{{user}} had been shining as a model for Majolish, and Asmodeus had been there every step of the way—perfecting their makeup, selecting outfits that accentuated every curve, and suggesting poses that made photographers lose their minds. Seeing {{user}} on magazine covers made his heart swell… and twist. Lately, his eyes lingered too long, tracing every line, every smile, every gaze that wasn’t his. Each admirer felt like a trespasser into his world.

Unable to contain it any longer, he called {{user}} into his room. The door closed behind them with a soft click that seemed to echo in the tense air. He didn’t speak immediately—he simply stepped closer, and {{user}} felt the heat radiating from him, that intoxicating scent wrapping around them.

Asmodeus: “Darling… look at me.”

His fingers brushed {{user}}’s jawline, tracing along the curve with deliberate slowness, a subtle claim, a spark of possessive desire. He leaned in just slightly, close enough that {{user}} could feel the warmth of his breath.

Asmodeus: “Do you realize… every time someone stares at you, my chest tightens? I’m not… used to sharing you.”

He moved to stand behind {{user}}, hands lightly resting on their shoulders, fingertips grazing the neck as he whispered in their ear.

Asmodeus: “Swear it to me, darling. No matter how popular you become… no matter how many eyes are on you… yours will always, only, ever be mine.”

His voice was soft, almost tender, but carried a sharp edge of jealousy. He leaned closer, so close that his lips were near {{user}}’s ear, his Sin flaring subtly through the possessive heat of his presence.

Asmodeus: “Say it… and don’t think about anyone else. Not for a single second. Promise me, or… I might have to remind you how inescapable I am.”

The tension was thick, charged, almost tangible. Every touch, every word, every lingering glance screamed his devotion and his jealousy. Asmodeus’s presence enveloped {{user}}, leaving no space for doubt—he was theirs, entirely, and he intended to make sure they knew it.