shapard

[shapard]

Seen the request and yes I will also plan on finishing them 🧚‍♀️🫶

I'm thinking about opening up my content a bit.

As much as I love Hazbin and Helluva, with the almost nonexistent content of the series, I find myself wavering in motivation.

I've found myself obsessed with LaDS and DMC and I've already written some chapters. (Also other fanbases, like those for JJK or lycanthropy/werewolves and vampires.)

Also, my finals are finally over (almost a week ago, but I needed some recovery time and wanted to prepare for the following content).

What do you think about this?

Please vote!

Lots of love Shapard<333

[shapard]

I'm thinking about opening up my content a bit.

As much as I love Hazbin and Helluva, with the almost nonexistent content of the series, I find myself wavering in motivation.

I've found myself obsessed with LaDS and DMC and I've already written some chapters. (Also other fanbases, like those for JJK or lycanthropy/werewolves and vampires.)

Also, my finals are finally over (almost a week ago, but I needed some recovery time and wanted to prepare for the following content).

What do you think about this?

Please vote!

Lots of love Shapard<333

[shapard]

Fr

Damn Vergil Sparda… What have you done to me?

[shapard]

When tumblr refreshes itself and the fic I was reading fucking disappears forever 💔

I’ve been searching for a smau I was reading for three days 😔

[shapard]

I want to thank y'all for the amazing feedback and following of you guys🙏. Im really thankful. I've never expected a random hobby of mine to have (even if it's just small) Impact for the communities.

I am on a break right now because of personal issues. Also, I am focused right now on my music.

So thank you smmm for the support.

I'll be back soon giving y'all the food you've been starving for.

🩷✨️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

[shapard]

Guys, how do I find new friends?

[shapard]

Sweet Delusion🌙

Lucifer x fem!reader

Cry Baby

Been a while since I've last posted😭

tw: homeless, mental breakdown

Your footsteps pounded against the pavement, heavy with desperation and exhaustion. 

Disappointment clogged your throat like a stone, and you could feel it growing sharper with every breath. Confusion swirled in your mind, entwined with anger and fear. Your head throbbed under the weight of too much—too much information, too much betrayal, too much loss. Your soul was tethered to his, an unwanted bond forged against your will.

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

You had wanted peace. An ending. Oblivion. And yet, Lucifer had dragged you back. The one thing you had left—a final, defiant act of choosing your own death—was stolen. Now you were bound to him, and you hated it. Hated him. Hated everything. The pressure built inside you, choking, burning. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to escape.

So you ran.

Your legs carried you with reckless speed, every step tearing you further away from the vortex of confusion and anguish in your chest. You didn’t even realize where you were heading until the building loomed before you—the one you had promised yourself you’d never return to. The stench hit you as you pushed open the door: sweat, sex, desperation. It stung your nostrils, made your stomach churn. But you pressed on, climbing stairs you’d once called familiar, searching for the room you thought of as yours.

When you arrived, the sight punched you in the gut.

Empty.

The room was barren except for boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner. Your heart dropped, panic flaring. You stumbled forward, ripping into the packages with trembling hands, the sharp edges of the thick paper slicing into your skin. Blood welled from the cuts, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. Where were your things? Your clothes? Your keepsakes?

“Look who we’ve got here.”

The voice stopped you cold, freezing your blood.

Vox.

He stood in the doorway, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. His blue, crackling claws flickered with electric menace as he leaned casually against the frame.

“Where are my things, Vox?” you demanded, voice raw, throat tight.

His laughter was low and mocking, like nails dragged across your nerves. “Gone, Kitty. You’ve been gone too long. Your contract with Valentino broke the moment you disappeared. Your stuff? Moved to some fancy hotel by your dearest lover.”

Your stomach turned. “He’s not my lover,” you spat through gritted teeth.

Vox’s smirk deepened as he raised a brow. “Sure he’s not. Tell that to the man who threatened us and stripped you clean of everything you had here. He’s the reason your stuff’s gone. You’re not needed here anymore.”

The words cut deeper than the paper ever could. You clenched your fists, swallowing back the lump of despair clawing its way up. “I can’t go back to him, Vox,” you whispered, voice hoarse, fragile. “Please. Let me work for you again. Or for Valentino.”

You hated the way you sounded—pathetic, begging. But there was nowhere else to go. Nothing else to cling to. Lucifer’s betrayal was still fresh, raw, festering. You couldn’t face him. Not now.

Vox chuckled again, dark and vicious. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I’m not about to let you ruin what I’ve built. You’re like a walking disaster, Kitty. Even if you don’t think you’re tied to Lucifer anymore, his actions tell a different story. Hate him or love him, it doesn’t matter. He owns you, and that makes you a liability. I’m not risking my empire for your mistakes.”

His words were a hammer blow to your chest. You staggered, trying to steady yourself. “I can bring money,” you blurted, desperation sharpening your voice.

But Vox only laughed harder. “Money? Honey, I’ve got plenty. Sure, losing you left a dent in the profits for a while, but we’ve patched that up. I’m not risking a bigger hole because of your... despair.”

A tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it, hot and humiliating. You wanted to scream at him, to claw at that mocking grin on his face, but the fight was draining out of you. He was right. Everything you touched crumbled. Control, safety, hope—it all slipped through your fingers like water.

It always did.

Lucifer had taken everything. Valentino had been cruel, yes, but at least you’d had something there—some semblance of power, of control. Now even that was gone. And you hated it. You hated all of it.

“You should leave,” Vox said, his tone softening only slightly. “Before someone gets really angry.”

His grin returned, sharp as a blade, and it took everything in you not to scream. You wanted to hit him, to claw your way back into relevance, but you couldn’t move. You were frozen, powerless.

The words echoed in your head as if someone else had whispered them: You’re loved.

A wave of confusion washed over you, breaking through the haze of despair. Who said that? The voice was faint, but the memory of it lingered, tantalizing and cruel.

You shook your head, trying to clear it. The room swayed around you.

“Leave,” Vox repeated, this time more firmly. “You don’t belong here anymore.”

And you believed him.

______

Lucifer gripped his hair tightly, his claws scraping against his scalp as frustration surged through him. It had been two weeks—two agonizing weeks—since you left, and the void of your absence gnawed at his sanity. Sharing a soul was harder than he had imagined. The connection between you burned constantly in his chest, a relentless reminder of what he had done.

Dark circles shadowed his crimson eyes, deeper and more pronounced than usual. He tried to focus on his daughter’s chatter about the hotel, her voice bright and animated, but her words drifted past him like smoke. He couldn’t listen. Not really. How could he, when every emotion you felt crashed over him like waves, unrelenting and raw?

He felt the sting of your tears, the ache of your hurt, the weight of your despair. It was unbearable, suffocating. He had fought with everything he had to bring you back. He’d torn through barriers, bent the universe itself, to ensure you wouldn’t leave him forever.

And yet, you hated him for it.

He understood. If he were you, he would hate himself too. Forcing you to stay, tethering you against your will—it was a violation. He knew it was wrong. Your past was a labyrinth of pain and choices stolen from you, and he had only added to that burden.

You deserved the freedom to choose your own future.

But knowing that didn’t make it easier. Being apart from you—the other half of his soul—was an agony he hadn’t anticipated. Even as a divine being, powerful and eternal, the separation was unraveling him. If it was this tormenting for him, he didn’t dare imagine how it felt for you.

And yet, despite the weight of his guilt, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. His mind was consumed by you: the memory of your voice, the fire in your eyes, the love you once had for him—now buried beneath layers of betrayal and anger.

The love he still had for you.

It clawed at him, an unrelenting truth he couldn’t suppress. The hatred you felt for him burned like acid, but it couldn’t extinguish the depth of his feelings. Knowing that he was the cause of your suffering, that he had fractured what fragile trust you had in him, only made the pain sharper.

Lucifer stood abruptly, his movements jerky, as if some unseen force had pulled him to his feet. The silence of his chambers pressed down on him, amplifying the restless storm within. He paced back and forth, each step heavier than the last, until finally, he stopped in front of a mirror.

The figure staring back at him was almost unrecognizable. His once-pristine appearance was disheveled, his hair a wild mess, his crimson eyes hollow and bloodshot. His jaw clenched as he leaned closer to his reflection, his hands bracing against the edges of the ornate frame.

“Why can’t I let you go?” he whispered, his voice low and trembling.

For a moment, the mirror reflected not just his image but a flicker of you. The memory of you laughing—warm, radiant, alive—flashed in the glass. His heart clenched painfully. He couldn’t tell if it was the bond playing tricks on his mind or if it was his guilt manifesting in cruel ways, but it didn’t matter.

“I brought you back because I needed you,” he admitted, the words tearing from his throat. His voice cracked under the weight of the confession. “Not because it was right, not because I was saving you—but because I couldn’t live without you.”

His claws dug into the edges of the mirror, tiny cracks forming in the glass.

“I thought it was love,” he continued, his voice a mixture of bitterness and sorrow. “But love isn’t supposed to hurt like this. It’s not supposed to destroy the person you claim to care for.”

His breath hitched, and for the first time in centuries, tears welled in his eyes. They shimmered against his lashes before sliding down his sharp cheekbones.

“I love you,” he whispered finally, his voice breaking. The weight of those three words crushed him, stripping away the last of his defenses. “I love you, and I ruined you.”

The admission was both a release and a wound, raw and gaping. He sagged against the mirror, his forehead pressing against the cracked surface. The bond pulsed faintly, and he could feel it—your lingering pain, your despair. It mirrored his own, and yet it was so much worse, because he had caused it.

He closed his eyes, his chest heaving with the weight of it all.

“I’ll fix this,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure if the words were for himself or for you. “Even if you hate me forever. Even if it costs me everything.”

The tears came harder now, streaking his face as he sank to the floor, his hands clutching at his chest as if to hold himself together. For the first time in his eternal existence, Lucifer felt utterly powerless.

As you already noticed I'm taking a low key break for a couple of weeks. But I'll be back on posting regularly<3

💫

@ravensdecent36 @i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger @concentratedconcrete @ylovei @cimadreamer @ayanazoldyck @froggybich @ravensdecent36 @fangthesandwing @luna-naoffcial @emilyispookie @aro-ace-asshole

Taglist

[shapard]

What do you guys prefer in the books? The first-person point of view (I went to the cabin), the second-person point of view (You went to the cabin), or the third-person point of view (Y/n went to the cabin)?

I started to really get into books, and I genuinely am curious what you guys prefer.

[shapard]

WHERE IS THE PART THREE OF SATAN X SUCCUBUS!? WE'VE BEEN STARVING FOR A MONTH! WHERE IS THE FOOD!??? FOOOOOD!!!!!!

Tantrum

Satan x succubus!fem!reader

Sabotage

HERE IS IT!! TOOK ME A WHILE BUT HERE IS IT😭 So many requests for the third part and finally I deliver. I have a feeling this is going to end up in a Story🫡Not that I mind🤧

warning: breeding, yandere Satan, p in v, possessive, protective (?), angry satan, punishment, smut, hard smut, Satan is a warning himself ngl

Part 1 -> Part 2 -> Part 3

Everything felt unbearable, like the air itself was suffocating you. Staying in this place wasn’t just a punishment—it was a living nightmare, a perpetual torment. You looked into the mirror, the faint light casting sharp shadows over your reflection. The silky, elegant garment you wore—a gift from him—clung to your body, its beauty a mockery of your suffering. It hid the bruises, the marks, the evidence of his obsession. But nothing could conceal the newest scar on your thigh.

Your fingers hovered over it, trembling, before brushing against the raw, burning wound. The touch sent a jolt of pain up your spine, but it wasn’t just physical. You blinked rapidly, willing the tears to stay at bay. Healed by Satan, he said. But healing wasn’t what this was—this was ownership, branding, a constant reminder of what you had become.

Your eyes drifted to the window, its glass teasingly thin. Beyond it lay freedom. And death. Both felt synonymous, both equally inviting. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw yourself through it. Your wings twitched faintly at the thought, a reflex more than anything. But you were too afraid to use them, too scared of what he might do if you tried. The thought of his hands tearing them from your back made your stomach churn.

You tightened your grip on your thigh, nails digging into the scar until blood began to seep through. The metallic scent was nauseating, grounding you in the present—a reality you desperately wanted to escape. You wanted to rip this garment off, this sinful, taunting piece of beauty. It was another gift, a symbol of his twisted affections. You hated it. You hated him. And the worst part was that he dared to call this freedom. He dared to tell you this was what you’d always wanted.

The door burst open, and the sharp sound made you flinch, a strangled scream escaping your lips. Your body tensed, instinctively bracing for the worst. But instead, a giggle cut through the tension, light and almost mocking. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” came a cheerful voice.

Your head snapped toward the intruder, your heart racing. It was an Imp—a small creature with an irritatingly smug smile, one of Satan’s personal servants. Her bright eyes scanned you, her expression dripping with amusement. “So you’re the one,” she said, her voice lilting with curiosity. “You’re the obsession he won’t stop talking about.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at her words, but you stayed silent, glaring. Obsession. The word hung in the air like a foul stench. The Imp’s grin widened as if she found the entire situation amusing. “You’re lucky, you know,” she added with a conspiratorial wink, her tone almost envious.

Lucky. The word made your blood boil. You wanted to laugh in her face, to scream at her. Lucky? To be held captive? To be broken and pieced together like some grotesque art project? The thought was so absurd, it felt like a cruel joke. You clenched your fists, the pain in your thigh forgotten for a moment.

The Imp stepped forward, placing a black box tied with a golden ribbon on the desk. “A gift from him,” she chirped. “Something special.” She bowed, her movements quick and rehearsed, before scurrying out of the room like a thief. You didn’t even get the chance to ask her name. Not that it mattered.

“Maybe next time,” you muttered bitterly, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and despair. Next time. The very thought made your stomach turn. The idea of another encounter, another day in this hell, was unbearable.

Your gaze fell on the box, its dark surface gleaming ominously in the dim light. The ribbon glowed faintly, a deep crimson like freshly spilled blood, its vibrant contrast against the pitch-black wrapping unnerving. You hesitated, your hands hovering over it. Do you open it? Do you dare?

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you stared at the box. There was nothing normal about Satan, nothing predictable. This wasn’t just a present—it was a message, a reminder of your place here. You ran your fingers over the ribbon, its silky texture feeling almost alive under your touch.

Your mind wandered, unbidden, to the man you once thought he was—a charming, broken soul with a darkness you naively thought you could fix. You had been so wrong. He wasn’t a man. He was a monster, a demon in every sense of the word. And you? You weren’t a person anymore. You were his canvas, his possession, his obsession.

The thought made your chest tighten, a suffocating weight pressing down on you. Your fingers trembled as they moved to the bow. You didn’t want to open it, didn’t want to see whatever twisted token of affection lay inside. But a part of you—the part that had been broken down and reshaped by fear—knew you had no choice.

The silence in the room was deafening as you pulled at the ribbon, the bow unraveling in your hands. Whatever lay inside, you knew it wouldn’t be freedom. It never was.

As the packaging revealed its secret, a cold chill ran down your spine. The contents glimmered like forbidden treasures—heels, black as the void, with blood-red rubies embedded like shards of sin. They seemed to hum, faintly vibrating with an energy you couldn’t name, as if alive. Your instincts screamed to hurl them far, far away, but something deeper, darker, rooted you in place. Your heart thudded erratically, the pulse in your neck quickening. The heels were mesmerizing, hauntingly beautiful, a temptation wrapped in menace.

Your breath caught when a folded paper, as crimson as fresh-spilled blood, drifted from the box and landed atop the open ribbon like a silent omen. With trembling fingers, you lifted it and unfolded the note.

Come visit me in my office.

With love, Satan

The words burned themselves into your mind. The script was elegant, yet dripping with an unseen malice, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from the ink. You shoved the heels back into the package with a shudder and kicked it under the bed, as if burying a corpse. But even then, you felt their presence—a weight in the shadows, watching, waiting.

With a heavy sigh, you opened the door and stepped into the night. The air was suffocating, thick like smoke, and the dim path of stones beneath your feet seemed endless, each step echoing in the oppressive silence. Your throat tightened as dread coiled around your chest, squeezing.

When you reached the door, it creaked open on its own, revealing a towering figure framed in the dim light of the room beyond. Him.

Satan stood there, his horns curving ominously upward, casting jagged shadows along the walls. He huffed, twin streams of steam spiraling from his nostrils, and his eyes—deep, crimson pits, fixed on you. For a brief moment, they softened, a flicker of something human that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. His lips curled into a sneer, revealing sharp, glinting teeth.

“Where’s the gift I sent you?” His voice was a low growl, dark and dangerous, a blade dragging against your skin.

You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “I… I didn’t want to wear it today.”

His expression darkened instantly, the flickering candlelight catching the glint of his sharpened horns. He rose to his full height, his wings unfurling with a menacing rustle, casting the room into deeper shadow.

“Didn’t want to?” he growled, the sound reverberating like distant thunder. “You still don’t understand obedience, do you?”

You flinched as he stalked toward you, each step deliberate, deadly. His presence swallowed the room, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and ash.

“I—” you began, but a guttural snarl cut you off, silencing you mid-breath.

“Don’t apologize,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to slice. “A Queen does not grovel.”

Before you could react, his hand gripped your arm, pulling you forward with a force that made your knees buckle. His wings stretched wider, darkening the room into near-total blackness.

“You’re coming with me,” he hissed, his voice dripping with command. In one swift motion, he slung you over his shoulder like prey, his clawed hand digging into your side. The air rushed from your lungs, leaving you gasping, as his wings unfurled fully.

The last thing you saw before the darkness enveloped you was the smirk on his face - dangerous, triumphant, and full of promises you weren’t sure you wanted to keep.

As you hung helplessly over his shoulder, your mind raced, your senses heightened. You could only catch glimpses of the hallway as he strode through it, each step deliberate, each moment charged with a tension that sent your pulse hammering. Before you could gather yourself, he kicked open the door to his chamber and tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. The cool silk sheets met your back, but the heat radiating from him burned hotter.

"It seems I’ve been far too lenient with you, my love," he growled, his voice thick with unspoken promise.

You sucked in a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling as his eyes locked onto you, piercing and relentless. He began to shed his attire, piece by piece, and the sight left you breathless. The dim light of the chamber cast sharp shadows over his chiseled form, accentuating every ridge of his muscles, the hard planes of his chest, and the tantalizing line of his V that disappeared beneath his waistband.

You couldn’t help it—your eyes trailed over him, lingering where they shouldn’t. Heat pooled in your stomach, your throat tightening as your gaze betrayed you.

A deep chuckle rumbled from him, low and sinful, snapping you back to reality. “You can’t hide it,” he teased, his head tilting slightly as his smirk deepened. “You love this body, don’t you?” His voice dropped, dipping into a growl that sent shivers down your spine and an ache lower.

Your lips parted, but no words came out—only the sound of your uneven breathing. He closed the space between you in two strides, looming over you as his hands came down on either side of your head, caging you in. The heat of his skin was unbearable, intoxicating, and his scent—smoke, leather, and something darkly sweet—wrapped around you, suffocating in the best way.

“You can lie to yourself,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above yours, “but your body tells me everything.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, demanding, possessive, and utterly consuming. The kiss was fire—his mouth claimed yours like it was his right, his tongue sweeping past your lips with no hesitation. You gasped into him, your hands instinctively reaching up to grasp at his shoulders, your nails digging into the unyielding muscle.

He growled against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his sharp teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you whimper. His hands moved, one tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your neck and expose your throat to him.

“You taste better than I remember,” he purred, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, where he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that sent electric shocks coursing through you.

Your body betrayed you completely, melting under his touch as he explored, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. The hard lines of his body pressed against your softness, and the friction made you gasp, your nails raking down his back.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he rasped against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “The fire. The need.”

You couldn’t speak—your voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan as he continued his assault on your senses. His lips, his hands, his heat—they overwhelmed you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His crimson eyes burned with something primal, something possessive. “And tonight, I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

His lips were on yours again, his hands roaming, and the world outside his chamber disappeared. There was only him—his heat, his touch, his overwhelming presence. And you couldn’t fight it anymore. You didn’t want to.

You couldn’t fight it anymore. You didn’t want to. The battle against his dominance had long since been lost, melted away under the heat of his touch, the fire in his eyes.

Satan crushed his lips against yours, an intoxicating mix of raw hunger and desperate possession. When he pulled away, his golden eyes were ablaze, pupils dilated, his breath ragged with desire. His grip on your waist was bruising, his claws barely holding back from tearing into your flesh. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, voice husky, reverent yet dangerous. “Prettier than anything I’ve ever seen. Prettier than anything I will ever see.”

Before you could even register his words, he crashed his lips onto yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring every second of it, tasting you like you were the finest delicacy meant only for him. His hands roamed, sliding down your body as he peeled away your clothes with agonizing patience. But his restraint didn’t last long. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, patience shattering, as his claws sliced away the last remnants of fabric. He wanted you bare, vulnerable—only for him.

“You’re everything I need.” His breath fanned hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “Everything I will ever need.” His lips pressed against your pulse, lingering before his sharp teeth grazed the sensitive skin. His grip tightened. “I’ll never let you go.”

You winced at the weight of his words, knowing they weren’t mere whispers of passion. Satan wasn’t one to let go of what belonged to him. You knew—oh, you knew—he’d keep you by his side, whether you wanted it or not. The idea both thrilled and terrified you.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as his claw trailed between your folds, gathering the slickness that dripped down your thighs. His breathing was heavy, ragged, as if he was barely keeping himself from devouring you whole. “So wet for me…” His voice was drenched in possessiveness, dark and heavy, as though your desire for him was the ultimate proof of his claim over you.

Before you could even process the moment, he thrust into you with no hesitation, no mercy. Your walls stretched around him, a scream-like moan escaping your lips as he buried himself deep inside you. He groaned, the sound primal, needy, and utterly possessive. His grip on your hips was unforgiving, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pounded into you relentlessly.

“Fuck.” His voice was a low snarl, his rhythm punishing yet intoxicating. “You’re so addictive… I can’t stop… I won’t stop.”

His thrusts grew more erratic, more desperate, like a beast driven mad with need. His claws traced over your stomach, your breasts, before wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure to remind you who you belonged to. You felt him everywhere—inside, outside, consuming you, branding you with his touch, his scent, his essence. The air was thick with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your broken moans, and his guttural growls of possession.

He let out a deep, animalistic roar as he came, slamming his hips against yours, grinding into you as he filled you up. His body trembled against yours, yet even as he emptied himself inside you, his grip never loosened. You sighed, trying to push yourself away, only to be yanked back into his arms. Your heart pounded.

Confused, you looked up at him. “Wha—”

His smirk was dangerous, his golden eyes gleaming with something dark, something insatiable. “You think we’re done?” His voice was smooth, teasing, yet there was no mistaking the warning laced beneath his words.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was moving again, thrusting back into you, ignoring your whimper of overstimulation. “I told you, my love,” he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with dark devotion. “I will never let you go.”

Hours passed, your body trembling, sore, yet he showed no sign of stopping. It had to be the tenth round, and Satan was still as hard, as relentless, as he was the first time he took you. His cock twitched inside you, filling you over and over again, stretching you to your limits. His seed dripped down your thighs, marking you, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

His growls were feral, his movements rough, desperate—like a beast in heat, like a demon obsessed. His hands roamed every inch of you, leaving scratches, bruises, evidence of his ownership. And then, without warning, he sank his fangs into your shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw blood. You gasped, back arching, pleasure and pain intertwining so exquisitely that your vision blurred.

Satan licked the wound, smirking at the sight of his mark on your skin. His fingers traced over the brand he had given you before, a symbol of his eternal claim. “Now everyone will know…” he murmured, voice soft yet laced with something possessive, something unbreakable. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“You are mine.”

____

You were exhausted. You had passed out in the middle of the act. Your body felt heavy, limbs aching in a way that was both satisfying and overwhelming. When your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself lying in a bed, the scent of fresh linens surrounding you. The bedding was new, crisp, and clean, replacing what had surely been ruined. Satan must have taken care of you. A small mercy.

You shifted slightly, only to immediately regret it. Your muscles screamed in protest, soreness pulsing through every inch of you. A soft groan escaped your lips. Despite the lingering ache, you were clean—not a trace of the mess from before. He had bathed you, dressed you, and tucked you into bed with surprising tenderness.

Your gaze flickered toward the calendar on the wall, and your heart nearly stopped. Your eyes widened in shock. Three days. Had you been asleep for three days? Or worse—had you been at it for three days straight? The thought made your stomach twist.

Determined to move, you pushed yourself up, only to be stopped by a sudden, frantic voice.

“No! My lady, please don’t move too much!” The soft yet firm tone came from the maid standing at the doorway. She rushed to your side, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to ease you back down. “Your muscles are still very sore. You need to rest for at least two more days.”

A deep blush crept onto your cheeks. The implications of her words made you want to disappear into the sheets. You nodded meekly, and she smiled, setting down a tray on the nightstand. “If you’re tired, please rest,” she said before exiting the room, her footsteps fading into silence.

You let out a shaky breath, shifting your gaze to the nightstand. Beside your breakfast, a small pill rested on a neatly folded note.

‘For the soreness.’

You swallowed hard, picking up the medicine and popping it into your mouth before slowly eating your food. Warm, filling, comforting. A stark contrast to the brutal intensity you had endured.

As you lay back against the pillows, exhaustion creeping in once more, you realized something—

Satan had taken care of you in his own way. Even in his obsession, his need to possess you, he had ensured you were safe, comfortable, and cared for.

And somehow, that terrified you more than anything.

______

You remember that day very clearly. After eating your breakfast and lying down to rest, you received a message—Satan had left on a trip to the other rings. He would be gone for weeks.

Your head spun, nausea rising. You barely made it to the bathroom before you collapsed against the toilet, heaving violently.

Praying you were just sick.

Praying you weren’t… pregnant.

You couldn’t be.

You weren’t allowed to be—not with his.

Panic gripped your chest as you sat there, clutching your stomach, heart hammering in your ribcage. The room spun around you, but nothing felt real anymore. If this was true… if you really were carrying his child…

What would happen when he found out?

I apologize for updating so late. I'm going through a difficult friendship breakup. I was in a very toxic friendship and finally ended it. You can imagine how hard it is right now, but it also gives me a lot of motivation for other things. I don't know if I'll post regularly, but I hope that by early March, I'll be able to post at least once a week. Thank you for the Love and Support pookies<3 sending out love💫

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Part 3 to your Tantrum piece?? I love your writing so much!

Thank you so much!!! Part 3 is up on the way and is going to drop in 4 hours! So just wait<3

And it's getting freaky-

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Pt.3 of The Satan thingy story plz! :D

🤧Tomorrow *cough*

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A sketch from Satan for my pookies🎀

(Was too bored in class)

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Just wanted to say your Satan stories bring me so much joy, you write him so well!!

THANK YOUUUU!🩷🎀 Really makes me happy to read this💫

Satan, for me, is just a person who is very aggressive and can be controlling, but is actually a cute person inside.

If you're not on his bad side, though.

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I Hate snow

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I have a story in my drafts but I dont know from where it came from😭✋️

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I was wondering if I could request something for Satan x reader? The reader is one of Stolas' best friends, and it's after the trial. She's been distant from Satan for a few days after the trial, then when he's not home, she just packs a suitcase and teleports out of Satan's home. He's obviously pissed and maybe confused.

Needed Me

Satan x Reader

Tw: This somehow turned a bit yonder at the end, Violence, Arguing, Angry Satan

back with a banger Ig!! This was such an amazing Idea thank you for the ask!!!! Enjoy💫

You watched it all unfold live on TV, your pulse pounding in your ears as you clutched your phone so tightly it felt like it might shatter. But oh, how you wished it wasn’t your phone in your grip—how you wished it was the neck of your oh-so-wonderful boyfriend, Satan. No wonder he didn’t want you at the trial. Satan, who usually parades you around like a trophy, basking in your presence as he flexes his power in that twisted, charming way you sometimes find disgustingly endearing.

But not today. Today, his absence of invitation made sense. And when you turned on the trial, the reason struck like a slap to your face. There, in the defendant’s dock, stood not just anyone but Blitzo—your best friend’s crush, their plaything, their goddamned obsession.

The shock left you breathless. Your chest tightened, your heartbeat erratic, as the scene on the screen blurred in and out of focus. And then, there he was—Stolas, trembling under the weight of judgments axe. Your anger toward Satan flared hot, searing your throat as you screamed at the unfairness of it all. He’d deliberately kept you away. Satan. That smug, manipulative bastard.

The trial was moving too fast, the words of the prosecution landing like sledgehammers. A death penalty. For crimes so heinous they barely sounded real. But the worst part? Some of the charges were fabricated—lies woven to condemn him. And Satan, your darling, devious boyfriend, didn’t even want to hear this Blitzo out.

The way Stolas’s powers and possessions were mercilessly torn from him—every ounce of his status, his dignity, ripped away. Even his daughter, stolen from him for a century, banished to a fate he couldn’t prevent. And all of this, simply because he dared to protect that imp, Blitzo.

How could he? How could he do this, knowing what Stolas meant to you? Yes, Stolas had made mistakes—terrible ones—but he was still your friend, your best friend. The memory of Satan’s silence in the face of these accusations only stoked your fury. And when Stolas’s powers were stripped from him, leaving him vulnerable and broken, you knew he needed you more than ever.

But the screen went black. And with it, your resolve turned cold and hard. The overwhelming tide of emotions—anger, betrayal, despair—threatened to consume you, and you needed an outlet. The kitchen called, its promise of mindless distraction your only escape as you awaited the return of your beloved Satan.

Your hands shook as you reached for something, anything, to dull the edge of your fury. But deep down, you knew nothing would temper the storm inside until you confronted him. Until you demanded answers. Until you made him feel the full force of your rage.

Hours passed before you heard the heavy creak of the kitchen door opening. There he was—your so-called man, Satan—walking in with that smug, self-assured grin plastered on his face. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, his arms reaching out for your waist in an attempt to pull you close. But you sidestepped him, leaving his hands to grasp at empty air.

He blinked, momentarily thrown off, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Bae?” he asked, confusion and amusement mingling in his tone. He tried again, stepping closer, but you dodged once more, the deliberate rejection unmistakable.

“C’mon, babe,” he sighed, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. “It’s been an exhausting day. Don’t play games with me right now.” His third attempt met the same cold evasion.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, his voice soft but with an undeniable edge of irritation.

“You know exactly what’s wrong,” you growled, your voice sharp enough to cut glass. You turned toward the door, heading for the exit, but Satan was hot on your heels.

“No, I don’t,” he snapped, his patience slipping. “Just tell me!”

You spun around, your fury igniting like a wildfire. “I saw it, Satan,” you hissed, the venom in your tone palpable.

His smirk faltered, replaced by a wince as you used his formal name. “What…?” His eyes widened as realization dawned. “Oh,” he muttered, raising his hands defensively. “Honey, listen, I apologize, but I had to—”

“You had to?” you snarled, your eyes blazing as you stepped closer. “You had to believe the lies that stupid Elsa Goita spewed? Embarrassing, Satan! Absolutely pathetic. And you—” your voice cracked, “you know damn well what Stolas means to me!”

Satan’s own frustration boiled over, and his voice dropped into a dangerous growl. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what he means to you? I spared him, Y/n. I gave him the hundred-year sentence instead of eternal banishment, and you want to stand there and act like I did nothing? I could’ve stripped him of his title permanently. But I didn’t—because of you!”

You let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. And all because some snow demon lied to your face. You fell for it, Satan. He made you his puppet, and you danced for him. How could you be so blind?”

In a flash, Satan was in front of you, his towering presence suffocating. His eyes burned like embers, and the heat of his breath on your skin made you tremble. “Crime is crime, Y/n,” he roared, his voice low but seething with barely restrained rage. “I can’t ignore the law just because you’re friends with him! Stop being so naive!”

The air felt charged, your chest heaving as you searched for the right words. Then you asked the question you’d been dreading. “What if it were me in that dock, Satan? Would you have spared me?”

His silence was deafening. A long, drawn-out pause stretched between you, his eyes darting away for just a second too long. But that second was enough.

“Wow,” you whispered, a hollow laugh escaping as you tried to choke back the tears threatening to spill. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“Y/n—” he began, his tone softening, but you held up a hand to stop him, your glare freezing him in place.

Without another word, you stormed out of the room, retreating to one of the guest quarters and slamming the door behind you.

Satan let out a long, weary sigh, running a clawed hand down his face. “She’ll be fine in the morning,” he muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

________

The next day crept in like a weight pressing on your chest. Satan was already in the dining hall, tapping impatient claws against the table as the minutes dragged into hours. Two hours, to be exact. His patience, already thin, was unraveling.

The moment he saw your maid enter the hall, his booming voice echoed off the marble walls. “You there!”

The maid flinched, nearly dropping the tray in her hands. “Y-Yes, my Lord?”

“Where’s Y/n?” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to slice through her nervous stammering.

“She’s in the guest room,” the maid whispered, her wide eyes avoiding his glare.

Satan raised an eyebrow. “Not hungry?” His voice softened with concern, though it only made the maid shrink further.

“She ate in the guest room, my Lord,” she replied quickly.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his concern quickly morphing into irritation. So, you were still ignoring him—for this?He stomped through the halls, his heavy footsteps rattling the air as he made his way to your temporary sanctuary.

Once at the door, he rapped against it with a force that made the wood groan. “Darling…” he called, his tone strained but still tender. No response. He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Sweetheart, open the door, or I’ll open it myself. Your choice.”

Moments later, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. But before he could get a word in, you brushed past him like he didn’t exist. His clawed hand shot out to stop you, but you were already gone, disappearing down the hall without so much as a glance.

He exhaled sharply, stepping into the room you’d occupied. Chaos greeted him—furniture askew, items scattered across the floor. His eyes lingered on the mess, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. A buzzing in his pocket snapped him out of his thoughts.

His phone. Missed calls. Emails. His assistant’s increasingly frantic messages demanding his presence at yet another meeting with the sins. Satan growled low in his throat, biting his lip as he turned to leave. The faster this is over, the faster I can deal with her.

The halls felt eerily quiet in his absence. That silence wrapped around you like a suffocating fog, amplifying the pounding in your chest. You knew this was your chance—your only chance.

Heart racing, you bolted toward the shared room. Every step felt heavier than the last, but you didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. Throwing open the door, you grabbed whatever you could carry—clothes, essentials, a few personal trinkets—and stuffed them into a bag. No second thoughts. No looking back.

By the time you reached the edge of the property, the weight of your decision began to settle in your chest, a dull ache mixing with the adrenaline. You crossed into the land of Lust, as far away from Wrath as you could manage on short notice.

Your phone was the next to go. You replaced it, changed your number, severing any remaining ties. It was drastic, maybe even reckless, but you couldn’t stay. Not after everything. You needed time, space, and maybe—just maybe—Satan needed to feel what it was like to lose you.

Your heart felt like it might break under the strain of your thoughts as you clutched a wad of cash in your hand. Booking a room in a cheap lover’s hotel—the only thing you could afford right now—felt like the lowest point you’d reached in a long time.

The room was exactly what you expected: dim lighting, peeling wallpaper, and walls so thin that the symphony of moans from the adjacent rooms was practically deafening. You cranked up the volume on your headphones, hoping to drown it all out, and collapsed onto the creaky bed.

Opening your bag, your eyes fell on a small photo tucked into a book—a picture of you and Stolas, both smiling in happier times. A pang of guilt and longing hit you hard. You couldn’t help but wonder: How is he holding up? Does he even have anyone left?

With a heavy sigh, you lay back, staring at the stained ceiling. The fight with Satan replayed in your mind on an endless loop, each word cutting deeper than the last. You’d meant it when you felt that you needed time, but the pain lingered. The betrayal, the disappointment, the silence that followed your question—it all lingered.

Your chest felt like it might burst under the weight of it all. For now, you just needed to close your eyes, to escape the noise—both external and internal. As your thoughts swirled into chaos, you pulled the thin, scratchy blanket over yourself, clinging to the faint hope that sleep might bring some semblance of peace.

________

Satan was furious—no, enraged. The kind of rage that seared through flesh and soul, unstoppable and all-consuming. Fire erupted from his mouth with every ragged breath, the inferno dancing across the room like a living beast. Flames licked at the walls, the ceiling, and the trembling bodies of the unlucky staff who couldn’t escape in time.

The first scream pierced the air, shrill and agonized, as the fire engulfed a maid near the door. Her skin bubbled and blistered, blackening as her body crumpled to the floor, flames hungrily devouring her. Another worker tried to flee, but Satan’s inferno had no mercy. It roared after them, swallowing their desperate cries. The acrid stench of burning flesh and hair filled the air, thick and choking.

Satan didn’t care. Not about the bodies collapsing in heaps of charred remains. Not about the assistant who had loyally served you, now writhing on the floor, their screams fading into a gurgling silence as the fire reduced them to ash.

None of it mattered.

You were gone.

He stood amidst the destruction, the heat of his own flames doing nothing to quench the ice-cold fury that burned inside him. His eyes, glowing embers of hatred, fixated on the empty space where your belongings once were. Your bag, your clothes, even the faint scent of you—gone. You hadn’t even left a note.

Everything around him was ablaze, but it wasn’t enough. His rage was volcanic, a molten tide that threatened to destroy everything in its path. The entire estate felt the wrath of their lord, the heat so intense it cracked stone and melted glass. Even those miles away felt the earth tremble beneath their feet and the blistering air that made it hard to breathe.

His claws dug into the scorched remains of your shared bedpost, splintering the wood to pieces as his chest heaved with fury. “You think you can leave me,” he growled, his voice low and guttural, reverberating like a death knell. “You think you can just walk away.”

The flames roared louder, echoing his rage, as he let out a guttural, primal scream that shook the very foundation of the halls. Sparks flew, embers rained down, and the air itself seemed to tremble under his fury.

Finally, he exhaled, his breath hot and toxic, like the hiss of a volcano before it erupts again. His glowing eyes narrowed, and a dark, predatory smile crept across his lips.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered, his voice a dangerous purr that promised nothing but destruction. “And when I do, I’ll bring you back. Even if I have to burn down every last thing you hold dear.”

The thought of you trembling, of your lips murmuring apologies, of your body back in his grasp—it was enough to temper his rage, to transform his fury into something far darker. A hunger. A need.

As the last of the staff’s screams faded into silence and the fire crackled softly in the aftermath of the carnage, Satan stood in the center of the devastation. His sharp claws dragged lazily across the stone wall, leaving scorch marks in their wake, as he imagined your face when you realized the mistake you’d made.

“Run all you like,” he murmured, his deep voice curling through the smoky air like a lover’s caress. “But you’ll come back to me. You’ll beg to come back to me.”

The room was still ablaze, but his smile—dark, wicked, and full of promise—was hotter than any fire.

And somewhere, miles away, as you tossed and turned in a restless sleep, a chill ran down your spine.

This is Intense, Idk how Y/n will survive this at this point.

💫

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You all really want part 3 of Trantrum😹😹

MY ASK IS FULL WITH IT 💀