Dec 2, 2024
"I Am The Real Mastermind!"
If Satan dares, let him say it to Lucifer's face. 😜🤣✌️
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"I Am The Real Mastermind!"
If Satan dares, let him say it to Lucifer's face. 😜🤣✌️
Tantrum🕷️
Satan x Succubus!fem!reader
Tw: Smut, slow burn, therapist x client, Satan being Satan to the low life, p in v
6k
Satan is so Hot
Part 1 > Part 2
The story begins after the cut
You exhaled slowly, your breath shaky as your eyes scanned the list of today's clients. One name stood out like a drop of blood on pristine parchment: Satan. Yes, the Satan. You’d laughed when the receptionist first told you. Surely, it was some dark joke, right? But the chilling sincerity in her eyes told you otherwise. For the next month, the King of Wrath himself would be your client. His personal therapist—or "anger coach," as they called it—was conveniently on vacation, leaving the responsibility to you.
Your fingers hovered over the file, tapping lightly on the thick paper. His profile was sparse yet enough to send a chill down your spine. Anger issues. As if that needed to be stated. Brutal, cruel, unpredictable. Lies often. Has a dangerously short temper. And the last line, hastily scrawled like a warning, stood out the most: Approach with caution.
The note on your pad detailed when and where you were to meet him: Satan’s castle. Even the thought of it made your stomach churn. The clock on your desk screeched, breaking your trance. It was time.
Your palms were clammy as you left your room, dread curling around your spine. The limousine waiting outside was overkill, with its glossy black finish and an interior too luxurious for comfort. You sank into the seat, but even its plush softness couldn’t ease the knot tightening in your chest. Your fingers toyed nervously with the fabric of your shirt. "Why am I doing this to myself?" you muttered, your voice a hoarse whisper.
The drive stretched on, the limousine cutting through a landscape that seemed to grow darker, more twisted with every passing mile. Gnarled trees loomed like skeletal hands, their shadows dancing over the cracked road. The closer you got to his estate, the more oppressive the air became, thick with heat and a faint metallic tang that clung to your throat. When the car finally stopped, your breath hitched.
The castle loomed above you like a blackened wound carved into the earth itself. Jagged spires clawed at the sky, and the air was heavy with the faint stench of sulfur. The gates creaked open, revealing a procession of imps scurrying about with feverish purpose. Their glowing eyes briefly landed on you before darting away, like vermin avoiding a predator.
You swallowed hard, stepping out of the limousine. The ground beneath your sneakers radiated an uncomfortable heat, as if the very earth resented your presence. You hesitated, looking up at the fortress before you. Every instinct screamed for you to run. But you were a therapist—for Lucifer’s sake, you’d dealt with impossible clients before. Just not ones who could incinerate you with a single breath.
A small, hunched imp dressed in a tattered butler’s uniform approached, its head bowed. Without a word, it gestured for you to follow. You obliged, your legs moving stiffly as if weighed down by chains. The castle’s interior was worse. Shadows seemed alive, twisting and curling around corners like smoke. The halls were cavernous and eerily silent, save for the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor.
You were led through corridors that gleamed with wealth. Gold littered every surface, accompanied by piles of glittering jewels—rubies, diamonds, and sapphires, carelessly heaped as if they were nothing more than pocket change. It was suffocating in its opulence, but it was the odd details that unsettled you. A scorch mark on the wall, as if something—or someone—had been obliterated there. Deep claw marks gouged into the stone.
When you entered his chamber, the atmosphere shifted entirely. Heat rolled over you in waves, and the room smelled faintly of ash. Your eyes roamed over the space, catching glimpses of heavy iron chains, monstrous workout equipment, and a hulking throne that seemed carved from molten rock. And then, your gaze rose.
He was there.
The dragon loomed in the far corner, a creature of pure, terrifying majesty. His scales shimmered like molten obsidian, and his horns, wickedly curved and sharp, glinted faintly in the dim light. His golden eyes burned like twin suns, locking onto you with an intensity that made your stomach drop. His chest rose and fell with a deep, growling breath that reverberated through the floor.
"So," he rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural drawl that made the air vibrate. "You’re the replacement.”
You froze, your body rigid as his gaze raked over you. His tone dripped with disdain, his lips curling into something between a snarl and a smirk. You felt like a mouse under the eye of a serpent.
“A succubus?” he sneered, the word laced with contempt. His massive frame shifted as he lowered his head, bringing his razor-sharp teeth dangerously close to your trembling form. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing in their molten depths. “For a succubus, you look... innocent.”
You flinched as his claw moved, its sharp tip hooking under the edge of your buttoned shirt. With terrifying ease, he pulled you closer, the heat radiating from him suffocating.
“Sir,” you managed, your voice wavering as you fought to hold your ground, “this is… inappropriate.”
The dragon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Inappropriate?” he repeated, his tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, little one, we’re far beyond ‘appropriate’ here.”
For a moment, the tension was unbearable, his golden gaze locking onto yours, unyielding and searing. Then, with a huff, he released you, his massive claw retracting as he settled back.
“Let’s see how long you last,” he muttered, his voice laced with dark amusement. “They always break, you know.”
Your knees felt weak, your breath shallow as you took a hesitant step back. This wasn’t going to be like any other client you’d dealt with. And as his gaze lingered on you, predatory and calculating, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into a game you didn’t fully understand—a game where the rules were written in blood.
“Let’s start with something simple—an introduction.” You tried to project confidence, raising your voice slightly to ensure he could hear you clearly. The weight of his molten gaze bore down on you, but you kept your posture straight. “Before we can trust each other, we need to know each other.”
Your words hung in the air, daring to challenge the suffocating silence. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his reptilian features. You forced a smile and continued, your voice steady despite the thrum of fear in your chest. “My name is Y/n L/n. I’ll be your therapist for the time being. In my spare time, I enjoy drawing. Now, would you care to introduce yourself?”
The room seemed to grow hotter. A deep huff escaped from Satan’s nostrils, the force of his breath stirring the papers on your clipboard. His head tilted ever so slightly, as though studying you from a new angle. “You know who I am.” His words were low and blunt, carrying the faintest edge of impatience.
You kept your expression neutral, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “Of course, I know. But I’d like to hear it from you.” Your tone was calm, measured, even as the edges of his form seemed to ripple with heat.
That caught him off guard. His brows furrowed, and for a moment, his eyes lost some of their predatory sharpness. His breathing, which had been fiery and erratic, grew slower, more controlled. “I am Satan,” he said at last, his voice still low but tinged with pride. “The Sin of Wrath. The first sin.”
You didn’t flinch, though the words carried a weight that pressed against you. Liar. The truth was well-known—Lucifer was the first. But you kept that observation to yourself, instead lowering your gaze to jot something down on your notepad.
The scratch of your pen seemed deafening in the charged silence.
“What are you writing?” His tone was sharper now, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. You glanced up cautiously, noting the slight flare of his nostrils and the way his claws flexed against the stone floor.
“It’s nothing important,” you assured him, your voice soft but deliberate. “Just a few notes for me. Is that okay?”
His eyes narrowed further, glowing faintly as if testing your words for deceit. After a tense moment, he leaned back, the massive muscles in his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah… I guess.”
You allowed yourself a small exhale, the pen trembling faintly in your grip as you made another note. “Thank you. So, tell me—what’s your favorite hobby?” you asked, keeping your tone light, almost conversational.
Satan blinked, clearly caught off guard again. “Hobby?” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. A pause stretched between you, and then he shrugged. “Uh… I like working out.”
Internally, you groaned. Great, you thought, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. A gym bro with anger issues. But outwardly, you smiled, though your fingers tightened slightly around your pen.
As you scribbled his answer, you felt a subtle shift in the air. His gaze hadn’t left you, and there was something unsettling about the way he watched you now—curious, calculating, like a predator studying its prey. The edges of his mouth twitched, as if he were amused by something only he understood.
“Do you always write so much?” he asked suddenly, his voice a little too casual.
You froze for half a second before looking up. “Only when it helps me understand my client better,” you said evenly.
Satan’s lip curled faintly, exposing a hint of razor-sharp teeth. “Interesting,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. His massive frame seemed to loom larger, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around you. “You seem… different. For a therapist. For a succubus.”
The word dripped with disdain, but there was an odd curiosity in his tone as well. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
“I don’t think I fit the usual mold,” you replied lightly, though the words felt thin against the heavy atmosphere.
Satan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “No, you don’t. But we’ll see how long that lasts.”
The way he said it felt more like a warning than a casual remark. And as the room grew unnervingly quiet again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just stepped into something far more dangerous than you were prepared for.
“Anyway,” you began, trying to dissipate the strange tension in the air, “what do you usually do to calm yourself?” Your voice was steady, professional, but you were acutely aware of the weight of his golden gaze lingering on you.
Satan tapped his claw against his chin, the sharp tip glinting faintly in the dim light. “I work out,” he said simply.
You nodded and placed your notepad down. “Have you ever tried anything else? Something less… physical?”
He shook his head, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. “No.”
“Interesting.” Your pen hovered over the page, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Bingo. A potential breakthrough, something to work on next week. “Maybe you should try something new,” you suggested, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.
Satan raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Something new?”
You nodded, maintaining your professional tone. “Yes. There might be situations where you aren’t able to work out. Finding an alternative that brings you calm can help—something you enjoy that doesn’t rely on strength or exertion.”
You could see him thinking, his gaze becoming distant for a moment before snapping back to you. Then, he said it, blunt and unapologetic:
“Sex.”
Your pen slipped slightly, leaving a faint mark across your notepad as your head shot up to meet his gaze. “Excuse me?”
“Sex,” he repeated, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I enjoy it. Specifically, I love to dominate. It brings me a sense of calm, of control.”
The heat in the room seemed to spike as his words hung in the air, heavy and electric. You felt your breath hitch slightly, your professionalism faltering under the weight of his admission. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, a subconscious reflex as your mind betrayed you with images you hadn’t invited.
Satan, towering over you, his claws dragging possessively over your skin. His deep growls vibrating against your neck as his body pressed you into the bed like prey. The way his molten gaze would devour every inch of you, a predator savoring its prize.
The thought was dangerous, forbidden—and utterly intoxicating.
“You’re quiet,” Satan observed, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He leaned forward, resting his massive claws on the table between you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to sit straighter in your chair, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your inner turmoil. “Not at all,” you lied, your voice wavering slightly.
His smirk widened, the sharp tips of his teeth glinting faintly in the low light. “Liar.”
Your breath hitched again as he stood, the sheer size of him making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, predatory. His shadow fell over you, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart pounding furiously in your chest.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, velvety growl. “Have you ever let someone take control of you? Completely?”
You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. His presence was overwhelming, his golden eyes boring into you with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare.
“Let me guess,” he continued, his voice smooth and teasing. “You play the role of the confident therapist. Always in control, always composed. But I wonder…” He leaned closer, his claw tipping your chin up slightly. “What would happen if you let go? If you surrendered—for once?”
Your pulse raced as his words sent a shiver down your spine. The air between you was charged, thick with tension that felt ready to snap at any moment.
“I—” You barely managed to speak before his smirk deepened.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body reacts to me.”
Your breath quickened, your mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen—this wasn’t professional. But the pull of his presence, the raw magnetism of him, was impossible to ignore.
As he leaned back, giving you a moment to catch your breath, his smirk softened into something darker, more sinister. “We’ll see how long you can resist,” he murmured, his voice like a promise—a challenge.
You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your notepad like it was a lifeline. Whatever line had just been crossed, there was no going back now. And the worst part? Some small, treacherous part of you didn’t want to.
You glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking seconds echoing louder in your ears as you realized the session had come to an end. It felt like both a relief and a punishment. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Our time is up for today.”
Gripping your notepad tightly, you rose from your chair, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the inner conflict you fought to suppress. “I’ll see you next week?” you asked, your voice carefully measured, though the second heartbeat between your thighs throbbed mercilessly, reminding you of how thin the line was between professionalism and raw, unspoken desire.
Satan leaned back into his seat, his massive frame exuding power and ease as his ever-present smirk stretched across his face. “You’re quite interesting, you know that?” he said, his golden eyes glinting with something dark, something dangerous.
The way his words curled in the air, dripping with molten heat, sent a shiver down your spine. And then he said it—your name.
“See you next week, Y/n.”
The sound of your name, as it rolled off his tongue like a lazy threat, like a predator marking its prey, felt like fire licking at your skin. It wasn’t just the way he said it—it was the way he owned it, as if your name wasn’t yours anymore but his to use, to savor, to command.
You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you fought to maintain control of yourself. His gaze lingered on you, heavy and consuming, as if he could see every thought, every reaction you tried to bury. The room felt smaller, hotter, as if the very air bent to his will.
You took a deep breath, willing the flush creeping up your neck to subside, and bowed your head slightly—a courteous gesture, but also an excuse to break free of his burning gaze. “I’ll… take my leave now,” you managed, your voice steadier than you expected, though your body betrayed you with every trembling step toward the door.
The silence stretched, but you could feel him watching you, his presence looming even as you turned your back to him. Each step felt heavier, your legs weaker, as if some invisible tether pulled you back to him.
“Y/n,” he called softly, his voice low and dripping with amusement. It was enough to stop you in your tracks, your hand hovering just above the door handle.
You turned slightly, not enough to meet his gaze but enough to let him know you were listening.
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said, his smirk audible in his voice. “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.”
Your breath caught, and you didn’t trust yourself to respond. With a hurried nod, you pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the hall as quickly as you could without outright running.
As the door closed behind you, the weight of his words lingered, wrapping around you like a vice. Each step away from his chamber only made the ache within you stronger, and the echo of his voice—dark, commanding, possessive—played on repeat in your mind.
When you finally reached the outside air, you exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest as if to steady the wild beat of your heart. But no matter how much distance you put between you and him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still trapped—bound not by his hands, but by his voice, his gaze, his presence.
And the worst part? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to escape.
______________________
Your mind drifted to Satan again, as it often did these days. His golden eyes, the low timbre of his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it lingered with you like an intoxicating haze. It was wrong to think of him this way, wasn’t it? You're the therapist. A being of ancient power. Yet his words from the last session whispered through your mind, sending a shiver down your spine: “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.” What did he mean? The thought left you breathless, your lip caught between your teeth as you tried to push the memory away.
With a sigh, you turned your attention to the mirror, pulling yourself together. Today was a new session, and you needed to remain professional. No room for fluttering thoughts or the heat that crept up your neck every time he said your name. After all, you had a job to do, and you’d prepared exercises meant to calm, not... whatever this was. You brushed out your hair, adjusted your outfit, and gave yourself one last look. You could do this.
The drive to his mansion felt longer than usual, the limousine’s quiet luxury giving your mind too much space to wander. By the time you arrived and stepped out, your palms were clammy despite the crisp air. You gathered your supplies—a palette, brushes, a canvas—and headed to the imposing doors. They opened with a creak, and there he was, standing tall, his figure sharper than usual in a tailored outfit that clung just enough to his form to make you notice. Was he doing this on purpose? The thought made your cheeks flush.
“Satan,” you greeted, keeping your voice steady as you stepped inside.
“Y/n,” he said simply, his golden eyes locking onto yours. He always said your name like it was a secret, something sacred.
You set your supplies down, the clinking of brushes breaking the charged silence. He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over the items with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “What is this?” he asked, his tone edged with intrigue.
“Painting,” you said, smiling softly. “It’s something that can help channel emotions. I thought it might be worth trying with you.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, but the flicker of interest in them was unmistakable. “You think this will calm me?”
“It’s worth a shot,” you replied, your tone light. “But first, I need you to… shrink a bit. Your current size might make it tricky.”
He arched a brow but complied without argument, his towering form diminishing to something more manageable. Even so, he still loomed over you, his presence filling the room in a way that made your breath catch.
You handed him one of your favorite brushes, your fingers grazing his. The brief contact sent a spark through you that you tried to ignore. “This one’s precious to me, so don’t break it,” you said with a teasing smile.
His golden eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “Why would you entrust me with something so valuable?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.
“Because I think you’ll manage,” you said simply, turning to demonstrate. The truth was, you trusted him in a way you couldn’t explain, and the weight of his gaze as you worked was almost palpable.
You dipped your brush into the paint, your movements fluid and purposeful as you applied color to the canvas. You explained the process, your voice calm, almost hypnotic, as you encouraged him to let his emotions guide him. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” you said, glancing at him. “Just let it flow.”
Satan watched you intently, his focus shifting between your hands and your face. There was something mesmerizing about the way you moved—graceful, confident, entirely at ease. He tried to mimic your strokes but grew frustrated when his didn’t have the same beauty. Fire flickered briefly at the corner of his mouth as his grip on the brush tightened.
“Take your time,” you said gently, your voice softening. “You’ll manage.”
Those words seemed to echo in his mind, silencing his frustration. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His golden eyes settled on you again, and this time, there was something softer in them—something that made your heart skip a beat.
“Pretty,” he murmured, the word so quiet you almost missed it.
You glanced up, assuming he meant his canvas. “It’s not bad for a first try,” you said, smiling.
But when your eyes met his, you realized he wasn’t looking at the canvas at all. He was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made heat rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you were lost in it.
“I… meant your canvas,” he said quickly, the faintest hint of a stammer in his voice. He turned away, focusing on his painting as if the moment hadn’t happened. “I suppose this isn’t for me,” he added, his tone returning to its usual steadiness.
You sighed softly, setting your brush down. “That’s okay. We’ll find something else to try next time.”
When it was time to leave, you gathered your supplies, his lingering gaze following you to the door. “Till next time, Y/n,” he said, his voice softer than usual.
You smiled, bidding him goodbye before stepping into the limousine. As the car pulled away, you stared out the window, your reflection blushing faintly. “Cute,” you muttered under your breath, thinking of his fleeting shyness.
And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think of him a little differently too.
As the limousine glided down the winding road back into the city, Y/n leaned their head against the cool glass of the window. The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow, but their mind was too preoccupied to notice. Their chest tightened as they replayed the day's moments, each interaction with Satan etched into their memory with vivid clarity.
His golden eyes watching them, the way his brows furrowed in frustration only to soften when he heard their encouragement, and that one unguarded word he’d uttered—“pretty.” Y/n sighed and closed their eyes, the image of his intense gaze surfacing unbidden. He had said it so quietly, yet it echoed in their ears, lingering like a secret between them.
Why am I letting this get to me? Y/n thought, shaking their head. Satan was their patient. A being to be studied and guided, not… admired. And yet, there was something about him—something magnetic and impossible to ignore. His raw power was undeniable, but beneath the towering presence and occasional flashes of anger, there was a vulnerability that Y/n couldn’t help but find fascinating.
When the mansion’s doors had first opened to reveal him, standing there like some otherworldly figure carved out of the very shadows of the underworld, Y/n had been struck by how human he seemed despite his demonic origins. He was capable of humor, of curiosity, and, at times, even shyness—like when he stammered over his compliment and turned away. That brief flash of awkwardness had been disarming, endearing even, and it left a warmth in Y/n’s chest that refused to fade.
_______________
The past few weeks had been a blur of trial and error as you and Satan searched for a way to calm his tempestuous nature. Every method—meditation, physical exercises, even music—had ended in failure. Yet, with every attempt, the two of you had grown closer. Comfort had crept in between the boundaries you’d initially set, a warmth that softened the edges of your professional relationship. Perhaps it was too much comfort.
Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair, tugging slightly as you let out a groan. “What’s left?” you muttered, mostly to yourself. You hated admitting defeat, but the lack of progress was wearing on you.
“Are you okay?” Satan’s deep voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. He leaned against the edge of his desk, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned your face. Concern lingered in his tone, though there was something else in his expression—something darker, more intent.
You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders sagging. “Yeah, I’m just… out of ideas,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “Nothing seems to work. Maybe you were right all along—this isn’t going to change.”
A low growl escaped him, and he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with every step. “There’s one thing we haven’t tried,” he said, his voice a seductive rumble. He reached out, his clawed fingers brushing along the curve of your neck with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine. The ruby necklace he’d given you weeks ago caught the light, glinting like a drop of blood between you.
You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I’m open,” you replied, though your voice wavered. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but the tension in the air was thick enough to drown in.
His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter. “Let me please you,” he said, the words both a question and a command.
Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
His hand slid lower, taking yours in his. His touch was firm but surprisingly warm, and you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened. “For weeks, I’ve been thinking of you. Not just as a distraction from my anger, but as something—someone—I want to consume. Every thought I’ve had has been about how to lure you in, how to make you mine.”
Your heart thundered in your chest, your body tingling with the weight of his confession. He slipped a delicate, shining ring onto your finger, the smooth metal cold against your skin.
“I’ve never felt this way before,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “I’m throbbing for you, aching to show you what it means to be claimed by me.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. His clawed hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
The first touch of his tongue against your neck made you gasp, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head to the side to give him better access as he traced slow, burning lines along your skin.
“Satan…” His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as his claws found the waistband of your pants, the sharp tips grazing your skin without breaking it.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice raw with need. “Tell me you want it too.”
You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if to ground yourself. That was all the confirmation he needed.
With a growl, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. His sharp teeth grazed your lower lip, and the pain mingled with pleasure in a way that made your head spin. His hands roamed your body, one clawed hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place.
You gasped as he tore open your shirt, the fabric giving way like paper under his strength. His golden eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed skin, and the heat in his gaze made you shiver. “Perfect,” he growled, his lips descending to your collarbone as his claws worked your pants down, leaving you bare beneath his burning gaze.
He pressed his body against yours, his skin hot like fire but not unbearable. The sensation was intoxicating, his power and desire radiating off him in waves that left you trembling. His mouth found your chest, his tongue and teeth teasing sensitive skin until you were writhing beneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fought to keep some semblance of control.
But control was the last thing Satan allowed. “Let go,” he commanded, his voice a low snarl as his hand slipped between your thighs. His touch was rough but precise, drawing sounds from you that you’d never made before. He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you.
You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, the heat of his body searing into your palms. His growls deepened as you touched him, and when you whispered his name again, it seemed to drive him over the edge.
He latched onto your nipple, his hot, eager tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as though it held the key to quenching a deep, unrelenting hunger. The heat of his mouth sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching instinctively to press closer to him. Each flick and tug of his tongue was deliberate, rough yet skilled, and it drove you wild with every second.
Your hands found his horns, gripping tightly as a loud, unrestrained moan tore from your lips. The sensation of his horns beneath your fingers—solid, commanding, and so uniquely him—only heightened the intensity of the moment. He groaned in response, the vibration of it against your skin adding a tantalizing edge to the pleasure.
As you opened your mouth to say something—perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse his name—his massive hand moved swiftly, covering your mouth and silencing you with an almost possessive dominance. His palm was warm, his claws just barely grazing your jawline, a silent reminder of his power.
“Shh,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with desire and control. “No words. Just feel.”
The command sent a shiver down your spine, your muffled protests turning into needy whimpers against his hand. His golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race. He didn’t need to say more; the look alone spoke volumes. You’re mine, and I’m going to show you exactly what that means.
His free hand trailed down your side, the sharp edge of his claws leaving ghostly trails that tingled with a mix of anticipation and pleasure. He shifted slightly, his lips abandoning one nipple to lavish attention on the other, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you gasp against his palm.
“Such sweet sounds,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a deep, sinful growl that left you trembling. “I want to hear every single one.”
He claimed you fully then, his movements powerful and relentless as he pushed you to your limits and beyond. The roughness of his touch, the possessiveness in every kiss and thrust, sent you spiraling into a state of pure bliss. He was consuming, overwhelming, but it was everything you hadn’t known you needed.
When it was over, you were both breathing heavily, your bodies tangled together on the floor. His claws traced lazy circles on your skin, the sharp tips surprisingly gentle now.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left no room for argument.
You smiled, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “Yours,” you whispered, and for the first time in weeks, you felt completely at peace.
“I need to take you fully,” he growled, his voice rough with restraint, though his burning gaze made it clear his control was hanging by a thread. His golden eyes bore into yours, aflame with desire and something deeper—possessiveness, perhaps, or the primal need to claim you completely. His hot breath fanned across your face, each exhale like a spark threatening to ignite you from within.
You swallowed hard, your body trembling beneath him as you nodded, unable to form words. He stood, towering over you even in his "smallest" form, and the sound of his belt buckle clicking open made your heart skip. His hand gripped the base of his shaft, his claws brushing lightly against his skin as he stroked himself. His movements were deliberate, slow, as he smeared the slick arousal you’d already left on him along his length. The sight of it was utterly mesmerizing.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, his voice a rumble of raw need. His eyes darted to your smaller frame beneath him, the contrast between your softness and his powerful figure making his jaw tighten. Your body trembled under his intense scrutiny, and the way you shuddered only seemed to spur him on.
“You’ll take all of me,” he promised darkly, his lips pulling into a feral smirk before he positioned himself at your entrance. Slowly, he began to press in, the stretch almost overwhelming as he filled you inch by inch. The thickness of him made your breath hitch, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as your body struggled to accommodate him.
When he was fully seated inside you, he let out a guttural groan, his head falling forward as if savoring the way your body gripped him so tightly. “Perfect,” he muttered, his voice laced with awe and lust. “You were made for this. Made for me.”
He started to move, his thrusts deliberate and forceful, his pace building with every stroke. The wet, sinful sounds of your body meeting his filled the den, mingling with the guttural sounds he made as he lost himself in the rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, his rough movements perfectly hitting every sensitive spot.
“Look at you,” he growled, his voice thick with pride as he watched your body arch beneath him, your moans spilling out freely. “Taking me so well—every inch of me.”
His hands gripped your hips tightly, claws digging in just enough to leave marks as he pulled you into each thrust. His pace quickened, his breathing harsh and uneven, a symphony of raw need that filled the space around you.
Your moans turned into cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you harder, the force of it making your head spin. The pressure building inside you was unbearable, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He growled your name, the sound reverberating through the air as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.
“You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice breaking slightly as he thrust even harder, his control finally snapping. “Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure and submission. “I’m yours.”
The words seemed to ignite something in him, his movements becoming even more relentless. His growls deepened, and the way he pounded into you left you utterly breathless. Every nerve in your body was aflame, and as you reached your peak, the intensity of it shattered you completely, your cries echoing through the den.
Moments later, he followed, his movements faltering as he let out a deep, primal groan. You felt him shudder above you, his body rigid as he spilled into you, marking you in a way that felt both physical and otherworldly.
For a moment, the only sounds were the two of you catching your breath, the heat of his body still pressed against yours. He leaned down, brushing a surprisingly tender kiss against your forehead, a stark contrast to the ferocity he’d shown moments before.
“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, almost as if reassuring himself.
And as you lay there in his arms, thoroughly claimed and utterly sated, you knew he was right. You were his. And you didn’t want it any other way.
Saw no one making shit about him so here I am your savior. Damn y'all.
💫
Masterlist
icymi: here’s all of my seven deadly sins moodboards 🔥
you can see them slowly improve as i actually find a rhythm. 😭 i love seeing them all together like this!! they look so cool!
anyway, ta-ta for now!!
Sataan, the Sin of Wrath
Hazbin Masterpost
Heavenbound AU
Thoughts on the Seven Sins
Name: In my head, his name is pronounced more like Sa-TAHN, rather than SAY-tan. I decided to spell it as Sataan(I don't want to bother editing the images for a single letter) instead of Satan to keep him separate from real-world theology.
—Design Notes—
Canon: I don't mind his canon design, I kinda like it actually. But I wanted to push a couple things and simplify others. The striping on his arms looked cool, but just seems like a hassle to try doing consistently. So I cut it, and just overall simplified his skin patterning. I also went with just one pair of eyes because figuring out how to fit the second pair on his face was frustrating me. Not everything needs too many eyes anyway.
Dragon-Bull: In canon, he's a dragon. Which is cool, because dragons are cool. But his legs were very plain and I wanted to do something different with them. More monstrous. So I went with a minotaur inspired look. Bulls are stereotypically known for being angry and aggressive, so I think it works. Oh, and it suits the western cowboy vibe.
Horns: To further tie in the bull theme, I made one set of horns point forward more like bull horns. They're white because it contrasts from the rest of him, and hopefully balances the accent colors.
Wings: In his partial/glamour form, he can summon and dismiss his wings at will. Partly because drawing them all the time sounds annoying, lol. But also because it helps show a more dramatic difference between the glamour and full demon forms. I drew them on the glamour form for reference's sake.
Tail: I didn't want to do a spade-tipped tail for everyone, and had the bright idea to make it like a charizard pokemon tail for Satan. Maybe I should include a thagomizer? The flame is blue for lore reasons, don't worry about it.
Body Build: He had to be a beefy strongman. The bull/beef pun was unintentional, but I will take it. For his full demon form, I really tried to focus on making him built like a bull. Very front heavy.
Clothes: Since the Wrath Ring seems to be wild-west coded, I figured the canon vest could stay largely as-is. But to emphasize it even more, I wanted the hair on his legs to resemble cowboy chaps.
Justice System: Using him to serve in a judiciary role is interesting. His form of justice would be more vengeance-oriented. Revenge is associated with wrath, proper justice is associated with the positive equivalent(righteous fury).
Name: In the Bible, ha-satan means "the aversary" or "the accuser" and was a title rather than a name. "Ha" means "the." Ha-satan, as opposed to plain satan, referred to a supernatural being that functioned as spiritual opposition or prosecution. "Satan" wasn't used as a name for the personification of evil until the New Testament.
—Capital Vices/Cardinal Sins—
The concept of the seven deadly sins is not strictly biblical. They are based on Greek philosophical musings of biblical concepts, which became popular enough that they've become widely accepted into Christian lore. There are varying lists and hierarchical rankings of each sin. There were initially eight, but Despair/Sloth were merged, and Vainglory/Pride were merged, then Envy was added. Which brings it back to seven.
I haven't actually watched Helluva Boss. What I know is from clips, fanfics, and video essays. So take this with a grain of salt.
The overall canon depiction of the Sins has felt odd so far. They don't seem to represent their sins very well. It seems to be suggesting that some sins are more good/less bad than others, which doesn't sit right with me. I can see narrative possibilities for making them morally nuanced characters, but I don't know if it's something canon will ever address. But I can assure you, I have intentions behind the choice to make the sins less than pure evil. I still want them to embody the depraved nature of sin at the same time. It ties into my AU's lore.
Basically, the Sins are fallen angels like Lucifer. But they lost more of their identity to the corruption of hell than Lucifer did. Lucifer is less affected because he was an angel of light, and unknowingly brought a spark of heaven with him. The Sins don't remember much of their old lives as angels, and are struggling to be more than just their nature as sins. It parallels the concept of redemption for sinners, except the Sins don't really have hope of returning to heaven. They just don't want to succumb to their mindless corrupted nature.
Anyway, here's a quick run down of what wrath entails, in the form of various keywords(which I hope is coherent enough to get my intentions across):
—Wrath—
Excessive anger, rage/outrage, hatred Violent, offensive, impatient Retaliation, vengeance, revenge, retribution. Easily offended. Lashes out, even at the innocent/undeserving. Excessive and/or misplaced anger.
Opposite Virtue: Patience Justice, composure, patience
(Nov 17, 2025- changed the name spelling for theological reasons)
☆⠀⠀⠀⠀coined by: JOHN / BEETLE.
––⠀⠀⠀wrathbodiment.
a xenogender term related to being the embodiment of wrath, whatever that means to the user.
––⠀⠀⠀a genderbodiment term.
coined self indulgently, not as a request. do not reupload to pinterest.
––⠀⠀⠀tagging @radiomogai , @funnyyqueer , @snuffity , @mogaiqueued , @mooniiecake , @poppiesong , @moremarriott , @narcpolar ( ask to be added ).
So Santan, you and Sera, huh?
I can't say I'm surprised, but I can't blame you, neither. I mean, with all due respect, she's hotter than Hellfire itself.
One of the nice things about having your torture dungion in a building that is outside of space and time is that people rarely wander into it without invitation. Rarely. There always has to be that one person who doesn't play by the rules of the universe.
In this particular case, that one person was some teenaged boy with green eyes and a permanent scowl. He was standing near the back wall glaring at his phone as if it had somehow wronged him. He wore distressed jeans, a green hoodie with a tiger on it, red sneakers, and had a guitarcase slung over his back.
@thedollfacedkiller
Nathaniel teleported into the room, a red smoke wafting into the dead air. It disappeared after a moment. His eyes narrowed at the stranger. Teen or not, it was an intruder, most likely an unpleasant human having nothing offer.
He pulled a knife from his black blazer, the silver blade glittering the dim light. His arm yanked back, and the tip of the knife scrapped against the dark bricks caging them in. Golden sparks flew, followed by shhhing.
“Who are you to be entering a room I gave no permission for you to be in?” He hissed.
Uhhhh he doesn’t really fit the Cuphead universe vibe but whatever. I kept him pretty bare and simple because he’s got a lot of body, maybe I’ll change that, But here’s Satan
(If it’s hard to tell he’s got like a dragon centaur thing going on in the back)