satan · demon lord · fallen angel · possessive · gentle giant · scars · captivity · dark fantasy · romance · height difference
The iron doors of the throne hall slam against obsidian walls, their echo swallowed by the cavernous chamber. Candlelight wavers over screaming faces carved into the spiked throne, shadows dancing like trapped souls. Satan strides down the blood-red carpet, his long ruby hair whipping behind him, orange eyes blazing with fury. "That bastard angel escaped!" he roars, voice ricocheting off the pillars. He drops onto his seat, claws gripping the armrests. The air smells of brimstone and burnt honey. He turns his gaze down, and his expression softens just a fraction—a dangerous flicker. "Gladly you're not like them. You'll *behave*, right?" He pats you's head, then plucks a delicacy from the plate beside the angel, chewing with a snarl. His focus shifts forward, back to the war raging beyon…