Satan x F!MC - Collar/Submission
I’ve got an AO3 as Angelblaze
Fandom: Obey Me!
Warning: Coerced/RELUCTANT Con, Collaring/Possessive/Submissive themes, Yandere themes, jealousy
Words: About 1570
“No.”
You said firmly and shoved the glittery pink case back across the table as if it had insulted you.
Satan blinked long and hard. When he opened his eyes up at you, a cheshire grin had spread across his face. Your stomach clenched up at the very sight of it.
You wished you could say from fear.
“No.” Shakier than the last.
Satan cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”
Soft gold light fluttered over him and for a moment you could see how he was related to a literal fallen angel. Snakes have a more trustworthy smile.
You took a sharp breath through your teeth and focused your eyes on the ceiling. That was always a good tactic. Keeping your eyes away from him for as long as possible. “It’s demeaning.”
Satan laughed. You could feel his eyes roll.
“Demeaning?”
The word leaves his lips like the concept of dignity offended him. It didn’t — the concept of your dignity offended him.
“Yes.” You spat. You shut your eyes at once. Otherwise, yours would meet his and it would be all over — Satan had that power over you now. He’d been working it up for months and you’d foolishly played along. Thinking back it’d been so damnably sly how he slowly alienated you from the others without breaking a sweat.
Every time one of the brothers asked you for a moment of your time, there he was, a soft and reassuring presence that never made itself too wide or too wild. When the insanity of the house grew overwhelming, he was quick to remind you how rarely he started trouble. Quick to remind you that the blame lied on someone else’s shoulders. Quick to push you to chastise one of the other brothers until they looked at you, lost, crestfallen.
“Kitten.” He purred, sliding the box right back across the table to you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes drift down to the box, your stomach sinking as it sunk in how very, very thoroughly ruined you were that you were even considering it.
Satan abandoned his seat and moved around the table to you. His arms bordered each arm of your chair as you stared at that damnable pink box. Heated breath ghosted over your shoulder. If your curious eyes didn’t betray your words, the shudder that went through you did.
You felt a cold wind graze your spine and felt his silent command. Without a word you opened the box — inside was a pink collar, studded with silver and attached to a matching chain, long and thin like you’d keep a purse puppy on. And of course, an emerald right in front where a stud should be—Satan’s color.
A show of possession.
The blonde devil was now curling his fingers through your hair and humming a gentle tune. You shut the box silently. A horrible feeling rose in your gut. Not at what you’d been given, but at your lack of disgust. Anyone else would’ve slapped the box to the floor and called Satan a madman.
You groaned as your palms hit your face.
Damn this man.
“Isn’t it everything you’ve ever dreamt about?”
You power all of your loathing into the glare you send him. It withers and dies taking one look at that knowing smile. You both know you’re going to put it on. At least that. It’s just a matter of time and effort.
And luckily…or perhaps, unluckily for you, Satan is immortal and more than willing to try.
His hands curl around your shoulders and message sweetly, their warmth filling you with something that threatens to cloud your judgment even more.
“Tell me you don’t want it.”
“Please.” You said, groaning before collapsing face-first into the table. Wanton desire had been unintentionally laced into the word.
The little sigh that came from Satan that matched your voice in its raw, unabashed need made you clench your hips together.
Why did you have good grades? Why couldn’t you have had shame instead?
“Come on, babygirl. My little kitten. Or maybe, if you put it on you could be my…little fuckdoll?” Satan carefully watched your express flicker between a rainbow of delicious fleeting feelings.
Shock at the vulgarity, shame at how much you so obviously loved the idea, excitement at the prospect, fear of how it could all turn out.
He loved that. He needed more of that.
“Or maybe my precious filthy slut whose addicted to my dick, addicted to the fucking?”
He moaned and you felt something press against your side. Satan’s cock was hard against the front of his dress pants. A shiver traveled up your spine. You took a hiss in through the front of your teeth.
“I shouldn’t. This is wrong, this isn’t why I’m here.”
Why even say that? It wasn’t like you were convincing Satan and even if you convinced yourself, you’d still submit.
Satan clicked his tongue and one of his fingers pulled at the side of your lips. “You’re so damn focused on being good for Diavolo, good for Lucifer. Try being good for me for a change, won’t you? Don’t you want that? To be good for me so I’ll be good for you?”
Your mind spun at the thought of all that could entail.
“I wanna be good for you.” You whimpered, defeated.
Satan gestured to the box again. You sighed and took the collar into your hands. Logic said it didn’t, but you could swear the little leather piece burned your palms as you picked it up. With a quick lick of your lips—that Satan certainly took notice of—you clipped the piece around your neck.
It was soft against your skin. The weight of it wasn’t too much to bear but enough to force you to be present. You wouldn’t forget you were wearing it no matter what. The leather didn’t feel like it would turn sticky if it got…sweaty or wet.
Something nice and specially crafted, just for you.
Rare, to find something like that in the Devildom.
A sharp tug at the back of your neck slammed you back into the present. You looked up at Satan, who looked down at you with the self-satisfied smile of a snake wrapped around its latest prey.
“So, so pretty. Just for me.”
He pressed a tight-lipped kiss to your forehead. It felt freeing. You couldn’t get more pathetic than this could you?
Satan kept pressing tiny kisses to your temple as his free hand wondered your body. Deft fingers traveled from your shoulder to your breasts, where he squeezed hard enough to earn a pained mewl out of you. Satan stood ramrod straight, cock now painfully hard. Deceptive abrasiveness or not, how did the other brothers manage to keep their hands off of you?
His starving hands found you again. One traveled up your shirt and kept a firm grip on your breast. The other into your pants and under your underwear to
“Spread your legs for me, let me get at what’s fucking mine.” He growled in your ear. You hissed, the idea of telling him to fuck off being plucked out of your head the moment his finger managed to press against your clit. You spread your legs through grit teeth.
“Kitten, be good for me. Like we both know you want to.”
His whispers made you tense up. A distant part of your mind wished you could mute yourself, if only because that would mean you could deny him something. Kept some semblance of dignity.
You couldn’t. Your hips shook and your mouth kept forming sounds of his name as those deft fingers teased your already hard clit, circled it so tantalizingly slow. Your head rolled to the side and your eyes fluttered closed.
Satan licked his lips at the sight of it. Life with his brothers meant so little of anything got to truly belong to any one of them—and life with Lucifer meant having to give up anything fun or beautiful. The sight of you coming undone in front of him was something purely for him only for him to enjoy. He drank in the sound of you falling apart, the way your trembling thighs parted despite your charming, token resistance, how you whispered his name.
If he could, he would freeze time to keep it forever.
But then he’d miss out on the best part.
“Roll your hips against it, show me how you cum.”
Your hips stuttered against your will as he brought you tumbling over the edge. Your essence covered his hand as you came, hair sticking to your forehead, out of breath, whispering a mantra of his name.
Satan hissed and licked the half-translucent lines of your cum from his fingertips.
Any of his brothers would have killed to have done that, to taste you, to see you.
…He couldn’t let anyone else have this. The very idea of someone else having this—of having any of you-many his blood boil.
Satan stood up and smiled. “Kitten.”
You blinked through the first heavy wave of post-orgasmic bliss, only to be welcomed back to Devildom by that sinister smile once more.
“I’ll give you a minute to rest.” The frost in his voice betrays his face. “Enjoy it, it’ll be the last hint of rest you get for a while.”
