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demonvibez · 8 months

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[Yandere] Mammon ♡

Rating: Mature [MDNI] Tags: dark content, possessiveness, fighting, stalking, implied murder, smut, gn body parts, penetration mentions, cock warming, semi public sex, changed canon events Word Count: 1.4k+ A/N: I love yans and I love Mams soooo...here we are lol. Happy Birthday to my favorite greedy demon ♡ Mammoney!

♡ Yandere Mammon, who has been by your side since the very first day you dropped into the Devildom.

-> He didn't think much of you at first - a mere hassle dropped onto his plate by his Prideful elder brother. But it doesn't take long for the Avatar of Greed to become completely obsessed with you.

-> He actually made Lucifer give him your file ahead of time, wanting to size up how much trouble you'd be and see what kinda wealth you'd be bringing him. When his golden eyes landed on your picture though, a new sense of greed wrapped itself around his heart, and he knew he just had to have you.

♡ Yandere Mammon, who is a hell of a lot smarter than his brothers give him credit for.

-> He's the one that actually planted the seed in Leviathan's mind that you should make a pact with Mammon in the first place. Paying his debt to the Third Born was worth having the chance to cement himself as your first pact mate - which he always uses to his advantage.

-> Any situation you find yourself in, Mammon manipulates his way to get access to you - whether it's his usual antics (like him 'whining' about being your first man), or even some of his more greedy tricks like bribery, you'll always find him right next to you. There are even times he uses the pact to summon himself to you, and convinces you that it was subconsciously your idea because you always need him by your side - 'Ya know I was tasked to protect ya after all, treasure.'

-> On the rare occasion that Mammon can't be with you at the moment, he sends his murder of crows to look after you - especially even when you're with one of his brothers. His feathered familiars keep an eye on you no matter the realm, and they diligently report back to their Master with any findings.

♡ Yandere Mammon, whose greed for you knows no bounds.

-> Whenever you're with one of his brothers, he finds a way to squeeze himself in. He gives them a look of warning - he wouldn't necessarily kill one of his brothers, but they might find themselves befalling serious misfortune if they don't back off from you.

-> He doesn't afford that same luxury to strangers, though. Sure, he may start off with the warning of bad luck, each demon that gets too close to you suddenly finding themselves penniless. But if they still don't get the hint between that and Mammon's death glare, then he'll be sure to follow them home and have a nice chat with them later - just be sure to kiss his bruised and bloody knuckles when he comes home and lies about it.

♡ Yandere Mammon, who wants nothing more than to hoard you to himself like a rare Devildom treasure - because that's what you are to him.

-> He absolutely took Beelzebub's custard on purpose, knowing your room would get demolished in the process. Before Lucifer could make you move into Beel's room however, Mammon spots Satan and ropes him into the scene, knowing he would get triggered by the First Born and escalate the situation worse. Fists get thrown between Pride and Wrath, and Mammon uses the opportunity to steal you away to his room.

-> You pretty much live in his room now - he's replaced your destroyed belongings and given you space in his own closet. You don't notice a few of your things still going missing occasionally - and you definitely don't notice the secret door in the back of his closet, leading to the shrine he's made of you, your missing items adorning the altar.

-> Something else you fail to notice, is how he prolongs the reconstruction of your bedroom. It first started with him just tearing down the current work being done to rebuild it - that is, until he got the idea that if he started picking off the construction demons one by one, it'd surely slow down production. It was quite messy work at first, until he remembered his little brother was the Avatar of Gluttony who has never left a scrap of food behind.

♡ Yandere Mammon, who despite wanting you all for himself, still loves to show you off as 'His' to any and everyone.

-> He may be the Avatar of Greed, but he absolutely loves making people jealous - he wants them to covet what he owns, especially when it comes to you. He buys you revealing outfits that cost a pretty Grimm, just to dress you up and parade you around the city on his arm.

-> His public displays of affection for you are constant - there's not a single being in the Devildom that hasn't seen the way his hands grab your body, the way he presses his lips to your neck. And when he gives you gifts, he makes sure to do it in front of other people, so they can see the way you look at him and kiss him on the lips so lovingly.

♡ Yandere Mammon, who toys with how much luck you have in order to keep himself as close to you as possible.

-> Some days Mammon feels you aren't giving him enough attention, and you suddenly find yourself having the worst luck - bad grades, failed cooking, accidental injuries. And there Mammon is, right there by your side with open arms, ready to care for you like the perfect boyfriend that he is.

-> Other days, Mammon spoils the hell outta you - with all that good luck on your side, you suddenly find that you won a ton of Grimm from some Devilgram contest you don't remember entering, and he's convincing you to go away to the beach for a week, just the two of you.

♡ Yandere Mammon, who infects those around him with greed in order to move along his own hidden agenda.

-> He talks his way into going to your meeting with Lord Diavolo, despite Lucifer also being there. All it took was a little greed and a few well placed words to convince them to give you a permanent citizenship in the Devildom, despite all of their earlier reservations. The elder demons later side eye Mammon, but he just throws his hands up, insisting he couldn't possibly be that powerful and doing his best to hide his smugness.

-> He uses this ability on his brothers as well - usually either on Satan, Asmodeus or Belphegor. Whenever he isn't getting his way, he infects one (or multiple) of them with his greed, standing back with an arm around your shoulder and his signature smirk on his face as he hears his brothers argue with Lucifer for him - his brothers already love you, so they don't think too much about it.

♡ Yandere Mammon, whose obsession with you fills him with an inherent need to mark you as his.

-> He needs everyone to see that you belong to him. It starts off innocently, with him giving you gifts of jewelry and insisting you wear them. Some of the jewelry very obviously brandish his sigil and symbols, but little did you know, the other pieces have secret inscriptions to let other demons know that you're his.

-> And of course he put his pact mark somewhere obvious, in a spot you couldn't hide it. 'Why would ya wanna hide it, anyways?!'

-> He also loves to bite - why wouldn't ya want his adorable fang marks on the side of your neck? He'll take any chance he can get to add another permanent little mark of his on you - without hurting you too much, of course.

♡ Yandere Mammon, whose greed seeps into every fiber of his being as he passionately fucks you into his mattress.

-> You don't miss the way he chants 'Mine' over and over like a prayer as he roughly thrusts into you - the way his rings dig into your flesh as he holds you too tightly through your shared orgasms, silently vowing to never let you go.

-> He pours greed into your pact in order to hear you beg for him - your own avarice causing you to cock warm him even after you've both fallen asleep, so full of his sin you can't stand the thought of separating.

-> Sometimes he's so needy for you that he can't wait until the two of you get home - he'll pull you into a storage closet or an empty classroom and start having his way with you - he doesn't even care if someone hears the two of you, in fact he almost wishes they would. Knowing he's the only one that can have you this way makes him want to pound you against the wall that much harder.

♡ Yandere Mammon, who will stop at nothing to keep you forever.

"Ya don't know just how much ya mean to me, treasure. I'm never lettin' ya go."

· demonvibez ♡ 2023 · do not copy, repost or modify · · likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

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yandere-daydreams · 6 months

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Title: Domesticated.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very inspired @elsecrytt.

Pairing: Yandere!Satan x Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 7.0k.

TW: Dub/Con & Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Reader Is Straight Up A Bad Person In This One, Toxic Relationships, Semi-Public Sex, Bondage, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Coercion, Prolonged Grooming, Mentions of Blood and Violence, Slight Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were the first one to find Satan.

It wasn’t difficult. You’d been around long enough at that point to know that the birth of a demon was a strange, spontaneous thing; loud and wild, often accompanied by pillars of flame and always violent enough to leave the earth scarred in its wake. While his brothers fell from paradise like stars displaced from their heavens, you followed the cloud of smoke rising from the wasteland that made up the Devildom’s outskirts, tracked the scent of cedar and ivy and sulfur until you found him, seething in a crater of his own creation, freshly charred feathers still littered around him as he lashed out blindly, his aggression without a target but no less volatile for its aimlessness. He was bare save for the ash smeared across his pale skin, and you could make out a lashing tail behind him, a pair of curling horns sprouting from his waist-length hair, a pair of cat-like pawed feet he’d grow out of in a few weeks – all the same shade of black as the obsidian that surrounded him and tipped with a green you could only compare to the color of toxic waste, to the kind of emerald shine an insect might wear to let you know it was venomous. Every part of him practically glowed with rage. If you’d been aware of which throne he would take after he and his brothers found their footing in their new realm in that moment, you would’ve thought it was fitting.

In short, he was beautiful. Awe-inspiringly, breath-takingly beautiful.

And you were never the kind of person who could resist beautiful things.

Carefully, with dampened footsteps and a preference for the shadows, you edged closer to him, never letting Satan leave your peripheral. You were still a hundred or so feet away when he snapped toward you, pointed teeth already bared and curved talons poised to attack. You couldn’t be sure how lucid he was, but whatever happened to be running through that empty mind of his, it wasn’t enough to stop him from snarling at you, from hunching his back and digging his claws into the ground and charging, intent on tearing anything he saw apart before his anger could cool. Elation overwhelmed you. You felt the corners of your lips curl upward as he lunged, your heart practically beating through your chest as his lithe body streaked through the flame-tinged moonlight, as you took in the rabid creature that would be your end. There were sixty feet between you, then forty, and then—

And then, something dark and terrible descended from the clouded sky, tackling Satan and pinning him to the ground. Lucifer, you discovered, once the dust cleared and you could make out his face, his wings (lesser by two and painted the color of impurity, you noted with a not inconsiderable sense of satisfaction). You didn’t wait for him to notice you. Slipping back into the shadows of the wasteland, you stole one more glance toward Satan only to find his attention still fixed on you, unwavering despite his new guardian. Your eyes met his, and without hesitation, you spared him a smile. Of course, he didn’t return the gesture, but you didn’t mind.

You slipped into the night, already dreaming of the day you’d see him again.

By the second time you got so close to Satan, he’d already gained a reputation of his own.

You couldn’t say you weren’t proud. His anger cooled in the months after his conception, and he found a place among his brothers who, in turn, established themselves in the Devildom’s admittedly lax hierarchy of power and pleasure and all the many things that thrived when given reprieve from the harsh light of the sun. You kept your distance. As greedy as you were, you knew better than to get involved with people who knew better than to get involved with you.

Instead, you watched from the crowd as Satan grew into his rank, as the more untamed parts of his demonic nature fell away and he came to resemble something… cleaner, something less animalistic. You didn’t care for the change, but still, you kept track of him. What could you say? Even polished, he was still a gem worth keeping an eye on.

Your dutifulness was rewarded, too. Or, that was what you told yourself, at least, as you picked the lock on the door of the lecture hall where he’d thrown his latest fit, where it’d taken Mammon and Beelzebub’s joint strength to restrain him. You let your fingertips graze past overturned tables and side-stepped the shattered remains of shattered chalkboards and wooden chairs, taking in the proof of his untamed rage as you approached him. He’d been restrained, left to fester in his wrath until he was calm enough to deal with properly. Silver chains adorned with hundreds upon thousands of archaic runes kept him bound to a marble pillar near the center of the classroom, his arms trapped against his side and his more demonic features still on full display, much to your delight.

Despite having been on his own for a few hours, now, his rage had yet to die down. His fangs were still bared, his claws still biting into his own palms, his thorned tail still lashing back and forth behind his back like that of some starving wildcat, agitated that its quarry had been taken away. He only had a fraction of the wild radiance you’d been so captivated by during your first encounter, but still, you found yourself grinning. Even diluted, he was still beautiful.

This time, you didn’t have to mind your distance. You came to a stop less than a full arm’s length in front of him, ducking slightly when the point of his tail made a jab at your throat. “It’s alright, princess,” you started, keeping your voice low, your tone light. Like you were trying to soothe a wild animal – which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly not what you were doing. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to see that pretty face again.”

He really was so unlike he had been, the first time you’d met. There was a flicker of recognition in those burning eyes, a slight change to his posture. He pressed his back against the pillar, squaring his shoulders as his rabid snarl dulled into a thin scowl. His tail continued to thrash and writhe, but he didn’t try to go for your throat again. “I don’t need your help.”

“I wasn’t going to make an offer.” His eyes narrowed, and you held his piercing gaze for a second, then another, before allowing your attention to drift lower. Surprisingly, his uniform hadn’t been damaged during his rampage, only displaced; his shirt missing a few buttons where he’d torn at the collar, the jacket he always let hang open pushed so far back, it now threatened to fall from his shoulders altogether. What you were looking for lied lower, though – in the unnatural creases and unusual tautness of his pants. It was a common (albeit, no less embarrassing) side-effect of supernatural creatures giving into their true nature, especially for younger demons who never learned how to control their more primal instincts. He probably knew that, but you doubted he knew how to take care of it, just yet. Especially with his older brothers still learning how to handle their own sinful impulses. “I mean, I would be willing to give you a hand, if you need one,” you went on, nodding to his painfully hard cock. “But, if you’d rather seethe and growl in an empty classroom until one of your brothers comes back for you…”

You held up your hands, moving to turn on your heel and leave him alone with his anger, but Satan’s eyes widened, straining against his bondage as he lurched forward, practically drooling at the first hint of fresh blood. “You… you can do something about that?”

The muted excitement in his voice gave away his eagerness, his desperation. You let out a breath of a laugh, taking half a step closer, testing the boundaries before trying to catch such an active spark in your hands. When he didn’t immediately lunge at you, you brought a hand up, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over his jaw. “Of course,” you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if he was the foolish one for being stupid enough to doubt you. “But only if you ask me to. I’m not going out of my way to help someone who’s going to tear my throat out as soon as I’m done.”

And, even then, you could’ve been persuaded to lay back and let him have his way with you if he begged prettily enough. Luckily, he was already distracted, already leaning into your touch and staring up at you with a new kind of reverence. He couldn’t have known he was doing it – his pride wouldn’t have allowed him to. As far as you could tell, this was all instinct. “Do it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’ll have to do better than that, princess.”

He was quiet for a moment, then another. “Please,” he spat, finally, as if the word burnt his tongue. “Please, help me get rid of it.”

“No one’s going to want to do anything with you if you use that tone.” And yet, you stepped forward, resting one hand on his shoulder while the other dropped to the tent in his pants, to his cock. You ground your palm against his shaft through the thick material, and Satan grit his teeth. He didn’t know much, but he knew enough not to debase himself so willingly in front of you. “You’re lucky I’m such a bleeding heart. Otherwise, I would’ve left you here to suffer minutes ago.”

You watched him try to fight it, clenching his eyes shut as he braced himself, putting more effort into limiting his reactions now than he’d ever spared for his temper tantrums. With deft hands and saliva already pooling below your tongue, you shifted his pants down just far enough to free his cock – hard enough to press into his stomach. Like everything else about him, it was beautiful – pale but not ghastly, visibly veined but not overly defined, the head tinted a deep shade of pink you didn’t know you’d held such a fondness for, before you saw it on him. It was already leaking, too – pearls of precum dripping down his length and smearing against your skin as you wrapped your fist around the shaft and pumped lazily, playing indifferent to the way he bucked and writhed underneath you. “This,” you started, slowly, “is called a handjob. You can do it yourself, too, but it’s not as good. You’ll probably just end up making it worse.”

You swiped your thumb over his leaking tip, and he gasped, pressing himself flush against the marble pillar. You heard his restraints rattle and tightened your grip just enough to distract him, to give him something better to think about than getting away. “Pay attention, ‘cause you’re going to have to return the favor. That’s how this kind of thing works – I help you, then you help me.”

He nodded, sucking in a shaky breath. He wasn’t the brightest thing you’d ever come across, but he still might’ve proven himself to be a dutiful-enough student. “A h-handjob.”

“Good boy.” You teased the head of his cock by way of reward, then ground the heel of your palm into his base as a punishment for making you wait. When you were sure the lesson had sunk in, you took to jerking him off in earnest, taking on a pace just on the brink of satisfying and drinking in the little, stuttering moans that dripped past his lips in response. When his legs started to buckle, you worked a knee between his thighs and slotted your chest against his, staring up at him with as much adoration as someone like you could lend to something like him. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, heard his breathing turn raspy and shallow, and without warning, you pulled away, removing yourself from him completely.

He let out a desperate whine, the embodiment of pitiful. With an airy chuckle, you lowered yourself onto your knees, letting your hands fall to his waist. “This one’s a blowjob,” you muttered, just barely loud enough to be audible. He might’ve been a mediocre student, but you were an excellent teacher – always striving to fill curious minds with as much applicable knowledge as you could. “Some people call it oral sex, too. You’ll like it even more.”

His voice was so weak, so prone to cracking and breaking that in another world, it could’ve been cute. “…sex?”

“We’ll get to that later.” You pressed a fleeting kiss into his hip. “Just pay attention to me, for now.”

He really was lucky to have you. Anyone else might not have been able to handle how roughly he thrust into your mouth as soon as you’d taken the leaking head onto your tongue, might not have been willing to put up with his insatiable desire to bury himself in your throat – unaware or uncaring of your desire to breathe. You were patient, though, and strict, eager to swallow him down as deeply as you were able to before pulling back, pinning his hips down, and running the flat of your tongue up the sensitive underside of his cock. Whatever well of self-control he’d been using to bite back his pathetic little noises had clearly run dry. He moaned unabashedly, throwing his head forward and shuddering. His tail lashed out, his body determined to protect itself where his mind was unable to, but you didn’t pull away as it curled around your arm, didn’t waver as its curved thorns shredded your sleeve and sunk into your skin. Rather, you groaned around him, savoring the pure heat dripping down your arm, the way his agony seemed to drive itself under your flesh and make a home there. It was an overdue paradise, one that paled in comparison to what you could’ve had if Lucifer hadn’t interrupted you on that first night. You tried to treasure it all the same.

You fell into a steady rhythm quickly, no longer in the mood to tease him. You kept your eyes open as you bobbed your head, fixed to his flushed cheeks, his pained expression, the way he couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to shrink into himself or struggle against his restraints. “Stop, I—” He cut himself off with another moan, a quick jerk of his head to the side. As if there was anything he could do to hide from you, in a state like this. “There’s something wrong with—”

“You’re going to cum,” you corrected, pulling off of him just far enough to speak. With your lips still pressed against the head of his cock, you added, “That means you want me to keep going.”

If he had any mind to protest, he wasn’t able to put his complaints into words. Instead, all he managed to spit out was a fractured sob as you felt him throb against your tongue, as he came undone in your mouth. You milked him for all you had, pumping a fist over his shaft as he clumsily fucked your throat, his inexperience shining through once his inhibitions had been thoroughly pushed to the wayside. When you were sure you’d gotten everything out of him that you could, when your senses had been overwhelmed by the heady taste of him and the proof of your labor sat heavy in the pit of your stomach, you drew back, pushing yourself to your feet and taking in what you’d done to him. He was a mess, his face red and damp with sweat, emerald scales visible just underneath the collar of his shirt. With a slight smile, you fished something out of your pocket – a small, silver cage that you’d liberated from a succubus’ locker about an hour prior, when you heard Satan had lost his temper yet again. It fit the base of his cock as if it’d been made for him – pressing flush against his skin as it snapped into place with a satisfying click. When you were done, you pushed a kiss into the corner of his lips before stepping back.

“When that starts to get uncomfortable,” you started, grinning. “Come and find me.”

You didn’t give him a chance to protest before slipping away, leaving him panting and half-dressed for someone more tender-hearted to take care of.

He made it three weeks before seeking you out. An impressive lapse, considering he’d been hard again by the time you left that classroom.

This time, you made an effort to keep your distance. No more trailing behind him as he walked with his brothers or standing on the outskirts of the crowd as he picked a fight with yet another low-ranking demon – no, what he needed from you now was separation, the time it would take for him to think to look for you in his peripheral and then, later on, to convince himself the pleasure you could give him was worth the blow it’d deal to his ego. You’d started to lose hope by the time bridged the gap at one of Lord Diavolo’s frequent balls, thrown to celebrate Satan and his brothers ascending to the rank of Avatar. No one could seem to remember there ever being a rank by that name before their arrival, but legislation was for the Celestial Realm. Citizens of the Devildom were always more than happy to sample their prince’s generosity, regardless of the occasion.

You’d just finished slipping a stunning silver ring off of a witch’s finger and onto your own when he found you, red-faced and visibly out of breath, as if he’d just run from one side of the castle to the other. You grinned, moving to speak, but he clearly didn’t have an interest in whatever you might’ve said; taking hold of your arm and dragging you out of the main ballroom by way of greeting. You made no effort to resist. Struggling was for people who wanted to run, people who’d lost control and needed to be somewhere else. You, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here.

You let haul you down a dimly lit hallway and through a simple wooden door – almost meager, by the prince’s standards. It was a storage closet, as far as you could tell, the shelves stocked with miscellaneous supplies and the light limited to what little could flood through the gaps between the doorframe after Satan slammed it behind him. You didn’t mind it, but you would’ve preferred something a little brighter. You would’ve preferred to have him on a podium, underneath a spotlight, where you could see every last inch of his perfect body. You would’ve preferred to have him on a stage, posed to your preference for the approval of an eager audience. You’d always been charitable, like that.

But, you couldn’t linger on how you would’ve liked him when you already had him right in front of you. As soon as he’d ensured you were alone, he was scrambling to find your hand in the darkness, to press your palm into the outline of his throbbing cock and whine – a sound it’d taken him minutes to make, the first time you were alone together. “I can’t take it off, and—and it hurts.” His speech was frantic, disjointed, prone to slipping and tripping over itself between coherent words. You couldn’t imagine how he’d spent the past few weeks. Even his brothers would’ve noticed something was wrong, if he was always this worked up. “The cage burns when I touch it, and it won’t stop leaking—”

“Ah, ah, that’s enough.” The saint that you were, you chose to put him out of his misery sooner rather than later. “Why don’t you show me the problem?”

At that, he froze up, his neediness momentarily overwhelmed by pure, unadulterated shame. His fangs caught on his bottom lip as he looked away from you and towards himself, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly as he brought them to the button of his adorably uncharacteristic dress pants. His brothers must’ve picked out his clothes – partially, at least. You didn’t know whether to be amused or endeared by the fact that he wasn’t quite ready to make decisions for himself, just yet.

Under your instruction, he stripped quickly, the pieces of his suit falling away until he was left exposed in front of you, dressed only in your last gift to him. Speaking of – his cage was… stranger than you’d remembered it bring, the silver bars pulsing with a dull violet glow. A lasting enchantment, you figured. You should’ve expected as much from something you’d snagged from a succubus, those freaks.

You ran a finger over the curved spine, taking a long moment to appreciate the craftsmanship before you turned your attention back to the source of Satan’s suffering: his cock, already hard and, like he’d said, already leaking. You probably should’ve been more selective when it came to how you restrained him. The flesh of his shaft strained painfully against the bars of his cage, the tip already drooling enough pre-cum to smear on your palm and pool on the floor in between his legs. The poor thing looked nearly suffocated – pale and ever so slightly discolored, sensitive enough to twitch and send a rough shudder up the length of Satan’s spine as you ran your thumb over what little of the underside remained exposed. He only had himself to blame, really. If he’d only swallowed his pride and come to you earlier, he wouldn’t need your help so badly now.

He wouldn’t need to prove that he deserved your help, after ignoring you for so many weeks.

“Poor baby,” you half-cooed, taking his face in your hands and pressing a lingering kiss into his forehead. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to take something so difficult so soon. I’m sorry for making you suffer, like this.”

Immediately, you felt him stiffen. You could only hope it was a habit he’d never grow out of. You couldn’t imagine a version of Satan who was driven by anything other than the ongoing, everlasting need to prove himself and, when that failed, tear down everything that could claim he hadn’t. “I’m fine,” he said, as if he hadn’t been on the verge of tears only a second ago. “I could take this and more, if I needed to. It’s just— you said I would need to find you, eventually, and I wanted to get it over with before—”

“That’s enough.” You were sure he would’ve gone on for the next century if you let him, but you weren’t really interested in what he had to say. Not while he was so put-together, at least. “Do you want my help or not?”

He might’ve been a bad liar, but to his credit, he wasn’t delusional. Shakily, he nodded, keeping his lips pursed and his eyes pleading.

“Is that all you’re going to give me to work with?”

“…please.” He was more hesitant than he’d been the first time, but not quite so acidic, not quite so aggressive. He was begging, now, and you could never seem to turn away those in-need. “I’ll do anything.”

You sighed, the gesture airy and drawn-out. Eventually, when it seemed like his already-tenuous patience was starting to thin, you let your touch fall away from him altogether. “Why don’t you get on your knees?”

His expression fell – not so much disappointed as he was confused. “How will that—”

“I have other things to do tonight.” An expectant smile, a nod towards the floor. “I can’t help me if you don’t help me too, Satan.”

The weight of his given name seemed to do the trick. Slowly, his movements stilted and reluctant, he lowered himself onto his knees, his eyes quickly falling away from yours and find a home in his lap. You were glad you’d chosen to wear what you had – making quick work of the sashing binding your robes together and discarding your panties while Satan watched out of the corner of his eye, too embarrassed to stare but too curious not to look. You were tempted to take him by the hair, to find something to wrap around his neck and pull it tighter and tighter until he was exactly where you wanted him to be, but you couldn’t let yourself be so selfish. You couldn’t let yourself forget to take care of him – even if you could justify putting it off until he’d taken care of you.

With little warning, you brought up a foot and ground the toe of your heeled shoe into the shaft of his caged cock. He hissed, throwing his head forward and shrinking into himself, shrinking against you; his chest pressing into your thigh as he bucked mindlessly against your foot, the lewd act coming to him more naturally than you ever could’ve dreamed. Now, you raked your fingers through his hair, jerking him upward and guiding his mouth to your cunt. His eyes widened, a surprised grunt slipping out of some vulnerable pocket of his chest, but you held him in place. “Remember what I showed you last time?”

He hesitated, but not for very long. There was a slight lapse, a pause as he tried to bridge the gap between your anatomy and his, but after a moment of scraping your dull nails over his scalp, of grinning down at him with as much love and patience as you could muster, he let his eyes fall shut and opened his mouth, his tongue darting part his lips and lapping tentatively over your slit. His next swipe was a touch more confident, and the same went for the one after that, and the one after that. A slight groan bubbled up from the base of his throat, his hands coming to rest on your thighs – his curved talons biting shallowly into your skin. You embraced the spark of pain without complaint. As if you had the heart to interrupt such a valuable learning moment.

It was slow work – as sloppy as it was messy, his enthusiasm barely managing to overshadow his inexperience. You couldn’t tell how much of it was on purpose, if he meant to grind the bridge of his nose against your clit, if there was any rhyme or rhythm to how he drew his tongue over your entrance, but it was savage enough, animalistic enough to draw a shallow moan from your lips, to earn the flattened edge of your heel ground against his cock. It took ages for his tongue to slip into you, the tapered point curling and probing against the walls of your cunt. He was lucky to have been born such a rabid creature, to have been gifted such a pretty face. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be worth a minute of your time.

It was a good effort, but it wasn’t enough. With a sharp jerk to his hair, you pulled him away from you and threw him to the ground, his pointed talons leaving a row of raised skin in their wake. With a startled expression and a fog over his eyes, he blinked up at you, barely bothering to try and push himself up before you brought your heel down on his chest and pushed him flush against the floor. “Stay down.” You flashed him a smile, trying to pretend you meant for it to be comforting. “Don’t you trust me?”

He didn’t answer. You didn’t wait for him to, shedding your robes completely and straddling his waist. His prep work had been… minimalistic, to put it kindly, but you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. You met his eyes, holding his half-lidded gaze as you wrapped your hand around his cock and pulled his cage away as easily as if it’d never been there at all.

You took slow, agonizing seconds to line him up with your entrance, rolling your hips to spread his precum over your slit. He let out a slight whimper, then managed to find his voice. “What… what are doing?”

“I think I’ve already told you about this one,” you said, your smile now genuine. “We’re going to make love, princess.”

In your own defense, you gave him a chance to protest, to complain, to throw you off of him and rejoin his brothers in the prince’s ballroom. You waited a second, then another, and when he failed to do anything more than stare up at you with that pleading expression, you lowered yourself onto him, only stopping when you were sure he’d bottomed out.

You were able to bite back your voice, but Satan wasn’t so skilled when it came to hiding his reactions. His body went stiff underneath yours, his eyes falling shut as a sinful moan trickled past his lips. You heard his breath hitch, felt his cock twitch, and then he was coming undone inside of you, likely marking the first time he’d cum inside of anyone, because of anything but your mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh, drinking in his fractured whines as you started moving, rolling your hips and grinding against him, riding him properly – not that he’d know the difference. “S-stop,” he managed, though little pained noises and blissful gasps. “It— It hurts—”

Overstimulation, clearly. It was amazing, how sensitive a demon so ferocious could be. “You’ll like it once you calm down. Just try to tough it out for me, alright?” With one hand on his chest, you let the other slip between your legs and to your clit, sorely neglected by his earlier guesswork. “I’ve made you cum… how many times now? Twice? I think I get to take a little something for myself.”

If he was capable of responding, he didn’t seem to think it was worth the effort. Instead, he only collapsed underneath you, his talons scraping against the stone floor and his point fangs biting at his own lips while you used his cock as your own, personal toy; as something to be played with but otherwise left on the outskirts of your consideration. While he might’ve been willing to fuck anything you put in front of him, you held yourself to higher standards, seeking out whatever made heat pool in your core and that aching knot in the pit of your stomach draw itself that much tighter with a refined sense of determination. You’d known how pretty he was, but there was a different kind of beauty to the way he looked writhing below you, to the pitiful sounds he made every time you clenched around him or moved in a way that threatened to milk his cock – still hard, despite his whining, still needy – dry. It was clumsy, little more than reflex winning over dower rationality, but he tried to move his hips in time with yours, to seek out the heat of your cunt whenever you threatened to pull away and abandon him completely. Not that you were going to. As pathetic as his sensitivity was, you weren’t much better – the anticipation you’d built up in his absence more than enough to make up for his inexperience. Your climax rolled over you in thick, lethargic waves, dimming the edges of your vision and pulling a raspy, vaguely humored gasp from somewhere deep in your chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You’d make him keep going until he gave you something better, next time.

Tonight, though, you had better things to do than babysit. With a shallow inhale and a moment taken to compose yourself, you pulled away from him and pushed yourself to your feet. Satan let out a displeased growl, loud enough and deep enough to rattle off the walls of the storage closet, but you shut him up quickly, pressing the sole of your boot into his shaft and rocking with just enough force to leave him spilling ropes of thick, ivory cum on his stomach, the evidence of his depravity left splattered against the pale skin of his midriff and the dark leather of your shoes. He moved to grab your ankle, to keep you that much closer to him for that much longer, but you pulled back, straightening yourself and shrugging your robes back on while Satan watched you, his eyes glassy and his fangs bared. “Maybe, next time, you’ll be able to take the lead,” you wondered aloud, then laughed. “Wouldn’t count on it, though. I think you’re cuter when you don’t have to think for yourself.”

You could still feel his eyes burning into you as you slipped back into the castle.

He started asking you to meet him in the House of Lamentation, after that. You told him you didn’t have a problem with empty classrooms and storage closets, but he insisted. You weren’t surprised. Just as he was learning that he would have to be well-behaved for you, you were starting to realize that you’d have to be gentler than anticipated with him.

That’s what you were doing now – being gentle. The collar wrapped around his neck was loose and lightweight, the leash that connected his throat to your hand allowed to fall lax for the moment, at least until the next time he did something that you would need to. You’d even let him take charge, laying back while he buried his face between your thighs, a skill he was eager to hone after you admitted his natural talent left more than a little to be desired. He was making progress, too. He’d learned to bite back his pride while he lapped over your cunt and pushed aimless patterns into your clit, spurred on by every twitch and moan he could draw out of you. There was a pillow between his legs, something soft and pliable he could grind against while he took care of you, but the thin golden ring sitting at the base of his cock made sure he wouldn’t have his fun before you had yours. This one wasn’t enchanted (you’d been tempted, but magic could be fickle and you didn’t want to bring an arcane locksmith into your time with him), but it worked well enough, and he’d never really gotten the hang of taking care of himself. To be fair, that was something he didn’t have to learn. He had you to dote on him, and you weren’t going anywhere. Not for a few hours, at least.

His hand curled around your hips, spreading you open further as the tapered end of his tongue lavished your clit, his drool mixing with your slick and staining the inside of your thighs. You let your eyes fall shut, using your legs to pull him closer as you bucked into his mouth and used his tongue to nurse yourself through your climax, only letting him go when the first pangs of overstimulation began to set in. Even without your encouragement, he didn’t go far. You felt the mattress shift, sensed his body on top of yours, and then, his mouth was crashing into your own, his kiss all teeth and tongue and violent lust. Within seconds, you could taste your blood on his lips, make out the little, airy noises only partially muffled by your connection. You could—

Your fist was crashing into his cheek before you had time to think, to stop yourself. Your knuckles caught his jaw with enough force to pry him off of you and leave him on the floor, still sitting up but visibly folded into himself. You cursed under your breath, your eyes only flitting to the door once before you lowered yourself to the ground beside him. There was a half-hearted snarl, but it died in his throat as soon as you were close enough to cup his cheek. You let out a softened coo as you pulled him close, pressing a fleeting kiss into his forehead. “Ah, I know, I know.” Another kiss, this one to the bruise forming along his jaw. Your remorse, although left mostly unspoken, was genuine. Anyone would’ve mourned leaving a mark on such a beautiful face. “Are you hurt?”

“As if something like that would affect an Avatar.”

As sharp-tongued as he was defensive. You were thankful for his ego-serving tendencies in this moment more than most. With an airy laugh, you strung your arms over his shoulders and let him bury his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Just don’t surprise me like that again, alright?” And then, after he managed to nod, “I know you’re strong enough to take it, but it’d break my heart to see you get hurt. Because of something so trivial, especially.”

When he didn’t pull away, didn’t respond at all, you sighed. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

It was little more than a mumble, spoke just under his breath. “Thank you,” he paused, melted that much further into you, “for taking care of me.”

“Good boy.”

You left a few minutes later, dressed in one of his shirts and little else. For your own peace of mind, you decided not to think about how long it’d been since you’d seen him bury his teeth in anything aside from you.

Honestly, it’d been weeks since you’d seen his fangs at all.

You’d had this problem before. Ever the romantic, your idle mind tended to linger on what couldn’t be reclaimed, to drive you towards the pursuit of wild beauty despite knowing that truly untamed things couldn’t be found twice, let alone a few times a week, whenever the careful surveillance of his brothers lapsed and Satan could seek you out like some mangy, prowling predator, spurred on by the promise of relief. Really, you would’ve given up on him after that first encounter, after he failed to sink his claws into your neck, or—

A ragged grunt drew you out of your thoughts and back into the present moment, back to Satan where he hovered above you. You were in some shadowed tunnel of the catacombs underneath the House of Lamentation, tonight, and you’d been kind enough to let him take charge, to keep your thighs wrapped around his waist as he fucked into you like a trained mutt, rather than the wild animal you were looking for. The stone of the altar he’d laid you over was cool against your skin, his horns pleasantly calloused where your hands were wrapped around them, and yet, your mind still wandered, the feeling of his cock beating against the walls of your cunt numbed by your lack of interest. Satan was less unaffected, his eyes clenching shut as he buckled against you, burying his face in your chest as he pushed open-mouthed kisses into whatever he could reach. It was sickening, the thought that he might’ve wanted you to return such tender affection. It was sickening, the thought that he could be capable of being so banal.

His hips crashed into yours, and you felt his lips turn upward, his cock twitch inside of you. “I think—” A pitchy whine, a half-swallowed whimper. “I think I’m in love with you.”

God. You might’ve been starting to hate him.

You let your hands fall to his shoulders. “Down, boy.”

He shook his head, too lost in his own bliss to listen to you. You scowled, shoving lightly at his chest, attempting more to get his attention than to force him off of you. “Down. Unless you want me to assume you’ve forgotten how to be obedient.”

“I—I love you,” he repeated, and then again, “I love you.” One of your legs was forced over his shoulder, his chest pressed almost flush to yours – bending you in half in a way that would’ve been painful, if you’d been anyone else. You let out a throaty growl, marking the first time you’d stopped to his level, but Satan didn’t hesitate, didn’t relent, only bowing his head and letting his rhythm deteriorate into something less calculated, less taught. You would’ve been pleased, if you hadn’t been so angry with him. “We— We’re going to be together, and you’re going to be mine, and I’m going to be—”

You could see tears running down his cheeks, hear his voice shake from something entirely separate from pleasure or desperation. You cursed under your breath, dragging your nails down the length of his spine and clawing at his back with enough force to break the skin, but he didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to mind, to care, to notice.“I’ll be yours.” He sounded so pathetically determined, as he thought it would come true if he only spoke loudly enough, if he only fucked you desperately enough. He probably did. You’d never taught him any better, and you weren’t sure he had anyone else who would even know to try. “I’ll only be yours.”

You were struggling, now, thrashing underneath him, but he was still an Avatar, still ranks above any station you would ever be able to reach. He held you in a bone-crushing, heart-wrenching embrace; close enough for you to feel his heart beating through his chest, to pick up on the half-muffled sobs catching in his throat. He only pulled away to bring one of his hands up to your jaw, to hold you in place while he pressed his lips against yours in a kiss so soft and so gentle, you would’ve been tempted to call it loving had it not been so vile.

By the time he drew back, he was smiling, and you couldn’t seem to remember why you’d ever thought he could be anything but hideous.

“And you’ll never have to leave again.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere obey me #obey me #obey me imagines #yandere satan #satan x reader #satan x you #om satan x reader #om satan x you #yanderecore #yancore

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imk1ra · 2 years

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Y/n: We need to distract these guys

Satan: Leave it to me

Satan: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss.

Mammon, Levi, and Asmo: *Immediately begin arguing*

Lucifer, watching in horror: Oh this. I don’t like this. I don't like this at all.

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kadeeesworld · 10 months

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Protective Boyfriend Diavolo Headcannons!

Nobody messes with you and lives that’s a promise and if he could make it a law he would— actually somebody phone barbatos the prince has questions!!

He’s super serious about you, your well being is top priority for him and you will have the best care if he can help it nothing less.

If Diavolo catches anybody at rad or on the street bad mounting you they’ll be receiving a very friendly visit from barbatos and if what they said was bad enough he’ll show up personally.

A number of times he’s brought up you moving into the castle with him for your comfort and safety of course, not that he’s doesn’t trust the brothers or anything but after your first death™️ he’s very skeptical and gets very worried when he hasn’t seen you in a while.

Has barbatos keep a close eye on you when he’s been swamped with paperwork and can’t see you. He has barbatos report hourly if he can about your status and whereabouts and if he hears something he doesn’t like you’ll be getting a summons or an in person visit, nothing too serious he just really needs to see you and make sure you’re alright.

His heart simply couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you again on his watch especially after he’s gotten into a relationship with you, and if anything should happen the devildom itself for lack of better words should prepare for all hell to break loose.

All in all you’re literally the love of his life and he’d do just about anything for you if you asked, give him something impossible and he’ll make it possible when it comes to you, his love or his power knows no bounds and nobody can stop him.

You’re his after all and he’s all yours, now until forever.

#obey me!#obey me #obey me shall we date #anime #obey me diavolo #obey me nightbringer diavolo #lord diavolo #yandere diavolo #diavolo x you #diavolo imagine #diavolo x reader #shall we date diavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo fluff

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2-dsimp · 10 months

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Hello may I request harpy!mammon (you may skip over this if you like)

Harpy! Mammon hates sharing any of his treasures with his brothers so he tries his best to shield you away from their sights.

@twistedw0nd3rland

#yandere obey me x reader #obey me mammon #mammon fluff #mammon x you #mammon fanart #mammon x y/n #mammon x reader #mammon avatar of greed #mammon imagine #mammon scenarios #the great mammon #harpy! mammon #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios

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iicheeze · 1 year

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“ Please break up with me. ”

“ ... Excuse me? ”

“ Please break up with me. ”

“ Why? If this is about last week, we already went through with it- ” “ It's- It's not just that!! ”

. . .

“ Don't raise your voice at me. ”

“ I'm - I'm sorry. ”

“ Why do you want to break up with me? I did everything I could for you. I gave you my attention, my affection, my time, my everything. So, why? ”

“ You always seem distracted, even at our dates. You smile so much brighter around other people. Everytime I get upset, you always somehow point fingers at me when it's your faul- ” “ My fault? ”

“ How? How is it my fault? I apologized, I made it up to you. You're the one being an ungrateful brat. ”

“ ... ” “ I see. I see it now. ” “ What? ”

“ You're trying to get rid of me so you can be with [Favorite Character]. ” “ Excuse me?! ”

“ I see the way you look at them. Don't act stupid now. You've been fucking with them behind my back. And I let you had your fun, but clearly you forgot your place. ” “ I've never!! - ”

“ Looks like I've spoiled you too much into thinking you can do whatever you want. You are not breaking up with me. Not now, not ever. ” “ What?! No! I'm leaving! ”

“ Leaving? No, you aren't. ” “ Wh- The door's locked! ” “ Looks like the dumb ditz finally figured out a way to use their brain. ”

“ You're not leaving me. You're mine. You've decided to be mine ever since you got into a relationship with me. Don't even try to escape. ”

“ Resistance is futile with me. So try to soften up, dearie. The drug will take effect soon. ”

Genshin Impact;

Kamisato Ayato, Scaramouche, Yae Miko, Raiden Shogun, Pantalone, Diluc, Albedo, Alhaitham, Cyno, Kokomi (??), Eula, Yelan, Shenhe, all the fatui harbingers tbh 💀

Stardew Valley;

Shane, Elliot (Kinda but softer ig), Sebastian, Alex, Haley

Obey Me! Shall We Date;

Lucifer, Raphael, Belphegor, Satan, Leviathan (in a more jealous way yk)

author's note || HAHA I TRICKED YALL TO THINKING UR BOUTTA READ ANGST WHEN ITS ACTUALLY YANDERE AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

I would add more fandoms but 2 of them r all high schoolers so..... ye 💀

also the white fonts r the character you depict, and orange font is you 😘‼️

#genshin impact #yandere genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin x female reader #yandere genshin impact x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin impact x female reader #yandere genshin impact x male reader #yandere obey me #yandere obey me x reader #yanderecore #yandere imagines #yandere stardew valley #yandere sdv #yandere #yeo rants

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married-to-google-translater · 2 years

Note

ASKS ARE OPENNNNNN

yandere!mammon who's extremely protective of y/n maybe?

thank youuu!! have a great day ^^

Yandere Mammon

Mammon would be possessive.

He sees you as his valuable asset.

However, you are HIS human.

Mammon would also be jealous.

He doesn't want anyone to take HIS human away from him.

Because of this, you are not allowed to move anywhere alone.

Mammon is always with you.

Because if you are alone you can hurt yourself or do something stupid.

On the other hand, Mammon doesn't want to leave you alone with someone else.

He doesn't trust that they won't try to do something with you.

Usually, Mammon keeps you locked in his room.

If you try to escape he might handcuff you.

Of course the chain is golden.

If someone tries to hurt you, it won't end well.

Definitely not going to end well.

Let's say that demon experiences a very painful death.

And after that, Mammon is even more paranoid.

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yanderemommabean · 3 months

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Imagine red rooms but in the Devildom. Maybe not the most popular, but it's not uncommon for a demon trying to prove themselves to a potential partner to abduct them for a "first date" they won't soon forget. Maybe it's traditional to let them go after a few days, let them choose if they want to date or not, but of course some people just can't take no for an answer. There's nothing stopping anyone from keeping their little darling there until they say yes...

UGH YESSS

Imagine Lucifer hates them at first, thinks of them as stupid and useless, mostly because he doesn't think most demons are capable of love, or any sort of actual emotion.

But he himself and his brothers, they aren't typical scum of the devildom, they're the most elite demons.

He rents the Red Rooms at a hefty price, sparing no expense, letting his disgusting urges emerge when he finds that he wants you, that he craves you, and he isn't shamed of every dirty thing he wants.

I'm talking down bad gross shit too. Jars to collect your juices and spend so he can drink it later type of nasty. He's the most up tight until he's behind closed doors I just know it, I feel it in my left tit.

Not to mention, with some leeway in this universe, I'm sure there's now potions and spells you can purchase along with new toys that can be "cursed" and some rooms that can have more of a creative twist You know who else would be a fun Red Room customer? Simeon and Solomon and Barbatos. I just think they'd all have such unique twists to when they purchase a Red Room stay

-Mommabean

#Yandere Red Room AU #yandere Obey me #yandere demons #yandere smut #yandere lemons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere red rooms #yandere prompts #mommabean #Yandere Lucifer #lucifer obey me

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2smolbeans · 7 months

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Yandere Diavolo x Innocent reader headcanons

Tags: Mindbreak, corruption, forced marriage, black mail, Mc's partner gets murdered, suicide mention, Mc goes to hell, manipulation, hostage keeping, minor world building mentions, Mc is gender neutral.

Diavolo knows how humans are. He's been there since their very creation. Humans are greedy, vicious, cruel little animals with a mind of their own. They were almost similar to demons- no, if anything - most, if not - all demons were once humans!

So, for being so cruel, so selfish. It was amazing how he stumbled upon a rare soul like you. So pure, innocent, kind..He was sure that you were predestined to go heaven once you had died. You'd make the perfect angel, after all!

Diavolo was enamored by you. How gentle you were to those who were rough with you, the way you would so gracefully own up to your mistakes - something most humans couldn't do! How you would always keep your head high whenever you were ruthlessly bullied by the world. The way you would kindly treat strangers who would be cast aside by society.

For once, he had met a human with diligence and self-control! It made you desirable and interesting - different from most humans. He needed you. You were one of a kind.

Diavolo became more curious about you with each passing day. He just had to see you. So, with a change of attire and appearance, he visited your work as a customer. Falling hard for you when you gifted him with your voice that spoke directly to him - giving him your undivided attention.

He needed more. It had been so long since he's seen such pure kind innocence directed towards him. So, of course, with his devil's charm, he tried to persuade you to be his partner.

But, unsurprisingly, you already had a partner. Of course, that was no problem for Diavolo- such a small obstacle was no path for this ancient demon!

So kindly getting rid of the waste of space that contributed no meaning to your life, Diavolo tried again. Sweetly feeding into your sins. Pride, greed, envy, and lust. Trying to get you to fall for him.

But it never worked since you were now too busy grieving for your previous partner.

He was running thin. He didn't want to force his love and affection onto you. He wanted you to swoon over him, for you to look at him without him having to force you. To have you all prettied up as his royal spouse. To have his innocent kind spouse dote on him so diligently.

So he was left no choice but to haunt you. Whispering in your ears about the unspoken knowledge, taunting you to the point of insanity, breaking you to the point of committing unforgivable sins.

So when you came to your senses, unable to cope with the reality, you ultimately killed yourself out of guilt.

Happily waiting for you in circles of hell, Diavolo came to collect you.

You were so scared, shivering from the torture you had to endure with all the other sinners. Don't worry, he'll take you away from the bad place. Only in one condition. No? That's okay. He'll happily drop you off back from where you came from!

Aww, you're clutching onto him so tightly.. I guess that means you took up his offer!

Sooner or later, you ended up as his royal spouse. Always satisfying his needs, making sure to please him with anything he wants.

You don't want to go back to the circles of hell after all. Not when Devildom is nice and safe, barely far away from limbo!

Diavolo found it admirable whenever he looked at you. Such an innocent and meek demon you were. With your cute little horns protruding out of your head and that slim tail you had from behind.

He was proud to call you his spouse. So proud that he always hosts a party dedicated to celebrating your marriage with him. It's only fair, you must be bored staying inside the castle by yourself waiting for him!

Plus, it's not like you're allowed to go out.. He can't risk his little spouse getting hurt!

Aren't you glad this is how things turned out?

And isn't it better that it'll be like this for all eternity?

________________________

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompt #obey me #yandere obey me #yandere headcanons #yandere obey me headcanons #yandere diavolo obeyme #yandere diavolo x reader #yandere diavolo #yandere obey me x reader #obey me x reader

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fragileheartbeats · 15 days

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I'm a writer, ok? I love to write about fictional characters, I love to feed people, I love to make them happy.

I'm also a writer who can't enjoy her works. Like I just look at them after posting them and I goes "this is the most disgusting thing that ever existed on planet earth."

But I also need feeding. Like all the fic out there are smut... This is all this about?

I really need some dark fic, like please I just need crazy, obsessed, I'm gonna kill anyone who look at you characters x reader (probably with a bad ending). Is this to much to ask?

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delusionalwings · 1 year

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Omg I was thinking abt how the OB boys would be with an MC that has a beautiful voice. Like Lucifer would never admit hoe much he loves hearing them sing, Mammon would ask them to have a little concert so he can charge people even tho he thinks no one else deserves to hear their voice. Levi would want them to repeat his favorite characters voice lines, or the way Satan would love sharing them read books and how Asmo could sit and listen to them talk for hours. Ofc Belphie would want them to sing him to sleep and Beel would always invite them to his workouts, because sometimes he gets lucky and MC sings along to his music (he purposely plays songs he knows they like for that reason)

ohmigod buddy, you are so right! I especially love the mammon one for some reason. TvT LUCIFER IS A PIECE OF SHIT, ISN'T HE?! i would flirt with levi till he passes out XD. as someone who loves to read, i love the satan one ;-; asmo, yaassshhh let's get the gossip going. he definitely wants to become an idol with mc. he also starts a channel called "the voice of the devildom" or something where they ulpoad music videos. it's pro level. ah another day of belphie getting an excuse to be closer to mc ;) beel also loves it when you sing after he finishes eating. it's sweet.

mc would ace seductive speechcraft like a breeze if they have the confidence to say flirty lines-

i wrote for luci and some side characters TvT

― synopsis -> when mc has a beautiful voice

― characters -> lucifer, diavolo, simeon, barbatos

― gender neutral reader

― headcanons

― warnings -> yandere content

LUCIFER

The first time he catches you singing, he hides his presence and gets lost in your melody. That is when he decides that your voice must be his alone.

“Hmm. Why would you stop? Did I give you the permission to do so?”

Unbeknowst to you, he sometimes hums the songs that you are fond of singing when presumably alone. He never admits that he actually enjoys those. He lets on that it’s all his scheme to make your life miserable.

SIMEON

That sounds like the call of the divine, the voice of the angels! What lovely music it is to the ears!

“[Name], could you say the prayers today too? After all, your voice seems to be formed for this reason...”

Whenever he faces a writer’s block or feels frustrated in general, he asks you to read to him. Your voice has a quality that helps him visualise better. If you read any of his recent works, you will find how he writes about prophecies in enchanting voices, sirens calling out to bewitch angels or even a whisper in the dark. Your voice calls out to him in more ways than one.

DIAVOLO

What beautiful voice you possess! After this discovery, he decides to update his schedule to include an hour of you singing human world songs. Daily. What can be better than experiencing human world culture by enjoying the voice of his love?

He is enthusiastic about holding festivals and nudges, almost subtly forces, you to sing in those. After all, the entire Devildom must witness your talents and realise how amazing the various realms are. What potential healthy bonds can hold!

BARBATOS

Your voice reminds him of the soothing aroma of fresh tea. Even though the word ‘cunning’ perfectly suits Barbatos, he feels that you have a better claim to that title. You would speak innocently yet the words would pierce hearts. The moment you open your mouth in Seductive Speechcraft, even the Young Master is charmed.

Barbatos notices and knows that you do not have any ulterior motive but he can’t help but try to be on his guard and... ultimately fails. You are so cunning, aren’t you? Cunning and clueless... The things that you do to those around you and him. Can’t you see?

He has found that your voice helps his spirits to an extent where his efficiency improves too. How can he let you go after that? You will indulge him, won’t you?

#obey me #yandere #gender neutral reader #gender neutral mc #obey me yandere #forbidden path #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere lucifer #yandere diavolo #yandere barbatos #yandere simeon #x mc #x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

Text

Title: Profane.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very patient @elsecrytt.

Pairing: Yandere!Diavolo x Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 7.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Dub/Con (Coercion + Inebriation), Brief Cannibalism, Wildly Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Torture (No Injury To Reader), No Like Literal Torture, Gore, Blood, Possessiveness, Theology, and Past Trauma (Reader's Got Issues). The Dove Was Dead, Got Resurrected, And Is Once Again Dead. Please Do Not Eat.

Barbatos showed you to the garden himself.

Usually, guests as unremarkable as yourself would be ushered in by some lesser demonic spirit, shown directly to Diavolo’s in-home office, and rushed out as quickly as the prince’s unwavering sense of hospitality would allow. You’d been through the process yourself a handful of times since you came to the underworld, gotten to visit the castle on an errand for RAD often enough for the shocked awe to dull into simple wonder, but you’d never been able to see the prince or Barbatos in their own home, and when you received the prince’s package, when you smelled the fresh scent of roses and felt silk against your hands, a part of you refused to believe this could be anything but another request to run a few files from one location to another, an invitation to discuss an upcoming festival or ceremony somewhere less imposing than the shadowy, stiflingly gothic student council room. Part of you still refused to believe it now, in all honesty, even as you walked arm-in-arm with the prince’s butler. Even as you wore the gown he'd sent to your off-campus apartment, a wine-red train trailing half a meter behind you and the fabric of the corset clinging to your skin like spider silk.

Even as you stepped into his rose garden, the rose garden. The rose garden you’d only ever heard about in gossip and rumors. The rose garden that was supposed to be saved for the prince and his select few.

The rose garden you were never supposed to see, and yet.

And yet.

A pavilion had been erected in the center of the innermost ring and decorated for the occasion, cords of red blossoms strung across the obsidian guardrails and a trail of flower petals left out to guide your way. Barbatos left you a few paces away from the pavilion’s steps, bowing his head as he detangled himself from your rigid hold. He spared you no words of comfort, offered you no advice, only letting out a breath of a chuckle as he slipped away and disappeared into the tangle of the garden. It fell onto you to soothe yourself, so you did – sucking a ragged inhale and balling your shirt in your hands before forcing yourself to relax, driving an ounce of tension out of your shoulders and willing your hands to stop shaking as you took an unsteady step towards the pavilion, then another, then another, until you were starting up the short staircase and it was too late to turn around and hide. There was a table let up on the center of the platform, a teapot and matching cups and saucers laid out among a sugar jar and an adorably quaint cream jug. It would’ve been charmingly simple, if the set hadn’t been crafted from pure obsidian and most likely would have cost more than a year of your salary.

Diavolo was at the head of the table, dressed in a suit that matched your gown. The sound of your footsteps drew his attention, his expression brightening as his eyes might yours and a wide, giddy smile you could only compare to that of a lovestruck schoolboy spread across his lips. He pushed himself to his feet hastily, your name falling from his lips with a slight stutter. There was a rose in his hand, but rather than thrust it into yours, he held onto it, opting to pull you into a brief, bone-crushing hug, instead. “I’m sorry to call you here on such short notice,” he said, his voice breathy and the words spoken quickly enough to blur together. “And I, well—” Now, the rose was presented to you, his smile taken on a shy tilt. “I thought it’d be romantic. Admittedly, it feels a little silly now.”

“No, no, it’s very sweet.” You rushed to reassure him, more afraid of making this more awkward than it had to be than genuinely hurting his feelings. You tried to take the rose by the stem, but your thumb caught on an unpruned thorn and you pulled back out of instinct. There was no pain, but when you glanced down, you found a small bead of scarlet, the injury practically nonexistent but an injury, nonetheless. Diavolo’s expression faltered, but you were quick to take up the rose again and tuck anything that might’ve sown any ill-will away. “You were going to tell me why you asked me to come…?”

Immediately, his smile returned in full force. “Please, have a seat.”

A chair was pulled out, a cup filled and sugar cubes dispensed generously. You took the cup in your hands, but didn’t raise it to your lips, only soaking in the gentle warmth as Prince Diavolo cleared his throat and went on, more nervous than a man of his status, a man with so much power over you had any right to be. “I’m sure you’ve already guessed why you’re here. I know subtly isn’t my strong suit.” A slight pause, a hopeful smile. Somehow, the implication of his anxiety alone was enough to make the knot resting in the pit of your stomach twist that much tighter. “We don’t know each other very well, but… I think I’d like to know you a little better, if you understand what I mean.”

Oh, you did.

You’d understood as soon as you saw the low cut of the dress, as soon as you were told you’d be meeting him in privacy.

Still, you played coy, shaking your head as you leaned back in your seat. “I’m afraid I don’t, your highness.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I don’t want you to feel like royalty, right now.” And yet, he’d asked you to meet him behind his castle, attended to by his butler, wearing the gown he’d had tailor made for you. You would to ask how he got a hold of your measurements later on. Actually, you shouldn’t ask him anything at all – it’d be a mercy if you never had to talk to him again. “I’d like to court you. Officially. With your permission, of course.”

It was a thoughtful gesture, but then again, your permission could only count for so much when a flick of his wrist and a half-baked royal decree would change the meaning of consent by its very definition.

You let your eyes fall to the table, then to the rose in your hand. “I don’t know how to say this,” A pair of pursed lips, a decisive beat of silence. “But, I’m not sure, your highness.”

This time, he didn’t bother to correct you. “You’re not sure?”

“As you said, we don’t know each other very well.” You gaze caught on the spot of blood still welling on the pad of your thumb. A minor inconvenience, but still an inconvenience. It’d make handling much of anything a nuisance for the rest of the day. It’d make you pause the next time you thought about taking a particularly beautiful rose by the stem. “And I’m afraid there might be some parts of me that you wouldn’t be so happy with, if you saw them for yourself.”

That seemed to catch his attention. Whereas you leaned back, he leaned forward, arms crossing over the tabletop. “I have to admit, it’s hard to believe that there’s any part of you I wouldn’t be happy with.”

“It’s just,” A thorn in the right place could ruin the entire rose. Hopefully, if you managed to break the skin, he’d give up on you entirely and move on to less pointed flowers. “I have some… appetites that people have deemed difficult to keep up with, in the past. It’s nothing out of place for those in my profession, but I’d hate for you to have to waste your time tending to my desires.”

You could practically see the excitement spark in his eyes, feel it rolling off of him in waves. “Please, go on.”

“It’s too morbid to discuss in polite company,” you said, sparing a glance towards the walls of the rose garden, as if you were wary that someone might be listening in. “But things tend to get gory rather quickly, and I have been known to get a little carried away when I get something sharp in my hand.”

The tea was put aside completely, forgotten in favor of more interesting topics. He didn’t stand, didn’t do anything to close the limited distance between you, but you could tell he wanted to, that he wasn’t taking your threats seriously enough for intrigue to dip into caution, and that was all you needed. “I think you’d look stunning with something sharp in your hand.”

“But I’d hate to waste your time,” you reiterated, bowing your head. “And your subjects might not care for me, once they see what I’ve done to their ruler.”

“We’ll have to keep this our little secret, then.” While you had your doubts about how secret one of his secrets could stay, he was clearly excited enough to buy into the idea that it would be possible. “And, as for your appetites…”

This time, he stood, rounding the table and falling to one knee at your side. For a second, your heart stopped beating in your chest, your mind forcing you to consider the possibility that your vision of rings and proposal might not have been based entirely in paranoid delusion, but he only gestured for your hand and reluctantly, you gave it to him. His lips ghosted over the curve of your knuckles, then turning your hand over in his own, the apex of your wrist, lingering against your pulse point. Finally, he pulled away, grinning up at you as he went on.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to satisfy that hunger.”

You were starting to wonder if, even in your grandest of schemes, your eyes might’ve been bigger than your stomach.

It was old work. Diavolo – as he insisted you call him, despite your best attempts to keep a semblance of formality between you and him – was eager to please, quick to show you he was just as enthusiastic as you claimed to be and dedicate one of the more expendable rooms in his sprawling castle to your little engagements. The tools of your trade were discussed and crafted into familiar shapes: thorns braided into the lashes of the whips, runic symbols you’d long-since forgotten how to read burnt into the leather of the riding crop, a small vial of holy water waiting beside a gold-lined tub of water. Even the dagger you were holding was of celestial design, the blade symmetrical and gilded with pure silver, the hilt molded but not padded, allowing the chill to seep into your palm without reservation.

It was a relief, however small, that you wouldn’t have to use the demonic weapons you’d nearly gotten used to. In the Devildom, suffering was just another tool, something to be used when convenient and drowned out with needless hedonism when not. In the Celestial Realm, suffering was holy.

There was nothing holy about this, though. You’d had the foresight to restrain him, binding his wrists and ankles to each poster of his grand bed with enchanted chains, but he offered no resistance. Even brought low enough to fall into his demonic form, to show himself with leathery wings sprouting from his back and gold-adorned horns curling upward from his scalp, he retained as much of his composure as you could expect him to, keeping his claws curled into his palms and dulling his fangs with the occasional whimper or sudden gasp. When you dragged the point of the blade from the spine of his wing to the small of his back, he arched as if leaning into your brutal touch and clenched his eyes shut, but he didn’t scream. You almost wished he would. At least then, you’d be able to tell if you were making progress.

It was old work, but more importantly, it was work you’d been good at, once upon a time. Your mind might be out of practice, but your hands remembered how to move, how to cut, at just what angle to hold your dagger as you slid the flat of the blade into the incision. It was a delicate balance; applying enough force to cut through the connective tissue without tearing the epidermis. There was a slick sound from underneath your knife, a half-choked groan from Diavolo, and skin separated from muscle, leaving both intact and swimming in an agony of their own. It was beautifully precise, the kind of workmanship that should’ve gotten you a promotion. You could only regret that it was wasted on Diavolo.

Thick, dark blood washed over his tan skin, spilling out in every direction and distracting you from your task. With a disgruntled sigh, you turned to your supplies and took up the most limited of your precious tools: common table salt, imported from the human world and kept in a simple glass jar. You’d always known it had purifying properties that demons didn’t care for, but it’d surprised you just how difficult it was to get a hold of in the Devildom. Diavolo was strong enough to withstand it without being reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, but hopefully, the burn would be more than he cared to endure.

With great care not to get any on yourself, you took up the vial of holy water and undid the bottle’s seal, dampening the blade of your dagger with a generous portion. “Did you know that holy water can’t be diluted?” You asked, idly, taking one of the larger salt rocks between your thumb and forefinger and crushing it, savoring the slight sting before spreading the fine residue over one side of your blade. “My boss didn’t – used to lecture me for wasting it. You should really be more selective about your staff, down here.” You paused, bringing the point of your dagger back to Diavolo’s skin. You found your target quickly: the flesh over his shoulder blade, where the tissue was thin and the bone prominent. You drove it down with just enough force to break the skin, and in an instant, you were rewarded with the smell of burning flesh. “It was one of the first miracles the guys upstairs performed on Earth, after the humans realized they could it themselves without divine intervention. Remember to spare a drop for the next batch, and you’ve got an endless supply – as good as if it’d come from Micheal himself.”

You returned to the first incision, sliding your blade back into the slit you’d just carved. There was some resistance – Diavolo’s regenerative abilities were second to none, just as you’d expected from demonic royalty – but with grit teeth and a quirk of your wrist, you pushed through it, spreading your little concoction across raw, bleeding muscle. This time, Diavolo screamed, the sound animalistic and agonized and exactly what you were looking for. It reminded you of wind chimes, of church bells, of a timbre voice congratulating you on a job well-done as you stood over the maimed remains of a breathing corpse. Eager to chase that satisfaction, you pressed down harder, cutting into the muscle of his back before jerking your dagger back, ripping through tissue and flesh and leaving carnage in your path. You couldn’t just smell burnt flesh, this time – you could practically taste it, coating your tongue like ash and filling your lungs like smoke. Everything your blade touch seemed to melt, to scorch, leaving a filthy black char slashed across Diavolo’s back, infecting the wound you’d inflicted. If you were at work, if he were anyone else, you’ve taken it further, watched the blisters form down the curve of his back as you slowly and melodically removed each unnecessary vertebra of his spine, but he was a prince, and your goal wasn’t to kill him. You just had to make him wish he was dead when he was with you – that was all.

You dropped the dagger onto the stone floor, sucking in a harsh breath as you shook out your stiff fingers. You considered the whips, elegant in their design and brutal in the affection, then the golden tub, how good it would feel to string your fingers through his hair before you shoved his head below water, but the former would leave too many marks too quickly and the latter would’ve taken more preparation than you’d cared to make. Instead, you chose something you were less familiar with – a length of braided silver, leather handles molded onto either end. You slung it over your shoulder as you climbed onto the bed and straddled his waist. Out of instinct, his wings shuttered, moving to fold themselves against his back, but you grabbed the arch of his left wing’s spine and forced it flat against the velvet sheets, holding it still as the appendage squirmed and thrashed below you. “No fighting back,” you muttered, because it was what you’d agreed on as you stepped over the threshold to his little homemade torture chamber, because it seemed like the last thing you’d want to hear when you were at someone else’s mercy. “Remember why I’m doing this. If you don’t want to take, I don’t need to give.”

“That’s not—” Heavy panting between each word, all attempts at speaking soon forfeited in favor of an airy gasp. You waited for him to settle, driving a nail into the delicate membrane of his wing for each second he failed to spit something out. “I understand,” he said, eventually, marking the first full thought he’d managed to express since you finished restraining him. “Keep going.”

You didn’t move. “Is that how you’re going to talk to me?”

A dry swallow, a moment of hesitation. A demon’s pride was a difficult thing to put aside, even for a demon like Diavolo. “Please.”

If he’d been anyone else, you would’ve made him grovel.

But, you could only ask so much from such a spoiled prince.

“Raise your head.”

No pet names, no dark humor, no purring or cooing or anything spared to soften the words. He obeyed, tilting his head back and letting you wrap the cord once around his neck once, because anything more than that would only spread the agony, make it that much easier to differentiate from the feeling of your weight against his back, dampen the awareness that it was your hands holding the end of his noose. You wanted him to know it was you. As you pulled the cord taut, you pictured him lying in his own bed hours later, blood washed away and wounds bandaged. After the adrenaline was gone, the excitement replaced with hollow exhaustion and the cold absence of affection, would he cry? Would the pain get to him first, or the misery of it all, the aching realization that what you were doing to him wasn’t something people did to those they loved? Would he curse your name, any heartbreak stifled by pure loathing for the person who left him in such a state of desperation? Would he hate you?

“It’s not the tightness that leads to suffocation – another common misconception. Your guys already knew that one, though.” Crossing both ends of the cords over one another, you cranked them tighter, then tighter again. Admittedly, this kind of thing wasn’t your strong-suit – you’d never been the type to rely on raw strength alone – but the sturdiness of the cord did most of the work for you, winding into itself and biting into his skin without cutting into what laid beneath it. Or, without cutting into yet, at least.

“It’s the pressure,” you said as you leaned over him properly, planting your knees in the plush of the down-stuffed mattress. “That’s the real trick - being able to apply enough force to crush the windpipe and cut off the lungs. From there, all you have to do is—” You paused, letting out a soft, strained groan as you pulled the cord ever-tighter. If you let go of the handles, it would’ve held its shape, but it felt cruel to be so impersonal. “—sit back and watch.”

There was a whimper by way of response, more pleading than pained. His mouth fell open, something that could’ve been generously interpreted as the beginning of a word falling past his lips, but you took mercy on him, clicking your tongue as you braced yourself for what came next. “Relax, I’m not going anywhere.” And then, after a second of thought, “Have you ever thought about what it’d be like to hang to death, your highness?”

Even if he could answer, you wouldn’t have let him. You hauled him upward suddenly, letting the cord rise to the sensitive junction just underneath his chin and winding it farther, farther, until it made good on its threats and a thin cut formed across the curve of his throat, a twin laceration appearing on the other side a few seconds later. He struggled underneath you, attempting to maintain his composure and control his breathing until instinct took over and he was left gasping, sputtering, trying to force air back into the lungs you controlled, now. Despite yourself, the corners of your lips curled upward, a profound satisfaction flooding through your veins and momentarily blocking out what little rational thought remained. Diavolo was depraved, but this was your line of work, your field of expertise. You felt phantom hands on your shoulders, lips ghosting over the top of your head. You deserved to be happy, when you were doing so well at what you were meant to do. You deserved to take pride in a job well-done.

Struggling, struggling, then release. His shoulders dropped, his form going limp, and just as his eyes threatened to close and his mind gave out completely, you let go of the cord, letting it fall back to the base of his throat. It took a few more seconds to detangle, another to rub the lingering salt on your fingers into the new cuts on his neck. While he panted, drooled, made a mess of himself, you basked in your holy reverence, newly purified by the sacredness of your responsibilities. You remained there, in that state of simple contentedness, until Diavolo broke the silence.

“Is that—” A harsh breath, a fit of coughing. Your mind supplied the rest of his question automatically. Is that enough? Is it over, now?

You almost smiled, almost told him that it’d be over as soon as he decided that he couldn’t handle you, anymore, but he went on before you could, his tone playful despite the blood now seeping into his sheets. “Is that all?”

You felt something very heavy and very sharp fall into the pit of your stomach. “Of course not,” you said, because that’s what you were supposed to say. Because when they asked for more, you were supposed to give it to them.

Because, if he wanted more, you’d give it to him until he couldn’t stand the thought of ever letting you touch him again.

“We’re just getting started.”

You could get to the rose garden on your own, by now.

Lucifer and Barbatos were already seated in their usual places, both looking uncharacteristically relaxed. Barbatos’ smile got a little brighter as you approached, and after you’d slid into your designated seat, Lucifer greeted you with a clap of his hands, a lilt to his posture. “I assumed you and Diavolo would be arriving together.”

You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You’d learned quickly, within the first month of Diavolo’s proposal, that you’d been right to assume you wouldn’t be able to keep it yourselves for very long. Still, it surprised you just how quickly he told Lucifer and Barbatos about your little trysts. “He’s still cleaning up.”

Barbatos’ constant smile took on a teasing quirk. “What a heartless lover you are, to leave him alone in a state like that.”

“He knew I wasn’t the doting type going into this.” It wasn’t a lie. You’d never claimed that any part of your attention would be the loving kind, that whatever polite affection you showed to him when he dragged you out to upper-crust restaurants and diamond-studded nightclubs and parties with only the Devildom’s most elite in attendance wouldn’t extend to the time you spent alone together. Love was a pretense, not a necessity. You could only hope Diavolo was tender hearted enough to be hurt by your callousness. “You’re the babysitter, here. Shouldn’t you be the one patching him up?”

He moved to respond, but Lucifer was quick to cut in, leaning forward as he spoke. “Have you two already—” A coy smile, a vague gesture with a gloved hand. You weren’t sure what’d gotten into him. You’d never seen Lucifer or Barbatos so giddy, even if the extent of their excitement seemed to be a few probing questions and a new willingness to bare their teeth without snapping at your throat. “—well, I’m sure you know.”

You swallowed, dryly. The idea of sex hung over your relationship like a funeral shroud, weighing the heaviest when you stepped over the threshold and into whatever makeshift dungeon he’d chosen for the two of you that night, when he spared you a smile that meant he could only be expecting one thing. You didn’t want to know what would happen if he continued not to get it, but you didn’t want to sleep with him, either. You didn’t want to sleep with him. You didn’t want to give up that much of yourself, to fall that deeply into the den of vipers you couldn’t seem to claw your way out of. You knew, rationally, that you were already as tainted as you could possibly be, that Diavolo couldn’t possibly touch you in way that was worse than how you touched him, but your heart refused to give up on the idea that you weren’t beyond redemption, just yet.

Surprisingly, Barbatos came to your defense, although you couldn’t say he sounded very empathetic. “Keep your mind out of the gutter,” he said, in a way that implied that this was a subject they’d already discussed in-depth. “You know how hard it can be for fallen angels to adjust.”

“Not every fallen angel. It only took me a decade to make a name for myself.” He’d also made the choice to fall, but you thought better than to say that aloud. “It’s just a matter of getting a taste for it. Let them take the plunge now, before our little prince loses patience.”

You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said died on your tongue as the weight of two hands settled on each of your shoulders, as you felt Diavolo press a kiss into your cheek. You bit back a grimace, but the contract was mercifully fleeting, gone as soon as Diavolo straightened his back and directed his attention to the rest of the table. “What am I supposed to be so impatience about, exactly?”

Lucifer was quick to change the topic. “I was starting to think that you’d forgotten about us.”

Rather than turn to Lucifer, his eyes fell back to you. You could feel his stare, awful and adoring, boring into you as he spoke.

“As if I could ever think of anything else.”

You found yourself undressed and barely conscious on a golden rug in front of a searing fireplace a few days later.

Your body felt lighter than it should’ve been. In hindsight, you’d had too much to drink to be around another person, let alone underneath one. You’d thought, foolishly, that another sip, another glass, another bottle of wine would help to settle your nerves, to make you seem like an easier conquest than Diavolo would’ve liked, but all it’d done was make you too easy to turn up – prey that’d already been left to bleed by some other conveniently absent predator. It might’ve been your own fault, for assuming Diavolo would show more courtesy to you than you’d ever shown to him. It might’ve been your own fault, for going out of your way to pretend you so genuinely couldn’t tell the difference between cruelty and love.

Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. You could hear footsteps somewhere in the muddled distance, make out a song of a hum just above the soft crackling of the fireplace, and then, he was back, settling onto the mess of sheets and pillows beneath you, an overfull goblet in one hand and the other suddenly cupping your cheek. He wore nothing, save for the chokingly tight collar of silver chain you’d wrapped around his neck hours ago. You could remember holding a tether, feel the strip of leather biting into your palm, but you must’ve let go of it at some point. Whatever happened, it was gone now.

Drifting lower, you could see where your nails had cut into his chest, his back, his throat. You might’ve bitten him, too – you could taste something heavy and metallic on your tongue, but it would’ve been impossible to tell if it was his blood or your own. He’d made no attempt to hide your marks, to wash the remaining blood and slick and saliva off his skin. They were filthy creatures, demons. Filthy, and sinful, and undeserving. If you had your way, they’d be left to dwell in their vile hedonism for the rest of time, left alone to their self-indulgent wickedness until they all began to rot. Or, better yet, brought to some great altar built to celebrate their demise, their beating hearts carved out and offered up in repentance. You’d do the butchering yourself, if you had to.

You wanted to dip yourself in a vat of acid. You wanted to bathe in light. You wanted to scream and thrash as Diavolo took your hand, then your wrist, dragging you into a sitting position until you could you had to rely on your own unsteady posture to keep yourself up-right, but you didn’t, didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound as he brought the goblet up to your lips. Sacrament, you thought, as you swallowed down as much of the sweet wine as you could before he took that away from you too, replacing the goblet’s mouth with his own. You didn’t kiss back, didn’t throw yourself against him and beg for his love, his attention, but he pulled away with a satisfied hum. “I think this might be when you’re the most beautiful,” he sighed, cupping your cheek. “In my home, painted with my marks, silhouetted by the firelight…” He let his shoulders drop, and his tone took on a wistful lull. “It’s a breath-taking sight, and you don’t know how much relief it brings me to know that I’ll be the only person to ever see it.”

Your eyes fell to the rug, nearly gaudy in its splendor. You swore to yourself that, if you ever managed to get away from Diavolo, you’d never willingly lay your eyes on a single piece of gold again. “Does…” You started, then trailed off, bowing your head before going on. “Does it ever bother you, knowing I don’t feel the same way?”

You wanted to be more transparent, to say that would never love him, to make it clear that all you’d ever try to do was hurt him, but even to your loathing-addled mind, the words sounded too harsh, too cutting with too little to gain from choking them out of your sore throat and past your bruised lips. Then again, what you actually managed to say didn’t seem to hurt him enough – his smile only taking on a softer note as he leaned forward, letting his lips ghost over your forehead. “Sometimes,” he admitted, with less strain than you’d expected. Less strain than you’d known you were looking for, before he responded so easily. “But not often. Not at all, when I have you with me.” He paused, brightened. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to love me?”

He was better than you. He was stronger than you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything at all.

You rarely said anything to Diavolo at all, anymore.

Not that he minded. It was the shape of you by his side that he liked, more than anything – the feeling of your eyes on him, the awareness that if you were on top of him, you couldn’t be anywhere else, with anyone else. He was kind enough to explain his obsession in more depth after you first summoned the courage to ask, to tell you about his possessive urges as you raked a barbed whip across his back, to recount the names of those he’d rather die than lose you to in gasped breaths while you forced his head into a vat of holy water. There was sex, sometimes, when you thought you could stomach it, when it seemed like your usual pastimes wouldn’t be enough to stop him from resorting to less mutual shows of affection. You were more distant on those days than most.

You were more distant today than you’d ever been before. It was almost like ascension, astral projection – you couldn’t recall ever feeling so totally disconnected, only vaguely aware of the gentle throbbing in your cunt, the heat dripping down the inside of your thighs, the feeling of Diavolo’s teeth burrowed into your shoulder. You’d been lax in your preparation, too strung-out to really care if he got away. His ankles were unrestrained, his wrists bound behind his back with little more than a length of bronze cord embedded with thorns, not unsimilar to those you’d find in his beloved garden. They were strong enough to cut into his skin, sturdy enough to tear when he thrashed, and if you were more yourself, you might’ve been able to admire the craftsmanship, the thought that must’ve gone into each and every pinprick of suffering. You weren’t, though, and you couldn’t really bring yourself to appreciate much of anything.

He was making those sounds, again. Even in the face of your vow of silence, he was so fucking noisy – always whimpering or whining or moaning unabashedly while you dragged the blade of your dagger up the length of his spine, dispassionately watching skin split open and hot, crimson blood trail down his arched back. There was a raspy groan, a pair of pointed canines lodged that much deeper into your flesh, then you felt his cock twitch inside of you, still hard despite your motionlessness. It’d been months since the last time he let you take someone else apart, make someone cry in agony without having to listen for something less wholesome playing underneath the surface. If it hadn’t been for the raised lash-marks across his chest and thighs, the feeling of his blood washing over your skin, you’d be tempted to think you were the one being tortured.

With a half-swallowed sigh, you rolled your hips against him, letting your eyes fall shut and total, absolute numbness wash over you in heavy waves. It would’ve been a valuable skill to have a few hundred years ago, when you were constantly being reprimanded by your higher-ups for not being able to remain as stoic as your fellow acolytes, for caring too much about the responsibilities they’d assigned to you minutes after you came into existence. It was hypocrisy, bold and shameless. No one batted an eye when Simeon exorcised a small army’s worth of demons, when Micheal took to the human world with plagues of locusts and rivers of blood, but you were punished for believing what you’d been told, for holding yourself too close to the holy light. For doing your job and doing it well.

Diavolo drifted, drawing back just far enough to bury his face in the side of your neck, to press himself so suffocatingly close to you. You felt the ghost of a hand on the small of your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as a softened voice whispered platitudes of family and forgiveness and virtue, as it offered hollow promises of prayer and purification and, worst of all, love. He said you’d be able to go home, one day, after your penance in the shadows, after you realized how lucky you were to serve in such a benevolent cause. He promised he would bring you home.

Diavolo tilted his head back, his dark eyes meeting yours for the first time since you’d gotten him underneath you, and something in the hollow, frigid depth of your chest cracked open. There was nothing graceful in the way you drew your knife back, nothing purposeful in the way you drove it into his chest. You pictured vital veins and arteries, listed off organs even a demon wouldn’t be able to live without, but all planning and precision was lost in favor of driving your blade into him with wild abandon, plunging your knife into anything you could reach and twisting – turning anything you touched to viscera. Tissue was torn to gory ribbons, muscle diced and shredded, his skin soon little more than a failing barrier between you and what you were trying so desperately to tear out of him. You bounced on his cock as you worked, ignoring the way it throbbed against the walls of your cunt as you dedicated yourself to your task. When your dagger had outlasted its usefulness, you dropped it and took to using your own wretched, unforgivable hands. You found the spines of his ribs easily, tore through them with only the slightest amount of strain. You only noticed Diavolo was moving when you started to push into his diaphragm, his arms straining against his restraints as he thrashed beneath you – trying to free himself, or knock you away, or do something that stopped you from getting what you wanted. From hurting him in a way he couldn’t get off on. From letting you ever return to the paradise you deserved, the paradise you were owed.

His teeth burrowed into your jugular. He wasn’t trying to mark you, anymore – he wanted to end you before you ended him, to survive longer than you planned to let him. It wasn’t enough, though. You swallowed down the pain, muttering prayers under your breath as you surged forward and taking hold of the pulsing muscle in his chest. You felt something hot and awful flood into your pussy – a bodily reflex, you figured, although you’d start to doubt that in the near-future – but ignored the filth flooding into your veins, forced yourself to focus on taking hold of his beating heart and tearing it free from its restraints, from its bondage. Cupped in your palms, you carried it out of your chest with all the love and all the care of a midwife bringing life into the world, and finally, finally, finally, Diavolo went limp underneath you, lips parted and form limp. You let out a sob of relief, dragging yourself away from his unmoving body and onto the cold, stone floor; your legs giving out seconds later and leaving you in a crumpled heap, as useless as you’d always been.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you brought Diavolo’s heart to your lips and swallowed it whole, its warmth lingering on your tongue for seconds. Then, you pulled your legs against your chest, buried your face in your knees, and started to cry.

You were allowed to dwell in your misery for one blissful, liberating second before that was brought to an end, too. “My love?”

You didn’t move. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It was just another ghost sent to haunt you, another punishment for letting yourself think of anything but your orders, your responsibilities. When you heard metal snap, when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you only curled deeper into yourself, digging your nails into your thighs as something bloody and blasphemous settled beside you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to cry.” You wished you still had your wings, something to curl around yourself. You wished you could feel the sunlight again. “Was I not convincing enough? We can try again, if you’d like.”

You wished you could be anywhere but here. “Get away from me.”

“Having one of your little episodes again?” He worked a hand under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back. His chest was still covered in blood, flecked with bits and pieces of himself, but you couldn’t make out a trace of the gaping wound you must have inflected onto him, couldn’t seem to put what you were looking at together with what you’d just done. It was a visible untruth your mind just couldn’t seem to make sense of, an unignorable mistake in the fabric of reality that no amount of staring could correct. Diavolo sighed wistfully, the noise heavy with tender affection, and his hands fell to your waist, hauling you onto his lap as he’d done so many times before.

You could still taste the bitter meat of his heart on your tongue, still feel the mass of muscle and sinew lodged in your throat, and yet, as your head settled against his chest, you were met with that tell-tale beating, as strong and as steady as it’d ever been. As if you hadn’t accomplished anything. As if you hadn’t done anything at all. “You’re a handful,” he said, pressing a shallow kiss into your temple. “But you’re mine.”

He dipped lower, moved to kiss you, but you weren’t willing to wait as long as it would’ve taken him to reach you. With jerky, erratic movements, you shifted onto your knees, strung your arms around his neck, forced your mouth against his before he could do the same to you. There was a startled sound, a tightened hold on your waist, but Diavolo melted into your sudden affection quickly enough. Your skin crawled, your thoughts spiraling, but you didn’t care. You weren’t sure you’d ever care about anything again.

You’d already been forced out of paradise, tainted beyond redemption and stripped of any hope of returning to the light.

The least you deserved was to enjoy your eternity in the darkness.

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