I was wondering if I could request something for Satan x reader? The reader is one of Stolas' best friends, and it's after the trial. She's been distant from Satan for a few days after the trial, then when he's not home, she just packs a suitcase and teleports out of Satan's home. He's obviously pissed and maybe confused.
Needed Me
Satan x Reader
Tw: This somehow turned a bit yonder at the end, Violence, Arguing, Angry Satan
back with a banger Ig!! This was such an amazing Idea thank you for the ask!!!! Enjoy💫
You watched it all unfold live on TV, your pulse pounding in your ears as you clutched your phone so tightly it felt like it might shatter. But oh, how you wished it wasn’t your phone in your grip—how you wished it was the neck of your oh-so-wonderful boyfriend, Satan. No wonder he didn’t want you at the trial. Satan, who usually parades you around like a trophy, basking in your presence as he flexes his power in that twisted, charming way you sometimes find disgustingly endearing.
But not today. Today, his absence of invitation made sense. And when you turned on the trial, the reason struck like a slap to your face. There, in the defendant’s dock, stood not just anyone but Blitzo—your best friend’s crush, their plaything, their goddamned obsession.
The shock left you breathless. Your chest tightened, your heartbeat erratic, as the scene on the screen blurred in and out of focus. And then, there he was—Stolas, trembling under the weight of judgments axe. Your anger toward Satan flared hot, searing your throat as you screamed at the unfairness of it all. He’d deliberately kept you away. Satan. That smug, manipulative bastard.
The trial was moving too fast, the words of the prosecution landing like sledgehammers. A death penalty. For crimes so heinous they barely sounded real. But the worst part? Some of the charges were fabricated—lies woven to condemn him. And Satan, your darling, devious boyfriend, didn’t even want to hear this Blitzo out.
The way Stolas’s powers and possessions were mercilessly torn from him—every ounce of his status, his dignity, ripped away. Even his daughter, stolen from him for a century, banished to a fate he couldn’t prevent. And all of this, simply because he dared to protect that imp, Blitzo.
How could he? How could he do this, knowing what Stolas meant to you? Yes, Stolas had made mistakes—terrible ones—but he was still your friend, your best friend. The memory of Satan’s silence in the face of these accusations only stoked your fury. And when Stolas’s powers were stripped from him, leaving him vulnerable and broken, you knew he needed you more than ever.
But the screen went black. And with it, your resolve turned cold and hard. The overwhelming tide of emotions—anger, betrayal, despair—threatened to consume you, and you needed an outlet. The kitchen called, its promise of mindless distraction your only escape as you awaited the return of your beloved Satan.
Your hands shook as you reached for something, anything, to dull the edge of your fury. But deep down, you knew nothing would temper the storm inside until you confronted him. Until you demanded answers. Until you made him feel the full force of your rage.
Hours passed before you heard the heavy creak of the kitchen door opening. There he was—your so-called man, Satan—walking in with that smug, self-assured grin plastered on his face. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, his arms reaching out for your waist in an attempt to pull you close. But you sidestepped him, leaving his hands to grasp at empty air.
He blinked, momentarily thrown off, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Bae?” he asked, confusion and amusement mingling in his tone. He tried again, stepping closer, but you dodged once more, the deliberate rejection unmistakable.
“C’mon, babe,” he sighed, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. “It’s been an exhausting day. Don’t play games with me right now.” His third attempt met the same cold evasion.
“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, his voice soft but with an undeniable edge of irritation.
“You know exactly what’s wrong,” you growled, your voice sharp enough to cut glass. You turned toward the door, heading for the exit, but Satan was hot on your heels.
“No, I don’t,” he snapped, his patience slipping. “Just tell me!”
You spun around, your fury igniting like a wildfire. “I saw it, Satan,” you hissed, the venom in your tone palpable.
His smirk faltered, replaced by a wince as you used his formal name. “What…?” His eyes widened as realization dawned. “Oh,” he muttered, raising his hands defensively. “Honey, listen, I apologize, but I had to—”
“You had to?” you snarled, your eyes blazing as you stepped closer. “You had to believe the lies that stupid Elsa Goita spewed? Embarrassing, Satan! Absolutely pathetic. And you—” your voice cracked, “you know damn well what Stolas means to me!”
Satan’s own frustration boiled over, and his voice dropped into a dangerous growl. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what he means to you? I spared him, Y/n. I gave him the hundred-year sentence instead of eternal banishment, and you want to stand there and act like I did nothing? I could’ve stripped him of his title permanently. But I didn’t—because of you!”
You let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. And all because some snow demon lied to your face. You fell for it, Satan. He made you his puppet, and you danced for him. How could you be so blind?”
In a flash, Satan was in front of you, his towering presence suffocating. His eyes burned like embers, and the heat of his breath on your skin made you tremble. “Crime is crime, Y/n,” he roared, his voice low but seething with barely restrained rage. “I can’t ignore the law just because you’re friends with him! Stop being so naive!”
The air felt charged, your chest heaving as you searched for the right words. Then you asked the question you’d been dreading. “What if it were me in that dock, Satan? Would you have spared me?”
His silence was deafening. A long, drawn-out pause stretched between you, his eyes darting away for just a second too long. But that second was enough.
“Wow,” you whispered, a hollow laugh escaping as you tried to choke back the tears threatening to spill. “That’s all I needed to know.”
“Y/n—” he began, his tone softening, but you held up a hand to stop him, your glare freezing him in place.
Without another word, you stormed out of the room, retreating to one of the guest quarters and slamming the door behind you.
Satan let out a long, weary sigh, running a clawed hand down his face. “She’ll be fine in the morning,” he muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
________
The next day crept in like a weight pressing on your chest. Satan was already in the dining hall, tapping impatient claws against the table as the minutes dragged into hours. Two hours, to be exact. His patience, already thin, was unraveling.
The moment he saw your maid enter the hall, his booming voice echoed off the marble walls. “You there!”
The maid flinched, nearly dropping the tray in her hands. “Y-Yes, my Lord?”
“Where’s Y/n?” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to slice through her nervous stammering.
“She’s in the guest room,” the maid whispered, her wide eyes avoiding his glare.
Satan raised an eyebrow. “Not hungry?” His voice softened with concern, though it only made the maid shrink further.
“She ate in the guest room, my Lord,” she replied quickly.
His lips pressed into a thin line, his concern quickly morphing into irritation. So, you were still ignoring him—for this?He stomped through the halls, his heavy footsteps rattling the air as he made his way to your temporary sanctuary.
Once at the door, he rapped against it with a force that made the wood groan. “Darling…” he called, his tone strained but still tender. No response. He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Sweetheart, open the door, or I’ll open it myself. Your choice.”
Moments later, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. But before he could get a word in, you brushed past him like he didn’t exist. His clawed hand shot out to stop you, but you were already gone, disappearing down the hall without so much as a glance.
He exhaled sharply, stepping into the room you’d occupied. Chaos greeted him—furniture askew, items scattered across the floor. His eyes lingered on the mess, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. A buzzing in his pocket snapped him out of his thoughts.
His phone. Missed calls. Emails. His assistant’s increasingly frantic messages demanding his presence at yet another meeting with the sins. Satan growled low in his throat, biting his lip as he turned to leave. The faster this is over, the faster I can deal with her.
The halls felt eerily quiet in his absence. That silence wrapped around you like a suffocating fog, amplifying the pounding in your chest. You knew this was your chance—your only chance.
Heart racing, you bolted toward the shared room. Every step felt heavier than the last, but you didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. Throwing open the door, you grabbed whatever you could carry—clothes, essentials, a few personal trinkets—and stuffed them into a bag. No second thoughts. No looking back.
By the time you reached the edge of the property, the weight of your decision began to settle in your chest, a dull ache mixing with the adrenaline. You crossed into the land of Lust, as far away from Wrath as you could manage on short notice.
Your phone was the next to go. You replaced it, changed your number, severing any remaining ties. It was drastic, maybe even reckless, but you couldn’t stay. Not after everything. You needed time, space, and maybe—just maybe—Satan needed to feel what it was like to lose you.
Your heart felt like it might break under the strain of your thoughts as you clutched a wad of cash in your hand. Booking a room in a cheap lover’s hotel—the only thing you could afford right now—felt like the lowest point you’d reached in a long time.
The room was exactly what you expected: dim lighting, peeling wallpaper, and walls so thin that the symphony of moans from the adjacent rooms was practically deafening. You cranked up the volume on your headphones, hoping to drown it all out, and collapsed onto the creaky bed.
Opening your bag, your eyes fell on a small photo tucked into a book—a picture of you and Stolas, both smiling in happier times. A pang of guilt and longing hit you hard. You couldn’t help but wonder: How is he holding up? Does he even have anyone left?
With a heavy sigh, you lay back, staring at the stained ceiling. The fight with Satan replayed in your mind on an endless loop, each word cutting deeper than the last. You’d meant it when you felt that you needed time, but the pain lingered. The betrayal, the disappointment, the silence that followed your question—it all lingered.
Your chest felt like it might burst under the weight of it all. For now, you just needed to close your eyes, to escape the noise—both external and internal. As your thoughts swirled into chaos, you pulled the thin, scratchy blanket over yourself, clinging to the faint hope that sleep might bring some semblance of peace.
________
Satan was furious—no, enraged. The kind of rage that seared through flesh and soul, unstoppable and all-consuming. Fire erupted from his mouth with every ragged breath, the inferno dancing across the room like a living beast. Flames licked at the walls, the ceiling, and the trembling bodies of the unlucky staff who couldn’t escape in time.
The first scream pierced the air, shrill and agonized, as the fire engulfed a maid near the door. Her skin bubbled and blistered, blackening as her body crumpled to the floor, flames hungrily devouring her. Another worker tried to flee, but Satan’s inferno had no mercy. It roared after them, swallowing their desperate cries. The acrid stench of burning flesh and hair filled the air, thick and choking.
Satan didn’t care. Not about the bodies collapsing in heaps of charred remains. Not about the assistant who had loyally served you, now writhing on the floor, their screams fading into a gurgling silence as the fire reduced them to ash.
None of it mattered.
You were gone.
He stood amidst the destruction, the heat of his own flames doing nothing to quench the ice-cold fury that burned inside him. His eyes, glowing embers of hatred, fixated on the empty space where your belongings once were. Your bag, your clothes, even the faint scent of you—gone. You hadn’t even left a note.
Everything around him was ablaze, but it wasn’t enough. His rage was volcanic, a molten tide that threatened to destroy everything in its path. The entire estate felt the wrath of their lord, the heat so intense it cracked stone and melted glass. Even those miles away felt the earth tremble beneath their feet and the blistering air that made it hard to breathe.
His claws dug into the scorched remains of your shared bedpost, splintering the wood to pieces as his chest heaved with fury. “You think you can leave me,” he growled, his voice low and guttural, reverberating like a death knell. “You think you can just walk away.”
The flames roared louder, echoing his rage, as he let out a guttural, primal scream that shook the very foundation of the halls. Sparks flew, embers rained down, and the air itself seemed to tremble under his fury.
Finally, he exhaled, his breath hot and toxic, like the hiss of a volcano before it erupts again. His glowing eyes narrowed, and a dark, predatory smile crept across his lips.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered, his voice a dangerous purr that promised nothing but destruction. “And when I do, I’ll bring you back. Even if I have to burn down every last thing you hold dear.”
The thought of you trembling, of your lips murmuring apologies, of your body back in his grasp—it was enough to temper his rage, to transform his fury into something far darker. A hunger. A need.
As the last of the staff’s screams faded into silence and the fire crackled softly in the aftermath of the carnage, Satan stood in the center of the devastation. His sharp claws dragged lazily across the stone wall, leaving scorch marks in their wake, as he imagined your face when you realized the mistake you’d made.
“Run all you like,” he murmured, his deep voice curling through the smoky air like a lover’s caress. “But you’ll come back to me. You’ll beg to come back to me.”
The room was still ablaze, but his smile—dark, wicked, and full of promise—was hotter than any fire.
And somewhere, miles away, as you tossed and turned in a restless sleep, a chill ran down your spine.
This is Intense, Idk how Y/n will survive this at this point.
💫
