trixie

26 | this one is for posting thisrty thots

[jawsoffate]

trixie's masterlist

Hello and welcome! This is the space where you can find all of my one-shots. Below, you’ll see a list of my works featuring characters/people I write about. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! 💕

If there's anything on your mind, I'm open to ideas and requests!

Vessel | Sleep Token

୨୧ Diabolically Yours: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings. multi-part fic. Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV (finale)

II | Sleep Token

୨୧ Beating it raw: reader and ii have spicy time on a drum. smut

III | Sleep Token

୨୧ bound by desire (demon!iii): reader makes a pact with a masked demon and he becomes obsessed with her. smut ୨୧ streamer: iii is streaming and reader wants attention. smut

IV | Sleep Token

୨୧ i'll take you for a ride, i'll be your vixen: decorating the tree and wrapping presents has never been this fun before. smut ୨୧ video game nights: IV is playing video games and reader decides to have some fun. smut.

୨୧ make it better: reader's heat is upon her and she needs alpha!ivy. smut.

[renard-dartigue]

Yet again putting too much work into shitposting

[thenight-doesnot-belongtous]

I just spent more adult money on sleepy t merch. Arrest me if you must but I will, die on this hill.

[sleepiestoken]

Vessel getting Yanni into position for the Aqua Regia intro in Oakland

[jawsoffate]

A Token of Gratitude for Diabolically Yours

This has been a long ride, hasn’t it?

This story was meant to be a one-shot, then it became three chapters and then… twenty-five. Somewhere along the way, as I was writing, i felt that Vessel and Emma deserved more: more development, more space, a real world built around them. I fell so deeply in love with these characters that stopping at three chapters simply wasn’t possible.

And truly, I never expected so many people to enjoy this story the way you did.

Is it as fully developed as a book deserves to be? Hell no, and I hope that one day I’ll be able to do them proper justice. But this is their first, raw version: imperfect, unpolished, and deeply sincere and I’m incredibly proud of it.

Thank you for taking the time to read. Thank you for loving them. I will always be grateful for you.

And thank you to my friends, who have been with me since the very beginning of this journey.

Lastly: IV book was supposed to be next, and like Diabolically yours, is a sweet-love/cozy story, even tho he is a vampire i did not write it as a dark theme (is everything but that) and, if any of you decide to read it, i hope you like it. I'll only post it on ao3 this time.

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XXV (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: This is it. The final chapter. I hope you like it.

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1 @inconsistentpieceofmess

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV (finale)

Part XXV: Till Eternity Do Us Part

Dawn arrived timidly, almost reluctant to impose itself upon the typically overcast London sky. The sun could barely pierce through the thick layer of English clouds, but in the rented house where Emma was staying, the indoor light was an explosion of energy. The entire house seemed to have woken up all at once, as if someone had turned every possible human emotion to maximum volume.

Emma’s Chaos began punctually.

The first to freak out, predictably, was her mother. She flew down the stairs like an arrow, her sharp gaze sweeping the dining room where the dress was hanging.

"The dress can’t be near the chimney!" she shouted, her voice already thick with emotion. "And someone, for God’s sake, tell me where I put my waterproof mascara! You all know I’m going to cry!"

Isla, meanwhile, was kneeling before a suitcase that seemed to be swallowing the rug. From inside, she pulled an endless supply of beauty items: silver bobby pins, more invisible pins, hairsprays, high heels, and even a stray false eyelash.

"I swear I brought the thing to pin the veil, what happened?" she muttered, as if the suitcase were conspiring against her.

In the meantime, Emma’s father – a monument of forced tranquility – tried, in a corner, to decipher the secrets of the expensive mirrorless camera he had bought, insisting on leaving the professional photographer only with the official photos.

Emma was at the center of this hurricane, sitting calmly on the bed. A white robe wrapped around her body, contrasting with her casually pinned-up hair. She held a cup of tea that was growing cold, ignored by the heat of the room. Everyone was running, shouting, bumping into each other, and fighting the clock, but she... she just observed.

The peace within her was so profound it seemed like a foreign object amidst so much frenzy.

"This is way too suspicious," Isla commented, raising an eyebrow tweezer at her, forehead furrowed. "If I were in your place, I would’ve felt sick at least three times by now, thrown up a little, and called Vessel to see if he’d run away."

Emma laughed, resting her chin on her hand with a serene smile.

"When you’re certain of what you’re doing, when there isn't the slightest doubt... there’s no reason to panic," she replied, taking a sip of the cold tea.

Her mother heard from afar, dropped the newly found mascara, and began to sob loudly again.

"My baby girl is getting married!" she said, sniffing with dignity. "And to a man so... so... different! But handsome! My God, he’s so pale. Does he wear sunscreen? Emma said he doesn't burn, but I don't trust it..."

Emma laughed, finding humor in her mother’s practical, maternal concern.

The clock moved forward inexorably. The makeup and hair styling began. The dress, a light and shimmering fabric, waited patiently, hanging near the window. The breeze coming in made it flutter slightly, as if it were rehearsing for the waltz.

_______________________

On the other side of the garden, at the back of the property, Vessel faced his own chaos – one that was much quieter, denser, and equally terrifying.

He stood almost petrified before an antique mirror, his white shirt open and his bowtie hanging around his neck like a rope – a surreal threat to his self-control.

His friends, the band members, tried to help – or hinder, depending on the angle.

IV, the official best man, gave his friend a clumsy pat on the back.

"Breathe, man. Inhale. Exhale. You look like you’re about to be sacrificed at the altar. And to be honest, that tie looks like a trap meant to hang you."

"It’s almost that," Vessel murmured, his voice low, nearly a dissatisfied purr. He was trying to understand how a piece of silk could be so absurdly complicated to fold. "Humans invent unnecessary rituals, and we are forced to pretend they are vital."

"Loving isn't unnecessary. And that tie is the beginning of your new life, buddy," IV countered good-naturedly, though there was a disguised seriousness in his voice.

On the sofa, II, elegantly restrained, observed the scene with a discreet smile. He looked impeccable in his suit, the only one who seemed born to wear the clothes. He was too introverted to get in the middle of it, but his presence alone was supportive.

III rolled his eyes.

"Leave him be, IV. He has to feel the drama of the moment. Vessel, if you don't tie that thing in ten seconds, I’m calling Emma’s friend to help you, and I swear she’ll give you a lecture."

Vessel glared at IV with a look that, if it could, would have incinerated his friend.

While the groom was paralyzed by the tie, one of the bridesmaids and a close friend of Emma’s, named Harper, held the pocket square and tried to fit it perfectly into his jacket.

"Stand still, you creature. You move more than you should for someone who looks clinically dead."

"I am not dead," Vessel said with a slight grit of his teeth.

"Just very pale," she corrected with a smile. "And if you don't relax, this will be the first wedding photo: ‘The Pale Groom and the Killer Tie.’"

At that moment, the black cat that had been stalking them since early morning – no one had any idea who the owner was – leapt onto the bed again and lay majestically on top of Vessel’s impeccable jacket.

"This is divine sabotage," Vessel murmured, looking at the animal with pure suspicion.

"Relax, brother," IV said, picking up the cat with the familiarity of someone who deals with chaos. "If this animal sat on your clothes, it means luck."

"Or a threat," III commented finally, his voice deep and low.

Vessel finally managed to tame the knot of his tie and then put on the suit. And there he was: expressionless, frightened, absurdly beautiful. Nervous. Human, for the first time in a long while.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, something inside him loosened. It was recognition.

"It’s today, Vessel," II said, adjusting his collar with a firm touch and handing the black cat back to IV, who was smiling. "Emma is over there feeling the same thing. You two were born for this chaos together."

Vessel took a deep breath, the rigidity of his body yielding ever so slightly.

And as he fastened the tie and straightened the knot, a subtle detail occurred: the vintage lightbulb in the room flickered. Twice. A quick, soft glow. As if the electrical circuit were reacting to his emotional state.

He stopped. II, III, and IV also smelled the ozone and saw the flicker.

But no one commented.

The world was too big for small, inexplicable phenomena.

The garden was ready, waiting.

When the guests began to arrive, the place looked like something out of a movie: rows of white chairs covered in small lilac and white flowers. Japanese paper lanterns hung between the tree branches, flickering softly in the wind. Warm fairy lights outlined the entire length of the garden, creating an intimate stage. Soft music, an instrumental melody by the band The National, echoed discreetly through the space. Trays with gin drinks and sparkling wine passed from hand to hand.

The English sky threatened rain, but it didn't fall; it only provided a soft, filtered light. The grey clouds made everything more intimate, more charged with meaning.

Vessel entered first.

He walked with the posture he always carried: restrained, elegant, worthy of an altar. But as much as he tried to hide it, no one could miss the first phenomenon: the fairy lights flickered visibly when he crossed the central path.

It wasn't an electrical failure. It wasn't a coincidence. It was as if the venue itself recognized his dense energy. As if the subtle magic surrounding him breathed along with the environment.

He walked seriously, tensely, concentrated only on the path ahead. IV walked a step behind, with II and III on the flanks, feigning total tranquility. People whispered; some laughed softly, others sighed, but Vessel didn't seem to hear anything.

Until the music changed and a piano melody began to play.

And the world stopped.

Emma appeared at the start of the aisle.

And for Vessel, it was like seeing the sun for the first time.

The dress flowed like liquid light. Her delicate shoulders, her illuminated skin, her hair gathered in a loose bun with small white flowers, the bouquet almost too simple for her grandeur. Everything about her was alive, radiant, human, and so deeply her.

Vessel felt his chest tighten – a good, overwhelming ache. He didn't notice, but all the guests did: the hanging lanterns glowed brighter for a second, as if someone had turned an invisible dial in the room.

He forgot to breathe. He forgot everything.

Emma walked slowly, controlling a nervous laugh because his expression was so incredibly moved, so vulnerable, that she almost tripped. It was the kind of look one doesn't receive every day. The kind of look that promised centuries.

When she reached him, her father handed her over to Vessel. He reached out his hand as if he were afraid she would disappear if he didn't touch her at that very moment.

The celebrant didn't even need to ask for silence. The entire garden held its breath, mesmerized by the sudden stillness of the bride and groom.

The vows came, sincere and laden with meaning.

Emma began, her voice slightly thick with emotion but steady:

"Vessel... I always wondered what it would be like to love someone for the rest of my life. But you showed me that life isn't enough. That I want you for all of it, and for everything that comes after. I want your complaints, your irony, your silences, your chaos. I want to build a home with you, not of walls, but of routine, of daily choices, of laughter, of intertwined hands. I want to choose you always. Today and every day after today."

Vessel swallowed hard.

The lights around them flickered once more, a warm glow. Someone let out an emotional "oh my God" in the background.

Emma concluded:

"I love you. And I want to keep loving you until the universe gets too old to keep up with us."

When it was his turn, Vessel had to stop, take a deep breath, and find his voice. He seemed to have to move mountains just to speak.

"Emma..." he began, his voice raspy, nearly broken by raw emotion. "Before you, I knew many things. Old things, deep things, endless things. But I didn't know what it was... to be seen. I didn't know what it was to be truly loved. I didn't know that someone like you could look at me and think I was worth it. I was never easy. I was never simple. But you... you made me possible. You made me... human, in a way that no magic, no matter how strong, ever could."

Emma’s mother began to cry recklessly. Her father, hiding it, did the same.

"I promise," he continued, looking her in the eyes, the world outside unimportant, "to love you for everything you are. And to accompany you through everything that comes. Whether it be one life, two, or a million of them. I am here. And I will stay here. Always."

When they finished...

They kissed.

And in that second, all the lanterns above them lit up at once, as if a golden lightning bolt had struck the garden, glowing warm and strong.

Guests looked up, surprised and marveled.

Vessel and Emma laughed against the kiss, the sound muffled, because even the universe, or the electricity, or the discreet magic that united them, seemed to celebrate.

______________________________

The party began shortly after, and it was exactly as Vessel feared and as Emma dreamed: chaotic, noisy, vibrant, and beautiful.

There was music everywhere – first the DJ, then a band belonging to an acquaintance of IV, called Fourth, took the stage with renewed energy.

Emma danced with her mother. She danced with her friends. She danced alone. And she danced with Vessel, who moved with the rigidity of a soldier trying to learn choreography, but she held him so tight, so real, that he forgot to be nervous.

More than once, when she laughed out loud, small lights around them flickered in a suspicious synchrony.

IV made jokes on the microphone. Emma’s father took incredibly blurry photos. An aunt hugged Vessel too tightly and whispered in his ear:

"You take good care of her or I’ll hunt you down."

He responded with a bow worthy of a nobleman.

"My God, stop scaring him!" Emma shouted, laughing, pulling him away.

At night, paper lanterns floated over the garden, the music continued, and Emma rested her head on his shoulder as they watched it all – a bubble of silence in the middle of the noise.

"Are you enjoying it?" she asked, her voice soft.

"It’s noisy, chaotic, full of human emotions I can barely process..." he said seriously.

Emma smiled. "And?"

Vessel turned his face, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"And it’s perfect. It’s our chaos."

She gave him a light, lingering kiss on the lips. He held her waist more firmly, as if he still couldn't believe he could.

Later, when the lights dimmed and the wind grew colder, the music lowered, and Emma intertwined her fingers with his, ready.

"Shall we go to our second wedding?"

He nodded, pulling her close, his warmth enveloping her completely.

"Let’s go, please."

They walked together along the side of the garden, passing through the corridor of trees decorated with ribbons. The human music grew distant, as if it belonged to another world. The grass under their shoes became damper, colder. The night seemed to darken purposefully as they advanced.

When they crossed the last row of bushes, a figure detached itself from the shadows.

II – the demon who was, temporarily, acting as a cupid angel as punishment – was already waiting for them. Don't ask why; it's a sensitive topic for him.

"Finally," II grumbled, rubbing his hands. "I’d say it was hard to convince me to participate in this nonsense, but honestly, I was promised fifteen days off from my punishment and... here I am, the tool of infernal bureaucracy."

Emma cast an amused look at Vessel. "Seems like he’s not very excited about this part, huh?"

"Let’s just say the punishment is real," Vessel replied, smiling. "But he is the best at rituals of this kind."

II snorted and stepped toward the altar, pulling an old parchment from inside his suit sleeve that looked so ancient the ink had nearly turned to dust.

"Let’s go, script time. If anyone steps out of line, I won't be held responsible for anything."

The space was completely different: the ground was covered by a wide circle of ancient symbols, etched into the earth with almost impossible precision; black candles floated a few inches above the ground, burning with bluish flames; the temperature dropped, but not enough to be uncomfortable – just enough to make them feel like they were crossing the border into another reality.

Emma took a deep breath.

Vessel squeezed her hand.

II observed them both.

"Are you prepared?" he repeated, this time with a seriousness that didn't fit his usual voice.

Emma looked at Vessel. He looked at her. And both knew: they had been ready for a long time.

"Yes," they replied together.

II nodded. "Step into the circle. Don't let go of each other's hands. From here on, everything must be accepted together."

They took a step forward. The ground seemed to pulse when they touched the interior of the symbol. A warm breeze swept through the space, even without any wind.

Vessel felt the ancient magic recognize Emma. Emma felt his energy envelop hers – not invading, but connecting. II raised both hands, and the candles grew in flame, swirling slowly, as if dancing.

"This ritual," II said, his voice echoing more than it should, "predates time. It doesn't just seal bodies or promises. It seals destinies. Paths. Essences. It unites what is mortal to what is eternal. And what is eternal to what chooses to remain."

Emma took a deep breath. Vessel turned slightly toward her.

"If you want to stop, there’s still time," he murmured, almost inaudibly.

Emma smiled. "I want this more than anything."

Vessel’s eyes softened.

II raised his tone. "Vessel, do you accept to share your strength, your true name, your essence, and your eternity with this mortal?"

The air vibrated.

Vessel looked at the woman he loved. "Yes. In every possible way."

The flame of the candles flickered in approval.

"Emma, do you accept to unite your soul, your destiny, and your life with this ancestral being, knowing that the bond lasts beyond the world and time?"

Emma squeezed his hand. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

The ground trembled. Subtle, but present.

II opened his arms. "Then take the step. The last one. The definitive one."

They drew closer, without letting go of their hands.

Vessel pressed his forehead against hers. Emma closed her eyes. The energy in the air changed: dense, warm, alive.

II began to recite words in a language that sounded like fire and ocean at the same time. The floating candles rose higher, forming a perfect circle around them, a dark and bluish halo.

Emma felt her heart race – not out of fear, but recognition. Vessel felt the ancient magic pull him toward her, as if he were finally where he belonged.

"Now," said II, his voice echoing like distant thunder, "sealed are not just bonds... but destinies."

He extended his hand. "Touch the center."

In the middle of the circle, a small point of blue light appeared. It floated, shining like a fragmented star.

Emma brought her free hand to the light. Vessel placed his on top of hers.

The touch was soft... but the response was not.

The light expanded, piercing through their hands, rising through their arms, entering both their chests like heat and air at the same time. Emma gasped. Vessel closed his eyes, feeling something very much like peace – a sensation he hadn't known for centuries.

The light dissolved within them.

Silence. And then...

All the candles exploded into white flames. They didn't burn. They didn't hurt.

They illuminated.

Vessel turned to her, the glow still pulsing behind his eyes.

Emma smiled, warm tears falling.

II lowered his hands, satisfied.

"It is done." He bowed his head. "You are bound. There is no power, mortal or divine, that can undo it. You now belong to one another. In every possible form."

Vessel held Emma’s face with both hands, like someone holding their own future.

"My eternal wife," he murmured.

Emma laughed, sobbing with emotion. "My eternal husband."

They kissed – in the middle of the circle of light, with magic glowing around them, as if the world had stopped just to watch.

And in that instant, for the first time since they were born, since before any world existed, two completely different souls became one.

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XXIV (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1 @inconsistentpieceofmess

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV

Part XXIV: Beach, Please

"I just want to make it clear that I was deceived," Vessel declared, standing on the rented beach house porch, wearing a black hoodie, long pants, and an expression of someone who hated every cell of that moment. The wind battered against the heavy fabric, inflating it as if nature itself were trying to convince him to get into the beach spirit. "This was not what you promised me."

"You said you wanted 'a weekend away from the hellish mess'." Emma appeared behind him, balancing two overflowing beach bags, a ridiculous straw hat, and a flamingo-patterned towel that seemed to scream second-hand embarrassment. "And here we are: zero demon invocations, one hundred percent SPF seventy sunscreen."

He let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. "You're cruel."

"And you're very white. You're going to fry like breaded fish."

Vessel gave her a look that suggested he was reconsidering all his life choices. Then he looked at the beach. The scenery looked like a carefully decorated nightmare: sand everywhere, colorful umbrellas made of shiny plastic, a grey sea lazily hitting the shore. The smell of salt and frying oil mixed with the artificial coconut perfume coming from the nearest stand. Children ran, screaming as if they had been released from an acoustic dungeon. A dog chased a seagull, and the seagull – in clear moral superiority – held a stolen bag of potato chips.

"This looks like a simulation of hell, but with more plastic," he muttered, still motionless.

Emma walked closer, nudging his arm with the flamingo towel. "Relax, you'll survive. My parents have arrived, and guess what? They brought cake. And an umbrella. And the inflatable chair my mother swears 'saved their marriage' in 1994."

He slowly turned his face, as if afraid of seeing something even worse than the beach. "There's a story there that I don't want to hear."

"Definitely not. Shall we go?"

She grabbed his hood and pulled it down, gently pushing him toward the sand. Vessel let out an offended sound but obeyed, like someone accepting their tragic fate.

She didn't wait for an answer. She reached out, grabbed the tip of his hood, and pulled it down with the casual authority of someone who had saved the world alongside the person and therefore felt entitled to move him as she pleased.

Vessel leaned forward, caught off guard. "Hey," he protested, his voice muffled by the sweatshirt as the hood covered half his face. "This is outrage. This is abuse of emotionally unstable wizards."

"It's just logistics," Emma replied, giving his shoulder another little push, as if moving a particularly dramatic pole.

He took two unsure steps, his feet sinking into the fine sand. The wind lifted his hoodie, making him look like a disheveled bat. His expression, fully visible now that she had pulled down the hood, mixed resignation and pure indignation.

"I want to file my official complaint," he said, straightening up as he tried to reclaim his dignity. "This is all a trap. You planned this."

"Vessel, I planned an afternoon at the beach, not a coup d'état. Come on."

She placed her palm on his back, guiding him with the firm gentleness of someone accustomed to leading stubborn creatures. Vessel made a point of letting out a heartfelt "hmpf," as if that small gesture were the final push sealing his fate.

The warm sand touched his feet, and he looked down as if he were stepping on lava.

"I want you to know," he said, dramatizing every syllable, "that all of this will be remembered in the division of household chores."

Emma laughed, a light sound that cut through the beach noise. "I promise not to make you do the dishes when we get back."

"You always say that. And you always lie."

"Only when you deserve it."

Vessel stared at her, his gaze narrowed, but carrying that irritatingly affectionate shine that appeared every time Emma pushed the limits of his patience – and he let her.

"You know I can literally conjure a portal and leave, right?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I know," she replied, shrugging. "And I know you won't."

He opened his mouth to retort, but closed it. Because she was right. She always was.

"Urgh," he huffed, finally starting to walk across the sand like someone marching to ritual sacrifice. "This is going to be awful."

"It's going to be great," she corrected, taking his hand before he could hide it in his pocket. "And I brought cookies. And a book. And the sound of the sea cures any bad mood of an underslept pseudo-deity."

He looked at her sideways. "You're unbearable."

"And you're mine. Come on."

And so, still huffing, still offended, still carrying all the existential weight of someone about to face the sun, the sand, and human companionship... Vessel allowed himself to be pulled.

And that small defeat – that soft surrender – was, for Emma, the most beautiful part of the day.

_____________________________________

Sitting under the baby blue umbrella, surrounded by cooler bags, colorful packaging, SPF seventy sunscreen, inflatable cushions, and a beach ball with eyes that seemed to judge him, Vessel felt profoundly defeated. The t-shirt Emma had brought – with the words Beach, Please in absurdly cheerful letters – seemed to mock him every time he looked down. He held a cup of slushie that was melting faster than his dignity, the upper layer already liquid, dripping down his fingers.

Emma, next to him, laughed as she molded a sandcastle with a pink child's shovel. With every laugh, her body swayed slightly and a strand of hair fell across her face, and for some reason, that made his chest loosen. He hated how she could make the day seem less... deafeningly human.

"This is humiliating," he murmured, stirring the slushie as if expecting it to change texture out of pity alone.

"This is peace," Emma retorted, lying with her legs up, crossing her ankles. The overcast sky seemed to make her even more comfortable. "Weak sun, salty wind, your mother pushing cake in your face... This is everything I asked for."

He lifted his head. "This is an acoustic battlefield. There are five children yelling 'shark' in the water."

"You face ancient gods and interdimensional monsters; you can handle children."

"One of them gave me a cursed shell."

"It's a shell painted with glitter."

"Exactly."

Emma threw a handful of sand at his leg. His expression suggested that this act was equivalent to a declaration of war. "You promised me love, not sand on my collarbone."

"Love with a bonus. And this bonus is salt and familial embarrassment."

As if obeying a ritual, Emma's mother appeared out of nowhere – always smiling, always animated – simultaneously holding a meat pie, an already near-liquid ice cream, and a coffee thermos.

"Does anyone want a sweet treat or lunch? Or both?" she asked with that sweet yet non-negotiable motherly voice that doesn't take "no" for an answer.

Before Vessel could politely refuse – or conjure a mystical excuse to escape – Emma had already raised her hand. "I want the pie!"

"And I..." Vessel began, but his mother-in-law's gaze landed on him, radiant, proud, almost moved. He felt, for a brief moment, that to refuse would be an affront to the maternal forces of the universe. "... the ice cream," he finished, resigned.

"Great choices!" she exclaimed, as if they had passed a test. "You young people need energy! The beach is exhausting, you know? The sea sucks the soul! In a good way, of course."

Emma smiled at Vessel, as if to say, welcome to my world.

Her mother handed him the liquid ice cream with such ceremony that it seemed she was transferring an ancient spell. "Hold on tight, dear! It's hot today, isn't it? These waves carry a heat... I can't explain it!"

It was 17 degrees Celsius. With wind. Vessel just nodded.

While Emma's mother arranged the pie in her daughter's lap, still talking about the weather forecast, the size of the waves, and the curious ability of seagulls to steal food from distracted ladies, Vessel took a sip of the liquid-ice-cream.

It was basically milk with sugar and some distant memory of artificial flavor.

He stared at the horizon, motionless, letting the salty wind mess up his dark hair. His expression was that of a man who had accepted martyrdom with dignity. The sand was sticking to the hem of his hoodie. The children were screaming. The beach ball was smiling at him in a disturbing way. His mother-in-law was now commenting on the "impeccable" volume of his hair.

He took a deep breath.

Resigned.

Profoundly resigned.

Emma looked at him, observing every tragic micro-expression, and smiled – that small, affectionate, complicit smile. "Is the ice cream good?" she teased.

Vessel took another slow sip, painfully aware of every molecule dripping onto his chin. "It tastes like defeat," he replied, without taking his eyes off the sea.

Emma leaned her shoulder against his, muffling a laugh. "I can see that."

Her mother let out a satisfied sigh, not noticing any tension. "Oh, you two are so lovely together."

Vessel swallowed the ice cream, accepting the compliment as a knight would accept a magic sword: for survival. "Thank you," he said, his voice calm, his gaze distant, as if his soul were a few meters ahead, floating in the sea.

Emma took a huge bite of the pie, cracking the crust. "Mom, did you really bring everything that was in the fridge?"

"Sweetie, you never know when you'll need to feed a man. Look at the size of him!" she said, pointing at Vessel with the enthusiasm of someone who had discovered a giant's cub.

Vessel blinked.

Emma burst out laughing.

And the ice cream continued to drip onto his wrist like a melting clock, marking the perfect rhythm of that absurdly chaotic day.

Emma's mother was still there, explaining in detail the story of how she almost lost an umbrella to a strong wind in 2003, when a new threat appeared on the horizon.

Emma's father was walking across the sand like a general on a mission. Crooked cap, a t-shirt printed with "I ❤️ FISH & CHIPS," sandals that went flap flap flap, and an enormous cooler in his hand. The cooler looked like it could hold a body inside.

"There's my favorite son-in-law!" he boomed, loud enough to turn the heads of at least three tourists.

Vessel jumped.

"You only have one son-in-law," Emma muttered.

"And he's my favorite!" the father repeated, opening his arms as if to hug Vessel with the cooler.

Vessel froze. He literally stiffened like a mystical stone statue about to be studied in some archaeological museum. The father wrapped him in a warm, strong, crushing hug – a hug that smelled of cheap sunscreen and fried fish.

"Good to see you relaxing!" the father said, slapping Vessel's back so hard that the hoodie made a hollow sound. "City boy always needs fresh air!"

"I... am... breathing," Vessel replied, trying to regain the air that had escaped through his eyes.

The mother smiled, proud. "He's eating the ice cream I brought!"

"Very good!" the father exclaimed. "I have more in the cooler if you want! And cold sausage. And boiled eggs! And..."

Vessel opened his eyes slowly, in silent panic.

Emma noticed.

And decided to save him.

"Alright, alright, enough with the food!" she said, quickly taking Vessel's hand. "He's going to explode with all that caloric affection. Come on, honey, let's... um... get our feet wet."

"Get your feet wet?" the father repeated, confused.

"Take a little dip?" the mother suggested.

"Invoke a sea spirit?" Vessel murmured, in a thin voice.

"Is that a threat?" the father asked, worried.

"No," Emma quickly replied. "It's poetry. He says these silly things when he's happy."

"I am absolutely..." Vessel began.

Emma didn't let him finish.

She held his wrist firmly. "Let's go," she ordered, with the authority of someone dragging a giant cat into a bath.

And she pulled him.

Vessel tripped over the flamingo towel, almost fell over the large-eyed beach ball, bumped into the cooler, and dropped a glob of ice cream onto his own foot.

"Emma, I... wait... this is not... I don't...!

"Breathe!" she said, laughing as she dragged him across the sand. "You face gods, Vessel. You can face salt water."

But she was decided.

Determined.

Unstoppable.

"Emma," he pleaded, almost tripping over a child carrying a green bucket. "We can talk about this."

"No."

"Can we negotiate?"

"No."

"I am not emotionally equipped for this temperature...!"

And then:

SPLASH.

Emma pulled him directly to the water's edge. A small, but impossible to ignore, wave hit his ankle.

He froze.

Emma smiled like someone who had just won an epic battle. "There," she said. "Now you have no way to escape."

"Emma," Vessel replied, looking at the sea as if it were a living entity determined to devour his soul. "I'm going to die here."

"No, you're not," she retorted, pulling him one more step.

Another splash.

He gasped like a cat touching water for the first time.

"Emma, this is torture."

"This is love."

Vessel blinked.

And let out a defeated, utterly theatrical sigh. "... It's worse than that."

_____________________________________

The beach house slept.

Inside, Emma's parents snored in a symphony, a mix of stuffy nose and nostalgia. The cake containers were empty. The television, on minimum volume, showed a documentary about bioluminescent fish. The porch light weakly illuminated the side of the house, and the sound of the sea, calmer now, filled the space between the unspoken words.

Emma and Vessel were sitting on one of the wooden steps leading to the sand. She was wearing his hoodie, the sleeves covering her hands. He was beside her, barefoot, his elbows resting on his knees and his gaze lost on the sea.

Neither had spoken for a while. But it wasn't tense silence. It was one of those good silences, between people who know they don't need to fill everything with words.

"Did you know the sky here is darker than in London?" Emma commented, looking up. "You can see more stars. It's like the universe wants to impress us."

Vessel followed her gaze. Stars emerged between the clouds, shy but present. Some blinked slowly, others seemed steady. He watched them in silence for a few seconds.

"They're ancient," he murmured. "Some are already dead. What we see is just delayed light. Ghosts of things that once were."

"Poetic," she said. "And a little depressing."

He gave a half-smile. "It's my style."

Emma turned her face to him, her chin resting on her bent knee. "I like your style. Even when you complain about sand."

"The sand hates me."

"You hate the sand."

"It's a mutual relationship."

She laughed, and the sound was soft, warm. They stayed like that for a few more seconds, listening to the sea.

Then, Emma inhaled as if preparing for something big. And spoke in a low tone: "I want to do the ritual."

Vessel slowly turned his head, not immediately understanding. "What?"

"That binding you explained to me. The eternal bond ritual. Marriage, 'hell and back' style. I want it."

The silence that followed was not empty – it was too full.

He stared at her for a long moment, as if wanting to make sure he had heard correctly. Her eyes were fixed on his, without hesitation.

"Emma... this is serious. It's not just a symbol. It's real. It's true magic. After this... there's no turning back. You become... linked to me. Forever."

"I know."

"Literally forever."

"I know, Vessel."

He took a deep breath. Looked at the sea, then back at her. The way the hoodie fell on her shoulders, her hair messy from the wind, her determined eyes – everything about her seemed to scream that she had decided this a long time ago.

"I'm not easy," he said, low. "I'm... old. Dark. Messy. I carry things you haven't even seen yet. And if you say yes, you'll carry some of them too."

"Do you think I don't know that?" she replied, resting her forehead against his. "I saw you on your knees on a British beach wearing a 'Beach, Please' t-shirt. I can handle anything."

He smiled, closing his eyes for a moment. "Are you really ready?"

"I don't know if anyone is 100% ready to promise forever. But... I want it with you. Is that enough?"

Vessel didn't answer immediately. He just took her hand carefully, as if it were made of something precious and fragile. He kissed her fingers. And then whispered: "It's more than I dared to wish for."

Emma smiled sideways. "So it's a yes?"

"It's a yes. A damn eternal yes."

She pulled him into a long kiss, unhurried, like someone sealing an invisible pact. And when they separated, the sky seemed even more star-filled. Or perhaps it was just the way they looked at each other now – like people who already knew there was no longer an "I and you." Just an "us."

"We can do the ritual with just the two of us... and then we can have a real wedding, if you want," he said, as he pulled away from her. "A party with your friends, your parents, music, cake, and all the human joy we know how to appreciate. Two moments, two commitments. One for our love in the mortal world, and another for the love that transcends time and reality."

She squeezed his hand and asked: "So..." She took a deep breath, her voice trembling with emotion. "Do you want to... marry me?"

The way she asked was so Emma: simple, warm, real. No rehearsed speech. No perfect setting. Just them. Just the night. Just the sea. Just the truth.

For an instant, Vessel didn't breathe.

Literally.

His eyes widened just a little – enough for her to notice the genuine, almost childlike surprise crossing his always-so-controlled face.

"Emma..." His voice came out raspy, as if it had traveled through years of solitude before reaching her. "Are you proposing to me?"

"I am." She smiled, determined. "I really am. No joke. No metaphor. I want to marry you. I want your last name attached to mine, I want your clothes taking up half my closet, I want you complaining about the weather on our honeymoon. I want everything."

She chuckled softly. "And I want you to be my husband. If you want to be."

Vessel blinked slowly. Then again. He looked... disarmed. Vulnerable in a beautiful, rare, absolutely truthful way.

He brought her hand to his face, touching her cheek with his thumb. "I never thought... someone would ask me this." His voice was almost a whisper. "I never thought I was... someone who gets proposed to."

Emma smiled, a warm, certainty-filled smile. "I did."

Vessel closed his eyes for a second – as if holding the world in his chest – and when he opened them, there was something new there: tenderness, adoration, complete surrender.

"Then..." he began, his voice trembling just a little, "yes."

He smiled, that almost-forbidden, beautiful and rare smile. "Yes, Emma. I'll marry you."

She let out an emotional laugh, put her hands on his face, and kissed him – not an urgent kiss, but a kiss full of future. Full of plans. Full of love that seemed too big for a single body.

When they separated, she still had her hands on the back of his neck. "Then it's official," she murmured. "Now you can't escape me."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "I never wanted to escape."

[probuccalfat]

i do think i’m better than people for not shopping on shein or temu

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XXIII (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1 @inconsistentpieceofmess

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII | Part XXIII

Part XXIII: Christmas and Yearning

Christmas

Emma entered the main hall of Hell already feeling a different atmosphere - and that said a lot, considering that "hellish atmosphere" usually meant fire, screams, and bureaucracy. But now… there were Christmas lights.

Christmas lights. In Hell.

Red and green lights blinked around the blazing torches, creating an effect that was simultaneously festive and slightly menacing. Garlands made of polished bones, sharp teeth, and living holly leaves – which moved on their own – hung from the ceiling like sleepy snakes.

A demonic choir was tuning up in the background, emitting sounds that seemed a mix of Gregorian chant, feline purring, and a death threat. A large floating sign read “MERRY CHRISTMAS (OR WHATEVER YOU GUYS CELEBRATE)” in a passive-aggressive way.

"I think III and II went all out on the decorations," Vessel commented beside her, observing the crowded hall. "Which is impressive, considering they almost set fire to half the lower level last year."

They advanced through the hall, dodging creatures of all kinds: demons in suits with tails swishing, ghosts in Santa hats that phased through tables, little imps carrying trays with cookies that smoked and bit back if anyone took them without permission.

A corpulent demon was playing a saxophone that spat sparks. Two fallen angels argued about whose wings had the better glow. A miniature dragon chased a gnome who had apparently stolen its hat.

And then, of course, the hosts appeared.

III emerged first – a tall, elegant demon in a smoking jacket embroidered with gold threads. His gaze was so sharp it could cut glass. As for his smile… well, it was the kind that left you wondering if he was going to offer you champagne or a deadly pact.

Beside him stood II, another demon with light hair, an easy smile, mischievous eyes, and a red bowtie blinking as if it were alive.

"Ah, Emma!" III exclaimed, opening his arms as if she were a celebrity. "Finally! The human star of the party."

"It's time to prove that humans also know how to have fun," II joked, already enthusiastically holding her hand with an angelic zeal.

Emma laughed and accepted the greeting.

"I'm ready for the challenge. You two look like you're up to something."

"You have no idea," Vessel said, winking at them.

III snapped his fingers and a glass appeared in his hand. The liquid inside was bright, steaming, and emitted small golden sparks.

"Merry Christmas, Emma," he said, handing her the glass. "It's not for the faint of heart."

Emma took a sip…

And instantly coughed.

"Is this a punishment or a gift?"

"A bit of both," II replied, laughing. "Depends on your palate for suffering."

The music started – a mix of hellish rhythms and angelic beats – and soon the entire hall was dancing. Every creature danced in a different way: some levitated, others spun like tornadoes, others simply trembled like possessed jelly. The tables vibrated. a Christmas tree made of flames changed color according to the rhythm.

Emma was pulled into a circle where creatures were playing a game called Paper-Rock-Invocation, where losing meant being temporarily teleported to a dimension of infinite glitter.

She lost in the second round.

Vessel laughed for five minutes.

"Someone's missing," Vessel commented, looking around.

"Yeah, he decided to skip the party this year," III said, adjusting his suit lapel. "Something about trying to win over a girl."

"That makes sense," Emma laughed.

An explosion of confetti caught fire on the other side of the room. Someone shouted "THAT'S THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT!" as a creature with huge horns and a Santa hat ran, being chased by a swarm of blinking lights trying to wrap around its neck.

Emma dodged an imp that flew over her head like a rocket.

"You're doing well," Vessel murmured, leaning in until the warm whisper touched her ear. "You're starting to look comfortable in this world."

Emma smiled knowingly.

"You say that as if I'm going to become an intern for hell's HR."

"With your performance today?" Vessel crossed his arms, pretending to evaluate. "I think they'd hire you for special events. Recreational chaos sector."

"Wow, what an honor," she laughed.

Suddenly, II reappeared with a Santa hat for Emma.

Which… bit.

Lightly.

"Tradition," he said. "It chose you as temporary hostess."

"It chose me?"

III sighed.

"The hat is sentient. I try to replace it every year, but it always comes back."

Before Emma could protest, Vessel took the hat and put it on her head with a completely serious expression.

"There you go," he said. "You're officially at the party."

Emma huffed, but deep down… she liked it.

The hat purred.

Purred. Not weird, at all.

Emma was watching a group of imps compete over who could balance the most fireballs on their heads when II flashed before her like lightning.

Literally – a small bolt of light hit the floor before he appeared, smiling.

"Emma!" he said, excited to the point of glowing. "It's time!"

"Time for…?" she blinked.

III appeared behind him, adjusting his golden smoking jacket and smiling in that way that made Emma think he collected souls as a hobby.

"For the annual hellish gift competition, of course," III replied, spreading his arms as if it were obvious. "An ancient tradition. Chaotic. Potentially illegal. And extremely fun."

Vessel approached upon hearing that, a lazy smile on his lips.

"You're going to love it," he guaranteed. "Or hate it. It's usually one of the two."

"And how… does it work?" Emma asked, suspicious.

II clasped his hands, excited.

"Each participant gives a gift to another. But the gifts aren't normal. They are…"

"Unstable," III completed.

"Unexpected," II continued.

"And, in some cases, morally questionable," Vessel concluded, casually.

Emma raised an eyebrow.

"And you thought it would be a good idea to include me in this?"

"Of course," Vessel said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the center of the hall. "You survived the biting hat. You're qualified."

The circle formed quickly: demons, spirits, fallen angels, creatures Emma didn't even have a name for – all holding boxes, bags, scrolls, musical boxes, and one creature holding… a chicken?

In the center, a large black box floated, with a symbol that seemed to change shape every second.

III raised his voice:

"By the order of the fallen stars and the supreme right of chaotic celebration… let the exchange begin!"

A collective scream echoed – some excited, others clearly fearing for their very existence.

II placed a box in Emma's hands. The wrapping was beautiful, but it seemed to breathe.

"Gift from the circle," he said. "Only open when called."

"Is this going to try to kill me?" she asked.

Vessel leaned in, his smile dangerously close.

"Probably not."

"That's not reassuring," Emma murmured.

The first gift was delivered by a huge ogre, who offered the demon next to him a small green package. When the demon opened it, a mini-giant leaped out, screaming poetic insults and hitting him with a tiny hammer.

Everyone applauded.

Then it was the turn of a dark fairy, who delivered an apparently innocent box. When opened, it released a swarm of ink butterflies that stuck to the recipient's face and began narrating their life aloud – including all the embarrassing moments.

Emma didn't know whether to laugh or apologize to the universe.

Then III announced:

"Next: Emma!"

The box in her hands trembled – or was it breathing? Possibly both.

Vessel crossed his arms, clearly amused as he watched.

"Go ahead," he said, his voice low and utterly provocative. "Show them what humans are made of."

Emma took a deep breath and opened the box.

A flash – red, gold, and… pink? – exploded before her. From inside the box, a giant projection emerged, enveloping the entire hall with a warm light.

Out of nowhere, small glowing globes began to orbit Emma, each one showing scenes… of herself.

"Oh no," she murmured.

II clapped his hands.

"It's an Emotional Revelation Gift! How sweet!"

III tilted his head.

"That's new. And strange. But beautiful."

Vessel looked… surprised. And then his smile softened.

The globes revealed memories – not of Emma, but of small recent emotions: the scare when the hat bit, the joy of dancing with an imp, the feeling of comfort hearing Vessel laugh at her.

And then, in the center, the image that made Emma's heart stop for half a second appeared:

Her, smiling at Vessel.

And Vessel, looking at her.

With that look.

Emma stood still.

Vessel too.

And the globes blinked as if waiting for something.

Then the gift exploded in sparkling confetti – which rained down on them with the unmistakable scent of cinnamon and… gasoline?

"Well, that was unexpected," Vessel said, his voice low again.

Emma crossed her arms.

"You can laugh."

"I'm not laughing."

He wasn't. But there was something different in his eyes.

Something warm.

II ran past them with a sign saying "SCORE 10."

III was writing something on an invisible clipboard.

And Emma realized that maybe, just maybe, the gift hadn't been random.

Maybe it had been personalized.

________________________

"You're doing well," Vessel commented, leaning into her, his low whisper against her ear. "You're starting to look more comfortable in this world."

"You say that as if I'm going to become an intern for hell's HR," she countered, with a knowing smile.

He laughed, and his eyes shone with that unnatural blue that only she knew too well.

"I want to show you something," he said, suddenly, holding her hand lightly. "Come with me."

Emma looked at him with playful suspicion.

"That's not the kind of phrase a sensible person would follow in hell."

"Good luck finding anyone sensible here," he replied, already pulling her gently away from the party.

As they discreetly passed among the guests, II saw them leaving and raised his glass in a silent toast. III merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

They walked through a corridor decorated with gold chains and ancient crests, until they reached a wrought-iron door covered with runes that glowed softly.

"Is this a… secret magic closet?" Emma asked, half-laughing, half-curious.

"Something like that. Old ritual room that's now a rest lounge," Vessel replied, opening the door with a snap of his fingers.

Inside, the lighting was low and cozy – candles floated in the air, tapestries seemed to move slightly in the wind, and cushions were scattered in a corner, like a luxurious supernatural lounge. In the back, a fireplace with green fire silently crackled.

"This is much less hellish than I expected," Emma commented, stepping in slowly.

"I know where the best spots are. Perks of having millennia of infernal networking," he said with a mischievous smile.

She turned to him, her face illuminated by the greenish flames.

"And what exactly did you want to show me here?"

Vessel approached, stopping close enough for her to feel the warmth of his presence – or perhaps the opposite, the elegant coldness that always emanated from him.

"You. Away from the party. Just you," he said, his voice lower.

Emma raised her chin, the smile on her lips more challenging than playful.

"And here I thought you were going to show me a secret map of the underworld."

"I have maps. But right now I'm more interested in your paths."

She let out a muffled laugh, and then he kissed her – with the calm of someone who has all the time in the world, and the intensity of someone who has waited a long time to do this here, in that moment, away from the world, away from curious eyes.

When they parted, she rested her forehead against his, in no hurry.

"That was… good."

"That was the beginning."

She bit her lip, her fingers tracing the collar of his coat.

"Let's see how far it goes, then."

Vessel smiled sideways, that crooked, confident, and vaguely predatory smile, but full of adoration. He brought his hands to her face, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, and traced her jawline with his thumb.

"You're too beautiful to be in this place," he murmured. "But also… you look good in chaos."

Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to compliment me or officially recruit me for the underworld?"

"Both," he answered, and pulled her by the waist.

The next kiss wasn't like the one at the party. It was slower, denser. A kiss from someone who knew exactly where to touch, when to pull back, when to return with more hunger.

Emma slid her hands over his chest, feeling the firmness beneath the fabric of the dark coat. Vessel pressed her against one of the smooth stone walls, unhurriedly, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.

His fingers wandered along the side of her waist, slowly rising beneath her blouse, creating warmth where they touched. She gasped lightly and gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Do you always… act like this at holiday parties?" she whispered, breathless.

"Only when I'm hopelessly obsessed with someone," he replied, his voice husky and firm against the skin of her neck.

He kissed the curve of her neck with studied precision, while one hand slid to her thigh, raising the hem of her dress with care and intention. Emma bit her lip, her fingers digging into his hair.

"This here… is improper for a hellish get-together," she said, between soft laughs.

"Good," he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. "We're in hell, remember? Impropriety is practically dress code."

She laughed against his lips, and the laugh dissolved into a sigh when Vessel lifted her onto his lap with ease, carrying her to one of the deep-cushioned sofas. She stared down at him, her hair falling over her shoulders and a challenging gleam in her eyes.

"Do you have any more tricks hidden around here?"

"I am the trick," he said, pulling her back in for the kiss.

Emma laughed against his mouth, but the laugh soon dissolved into a sigh when she felt Vessel's fingers glide along her exposed thighs, already without any pretense of haste or hesitation. The palm of his hand was cold – as always – but it contrasted with the rising heat of her skin, creating a shiver that ran up her spine like an electrical warning.

He slowly laid her down on the cushions, as if opening a gift he had waited too long to touch. His knee supported between her legs, his body above hers, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made her lose her breath.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

"If you stop, I'll curse you with hellish glitter for seven years," she replied, panting.

His smile was almost savage.

Her blouse was slowly pulled up, exposing her skin as if he were revealing an ancient secret. His lips followed the path, tracing open kisses between her ribs, down to her stomach, while his firm hands moved up her legs, uncovering every inch as if the world were made only of that.

Emma arched her hips in response, her hands on his shoulders, pulling, guiding, desperate for him to continue. His touch was firm, precise, as if he had silently studied her every reaction – which, in a way, he perhaps had.

"You're made of fire," he whispered against her belly, his cold lips leaving a trail that burned. "And you set me ablaze."

She reached up, pulling him back, until their mouths met again in a charged, slow kiss full of broken and rebuilt promises. Their bodies glued together, their breaths ragged, the sound of the fireplace softly echoing.

Vessel's fingers slid under the hem of Emma's dress, climbing onto the soft skin of her thigh, as if mapping sacred territory. She felt a deep shiver, a mixture of excitement and anticipation. The warmth of his body against hers, the coolness of that icy touch contrasting with her inner fire, left her almost breathless.

"I could stay here forever," Vessel murmured, moving the hair from her forehead with a delicate, almost reverent touch.

Emma opened her eyes, staring into those blue eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. There was no rush, only the powerful calm of someone who knows that the time in that space was only theirs.

Vessel slid his hand down her arm, up to her neck, while the other hand held her waist firmly to keep her close. With agonizing slowness, he pulled her into a deep kiss, his cold and warm lips meeting in a dance of contrasts. Vessel's tongue explored hers with a seductive possessiveness, making it clear that he wanted her there, now, completely.

Emma moaned softly, her head leaning on the soft support of the sofa, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer. She felt his intensity grow, the touch that burned and chilled at the same time. The heat between her legs became almost unbearable.

Vessel, as if sensing her desire, began to slide his hands under her dress, beginning to feel the naked, warm skin of her thighs. His fingers found her waist, pressing firmly, marking territory, while he whispered against her ear:

"I want to feel your every reaction, Emma. Every sigh, every shiver."

She felt her body tremble, her legs closing in an effort to contain the impulse. But he was patient, like a predator who enjoys the game before the hunt.

"I never thought hell could be like this…" Emma said, between kisses, her voice low and shaky.

"It's the hell you make of it," Vessel replied, his hand sliding to her most intimate part, provoking with precise movements, as if he knew exactly where to touch to make her lose control.

The green fire in the fireplace seemed to gain strength, reflecting the heat growing between the two. Emma arched her body, her breath quickened, her fingers gripping his hair with intensity.

Vessel smiled against her skin, moving his mouth from her neck to her collarbone, leaving icy kisses that burned at the same time. The contrast drove her mad.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice husky, provocative.

"Don't even think about it," Emma replied, confident, even with her heart pounding.

He held her face with both hands, pulling her in for another voracious kiss, in no rush to reach the end. The night was theirs, and in hell, that was the true magic of Christmas.

Vessel slid one hand inside Emma's dress, exploring her warm skin, feeling every contour, every muscle tense under his touch. She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the intense mix of sensations – his icy coldness that burned like fire, the firm weight of his body that pinned her down with desire.

She felt his fingers tracing a slow and provocative path, moving up and down the soft skin of her thigh, each movement measured to inflame and madden. Emma arched her spine, seeking more, wordlessly asking him to go further.

Vessel gently pulled her up, their bodies fitting perfectly. He leaned in, his lips glued to hers, but the kisses became less smooth, more urgent, with that ancient, impetuous hunger.

The muffled sound of sighs and moans filled the room, mixing with the hypnotic crackle of the green fireplace. Vessel's hands moved down her back, sliding to unzip her dress, exposing even more of the skin he seemed to devour with his eyes.

Emma gripped his coat, feeling the coldness of the fabric contrast with the heat of his body, pulling him even closer, desperate to feel all of him, to make the world around them disappear.

"You drive me crazy, Emma," he murmured between kisses, his voice laden with desire. "I want to taste every bit of you, unravel every secret you keep."

She laughed, a husky, warm sound, against his lips.

"Then prove you can."

Vessel responded with a predatory smile, sliding his hands downward, enveloping her completely, until they both fell back onto the cushions, a tangle of skin, heat, and sighs.

Vessel positioned himself between her legs, his body pressed with intent, his hand sliding to touch what he had only imagined before. He found her immediate response, her holding him tight, desperate.

He pulled her blouse off completely, kissing her chest, his fingers tracing paths that set her skin on fire. Emma responded with sighs and moans, her breathing becoming ragged.

Vessel slid up, their bodies pressed together, and kissed her every exposed inch, his hand moving with precision. Emma arched her hips, seeking more contact, more warmth. He moved between her legs with a control that bordered on cruelty – slow, firm, provocative. Emma felt her body open for him, her breath hitching for an instant when he entered her, deep and precise. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, seeking something to anchor herself to as her body adapted to the delicious invasion.

He began to move with a steady cadence, his hips meeting hers in a silent synchronization. Each thrust sent a shiver up her spine, her entire body alert to every small gesture, every change in rhythm. The heat spread through her muscles, the pleasure accumulating in increasingly dense waves.

Vessel kept his eyes on hers, his hands firmly holding her waist as if molding her against him. Sometimes, he lowered his lips to her neck, biting lightly, leaving subtle marks that burned more than they should.

Emma reacted with hunger, her hips following his movements, low moans escaping uncontrollably. She ran her hands over his chest, over the tense arms that supported his weight, feeling every muscle work beneath the pale skin.

The speed increased, their bodies colliding with more urgency now, without losing the sensuality of the beginning. Vessel pulled her even closer, changing the angle, wrenching a louder, more disjointed moan from her. The pleasure was intense, almost brutal – as if they were both trying to merge, to erase any line between where one ended and the other began.

"Emma..." he whispered, hoarse, his mouth pressed to her ear, her name sounding like a perverted prayer.

She just pulled him closer, her legs tightening around his hips, silently begging for more. The thrusts became shorter, deeper, as if he knew exactly the right spot to push her over the edge.

Emma felt the orgasm come like a whirlwind – strong, inevitable, overwhelming. Her body arched, her mouth slightly open in a silent moan, as pleasure exploded and spread through every nerve. Vessel followed soon after, his body tense against hers, his heavy breath on her neck as he spilled into her with a low, deep groan, like a muffled thunder.

They lay there for long moments, their bodies still intertwined, sweat gluing skin to skin, their hearts beating in the same rhythm. He kissed her shoulder, then her collarbone, then the corner of her mouth.

Emma smiled, her eyes heavy, her hands still lazily stroking his back.

"That was… improper," she murmured, breathless.

"Unforgettable," Vessel corrected, kissing her forehead.

She laughed, weak, resting her face on his neck.

"Merry Christmas to me."

He smiled against her skin.

"I hope you liked the present."

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Another Year Later

Vessel didn't like deserts. Not for the obvious reasons – heat, solitude, slow death by dehydration – but because there was something about them that reminded him of eternity: a place where time doesn't matter, where everything repeats. Dust, sun, silence.

The temple in question lay in the middle of one of these deserts, buried under centuries of human ignorance and sand moved by forgotten gods. An ancient construction, cursed and protected by enchantments as old as its existence. And yet, Vessel crossed the barrier like someone walking into a random bar on a Tuesday night.

Inside, stones with inscriptions in extinct languages trembled beneath his steps. He walked calmly. Because he could. Because he knew there was nothing there that could truly stop him.

The mission was clear: recover the veil of the third eye, an artifact forgotten by humans and sealed along with a creature that, according to the contract, should remain contained for another thousand years. The problem was that someone – some human idiot with free time and ambition – had tried to free the entity to "see what would happen."

"Cozy place," he muttered, climbing the steps with his hands in his pockets. "Reminds me of the café you hate, Emma."

Thinking of her was inevitable. Even here. Even now. Almost three years had passed since she entered his life – stumbling, spectacularly, into her own destiny. Two years of living together, sharing spaces, secrets, and sarcasms. And yet, even with all her chaos and imperfections... he still loved her. Maybe more now than at the beginning, which was – honestly – annoying.

The creature was in the central sanctuary. A mass of shadow and teeth, floating over a cracked altar. A possessed human body writhed before it – probably the mage – while two acolytes watched with empty eyes.

Classic.

Now it was up to him to do the dirty work. Again.

"Why do they always send me on these spiritual cleanup tasks?" he muttered to himself, running his fingers over a wall covered in dried blood. "Millennia of resume, and they treat me like a janitor of the ethereal plane..."

He turned a narrow corridor, his eyes glowing with an icy blue. He was alone, but not unarmed. Vessel didn't need weapons – he was the threat.

When he reached the main sanctuary, three figures awaited him. Two acolytes and a mage in an advanced state of possession. The mage's eyes were black, without pupils. His voice came out in three tones at once.

"You shouldn't be here."

Vessel sighed, cracking his neck.

"Everyone tells me that. No one learns."

The mage unleashed a blast of putrid energy. Vessel dodged effortlessly, his movements smooth as if dancing with gravity. With a simple gesture, he made the two acolytes pass out. The mage screamed.

And then... stopped.

Vessel advanced. Slowly. Like an ancient, inevitable shadow.

"I came to get the veil. And give you a talking-to, if there's time left."

The creature inside the mage revealed itself – a mass of teeth and eyes, floating in the air as if the human flesh was just gift wrap. Vessel didn't react. He simply opened the palm of his hand.

Time stopped. Literally.

The monster's eyes froze in the air, as if realizing too late who they were dealing with.

Vessel approached, in no hurry, and tore the veil from the pedestal in the center of the room. The fabric pulsed in violet tones, whispering secrets in dead languages. He rolled it up as if it were a wet towel.

"You always do this," he said to the void. "Open portals, mess with artifacts, summon things you don't understand. And who has to clean up the mess? Me... and I have someone waiting for me so I'll make this quick."

With a single gesture, he extracted the veil from the altar. The fabric hissed, alive and ancient, writhing like burnt skin. The creature screamed – and Vessel dissipated it with a single word, spoken in a language that not even hell itself used anymore.

Silence.

He stood still for an instant, slightly panting – not from physical exertion, but because the emptiness returned. The absence. The "after." The mission was accomplished, but he felt nothing.

Emma would have felt everything. She would have asked stupid questions. She would have touched the wrong stone. She would have spoken too loudly. She would have filled that space with humanity until it felt less... eternal.

Emma would be complaining now, he thought, with an involuntary smile. Complaining about the heat, the sand getting into her boots, the creature's smell. But she would be here. Talking non-stop. Touching everything. Distracting me.

He took a small stone from his pocket – one of the "cursed stones" that Emma collected as a souvenir. He said they were useless. She said they all had a secret charm.

"I'm getting soft," he murmured.

Vessel left the crypt, his eyes fixed on the starless sky. The temple slowly sank with the destruction of the seal – collapsing like everything too old to last. He didn't look back.

He sat on a rock and took off his shoes. Hot sand. The kind of discomfort he ignored by default, but which now made him think of Emma again.

"It's been three days," he said to no one, his voice low. "And I can still hear your laughter."

The desert did not respond. Only the wind carried dust and silence.

He ran his fingers through his messy hair and, for a moment, let his head fall back. Eyes closed. The inevitable thought: I wish she were here.

Not for the mission. Nor for the outcome. Just... to be.

To rest his cold hand on her belly. To hear her say he looked handsomer when he was dirty. To see her wrinkle her nose at a skeleton. To not have to face eternity so alone.

He stood up, brushing the dust from his clothes, and opened a portal with his fingertips. The veil floated beside him, murmuring.

"Shut up," he told the fabric. "I've done my part."

Before crossing, he looked once last time at the horizon. An invisible trace of melancholy deep in his blue eyes.

"Mission accomplished. Boredom guaranteed. Now let me get back to the only thing that still makes this eternity worthwhile."

And he stepped through the portal.

_____________________________

The portal closed behind him with a soft snap – muffled, almost respectful. As if even hell knew that, here, was no place for shouts or echoes.

The apartment was dark. But not dark like the crypts, or the forgotten pact chambers. It was a comfortable, warm darkness. The kind born from the absence of light, not the lack of soul.

He crossed the room silently, leaving the veil on the armchair with the casualness of someone tossing a sweaty jacket. The sacred fabric reacted, shrinking in a murmur of protest. Vessel ignored it.

The place smelled of chamomile tea and cake. Emma.

He ran his fingers through his hair, then across the back of his neck, as if trying to shake off the weight of the mission. But the weight that truly bothered him was another: the yearning that now seemed to transform into urgency. An absurd need to see her. Hear her. Touch her, even if only to ensure she was still real.

In the kitchen, the stovetop light was on. A still-warm mug waited on the counter. Beside it, a napkin scribbled with her hasty, slightly crooked handwriting:

"Be back soon. If I'm not, I've been kidnapped by gnomes. Do not negotiate with them. Eat the cake."

He picked up the note and read it again. He smiled faintly.

Emma had a gift for making the world feel less heavy, even when she wasn't there.

He walked to the bedroom, opening the door slowly. It was dark, but not empty. One of her shirts tossed over the chair. The quilt messy. A sock fallen in a corner. Usual chaos. Chaos that now seemed a relief. As if every detail said: she was here. She's coming back.

Vessel slowly took off his shirt, dropping it on the floor without ceremony. His muscles still ached from the journey – not from the body, but from the eternity he carried on his shoulders. He lay down on the bed, on the sheets that still held her scent, and closed his eyes for an instant.

He didn't sleep. Demons don't sleep. But he rested. For seconds. His face against her pillow. His breathing slowing down. His chest heavy.

He thought of everything he wanted to say when she returned. He thought of telling her he missed her. That the world feels duller without her. That almost three years was too long to keep pretending that none of this was real.

But she would walk in laughing. Knocking something over. Complaining about the cold. Asking him to warm her feet, even though he was literally made of ice.

And he was going to love every damn second of it.

Vessel opened his eyes.

"Come back soon, Emma," he murmured, to the ceiling. "I brought a cursed veil, the desire to kiss you senseless, and maybe a little sand in my pocket."

_________________________

Vessel was still lying in bed, his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling as if it would answer him, when the front door burst open with a thump.

"I'M BACK!" the familiar voice boomed from the living room, loud enough to scare away any lingering demonic silence. "I BOUGHT CHEESE." More footsteps. "AND WINE. AND A NAPKIN SHAPED LIKE KING CHARLES. Don't ask me how, the market lady was a bit weird."

Vessel got up slowly, the expression on his face oscillating between exhausted, fascinated, and... utterly in love.

Emma appeared at the bedroom door with two market bags and her hair messy from the wind. She was wearing a sweatshirt two sizes too big (probably his) and ridiculous sandals. Her eyes met his naturally, and for a second, she paused.

"You're back," she said, simply, her voice a little softer.

He nodded.

"I'm back."

"And you're not dead."

"Not yet."

"Nor cursed?"

"Not this time."

She raised an eyebrow and dropped the bags on the floor, walking towards him with an expression that mixed relief and indignation.

"You were gone for three days. Three. I almost summoned III to track your dimensional trace."

"You hate III."

"Exactly. I was worried."

She stopped in front of him, eye to eye, hands on her hips, as if about to pick a fight... but what came out was a heavy sigh.

"I missed you, ice-head."

Vessel pulled her in by the waist with irritating ease and pressed her body against his.

"I missed you too. Three days felt like three centuries."

"Dramatic." She smiled, but didn't pull away. "I was sure you were going to bring me a curse as a gift."

"Almost." He gestured with his chin towards the living room. "Veil of the third eye. Keeps whispering existential threats. Very romantic."

"Aww, you remembered me even amidst interdimensional destruction."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a light, almost teasing kiss – until Vessel turned the tables with a firm, deep kiss, the kind that makes time take a polite pause.

When they separated, she still kept her forehead pressed against his.

"You have sand in your hair," she whispered, pulling a grain from somewhere impossible.

"I have sand in places," he replied, dryly.

Emma laughed, burying her face in his neck.

"Promise you'll take me next time?"

"I promise. As long as you don't try to make friends with a hungry cosmic entity."

"No promises."

He squeezed her a little tighter.

"Three years, Emma."

"I know."

"And I'm still completely yours."

She smiled against his skin.

"Good. Because I'm completely yours too. Even when I'm complaining. Or threatening to invoke an exorcism on you because you left a wet towel on the bed."

"That's the kind of thing that breaks pacts."

"Then you better behave."

They stayed there a while longer, glued together, letting the world outside fend for itself. Between wine, cursed veils, and a king's napkin, all that mattered now was that they were together. Whole. Real. And idiots for each other.

As always.

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XXII (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI | Part XXII

Part XXII: One year later and a possession

One year later

Emma woke to the shrill sound of the alarm, but something felt different – a nagging sense that something was out of place. She blinked her still-foggy eyes, trying to understand what was bothering her, when a small blue light in the corner of the room, on the nightstand, blinked rapidly, catching her attention.

"Your demonic alert," she remembered, with a mix of exhaustion and resignation.

She reached out and touched the light, which instantly projected a translucent hologram floating in front of her, with cold, metallic letters:

"Reminder: Pact debt to be resolved within 48 hours. Attend the infernal office for a meeting."

Emma let out a deep sigh and turned her face to the side, avoiding the blue glow, feeling the weight of the message press against her chest. As always, hell never forgot a debt.

"Looks like hell really doesn’t give breaks, huh?" said a familiar voice, as a steaming cup of coffee gently landed on the table beside her.

She looked over and saw Vessel, with that half-sarcastic smile of his, holding the mug as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, in her room, at this early hour.

"I know," Emma replied, taking the mug with a trembling hand, "and unfortunately, it seems there’s no escaping it."

"You know every pact needs maintenance," Vessel remarked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "This visit to the infernal office is just another reminder that your life will never be normal. But, at least, infernal bureaucracy is more organized than HR at your job."

Emma chuckled softly, tasting the bitter coffee slide down her throat. Still, a pang of anxiety throbbed in her stomach.

"Then let’s get it over with. I want to handle this before the infernal holiday starts. I don’t want to deal with more late fees," she said, trying to sound firm.

The portal to corporate Hell opened in the middle of the room, a circle of blue fire crackling quietly, casting a cold, unsettling light over the furniture. Emma swallowed hard and, hand intertwined with Vessel’s, stepped decisively into the circle.

Despite Vessel’s explanations, nothing had prepared Emma for the reality of the place. The infernal office was a bizarre mixture of terror and administrative tedium: bars made of blue flames guarded the hallways, computers belched black smoke, emitting alerts in incomprehensible codes, and stacks of papers seemed to whisper veiled threats.

Along the way, blue torches lit the environment, releasing a mixed aroma of burnt incense and sulfur that clung to the skin like a constant reminder of where they were.

At the reception, an elegant demoness with eyes like glowing embers and a flawless bun awaited them behind a counter made of cold black stone.

"Mr. Vessel, Miss Emma," she said with a smile that was both welcoming and sharp, typing quickly on a device that sparked. "The manager is already waiting for you in the meeting room."

They followed the corridor, where silence was absolute, except for the muffled echo of their steps on the scarlet carpet that seemed to absorb all sound.

In the meeting room, a tall, slender man with thin, curved horns sat behind a desk made entirely of polished bones, his eyes glowing red as he observed flaming charts dancing in the air.

"Mr. Vessel, Miss Emma," the demoness greeted again, her smile warm yet sharp, as if hiding secrets and threats behind her politeness. Her eyes glowed like burning coals, and she typed swiftly on a black device from which sparks briefly illuminated the dark room. "The manager is waiting for you in the meeting room."

She led them through the hallways in silence, the muffled sound of their footsteps echoing on the scarlet carpet. The carpet seemed to absorb noise, making the space strange and oppressive, as if all sound were sucked away, leaving heavy quiet.

As they walked, walls covered in black stone pulsed with a faint red luminescence, like veins carrying infernal energy. Occasionally, sparks of blue fire escaped from side bars, emitting a soft crackle that made Emma’s skin tingle.

They arrived at the door of the meeting room, made of dark metal that seemed to absorb light. Upon entering, Emma was immediately struck by the sight of the demon manager: a tall, thin man with an austere posture, thin curved horns emerging from his forehead, forming a natural and terrifying crown. His glowing red eyes fixed on her, radiating an intensity that made the air feel denser.

He sat behind a macabre desk, constructed entirely from polished bones, whose icy sheen contrasted with the fiery charts dancing in the air before him, illuminating his severe face with flickers of fire.

"Miss Emma, Mr. Vessel," his voice resonated in the room like a mix of distant thunder and the sound of paper tearing. "Your debt is due and in active collection. Here is a breakdown of accumulated interest..."

Emma tried to follow the flow of information projected before her, but the spreadsheets in macaronic Latin twisted her mind in a coded spell, making each word an indecipherable puzzle.

"Compound interest in Latin," murmured Vessel beside her, with a crooked smile and amused look. "Very common in infernal contracts. If you tried to translate, you might lose your sanity."

Emma laughed nervously, feeling her brain strain to comprehend the terms. It was like trying to decode an ancient, threatening code not meant to be understood.

"Basically," the manager continued, fixing a piercing gaze on her, "failure to pay on time will trigger the 'Reciprocal Punishment' clause. A consequence we prefer to avoid, but which would make your bond with us even more… irrevocable."

The weight of those words fell on Emma like a boulder, making the air feel thin in her lungs. A sudden chill ran down her spine, anxiety tightening her chest.

"So… what is the extent of this punishment?" she asked, voice low and trembling, trying to control the nervousness threatening to overwhelm her.

The manager gestured to a holographic file that appeared in the center of the desk. A red timeline unfolded before them, marked with numbers and menacing symbols.

"The original debt, related to the pact for the literary manuscript, equals ten years of your natural life expectancy. After internal negotiations," he paused and looked at Vessel, "we secured a reduction to five years, which begin counting from this moment."

"Five years…" she repeated, as if trying to make sense of it, almost in disbelief.

"Exactly," confirmed the manager, with an implacable air. "Five years subtracted from your natural timeline, which you will never recover."

She closed her eyes, trying to digest the magnitude of that sentence. The silence between them seemed to echo the beat of her racing heart.

Then, opening her eyes with determination that seemed to challenge hell itself, Emma said: "You know, I think it’s worth it. The book came out, the review board almost gave me top marks, and I still have you, Vessel, to help me survive all this. Five years less might even be fair."

Vessel smiled with silent pride, his gaze full of admiration. The manager clapped slowly, ending the meeting with clear satisfaction on his face.

"Better than I expected. See you at the Christmas party," he said, his eyes acquiring an enigmatic glint. "This year, the III and II are handling everything. Come prepared. No one knows what to expect when those two are involved."

Emma and Vessel exchanged a curious look and, without a word, stepped back through the portal into the real world—with five years less, but a future still to be written.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

At some point during that year

Emma lay on the couch, scrolling through TikTok with the look of someone who had already given up on humanity. The night’s soundtrack was a mix of kitten videos, conspiracy theories about the Bermuda Triangle, and… masked men singing about love and existential suffering.

The algorithm had clearly decided she needed a dose of emotional cult content.

"What is this?" a deep voice came from behind the couch.

Emma froze. Oh, of course. The resident demon had woken up.

"Nothing," she replied too quickly, pressing the screen lock button.

Vessel – the infernal one, not the vocalist – tilted his head, curious. Unlike the vocalist, he didn’t wear the same mask, and his messy hair pointed in all possible directions.

And, for some reason, he looked offended.

"‘Nothing’? You were watching a collective ritual or something more depressing?"

Emma hesitated, then let out a resigned sigh. It was useless to hide anything from someone who literally read emotional energy flows.

"Okay, okay. It’s… a band called Sleep Token, remember it? At the Halloween party we went to, they said you were doing a cool cosplay of him."

She unlocked her phone and showed the screen. A video of the singer – also named Vessel – appeared: a man in a black suit, gold mask, husky intense voice, almost hypnotic. The crowd screamed as if in a trance.

Her Vessel watched silently for long seconds. Silence, which was almost a miracle.

"He… is called Vessel?" he asked, in a tone of dangerously calm disbelief.

"Yes," Emma swallowed a laugh. "Same mask. Same name. Funny coincidence, right?"

He crossed his arms, his aura slightly shimmering, which was never a good sign.

"This is blasphemy."

"It’s just music."

"This is infernal appropriation."

Emma scoffed, pressing play on another video: the singer on stage, screaming an almost sacred note while the audience knelt.

"Wow, he’s intense."

Vessel looked at the screen like someone watching a cockroach recite Shakespeare.

"He is… singing about worship and devotion? To an audience?" His tone sounded incredulous. "And people… like it?"

"It’s basically the concept of a cult with Spotify Premium," Emma said, biting her lip to suppress a laugh.

He stepped closer, his shadow stretching over the couch.

"This mortal is using my likeness to perform… emotional work. This is outrageous."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "And the worst part is, he's successful." "I'm the original Vessel. Chaos incarnate. The abyss that stares back. And he… sings about broken hearts." "Apparently, the audience prefers feelings over the apocalypse."

Vessel was silent for a moment, staring at the video again. The other Vessel on stage was kneeling now, hoarse, sweaty, passionate. The crowd was crying.

"…he has presence, I admit," murmured the demon, annoyed. "But the lighting is terrible. And the posture. What kind of summoning is that?"

Emma laughed. "I can imagine you like that, or worse, on stage."

He tilted his neck slowly, the mask reflecting the bluish light of the TV. "'Worse'?"

"Yes. Like a demonic boyband version. You coming in with smoke and thunder, screaming about emotional destruction, throwing fire at the microphone."

He tilted his head, and for a moment Emma saw something dangerous, the spark of an idea.

"So… you think I'd look good on a stage?"

"I think you'd destroy the sound system in five minutes, but yes." She laughed. "And maybe traumatize half the audience."

He didn’t respond. Another silence followed, long and heavy. 

"Vessel… no."

______________________________

Coincidentally – or not – the band Sleep Token was on tour, and their next show would be two days later, which, according to his Vessel, was plenty of time. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Vessel appeared with a ticket to that band’s show and left her alone in front of the barricade.

______________________________

Backstage, the human Vessel took a deep breath, adjusting the black gloves. The atmosphere was heavy – with incense, electricity, and a ritualistic nervousness that always preceded chaos. The drummer spun the sticks between his fingers, focused. The guitarist checked the cables. The bassist fiddled with the pedals, testing the low sound that made the floor shake. Then it happened.

A shiver ran through the air like an invisible electric shock. The vocalist, Vessel, tensed suddenly, a brief, dry spasm, almost imperceptible…but enough to make the other three exchange tense glances. He lifted his head slowly, body rigid, as if a greater force had taken control of his muscles.

"Dude… you okay?" the bassist asked, half laughing, half worried.

The Vessel in front of them didn’t answer immediately. The air thickened. The smell of ozone and metal filled the dressing room. Then, very slowly, he straightened, rolling his neck as if testing a new body.

"I’m fine," he answered, his voice too hoarse, deeper, charged with a vibration no one had ever heard before.

And then came the smile.

Slow. Dragged out. Terrifying.

The mask covered almost all of his face, but the gesture was there: in the contour of the invisible mouth, the tilt of the head, the impossible confidence. The kind of smile that promised something sublime…or dangerous.

The others exchanged hesitant glances. The guitarist laughed nervously. The producer’s voice announcing "two minutes to go" cut the silence.

Vessel twisted his neck in a movement too fluid, almost feline, and started walking toward the stage.

______________________________

The first note echoed, and the world fell apart with it.

Pink, blue, and purple lights cut through the thick smoke, spilling metallic reflections over the anonymous faces in the crowd. The collective roar was immediate – primitive, deafening, almost animal. It was more than excitement. It was worship.

Vessel walked to the microphone with blasphemous calm, like a god entering a temple. His steps were measured, his entire body wrapped in predatory precision. Every movement seemed rehearsed for ages – but no one had ever seen that kind of presence.

When the sound rose, he lifted his head and began to sing.

The voice came out deeper, more alive – too alive. There was something feverish in it, something that made the floor vibrate and the air contract around each word. The front rows, seconds ago screaming like possessed, now seemed trapped in a trance. Some even stopped breathing.

And then he smiled. The kind of smile that didn’t belong to any man.

Vessel turned his body, the microphone firm in his hand. He took a step, then another, the foot hitting the stage in the same rhythm as the drums, as if hell itself marked the beat. The guitarist glanced at the bassist, eyes wide. The pale bassist nodded tensely. The drummer hesitated half a second before continuing, as if realizing stopping would be more dangerous than going on.

But the audience saw none of this. The audience only saw Vessel.

The music swelled and the demon inside the vocalist’s body felt the power pulse through the speakers, vibrating through every cable, every bone, every vein. He released his voice as if tearing pieces from the underworld itself, each note a summoning, each breath a spell.

The crowd screamed his name, and he smiled again; that slow, predatory smile, an invitation and a threat woven into the same gesture.

He jumped. His body arched in the air, a perfect curve of chaos and precision. When he landed, the stage groaned under the impact. The black paint started to drip with sweat – long trails gleaming under the white light, running down his neck, arms, hands.

It looked like living blood. The audience went wild. And so it continued for the next hour and the following songs.

In one song – more romantic and slow – Vessel approached the guitarist, eyes locked on him, and caressed him – a provocation, a touch that made him miss a note. The demon laughed, inaudible to the crowd, only the smile visible.

In another song, the drummer sweated so much the bass drum seemed to tremble in panic. He looked up – and saw Vessel turn his head toward him, the neck moving with a dry, mechanical snap. That smile returned. The drummer almost lost the beat, but the hypnotized crowd didn’t notice.

In the next chorus, Vessel went to the bassist, leaned over the instrument, his deep voice vibrating at the same frequency as the strings. The bassist swallowed hard, fingers faltering. The demon pressed his forehead to his for a second – an intimate and terrifying gesture – and then pulled back, laughing softly, returning to the center of the stage.

The crowd exploded.

Vessel raised his hands to the sky and screamed something no one understood, but everyone felt. A hoarse, visceral sound that seemed to crack the air. The energy of the place distorted. For a moment, it seemed the entire stadium roof would split open.

"OPEN IT UP!" he roared, voice heard even far from the microphone, sounding more like thunder than human speech.

And the audience obeyed. Bodies parted, opening the center of the floor. The pit formed, pulsating like a living creature. The demon smiled again, arms raised, sweat and paint dripping from his fingers in thick drops, and the guitar exploded behind him like holy thunder.

The pit moved. And he moved with it – spinning, stamping his foot, twirling the microphone in the air, the cord slithering around his body like a serpent of shadow and sound. With every movement, the crowd screamed louder. With every note, the demon fed more.

The drummer followed, now overtaken by something between fear and fever. The guitarist played too hard, almost breaking the strings, while the bassist barely kept his eyes open, sweating desperately. But there was no escape. The show was a ritual, and the demon was the high priest.

The light flickered with intermittent crackles – flashes of white, pink, blue, and green. In each glare, the figure of Vessel seemed to change shape. Now human, now something larger. The mask gleamed with a shine that didn't come from the lights, but from within.

He was dancing. Spinning on his own axis. Dropping to his knees and rising in a jump. His hair, wet with sweat, was plastered to his neck and to the mask beneath the hood. The paint ran in rivers, staining the floor, mixing with the drops that dripped from the ceiling from the intense heat. With every breath, steam rose from his body – and for a moment, anyone who looked closely swore they saw smoke coming from his skin.

The crowd was in ecstasy. Some were crying. Others were reaching out their hands, as if to touch him was a blessing.

And when the last note exploded, his scream fused with that of the crowd – a roar of a thousand voices. For an instant, all the lights went out.

Silence.

And then, the collective scream came: louder, more chaotic, more human than any previous sound.

Vessel took a deep breath. He smiled slowly, the same twisted smile, and murmured, almost inaudible, the whisper lost in the echo of devotion:

"Now that’s what I call worship."

The audience erupted in applause, hands raised and voices broken.

And there, between the sound, the smoke, and the shadows, the demon savored what he did best: chaos disguised as art. And that's when Vessel saw her.

There, leaning against the rail, among hundreds of indistinct faces, she was there.

Emma.

Her hair loose, bristling from the surrounding energy, her face bathed in light and sweat, her eyes in ecstasy and the smile he loved so much—fixed on him, with the same ardent devotion he held for her.

______________________________

The apartment door clicked shut, sealing them in a sudden, deep silence. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, cutting the room at a sharp angle and illuminating Vessel where he stood, still vibrating with the stolen adrenaline. His scent hit her first: stage smoke, beer, hot skin, and something metallic, like ozone after lightning.

The sweat glistened on the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. The black paint was smeared, streaked by sweat, creating a messy, beautiful map of the chaos he had orchestrated. He was still breathing heavily, his strong shoulders rising and falling.

Emma didn't speak. She just walked up to him, her fingers trembling as she reached out. She pressed her palms against his chest, feeling the furious beat of his heart beneath her hands, the slick warmth of his skin, the rough, dry texture of the paint.

"You goddamn animal," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

His hand rose, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back firmly but gently, forcing her to look into the emptiness of his mask.

"Did you like the show, love?"

"I've never been so wet in my whole life," she confessed, the vulgarity sounding right, necessary. "Seeing you up there... all that power... everyone screaming for you and you only having eyes for me. I wanted to climb that damn barricade and have you take me right there."

A low growl trembled in his chest.

"Is that what you want now?" He thrust his hips forward, the hard, thick line of his cock pressing against his pants, pushing into her stomach. "Do you want me to take you?"

"I want you to destroy me," she pleaded, her hands sliding down his torso, nails scraping the paint and sweat. "I need to taste that sweat on your skin. I need to feel that goddamn cock inside me. Now."

He didn't need to be told twice. His mouth collided with hers, a brutal, possessive kiss even over the mask. His hands tore at her clothes, unconcerned with buttons, the fabric ripping with a sound that made her moan into his mouth. He stripped her naked in seconds, his touch rough, possessive. He kicked off his own ruined pants, his cock springing free, thick, veiny, and already dripping for her.

He pushed her toward the wall next to the window, the cold plaster shocking her bare back. He lifted one of her legs around his hip, opening her up for himself. The head of his penis pressed against her drenched pussy, and she cried out at the contact.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice a dark command.

She forced her eyes open, meeting the darkness of his mask.

"This pussy is mine," he growled, pushing in a few inches, the stretch burning so perfectly. "This tight, wet pussy belongs to me."

He gave one brutal, perfect thrust, burying his entire length deep inside her. Emma moaned, her head hitting back against the wall. He was so big, filling her completely, his raw, sweaty smell surrounding her.

"Fucking hell, Vessel!" she chanted, her own words a broken mess. "Yes, like that! Just like that! Fuck me like you own me."

He set a punishing rhythm, his hips pounding, each thrust slamming her against the wall. The sound of their bodies meeting was filthy, wet, and loud. He lowered his head, his masked forehead resting against hers, his breath hot against her lips.

"You see what you do to me?" he growled, his rhythm never wavering. "You turn me into a god and a demon at the same time. It's your fault. This... this fucking perfect, greedy pussy... is going to be the death of me."

One of his hands slid between them, his thumb finding her clitoris, rubbing rough, tight circles that made her see stars.

"I'm gonna come," she whimpered, her walls beginning to contract around him. "I'm gonna come all over your cock."

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice raw. "Soak me. Let me feel it. I want to feel that tasty pussy milking my cock until I can't think anymore."

The command, the feel of him, the scent of the night still on him – it was too much. Orgasm ripped through her, a violent, screaming wave that engulfed him repeatedly. He swore, a guttural, demonic sound, and followed her over the edge, his own release pumping into her in hot, endless spurts.

He stayed inside her, pressed against the wall, both of them panting, covered in sweat and smeared black paint. Slowly, he withdrew, and a string of his semen trickled down her thigh.

He caught it with a finger and brought it to his mouth.

"Mine," he whispered, the sound full of dark promises.

He guided her to the sofa, laying her down carefully, her body molding to his. Still breathless and covered in sweat and traces of black paint, he leaned over her, feeling every reaction of her body. The heat between them filled the room, thick and electric, mixed with the aroma of effort and the tension they shared. Her legs trembled around his hips, her body still convulsing with the aftershocks of orgasm. His penis pulsed, each throb sending waves of pleasure through her hypersensitive flesh.

She leaned her forehead against his masked face, breathing heavily as she whispered:

"Vessel... you're still so hard." Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the smooth skin beneath the paint. "You're not done with me yet, are you?"

A low, dark laugh rumbled from him, vibrating in her chest where they were pressed together.

"Do I look done, love?" He shifted slightly, his cock twitching inside her as if to emphasize his words, before he withdrew it again. "Do you think once is enough to satisfy a demon after the show you just watched? After the way you looked at me?"

Emma's moan was half-whimper, half-laugh, her body already responding to the promise in his tone.

"No," she breathed out, tilting her head back to expose her throat. "I need more. Take it. Take whatever you want."

"Good girl," he growled, his voice husky with possession.

His other hand slid down her trembling body, his fingers brushing her clitoris, still swollen and sensitive. She gasped sharply, her hips contracting as he teased her, his touch light, but deliberate.

"You're still so wet for me," he murmured, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "You want me to fuck you again? You want me to ruin that pussy until you can't walk tomorrow."

"Yes!" she moaned, her nails scraping his back as he pressed two fingers inside her, widening her while his thumb circled her clitoris. His movements were slow, methodical, designed to drive her insane. "Please, Vessel, I need your cock, I need you, inside me again."

"And you'll have it," he promised, pulling out his fingers and gripping her hips hard. "But this time, you'll beg for it. On your belly. Let me see that perfect ass you teased me with all night."

Emma obeyed instantly, turning over on the couch and arching her back provocatively. She looked over her shoulder and saw his masked face gleaming in the dim light. The sight made her tremble with anticipation.

"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking with desire. "Fuck me."

He didn't make her wait. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he positioned himself behind her. With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, wrenching a guttural moan from both of them.

"That's it," he growled, his rhythm relentless from the start. "Take all of it, every inch."

Emma's moans filled the room as he pounded into her, his pace unyielding and possessive. Sweat dripped from his chest onto her back, mixing with the smeared paint and amplifying the raw, animalistic energy between them. Every push brought her closer to the edge again, her body contracting in anticipation.

And when she came this time, screaming his name like a prayer, her body convulsed beneath his, every muscle clenching in a wave of pure, uncontrolled pleasure. Her pussy tightened around him like a vise, milking him with a desperate, pulsing need. Vessel's growl was raw, savage, as he felt her orgasm ripple through her, her walls vibrating and grabbing his penis with unrelenting intensity.

"Yes, love," he roared, his thrusts becoming erratic, his hips slamming into her with a force that made her slide across the couch. "Take it. Take every drop. Let me ruin you so well you'll never forget who owns this pussy."

His release followed hers, hot and thick, surging deep inside her as he buried himself to the end. He held her there, their bodies intertwined, as he emptied himself into her repeatedly, marking her as his in the most primitive way possible. The sound of his heavy breathing filled the room, mixing with her moans and the slick, filthy noise of their joined bodies.

He leaned over her, his masked face inches from hers, his voice low and dripping with possessive satisfaction.

"Do you feel that?" he murmured, his hips still grinding against hers, prolonging the intensity of the shared climax. "That's me. Deep inside you. Claiming every inch of you. You are mine. Mine."

Emma's response was a broken whimper, her body still shaking from the aftershocks. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself harder against him, wanting every bit of his possession.

"Yours," she whispered, her voice raw, but full of devotion. "Always yours."

Vessel's laugh was dark and triumphant as he finally withdrew slowly, leaving her feeling empty, yet completely claimed. In that moment, there was no doubt who owned her: body, soul, and every inch of her being.

[jawsoffate]

You have no idea how much I love the “Diabolically Yours” series. (I read the entire series in a day)

I was literally so happy when you updated😭😭

No words can describe how it warms my heart to read and see people liking DY <3

Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking your time to read, i promise the next chapters wont take long to be here

[jawsoffate]

A bittersweet (?) update

I felt like I should give a little update about Diabolically Yours.

It pains me to say this, but it’s officially entering its final stretch, there are about five chapters left to go. But they’re long ones, following Vessel and Emma’s life through the years: full of domesticity, love, and chaos. Little glimpses of their lives in different moments and I loved, loved, loved writing every single one of them.

On a happier note: I’m always thinking about Emma and Vessel, so there’s a good chance I’ll post some extra snippets even after DY is finished because… why not?

Also… over the past few months, I’ve been writing another fanfic set in the same DY universe, but focused on a different numeral. It’ll start being posted right after DY ends and, if you liked DY, you’ll probably enjoy this one too because it’s sweet, it’s romantic, it’s domestic… and that’s all I can say for now.

Any guesses who might be next? 👀

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XXI (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI

Part XXI: For Her, I Burn

The chamber still trembled, fragments of stone falling and black sparks dancing in the air as if magic itself were rebelling against the space. The silence that followed the explosion was heavy, almost suffocating. Dust and smoke made it nearly impossible to see, and the faint light from the shattered runes cast irregular shadows that seemed to move on their own.

Vessel felt adrenaline mix with rage and fear as soon as he lifted his head. His gaze searched the chamber for Emma. She was on the ground, unconscious, breathing unevenly, and her fingers still trembled. Her body still carried the impact of the sphere, and Vessel felt his heart nearly stop at the sight of her – vulnerable. Without thinking, he ran to her, shoving aside any debris that stood between them.

“Emma!” His voice was firm but thick with possessiveness and fear. He placed his hands on her face, checking if she was breathing. Every heartbeat of hers felt like a fragile thread he feared would snap at any moment. “My love, talk to me…”

III and II were already positioned near the epicenter of the explosion, assessing the fragments of dark energy still twisting on the floor. III let out a short chuckle, as if challenging danger was the most entertaining thing in the world.

“He’s here,” said IV, serious, but with a glint of dark humor in his eyes. “I can feel his essence. He’s feeding on the chaos, eager to play. If we don’t act fast, we’ll have bigger problems than flying stones.”

Vessel held Emma tightly, pressing her against his chest.

“No one’s going to hurt her,” he murmured, his voice low and deadly. “Not you, Kharon. Not for a single second.”

The air began to compress around them, and a shadow slowly emerged at the center of the chamber. Kharon’s voice cut through the silence, laced with sarcasm and threat, yet almost theatrically provocative:

“Ah, Vessel… protecting your little human jewel. How predictable. Always so dramatic.” He approached, his black form rippling, eyes glowing with ancient hatred. “Always so… dull. You never change.”

“I’d rather be dull than arrogant,” Vessel shot back, fists clenched, aura vibrating with fury. “I swear I’ll tear you to pieces.”

Kharon laughed – a sound that seemed to echo through time itself, full of sarcasm and malice.

“Oh, what an adorable threat!” he said, floating slightly above the ground, his shadow twisting into shapes both grotesque and comical. “But see, my dear, you’re always so sentimental. It’s a pity your humanity is so… fragile.”

“And you’re always so irritating,” Vessel muttered, moving precisely to position Emma behind him while he began channeling his own essence into the energy core that II and III were forming. “Let’s see who’s really predictable when the game ends.”

III chuckled softly, tracing lines of energy in the air, while II began condensing the sphere’s residual instability into a single point. IV maintained the barrier, absorbing the bursts of dark energy that escaped, while Vessel stepped into the core, projecting his essence like a magnet toward Kharon.

“So this is it, Kharon,” Vessel taunted, a cold smile on his lips. “Get ready to find out that being predictable can also be deadly.”

Kharon surged forward, his shadow spinning in menacing spirals. His voice echoed through the chamber with almost comical sarcasm:

“Ah, Vessel… and you always have to put yourself at the center of everything. Admirable… and irritating. I expected a bit more creativity.” He launched a beam of dark energy, which Vessel absorbed into his aura without moving an inch. “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it? Ever heard of ‘waiting for the enemy to come to you’?”

“Overdoing it is my style,” Vessel retorted, concentrating energy, his voice low and lethal. “Now it’s your turn to learn about limits.”

III and II intensified their gestures, lines of energy colliding and intertwining, forcing Kharon toward the core. The shadow writhed, roaring and jeering:

“So predictable, all of you!” Kharon spat. “I bet you’re afraid the human won’t survive… or maybe that I’ll destroy her just to see her beloved’s reaction!”

Vessel felt rage erupt inside him, channeling it all into a concentrated strike that enveloped Kharon in a prison of black and red energy.

“If I were afraid, you’d have destroyed me long ago,” Vessel replied, eyes blazing with fury and resolve.

Kharon’s shadow roared, thrashing violently, but every motion was compressed tighter and tighter, and the pressure of the energy the four manipulated grew exponentially. Fragments of shadow and black sparks spun through the air like chaotic vortices, colliding with the central core II and III maintained.

“More pressure!” shouted II, voice firm, hands trembling but steady. “He can’t take much more!”

“Hold him!” commanded IV, maintaining the barrier with every thread of his vampiric strength. “Don’t let anything escape!”

Vessel poured every ounce of possessiveness and fury, energy and force from centuries of battles, into a final strike. Kharon screamed, his shadow twisting grotesquely, eyes blazing with hatred that spanned eras, as the black and red light of the core consumed his essence.

“Ah!” Kharon sneered with one last sarcastic roar as he was crushed into the core. “I’ll return… and next time…” But his voice faded, devoured by the explosion of energy.

The core burst in a blinding light, the chamber shuddering as if the ground itself wanted to split apart, walls cracking and fragments of stone flying in all directions. The smell of ozone mixed with ancient energy was almost unbearable, and each gust from the blast seemed to slice the skin. The explosion created waves of heat and cold at once – a chaotic dance of opposing forces threatening to tear the ceiling apart. When the light finally began to fade, revealing the absolute silence of the chamber, Kharon was gone. No shadow, no whisper of malice – only the void left by a presence crushed by the combined force of the four.

The air still vibrated with lingering energy, faint red and black glimmers settling into the cracks of the walls. III let out a short, muffled laugh, almost as if laughing at the absurdity of it all, while II, exhausted, wiped sweat from his forehead, muttering a relieved, sarcastic “phew…” IV remained motionless, eyes scanning every shadow, ensuring no fragment of their ancient enemy remained to regroup; his silent vigilance keeping tension alive in the air.

Vessel, meanwhile, held Emma in his arms, breathing deeply, still trembling from adrenaline. When he was sure she was breathing steadily, a low, almost mocking laugh escaped his lips.

“Well… Kharon, you really should’ve learned your lesson last time.” He held her body carefully, though his possessiveness was obvious, every muscle ready to react to any future threat. “I think now, definitely, you’re not coming back. At least not for a few centuries.”

III and II exchanged glances, then looked at Vessel, still chuckling softly. 

“Seems like he’s gone for good this time,” said II, with a faint smirk. “And you, Vessel… I never thought anyone could crush an ancient demon in such a… direct way.”

“Direct?” Vessel raised an eyebrow, still holding Emma. “Oh, yes. Crushing, compression, a hint of vengeful sarcasm… perfect recipe. I don’t know why he expected to survive that.”

III clapped slowly, ironically theatrical. “Bravo, bravo! Who knew possessiveness could be so… lethal? I’m impressed, Vessel. You literally killed his sense of humor.”

IV sighed, maintaining his vigilance as he channeled the last remnants of energy to stabilize the chamber.

“You two are incorrigible,” he muttered, though a trace of humor colored his voice. “But at least the immediate danger is over.”

Vessel looked around the ruined chamber, still trembling, but with strange satisfaction on his face. The silence lingered for a few seconds before III began grumbling about “cleaning up this mess,” and II complained they needed to “take an energy bath,” while IV just shook his head, still watchful. Vessel exhaled, holding Emma tighter – this time, a sigh of victory, not fear. For now, the underworld could wait – they had won, and Emma would be fine.

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XX (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX

Part XX: Numerals and Enemies

IV had told him. III was there, and II too. Vessel wasn’t surprised – it was obvious that this would happen, wasn’t it? – but Emma? She clearly wasn’t prepared for the spectacle.

"Ah..." Emma murmured, looking at the two newcomers with a mixture of confusion and caution. "And these are...?"

"Friends?" Vessel tried to sound casual, but he couldn’t hide the tension. "More or less. Depending on what you consider ‘friends.’"

III approached with that smile that irritated even the walls of the old corridor. "Finally I meet the human I heard so much gossip about!" He tilted his head to Emma, exaggerating the bow. "I am III, immeasurable pleasure, truly."

Emma crossed her arms, frowning.

"Pleasure... I think. And are you safe? You won’t blow me up, decapitate me or use me as demonic bargaining chip?"

"Only if there are extremely convincing reasons," III replied, winking mischievously. "But I can guarantee: today I am in a good mood."

II stepped forward with a wide smile, already gesturing before anyone spoke.

"Hello! Finally we meet you! Believe me, if it depended on Vessel, this would never have happened..." he began, as if narrating a show. "Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure! My name is II," he winked, clearly pleased with his own joke.

Emma raised an eyebrow, not knowing whether to laugh or step back.

"Right, pleasure... Why do you all have numeral names? Don’t you have real names?"

"Ah, it’s a long story," II replied, taking a step forward, still gesturing. "We have ‘human’ names, which were given to us a long time ago, but let’s say that identifying ourselves by numbers is... a matter of ease of identification. You’ll get used to it. Or not," he winked again.

Emma narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to process everything.

"Right... numerical group. Fascinating."

"Well, now that the introductions are over," II continued, making a broad gesture as if opening invisible curtains, "let’s get down to business. This ancient infernal magic has begun to destabilize. If we continue ignoring the signs, this can become a... small disaster."

III tapped his fingers together, floating in the air.

"Small disaster? Ah, I love when things explode without warning! But, let’s agree, today is not the day to die. Yet."

Vessel crossed his arms, staring at the runes on the walls. IV stepped forward, his low and firm voice cutting through the tension:

"Time is short. Each second we spend here is an opportunity for the magic to spread and attract unwanted creatures. If you want to survive, and I suggest you do, follow my instructions, observe, and keep your mouth shut... most of the time."

Emma looked at Vessel, who just shrugged.

"Good luck, human."

"This already started well," Emma muttered, looking at the old corridor, pulsing with runes and unstable energy.

The corridor narrowed as they advanced, lit only by the pulsing glow of the red runes on the walls. Each of Emma’s steps echoed as if she were inside a giant drum, mixing with the almost living whisper of unstable magic. "So..." Emma began, trying to sound brave, but failing miserably. "These runes... will they explode or will they just try to drive me insane?"

III floated ahead, spreading a trail of black sparks.

"Maybe both. Depends on the person, or creature, who drew them. But honestly, it’s more fun if you stay nervous."

"Great," Emma muttered, narrowing her eyes at the glow of the inscriptions. "I love when ‘fun’ means ‘almost dying.’"

Vessel took a deep breath, approaching to inspect a stone wall covered with twisted symbols.

"Emma, stay close. Watch the colors and patterns. Unstable magic usually manifests as a cycle. Deep red, then murky blue, then... explosion."

"Explosion," Emma repeated, more to herself than to him, feeling the adrenaline rise.

II stepped forward, pointing to a twisted symbol, almost invisible under the layer of chaotic energy.

"Here. Someone tampered with this seal recently. The distortion started here, but it is spreading fast."

Emma leaned closer, trying to see details without touching anything. Her heart was racing, but something inside her screamed not to step back.

"So... if I make a mistake here, do we all become magical barbecue?"

"Exactly," III replied, making an elegant pirouette. "But don’t worry, human. I’m a specialist in ‘not blowing things up’ – and modesty aside, I’ve survived many deadly trials."

Vessel rolled his eyes.

"Modesty is not the point here. Survival is."

Emma looked at the four around her, taking a deep breath. So far, they seemed like an exaggerated version of coworkers... if her coworkers were demons and an ancient vampire.

They arrived at a larger, darker chamber. In the center, a pedestal floated above the ground, and upon it, a sphere of black energy twisted, pulsing like a heart full of hatred. Ancient runes projected from the floor, walls, and ceiling, forming a perfect circle of containment – or at least that’s what it looked like.

"Here it is," said II, approaching carefully, his hand hovering over the unstable energy. "This is what caused the disturbance."

III tilted his head, examining the artifact with almost childlike curiosity.

"Interesting. It looks like a spoiled child with fire in his hand."

II leaned toward Emma, more serious now.

"First, we need to stabilize the energy. Each rune responds to frequency and intention. If you can emit a calm frequency, we can neutralize the instability."

"Calm frequency..." Emma murmured, trying to understand. "Is this like meditating?"

"Something like that," replied II. "Only if you fail, you can blow everything up."

II approached a specific point in the corridor, the energy vibrating intensely around him. He frowned.

"This... I know. This essence..." he murmured, his voice low and tense. "It’s not just unstable magic. It is... ancient. And perverse."

"You know it?" III asked, raising his eyebrows. "That’s not a good sign, friend."

"Yes..." II murmured, swallowing hard. "It’s the essence of Kharon."

There was a staggering silence among the four friends after II said those words. Emma swallowed hard.

"Kharon? Who is he?"

Vessel moved faster, grabbing Emma by the arm and pulling her back. "Someone who would rather you and I don’t survive this trip."

The black sphere pulsed harder and the ground shook. The walls creaked as if they wanted to close in on them.

"It is not only unstable," IV said, pointing to the sphere. "He is channeling his essence to amplify the magic. If this sphere explodes, we will not only suffer burns. This can... obliterate this whole chamber."

III floated forward, staring at the sphere with an almost perverse gleam in his eyes.

"Ah, finally! A little real drama!" he said, snapping his fingers. "This is delicious!"

Vessel clenched his fists, feeling the pressure of the magic in his chest. "Emma, my love, stay behind me."

The black sphere pulsed violently, consuming all the light in the chamber. Each beat of its energy seemed to synchronize with Emma and Vessel’s own hearts, as if it wanted to swallow not only the room but their lives.

"Great," Vessel muttered, fists clenched, "it looks like we have little time."

"Little time is my specialty," III replied, floating with a crooked smile, his hands already moving to conjure a counterspell. "Let’s see if we can make something pretty before we get fried."

III and II positioned themselves around the sphere, ready to channel demonic energy to contain its instability. IV took the opposite side, his vampiric presence creating a barrier that held back part of the magic that tried to spread.

The sphere pulsed with intensity, and black sparks burst from the pedestal, threatening to leap at them. III and II began to chant a series of words in ancient languages, gesturing precisely to contain and channel the energy.

Vessel raised his hands in the air, forming gestures that seemed to pull the energy from the sphere in a controlled way, while Emma tried to follow, imitating his movements and keeping her concentration. The tension was almost physical: the ground trembled under their feet, and small cracks began to form in the ancient marble.

"More strength," Vessel ordered. "Synchronize. All together."

IV moved forward to reinforce the containment, absorbing the instability with his vampiric aura. The sphere began to shake violently, as if it had a will of its own, and the air in the chamber became almost suffocating.

"Hold tight," II said, his voice tense. "If we lose control, we won’t survive."

III adjusted the demonic field, channeling his energy with precision. Emma felt the pressure of the sphere against them, a living force trying to break the containment. For the first time, she realized how brutal and relentless the world she had entered was.

"Now!" Vessel shouted, pushing the energy into a central point of the sphere. "Everyone, focus!"

The sphere screamed, a sharp sound that reverberated against the walls, echoing like a living lament. The black and red light emanating from it pulsed irregularly, burning their sight and making the shadows dance in unstable ways. Sparks leapt from the pedestal, spinning in uncontrolled circles, while small fissures formed on the ground, releasing smoke and metallic smell.

Emma felt the pressure of the energy pushing against her chest, as if trying to expel her from her own body. Her hands trembled as she tried to follow Vessel’s rhythm, who shouted instructions, guiding each movement with precision. The tension in the chamber was almost physical; the air felt liquid, heavy, and each breath required effort.

III channeled his own demonic force into spirals of black energy that intertwined with the sphere, trying to contain the chaotic expansion. II was kneeling, hands pressed to the floor, murmuring words in an ancient tongue, pulling the lines of force from the rune into a central point of stability. IV advanced, his vampiric aura radiating, absorbing part of the instability and creating a barrier against the imminent impact.

The sphere shook violently, launching bursts of energy that burned the air around it. A blinding flash lit their faces, showing each one tense, muscles rigid, effort almost superhuman. The energy seemed alive, trying to escape, spinning on itself and pulling everything around in a whirlpool that threatened to swallow the entire chamber.

"Keep the line!" Vessel shouted, feeling the weight of the energy pressing against his shoulders. "Don’t let anything escape!"

The ground cracked and split, throwing fragments of stone into the air. The sphere spun faster, as if it had a will of its own, vibrating with an intensity that made Emma’s bones ache. She could feel each electric spark burning her hair, each burst of energy pushing her against Vessel.

"Focus!" II ordered, his voice firm, even with sweat running down his face. "Make the energy flow back to the center!"

III made a series of quick gestures, tracing lines of power that collided with the sphere, trying to contain it, while Vessel and Emma pushed with concentrated force. Each second was a titanic effort, and it seemed the entire chamber could collapse at any moment.

The light reached an absolute peak, black and red, mixing into explosions of sparks and waves of energy that shook the walls. Runes cracked violently, emitting bursts that ripped the air. The ground vibrated as if it would split. The sound was deafening, and Emma felt the crushing pressure as if she were inside a giant drum about to explode.

Then, in an instant that seemed to last an eternity, the sphere finally gave way. The accumulated energy shot out in a colossal wave, spreading light and shadow throughout the chamber. The impact threw everyone back, dropping stone fragments, breaking parts of the ceiling and creating a momentary vacuum that sucked the air around.

Emma felt her body thrown into the air and the last thing she heard was the sound of her skull hitting the concrete before everything went dark.

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XIX (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX

Part XIX: Why Did We Come Here Again?

The campus was shrouded in an almost supernatural stillness, broken only by the rustling of the trees and the distant echo of footsteps Emma couldn’t identify. There was something about that night that kept her on edge, a feeling that the very air carried a secret. She and Vessel had decided to explore the old building, driven by curiosity and an impossible-to-ignore premonition.

"Are you sure no one’s going to show up?" Emma asked, squeezing his hand lightly, more to mark her presence than out of fear.

"With me around?" Vessel replied, raising an eyebrow and letting a faint smile slip. "No one would dare."

She rolled her eyes, half-amused, half-intrigued. It was impossible not to notice how completely in control he seemed, maintaining an almost irritating calm in the face of the unknown.

The corridor of the old building was plunged into shadows. Flickering lights cast flashes that confused more than they illuminated, and every door creaked in the wind, as if whispering ancient secrets. The floor echoed their steps, multiplying the sound and heightening the sense that something was watching them.

"This is where the reports of strange lights started," Emma said, pointing to the opening of a staircase that led to the basement. "Some students claimed to see shadows moving… but no one wants to admit it, not wanting to seem crazy."

Vessel scanned every detail, his blue eyes piercing the darkness like living lanterns.

"Interesting…" he murmured. "Someone’s been manipulating energy here. Not me, of course."

"And what if it’s dangerous?" Emma asked, crossing her arms. "Not that I’m backing down, but it would be good to have an idea of what we’re dealing with."

He stepped forward, checking every corner of the hallway, posture firm and confident.

"Then it’s going to be fun," he said, voice calm, almost dismissive. "But I promise no one’s going to hurt us."

As they descended the stairs, the air grew colder and heavier. A strange sensation ran down Emma’s spine – not fear, but excitement, the certainty that they were about to uncover something out of the ordinary.

In the basement, something moved. A subtle shadow crossed the wall, vanishing before Emma could pinpoint exactly where she’d seen it. She lightly squeezed his hand, just to mark her presence.

"Did you see that?" she asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I did," Vessel replied, maintaining that unnervingly calm demeanor that seemed natural to him. "But don’t worry. We’re in this together."

Emma felt a mixture of fascination and challenge. He seemed to decode every nuance of the building’s energy, an understanding no human could reach.

"So… you do this often? Exploring places others avoid?" she asked, tilting her head, intrigued.

"Only when something out of the ordinary happens," he answered, moving toward a cracked wall where blue sparks flickered mysteriously. "It’s like a chess game. Except the pieces move on their own."

"And what if someone’s playing with forbidden magic?" Emma asked, curious, no trace of fear in her tone.

Vessel tilted his head, studying the pulsing energy around them.

"Then we’ll find out. Some things that look scary aren’t always dangerous. And some that seem harmless… can be more complex than we imagine."

Hours passed as they followed the shadow’s trail: doors closing by themselves, unexplained sparks of energy, and the constant sensation of being watched made every step intense. Every sound heightened the anticipation, yet Emma remained steady, observing every detail and following Vessel with ease.

A gust of wind lifted dry leaves, forming shapes that resembled human figures on the floor. Emma stepped back slightly, not out of fear, but to better observe how the energy moved, while Vessel placed a hand on her shoulder.

"See?" he said, almost amused. "Just leaves. But they look more threatening than they are."

She took a deep breath, fascinated. The night continued, blending curiosity and wonder. Every shadow seemed to tell a story, and Vessel was the only one capable of deciphering each whisper of the old building.

When they finally left the basement, Emma looked at him, torn between exhaustion and excitement.

"So… this is just the beginning, right?" she asked, realizing the night was far from over.

He gazed into her eyes with those penetrating blue eyes, a mysterious smile forming on his face.

"Just the beginning. Tomorrow the fun continues," he said. "But don’t worry, it’ll be… revealing."

As they walked through the silent campus, Emma noticed a red light flickering irregularly in a corridor near the abandoned lab.

"Do you see that?" she asked, pointing to the glow.

Vessel tilted his head, analyzing the energy.

"There’s magic here," he murmured, passing his hand through the air as if he could touch the invisible energy. "But I can’t tell if it’s a full summoning or just the improvised work of a demon. Could be just a test. Someone messing with forces they don’t understand."

Following the energy trail, they reached a locked, seldom-used room, with symbols carved into the door pulsing with red light. Vessel examined every detail.

"Definitely infernal magic," he said, sliding his fingers through the air over the symbols without touching them. "But there are no clear signs of a complete summoning. Someone started, but didn’t finish."

"What if it’s a demon?" Emma asked, leaning in to get a closer look.

"Then we’ll know we have unwanted company," Vessel said with a brief smile. "But stay behind me."

The air inside the room felt dense, the red sparks dancing in living patterns.

"Impressive," Emma commented, studying every detail.

"Impressive is an understatement," Vessel replied. "This magic isn’t learned from common books. It’s ancient, powerful… and unstable in the hands of those who don’t know how to handle it."

He touched the air again, and one of the sparks condensed into a floating, almost living form. Emma didn’t step back; she watched attentively.

"Stay calm. It won’t hurt us as long as I’m here," Vessel said. "We need to understand its origin before something worsens."

He stepped back a few paces, eyes scanning the symbols and energy in the room.

"I think we should call a friend," he said suddenly. "He has contacts and experience with this kind of magic. Can tell us if it’s a summoning, a demon, or just an old abandoned spell."

Emma raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"A friend? In your world, you have friends who deal with this?"

"A few," he said with a quick smile. "And I trust him to help us understand what we’re facing."

He began preparing the contact, murmuring low words and tracing subtle symbols in the air. Emma watched, fascinated, aware that the night still held many secrets, and that every step beside Vessel was a mix of discovery and challenge.

"Ready for the next step?" he asked, extending his hand.

Emma looked at the symbols and dancing sparks, finally nodding.

"I’m ready. But you promise you’ll protect me?"

"Always," Vessel replied, placing his hand over hers.

As they left the room, the air thick with magic seemed to envelop them, foreshadowing greater challenges and unexpected revelations, while their friend on the other side prepared to help them decipher the mysteries that were beginning to unfold.

_____________________________________________

The following night, darkness covered the campus like a silent cloak, broken only by the wind passing through the trees and the distant flicker of a light in some abandoned corridor. Emma walked beside Vessel, keeping her pace steady, eyes alert, yet without hesitation. She had already faced shadows, sparks of magic, and unknown energy; this was just another night full of mysteries.

"Who is he? This friend of yours?" she asked, genuine interest in her eyes, no trace of fear.

"Someone who understands the underworld… much more than I do," Vessel said, stopping at the door of a room subtly illuminated by old lights. "He knows how to deal with vampires, demons, fairies, creatures of the night in general. Historical and practical knowledge."

Emma smiled slightly, intrigued.

"So, basically, someone who’s in the know about everything and everyone?"

Vessel nodded, lightly tapping on the door. The wood opened without resistance, and a tall, slender figure appeared in the shadows. His eyes carried the cold gleam of someone who had lived for centuries, and the air around him radiated both authority and subtlety.

"IV, this is Emma," Vessel said, introducing the visitor with a gesture. "Emma, this is IV. An ancient vampire. Keeps tabs on nearly any creature walking the world, whether for knowledge or… control."

Emma assessed the vampire carefully, showing no fear, only sharp curiosity. IV smiled slightly, revealing just a hint of teeth, not threateningly.

"So, you’re the famous Emma," IV said, voice calm but layered with experience. "I’ve heard some interesting stories."

Emma stood firm, arms crossed.

"Rumors?" she asked, with a half-smile.

Vessel glanced away, noticing the initial tension Emma managed so well.

"Nothing major," IV said, stepping closer. "Just that your relationship with this guy caused some ripples… minor upheavals in the underworld. Some are curious, others irritated."

Emma raised an eyebrow, maintaining her confident posture.

"Upheavals? Why exactly?" she asked, curiosity replacing any hesitation.

IV took a step closer, analyzing the floating energy symbols still lingering in the room.

"In the night world, information travels fast. And stories of humans involved with unusual creatures, especially someone with potential to manipulate magic, can cause unrest. Some see it as a threat… others, an opportunity."

Vessel crossed his arms, observing IV carefully.

"So you’re saying that just existing and engaging with magic annoys the underworld?"

"Exactly," IV replied, serious. "Information is power. And when something or someone new appears, capable of disturbing that balance, some don’t like it. Some may try to interfere… subtly or directly."

Emma tilted her head, studying the vampire with genuine interest.

"And you keep track of all this… out of curiosity or to maintain some sort of control?"

IV smiled faintly, expression ancient and calculating.

"A bit of both. Knowing who’s doing what and where lets me act before problems grow too big. Not revenge, not malice… strategy."

Emma took a deep breath, absorbing every word. Vessel, beside her, seemed calm but attuned to the nuances of the conversation.

"But relationships between humans and night creatures aren’t uncommon, right?" she asked, curious.

IV smiled faintly, though the gleam in his eyes indicated experience and caution.

"No, humans involved with vampires, werewolves, or fairies… happens fairly often. But a bond involving a demon and a human?" He paused, letting the sentence linger. "That’s rare. And dangerous. Draws attention you’d normally prefer to avoid."

"So that means we’re already on the radar of… who exactly?" Emma asked, crossing her arms, posture firm, no fear, just analyzing.

"The underworld in general," IV replied, walking slowly around the room, eyes seeming to see beyond the physical. "Some seek information, others power, and some simply dislike change. But don’t worry," he cast a glance at Emma, "there’s no direct action against you yet."

"Yet?" Emma raised an eyebrow, calm but intrigued.

"Yet," IV confirmed, with a slight smile. "But you’re being watched. And in your case, it’s more complex: your bond involves a demon. That doesn’t go unnoticed."

Vessel stepped forward, blue eyes fixed on IV.

"So, basically, it’s not just curiosity from the underworld. It’s… surveillance."

"Exactly," IV said. "Every step you take is evaluated, every contact, every use of magic. Some want to protect the balance; others may want to test limits. A human demon… that shakes up ancient rules, traditions of the underworld that many prefer to keep intact."

Emma tilted her head, thoughtful.

"And what do you recommend? Stay defensive or… act?"

IV paused and looked directly at her, carefully assessing.

"First, understand. Observe before acting. Know who’s paying attention and why. Then decide how to respond. Brave humans can become allies, but can also become easy targets if they don’t know where they tread."

"So basically, we need to play at the same level," Emma said, with a firm smile. "We won’t run, but we also won’t do anything without knowing what we’re dealing with."

"Perfect," IV said, satisfied with her answer. "And that includes understanding all the magic you found in the old building. I can help you decipher it, identify risks, but you two will need to stay alert."

Vessel smiled slightly and nodded to Emma.

"I guess we’re ready for the next step, then." He approached IV, an expression of respect and expectation in his eyes.

"Very well," IV said. "Tomorrow, we’ll start analyzing the magic in more detail. You’ll see that what looks like just lights and shadows has much deeper layers… and some of those layers can attract interests you can’t even imagine."

Vessel placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, and she smiled, unwavering. But IV looked thoughtful, frowning slightly.

"In fact," he paused, "I think it would be wise to call someone else to help us. Someone with… let’s say, more experience in ancient infernal magic."

Emma looked curious.

"Someone else? Who?" she asked, waiting for an explanation.

Vessel narrowed his eyes, and his smile turned into an almost comical grimace.

"No," he said immediately, crossing his arms. "Don’t tell me you’re going to call… him."

"Why not?" IV raised an eyebrow. "He has over a hundred years of practice with this type of magic."

"And he’s irritating, arrogant, and impossible to deal with!" Vessel shot back, making Emma choke on a laugh. "No way we’re putting him in the same room as us."

"Arrogant?" IV frowned, clearly surprised. "He’s meticulous, cautious, and…"

"Insufferable!" Vessel interrupted, making a dramatic gesture with his hands. "No, absolutely not… better he doesn’t show up tomorrow, IV."

"Okay, okay, I won’t tell him."

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part XVIII (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water)

taglist: @seabasscevans @dravenskye @kenjipepsi1

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII

Part XVIII: Routine with a Demon

Three months had passed since that night at the restaurant – three months since Emma had discovered what it was like to have a demon permanently in her bed, at breakfast, and, for the sake of her already dubious sanity, even in her friend group. If someone had told Emma about the past, she would have laughed out loud, maybe even clapped her hands, because the idea would have sounded too absurd to exist outside a horror story with a romantic ending. And yet, there it was: a strange life that, by some whim of fate, was fitting together like a dress that wasn’t made for you but somehow looked better than any other.

Vessel’s transformation into a “functional boyfriend” was anything but conventional. It started with notes on the fridge – short phrases in Latin he insisted were poetry (“it’s Catullus,” he’d say, offended), but which Google Translate stubbornly interpreted as veiled threats or slightly homicidal invitations to rituals. Then came the gifts: a necklace that changed color according to her mood (he denied it, but Emma was certain the cobalt blue meant “jealousy”), a carnivorous plant named Gregory that seemed to blink when he walked by, and finally, the surprise appearance in the middle of a café. Literally, in the middle. There was a blur in the air, a subtle ripple, and there he was: Vessel, human version, impeccable blazer at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.

────୨ৎ────

The first month: friends, Gregory, and the art of surviving social life

Emma had managed to convince Harper and Isla to a quiet café in the city center – cappuccino, carrot cake, low-risk gossip. No demons, preferably. The universe laughed. Vessel materialized next to the table as if he were just crossing the street safely.

“Is that Vessel?” Isla gasped, clutching her cup like a talisman. “Like… the one from the Halloween party?”

“I expected you to be blond,” Harper declared, studying him like a rare animal in a BBC documentary. “You look like a blond.”

“Is that good or bad?” Vessel asked with the calm of someone who had already seen the apocalypse and found it boring.

“I’m still deciding.” Harper pointed her spoon as if delivering a legal verdict. “And what’s your profession?” “Contract management.” He glanced at Emma, a short smirk at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile that said, “I’m not lying… just omitting hell.”

Harper and Isla nodded as if that explained life. And, in some way, it did.

“Are you two… a couple?” Isla asked, bluntly.

Emma opened her mouth, but Vessel was quicker:

“Technically, yes. Shared emotions, mutual protection, sexual exclusivity. I studied the parameters.”

Emma choked and coughed so hard she nearly summoned an ambulance. Harper gave a pragmatic thumbs-up:

“Relieved by the exclusivity. Men are… experimental.”

“Does he cook?” Isla consulted her mental notebook.

“Makes coffee.” Emma sighed. “Strong enough to wake up anything.”

Vessel placed his hand on her back discreetly, and that’s when Emma noticed: his touch in public seemed warmer than usual. The café lights flickered once, too fast to be anything but a glitch. Isla didn’t notice. Harper raised her eyebrows suspiciously. Vessel didn’t even glance at the ceiling.

“Poor ventilation,” he said, as if commenting on the weather.

On the way back, Emma stopped at the flower shop to buy a larger pot for Gregory. When she opened the apartment door, the plant turned slowly, as if recognizing footsteps. Vessel pretended not to see. Emma pretended this was something plants did when well cared for.

That night, while washing dishes (the first of many couple arguments), Vessel tried moving the sponge with his mind. The air rippled, the faucet splashed on its own, and a cold drop hit the tip of Emma’s nose.

“You have powers. Make the sponge move,” she teased.

“You have hands. Use them,” he replied, impassive, but his eyes were smiling.

“I’d prefer if the sponge washed itself.”

He stacked the dishes, and the kitchen was left with only the sounds of water, porcelain, and a laugh they both tried to hide.

The next week, the neighbor from 301 – a quiet man who always smelled of tobacco and mint – commented in the elevator that he had been “dreaming of dark seas and a blue face.” Vessel stared at the number panel. Emma pressed the ground floor button three times, out of pure superstition. When the door opened, Vessel leaned toward her, low:

“Maybe we should take the stairs for a while.”

“Or you could stop staring at people.”

“I wasn’t staring, I was thinking.”

“Even worse.”

They laughed, but the laughter had a thread of caution running through it. The world could get used to them. They needed to learn not to crack it.

────୨ৎ────

The second month: graduation, ISBN, and the first dinner with the parents

The second month brought graduation. Emma, in a crooked gown and heels she hated, held her diploma like it was her own lung. The book, the one that made her make the pact, was handed over, the committee praised her, and her advisor already spoke of turning the work into an official publication. A real book. Hardcover, ISBN, possibly pretentious preface signed by someone hungover translating three dead languages.

“I think I sold my soul for something worth it,” Emma laughed, mascara smudged, a slight urge to cry.

“Technically, clause suspended,” Vessel kissed the top of her head. “And I have the impression that I’m the one who got screwed… but I don’t regret a thing.”

That same night, he met her parents. Small Italian restaurant, checkered tablecloths, warm lighting that forgives almost anything. Vessel arrived impeccable: black dress shirt, dark blazer, hair surgically combed, calm expression of someone who had negotiated with pagan gods and now needed to win over a lady who baked orange cakes on Sundays and a man who wore sandals with socks.

“You have very cold hands,” Emma’s mother said, narrowing her eyes.

“Poor circulation.”

Emma’s mother frowned and exchanged a quick look with her husband.

“And… what exactly do you do for work?” she asked, trying to sound casual but betraying curiosity mixed with suspicion.

“I work with international contracts,” Vessel replied, smiling serenely, as if it were the simplest answer in the world.

“International contracts?” her mother raised an eyebrow. “So you travel a lot?”

“Depends on the contract,” he said calmly. “But I always find time for what really matters.”

her mother looked at Emma with that “I don’t like it, but I’m making an exception for you” expression. her father studied Vessel as if trying to recall whether he had seen that face in financial crime news or in a black-and-white dream.

When the waiter brought sparkling wine, her father went straight to the point:

“And your parents, young man? Where are they from?”

Emma froze. Vessel didn’t. “They’re gone. A long time ago.”

The silence hung for a full second. her father nodded, her mother touched his arm in a compassionate gesture. The candlelight flickered, blown by a wind no one felt. Vessel kept his gaze on the glass, very quiet. Emma wanted to squeeze his hand under the table but held back. He would notice anyway.

Dinner continued, strangely harmonious. Vessel praised the lasagna, cited two Italian authors her mother pretended to know (so as not to seem “outdated”), politely laughed at a joke about in-laws and caipirinhas, and when the conversation drifted to politics, he elegantly sidestepped like someone who knows all the labyrinths.

For dessert – tiramisu and coffee strong enough to wake ghosts – her father offered a rare smile: “He’s… different.”

“Good different or weird different?” Emma whispered later, as they waited for the car.

“I’m still deciding,” her father replied, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes.

On the way home, Emma pulled on her coat. The sky was too clear for such an electric city. Vessel’s hands went into his pockets, walking calmly.

“She said you have ‘eyes that see too much,’” Emma remarked.

“She doesn’t know the half of it.” He smiled. Then, after a second, added quietly, as if laying a truth on the ground: “I never had a ‘after.’ No parents to introduce. No dinner with checkered tablecloth. This is all… new.”

Emma stopped walking. Her heart skipped a beat. “And what do you think?”

“That it’s not a curse.” He chose his words like selecting steps on an invisible staircase. “It’s just… living… and I didn’t know I wanted it.”

She intertwined her fingers with his, and, for some reason, Gregory – three floors away, in an apartment with the window closed – decided to bloom a tiny pale flower at eleven forty-three at night.

────୨ৎ────

The third month: routine, small rules, and the kind of peace that scares

By the third month, things were starting to feel like routine. Vessel slept with her every night since that first time. They had an informal dishwashing rotation (he lost twice a week, strategically), an unspoken agreement on sofa blankets, and a fridge list titled “MUNDANE THINGS AN INFERNAL BEING NEEDS TO LEARN,” with the top items:

Don’t put metal in the microwave.

Toothpaste and depilatory cream are not the same thing.

Leave Emma alone when she has cramps (learned the hard way).

Don’t scare the neighbor with glowing eyes in the dark (you swear you’re not doing it, but you are).

Always announce yourself before appearing in the kitchen at night.

Never underestimate Emma’s ability to remember every little mistake you’ve made.

Emma won the battle over reality shows versus medieval ritual documentaries – MasterChef reigned supreme – though Vessel insisted the “culinary competition interrupted by crying” was the real modern blood ritual. Occasionally, he’d rest his head in her lap, fingers absentminded in her hair, and fall asleep like someone experiencing an unprecedented concession from the universe.

There were, however, small sparks that reminded her who he was. Sometimes the hallway light flickered when he walked hand in hand with Emma. Sometimes the bathroom mirror fogged with words no one had written – shadows of Latin, dust remnants, condensation tricks, he said. Sometimes Gregory seemed taller at dawn. It wasn’t alarming. Not yet. And the “powers” due to proximity to Vessel were small, and she had learned to control them. But Emma only slept peacefully because she had learned two things: first, Vessel knew how to contain what he carried; second, when he no longer could, he would be the first to warn her.

“You’re… different,” she remarked one night, as he adjusted the blanket over her feet, concentrated as if the world depended on the exact temperature of her ankles.

“Different how?”

“Less… performance. More presence.”

He thought. His silence was never empty; it was full of gears she was still learning to name.

“I never had an ‘after,’” he placed his hand over hers. “I fulfilled the contract, balanced the scales, left. Now there’s dishes to wash, a fridge list, and a sofa that sinks in the middle. I… am learning what to do with an after.”

“Which usually involves popcorn.” Emma smiled, and the TV, in the background, chose that exact second to freeze the image of a soufflé collapsing.

They laughed at the same time. The city breathed behind the window, and it was impossible not to think there was a kind of peace that always scares: the peace you might lose.

The next morning, Emma woke to her phone vibrating: Harper had sent a message at 6:10.

“Did you see the campus news? The cameras caught some weird power drops in the old building last night. Like… a shadow passing.”

Emma held her breath without meaning to. Vessel, still face-down on the pillow, opened his blue eyes like someone surfacing from the bottom of a lake.

“I didn’t do it,” he said before she could ask. “But someone was lighting matches in a stranger’s basement.”

Emma felt the necklace on her neck warm – cobalt blue, no mistake – and thought that if she could freeze time, it would be right there: sofa, blanket, smell of coffee, Gregory quiet. But nothing in Vessel’s world stayed calm for long. Routine, she had learned, was a capricious pet: if you blinked, it ran out the slightly open door.

“Alright,” she said, more to herself than to him. “If the crack comes, we’ll learn its size. And then… we’ll fix it.”

Vessel nodded. The kitchen light flickered lightly, like an eye understanding a secret. Gregory, on the shelf, did what plants do when no one is watching: stretched a centimeter toward the light.

It wasn’t a fairy tale. It was real. It was theirs. And, for now, it was enough – even if something outside had begun tapping on the wall.

[gnawu]

cr.