#helluva boss satan x reader

[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.

[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 than 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.”

[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

[zeesdoodlesnshit]

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?

[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.

[magnificentkidstarlight]

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?

[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 𝐬𝐞����𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲:

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

𝐀𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬 💙

💙 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 𝐚𝐧𝐝 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.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Satan x positive but dominant!reader

Not sure if dominant is the right word-- more like "reader who doesn't take shit and shuts it down before it starts" but that's... a long title

Notes: reader is gn, this is a request, short post, written on mobile, still trying to get a feel for Satan

CWs: none

big angry man folding in an instant under his more fierce and wicked partner... except his partner is truly one of the sweetest and most optimistic people youve ever met in your life-- okay... well folding isnt the best word, its more like... heeling... backing down... its not instant but with enough of a glare you can make him sit back and hold his tongue for at least a little bit

which is a lot more than most people can even dream of doing!

sometimes your positivity sickens him but in an odd way he finds it endearing. he only tolerates it from you, if anyone else dared to tell him to look on the bright side or to take a chill pill he would smite them right where they stand

"someones going to die today." "of fun!" thats it thats the dynamic

you have single handedly saved so many lives when hes feeling cranky

doesnt dare speak up against you when you give him the look, he knows better than to try to argue with you when youve decided something isnt a good idea or worth the trouble or hassle

the longest most defeated sigh after staring at you for a long moment before conceding and agreeing with you- whatever the circumstance may be.... not incinerating someone where they stand.... or simply accepting that pepsi is okay when he wanted coke

[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, Ozzie, and Bee:

[msbug15]

UP TOP

SATAN X READER

TW: None

Inspiration: Hadestown

Reader is gender neutral

@xthechechix Here ya go!

Nobody's righteous. And obviously a hellborn isn't. But to have this punishment, cursed to live half a year in the mortal realm and not your own. It was torture.

Stripped of staying in your own realm. Stripped of your devilish form. Stripped of your powers. Stripped of everything.

Even if you have long since made up with your imprisonment, albeit begrudgingly. You cannot help but feel annoyed whenever the little mortal's mention their lovers, when you can't see yours for months on end.

Why must the Mortals get that happiness but you can't.

You couldn't help but bitterly laugh to yourself as you walked down the streets of the town you lived in.

Fate was cruel, that's why.

You still remember the day you were given this punishment. Being in chains. The eyes of the people. The sins. Your screams of worry. His reaction to your fate. It was like one of those human's worryingly sad works of fiction.

Just as you reached an alley leading you to your apartment. A red glowing portal opened before you. You recognised it, of course. "Satan..." You breathed. Finally, you get to go home.

You placed one foot in the darkness before it devoured you whole.

You stood tall in the never ending dark before closing your eyes and holding out your arms, humming a tune.

"Singing," you sang softly. "La, la, la, la."

Smoke came flowing down from Satan's nostrils as he sat impatiently on his throne. He let out a frustrated groan as he changed his position once again. "How fucking long can one portal take!" He yelled out of frustration, Yogirt slowly floated into his line of view.

"Satan, how about we take a few deep breaths, yeah?" The little demon slowly let out a few breaths in demonstration, "I'm sure there's a reason the portals are taking a little longer today, okay?"

Following his instructions Satan let out a few breaths as he deflated in his seat. "Right.." He murmured, clasping his hands together.

"La, la, la, la, la."

As soon as the sin of Wrath heard those lyrics a portal appeared. He immediately stood up and began to walk to the centre of the empty courtroom.

"Well, that was great timing!" Yogirt mumbled to himself. The rocky surface that is the floor, began to appear under Satan's feet as he walked over the lava.

He outstretched his hands wide as he closed his glowing eyes, before singing along. "La, la, la, la, la." He sung, standing in front of the portal and holding his hand out. Waiting, longing for you touch.

Lyric after lyric, your hand hand finally came out of the portal. His eyes opened and he quickly grabbed your hand. And little by little you finally came out of the portal.

The sin held you in his hands, a soft look in his eyes as he looked down at you. You gently placed your hands on his snout.

"You're early." You said softly, he leaned his head down and placed his forehead on yours.

"I missed ya."

Note: I hope you lot enjoyed this! I do apologise for it being short and if it's a bad. I'm still getting back into the flow of writing and I've never been that great at grammar, so once again I do apologise.

[trashogram]

Maybe niche and appealing to just me, but imagine:

Satan is very much In Love with Reader•S/O but his love is almost innocent. He loves his S/O, sees them as beautiful and pure, the light of his infernal darkness — so it genuinely startles him when they wanna be intimate with him.

Example of a conversation between Reader and Satan on this topic ->

S/O: “Satan, I want to take this relationship to the next level.”

Satan while admiring them with a hooded and adoring gaze: “What’s that now?”

S/O, hands on their hips and chest puffed out: “I wanna fuck you.”

Satan: O _ O

“I beg your finest pardon?!”

[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

[grievous-writes]

SO …. I have an idea in my head for a long term x reader project. You get one image as a teaser.

PS - @jellyfishxxi This may be your starting point for this train ride ❤️

[shapard]

could you do helluva boss satan x fallen angel reader relationship headcanons the reader has the patience of all the saints known to man

How does it make you feel🕸️

Satan x Fallenangel!reader

I hope this meets your expectations! It was fun to write.🎀

Tw: None

The Headcanon Begins after the cut

The first time you meet Satan, his irritation is impossible to miss. He glares at you like your very existence is an inconvenience. It doesn’t take long for you to realize why—your calm, collected demeanor is everything he isn’t. No matter how hard he tries to provoke you, whether through biting comments or fiery outbursts, you remain unflappable. You can feel the flames of his frustration burning hotter every time you smile softly in response.

You’re used to his dramatic huffs and rolled eyes whenever you speak during trials. As Lucifer’s adviser, you take your role seriously, ensuring fairness and advocating for those without a voice. Satan’s glares bore into you, but you continue speaking, your melodic tone steady and soothing. Though he pretends not to care, you catch the way his gaze lingers when you stand up for the lower classes.  

The first time you really talk to Satan, it’s almost by accident. You approach him with the same calm patience you show everyone, expecting nothing in return. At first, he’s gruff, clearly expecting you to lecture or patronize him. But when you simply listen, offering a warm smile and a thoughtful nod here and there, he begins to talk—about his day, his frustrations, even his siblings. His words pour out like a storm, and you let him vent, occasionally adding a gentle observation that makes him pause and look at you differently.  

Something changes after that. Satan starts seeking you out more often, finding excuses to cross your path. You notice how his temper seems to ease when you’re around. He’s still the embodiment of Wrath, but his fire feels less destructive, more contained. You see the cracks in his armor, the moments where his frustration gives way to vulnerability, and it tugs at something deep inside you.  

When Satan asks you out for the first time, you’re genuinely surprised. His confidence seems intact, but you catch the hint of nervousness in his voice. He takes you to his ring, proudly showcasing his domain and accomplishments. At first, you admire the raw power of it all, but as you start to notice the inequalities in how his citizens are treated, you can’t hold back. You bring it up gently, not to criticize, but to guide. His reaction is predictably fiery—he shouts, frustrated and defensive—but you stay calm, speaking to him like his outburst is nothing more than a passing storm.  

By the time Satan invites you on a second date, he’s clearly trying harder. This time, it’s a quiet dinner at a cozy restaurant. When the food arrives, something unexpected happens—you feel genuine excitement bubbling up inside you. It’s rare for you to let your composure slip, but when you see one of your favorite dishes, you can’t help but smile brightly, your eyes shining with joy. Satan notices immediately, his usual scowl softening into a chuckle. You catch him staring at you, a fondness in his expression that makes your heart flutter.  

As the days turn into weeks, you find yourself spending more and more time with him. Satan’s gruff demeanor starts to feel endearing, and the way he softens around you becomes one of your favorite things. He’s protective to a fault—one day, when a group of sinners makes cruel comments about you, you brush it off, unbothered. But Satan? He’s furious. His rage flares, and it takes everything you have to calm him down. His fiery protectiveness is both overwhelming and oddly touching, and it only deepens your affection for him.  

When Satan kisses you, it’s like being enveloped in flames—intense and consuming, but not unpleasant. There’s a surprising tenderness to his passion, moments where his lips linger as if he’s savoring every second. For the first time, your own patience starts to waver. You find yourself wanting more, craving the heat of his touch and the fire in his eyes.  

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to become inseparable. Satans fiery temper and your endless patience balance each other perfectly. You see past his wrath to the vulnerable, protective side he hides from everyone else, and he adores you for your ability to love him without judgment. Together, you’re an unlikely pair—chaos and calm, fire and serenity—but in your heart, you know you were made for each other.  

For anymore suggestion you can just ask! My ask is open!🌙