hi my name is puppy! im a writer, artist, and a dog girl irl (not clickbait)
she/her pronouns
about the blog / boundaries
this blog is where i post all my obey me x reader writing! read at your own risk, sometimes i do not always tag and cw things (but you can request i do so in my RAD Confession Booth!)
this is an 18+ only blog. all i ask is that minors do not interact with my posts. i know minors will read them, all I ask is you just scroll away after so i don't have to deal with you.
i do not do discourse. this boundary is not negotiable. basic dni criteria applies.
mc who's into body worship :3 ?? like uhmm.. wanting to worship the boys body's and praise them ?
i was gonna do all the brothers but i got tired after doing lucifer, especially cause im still working on the valentines day post rn sowwyyy also this ended up being way more fluffy than i intended whoops
A Devotion in Flesh
lucifer x reader
masterlist
The low light of the Devildom evening cast long shadows across the room, but the only shadow you cared about was the one Lucifer created as he stood before you, a statue of pride and power. He had just returned from a long, grueling meeting with Diavolo, and the tension was still coiled in his shoulders, a subtle rigidity in his posture that only you knew how to read.
You rose from your seat on the edge of the bed, moving to stand before him. You didn't speak. You simply reached out, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. He flinched slightly, surprised by the sudden, gentle contact.
"What are you doing?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble.
"Shh," you murmured, your hands moving to the intricate buttons of his coat. "Let me."
He watched you, his crimson eyes filled with a curious mix of suspicion and intrigue. He said nothing as you slowly, deliberately, divested him of his layers. The heavy coat, the formal vest, the crisp shirt—each piece was removed with a reverence that bordered on worship. You weren't just undressing him; you were unveiling him.
When his upper body was finally bare, you took a step back, your eyes roaming over the expanse of pale, perfect skin. He was a masterpiece, a study in controlled strength. You could see the faint, faded scars that told stories of battles long past, a testament to his power.
"Lucifer," you breathed, your voice filled with awe. "You're magnificent."
A faint blush colored his cheeks. "It's just a body," he said, a hint of his usual dismissiveness in his tone.
"No," you countered, stepping forward again. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. "It's not 'just a body'. It's yours. It's the body that commands the Celestial Realm, that holds the Devildom in balance. It's the body that protects me, that cherishes me."
You leaned in, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his chest, directly over his heart. "This heart," you whispered, "that feels so much, even when you try to hide it. I adore it."
You moved your lips to his shoulder, tracing the line of his collarbone with your tongue. "These shoulders, that carry the weight of all your responsibilities. They're so strong."
You kissed your way down his stomach, your hands mapping the planes of his abdomen. "And this...this is the core of your power. The source of your strength."
He was trembling now, his composure cracking under the weight of your adoration. His hands came to rest on your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, not to guide you, but simply to hold on.
You looked up at him, your eyes shining with a fierce, unwavering love. "Let me worship you, Lucifer. Let me show you how much I adore every part of you."
He could only nod, his throat too tight to speak.
You spent what felt like an eternity exploring his body, your lips and your hands leaving no inch of his skin untouched. You praised his strength, his resilience, his beauty. You kissed his scars, your tongue tracing the silvered lines, a silent acknowledgment of the pain he had endured. You lavished attention on his hands, those elegant, powerful hands that could both create and destroy, pressing kisses to his palms and his knuckles.
By the time you finally made your way back to his lips, he was a completely different demon. The tension was gone, replaced by a raw, vulnerable need. His eyes were dark, no longer burning with pride, but with a deep, desperate hunger.
He pulled you into a fierce, possessive kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you as thoroughly as you had just claimed him. He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed, laying you down against the pillows.
He hovered over you, his body a perfect, beautiful cage. "You see me," he murmured, his voice a low, awestruck whisper. "You truly see me."
"Always," you promised, reaching up to cup his face. "Now, make love to me. Let me feel all that strength you have."
He did. He entered you with a slow, deliberate thrust, his movements a stark contrast to the raw passion of his kiss. It was a slow, deep, worshipful coupling, a silent conversation of love and adoration. He moved inside you with a powerful, rhythmic grace, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he were memorizing your face, your every reaction.
You came together, a slow, cresting wave of pleasure that left you both breathless and trembling. He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his face buried in your hair.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely showed. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Always," you repeated, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. "Always."
actually i really really hate this one and this is the worst case of mischaracterization yall will ever see from me. augh i dont even want to reread this so its mot even proofread.
Unclawed
satan x m!reader — cw: petplay, sub/dom (satan as the submissive)
masterlist
The end of the week in the Devildom was a sacred thing. For you and Satan, it meant locking the door of your shared room, drawing the curtains, and shedding the titles of "Avatar of Wrath" and "human exchange student" for something far more comfortable.
Today, that meant you were sitting on the plush rug by the fireplace, a book in your lap that you were only pretending to read. Your attention was entirely on the demon currently curled up on a pile of velvet cushions a few feet away.
Satan was beautiful like this. Stripped of his usual sharp, intellectual armor, he was all soft lines and contented grace. He was naked save for a sleek, black leather collar with a small, silver bell that tinkled softly with his every movement. A pair of matching, fuzzy black cat ears perched in his blonde hair, twitching occasionally at the crackle of the fire. He was dozing, his tail—a long, elegant thing with a white tip—swishing lazily against the cushions.
You watched him for a long moment, a fond smile playing on your lips. Then, you reached into the small, carved box beside you and pulled out a simple, feathered wand.
You flicked your wrist, and the feather danced through the air, brushing against the tip of his tail.
His ear twitched. His tail stilled. One green eye cracked open, fixing you with a sleepy, suspicious glare.
You did it again, this time trailing the feather along his flank.
He let out a soft huff, a sound of pure, feline annoyance. He stretched, his back arching in a perfect, sinuous curve, before settling back down, pointedly turning his back to you.
"Oh, don't be like that," you chuckled, your voice a low, gentle murmur. You crawled over to him, the feather still in hand. You knelt beside his nest of pillows, reaching out to scratch him behind the ears, right at the base of the fuzzy headband.
He leaned into your touch immediately, a low, rumbling purr starting in his chest. It was a deep, vibrating sound that you could feel through your fingertips. "That's my good boy," you praised softly, continuing to scratch.
He shifted, rolling onto his back to expose his pale, toned stomach. It was an invitation, a sign of ultimate trust. You took it, your hand trailing down to rub his belly. His purring grew louder, his legs kicking slightly in pleasure.
"You're so pretty when you're relaxed," you murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. "So much better than when you're holed up in that library, arguing with Lucifer."
He just hummed in response, his eyes closed, a blissed-out smile on his face. You decided to push your luck. You brought the feather back, this time tickling the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
His eyes snapped open, and he let out a sharp, surprised gasp. His legs closed instinctively, trapping your hand. "No fair," he grumbled, his voice a sleepy mumble.
"All's fair in love and petplay," you teased, gently prying his legs apart. You leaned in, your breath warm against his ear. "Don't you want to play?"
He hesitated for a moment, his pride warring with his desire. But desire won out, as it always did with you. He gave a slow, deliberate nod, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink.
"Good boy," you repeated, your voice dropping to a low, dominant growl. You moved between his legs, your hands gently stroking his thighs. "You're going to be so good for me, aren't you?"
"Yes," he breathed, his eyes dark with lust.
You took your time, exploring his body with your hands and your mouth. You mapped out every sensitive spot, every place that made him gasp and writhe. You paid special attention to his nipples, teasing them with your tongue until they were hard, pebbled points. He was arching up into your touch, his purrs now broken by soft, needy whimpers.
"Please," he begged, his hands fisting in the rug beneath him. "Please, Master..."
"Please what?" you asked, your voice a silken taunt.
"Please...touch me," he gasped. "I want...I want your mouth on me."
You chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Since you asked so nicely."
You moved down his body, your mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses along his stomach. You bypassed his hard, leaking cock, much to his dismay, and instead took his balls into your mouth, sucking them gently, rolling them with your tongue.
He cried out, his back arching off the floor. "Ah! Please.. not there...I want..."
You hummed, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through him. You finally took pity on him, releasing him and moving up to take his cock into your mouth. He was hot and hard, and he tasted of salt and precum. You swirled your tongue around the head, lapping up the bead of moisture there, before taking him deep, your lips stretching around his girth.
You set a slow, teasing rhythm, your head bobbing up and down, your hand stroking the base of his cock in time with your movements. He was a mess beneath you, a writhing, whimpering mess of pleasure. His hands were tangled in your hair, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth, chasing the pleasure you were so generously giving him.
"I'm gonna...I'm gonna come," he gasped, his voice tight with desperation.
You pulled off, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. "Not yet," you commanded, your voice firm. "You don't come until I say so."
He let out a frustrated whine, but he obeyed, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. You crawled back up his body, straddling his waist. You looked down at him, his face flushed, his eyes hazy with lust, his lips swollen and red. He was the picture of submission, and it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
"You're so good for me," you murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "So obedient. So perfect."
He preened under your praise, a soft, contented purr starting in his chest again. You reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube from the side table, slicking up your fingers. You slowly pressed one inside him, then two, stretching him, preparing him for you. He was tight, so tight, and he clenched around your fingers, a soft moan escaping his lips.
"Please," he begged again, his voice a desperate, needy whine. "Please, Master...I need you...I need you inside me..."
You couldn't deny him any longer. You slicked up your own cock, then slowly, deliberately, pushed inside him. He cried out, a sharp, guttural sound of pleasure as you filled him, stretched him, claimed him. You gave him a moment to adjust, then you started to move.
You set a slow, steady pace, your hips rolling in a deep, rhythmic motion that hit his prostate with every thrust. He was writhing beneath you, his nails digging into your back, his legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper. The bell on his collar was jingling constantly, a sweet, erotic soundtrack to your lovemaking.
"Look at me," you commanded, your voice a low growl. He opened his eyes, which were now glowing with a faint, demonic light. "You're mine. All mine."
"Yours," he breathed, his voice a reverent whisper. "All yours."
"Come for me," you commanded, your voice a low, authoritative growl. "Come for me now."
He didn't need to be told twice. With a final, guttural scream, he came, his body convulsing as his orgasm ripped through him. His come splattered across his stomach and chest, a hot, sticky mess. The sight of him, so completely undone, so utterly yours, was enough to push you over the edge. You buried yourself deep inside him with a final, powerful thrust, your own orgasm crashing over you as you filled him with your release.
You stayed there for a long moment, your bodies tangled together, your breathing ragged and uneven. Then, slowly, you pulled out, collapsing beside him on the rug. He immediately curled into your side, his head resting on your chest, his purring a soft, contented rumble.
You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. You reached up and gently removed the fuzzy ears, setting them aside. Then, you unbuckled the collar, tossing it onto the pile of pillows.
"You were so good," you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "My perfect, precious boy."
He sighed, a happy, contented sound. "Only for you," he whispered, his voice thick with sleep. "Only ever for you."
You held him close, listening to the sound of his breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the soft, steady beat of his heart. This was your sanctuary. This was your home. And you wouldn't have it any other way.
The clock on the wall seemed to be mocking you, its hands ticking away with an infuriatingly cheerful rhythm. You were late. You were already twenty minutes late for Diavolo's annual charity gala, an event Mammon had been preening about for weeks. "The Great Mammon has to make an appearance!" he'd declared. "Can't have the common folk thinkin' I've lost my touch!"
But your touch, at the moment, was the problem.
You sat on the edge of the bed, a gorgeous floor-length gown draped around you, your feet bare. In front of you lay a pair of elegant, heeled shoes. They were beautiful, and right now, they might as well have been on the moon. You leaned forward, your breath catching as the immense, round weight of your belly pressed against your ribs. Your fingers strained, your back screamed in protest, and you couldn't even see your own feet past the monumental curve of your pregnancy.
A grunt of frustration escaped your lips. You tried again, angling your body to the side, contorting yourself in a way that felt both ridiculous and painful. Your fingers just brushed the strap of the shoe before you had to sit back up, panting slightly. The baby chose that exact moment to deliver a sharp, decisive kick to your ribs, as if in agreement with your frustration.
"Mammon," you called out, your voice tight. "Can you...can you come help me for a second?"
From the ensuite bathroom, you could hear the clatter of a cologne bottle. "In a minute! Just gotta make sure I've got my signature scent right. Can't go smellin' like a common demon, now can we?"
You gritted your teeth, trying once more. You managed to get your toes into the shoe, but as you tried to slide your heel in, your foot cramped. You let out a small whimper of pain and defeat, slumping back against the pillows.
"Mammon, please," you called again, this time a little louder, a little more desperate.
He finally emerged, looking immaculate in his white suit, his hair styled to perfection. He stopped, hands on his hips, and took in the scene: you, flushed and disheveled on the bed, one shoe half-on, the other lying innocently on the floor. He glanced at the clock, and his face fell.
"We're gonna be soo late," he groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "C'mon, what's the hold up?"
"I can't," you said, your voice wobbling slightly. "I can't reach."
He let out an exasperated sigh, the sound like sandpaper on your already frayed nerves. "Just...lean forward a bit more! We don't have all night! Diavolo's expectin' us!"
"Mammon, I cant…," you repeated, your voice cracking. The sheer frustration of the past nine months—the swollen ankles, the backaches, the constant state of being uncomfortable—all came rushing to the surface. "It's not that easy!"
"Well, try harder!" he snapped, his voice sharper than he'd ever used with you. "We're already late enough without you fussin' over a pair of shoes!"
The words hit you like a physical blow. Your eyes widened, and the carefully constructed dam of your composure crumbled. A single, hot tear escaped and slid down your cheek, followed by another, and another. Soon, you were sobbing, great, heaving gasps that shook your entire body. You buried your face in your hands, the humiliation and hurt overwhelming you. You felt huge, and useless, and now, you felt like a burden, too.
The silence in the room was immediate and absolute. You heard Mammon's sharp intake of breath, and then the frantic padding of his feet on the carpet.
"Oh, shit. Oh, shit, no," he breathed, his voice suddenly stripped of all its impatience, replaced by a raw, horrified panic. He was kneeling in front of you in an instant, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch. "Hey, hey, no. Don't cry. Please don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
He gently tried to pull your hands from your face, but you shook your head, your shoulders still shaking with sobs.
"Look at me," he pleaded, his voice soft, coaxing. "Please, sweetheart. Look at me." He finally managed to gently pry your hands away, his heart clenching at the sight of your tear-streaked face. "I'm an idiot. I'm the world's biggest, dumbest idiot. I'm sorry. I wasn't mad at you. I was just...I'm an idiot. I'm sorry I snapped."
He started cooing, a continuous stream of soft, nonsensical apologies and reassurances. "It's my fault. I shoulda been helpin' you from the start. What kind of husband am I? Lettin' my gorgeous, amazing, pregnant wife struggle when I should be waitin' on her hand and foot. I'm the worst. The absolute worst."
He took your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. "You're not a burden. You're perfect. You're growin' our whole world in there," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he gently stroked your belly. "And if you wanna wear fuzzy slippers to Diavolo's fancy party, then we'll go in fuzzy slippers. Who cares? I'll tell 'em it's the new Rad-approved prenatal fashion."
A watery, hiccupping laugh escaped you. "You would not."
"I would!" he insisted, his expression completely serious. "I'd do anythin' for you. You know that."
He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then to your lips. "Forgive me?" he murmured against your skin.
You nodded, sniffling. "Okay."
"Okay," he repeated, a small, relieved smile gracing his lips. "Okay. Now, let's get you sorted."
He picked up one of the shoes, his movements now impossibly gentle. He lifted your foot with a reverence usually reserved for handling ancient, priceless artifacts. He carefully slid the shoe on, his fingers brushing against your skin with a feather-light touch. He did the same with the other, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"There," he said, once both shoes were on. He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with so much love and remorse it made your heart ache. "Perfect. You're perfect."
He stood up and held out his hands. "C'mon. Let's get you up." He helped you to your feet, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, supporting your weight. "We don't have to go if you don't wanna. We can just stay here. I'll order us a whole feast from Hell's Kitchen."
You shook your head, leaning into his embrace. "No, I want to go. I want to show off my handsome husband."
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. "Yeah?" he asked, his eyes lighting up. "Well, in that case, let's go be fashionably late. The Great Mammon always makes an entrance."
He kept his arm around you as you walked, his touch a constant, reassuring presence. He was right. You would make an entrance. And you would do it together.
Hi! I don't know if you've already read the new chapter in new obey me game, but I can't get it out of my mind 👀
In Lucifer's part there's a scene where he says he wants to eat player for dinner, then it fades to a black screen with Lucifer's groans, and then to Lucifer & player on a sofa/couch 🤭🤭🤭
Following that, if it's alright, could I request Lucifer x gn! afab! Reader where he eats reader out in a similar scenario to the scene from the game? :3
ill be so honest i have NOT gotten to this chapter (i know im such a fake fan aaaa) but once again i did my best. ive just been so busy i havent been able to play the games augh
A Taste of Eternity
lucifer x gn afab!reader
masterlist
You found Lucifer in his study, not buried in work as he so often was, but standing by the grand window, a glass of Demonus in hand, staring out into the perpetual twilight of the Devildom sky. He looked regal, even in repose, the very picture of the Avatar of Pride.
He turned as you entered, a soft smile gracing his lips, a smile reserved only for you. "There you are. I was wondering where my other half had disappeared to."
"Just enjoying the peace," you replied, moving to stand beside him, your arm naturally sliding around his waist. His own arm came to rest on your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. The fit was perfect. It always was.
He took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze thoughtful. "You know," he began, his voice a low, intimate rumble, "I was just reflecting on our union."
"Oh?" you prompted, leaning your head against his shoulder.
"Married to the Avatar of Pride," he mused, a hint of his old, theatrical flair in his tone. "It's a formidable position. It means you are bound to the firstborn, the strongest, the most...possessive of all my brothers."
"I'm aware," you said with a soft laugh. "I seem to remember the ceremony."
"Indeed," he purred, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "And as my spouse, you belong to me. Every part of you. Your heart, your soul...and this exquisite body of yours."
He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. "I find myself...hungry, my love. Not for food, but for sustenance. For you."
Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. It was a familiar kiss, one that spoke of a thousand shared moments, but tonight, there was an edge to it, a raw, primal hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.
He pulled back, his eyes glowing with a faint, crimson light. "I'm going to eat you for dinner," he whispered, his voice a silken promise that was also a command.
And then, the world dissolved.
It wasn't a jarring transition, but a gentle, enveloping fade to black, as if he were pulling you into the very essence of his being. The last thing you registered was his scent, the familiar, comforting mix of old parchment, expensive cologne, and the unique, dark musk that was your husband.
Then, a sound cut through the darkness. A low, guttural groan, stripped of all its usual composure. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a noise you knew intimately but one that still held the power to make your stomach clench with need. It was the sound of Lucifer, your Lucifer, finally indulging in his most coveted feast.
Your senses returned slowly. The first thing you felt was the plush velvet of the sofa against your bare back. The second was the insistent, rhythmic pressure between your thighs. You looked down, your breath catching in your throat.
Lucifer was kneeling on the floor before you, his jacket and vest discarded, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the pale, sculpted plane of his chest. His head was buried between your legs, his dark hair tickling your inner thighs. The groans you had heard were now muffled against your flesh as he ate you out with a single-minded, worshipful intensity.
He was savoring you. His tongue moved with a slow, deliberate grace, exploring every fold, every curve, as if committing you to memory. This wasn't a frantic act of lust; it was a deliberate act of consumption. He was tasting his wife, his most prized possession, and he was enjoying every single second.
Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands. "Lucifer," you breathed, your voice already shaky.
He looked up at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. A slow, wicked smirk curved his lips, even as his tongue continued its work. "You taste of divinity, my love," he murmured, his voice a low, muffled growl. "A sweetness I will never tire of."
He shifted his attention, his tongue finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex. He circled it slowly, teasingly, before taking it between his lips and sucking gently. The pleasure was sharp, electric, and it coiled deep in your gut, hot and tight.
Your hips bucked involuntarily, a soft moan escaping your lips. He chuckled, a dark, triumphant sound, and slid two fingers inside you, his long, elegant digits curling to press against that spot deep within that made your vision blur.
"Lucifer, please," you begged, your grip on his hair tightening. "Please..."
"Tell me what you want, my love," he commanded, his voice a silken caress. "Use your words."
"You," you gasped, your body trembling. "I want you. I want all of you."
"You have me," he growled, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm that was driving you insane. "You've always had me."
He increased the pressure, his tongue flicking against your clit in time with the movements of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfect storm of pleasure that was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building, a tight, coiling heat that was about to snap.
"Come for me, my love," he commanded, his voice a low, authoritative growl that sent a shiver down your spine. "Come for your husband."
And you did. With a sharp cry of his name, you shattered. Your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave of pleasure, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. He didn't stop, his mouth and fingers working you through your release, drawing out your pleasure until you were a trembling, sobbing mess.
When it was finally over, he slowly pulled away, his face glistening with your release. He licked his lips, a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction on his face.
"A truly exquisite meal," he murmured, his voice a low, contented purr. He rose from his knees and sat down beside you, pulling your limp, sated body into his arms. "But I believe I'm still hungry for my dessert."
You could only laugh, a weak, breathless sound. "You're insatiable."
"Only for you," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both possessive and tender. "Only ever for you."
And as you lay there in his arms, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your pleasure, you knew you were right where you were meant to be. You were home.
trans ftm!belphie x reader — cw: dubcon, somnophilia
masterlist
The attic room of the House of Lamentation was always cloaked in a soft, perpetual twilight, a haven of quiet and sleep. Belphie was the heart of that stillness, a lump under a mountain of blankets, his breathing a slow, even rhythm that was more soothing than any lullaby.
You stood by his bed, watching him. He looked so peaceful, so innocent in his slumber. A lock of his soft, indigo hair had fallen across his face, and you had to resist the overwhelming urge to brush it away. You knew better than to disturb the Avatar of Sloth. But you also knew that waking Belphie could be a reward in itself, if you did it right.
A slow, mischievous smile spread across your face. You had an idea.
You carefully peeled back the layers of blankets, one by one, revealing the soft, worn pajamas he wore. The air in the room was cool, but the space under the blankets was warm, smelling faintly of him—of clean linen, of sleep, and something uniquely sweet. You knelt by the side of the bed, your movements slow and deliberate, so as not to make a sound.
You slid your hands under the waistband of his pajama pants, your fingers brushing against the soft skin of his hips. He didn't stir. Emboldened, you slowly pulled them down, exposing him to the cool air. He was soft and vulnerable in his sleep, and a wave of affection washed over you.
You leaned in, your breath warm against his inner thigh. You could already smell the faint, clean scent of him, and it made your mouth water. You pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of his thigh, then another, working your way closer to your destination.
Finally, you reached your goal. You flattened your tongue and gave a long, slow lick along the length of his slit.
He stirred. A soft, sleepy sigh escaped his lips, and his legs shifted slightly, parting a little wider. It was an unconscious invitation, and you took it.
You began to eat him out in earnest. Your tongue was a soft, wet explorer, delving into the folds of his cunt, tasting the sweet, musky flavor of him. You circled his clit with the tip of your tongue, feeling it slowly harden under your ministrations. He was still asleep, but his body was responding. His breathing grew a little heavier, a little less even, and soft, sleepy moans started to escape his lips.
You wrapped your lips around his clit and sucked gently, and he let out a soft gasp, his hips twitching. You looked up at him, but his eyes were still closed, his face still relaxed in the peaceful mask of sleep. He was caught in that hazy space between dreaming and waking, and you were the one pulling him out.
You increased the pressure, your tongue moving faster, more insistently. You alternated between broad, flat strokes that covered his entire cunt and quick, flicking movements that focused on his sensitive clit. His body was growing tense, his muscles tightening as the pleasure built. His hands, which had been lying limply at his sides, were now fisted in the sheets, his knuckles white.
"Wha..." he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "What're you..."
He was waking up. You could feel it in the way his body was responding, in the way his breath hitched in his throat. You didn't stop. If anything, you intensified your efforts, your tongue moving with a single-minded purpose. You wanted to see him fall apart, to see him come undone by your hand, by your mouth.
His eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused. It took him a moment to process what was happening, to connect the intense pleasure he was feeling to the warm, wet sensation between his legs. When he did, his eyes widened, a deep, sleepy blush spreading across his cheeks.
"Fuck..." he breathed, his voice a low, hoarse whisper. He tried to close his legs, to push you away, but his body betrayed him, his hips arching up to meet your mouth. "Don't stop...please don't stop..."
You had no intention of stopping. You redoubled your efforts, your tongue moving with a renewed vigor. You could feel him getting closer, his body trembling with the force of his impending orgasm. His moans grew louder, more desperate, his hands fisting in your hair, holding you in place.
"I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." he gasped, his back arching off the bed.
You sucked hard on his clit, and that was all it took. He came with a sharp cry, his body convulsing as a wave of pleasure washed over him. You didn't stop, your tongue continuing to lap at his cunt, drawing out his orgasm until he was a whimpering, trembling mess.
When it was over, you slowly pulled away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He lay there, panting, his chest heaving, his eyes half-lidded with a sated, sleepy bliss.
He looked at you, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. "Well," he murmured, his voice a low, contented purr. "That's one way to wake me up."
You just grinned, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "Morning, sleepyhead."
He sighed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down onto the bed with him. "C'mere," he mumbled, burying his face in your neck. "Let's go back to sleep. You can wake me up like that again later."
And as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you knew you had found the perfect way to start the day.
The slam of the library door was the only warning you got. It didn't just close; it was thrown shut with a force that made the ancient books on their shelves shudder, a cloud of dust motes dancing in the dim light. You looked up from the tome you were pretending to read, your heart already starting to beat a little faster.
Satan stood there, his back to the door, his entire frame rigid with a fury that was almost tangible. His green eyes, usually sparkling with intelligence and mischief, were now burning with a cold, dangerous fire. He'd had another fight with Lucifer. It was always Lucifer.
"Satan?" you asked softly, closing your book.
He didn't answer. He just started toward you, his movements sharp, predatory. He didn't walk; he stalked. The air grew thick and heavy, charged with an energy that made the hair on your arms stand up. He stopped in front of you, his shadow falling over you, and you could feel the raw anger rolling off him in waves.
"He's insufferable," he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "He acts as if his word is law, as if the rest of us are nothing but his pawns. He looks at me with that...that pity in his eyes."
You reached out a hand, intending to soothe him, to place a calming touch on his arm. "Satan, just breathe. He—"
He grabbed your wrist, his grip like iron. "Don't tell me to breathe," he snarled, his eyes flashing. "Don't you dare tell me to be calm right now."
Before you could react, he hauled you up from your chair. His strength was always a surprise, a lean, wiry power that could easily overpower you. He spun you around, pressing your back against his chest, one arm banding across your stomach to hold you in place. His other hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head to the side, exposing the vulnerable column of your neck.
"I need a distraction," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dangerous mix of rage and lust. "And you, my dear, are going to be it."
His teeth sank into the soft flesh where your neck met your shoulder. It wasn't a gentle love bite; it was a claiming, a sharp, possessive sting that made you cry out. He didn't break the skin, but you knew there would be a dark, purple mark there tomorrow. A brand.
He moved with a brutal efficiency, his hands tearing at your clothes. The sound of ripping fabric filled the quiet library, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the furious heat of him, the desperate need pouring off him in waves. He was going to fuck you, and he was going to use you to burn away his anger.
He freed his cock, hard and heavy, and then he was lifting you, his hands gripping your thighs. In one smooth, powerful motion, he impaled you on his length. You cried out, a sharp, guttural sound of pain and pleasure as he stretched you, filled you completely. There was no preamble, no gentle preparation. It was just a raw, immediate possession.
Then he started to move.
He didn't thrust. He bounced you. His hands gripped your ass, holding you up as he used his strength to lift you up and down on his cock, your body nothing but a toy for his pleasure. Your feet dangled in the air, useless. Your only anchor was him. You threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately as he used you, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, then into the skin of his back as you sought any kind of purchase.
"Look at you," he growled, his voice rough with exertion. "So desperate. So eager to please."
You couldn't answer. You could only moan, your head falling against his shoulder as he drove into you, over and over. The angle was brutal, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your vision blur. The pressure built, a tight, coiling heat in your stomach, and with a sharp cry, you came, your body convulsing around him.
But he didn't stop.
He didn't even slow down. He just kept bouncing you, his grip on you tightening as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your orgasm. The stimulation was too much, almost painful, but it was also exquisite. You were oversensitive, every nerve ending alight with a pleasure so intense it was agonizing.
"Again," he commanded, his voice a low growl against your ear. "Come for me again."
You didn't think you could. Your body was already limp, pliant in his arms, but he was relentless. He shifted his grip, one hand moving to press against your lower back, changing the angle just enough to make you see stars. He bit you again, this time on the other side of your neck, then on your shoulder, on your collarbone, leaving a trail of stinging marks in his wake.
The second orgasm hit you harder than the first, a blinding wave of pleasure that stole your breath. You screamed his name, your nails scraping bloody furrows down his back. He grunted in response, the pain only seeming to spur him on.
And still, he didn't stop.
He was a man possessed, a demon driven by a fury that was slowly being replaced by a lust just as potent. He was chasing his own release now, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. You were just a vessel for his pleasure, a warm, willing body to fuck into oblivion, and the thought was so depraved, so intoxicating, that it sent you hurtling toward a third orgasm.
This one was different. It wasn't a sharp, crashing wave, but a long, rolling tide of pleasure that seemed to go on forever. Your body went limp, your mind going blank as you were lost to the sensation. You were nothing but a collection of sensations—the feel of him inside you, the sting of his bites, the sound of his ragged breathing in your ear.
He finally came with a guttural roar, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled himself deep inside you. He held you there for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The anger was gone, replaced by a sated, exhausted calm.
Slowly, he lowered you to the ground, his hands gentle now, a stark contrast to their earlier brutality. Your legs were so weak they would have buckled if not for his support. He turned you to face him, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.
His eyes were no longer burning with fury. They were soft, filled with a mixture of regret and a deep, unwavering affection. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to the violent passion of moments before.
"Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice rough.
You could only nod, your body still trembling. You were covered in marks, a canvas of his passion, and you had never felt more wanted, more claimed, in your entire life.
"Good," he sighed, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "Because I'm not letting you go. Not now, not ever."
And as you stood there in his arms, your body aching in the most delicious way, you knew he was right. You were his, body and soul, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
The world in the House of Lamentation often narrowed down to simple, primal needs. Hunger. Sleep. The occasional, overwhelming desire for a specific brand of Demonic Snack-World chips. For you, lately, the need had been for Beelzebub. Not just his presence, but his touch, his undivided attention.
You had it now.
The door to Beel's room was closed, the sounds of the mansion muffled to a distant hum. He was kneeling on the floor between your spread legs, where you sat on the edge of his bed. He wasn't saying anything. He rarely did when he was focused like this. His eyes, a deep and hungry crimson, were fixed on you, on the hard length of your cock standing at attention.
He leaned forward, and the first touch was a wet, searing kiss to the tip of your shaft. You hissed, your hands flying to the sheets beneath you, gripping them tight. Beel's tongue was a thing of wonder; broad, flat, and impossibly strong. He licked a slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip, his saliva warm and slick against your skin.
"You taste good," he rumbled, the vibration of his voice traveling straight up your spine. It was a simple statement of fact, delivered with the same casual appreciation he'd give a perfectly grilled steak.
Then he took you into his mouth.
The heat was immediate, a wet, perfect cavern of suction that made your head fall back with a groan. He didn't hesitate, taking you deep, his lips stretching around your girth. He set a steady, languid rhythm, his head bobbing up and down, his tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of your cock with every pass. It was intoxicating, a slow, blissful climb toward release.
Your hips began to twitch, your body moving of its own accord, seeking more of that exquisite friction. The pressure in your groin began to build, a tight, coiling heat that promised an explosive end. You were so close. Just a few more seconds of that perfect, relentless suction, and you'd be there.
"Beel...I'm gonna..." you breathed, your voice tight.
And then, just as you teetered on the edge, he stopped.
He pulled off with a wet pop, leaving your cock slick and exposed to the cool air. The sudden loss of stimulation was a physical shock. You whined, a high, desperate sound you didn't recognize as your own, and looked down at him.
Beel just blinked up at you, his expression innocent, if not for the dark hunger still swirling in his eyes. "You're close," he stated. It wasn't a question. He could probably taste it, smell it. "I want to savor it."
Before you could protest, he ducked his head again, but this time, he bypassed your aching length entirely. He took your balls into his mouth, one at a time, sucking them gently, rolling them with his tongue. The sensation was different, a deep, throbbing pleasure that was no less intense. It kept you hovering on that agonizing plateau, denied the final release but kept in a state of perpetual, heightened arousal.
He spent what felt like an eternity there, lavishing attention on you, learning every sensitive spot with his tongue. When he finally pulled back, you were panting, your entire body trembling with need.
"Beel...please," you begged, your voice cracking.
He seemed to consider your plea. He leaned in and gave the head of your cock a long, slow lick, lapping up the bead of pre-come that had gathered there. "Okay," he rumbled.
He took you back into his mouth, and this time, his pace was faster, more demanding. His head bobbed with a single-minded intensity, his hand coming up to grip the base of your cock, squeezing in time with the movements of his mouth. The dual stimulation was overwhelming. The coil in your gut tightened again, faster this time, pulling taut with an almost painful urgency.
Your vision started to blur at the edges. Your hands were fisted so tightly in the sheets your knuckles were white. "Please, please, please," you chanted, your mind going blank with the sheer force of your impending orgasm.
He could feel it. He could feel your cock twitching in his mouth, the frantic pulse of your blood. And just as you were about to fall over the edge, he pulled off again.
This time, the denial was so sharp it was almost painful. A guttural cry of frustration tore from your throat. "Beel! What the fuck?"
He didn't answer. He just watched you, his chest rising and falling with his own breaths. He seemed to be enjoying this, enjoying the power he held over you, the way your body trembled and shook with unspent need. He reached out a single, broad finger and traced the throbbing vein on the underside of your cock, a feather-light touch that was somehow more torturous than his mouth had been.
"Too fast," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "It's over too fast."
He leaned in again, and you braced yourself, expecting another round of exquisite torture. Instead, he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, his stubble a delicious friction against your sensitive skin. He was mapping out your body, learning your reactions, stoking the fire until you were burning alive with it.
You were a mess. Sweat slicked your skin, and your entire body felt like a live wire, humming with a desperate, unfulfilled energy. You had never felt so exposed, so utterly at someone's mercy.
"Beel," you whimpered, his name a broken prayer on your lips. "I can't...I need..."
He finally seemed to take pity on you. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with a lust that was so potent it was almost terrifying. "Okay," he said, his voice a low growl. "Last course."
He took you into his mouth one last time. There was no slow build-up, no teasing. This was pure, unadulterated gluttony. He swallowed you down, his head moving at a furious pace, his hand gripping your hip, holding you in place as he took everything you had to give.
The relief was so immediate it was staggering. The coil in your gut snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You cried out his name, your back arching off the bed as you came, pouring yourself down his throat. He didn't miss a drop, his throat working as he swallowed, his eyes never leaving yours.
The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, a white-hot flash that left you shaking and breathless. When it was over, you collapsed back against the bed, your limbs feeling like jelly.
Beel slowly pulled off, licking you clean one last time before sitting back on his heels. He looked up at you, a satisfied, sleepy smile on his face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Full," he rumbled, and you could hear the contentment in his voice.
You let out a weak, breathless laugh, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair. "You're going to be the death of me," you sighed.
He just leaned into your touch, his eyes closing. "But you'll die happy," he murmured. And honestly, you couldn't argue with that.
Helloo! This a pretty random request but I recently started playing obey me again and in the og game there is a chapter in the hard mode where mammon taks us to bring lucifer the botched potion that caused beel and mammon to have cat like behaviours and since the potion didn't work on lucifer and we got caught he makes us choose you punishment and one of them is to meow at lucifer and I tought that that scene had very potential smut writing possibilies so I found myself here asking if you could write some smut for that scene😔🙏
Thank you very much🫶
so actually i have no clue what you are talking about but i tried my best :3
A Lesson in Obedience
lucifer x reader
masterlist
The air in Lucifer's study was thick with a tension so sharp you could feel it against your skin. Mammon stood beside you, practically vibrating with a mixture of fear and a desperate, misplaced hope. You, on the other hand, felt a strange sense of calm settle in your stomach. The consequences of your actions were finally here.
"So," Lucifer began, his voice dangerously soft as he leaned back in his imposing chair. He steepled his fingers, his sharp gaze pinning first Mammon, then you, in place. "Let me see if I understand this correctly. You two not only brewed an unauthorized potion in my kitchen, but you then proceeded to waste its effects on yourselves, and now you have the audacity to bring the dregs to me as some sort of trick?"
"It wasn't like that!" Mammon squeaked, his usual bravado completely gone. "It was an accident! And we thought...maybe it could help you relax a little!"
Lucifer's smile was a thin, predatory line. "Help me relax. By turning me into a mindless, purring creature like yourselves? I'm touched by the consideration." He gestured to the empty vial on his desk. "Fortunately, my constitution is far more resilient than yours. The potion had no effect."
He let the silence stretch, enjoying the way Mammon flinched. His eyes then settled on you, and they held a different kind of weight. Not just anger, but a challenge.
"You," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "You are the human, the guest in this house. Yet you encourage this foolishness. Mammon I can deal with, but you...you require a more...personal lesson in obedience."
Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you held his gaze. "What do you want me to do?"
Lucifer's lips curved into a genuine, terrifying smile. "I'm going to let you choose your punishment." He rose slowly from his chair, circling the desk until he stood before you, his presence overwhelming. "Option one: You will be confined to your room for a week, with all privileges revoked. No outings, no dinners, no contact with my brothers."
He paused, letting the threat sink in.
"Option two," he continued, his voice a low purr that vibrated through you. "You will get on your knees. And you will address me as your master. And then, you will meow."
Beside you, Mammon let out a choked gasp. It was humiliating. Degrading. And yet…a dark, curious heat bloomed low in your belly. You looked from Lucifer's unreadable eyes to Mammon's horrified face and back again. The choice was obvious.
"I'll...I'll take the second option," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Lucifer's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something darker, more triumphant. "As you wish." He gestured to the floor at his feet. "Kneel."
Your knees felt weak as you sank to the plush carpet, the fibers soft against your skin. You were level with his polished shoes, the scent of his cologne—old books and expensive spices—filling your senses. Mammon was frozen, a statue of disbelief.
"Look at me," Lucifer commanded.
You tilted your head back, meeting his intense gaze. His power was a palpable thing, a current running between you, making your skin prickle and your breath catch.
"Now," he murmured, his voice like velvet and steel. "Let me hear you."
You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. Humiliation warred with a terrifying, thrilling arousal. You closed your eyes for a second, took a breath, and then let it out in a soft, hesitant sound.
"Meow."
It was pathetic, really. A small, pitiful noise. But it was enough.
Lucifer's breath hitched almost silently. His eyes, which had been burning with anger, now darkened with something else entirely. Something hungry. He reached down, his gloved fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to maintain eye contact.
"Again," he ordered, his voice rougher now.
You complied, a little louder this time. "Meow."
A low growl rumbled in his chest. "You see, Mammon?" he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "This is what happens when you don't follow the rules. This is what happens when you forget your place." His thumb brushed over your lower lip, a touch that was both a threat and a caress. "But I think our little human is starting to understand. Aren't you?"
You could only nod, your body trembling.
"Good." He released your chin and took a step back, his gaze sweeping over your kneeling form. "Since you seem so eager to embrace your animalistic side, let's see how far that goes. Strip."
Your eyes flew open. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Take off your clothes. All of them. Or would you rather be confined to your room after all?"
You glanced at Mammon, whose face was now a brilliant shade of red, his mouth hanging open. But he didn't move to stop you. He couldn't. With shaking hands, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. Then your pants, until you were kneeling before the Avatar of Pride in nothing but your underwear.
Lucifer's gaze was a physical touch, possessive and hot. He circled you slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. "Much better," he murmured, coming to a stop behind you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm. "Now, on all fours."
Your body moved on autopilot, your hands and knees pressing into the carpet. You were completely exposed, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and an undeniable, shameful excitement.
"That's it," Lucifer praised, his hand trailing down your spine, making you shiver. "Just like a little kitten." He crouched down behind you, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "You know, cats are very sensitive creatures. They respond to the lightest touch."
To demonstrate, he traced a single finger down the curve of your spine, stopping just above the waistband of your underwear. You arched your back involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping your lips.
"See?" he chuckled, a low, dark sound. "So responsive." His hands moved to your hips, his grip possessive. "But they also have a certain...instinct. A need to be claimed."
He hooked his fingers into your underwear and slowly, deliberately, pulled them down, leaving you completely bare to his gaze. Mammon made a strangled noise, but you barely registered it. All your focus was on the demon behind you, on the promise of what was to come.
"You've been a very bad kitten," Lucifer murmured, his voice a low growl against your ear. "And bad kittens need to be punished."
He delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You cried out, more from surprise than pain, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you.
"Meow," you whimpered, the sound torn from your throat.
Lucifer chuckled again, a sound of dark amusement. "Oh, you're a quick learner." He smoothed a hand over the reddened skin, his touch a stark contrast to the sting. "But we're not done yet."
He positioned himself behind you, his clothed body a warm weight against your back. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against you, a silent promise of what was to come. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice a seductive command. "Tell me what a naughty little kitten like you needs."
You were lost, consumed by the sensations, by the sheer dominance of his presence. "You," you breathed, the word a desperate plea. "I need you."
"Good girl," he purred, and then he was inside you, a slow, deliberate stretch that made you cry out. He set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against yours, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he took you, claimed you, right there on the floor of his study.
"Look at me," he commanded, and you forced your eyes open, your gaze meeting Mammon's across the room. He was still frozen, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something else, something darker. The sight of him watching you, watching Lucifer claim you, sent a fresh wave of arousal through you.
"Who do you belong to?" Lucifer demanded, his voice rough with his own pleasure.
"You," you cried out, your body trembling. "I belong to you."
"And who is your master?"
"You are! You're my master!"
"Then come for me," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Come for your master."
And you did, your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of overwhelming pleasure, your cries of ecstasy mingling with Lucifer's own guttural groan. He followed you over the edge, his body shuddering against yours as he found his release.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing. Then, slowly, Lucifer pulled away, adjusting his clothes as he rose to his feet. He looked down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"I hope you've learned your lesson," he said, his voice once again the cool, composed tone of the Avatar of Pride. "Now get dressed. And get this fool out of my sight."
He gestured to Mammon, who was still staring, his mouth agape. You scrambled to your feet, your body aching in the most delicious way, and quickly gathered your clothes. As you dressed, you risked a glance at Lucifer, but his expression was unreadable.
"Come on, Mammon," you said, your voice still shaky. "Let's go."
Mammon snapped out of his daze, his face a mixture of emotions you couldn't begin to decipher. He followed you out of the study, his hand hovering near your back as if he wanted to touch you but didn't dare.
As you walked down the hall, the events of the evening played over in your mind. It had been humiliating, degrading, and utterly, completely thrilling. And as you caught your reflection in a nearby mirror, you couldn't help but smile. You had a feeling this was just the beginning of your lessons in obedience.
male/gn!mc gets caught jerking off to a piece of clothing or bed setting of the brothers ?? like nose deep in it ^^^
i chose to do asmo for this one because augh!!!!
The Silk and The Sinner
asmodeus x m!reader
masterlist
The silence in the House of Lamentation was a fragile, fleeting thing. It was the kind of quiet that settled in the deepest hours of the night, when even Beelzebub's snores had subsided and Belphie was truly lost to the world. It was in one of these rare moments that you found yourself, heart pounding with a thrill that was equal parts guilt and desire.
Your prize was tucked away in your nightstand, a secret indulgence you'd carefully procured. It was a silk scarf, a shimmering, iridescent pink that seemed to catch the light even in the dimness of your room. It was Asmodeus's. You'd seen him drop it after a particularly lavish night out, and before a lesser demon could snatch it up, you'd pocketed it, your cheeks burning.
It was his most favorite scarf, the one he claimed brought out the "subtle rose undertones" in his eyes. But it wasn't the beauty of the scarf that had captivated you. It was the scent.
Now, with the door shut and the house asleep, you finally let yourself have it. You lay back on your bed, the cool silk a whisper against your skin. You brought it to your face, burying your nose in the delicate fabric and inhaling deeply.
The scent was pure Asmo. It wasn't just his perfume, though the notes of jasmine and sandalwood were there. It was something warmer, something deeper. It smelled of his expensive, rose-scented body lotion, of the faint, sweet trace of champagne he always seemed to be drinking, and underneath it all, a unique, intoxicating musk that was simply…him. It was the scent of beauty, of vanity, of a thousand adoring fans, and an unshakeable, magnetic confidence.
It was the scent of the Avatar of Lust himself, and it was making your head spin.
Your free hand drifted down your body, palming the growing heat between your legs. You were already hard, aching with a need that felt both desperate and profound. You closed your eyes, letting the scent wash over you, imagining him here with you. His voice, a melodic purr in your ear, whispering praise and filthy promises. His hands, soft and sure, touching you everywhere.
"Look at you, darling," the imaginary Asmo would sigh. "So eager. So beautifully desperate for me."
You freed yourself from your pants, your hand wrapping around your length. Your strokes were slow at first, a languid exploration meant to draw out the pleasure. You pressed the scarf harder against your face, your nose deep in the fabric, as if you could absorb his very essence. The scent was a drug, and you were hopelessly addicted.
A soft moan escaped your lips. You were so close, lost in the fantasy, the scent of him clouding your senses. You didn't hear the faint, almost imperceptible click of your door opening. You didn't hear the soft, padded footsteps. The first you knew of your company was a voice, a delighted, dramatic gasp that was pure, unadulterated Asmodeus.
"Well, well, well! What have we here?"
Your eyes flew open. Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light from the hall, was Asmodeus. He was in his silk pajamas, a matching set of shimmering pink, his hands clasped to his chest in a gesture of mock horror. But his eyes, his beautiful, captivating eyes, were gleaming with a wicked, delighted curiosity.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized you. You fumbled with the blanket, trying to cover yourself, to hide the evidence of your depravity. "Asmo! I—I didn't hear you come in," you stammered, your face burning with a humiliation so intense it was almost painful.
"Oh, I should hope not!" he said, gliding into the room and closing the door with a soft click. "A performance like this requires an element of surprise!" He pranced over to your bed, his movements graceful and fluid, like a cat stalking its prey. He didn't look angry. He looked...thrilled.
"I must admit," he continued, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, "I was wondering where my favorite scarf had gotten to. But I never imagined it was being put to such...delicious use."
He stopped at the edge of your bed, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled state, a slow, sinful smile spreading across his face. "Don't stop on my account, darling. Please. I was just so captivated by your...enthusiasm."
Your mind was racing, your body still thrumming with a desperate, unfulfilled arousal. This was not the reaction you had expected. You had expected shame, ridicule, maybe even a fit of dramatics. But this...this was something else entirely.
"Asmo, I'm sorry," you began, but he held up a hand, silencing you.
"Sorry?" he laughed, a light, musical sound. "My sweet, precious human, you have nothing to be sorry for. In fact, you should be proud!" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "To be so consumed by desire for me that you'd resort to this...it's the highest form of flattery."
He reached down and picked up the discarded scarf, his fingers tracing the delicate pattern. "But really," he murmured, his eyes fixed on yours, "why settle for a cheap imitation when the real thing is right here?"
Your breath hitched. "What?"
"You're touching yourself to the memory of me, to the scent of me," he said, his voice a silken caress. "But I'm right here. And I'm so much better than a memory." He dropped the scarf onto the bed and sat down beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He was so close, his scent now filling the air, a thousand times more potent than it was on the scarf.
"So, let's make a deal," he purred, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. "You were putting on such a wonderful show. Don't let me interrupt. In fact...let me join in."
You could only stare at him, your mind reeling. This was a dream. It had to be.
"Go on," he urged, his eyes gleaming with a dark, hungry light. "Touch yourself. Let me watch. I want to see what you do when you think of me."
It was an order, but it was wrapped in so much silk and seduction that it felt like an invitation. And in that moment, you knew you couldn't refuse. With a shaky hand, you pushed the blanket aside, exposing yourself to his intense, appreciative gaze.
"That's it, darling," he murmured, his voice a low encouragement. "Just like that. Don't be shy. You're so beautiful like this."
His words were a potent aphrodisiac, and your hand began to move, your strokes growing more confident, more desperate. You were putting on a show for him, and the thought sent a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you.
"You like that, don't you?" he purred, his hand sliding higher, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thigh. "You like being watched. You like being desired."
"Yes," you breathed, your head falling back against the pillows. "God, yes."
"Good," he sighed, his voice rough with satisfaction. His hand moved to cup your balls, his touch a teasing, maddening caress that made you gasp. "Now, come for me, darling. Let me see you fall apart. Let me see how much you want me."
His command was your undoing. With a cry, you arched your back, your orgasm crashing over you in a blinding wave of pleasure. You spilled over your hand, your body trembling with the force of your release.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing. Asmo watched you, a look of dark, satisfied pride on his face. He didn't move, didn't speak, simply letting you bask in the aftermath of your pleasure.
Finally, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "That was lovely, darling," he murmured, his voice a silken whisper. "But next time...you don't have to be so shy. All you have to do is ask."
And with that, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, leaving you alone in your room, a mess of sweat and satisfaction, the ghost of his touch and the promise of his words lingering in the air.
The deal had seemed simple enough. Too simple, in retrospect. Mammon had presented you with a small, ornate bottle filled with a shimmering, golden liquid.
"Just a little somethin' I acquired," he'd said with a wink, his usual swagger on full display. "A tiny taste of the Devildom's finest. A real aphrodisiac. Said to make things...intense. Thought we could have some fun, yeah? Share the experience."
You should have known better. You should have known that Mammon's version of "sharing" often involved him getting ninety-nine percent of the benefits while you got a messy lesson in demonology. But you'd been curious, and the hopeful, greedy glint in his eyes was endearing. So, you agreed.
You took a small sip. It was sweet, like honey and sunshine, with a faint, spicy kick that warmed your throat. Mammon, ever the glutton, took a much larger swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grinning. "Alright, now we wait for the magic."
The magic, it turned out, was not a gentle simmer. For you, it was a flash flood. A wave of raw, undiluted heat crashed over you, pooling low in your gut and setting your blood on fire. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and every nerve ending suddenly felt exposed, hypersensitive. The world sharpened, the colors seeming brighter, the air feeling thicker. And the only thing your new, laser-focused mind could zero in on was the demon in front of you.
Mammon, on the other hand, was...giggling. A flush spread across his cheeks, and he swayed slightly. "Whoa," he laughed, running a hand through his hair. "This stuff is potent. I feel...floaty."
You didn't feel floaty. You felt predatory.
You stood up, your movements fluid and deliberate. Mammon's giggles subsided as he watched you, his blue eyes widening slightly as he sensed the shift in the atmosphere. "Uh, MC? You okay there? You look a little...intense."
"You said you wanted to have fun," you said, your voice a low growl that surprised even you. You closed the distance between you in two strides, crowding him against his desk.
"Yeah, but I was thinkin' more along the lines of—" His words were cut off by a gasp as you grabbed him by the hips, spinning him around and bending him over the polished wood of his desk. Papers and scattered trinkets clattered to the floor. "Whoa, hey! Not so fast! The Great Mammon is always in charge, remember?"
"Not tonight," you grunted, your hands already working at the fastenings of his ridiculous, tight-fitting pants. The aphrodisiac was roaring through your veins, a demanding, insistent beat that screamed take, take, take.
"Aye, wait a second—" he started to protest, but his words dissolved into a choked moan as you freed your own cock, already hard and leaking with pre-come, and pressed it against his entrance. You didn't wait for permission. You didn't have the patience. You pushed inside, a slow, relentless glide that buried you to the hilt in one smooth, powerful motion.
The feeling was electric. The tight, hot clutch of his body around yours was a balm to the fire raging in your blood. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
"Fuck," Mammon whimpered, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface of the desk. "You're.. you're not messin' around..."
You didn't answer. You just started to move.
You set a brutal pace from the very beginning. There was no warm-up, no gentle exploration. This was a pure, unadulterated fuck. You pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, hard and fast. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room, a loud, obscene rhythm that was soon joined by Mammon's desperate cries.
You were relentless. A machine driven by a singular, primal need. You gripped his hips, your fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to leave bruises, and used the leverage to pound into him, your hips snapping forward with a force that made the desk shudder with every thrust.
"Slow down...fuck...!" he gasped, his composure already cracking. He was trying to hold on, trying to maintain some semblance of his usual dominant persona, but you were making it impossible. You were hitting that spot inside him, the one that made his vision blur and his legs turn to jelly, with every single, merciless thrust.
"Is this the fun you wanted?" you growled, your voice rough and raw. You leaned over him, your chest pressing against his back, your mouth next to his ear. "Is this intense enough for you?"
"Y-yes," he stammered, his voice trembling. "God, yes..."
"Good," you grunted, and you picked up the pace even more, if that was even possible. You were a blur of motion, a piston driving into him, chasing a pleasure that was always just out of reach. The aphrodisiac demanded more, and you were only too happy to oblige.
Hours passed. It felt like days. The room grew hot and humid, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Mammon was a mess beneath you, a whimpering, writhing mess of pleasure and overstimulation. He'd come twice, staining the front of his desk and his own stomach, but you hadn't stopped. You couldn't. The drug was still coursing through you, a relentless fire that refused to be quenched.
"Please…I can't," he sobbed, his face pressed against the cool wood of the desk. "It's too much...I'm gonna...ah!"
You angled your hips just so, hitting his prostate dead-on with a particularly vicious thrust. He screamed, his body convulsing as a third, dry orgasm ripped through him, leaving him shaking and boneless. His composure was completely shattered, gone. He was yours to do with as you pleased, and you pleased to fuck him into oblivion.
The sight of him, so completely undone, so utterly wrecked by you, was finally enough to push you over the edge. The coil in your gut tightened to an almost painful degree, and with a final, guttural roar, you came, burying yourself deep inside him as you poured your release into his already abused body.
You stayed there for a long moment, your chest heaving, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. The fire in your veins had finally subsided, leaving you feeling weak and sated. Slowly, you pulled out, watching as your release trickled down Mammon's thighs.
He didn't move. He just lay there, a limp, sweaty heap on his desk, his breathing ragged and uneven. You gently helped him up, his body pliant and heavy in your arms. His legs were shaking so badly he couldn't stand, so you half-carried him to his bed, laying him down on his stomach.
He was covered in marks, his skin flushed and sweaty, his hair a mess. But he was beautiful. The most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
You lay down beside him, pulling a blanket over your exhausted bodies. He shifted, turning his head to look at you. His blue eyes were hazy, his lips swollen from biting them.
"You're a fuckin' menace," he slurred, a faint, tired smile playing on his lips. "Remind me to never share my stuff with you again."
You just chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "No promises."
He closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Yeah," he murmured, already half-asleep. "Worth it."
And as you drifted off to sleep, your arms wrapped around his exhausted body, you couldn't help but agree. It was totally worth it.
