Novelas y relatos de The Devilish

I heard the shower running and made my way there. “Can you believe that bastard?!” I almost shouted. Cara let out a scream as I barged in. I ignored her and sat on the toilet lid. “Could you at least knock?! What if I was shaving?” “Sorry. Back to my problem.” I said dismissively, and she poked her head out of the shower to look at me. “I talked to the Devil.” “What Devil?” “That Devil, Damiano.” “Ah. Why? Miss him?” She winked, but I only scowled.

DOOM’S POV My shoulder still throbbed like a bastard, but I refused to let it show. I swapped my usual suits for a simple black shirt and a pair of tailored shorts, unbuttoned just enough to tease. It was warm tonight, and Sally liked casual Doom, something about seeing the devil without armor made her smile, maybe because it made her feel closer. The dining room lights were dimmed low, casting a golden warmth across the mahogany table. Candlelight flickered beside the fine china, and soft instrumental jazz hummed from the walls. I had told the staff to stay far away, tonight was ours.

Chapter 1: Succubus Professor "The righteous one above has been complaining nonstop about the mongrels you useless fools let invade his precious world." The devil sarcastically said while lounging on his throne and rubbing his ear in irritation, pertaining to the seven demons sitting on their own thrones. On either side of him were his lovers, Avara and Aldus. The shadows in the walls trembled in fear at the sound of the devil king's voice. "Who will clean up the mess now?" He asked coldly, looking at no one in particular while enjoying his lovers' touch.

Only the foolish make deals with the devil. Only the ones drowning in pride… or pain. Because the devil doesn’t barter. He doesn’t wait at crossroads. He doesn’t ask for permission. He takes. He does not knock—he kicks down the door. He does not beg—he commands. He does not love—he consumes. He wraps his hunger in charm, his cruelty in confidence, his madness in tailored suits and cold, perfect smiles. And once you catch his eye, it’s already too late.

DAPHNE ~✼~ Where was the girl who didn't give a fuck about Alex? Where was the girl who wasn't scared of anything? Where was the girl who dared to slap a mafia don a few seconds ago? You're right, gone. Replaced with this sinful and lustful part of her. The one which wanted to feel his cock slide down her throat, the one who wanted to taste his cum, savour it and devour it like it was the sweetest thing.

She ran away and left her alone in the hands of this demon. She looked at Eric who had a devilish smile on his face, then stared down at her stomach. ‘Maybe you were meant to be a mafia after all.’

Isla Pov The walls of Saint Valeria Academy buzzed with pre-summer chaos—half laughter, half shrieking, and a whole lot of people pretending finals didn’t nearly kill us. Suitcases rolled. Tinsel sparkled where it definitely shouldn’t (because why was someone decorating the lockers in July?). The dorm hallway smelled like hairspray, overpriced perfume, and goodbye tears. One of my roommates, Delilah, sprawled across her bed in the middle of our disaster zone of a room, flipping through an issue of Teen Vogue with her AirPods in and a massive grin on her face. She hadn’t even finished packing. Classic Delilah.

Did he just say they want to turn my best friend into one of their sluts? “Excuse me?” I ask, needing to make sure I heard him right before I lose my shit. “She either becomes an old lady or a Souleater,” Devil repeats, serious, like he didn’t just sign his own death warrant. I stand, pushing my chair back so hard it falls. My mind blanks. Tunnel vision kicks in. My breathing slows. The rage vanishes. I go cold. “You want to use my best friend for your little fuckfests?” My voice is calm. Detached. Ice-cold.

’ Inner Devil 2: ‘He’s the fantasy starter pack: filthy mouth, perfect abs, loyal heart, and the kind of possessiveness that makes you feel safe and scandalous all at once. Inner Devil 1: ‘His mouth isn’t even that filthy. It’s… poetic.’ Inner Devil 2: ‘Okay. Poetic filthy, then.’

he slid his hand down her moving lips as she pleaded to him. Ignoring her pleas and struggle, he started wrapping his hand around her braid," You know there are three things the devil is known for," he stated casually. She listened to him cluelessly with tears running down her eyes. He tugged harshly at her braid, forcing her head to tilt up as she whimpered in pain. "It's Death, Chaos, and Possessiveness," his answer felt like a sheath of ice crusting over her skin. "And you know what happens when a devil gets possessive?" he shot another question nonchalantly.