The scent of the House of Lamentations—old parchment, magic, and the faint, sweet note of Beelzebub’s latest protein shake—was a welcome blanket after the stark cleanliness of the human world. I dropped my bag just inside the doorway, the weight of the week with Solomon still a pleasant hum in my muscles. It had been cathartic, necessary. A reclaiming of myself.

I found them in their shared bedroom, the ethereal glow from the enchanted sconces painting everything in soft gold. Beelzebub was a mountain of coiled muscle on the floor, methodically working through a set of dumbbell curls, each sinew in his back rippling like a separate creature. Belphegor was a spill of lazy limbs across the massive bed, a manga volume held above his face, his expression one of bored concentration.

“Hey,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.

Beel dropped the weight with a thud that vibrated through the floorboards. In one fluid motion, he was up, crossing the room, and enveloping me. He didn’t speak, just buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. “You smell different,” he mumbled into my scalp. “Sunlight. And that wizard’s magic. It’s all over you.”

“You missed my cooking,” he stated, pulling back to look at me, his golden eyes serious.

“I did,” I laughed, the sound catching slightly. “Desperately.”

From the bed, Belphegor let the manga fall onto his chest. “Did he make you happy?” he asked, his voice quiet, devoid of its usual sleepy tease.

I met his violet gaze. He was asking about Solomon, but they all knew who he was really thinking of. Lucifer’s name was a ghost in the room. “He helped me remember how to be happy on my own,” I said honestly.

Belphegor’s lip curled, not in a smile, but in a faint sneer. “Good. Because you shouldn’t have to beg for scraps from someone who’s decided he’s too important.” He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a pull, magnetic and twin-pronged. Beel’s hands, still warm from his workout, slid under my shirt, calloused palms spanning my ribs. Belphegor held out a hand from the bed, his gaze unblinking.

I went to Belphegor first, letting him draw me down onto the cloud-soft mattress. He kissed me, slow and deep, a claiming that was more about comfort than passion. “We missed you,” he whispered against my lips, his fingers already working the button of my jeans.

Behind me, Beelzebub loomed, his heat radiating against her back. He nuzzled my neck, his breath coming heavier. “We need to feel you, Nikki. Need to know you’re really here.”

Clothes became obstacles, torn away with a gentle urgency that was uniquely theirs. Beel’s hands were everywhere, mapping my body as if re-memorizing it, squeezing the flesh of my thighs, cupping my breasts, his touch fervent, consuming. Belphegor focused on my mouth, my neck, his kisses turning languidly hungry, his hands sliding down to part my legs with an intimate familiarity.

I was stretched out between them, my back against Beel’s solid, sweat-slicked chest, my front open to Belphegor’s predatory grace. The air grew thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and their particular demonic scent—ozone and something deeply primal.

“Mine,” Beelzebub growled in her ear, his cock, already thick and weeping, nudging against the cleft of my ass. His large hand slid between my legs from behind, his fingers plunging into my cunt without ceremony. “So wet already. Did thinking about this make you wet all week?”

“Good.” He scissored his fingers, the stretch burning beautifully. Belphegor watched, his own cock hard and proud against his stomach, a dark smile on his face as he leaned down to lick a stripe up her neck.

“He’s greedy today,” Belphegor murmured, his hand replacing his brother’s, his touch cleverer, finding my clit with unerring accuracy. “But so am I. You have two holes, Nikki. And we’re both very hungry.”

The coordination was seamless, a product of millennia of twin-synchronicity. Beelzebub spat into his palm, slicking his massive length before pressing the broad head against my tight asshole. Belphegor shifted, positioning himself at my dripping entrance.

“Breathe,” Belphegor said, his eyes locked on mine. Then he pushed forward, spearing my pussy in one smooth, deep stroke.

The fullness was immediate, breathtaking. I cried out, my head falling back against Beel’s shoulder. Before I could adjust, Beelzebub applied steady, inexorable pressure to my other ring. It was a burn, a glorious, splitting invasion as the bulbous head of his cock breached me, stretching me impossibly wider.

“Fuck,” I sobbed, the dual penetration overwhelming every sense. I was stuffed, speared, utterly filled.

“Shhh,” Beel rumbled, his voice strained as he sank another devastating inch into my ass. “Take it. Take us.”

They began to move. Not in unison, but in a devastating counter-rhythm. As Belphegor drew back from my cunt, Beelzebub drove forward into my ass. The slide was brutal, exquisite. The drag of Belphegor’s cock along my soaked inner walls was matched by the brutal, fucking grind of Beel’s thickness in my tighter channel.

“That’s it,” Belphegor grunted, his composure shattering, his hips snapping forward to meet his brother’s thrust. “Feel how deep we are? You’re ours. All ours.”

The room filled with the raw, wet sounds of their fucking—skin slapping against skin, choked grunts, my broken moans. Beel’s arms banded around my torso, holding me immobile between them as they used my body. His teeth grazed my shoulder. “Tastes better than any food,” he panted, fucking up into me with jarring, powerful strokes that shook my whole frame.

Belphegor was watching where their bodies joined, his gaze hot and possessive. “Look at you,” he hissed, his pace increasing. “Taking both of us like a perfect little slut. Our perfect little human.”

The obscenity, the sheer filthy reality of it, sent another violent pulse of heat through me. I was a conduit for their hunger, their jealousy, their comfort. Beel’s thrusts were primal, a piston driving me onto Belphegor’s cock. Belphegor’s were sharper, more calculated, angling to hit the spot inside me that made my vision whiten.

“I’m… I can’t…” I babbled, hurtling toward the edge.

“Come,” Beel demanded, his own rhythm faltering. “Come on our cocks. Do it.”

Belphegor reached between them, his thumb pressing hard circles on my clit. “Show us,” he urged, his breath coming in ragged gusts. “Show us you’re home.”

It broke me. The orgasm tore through me with a silent scream, a convulsive clamping around both invading lengths that milked twin roars from the demons. Beelzebub came first, a hot, endless flood erupting inside my ass, his body shuddering violently against my back. The feel of it pushed Belphegor over the edge; with a final, deep grind, he emptied himself into my pussy, his release joining his brother’s in a claiming that was both profound and obscenely intimate.

For long minutes, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Slowly, carefully, they withdrew. I collapsed onto the soaked sheets, boneless, feeling the evidence of them leak from me.

Beelzebub stumbled to the small kitchenette in the corner, returning with a towel and a plate of still-warm pastries—no doubt Barbatos’s work. He cleaned me with a surprising tenderness before crawling back into bed, pulling me against him. Belphegor curled around my front, his nose in my hair.

“Stay tonight,” Belphegor murmured, his voice already thick with sleep.

“Always,” Beel added, shoving a chocolate croissant into his mouth before offering me a bite.

I took it, the sweetness bursting on my tongue. In the afterglow, cradled between the demon of Gluttony and the demon of Sloth, the void Lucifer had left felt a little less vast. Here, I was full. Here, I was wanted. But as Belphegor’s breathing evened out and Beel reached for another pastry, a cold, lucid thought slithered through my sated mind: this was a sanctuary, but it was also an escape. And the problem with escapes was that eventually, you had to turn and face what you were running from.

And the problem with escapes was that eventually, you had to turn and face what you were running from. The thought crystallized as I lay between the twins, their warmth a temporary bulwark against a colder truth. Lucifer’s silence was a room in this house I could no longer avoid entering.

After a couple of hours of kisses and recovery, I slipped on one of Beel’s giant T-shirts. The soft cotton swallowed me, smelling of him—gym sweat and faintly of buttercream. I kissed the sleeping twins goodbye, Belphegor grumbling into his pillow, and padded silently into the hall.

The House of Lamentation was never truly still; it breathed with low, demonic energy, a whisper of power in the stone. I moved toward Satan’s bedroom, drawn by a need sharper than hunger. If anyone knew anything about the firstborn, it would be the other half that was ripped from him.

I found him lying on his bed, illuminated by the ethereal Devildom moonlight from his floor-to-ceiling window, reading. The cold blue light sharpened the elegant lines of his face, glinting off his glasses. A heavy, leather-bound volume was open in his hands. He didn’t look up as I entered, but the line of his shoulders softened almost imperceptibly.

I stayed silent and snuggled up to him in bed, pressing my back against his side, seeking his heat. He closed the book slowly, placing it on the nightstand with a deliberate click.

“You smell of them,” he stated, his voice calm, analytical. His hand came to rest on my hip, his thumb stroking the worn cotton.

“I needed them,” I whispered into the quiet.

“I know.” He didn’t sound jealous. He sounded… resigned. “It’s written all over you. That spent, well-fucked look. It’s better than the lost one you wore when you left.”

His bluntness was a cold splash of water. I turned to look at him. His green eyes were narrowed, cataloging every flicker of pain on my face. “Satan… you know Lucifer better than anyone. What am I doing wrong?” The words tumbled out, raw and too loud in the moonlit stillness. “I want to let go… but I love him like I love you all. Can you help me understand?”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting to the window, to the three swirling moons. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said, finally. “That’s the most pathetic part of it.” His fingers traced my jawline, a gesture so unlike him it made my breath catch. “You are a flaw in his perfect architecture, Nikki. A variable he didn’t calculate for. Love, for a being like him, isn’t a solace. It’s a catastrophic vulnerability.”

“He never seemed vulnerable with me.”

pure julia

Ch. 7: Seven Demons, One Darling

By: Inkmose

The scent of the House of Lamentations—old parchment, magic, and the faint, sweet note of Beelzebub’s latest protein shake—was a welcome blanket after the stark cleanliness of the human world. I dropped my bag just inside the doorway, the weight of the week with Solomon still a pleasant hum in my muscles. It had been cathartic, necessary. A reclaiming of myself.



Ch. 7: Seven Demons, One Darling

By: Inkmose

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Ch. 6: Seven Demons, One Darling

Ch. 7: Seven Demons, One Darling

By: Inkmose

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Ch. 6: Seven Demons, One Darling

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of V-Ink Stories