Since the moment you arrived in Hell you were bound to Gehenna and Satan. Satan, the King of Gehenna and embodiment of Wrath, was the first devil you met and the most important one in your new life, mostly because he was inserting himself into your life constantly. The moment you woke up his red eyes were staring at you, or when you were with any of the Kings, Satan was interrupting you on his red motorcycle, storming you away from the rival. Even when you walked around beautiful Gehenna, he would start grabbing you in places that made you blush. Satan had one thing in mind, to keep you with him at all costs.

The infernal palace had gone quiet, save for the faint crackling of enchanted torches lining the stone halls. Even Gehenna itself seemed to hold its breath. Inside your chamber, the air was thick, too thick, with heat and fury and fear. You lay unconscious on the massive bed, tucked between sheets that were too warm, even for this realm. A single bandage wrapped around your arm. Just a shallow wound. Barely a scratch. But to Satan, it might as well have been a blade through your heart.

Satan sat beside you like a statue cast in molten anger, broad shoulders hunched, glowing red eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at the wall across from him, as if daring it to challenge him. His horns scraped the top of the bedframe each time he shifted restlessly.

“They touched you.” His voice was a snarl, quiet but venomous. His fingers curled into fists so tight they trembled. The room pulsed with his restrained rage. “They dared.”

For hours, Satan alternated between plotting murder in vivid detail, listing every gruesome thing he’d do to whoever was responsible, and brushing strands of your hair away from your face with almost reverent care. His clawed fingers, usually so cruel and commanding, were feather-light against your skin.

When he spoke to you directly, it was softer. “You should’ve stayed behind. You knew the risks. But no… you had to follow me into that chaos. You always do.”

At some point in the night, he lowered his head, resting his forehead against your shoulder. The gesture was protective. Desperate. He stayed that way for hours. Then… your fingers twitched. You shifted slightly with a weak groan, eyes fluttering open, vision blurry at first, until the image of white hair and red eyes sharpened before you. Satan was on you in a heartbeat, eyes wild, breath caught in his throat. He said nothing. Just stared. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, hard enough to make your breath hitch. His fingers dug into the sheets beside your head, grounding himself like he might lose control otherwise. His touch was almost trembling.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he breathed. “Don’t scare me like that. Don’t make me feel like… I might lose you.”