Devils Night One-Shot Fanfic
Damon Torrance x Reader one-shot Devil’s Night Universe Genre: Dark Romance. Warnings: dark romance, NSFW, dark themes, obsession/possession. Summary/Blurb: He found you on Devil’s Night. You weren’t supposed to catch his eye. You weren’t supposed to let him in.
But Damon Torrance doesn’t ask. He doesn’t beg. He takes.And once you’re his, he doesn’t let go.
A dark, obsessive, and dangerously addictive one-shot about what happens when you lock eyes with the devil—and ask him to burn you beautiful.
The air was thick with smoke, liquor, and secrets.
Damon Torrance stood with the others—Michael, Kai, and Will—drinks in hand, voices sharp with adrenaline and power. The kind of night where anything could happen and nothing was off-limits.
Will cracked a joke that made Kai roll his eyes and Michael smirk, but Damon didn’t laugh. He barely blinked.
His gaze was distant. Dangerous.
He wasn’t here for the chaos. He was the chaos. And tonight, he was hunting.
Cigarette between his fingers, he scanned the room like a god surveying his kingdom. Until his eyes landed on you.
Surrounded by your friends, head tilted back as you laughed at something, completely unaware that your entire world had just shifted.
Damon’s stare darkened. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled slow, and pulled off his mask—exposing a face carved in stone and shadow.
Will caught the shift immediately. His grin widened. He leaned in, clinking his glass against Damon’s.
“Dude,” he said, eyes gleaming. “I think you found a new toy.”
Because his gaze was already locked on you. Like he was choosing his next sin.
He watched you like a wolf sizing up his next meal—silent, still, but with eyes that burned hotter than the Devil’s Night bonfire outside.
You felt it before you saw it.
That tingle at the base of your spine. The prickling awareness crawling up your neck. A heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol in your veins.
And locked eyes with him.
The man whose name was a warning. Whose smile could slice. Whose hands—rumored, feared, worshipped—knew how to unravel anything and anyone he set his sights on.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away.
He tilted his head, tongue slowly dragging over his bottom lip like he was already imagining the taste of you.
An invitation. No—a command.
Your friends kept talking. Laughing. But it was like the party melted away, sound turning to static as your feet started to move before you even realized.
Drawn to him. Pulled by something deeper than logic, older than fear. Something raw.
By the time you reached him, he was already turning, leading you away without a word.
Through the crowd. Down the hallway. Past closed doors and drunken bodies. Until you were in a room you didn’t recognize and the door clicked shut behind you.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, dangerously calm.
Your back hit the door. His body followed, caging you in, his hands planted on either side of your head. His breath ghosted over your mouth, his eyes wild with something too dark to be desire—but it still made your thighs clench.
“Why?” you whispered, barely able to think with him this close.
“Because I don’t play with things I don’t intend to keep,” Damon growled.
It wasn’t a kiss, it was a claim—a possession, a punishment, a promise all in one. He kissed like he was angry you let him, and furious at how badly he wanted it.
Your hands tangled in his hair. His fingers slid under your shirt. His mouth trailed to your jaw, your throat, biting hard enough to leave bruises. Marks. Warnings.
“You taste like a f**king problem,” he muttered against your skin. “Lucky for you—I like problems.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you—your lips swollen, your chest heaving, pupils blown wide.
You swallowed. “Say what?”
“That you want this. That you want me.”
Not because you didn’t want him—but because you knew what he could do with that kind of permission.
A wicked smile curved his mouth.
His voice was a razor blade—sharp, slicing clean through the room’s heat and into your spine.
You bit your lip, heart hammering, pride and desire warring inside you. But Damon just waited. Watching you with those cold, merciless eyes like a predator who already knew you’d fold.
And maybe you would. For him.
“I want you,” you breathed. “Please.”
He smirked—dark and sinful. “Pretty when you say please.”
Then his mouth was on yours again, and this time there was no restraint.
You felt yourself being lifted, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, back slamming against the door again as he ground his hips into yours. Every movement purposeful. Every drag of his mouth over your skin—possessive.
“I’m going to make you remember this,” he growled. “Every second. Every touch. Every time you walk tomorrow and feel me still inside you.”
Your breath hitched—equal parts fear and want—and he felt it. Smirked again, proud and ruined.
He carried you to the bed, laid you down with a gentleness that felt like a lie.
Then he looked at you. Really looked.
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
You moved to obey, pulse pounding, heat slick between your thighs. But he stopped you halfway—grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, pressing his body against yours so you could feel just how hard he was.
“You don’t rush this,” he whispered into your ear. “You savor it.”
Hands slow, dragging your clothes off piece by piece like he was unwrapping something expensive. Precious. His mouth followed, lips and tongue marking every newly bared inch.
“You like being looked at, don’t you?” he asked, voice dripping with heat. “Like being wanted.”
You gasped as his hand slid between your legs.
“Well, little devil,” he murmured, fingers teasing but not giving you what you needed, “congrats. You’ve got my attention. And I don’t do casual.”
His fingers slipped inside—finally—and your back arched as he curled them just right, his thumb brushing your clit, mouth pressed to your throat to catch the sounds you were trying not to make.
“I’ll learn every sound you make,” he growled. “And then I’ll make you scream them.”
He took his time, teasing you to the edge over and over, never letting you fall until you were begging—really begging—his name on your tongue like a prayer.
When he finally pushed into you, it was slow, deep, perfect.
Your nails clawed at his back. His teeth found your shoulder. He didn’t let up, didn’t give you a moment to breathe, just kept pushing you higher, closer, tighter—
And when he followed—groaning your name, forehead pressed to yours like it was the only anchor he had—you realized this wasn’t just a hookup.
He pulled out slowly, still holding you, breath ragged. You were both a mess of sweat, bruises, and adrenaline.
And then, in the dark silence after, he kissed your forehead.
“Mine now,” he whispered.
And you knew he didn’t just mean tonight.
