What better way to piss of your ex then send him a video of you and your demon boyfriend going at it
This is just a little story post mostly smut hope you enjoy . Sorry if the grammar isn’t the best it’s not proof read
Happy 21 day of kinktober @blushinglemon
Your phone buzzes again.
You don’t even reach for it this time.
You already know the name lighting up the screen your ex, trying for the tenth time today to drag you back into something dead and buried.
But the sound isn’t what makes the room go cold.
It’s him.
Your demon boyfriend stands perfectly still, arms crossed over his chest, illusion flickering like candlelight. Under the human skin he wears, something ancient is stirring. His gaze is fixed on your phone with an expression that would make mortals run.
“Persistent,” he says, each syllable smooth and razor‑sharp.
“Mortals are always persistent when something precious slips out of their hands.”
He lifts his head slowly, locking his dark, glowing stare onto you. That heat, that hunger it isn’t anger. It’s something deeper. Something territorial.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice lowering. “Do you want him to keep imagining he has a chance?”
You scoff. “Of course not.”
He moves.
Not fast, but deliberate every step calculated, every inch of space he closes charged with heat. His fingers touch your jaw, slow and possessive.
“He thinks he still knows you,” he whispers. “He thinks he can call you back.”
His thumb strokes your cheek, his illusion rippling again, letting the faint red flare of his true self leak through.
“And maybe,” he adds, eyes narrowing, “he needs a demonstration of why he won’t get you back.”
Before you can respond, he reaches past you smooth, confident and grabs your camera off the shelf.
The shift in his expression is subtle but devastating.
A crooked, sinful smile curves his lips.
“Oh, don’t look so startled,” he teases, tilting the camera in his hand. “I would never force you. I would only show him what he can never be.”
His voice dips into a growl.
“What he lost. What’s mine.”
He steps behind you, his hand sliding to your hip, the warmth of his body pressing close enough to melt bone. His breath ghosts over your neck.
“Maybe we should show him,” he whispers, darkly amused, “why you’re not going back.”
The camera lens glints as he lifts it.
“Just a hint,” he murmurs. “Just enough that he understands you’ve moved on… with someone he could never compete with.”
His lips brush your ear barely, but enough to ignite your pulse.
“Say the word,” he breathes.
“And I’ll make sure he never texts you again.”
You hesitate for an instant, considering the many potential consequences, but then you decide, "Fuck it, why not?" In any case, you're already doomed to hell.
“Let's fucking do it.”
“Right there.” “You better not look away from the lens.” His voice was a low growl, a vibration against the shell of your ear that was more felt than heard.
Your gasp echoed in the quiet room, fingers scrambling for purchase on the silk sheets as he moved behind you, all relentless, possessive power. The cold, unblinking eye of the camera watches it all, recording every shiver, every sharp intake of your breath.
It had started minutes or was it an eternity? ago.
The moment you said yes, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It didn’t just get heavier; it became alive, charged with a static that prickled over your skin. His human glamour dissolved not with a bang, but a shimmering sigh, revealing the magnificent, terrifying truth of him. His ghostly skin is smooth like polished stone, radiating the heat of a furnace. The elegant, dangerous curve of your black horns. Your eyes glow with the fire of some distant, infernal star.
He’d set the camera on the dresser with a deliberate click, its red recording light a single, accusing eye.
“A demonstration,” he purred, stalking toward you. “So he sees precisely what he lost. ” What belongs to me now?
His hands, now tipped with claws that you kept carefully sheathed, found the hem of your shirt. He didn’t tear it. The act feels even more devastating with its slow, deliberate control. He pulled over your head, his molten gaze drinking in the sight of your flushed skin, the rapid beat of your heart at the base of your throat. His thumb stroked over the frantic pulse point. A possessive claim.
Then his mouth was on yours, a searing brand of ownership. This wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was victory. His tongue claims the inside of your mouth with a primal ferocity that leaves me dizzy, your head spinning with the scent of him—smoke and amber and something deeply, fundamentally other. You can only moan, your body arching into his, already surrendering to the inevitable tide of him.
He broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting us for a breathtaking second before it snapped. His glowing eyes flicked to the camera, then back to me, a dark, thrilling promise in their depths.
“On your knees,” he ordered, his tone allowing for no response other than compliance. “Turn around.” Confront your audience.
And that’s how you ended up here, bent over the edge of the bed, your back pressed against the solid, scorching heat of his chest. The camera captured everything: the flex of his claw-tipped hands on your hips, the way your head fell back against his shoulder, and your lips parted in a silent cry.
One hand slides around your front, dipping low, fingers skilled and knowing as they find the apex of your thighs. “You are already soaked and aching.” He chuckles, the sound a dark rumble you feel deep in your bones.
“You’re so eager for me,” he murmured, his voice pitched for the microphone, for him to hear. “So responsive.” Did he ever make you feel this way? Make you this wet and desperate, just from a touch?
His fingers begin to move, creating a slow, torturous circle that makes your entire body clench. You shake your head, a ragged “No,” tearing from your throat.
“No,” he agreed, your voice dropping to an intimate, vicious whisper. “ He couldn’t.” He’s only human after all.
With that, he positioned himself. You feel the blunt, searing-hot pressure at your entrance, a promise of being utterly filled. He held himself there, teasing, letting the camera see the way your body trembled in anticipation.
“Look at it,” he growled in your ear. “Watch how well you take me.” See how perfectly you are crafted for this. For you.
And then he thrust. Neither slow nor gentle. It was a single, devastating motion that buried him to the base, tearing a scream from your lungs that was half pain, half blinding pleasure. The stretch feels immense, overwhelming, a perfect, brutal fullness that shatters every coherent thought. Your vision whited out at the edges.
He didn’t get a second to adjust. He set a punishing, relentless rhythm as each powerful drive of his hips slammed you forward, your fingers clutching at the sheets for an anchor that doesn’t exist. The sound is obscene, wet and slapping, echoing in the room, undoubtedly captured in crisp, high-definition audio.
“Yes,” you hear yourself sob, the word mangled and broken. The initial shock has faded into a whirlwind of pure, unfiltered sensation for you. Your every nerve ending is on fire, singing a chorus tuned to his movements.
His claws pricked gently at your hips, not breaking skin but branding you with the threat of it, a reminder of the raw power he was barely containing. His other hand slipped around to your front again, finding your clit, and the dual assault was too much. Pleasure, sharp and coiling, began to build at your core, a storm he was expertly conjuring.
“That’s it,” he rasps, your own breath starting to come in ragged pulls. “Let it all out.” Let him watch as you cum on my cock. Let him see what he’ll never have again.
He shifted your angle, and stars exploded behind your eyelids. There. Right there. His pace becomes even more frantic, more animalistic. The bed rocks against the wall with every thrust, a rhythmic beat underscoring your ragged breathing and your helpless, keening cries.
You are hurtling toward the edge, pleasure coiling you so tight you think you might break. His grip tightens around me, your growls growing more guttural, more demonic. He was close, too. You can feel the heat radiating from him, intensifying as the scent of ozone and power fills the air.
“Look at the camera,” he commanded, his voice harsh and grating. “Gaze at it and call out my name while you cum.”
Your eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, struggle to obey. You found the little red light, a tiny inferno in the dim room. You held its gaze as the coil inside you snapped.
“Now!” him roar.
The orgasm ripped through you, violent and all-consuming. Your body seized around him, a series of convulsions that milked his cock, and you screamed his name, the sound raw and torn from the deepest part of you. This was your final cue for your own release. With a sound that was less a moan and more a tectonic shift, you feel him bury himself deep, his heat flooding into you as his body shudders against your back, his own climax a forceful, claiming tide.
For a long moment, you could only hear the sound of your harsh, panting breaths. You see the room come back into focus.
Slowly, he lean forward, his spent body resting against my back. He reach out a trembling hand, the red light on the camera blinking off.
You feel his lips brush against your sweat-dampened ear, his voice a satisfied, dark promise.
“Let’s see him text you after that.”
Characters
Kokushibo, Doma, Muzan (kny), Sukuna, Choso (Jjk) Everyone from Obey me, Azazel (Supernatural), All versions of Lucifer, Hellboy, Sebastian (bb), and of course your favorite.
