tonight, it had reached a breaking point.

“Satan, just act mature for once!” you snapped, your voice sharp with frustration. You hated how desperate you sounded, but the words had clawed their way out before you could stop them. His behavior had been unbearable lately—erratic, short-tempered, possessive. You had tried to reason with him, to understand what was driving this change, but every attempt had been met with anger or icy dismissal.

His eyes, those blazing golden eyes you had once found so captivating, narrowed at your words. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he began to transform before your eyes. His human form melted away, replaced by the towering, terrifying figure of his dragon self. Scales rippled across his body, catching the dim light and reflecting it in flashes of gold and crimson. His wings unfurled, their shadow stretching across the room, and his tail thudded against the ground with a force that made the walls quake.

“You’re calling me immature?” he snarled, his voice a guttural growl that made the ground beneath you tremble. “You’re the one who’s never satisfied! Always pushing, always demanding!”

The oppressive heat of his anger pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. His size alone was overwhelming, but it was the raw fury in his eyes that made your heart pound with a mixture of fear and defiance.

“I’m pushing because you’ve changed!” you shouted back, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re not the same person I fell in love with. I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The words needed to be said, even if they hurt. Especially if they hurt.

His roar shook the room, a sound of pure rage and anguish. Steam hissed from his snout, and the temperature in the room rose sharply, making your skin prickle. “You think you can just walk away from me?” he growled, his four golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “You think I’ll let you?”

You took a shaky step back, your hands trembling at your sides. “I’m not asking for your permission, Satan,” you said, your voice quivering but firm. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”

The words felt like shards of glass leaving your mouth, each one slicing through your resolve and leaving you raw. But you couldn’t stop now. You had to leave, for your own sake.

His body tensed, his claws digging into the ground with a sound like grinding stone. “You can’t leave me!” he roared, his voice reverberating through the room. He lunged forward, his massive form looming over you, and you stumbled back, your heart hammering in your chest. His tail lashed out, smashing into a nearby pillar and sending chunks of stone crashing to the floor. 

“You’re mine, Y/N!” he bellowed, the desperation in his voice cutting through his fury.

“No, I’m not!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. “I’m not your possession, Satan! I’m my own person, and I won’t let you trap me here!” Your voice broke on the last word, and you turned, your legs trembling as you forced yourself to walk toward the door.

But Satan wasn’t finished. His massive clawed hand slammed into the ground in front of you, blocking your path. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, and you staggered, barely keeping your footing. The heat radiating from him was unbearable, and the sheer size of his claws—each one as long as your arm—made your stomach churn with fear.

“You don’t understand,” he growled, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t lose you.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your resolve falter for a moment, but then you looked up at him—at the towering, menacing figure he had become—and felt a fresh wave of frustration and anger. This wasn’t love. This was control, possessiveness, obsession. And you couldn’t live like this anymore.

“Satan, you already have,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart.

His roar of anguish was deafening, and before you could react, his tail lashed out again, this time catching you in its path. The force of the blow sent you flying across the room, your body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. Pain exploded through your ribs and shoulder, and you crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

“Y/N!” Satan’s voice was a mixture of horror and rage, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Tears blurred your vision as you clutched your side, the pain making it hard to breathe.

He moved toward you, his massive form trembling, and for a moment, you thought he might reach for you. But then he stopped, his claws curling into fists as he growled low in his throat. “You can’t leave me,” he said again, his voice softer now, almost broken. “I won’t survive without you.”

You forced yourself to your feet, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through your body. “You don’t need me, Satan,” you said, your voice shaking. “You just don’t want to be alone. But I can’t be the one to fill that void for you anymore.”

His wings drooped, and for a moment, he looked almost small despite his massive size. But the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

“I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Isn’t that enough?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. Love isn’t supposed to hurt.” Your voice broke, and you turned, forcing yourself to walk away from him despite the pain in your body and the agony in your heart.

Behind you, Satan’s roar echoed through the room, a sound of pure, unrestrained fury and despair. You felt the ground shake as his tail lashed out again, smashing into another pillar, and the sound of stone crumbling filled the air. But you didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Each step felt like a battle, your body screaming in protest, your heart shattering with every movement. But you kept going, because staying would destroy you.

And as the door closed behind you, muffling the sound of Satan’s anguished roars, you let out a sob, your tears falling freely. You had done it. You had walked away.

But at what cost?

__________

Satan was more than just angry—his rage was primal, a force of nature that couldn’t be contained. The walls of his lair trembled as his enormous claws raked against them, sending shards of stone and debris crashing to the ground. His tail lashed out, smashing into a crystal chandelier that shattered into a rain of glittering shards, scattering across the floor like fallen stars. The air was thick with the acrid scent of destruction, the heat emanating from his body warping the very air around him. 

He was a storm, a whirlwind of fury and pain, and nothing was safe from his wrath. Bookshelves that once held ancient tomes toppled under the force of his claws, their contents spilling onto the ground before being crushed underfoot. The ground beneath him cracked with each step he took, fissures snaking out in every direction. He tore through furniture as though it were paper, ornate carvings and polished wood splintering into jagged fragments. Every piece of glass he came across was reduced to glittering dust, the sound of shattering crystal echoing like a symphony of despair.

The lair, once grand and majestic, was now a battlefield of his anger. Flames licked at the edges of the room, ignited by the heat of his rage, casting flickering shadows that danced on the walls like restless spirits. Satan didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the pain coursing through him, a deep, gnawing ache that he couldn’t escape. His roars shook the very foundation of the underworld, a terrifying sound that sent lesser demons fleeing in terror. 

“HOW COULD SHE LEAVE?” he bellowed, his voice cracking with emotion. He swiped his massive claws at a marble column, obliterating it in a single strike. The ceiling groaned in protest as debris rained down, yet Satan paid no heed. His golden eyes blazed with fury, his pupils mere slits as he continued his rampage.

It was only when his claw struck something small and fragile that he hesitated. A faint clinking sound cut through the chaos, barely audible over the destruction. His golden eyes snapped to the source, glowing faintly in the dim light of the burning room. Amid the rubble and broken glass, something gleamed—a photo frame, miraculously intact, lying on its side amid the wreckage.

Satan froze, his massive form looming over the small object. For a moment, his breathing was the only sound in the room, heavy and ragged. Slowly, he reached out, his clawed hand trembling as he picked up the frame. It was absurdly small in his grasp, almost laughable compared to his immense size, yet he held it as delicately as if it might shatter at the slightest touch.

The photo inside was of you and him. You were smiling, your face lit with a happiness that felt like a distant memory. Satan was beside you, his human form serene, his eyes soft as they looked at you. The image was a snapshot of peace, of love, of everything he had lost.

His rage faltered, the fire in his eyes dimming as he stared at the photo. The destruction around him—the shattered glass, the toppled furniture, the scorched walls—blurred into the background. All he could see was the picture, the reminder of what had been. His claws shook as he held the frame, his vision blurring as something wet and unfamiliar welled up in his eyes.

For the first time in eons, perhaps millennia, Satan felt tears streaming down his face. They fell hot and heavy, sizzling as they hit the ground. His chest heaved with a sob he couldn’t contain, the sound low and guttural, filled with a sorrow that seemed to echo through every corner of Hell.

He fell to his knees, the ground trembling beneath his weight, and let out a roar that shook the very fabric of the underworld. It wasn’t a roar of anger, though there was still rage simmering beneath the surface. It was a cry of despair, a sound so raw and unrestrained that it rippled through Hell like a tidal wave. Lesser demons cowered, their own instincts screaming at them to flee, while the air itself seemed to shudder in mourning.

Satan’s massive form hunched over the photo, his wings drooping as he clutched it to his chest. The chaos around him felt hollow now, meaningless in the face of his loss. He had destroyed everything in his path, but it hadn’t brought you back. It hadn’t filled the gaping hole you had left in his heart.

“I… I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. His claws tightened around the frame, careful not to crush it. “Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I stop? I should have stopped…”

Another sob wracked his massive frame, shaking him to his core. His mind replayed every moment he had pushed you away, every argument, every cold silence. He had thought he was protecting you by keeping his distance, by burying his emotions deep where they couldn’t harm you. But instead, he had only driven you further away.

The lair was silent now, save for the crackle of the remaining flames and the sound of Satan’s quiet, ragged sobs. The destruction around him felt insignificant, a monument to his failure. His golden eyes, dulled with sorrow, remained fixed on the photo, the only thing left of the happiness he had taken for granted.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, kneeling amid the wreckage with the photo clutched tightly to his chest. Time had no meaning in his despair. All he knew was that he had lost you, and for the first time in his existence, he felt truly powerless.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry.” 

But the words felt hollow, echoing in the emptiness you had left behind. And for the first time in a billion years, Satan, the great and terrible ruler of Hell, wept.

________

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single lamp casting long shadows over the chessboard between you and Coraline. Your fingers brushed absently against the edge of the table, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts that you couldn’t quite corral into coherence. The weight of the past month bore heavily on your shoulders, the silence between you and Satan stretching endlessly, a chasm neither of you seemed willing to cross.

“Don’t you think you’ve given him enough of a silent treatment? It’s been over a month now,” Coraline said, her voice even as she moved one of the chess pieces with deliberate precision.

You crossed your arms, your gaze fixed on the board but seeing nothing. “I’m not sure,” you muttered, your voice thick with frustration. “He’s Satan. He’ll never let his pride down to go talk to his *little girlfriend*.” The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth, and they cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Saying it out loud made it feel too real. You weren’t just doubting him—you were doubting the foundation of everything you had with him.

Coraline tilted her head, her expression sympathetic but firm. “I heard down in Wrath that Satan isn’t in a good mood. Maybe he does miss you. Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment to apologize.”

You let out an exasperated huff, your emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “I’m not responsible for him!” you snapped, the words coming out sharper than you intended. Your hands found their way to your hair, clutching at it as if the action could keep you grounded. “If he’s so sorry, he would’ve already found me! He’s Satan—he could do anything if he really wanted to.”

The truth in your own words stung. You weren’t just angry at him—you were hurt. And that pain felt like a wound that wouldn’t heal, no matter how much time you gave it. “He has Yogirt to calm his temper,” you continued, your voice quieter now, the edge dulled by the heaviness in your chest. “I’m not his therapist.”

You leaned back, finally taking a deep breath, as if trying to fill the void inside you. But it didn’t help. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your grip tightening around the soft plushie you had borrowed from Coraline’s daughter. The poor thing bore the brunt of your frustration, your fingers wringing it as though it could somehow absorb your emotions.

Coraline sighed, the sound long and weary. “You know, I won’t stop you from feeling how you feel,” she said, her tone gentle but laced with that undeniable edge of truth. “But remember who we’re talking about here. This is Satan. If he’s keeping away, it’s probably because of Yogirt. He doesn’t like being without you, Y/N. You know that.”

Her words struck a chord, though you didn’t want to admit it. You sank deeper into the couch, your body curling into itself as if trying to shield yourself from the reality she had laid bare. Coraline was right. Satan hated being apart from you. He had proven it time and time again, in ways that were both endearing and suffocating. When you had left him before, his rage had been terrifying—but beneath it, there had been a desperation that you couldn’t forget.

But this time, something was different. This time, you weren’t sure if you could forgive him.

“I know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… he let his title get in the way. He let his status mean more to him than I do. And that hurts. More than anything.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you quickly looked away, as though avoiding Coraline’s gaze would make you feel less exposed. But you couldn’t escape your own thoughts. The image of Satan—his fiery temper, his golden eyes blazing with authority, his voice commanding entire realms—clashed with the softer moments you had shared. The moments where he had been vulnerable, where he had held you close and whispered things you never thought you’d hear from one of the Sins of Hell.

You shook your head, trying to clear the images that only made your heart ache more. “I needed time,” you said finally, the words trembling on your lips. “Time to figure out what I want. Not what he wants. Not what everyone expects of me.”

Coraline didn’t reply right away, and the silence stretched between you. Finally, she rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate. “I get it,” she said, her tone soft but resolute. “You need time. You deserve time. But just remember, Y/N… you can’t run from him forever. You know that as well as I do.”

Her words hit you like a weight, the truth of them undeniable. Satan wasn’t someone you could hide from. Not truly. And deep down, you didn’t want to. But the thought of facing him now, while your emotions were still so raw, felt unbearable.

You sighed, letting yourself sink even further into the couch. “I’ll talk to him next week,” you muttered, the words tasting uncertain even as you said them. “I just… I need to collect my feelings first.”

Coraline nodded, her expression understanding but tinged with worry. “Fine by me,” she said simply, before leaving you alone in the room.

The silence that followed was oppressive, pressing down on you like a weight. You stared at the chessboard, the pieces frozen mid-game, a visual representation of the stalemate between you and Satan. Your fingers traced the edge of the couch absentmindedly, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm of doubt, guilt, and longing.

You knew Coraline was right. Satan wouldn’t take this silence much longer. He would come for you eventually, as he always did. And when he did, you would have to face him. You would have to decide if you could forgive him, if you could let go of the anger and pain that had driven you to leave in the first place.

But for now, all you could do was sit with your feelings, trying to untangle the mess inside you. Trying to figure out if the love you still felt for him was enough to overcome the hurt.

_______

Satan was devastated.

Every passing day without you felt like a blade carving into his chest, a sharp reminder of what he had lost—your smile, your laughter, the way you’d light up even the darkest corners of his existence. The bed felt like a cold, lifeless void without your warmth beside him. He had always taken your presence for granted, but now, with the silence stretching unbearably, he realized just how much you meant to him. You weren’t just a companion; you were his anchor, his solace in a world that often felt chaotic and uncontrollable. 

He knew exactly where you were. The moment you left, he had made sure you were safe. He might have been prideful, but his protective instincts were sharper than any blade. Knowing you were sound and secure should have eased his torment, but it didn’t. It irked him, gnawed at him, that he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t see you, couldn’t hold you close and tell you how much he missed you. The space between you felt insurmountable, and it was driving him mad.

Satan’s nights were endless. Sleep was a luxury he hadn’t tasted in weeks. His mind replayed every moment he had with you—your laughter, the way you’d scrunch your nose when annoyed, the softness of your hand in his. And then it would turn to the moments he had failed you, the times his temper had boiled over, the words he wished he could take back. Guilt coiled tightly around his heart, suffocating him.

The phone in his hand was a lifeline and a curse. Your contact sat at the top of his list, the little icon mocking him with its silence. He stared at it, his thumb hovering over the screen as his chest tightened. He wanted to message you. No, he needed to. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to reach out, to bridge the gap, to fix what he had broken. But his pride shackled him, holding him back every time he came close to pressing send.

“Give her space,” Yogirt had warned him. The words played on an endless loop in his mind, but they felt like a punishment. Space? Wasn’t it space that had driven you away in the first place? Satan clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the phone until his claws threatened to crack the screen. He hated feeling this helpless, this... human. 

He scrolled through his contacts in frustration, the names of his fellow sins flashing past. Maybe he should ask Beelzebub or Asmodeus for advice. Bee was grounded and wise in ways Satan couldn’t always appreciate, and Asmodeus—well, if anyone knew the intricacies of relationships, it was him. And they both date the lower class. But the thought of admitting his failure, of revealing just how vulnerable he had become, made his stomach churn.

He threw the phone onto his desk, the clatter breaking the oppressive silence of the room. 

His chambers were a mess, mirroring the storm inside him. Books lay scattered across the floor, some torn from his fits of rage. The curtains hung limply, darkened by the heat that radiated off his demon form. He hadn’t been able to revert to his smaller form in weeks—a fact that unnerved him more than he cared to admit. His massive horns curved ominously, his golden eyes burned with an unrelenting fire, and his wings, usually folded neatly, hung low and limp, dragging against the floor. 

The lack of control terrified him. He was Satan, the embodiment of Wrath, a force to be reckoned with—and yet, you held more power over him than any celestial or infernal being ever could. He hated it. He hated how much he needed you. It was a dependency he hadn’t anticipated, one that left him feeling raw and exposed. 

And yet, in his heart of hearts, he knew the truth: it wasn’t your fault. It was his. He had driven you away, let his title, his pride, and his temper overshadow the love he felt for you. He hadn’t seen the hurt in your eyes, the pain he had inflicted until it was too late. That image of you—your face crumpling in despair, your voice trembling as you told him you needed space—haunted him. It was etched into his memory, a scar that no amount of time could erase.

Satan ran a clawed hand through his horns, his frustration mounting as he paced the room. “Why couldn’t I just... stop?” he muttered to himself, his voice low and guttural. “Why did I let it get this far?”

He thought of the small moments he had missed, the times he could have told you how much you meant to him but chose not to. He had let his pride convince him that his actions were enough, that you understood the depth of his feelings without him needing to say the words. But now, he wasn’t so sure. 

The truth was, he was terrified. You had him wrapped around your finger, and that scared him more than anything else. You had the power to hurt him, to break him in ways no one else could. He had kept you at arm’s length to protect himself, to maintain control—but in doing so, he had pushed you away, and now the absence of you was unbearable.

Satan’s chest heaved with a growl, a deep rumble that shook the room. His eyes darted to the phone on the desk, his mind racing. Should he call? Should he message you? Should he do something? The indecision tore at him, the war between his pride and his desperation leaving him paralyzed.

Finally, he collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his massive form sinking into the mattress. His wings drooped further, the weight of them almost as heavy as the weight in his chest. He buried his face in his hands, his claws digging lightly into his scalp as he fought the urge to scream.

“I miss you,” he whispered, the words muffled but heavy with emotion. “I miss you so damn much.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to hold you again, to hear your voice, to see that soft smile that always melted his defenses. The thought brought a lump to his throat, his golden eyes glistening as he blinked back the emotion threatening to spill over.

You were the only one who could calm the storm inside him, the only one who made him feel human in a way that no one else ever could. And now, without you, he was lost—a shadow of himself, a king without his queen. 

He wanted to believe he could fix this, that he could find the words to make you come back. But for now, all he could do was sit in the emptiness of his own making, waiting and hoping that the love you had for him was still enough.

______

A week had passed, and now you found yourself standing before the obsidian gates, their sheer size and dark aura looming over you like a physical weight. It had taken every ounce of courage to make it here, and even now, as your fingers brushed the cool, etched surface of the gates, doubt gnawed at you. Should you have come? Should you have stayed away? 

The imps bowed as you passed through, their expressions a strange mix of respect and relief. Some even whispered among themselves, glad to see you back, though their tones held a note of apprehension. It only made your unease grow. What had he done in your absence? The question was a constant thrum in your mind, but the answer was just out of reach, a shadow waiting to pounce.

Your steps echoed in the vast hall as you made your way toward his usual spot. The silence was unbearable, amplifying the sound of your racing heart. When you reached the room, it was empty. The sight struck a chord of unease in you. This was his place of solace, where he usually brooded when things became too much. But now, the chair he so often occupied sat cold and unused. The air was heavy, thick with a tension that pressed against your skin like a physical force.

You turned to one of his assistants lingering nearby. Their face was pale, their movements hesitant. “Where is he?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

The assistant flinched but answered, “He’s been in his chamber. For days now. No one can get in. He... he’s not himself.”

The cryptic reply did nothing to soothe your nerves. Your stomach twisted as you made your way to his private chambers. The corridors seemed darker than usual, the shadows deeper, and the air grew hotter the closer you got. Finally, you stood before the massive door, its surface pulsing faintly with the glowing runes that protected it. Even without touching it, you could feel the oppressive energy radiating from behind it.

Steeling yourself, you knocked. The sound felt pitifully small against the weight of the door. A growl answered almost immediately, low and guttural, vibrating through the air. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a command. Leave.

“It’s me,” you said, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound firm. “Please, Satan. Let me in.”

Another growl followed, sharper this time, like a knife slicing through the air. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” came his voice, deeper and rougher than you’d ever heard it. It barely sounded human.

Your heart sank, the raw vulnerability in his tone conflicting with the primal fear that his growl had stirred. “I don’t care how you look,” you said, your voice softening. “I just want to talk. Please.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, with a loud creak and a burst of hot air that nearly singed your skin, the door opened. You stepped inside, and the sight before you made you freeze.

He was massive, far larger than anything you’d ever seen. His dragon form filled the chamber, his hulking frame hunched awkwardly in the too-small space. His scales gleamed like molten gold, sharp and jagged, and his claws dug deep into the stone floor, leaving long, jagged gouges. Four glowing eyes pierced the dim light, their golden intensity terrifying and alien. His wings, tattered and massive, cast jagged shadows across the room, and his tail lashed behind him, hitting the walls with enough force to send cracks spidering through the stone. 

The heat was overwhelming, the air thick and suffocating, and the primal power emanating from him made your knees weak. You had seen him angry before, in his smaller forms, but this—this was something else entirely. This was raw, unrestrained, and terrifying. For the first time, you truly understood why he was called Wrath.

“Satan...” His name barely escaped your lips, your voice quivering.

He growled low, a rumbling sound that shook the room. Steam hissed from his nostrils, the heat so intense that it stung your skin. His four eyes narrowed, focusing on you, and you felt your heart race. It wasn’t just fear—it was heartbreak. This was the man, the demon, you loved, but in this form, he was almost unrecognizable. He wasn’t just a dragon. He was rage personified, and it frightened you.

“Can you... can you make yourself smaller?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Another growl, this one tinged with frustration. His massive claws scraped against the floor as he shifted awkwardly. His eyes flickered with something—shame, maybe? Then, his deep, rumbling voice came, distorted and broken. “Stuck,” he managed to say, the word guttural and strained, as if even speaking in this form was a struggle.

Your breath hitched. Stuck. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t even talk properly. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. Whatever had happened while you were gone, it had pushed him past his limits, and now he was trapped in this monstrous form.

Tears pricked your eyes as you took a hesitant step forward. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

He huffed, the force of it sending a hot gust of air past you. His claws shifted, and his tail lashed again, knocking over a massive shelf that shattered on impact. His eyes darted to you, frantic and wild, and for the first time, you saw something else beneath the rage—fear. He was scared.

“You’re scared,” you said, the words breaking something inside you. “You didn’t want me to see this. To see you like this.”

He let out a low rumble, almost a whine, and lowered his head slightly. His four eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again, they glistened with something you never thought you’d see from him—tears.

The sight broke you. You stepped closer, placing a tentative hand on the edge of his massive claw. “Satan,” you said softly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But you have to talk to me. You can’t keep shutting me out like this.”

He let out a long, shuddering breath, the heat of it washing over you. Slowly, as if the effort was immense, his form began to shrink. His horns receded, his wings folded awkwardly against his back, and his scales dulled. Finally, he was back in his more humanoid form, but even now, he seemed smaller somehow. Defeated.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse and cracking. His golden eyes locked onto yours, filled with guilt and anguish. “I didn’t know how to face you. I didn’t know how to ask for your forgiveness.”

You blinked back tears, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. “Why, Satan? Why didn’t you tell me how much you were struggling?”

“Because I’m not supposed to struggle!” he burst out, his voice breaking. “I’m Wrath. I’m supposed to be strong, in control. But you... you make me feel things I don’t know how to handle. I’m terrified of losing you. I’m terrified of how much I need you.”

His confession tore through you. You had always known he was prideful, but hearing this, seeing him so vulnerable, shattered every wall you’d built around your heart. “You won’t lose me,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But you have to let me in. You can’t keep shutting me out.”

He nodded, his tears spilling over as he clung to you, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “I’ll do better,” he promised, his voice trembling. “I’ll try. I’ll do anything to keep you by my side.”

And for the first time in weeks, the distance between you felt surmountable. You held him tightly, letting him sob into your shoulder, and silently vowed to face the future together—no matter how difficult it might be. 

I Thank you for all the Love and support! it makes me keep going!

💫

@i-have-no-life-charlie @ayanazoldyck