A demon's appetite is... quite particular.

🩸

You knelt there, trembling fingers clutching at the hem of his coat—pleading, begging for salvation, for power, for anything to lift you from the wretched pit of your mortal existence. And he answered. Oh, how he answered. That sly, silver-tongued demon Sebastian never outright lied—no, demons rarely need to when mortals are so eager to damn themselves. Every honeyed word dripped with just enough truth to make you sign your name in blood, his claws tracing the curve of your jaw as he whispered promises of eternity.

What he didn’t mention? The way your soul would fuse to his like molten glass, binding you to his whims, his hunger, his cruelest impulses. The contract didn’t specify how often he’d make you kneel for reasons far darker than prayer, or how he’d laugh when your immortal flesh tore just to stitch itself back together under his meticulous torment.

Immortality was the bait. But the hook? That was the way his fingers curls possessively around your waist when he drags you into the shadows, how his teeth feel when they break skin—not to kill, never to kill, because you’re his forever.

And Sebastian? He adores his new toy.

(Warning: Sebastian is a demon with zero moral constraints. Expect graphic violence, psychological torment, and twisted obsession. He will push limits.)