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clumsydolly · 3 days ago

Note

Hello, I recently found you, but I have been loving everything you have written! I was wondering if you could do Obey Me (+ datables too) x Leona Kingscholar! Reader, and maybe mention the sibling issues along with the inferiority complex. I’m sorry if it’s too much, feel free to ignore this!

Obey me! x Leona Kingscholar!Reader

Warnings!⚠️: Neglect, Feelings of insignificance, violence, blood, possible parental abuse. If there is anything I missed please let me know!

art credits to kura_usagi217 on twitter. Got the picture from himasagod

Thank you so much for the sweet words, love! I'm so happy people appreciate my work!

Lucifer

Lucifer noticed you the moment you walked into RAD not because you were loud or flashy, but because you weren’t.

There was something about the way you carried yourself. Regal without trying. Every movement slow, deliberate, like the world didn’t deserve your urgency. You didn’t talk unless you had something worth saying, and when you did speak? You could cleave through a room like a sword to the ego.

And Lucifer? Lucifer hated that he noticed.

Because you weren’t trying. You weren’t bending over backward to impress him like most of the student body. You weren’t one of those overeager exchange students begging for approval or praise. You strolled through the halls like a lion half-asleep, maybe, but still the apex predator in every room.

And when he finally spoke to you, you yawned in his face.

“Didn’t realize the great Lucifer was giving lectures today. I’d have brought a pillow.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched. He gave you detention on the spot.

You didn’t go.

He gave you another.

You still didn’t go.

By the third, he marched to your dorm himself only to find you lazily doing a puzzle that recreated ancient Diavolo-era battle formations by memory.

“You’re not unintelligent.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Then why act like this?”

“Why not?”

He hated that you turned his questions around like that. Hated that you didn't fear him, not even a little. Most of all, he hated how much you reminded him of himself not the pristine, polished version he wore like armor now, but the raw, bitter version. The Lucifer who still wanted to scream I mattered too in a Heaven that only cared about Michael.

Over time, he started seeing it. The weight behind your smirk. The exhaustion behind every lazy sigh. The way your eyes narrowed just slightly when someone called you “second-best” or “surprisingly capable” like you weren’t already a storm waiting to happen.

He saw the way you flinched barely when someone mentioned Diavolo’s brilliance or the House of Lords your sibling had attended or how proud your family must be of you, clearly doing so well for yourself here at RAD.

And yet no matter how many times people overlooked you, compared you, spoke of you like you were someone else's shadow you never broke.

You just grinned. Tilted your head. And made sure they regretted it later.

Lucifer began to respect that.

Not openly, of course. That wasn’t his way.

But he started assigning you more difficult tasks subtly. He made you his liaison for particularly irritating noble houses, watched how you dismantled their arrogance with one well-timed smirk and a passive-aggressive cup of tea.

You didn’t brag. You didn’t preen. You just got results.

You weren’t the golden heir. You were the disaster plan. The unspoken “just in case” they called on when things went wrong and you always fixed them, like it was no big deal.

Lucifer understood exactly how much strength that took.

He caught you one night after a council meeting where Diavolo, with perfect warmth, had praised your instincts but still called you by the wrong last name. You said nothing. Just smiled, bowed, and left early.

Lucifer found you alone in the gardens afterward, sprawled across a bench with your eyes shut, jaw clenched, tail twitching.

“You handled yourself well,” he said.

“Yeah?” you muttered. “Guess I’m good at pretending I don’t care.”

He said nothing at first. Then quietly:

“You are not lesser for being second.”

You opened one eye. “Tell that to the guy who got the throne. And the respect. And the family name.”

“Tell that to the brother who took the fall for defiance and got eternal punishment in return.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. And for the first time, you didn’t try to act cooler than you felt. You just… were.

Lucifer exhaled. The air between you grew soft, heavy, real.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he said.

You grinned. “Then why do I feel like I still do?”

“Because you’re still measuring yourself by their rules.”

“…Damn. That was almost deep, old man.”

Lucifer gave you a look, but he didn’t leave.

Instead, he sat beside you. Not to lecture. Not to scold. Just to exist. To acknowledge that being second didn’t make you less dangerous, less capable, less worthy.

If anything, it made you more.

He started inviting you to war councils. Debates. Assignments where your mind, not just your magic, was valued. And not once did he call you lazy again.

He knew better.

----

Bonus

You challenged Diavolo to a game of chess in front of the whole council. You won. Lucifer didn’t stop you. He smiled.

Lucifer once caught you napping in the RAD library on a pile of banned books. He left you a better pillow and told everyone else to mind their business.

Mammon

Mammon didn’t get you at first.

Scratch that, he thought he got you. First time he saw you, all cool confidence and lazy smirks, lounging in RAD’s hallway like you owned the place? He assumed you were just another hotshot with an attitude problem. A stuck-up noble brat pretending not to care about anything.

So naturally, he hated you.

Not actually, not in the “let’s throw hands” way, but in that Mammon-specific, “I’m irrationally jealous and masking it poorly” kind of way. He couldn’t help it. You just had this air about you. Like no matter what was going on, you were already two steps ahead, completely unbothered, probably planning a nap.

And he hated that you pulled it off.

“Oi, you ever gonna do something other than yawn through life?” he snapped once during a group mission. “Some of us are tryin’ not to get eaten out here!”

You cracked one eye open from your perch on a ruined pillar and lazily tossed a spell that knocked out three enemies in one go.

“I am doing something. I’m making sure you don’t die.”

Mammon’s jaw clicked shut. He didn’t say thank you. You didn’t ask for it.

He told himself he didn’t care. You were smug. Cocky. Thought you were better than him.

But then... you never rubbed it in.

You never tried to outshine him. Never laughed when he messed up. Never acted like you were special even when it was obvious you were.

And that was weird. Suspicious, even. Mammon had known plenty of people who looked down on him, especially other second-borns. Especially ones with power. But you didn’t look down on him.

You looked at him like you understood.

And that freaked him out way more than the condescending stuff ever did.

The turning point came when Lucifer chewed him out in front of the entire student body for blowing a mission.

Mammon, head bowed, trying to pretend the words didn’t hurt. Trying not to flinch when someone snickered. Trying not to shout back even though he wanted to, because shouting made it worse, and Lucifer never listened anyway.

And then you just… walked up. Right past the crowd. Right past Lucifer. Right up to Mammon. Calm, slow, zero drama. You pulled out a chocolate bar, handed it to him, and said:

“Next time, don’t skip the perimeter sweep. Rookie mistake.”

Lucifer glared. Mammon blinked.

“What?”

“You’re better than that. Thought you’d know by now.”

And then you walked off like it was nothing.

Mammon didn’t touch that chocolate bar for a whole day. He just kept looking at it like it might explode or disappear.

You weren’t pitying him.

You were… expecting more from him.

And not in the way Lucifer did, with disappointment. You actually thought he could be better. That he already was.

Which meant that when you said something like that… it kinda mattered.

A lot.

So he started watching you.

Realized real fast that you weren’t nearly as lazy as you pretended to be. You just had this whole… “minimum visible effort” thing going on. But behind the scenes? You were sharp. You caught things no one else noticed. You finished your assignments perfectly, if barely on time. And when no one was looking, you trained harder than anyone. You just didn’t want people knowing how much you cared.

He saw the way your tail twitched when people mentioned your brother. The way your jaw clenched when someone praised you by comparing you to someone else. The way you brushed it all off with a laugh like it didn’t matter.

Except… it did.

And Mammon got it.

Hell, he lived it.

So one day, when you dragged yourself back to the House of Lamentation after some political event with Diavolo—eyes shadowed, tie loose, clearly somewhere between angry and resigned, he didn’t say anything.

He just handed you a drink, scooted over on the couch, and turned on a movie.

Halfway through, he tossed out, casual as anything:

“Y’know... bein’ second born sucks.”

You didn’t answer right away. Then:

“Tell me about it.”

And somehow that turned into talking. Not big, dramatic confessions, just muttered complaints. Shared glances. A quiet, mutual understanding of how much it sucked to always be the “almost.”

Mammon started noticing you dropping quiet comments about his skills in passing. Not praise, nothing embarrassing, but the kind of remarks that let him know you saw him. That he was worth seeing.

So he returned the favor.

Started making sure other demons knew you weren’t just “the other one” from your family. Started betting on you in training matches. Started watching your back in battles, not because he thought you needed help, but because you deserved backup.

And one day, during a particularly chaotic RAD event where both of you had to go undercover as rich noble heirs, you turned to him in full glam, eyes sharp, grin lazy, and said:

“Guess we’re the disappointment duo, huh?”

Mammon scoffed, adjusting his ridiculous collar.

“Yeah. But we’re hot, smart, and still here. So... screw everyone else.”

“Amen.”

-----

Bonus

You and Mammon once got banned from a nobles-only tea party for being “too casual.” You left a gift basket of crumbling scones and slime bombs on the host’s doorstep. Neither of you confessed.

He calls you “Copycat” and you call him “Backup Plan.” Neither of you mean it. Both of you refuse to stop.

Mammon once punched a demon who insulted you. You knocked the guy out before the punch landed. Mammon’s still mad you stole the glory.

Levithan

At first glance, you and Levi were nothing alike.

He was all hunched shoulders and self-deprecating stammers, eyes glued to a screen. You were sprawled across the RAD courtyard like it was your kingdom, radiating bored royalty energy, tail flicking with irritation every time someone dared to speak too loudly.

Levi thought you were cool. In the “definitely-a-main-character” way that made him feel even more like a sidekick.

“Why would someone like that ever talk to someone like me?” he muttered to himself one day, watching from the shadows of the library stacks as you verbally dismantled a noble demon for misquoting historical literature.

He did not expect you to call him out that same afternoon.

“Hey, TSL guy. You’ve been staring at me since breakfast. What’s your deal?”

Levi promptly short-circuited.

“I-I wasn’t staring! I mean, I was, but not in a weird way! Not that I think you’re weird—I mean, I don’t, but—uh—sorry?!”

You just blinked at him. Then smirked.

“Relax. I don’t bite unless someone starts something. You’re in my alchemy class, right?”

That was the beginning of what Levi later described (in his journal) as the “Most Confusing and Possibly Dangerous Friendship Quest Ever.”

Because you were confusing. You never raised your voice. You didn’t try to “fix” him. You just showed up, sometimes at the library, sometimes at the gaming lounge, sometimes in the hallway, tossing out comments like:

“I heard you coded a RAD Discord bot. That's impressive.”

Or:

“If I have to sit through another ‘family legacy’ meeting, I’m dragging you with me. Misery loves company.”

It took weeks, months even, before Levi realized you weren’t just humoring him. You wanted to be around him.

That didn’t mean you liked everyone.

You brushed off flattery from others like it bored you. You got into heated debates with professors who tried to compare you to your older sibling. You had a temper, sure, but it wasn’t flashy. It simmered. You wielded sarcasm like a sword, especially when someone hinted you should be “more like your brother.”

And Levi got it. Oh, he got it.

Because when you finally admitted, in a low, offhand comment during a co-op raid, that your whole life you’d been “second best,” Levi practically dropped his controller.

“Wait—you too?”

You blinked at him, then offered the smallest, sharpest smile.

“Let me guess. They call you a loser and expect you to stay in your brother’s shadow?”

“YES. Thank you!”

That night, you both stayed up way too late swapping “Middle Child Misery” stories. Levi talked about Lucifer. You talked about your older brother the golden child, the crown prince of “why can’t you be more like him?”

Levi started looking at you differently after that.

Not like you were too cool to talk to him.

But like you were someone who got it.

And that was dangerous territory.

Because now he couldn’t stop thinking about how your tail twitched when you were irritated. How you leaned just a little too close when asking for help. How you’d fall asleep in the gaming lounge with your head tilted back, completely unbothered like the whole world could burn and you’d still get your nap in.

He started doing stupid things. Like programming a game mod where your avatar wore your RAD uniform and insulted NPCs in your exact tone. Or baking you themed cookies based on that dumb fantasy series you pretended not to like.

And okay, maybe he stared at your profile picture on Devilgram for way too long.

Not because he liked you or anything.

He just admired your confidence.

Your sarcasm.

Your hair.

…Shut up.

One day, during a student council meeting (that neither of you were technically supposed to be in), Diavolo asked everyone to describe their “greatest strength.”

You, in peak “please don’t make me participate” fashion, slouched in your chair and muttered:

“Being slightly less disappointing than expected.”

Levi choked on his drink.

Everyone stared.

You just shrugged.

Levi wanted to high-five you so bad.

Afterward, when you bumped into him at the vending machines, he didn’t hesitate.

“You know that’s not true, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s not true?”

“That you’re disappointing.”

You paused, expression unreadable. Then:

“I could say the same to you.”

For once, Levi didn’t turn into a tomato. He just smiled. Small. Real.

“Maybe we’re both bad at seeing what we’re good at.”

“Speak for yourself, Levi. I’m great at napping and annoying nobles.”

“I meant… emotionally.”

“Gross.”

Still. You didn’t deny it.

----

Bonus Buffoonery

You beat Levi at Mario Kart exactly once and he called it “a betrayal of trust.”

He once caught you rereading his favorite manga. You said it was “for research.” You were on volume six by the next day.

You custom-painted his gaming headset with your insignia. He cried. You told everyone he had allergies.

Satan

From the moment Satan met you, he swore he heard theme music.

You strolled into RAD late on your first day, tail swaying, eyes lidded with boredom, and proceeded to insult the entire student body by existing with exactly zero effort while still looking five times more put-together than any of them.

And then you had the nerve to yawn during his carefully prepared presentation on demon literature preservation.

“No offense, Blondie, but if I wanted to listen to someone drone on about dusty books, I’d go talk to my brother.”

Satan narrowed his eyes. “That was offensive.”

You grinned like it was a compliment.

He hated you. He definitely hated you.

Which is why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Not in a “what are they doing, I want to be around them” way.

In a “why does their laziness make me want to scream and also why is that kind of hot” way.

You were chaos in silk gloves. You were intelligence hidden behind languid indifference. You were all pride and bite and buried resentment wrapped in a drawl that made everything sound like a challenge. And Satan? Satan loved a challenge.

Especially one that read obscure magical theory texts for fun, but pretended to sleep through class. Or who helped him trap a demon noble in a logic corner so twisted it took three professors to untangle. You didn’t do it for credit. You did it because it was fun.

“That guy said I was just here to fill a diversity quota. Couldn’t let him walk away after that.”

“So you destroyed his entire academic career?”

“Only temporarily. He’ll recover. Probably.”

Satan found himself torn between wanting to spar with you daily and wanting to see what it would take to make you drop the act.

Because he could tell. He’d seen it too many times in himself: the way you rolled your eyes at authority but secretly memorized every exam question. How you blew off club meetings but showed up to tutor another struggling student without ever taking credit. How you scoffed at ambition and then proceeded to outperform almost every demon in your year.

You had an older sibling, didn’t you?

It clicked during one of your arguments.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Satan had snapped.

“No,” you shot back, eyes sharp for once. “That’s his job.”

He didn’t press. But he remembered.

And he started noticing other things, too.

Like how you always picked the farthest seat from Lucifer in group meetings. How you’d tense whenever someone brought up legacies or family trees. How you joked about being “the backup plan” with a grin that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He understood that. More than you knew.

So when he saw you in the library one afternoon, surrounded by books but not reading, just... staring, he sat beside you.

Didn’t say a word.

Just... sat.

Eventually, you spoke.

“You think it’s pathetic?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Trying to prove you’re worth something when you know you’re always going to come second.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then:

“I think it’s human. And demon. And everyone in between.”

“Philosophical,” you muttered.

“Honest,” he corrected.

And then you sighed, muttered something about “emotions are gross,” and shoved a book at him. “Here. Help me translate this before I change my mind and burn it.”

It became a thing after that. Late-night study sessions. Banter disguised as therapy. You bickering about how tea should be brewed while he wordlessly refilled your cup exactly how you liked it. Him ranting about his brothers while you made sarcastic commentary that somehow always hit exactly where it hurt (and helped).

He started bringing you pastries from Madam Scream’s after exams.

You started falling asleep in the library more often and waking up with a blanket over your shoulders and Satan’s coat nearby.

Neither of you talked about it.

That would ruin everything.

Because admitting that you cared meant vulnerability. And vulnerability meant weakness. And weakness

Well, weakness was what your older brothers always said you’d never be allowed to show.

But Satan didn’t want you to change. He just wanted you to let him stay.

Even if you only ever admitted it through arguments and eye rolls.

----

Bonus Bookish Shenanigans:

He caught you reorganizing the library’s cursed section out of boredom. You claimed it was for “aesthetic purposes.” He covered for you when one of the books tried to hex a teacher.

You “accidentally” slipped a love poem into his stack of notes. He turned bright red and spent a week analyzing it like it was a cursed grimoire. You never told him it was meant for him. You didn’t have to.

One time, when a demon noble made a snide comment about your academic standing, Satan calmly recited your GPA, your published essays, and your winning score on the RAD magical aptitude test. Loudly. In front of the entire hall.

“Just in case anyone forgot who’s actually at the top.”

“Simp,” you muttered under your breath.

“Librarian simp,” he corrected.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus knew beauty when he saw it, physical, emotional, the kind that sparkled when people finally let themselves be loved. He could spot it through any disguise.

So the moment you waltzed into the House of Lamentation looking like you just rolled out of bed after wrestling a lion and still somehow made it look good, Asmo’s interest was piqued.

You didn’t try. That’s what got him. Everyone tried with him, tried to impress, to seduce, to mirror his vibe. But not you.

“So, are you always this overdressed?”

“Only when I expect an audience.”

Cue: the tiniest flick of your ear, the cocked eyebrow, the lazy smirk that said “I’ve seen prettier, try harder.” Oh, he was hooked.

At first, he flirted like always, throwing compliments like confetti, touching your arm with practiced elegance, winking until his eye practically had its own cardio routine. You met it all with flat looks and muttered sarcasm.

“Aw, kitten, don’t pretend you’re not charmed.”

“I’m not pretending.”

Most people blushed. You scoffed.

And that only made him want to know more.

There was something feline about you, not just the ears and tail, but the way you moved, always relaxed but hyper-aware. You’d lean on walls with half-lidded eyes, pretending you weren’t paying attention, then deliver a one-liner that cut through three layers of someone’s ego like butter.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was the sadness.

Not the loud kind. The quiet kind. The kind people carry like a second skin.

He saw it when someone mentioned family hierarchies. The way your shoulders tensed ever so slightly. Or when Lucifer praised your performance in a mission and you waved it off with a grunt, as if succeeding was a fluke and not the result of years of survival instincts and quiet brilliance.

He could relate. People expected him to sparkle on command, to be perfect, to be happy and enough for everyone. He knew what it felt like to be seen and still not be understood.

So he tried something different.

He didn’t flirt. He talked.

At first, it was little things. Asking about your skincare (which was practically nonexistent, you claimed your good looks were “genetic aggression”). Inviting you to group events and then pretending not to notice when you skipped but always keeping a seat open anyway.

He brought you mango juice one day during lunch. Didn’t say a word, just placed it on the table. You stared at it like it had declared war.

“What’s this for?”

“You mentioned you liked it once. I remembered.”

“You remembered?”

“I don’t just remember compliments, darling.”

You didn’t thank him. You drank it silently.

He counted that as a win.

The breakthrough came during a self-care night he forced you to attend, complete with facials, snacks, glitter masks, and a playlist he insisted was “emotionally healing.”

You sat there, arms crossed, eyes darting to the door like it was your salvation.

“This is torture,” you muttered.

“It’s exfoliating.”

But then something strange happened. You relaxed. Somewhere between the hand massage and the foot soak, your eyes softened. You laughed, an actual, unguarded laugh, when Asmo recounted the time Mammon accidentally glued his own eyebrows together.

“You’ve got a nice laugh, you know,” he said, not flirty, just honest.

“You’re annoying,” you replied.

“Takes one to know one.”

Later, when you thought he’d left the room, he caught you examining yourself in the mirror.

Not admiring. Analyzing.

He leaned in the doorway.

“Looking for flaws?”

“I don’t need to. They’re obvious.”

“Funny. I don’t see any.”

“You’re not looking hard enough.”

“Or maybe you’re looking too hard.”

There was silence. Then you looked away and muttered something about not needing validation. But your voice cracked just a little.

And Asmo didn’t push.

He just smiled and passed you a moisturizing cream you never asked for.

----

Bonus

You once offhandedly called yourself “the family screw-up” during dinner. Asmo nearly choked on his tart. He then spent ten minutes dramatically praising every one of your accomplishments, including one you didn’t think anyone had noticed. You turned red and threatened to stab him with a salad fork. He said, “That’s my baby.”

After a particularly bad fight with your brother back in the human world (via D.D.D. call), Asmo dragged you to the Planetarium and made you lie down under fake stars until you relaxed. He let you pretend the tears were just from allergies.

You fell asleep in the middle of one of his long rants about fashion history. He covered you with his boa and whispered, “Rest, little lion. You’re still beautiful when you’re exhausted.”

He once painted your nails while you were asleep. You woke up furious but kept them. They were gold, with tiny little crowns.

Beelzebub

You and Beel weren’t exactly a dynamic duo on paper. He was steady, sincere, gentle in a way that made people underestimate him. You? You were prickly, sarcastic, and constantly teetering between a nap and a brawl. On the surface, it seemed like the only thing you had in common was your deep, eternal love of sleep.

But then again, maybe that was enough.

The first time Beel took notice of you was during one of the rare House of Lamentation quiet evenings. Most of the brothers were out causing some form of emotional chaos, and you had curled up on the couch like it was your personal throne, your tail flicking lazily as you scrolled through your D.D.D.

He entered the room with a sandwich the size of a small dog, paused mid-bite when he saw you, and blinked.

“You’re still here?”

“Am I not allowed to exist?”

“No, it’s just… everyone else is gone.”

“Exactly. Peace at last.”

Beel shrugged and plopped down next to you with the quiet heaviness of someone used to making room for others. You didn’t move. You didn’t even comment when the crumbs started falling dangerously close to your coat.

He noticed that too.

“You’re not yelling about the crumbs.”

“I’m conserving energy. Yelling takes effort.”

“…Smart.”

And that was the beginning of your weird little understanding.

It didn’t take long for you to realize Beel had a sixth sense for knowing when someone needed food. Not wanted, needed. You never asked, never said a word about skipping meals or being too tired to cook, but somehow, he’d always show up with something.

A protein bar. Half a sandwich. A peach.

“I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity. It’s food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Chomp

“…Fine. Maybe I’m a little hungry.”

He never pried. Never asked why you skipped lunch, or why you sometimes looked like you hadn’t slept in a week despite spending most of your time horizontal. But he did sit next to you every time, sometimes not even talking, just eating quietly while your presence filled the room like static.

It was weirdly… nice.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t demand anything. Didn’t try to flirt, tease, or even fix you. He just was there, calm and dependable, like a weighted blanket with muscles.

You found yourself relaxing around him before you realized it was happening.

One night, you stayed up late training, pushing yourself way past your limit, like always, like it was the only way you knew how to silence the voice in your head that said you weren’t good enough. That you were always second-best. Always overshadowed.

You limped into the kitchen around midnight, not expecting anyone to be there.

Beel was.

Of course he was.

He was cooking what looked like enough food to feed a small army.

“You okay?” he asked without looking up.

“Peachy,” you muttered, grabbing an ice pack from the fridge.

“You’re limping.”

“You’re observant.”

He said nothing. Just finished his prep, plated up a ridiculous mountain of food, and pushed a bowl toward you.

You stared at it.

“I didn’t come here to be mothered.”

“I didn’t come here to judge.”

That shut you up real fast.

You sat. You ate. You didn’t talk, and neither did he. But when your eyes burned a little too much, when your fork slowed halfway to your mouth, he just slid a napkin your way. No fanfare. No pity.

Just quiet care.

Later, Beel found you outside, curled up under a tree in the House of Lamentation’s back garden. It was one of your hideouts, a spot where no one usually came looking. You looked up, not surprised, just tired.

“You don’t give up, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Even when I’m a mess?”

“Especially then.”

He flopped down next to you with a grunt, munching on an apple.

“Do you ever get tired of being the strong one?”

“Yeah. Do you?”

“…Yeah.”

It was the first time either of you said it aloud.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt seen.

----

Bonus Snack-Sized Softness™

He keeps a secret stash of your favorite snack in his room. No one else is allowed to touch it. Mammon tried once. Once.

When you sleep on the couch, Beel tucks a blanket around you without a word. You pretend not to notice. You totally notice.

You once caught him holding one of your worn gloves like it was precious. He got flustered. You teased him about it for a week.

You grumble every time he offers you food, but when he doesn’t, you sulk like a kicked puppy. He caught on. He always offers now.

On your worst days, when the inferiority complex is eating you alive, Beel doesn’t try to fix it. He just sits with you. Sometimes, that’s enough.

Belphegor

It started with naps. Or more accurately, nap territory disputes.

You had staked out your favorite spot on the House of Lamentation’s sun-drenched balcony, tail flicking lazily, head pillowed on your arm, ears twitching at the distant sound of someone being yelled at. You were finally slipping into that perfect dozing zone when a shadow fell over your face.

You cracked one eye open.

“You’re in my spot,” Belphegor said, expression blank, blanket slung over his shoulder like a cape.

“Correction: I conquered this spot. You’re just late.”

“I nap here every Thursday.”

“Not my problem, Sleeping Beauty.”

From that point on, it was war. Quiet, passive-aggressive, sleepy war.

Belphie would sprawl out right next to you, tugging at your blanket like a cat trying to reclaim a stolen patch of sunlight. You’d kick him. He’d roll onto your tail. You’d elbow him in the ribs. He’d "accidentally" drop a pillow on your face.

Somehow, this became a routine.

You both pretended it was about the spot. But really, it was because being around each other was weirdly… relaxing.

You weren’t chatty. He liked that. You didn’t ask him about his feelings. He really liked that. And you didn’t care that he could be blunt, moody, and emotionally volatile. You could match that energy just fine.

He’d mumble half-asleep insults like:

“You always look five seconds away from committing regicide.”

To which you’d reply:

“I’ll add you to the list.”

Mutual understanding.

But sometimes, between the bickering and naps, things got quieter. More… real.

It happened one afternoon when you came back from a long mission. Your shirt was torn. Your arm was bruised. And your expression was the kind of hollow that didn’t come from physical exhaustion.

Belphie looked up from his book.

“What happened?”

“Nothing important,” you muttered, flopping down beside him like usual.

He didn’t push. Just let the silence stretch between you. You expected him to fall back asleep.

Instead, he said:

“You looked like that when I first met you. Like you’d been picked second too many times.”

You flinched. Just slightly.

Belphie didn’t look at you. Just kept his gaze on the ceiling.

“I used to hate waking up because it meant being around people who expected me to be something I wasn’t. Always smiling, always patient. I wanted to scream.”

“So you slept to avoid expectations?”

“Something like that.”

You looked away. Bit your cheek. Felt the words sit heavy on your tongue.

“…My older sibling’s perfect. Everything I’m not. I used to think if I could just prove myself, just once, I could stop being a disappointment.”

He didn’t say anything right away.

Then:

“That’s a stupid way to think.”

You blinked.

“Gee, thanks for the therapy.”

“I mean, I think you’re impressive. And I’m the most honest one here.”

You stared at him. He yawned.

“Besides, if your sibling really was perfect, you wouldn’t be here and they would. So shut up and nap already.”

You didn’t smile. But your breathing eased. And for once, the silence wasn’t heavy.

Belphie never coddled you. He never told you to “try harder” or “just believe in yourself.” He didn’t treat you like someone broken.

Instead, he leaned against you during naps. He shared his pillow when he noticed yours was thin. He kicked you in the shin when you moped for too long and told you to stop being pathetic, but always made sure to give you the bigger blanket.

You liked that.

----

Bonus Grumpy Softness™

You once muttered in your sleep about “finally beating [sibling's name] in something.” Belphie didn’t mention it… but the next day, he “accidentally” let slip in front of Diavolo that you’d aced a test he had bombed. Oops.

Whenever you came back injured, Belphie didn’t fuss. He just threw his blanket over your head, shoved a pillow at your face, and said, “Sleep. You’ll feel better.” He wasn’t wrong.

You caught him napping in your spot once and prepared to launch a full pillow-based assault, only to find a small note tucked under the edge of the blanket. “You’re not second. You’re just quiet about being first.”

You never brought it up. But you kept the note.

Once, Beel walked in on you two mid-nap, both of you sprawled across the couch like exhausted lions, arms tangled, frowns nearly identical. He blinked. Took a picture. Sent it to the family group chat. Chaos ensued. You both denied everything.

Belphie likes the sound of your voice when you read aloud. He’ll pretend to be asleep while you’re reading ancient demon literature, but he’s always listening. Especially when you do the voices.

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! As usual Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated!

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meowsgirldrawing · 2 years ago

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Mornings, y'know? (Obey me X Poly! MC)

7 boyfriends = 7 different styles of waking up

And yes, I imagine MC is almost always wearing something of their boys' in the mornings lol

Side note- I always imagine MC being about the same height as Asmo, so his clothes are the ones that fit the most

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squeakyducky · 1 year ago

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Mystery of the week: Who is the true whore?

Sheep that has 13 boyfriends and one girlfriend

This horny mf

Avatar of lust

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aventurineswife · 8 months ago

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hcs for a chubby!reader dating both beel and belphie?

Beel and Belphie with a Chubby!Reader Hcs

Tags: Beelzebub x Reader x Belphegor, Poly Relationship, Fluff, Comfort, Body Positivity, Headcanons, Soft Moments, Chubby!Reader, Affectionate Beel, Caring Belphie.

A/N: It's been awhile since I've last seen anything of obey me, so this is just out of memory!

Both Beel and Belphie adore you just the way you are (🫶). Beel is especially vocal about how much he loves your curves. He’ll frequently shower you with compliments like “You’re perfect just the way you are, MC.” while hugging you from behind or snacking on his favorite food. Belphie, while quieter, shows his appreciation by curling up next to you during naps, letting his head rest comfortably on your lap. You’ll often catch him looking at you with a fond smile when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Beel loves to spoon with you, his muscular form pressed against your back as he enjoys the warmth and comfort you provide. He’s big on physical affection, so he’s always trying to pull you into his lap or hug you tightly. Belphie, on the other hand, is a master of the lazy cuddle. He’s happy just lying next to you, using your belly as his pillow, and occasionally complaining about the lack of proper napping spots. He’ll sigh contentedly, muttering something like, "This is the best pillow ever." as he drifts into sleep.

Food is a big part of your relationship with Beel. He’ll literally offer you the last piece of pizza or snacks and make sure you’re well-fed at all times. He sees food as a bonding experience, and you two will often be found sharing large meals together. Belphie, while less obsessed with food, enjoys watching you and Beel stuff yourselves while he lazily munches on a snack. He secretly finds the way you both enjoy food together cute, even if he acts indifferent.

Belphie and you are often found lounging around, indulging in your favorite activities—watching movies, playing video games, or simply napping. Beel will sometimes join in, though he prefers a bit more activity, so you’ll catch him getting excited about taking you both on a walk or to the gym to do something physically challenging (but still in a loving, non-intense way). Belphie will roll his eyes at Beel’s enthusiasm but secretly loves having the two of you around to keep him company during his naps.

Beel is the type to support you no matter what, especially if you have any insecurities about your body. He’ll make sure you always know how beautiful you are to him, constantly reassuring you that he finds you perfect in every way. Belphie, while more quiet about it, will often catch you off guard with subtle compliments like “Stop worrying about your weight. I like the way you are.” He may act indifferent, but he’s always protecting you from anyone who dares make negative comments, even if it means throwing a punch or two.

While Beel is generally respectful, he has a playful side, and his teasing often centers around how much you eat. He might jokingly ask, "Are you going to eat all that?" when you’re having a big meal, but it’s always said with love. Belphie, being more cynical, might make fun of Beel's excessive food obsession, but it’s clear he loves seeing how happy you both get when you're eating together. He’ll even grab some snacks and sit with you, occasionally scoffing with a grin, "Don’t eat it all, I need some too."

The dynamic between Beel and Belphie is balanced when it comes to caring for you. Beel is always there to offer you love, attention, and endless snacks, while Belphie brings a level of calm, making sure you’re at ease when you're feeling tired or overwhelmed. You can always count on Beel for a fun and high-energy day out, while Belphie is there to wind down the day with a peaceful nap and comfort.

Beel's presence in the kitchen is always a sight to behold, especially when he’s cooking for you. He’ll make sure your favorite meal is ready and won’t hesitate to spoil you. Belphie, who’s not exactly known for his culinary skills, prefers to observe and relax while you and Beel take the lead. He’ll tease you about “overindulging” but secretly appreciates your hearty appetite.

When you're feeling down, Beel will shower you with affection, hugs, and your favorite food to cheer you up. He’s incredibly empathetic, knowing just how to comfort you when you're feeling vulnerable. Belphie might not outwardly express concern, but you’ll find him subtly caring for you in his own way, whether it’s by making sure you're tucked in for a nap or keeping you company in silence, his presence offering reassurance.

Beel and Belphie understand your struggles with body image, and they’ll help you overcome those feelings. Beel will always affirm that your body is something he loves, while Belphie will occasionally give you moments of clarity with his dry wit, saying things like, "You’re fine the way you are. Not everyone’s meant to look like Lucifer, you know?" Both brothers have a way of making you feel loved and special in their own, unique styles.

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another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

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Hi! I’ve never requested before but I’ve just been thinking about mammon x reader x levi (not mammon and levi with each other obviously) nsfw like what if they’re playing video games together and start to get jealous over mc getting cuddly with the other brother and then smut ensues💕💕. Ignore this if you don’t want to do it/aren’t comfortable with it!!

A/N: I have no problem writing the demons sharing MC as part of a poly!ship. Tag-teaming is kind of hot, right? And let's be real, most of the stuff I write with the twins ends up twisting that way by the end. I've written Mammon x Reader x Levi before (no demoncest obv) so let's pretend this is a little snapshot from the same AU. Their dynamic together is so much fun.

MAMMON x gn!Reader x LEVIATHAN, 1.2k words, NSFW / MDNI

Content/warnings: a little Levi-centric. Contains oral sex, teensy bit of tail-fucking, fingering.

It was supposed to be a relaxing evening together. Mammon is pressed against your back, his chin hooked over your shoulder so he can watch you and Levi play video games. Levi rests comfortably on the floor at your feet, rocking lightly with excitement as he wins the third race in a row. You were so focused on not driving off the rainbow track that you barely noticed the ticklish sensation of smooth scales sliding up your leg and inching up your thigh.

Tonight is Mammon's turn to take you to bed, and he's been fidgeting with the waistband of your pants for the past hour. He was probably hoping your gaming session with Levi would end and his brother could leave. Maybe he wanted to entice you to play a different type of game—one that involved a lot less clothing and watching you bounce on his cock—but he spots Levi's tail gliding across your legs and the fighting begins. You try to break it up as gently as you can—it's not that big of a deal, is it? Levi shakes his head no while Mammon yells of course it is, it's not his turn!

You spent last night in Levi's room. Sometimes he sleeps in your bed instead, but last night he had a raid event and you wanted to be close by to keep him company even if you fell asleep. He felt bad waking you up at some ungodly hour, but he was so thrilled about killing a new raid boss that he just had to tell you. You might not like all the same games as him, but that doesn't stop you from being his number one fan.

He leaned over the edge of his tub and giggled bashfully when you cupped his cheeks and peppered his face with little celebratory kisses. Quick pecks against his lips turned into a heated, desperate kiss when he moaned and licked into your mouth. You tugged his shirt collar and urged him to climb into the tub with you, and he pulled down your sleep pants enough so he could snake his hand and his tail between your legs. It didn't take long for him to coax the first orgasm from you when the tip of his tail teased your hole with the promise of more. He was still licking your cum off his fingers when you pulled down his sweatpants and sucked his cock into your mouth, teasing your gag reflex and choking yourself on his length. He tried to keep his hips from thrusting too deep into the soft, wet heat of your mouth, and when he warned you that he was close, you took him as deep so he came down your throat.

You spent the next hour groping each other and and making out while trying to take off the remaining clothes that kept getting in the way. His cock was hard and throbbing with the overwhelming desire to be inside you, and he finally tore off your underwear and flipped you onto your knees to fuck you from behind. You rolled your hips and met each of his rough, erratic thrusts, the hard smack of his thighs against your ass adding to the lewd sounds of your body squelching obscenely around his cock. He emptied himself inside you and watched his cum leak down your thighs before you both collapsed in a sweaty, sticky pile on top of his blankets. You drifted off to sleep with his quiet snores in your ear and his tail wrapped possessively around your thigh.

Their little spat over Levi's adventurous tail threatens to derail an otherwise perfect day. Sometimes Levi's tail instinctively curls around you if you're close enough. You don't mind at all, but apparently Mammon does. Mammon and Levi start bickering about getting worked up over something so stupid and you had your chance last night, so fuck off. You love them both dearly, but sometimes they can be viciously stubborn, and greedy, and jealous. But that's part of why you love them so much, isn't it?

You sigh loudly and dramatically to get their attention. They both shut up instantly and look a little confused, especially when you turn your head suddenly and kiss Mammon over your shoulder. He grunts when your lips press against his, but he opens his mouth with a groan as he returns your kiss with ravenous hunger. Levi shuffles awkwardly at your feet, but you catch the tip of his tail resting on your knee and slide it back into the warm gap between your thighs. He seems to get the hint and you smile against Mammon's mouth when Levi's tail tickles your inner thighs and presses against the warm space between your legs. He rubs you through your sleep pants and it's embarrassing how wet you are already; there's soft little squelching sounds as your clothes grow damp from your arousal. You rock your hips to increase the friction of his tail against your skin, but the feeling is muted, dulled by too many layers of clothing.

"Greedy little thing, aren't ya, Treasure?" Mammon murmurs against your mouth when he breaks the kiss. He huffs in amusement when you try to chase his lips, but his gaze rakes over your heaving chest and down the bed where you're rutting against the hard, unyielding curve of Levi's tail. Levi is on his knees in front of you, smoothing his palms up and down your calves while he sucks little marks into the delicate skin of your thighs. He glances at you and Mammon from beneath his lashes, and his orange eyes glow slightly as they brighten with excitement and lust.

Mammon grips the hem of your t-shirt and tugs it over your head. Levi licks his lips and drinks in the delectable sight of your bare chest and soft tummy. His tail flicks one last time against the damp spot forming between your legs before it curls just over the top of your knee instead. You whine at the sudden loss of heat and friction, but Mammon's hot breath ghosts across your ear and he tugs your ear lobe between his teeth. His hand slips under the waistband of your pants and he strokes you instead, gathering the slick arousal pooling at your slit and spreading it with his fingers. You reach back and reach into his soft, snowy white hair and tug roughly as you buck your hips against his hand and whine his name. His finger circles lazily around your entrance and you arch your back against him while your insides clench pitifully around nothing.

Mammon smirks at Levi over your shoulder and a flicker of silent understanding passes between them. No matter how much they argue, they usually don't get too carried away. They would never want their little squabbles to get in the way of pleasing you. "I'm feeling a little generous after all, babe," he murmurs against your neck before he licks a stripe up the delicate column of your throat. "He can stay and watch, and if he can keep his tail to himself, he can have you next."

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queenofallimagines · 2 years ago

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Hi there! Can I please request headcanons if the obey me demon brothers + side characters (except from Luke obviously) with a female MC with naturally big breasts? Like whenever she hugs the demon brothers her breasts are always in their face and the demon brothers and undateables start to feel a bit dirty and naughty?it's fine if you don't want to do an NSFW if you don't want to.

You sure can!! (Me uploading after literally 4 years????) I am no longer burnt out and I’m hyperfixating HARD on nightbringer so *cracks fingers* 🤭😌

** also didn’t notice till uploading this that it just slowly gets filthier and filthier😭

Part 1

Lucifer:

- your so real for this anon bc I got them anime titties and I would definitely use them for evil😈

- This man is filthy if anything! Like you see how he’s always ready to invite you back to his room??

- So when you pressing up against him he’s actively trying not to get hard

- The type to be super touchy like “fixing” your uniform saying you buttoned it wrong(you didn’t)

- LOVES when you hug him really tight bc he can feel the curves of your body pressing into him and now he’s imagining you doing the same thing naked

- I’m telling you this man is worse than asmo

- If you’re in his office and lean in to help him with paperwork his eyes are starring holes into your chest

- He wants nothing more than to hold them in his hands and squeeze

- If you tease him about it he will definitely use that as an excuse to do it

- “Hm? Getting shy now after teasing me so much?”

- Like he WILL have you sit in his lap at his desk as he fondles your chest to his hearts content

- As a demon he’s naturally insatiable so he isn’t above pulling you out of class to indulge in his urges

- Leaves bite marks all over your chest

Mammon:

- absolutely cannot hide how much he likes them

- He’s glad he’s taller than you so he can just look down at you and get a perfect view

- When you hug him it takes every cell in his body not to rip your shirt open

- Wants to shove his face in em and suffocate

- Loves when you ride him because then he can have them directly in his face

- Whole ass has spent full classes just daydreaming about them

- Probably hides your bras so you don’t wear them

- If you have nipple piercings or want some he offers to pick the jewelry

- “NOT BECAUSE I WANT TO SEE IT ON YOU OR ANYTHING!!”

- Fighting for his life not to squeeze em

- Will fake having a headache to lay on your lap to stare up at them

- Leaves bite marks on em too

Levi:

- hentai watcher loves huge boobs

- Fighting worse than mammon

- Bc he will watch you walk down the stairs with no shame and then get flustered about it

- If you cuddle with him in his bath tub he can’t help but get handsy

- Wants to hold you up with his tail and watch them bounce in his face when he fucks you

- Like he will koala hold you and have his face in your chest as he fucks into you nice n deep

- Completely immobilized

- Might even consider coming to class just to watch you in your uniform all day

- Glitches when you hug him like literally his brain factory resets and he’s going through 7 emotions at once

- Your like awww you cute being shy but he’s freaking out bc he wants to do filthy unspeakable things to you

- Like In his head he’s like “oh my god??? Why tf do I want to paint their face it’s just a hug???”

- Banned you from his room for a while and didn’t say why but he’s damn near in heat the way he’s fucking his fist for hours thinking about you

- Will pretend to be normal but asmo can SEE the gears turning in his head

- “Levi is so cute how he gets flustered holding my hand!”

- “Yeah because he wants his hands around your throat,dear”

Satan:

- yeah he’s literally just a cat

- Lays on them and paws at them

- Will go shopping with you and compliment them in any tight shirt

- Might even offer to wash your uniform JUST to shrink it a few sizes so it’s even tighter on you

- He’s shameless just like the eldest but he has that flirtatious charm that’s not TOO overbearing like Lucifer

- Cat lingerie

- Puts you in a mating press just to see them squish together

- “Mind warming my hands?”

- Will shove his cold as ice hands in your shirt under the guise of “you’re a warm human I’m cold blooded🥺”

- You know how you squeeze your chest for comfort or just play with them sometimes for no reason? He does that for you

- And it’s all cool and normal until he starts pinching your nipples and kissing your neck🙄

- Like it was normal and now you can feel him grinding against your backside

- “Mmm I can feel your heart starting to race kitten”

- Will brush his fangs up against your neck also

- Wants to keep toying with your body until you start begging

- “Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll fill you up Hm?”

- He’s a sadist at heart so he can’t make it too easy for you

Asmo:

- Hear me out but it starts out normal

- He’s gunna make comments but he’s more enthralled with how they would look in various outfits

- So you and him are shopping 24/7

- You tired from trying on multiple outfits and bras

- He’s picking up more clothes from the rack so you press against his back and hug him from behind tiredly asking if you can stop your exhausted

- And that’s when he’s like…. I actually want to squeeze them

- Stutters a bit as he comes to this realization

- Smiles a sweet saccharine smile and tells you that you guys can leave and he will make you feel better after overexerting your body

- Looking down at you out the corner of his eye and watching them move as you walk

- Watching how they move when you breathe

- Fr like a scorpion about to strike

- And you’re none the wiser

- Pulling out all his nipple clamps and vibrating ones

- Before he was looking at them from a aesthetic standpoint but now all he can think about is them wrapped around his cock and finishing on your face

- “Open wide dear~”

- Will even pull out to cover them in cum so you might have to beg if you want him to finish anywhere else

- Body worship KING

Beel:

- whew

- Didn’t notice until you go to work out with him and then he’s like they look really soft

- Good enough to eat

- Might bite down a little too hard when marking you because he wants to really see the marks

- Sucking them like his life depends on it

- Breeding kink activated bc if he knocks you up they’ll get even bigger

- You just KNOW when he looks at you w those eyes and says he’s hungry what he wants

- Better find a quiet corner and unbutton your shirt

- Will stick to you like glue in gym class good lord

- Offers to pick you up a lot

- Fav position is when he’s on his knees for you and looks up to see you breathing heavily

- Will massage them bc his hands are huge

- Buuuuut like Satan he will get “distracted”

- Loves reverse cowgirl but is impatient and will sit up to hold them from behind and fuck up into you

- “Mc you taste so good”

- Hickeys will be there for weeks

- Will literally tire your ass out QUICK

Belphie:

- a clown

- Circus king actually

- He’s been peeped how big your chest is and he’s not shy about it

- He’s literally as shameless as asmo it’s crazy😭

- Will lay on you claiming their the perfect pillows but will also feel you up and just act like it’s not a big deal

- “Mmm your really soft mc”

- Whole body a stress ball😐

- Does this in full view of the others and won’t care in the slightest

- Hard to talk to beel about homework when he’s sliding his hands under your shirt and groping you

- You end up in an attic club sandwich often bc of this😔✊🏿

- Will join in the convo and probably take it over like he’s NOT pinching your nipples in a regular conversation

- Going to sleep is his escape card

- Don’t believe him none of the shit he says are exhaustion induced he means that shit fr

- Will stare at you w half lidded eyes and mumble something about how your tits look like they’d be perfect to shove his cock in between

- “Wandering hands as he sleeps” ass mf

- Man sloth and sleepiness is his DOMAIN please don’t let any of the lies about how he’s just sleepy he can’t help it fool you!!

- He will literally enter your dreams and leave hickeys all over them

- Will give you the most raunchy vivid sex dreams ever until you come to him begging for him to touch you

- You wake up actually feeling his touch and he will lazily smile at you from across the table at breakfast as you fidget under his gaze

- Loose hold as he latches onto you but his hands brushing up against your chest is no mistake

- Will straight up say he wants to suck your tits if you ask him what’s w his behavior

- Has the same energy as satan but where he’s smooth and charming belphie is blunt and honest about his desires

- No flowery words or poetic phrases

- He will look you in the eyes w the most bored expression and tell you how he wants to cover you in his cum

- Probably barely looks up at you phone as he says it too😭

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palmastrings · 7 months ago

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Suggestive 😧

Mc showing the brother/dateables their newest tattoo

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

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Ooh idea idea

Part two on Idia + Leviathan (obey me + Twst)

With polyamorous reader

Reader finding out Idia and Leviathan have been fighting for their love and just kiss both their cheeks and say “now don’t hurt yourselves boys.” And returns to studying

Poly Reader | Yandere Leviathan vs Yandere Idia Shroud

“Don’t get your underpants in a twist I honestly love you all!”

For a moment there’s peace

They truly are meant to be on the same team!

But hold on you said all

As in all their classmates/brothers

No way!

Well Levi might not mind as much because it’s his brothers

But Idia isn’t all to thrilled about sharing you with the rest of all those extroverts

He’s scrolled the forums that talk about those poor guys sitting in the backseat of their relationships

He didn’t think that really existed

Or that he’d actually be able to compare himself to them

No way

But if it’s with his brother in gaming I guess he’s willing to share

So the war against everyone else begins

No body is as obsessed experienced with tech as much as them

So they’ll eventually be at the mercy of their great minds combined with one another

Even if you try and assure them that you can love them all

They’re not easily convinced….until you bring up Ruri-chan…

Then maybe they’ll be willing to cool off just a little bit

“I mean I guess we don’t have to fatally zap everyone that comes near you.”

“Yeah, I mean as long as your still my player 2 I don’t think I’ll mind. Too much.”

“H-h-hey! Me too! Y-y-your my player 2 too!”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere obey me #yandere harem #yandere poly x reader #yandere poly #yandere polyamorous

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polymc · 2 months ago

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A HUGE REMINDER!!!

If you are under 18 or an ageless blog, respectfully GO AWAY!! I just had a 16 year old like my post and it makes me uncomfortable. I don't care if it's a sfw post or if you turn 18 tomorrow, do not like my stuff and go away if you are underage. As for ageless blogs, please add your age. I want to give you all a chance but it still makes me uncomfortable.

Thank you and sorry for this who are just enjoying my posts. TwT I just had to say something because it was upsetting that on almost all my posts it says

✗ Minors/Ageless blogs will be blocked. DNI. ✗ or ✗ Minors/Ageless blogs DNI, Please go away. ✗

Like do I need to write it in huge writing?? TT - TT Also Hi I'm alive! :>

#whb #what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad #polyam #mc #obey me #x reader #polyamory #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunker #tkdb #random #serious post #om! shall we date #love and deepspace #poly lads #lads x reader #lads

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l3viat8an · 2 years ago

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HI RO!!!! it’s been forever since I’ve been here oh my 😭 how are youuuu???

I’m just having. many a thot thought. abt poly MC getting praised and pampered and overstimmed just getting all the sweet, gentle (soft dom??? I guess??) vibes from the bros after doing really well during the semester/term at RAD.

maybe they tease or double down on praising bc they know it makes MC shy but also that they actually enjoy it 👀 maybe getting tied up is involved 👀

but overall they’re not mean, they just want MC to know they’re proud of them, so what better way to do that than going to the extremes to show them?

anyway that’s my little rant, I just thought it was cute and wanted to share 😋🫶🏻

have a good day, and happy holidayssss!!! make sure you take care of yourself <3

- ♈️ anon

Hiiii ♈️!!! I’m good! Tired from holiday prep but good lolol how have youu been??? + it’s late for me so ignore if this has any typos as usual jsjsj

Just imagine Asmo getting all excited when he sees how well you did! His sweetheart is soooo smart and that deserves some kisses right~ he he’s going to cover your face in quick little kisses, giggling the whole time! It doesn’t matter who else is around, you deserve the praise and the blush on your cheeks is so cute!

Then Satan walks over and basically pushes Asmo out of the way- completely ignoring Asmo’s pouting and saying that if anyone praises you it should be him. after all he’s the one that tutored you all semester and helped when you didn’t know something about Devildom law- his kiss is deep and would’ve been a lot longer if Mammon and Levi weren’t yelling whining about how they helped you too!!! This is all just Asmo and Satan looking for an excuse to act all lovely dovey!! they’re both jealous and would prefer to have you alone- whispering sweet praise in your ear and placing soft kisses all over your body <3

Belphie just laughs, obviously you’re enjoying the attention so what’s the big deal? Beel’s nodding along- tho he really wants a kiss too, he’ll wait his turn.

and while he’ll let them indulge you for a few minutes Lucifer is quick to end it all, saying that you did wonderful as expected because; they all helped you. He walks over and kisses the top of your head, whispering just loud enough that you can hear him “I’m proud of you, darling.” and chuckles when he pulls away and sees your face is bright red.

Nsfw bit below here <3

Oooor Lucifer joins in on praising you!! You really did so well and Asmo’s right, that deserves a reward~ but what should it be?

Mammon shouts something about how you should just spend the day with him! He’ll spoil ya as much as you want!

Levi cuts Mammon off, stumbling over his words but promising that he’ll do whatever you want….uhhh if you want to spend time with him….to celebrate- and Satan cuts right back in saying that he’s the one that’s going to spoil you! It’s only fair!

‘n so on- obviously they’re not gonna agree right away, but it’s cute to watch you get excited over the way they fight for your attention!

Eventually it’s Belphie that has the best (?) (depends on who you ask tbh) idea. They could just share you-

Asmo whines that it’s not fair!! He didn’t get to say that first but Belphie just rolls his eyes and continues; after all, you worked so hard to get good grades~ it’ll be his…..their reward to you, kissing, praising and touching you until you can’t think anymore.

Just let them worry about you, yea? You know it’ll feel good too….all they want to do is make you feel good, spoil you, fill you up with cocks and cum until the only thoughts left in your cute little head are about them and how good it feels to be spoiled-

and for once the others all agree- if it’s what you want ofc <3

#poly reader <3 #♈️ anon!#ro rambles #1 am thots~#being spoiled by all of them is the dream 😩#obey me!#obey me poly reader #obey me x poly reader #obey me smut #smut #x reader #om!#om! poly reader #obey me x chubby reader #obey me x reader

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clumsydolly · 3 days ago

Text

Obey me! x Leona Kingscholar!Reader

Part 2

Warnings!⚠️: Neglect, Feelings of insignificance, violence, blood, possible parental abuse. If there is anything I missed please let me know!

art credits to kura_usagi217 on twitter. Got the picture from himasagod

Diavolo

When Diavolo first met you, he was thrilled. Not just because you were a new exchange student from another world though that was exciting, but because you had a presence. A kind of easy confidence that reminded him of high-ranking demons, or even noble families in the Celestial Realm.

You walked like someone who owned the ground, slouched like you were unimpressed by most things, and looked at people like they were mildly annoying puzzles.

He loved it.

“You have the bearing of royalty,” he had said the first time you were introduced.

“Try being the second-born disappointment long enough. You pick up a few tricks,” you replied, tone dry as desert wind.

He laughed.

You didn’t.

That was the first hint.

Diavolo didn’t get you at first, not really. You weren’t like Lucifer, who wore his pride like armor. You weren’t like Mammon, loud and easy to read. And you definitely weren’t like Solomon, who flirted first and explained later.

You were… tired.

Not physically, though you took naps like it was your personal religion. But emotionally? Spiritually? You exuded the kind of quiet cynicism that only comes from trying and failing too many times.

And yet, you still showed up. You still trained, still studied, still kept pace with the brothers (even when they were annoying as hell). You still helped out when things went wrong.

You just did it with your sleeves rolled up, a sigh on your lips, and a permanent case of “why am I the only one with two working brain cells?”

Which made him more interested.

At first, he tried to cheer you up. It was well-meaning. It was also a disaster.

He invited you to tour the castle.

You fell asleep on the royal couch mid-explanation of Devildom politics. (Barbatos silently offered a blanket. Diavolo cried a little on the inside.)

He offered to spar with you, prince-to-prince style.

You put him in a chokehold in under three minutes, then yawned.

“Is this how you woo people up here?”

“That was supposed to be fun!”

“Yeah, I had fun. You just suck at blocking.”

Diavolo was enchanted.

The turning point came during a RAD event where you were asked to speak about your world. You gave a brief explanation about your kingdom, your family’s expectations, and what it was like growing up under the shadow of a brother everyone compared you to.

Your voice never wavered. You didn’t cry. But there was a steeliness to it, a sharp edge that Diavolo recognized too well.

Later, after everyone had dispersed, he approached you.

“You don’t think you belong here.”

“Took you long enough to notice.”

“But you do.”

“Tell that to the universe. Maybe it’ll send me a medal.”

There was a long pause. And then, instead of spouting some royal nonsense, Diavolo surprised you.

“I used to think I only mattered because I’d be king.”

You blinked.

“But now… I think I matter because of the kind of king I want to be. Not the kind people expected me to be.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw someone who wasn’t just a dumb, cheerful figurehead. Someone who had his own inferiority complex, his own pressure to live up to a legacy he didn’t choose.

And in that moment, maybe for the first time, you actually listened.

After that, things shifted.

You still insulted him, sure. But it got more playful.

He’d say, “I brought you some tea,” and you’d say, “Trying to poison me into friendship again?”

He’d declare, “You’re very capable!” and you’d deadpan, “Wow. Royal approval. Let me call my therapist.”

But you’d drink the tea. You’d keep showing up. You’d sit beside him during meetings, your tail flicking in irritation whenever someone talked down to you. He noticed.

And more importantly, he respected it.

Diavolo once tried to surprise you with a royal title for a day: “Duke of Controlled Chaos.” You responded by demanding castle taxes, firing three imaginary servants, and requesting a nap throne. He now refers to you as “Your High Napness.”

He once caught you curled up in the castle garden, snoring loudly under a sunbeam. Rather than waking you, he just sat nearby and quietly answered paperwork until you stirred.

When Barbatos told him you’d declined a personal honor because “you didn’t do anything special,” Diavolo paused mid-sip of tea and said, “Barbatos, what’s the legal process for forcibly boosting someone’s self-esteem?”

You once got into an argument with Lucifer in front of him and ended it by casually saying, “Y’know, at least Diavolo knows I’m not just a royal embarrassment.” Diavolo had to go take a walk after that one. He was red in the face and smiling like an idiot.

He never says it outright. You never do either. But there’s a kind of loyalty between you that neither of you really expected.

And when Diavolo looks at you, exiled pride, nap king of sarcasm, second-born with a chip on your shoulder, he doesn’t see failure.

He sees someone who could change kingdoms, if they wanted.

Right after that nap.

Barbatos

Barbatos noticed you before anyone else did.

Not just noticed, but understood. Maybe not fully, he was too polite for that kind of arrogance, but he knew your type. The slow-talking, fast-thinking ones. The ones who slouched and rolled their eyes but still heard every word in a room. The ones who weaponized laziness to disguise the ache of always being second best.

When Diavolo introduced you, Barbatos saw the quiet calculation in your eyes. The sharp edge under the disinterest. He didn’t miss the way you stayed back from the crowd, the twitch of your tail when people praised others for things you’d done better without applause.

You reminded him of a blade left in a drawer too long, still sharp, still deadly, but gathering dust because no one remembered to use it.

So he offered you tea.

Not because he expected you to accept, but because it would tell him everything if you did.

You did.

“You don't strike me as the social sort,” you said after your first few sips, head tilted lazily.

Barbatos smiled, pouring more into your cup. “Nor do you. And yet… here we are.”

You narrowed your eyes at him like he was a puzzle you hadn’t decided was worth solving yet. He merely folded his hands and waited.

You didn’t say it aloud, but that kind of patience unnerved you more than yelling ever could.

It became a strange little routine.

Whenever the noise of the House of Lamentation got too loud, or your own thoughts grew too bitter, you’d find yourself wandering to the castle kitchen. Barbatos would already have a cup set out, like he knew you were coming.

Which, knowing him, he probably did.

“You make it look easy,” you muttered one night, watching him roll dough with perfectly even pressure.

“I assure you, it is not,” he said, glancing at you. “But neither is pretending not to care when you do.”

You stiffened, ears twitching slightly.

He said nothing more.

That was the thing with Barbatos, he didn’t push. He just said one thing, perfectly aimed, and let it hang in the air until it either dissolved or landed like a weight on your chest.

Most days, it landed.

One afternoon, you were uncharacteristically quiet, even for you.

You didn’t slump into a seat or kick your boots onto his table like usual. You just stood near the counter, arms crossed, shoulders unusually tight.

Barbatos slid a plate toward you. Fresh scones. Still warm.

“You look like someone who’s heard too many comparisons today.”

You blinked.

“You always seem to know things you shouldn't,” you muttered, sitting down with a groan.

“It’s not magic,” he said. “Just… observation. And experience.”

You didn’t respond, just broke off a piece of scone and stared at it like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Y’know,” you said after a while, voice low, “people like to act like being second-best is a privilege. Like you should be grateful you’re not completely overlooked. But it still sucks.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“I trained. I studied. I worked. And still, it’s always him. He was born first. He got the legacy. I got a lifetime of polite applause and no throne. And I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending I’m okay with it.”

Barbatos placed a second scone on your plate, softer this time.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said. “Not here.”

You blinked rapidly. Once. Twice. Then shoved the rest of the scone into your mouth with a scowl.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, crumbs on your lip. “Still too sweet.”

He chuckled quietly and passed you a napkin.

Later, when you fell asleep at the table after helping him clean the kitchen, Barbatos didn’t wake you.

He just dimmed the lights, set a quiet ward around the room, and returned to polishing the silver.

Your tail flicked once in your sleep, like it knew he was still there.

You once challenged Barbatos to a baking contest because you were “bored.” It turned into a six-hour standoff with flour everywhere, and somehow the winning dessert was… a draw. (You both claimed victory. Diavolo was just happy he got two cakes.)

He caught you trying to sneak out of a formal event early and didn’t stop you. Just handed you a pastry wrapped in linen and said, “Try not to let the wind mess up your mane.”

When you found out Barbatos could see alternate timelines, you asked how many of them ended with you “not being a royal failure.” He looked at you and simply said, “More than you believe. But fewer than you deserve.”

You once jokingly asked if he had a timeline where you got to be king. He gave a faint smile and said, “Yes. And in that world, you still sneak into my kitchen for peace and quiet.”

Barbatos never coddled you. Never pretended the world was fair or that your pain didn’t matter. But he saw you.

And sometimes… that was enough.

Simeon

Simeon had met prideful people before. He lived among angels, after all. Pride came in many shapes, righteous, humble, quiet, loud, but he’d never quite met anyone like you.

At first glance, you were the embodiment of indifference. Leaned back in your chair during R.A.D. lectures, arms crossed, tail twitching like it had better places to be. Your tone was slow, almost lazy. Half your sentences were grumbled under your breath like you couldn’t be bothered to speak clearly. And your expression rarely changed, just a bored look framed by sharp eyes that saw everything and commented on nothing.

Simeon noticed how everyone mistook your silence for arrogance.

But he knew better.

He saw the subtle way your ears perked when someone praised your classwork, even if you acted like it didn’t matter. He noticed how you stayed behind after battle practice to help Beel lift fallen training dummies. He even caught you one evening, tucked away behind the library, fast asleep with a book on political diplomacy clutched in your hand.

You weren’t lazy. You were exhausted.

And Simeon understood what it meant to carry expectations you never asked for.

“You always sit alone at lunch,” he said one day, sliding into the empty seat across from you.

You didn’t even blink. “And?”

“Just thought I’d offer company.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, wary and sharp. “I’m not great company.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, smiling.

You clicked your tongue and went back to your sandwich. “Suit yourself, church boy.”

Simeon just hummed, unbothered.

It became a habit after that. Simeon sitting beside you in silence, sometimes reading, sometimes chatting about the weather, sometimes saying nothing at all. You never asked him to leave. He never forced conversation. Somehow, that balance worked.

You started calling him “choir boy” after that. He took it as a compliment.

One day, you both got caught in the rain walking home from R.A.D.

You didn’t complain, but Simeon noticed the way your tail curled tighter, your jaw set harder, the faint tremor in your shoulders.

“Bad day?” he asked.

“Every day’s a bad day when you’re living in someone else’s shadow,” you muttered. “Not that you’d get it.”

“I might,” he said, quietly. “More than you think.”

You scoffed, shaking water from your mane. “Doubt it. Must be nice—being the favorite. The golden one. Bet you never had to fight to be seen.”

Simeon paused, thoughtful. “You know… being the ‘golden one’ doesn’t mean you’re never lonely.”

You didn’t respond. But you walked a little slower, and he matched your pace without a word.

One night, Simeon found you pacing behind the House of Lamentation, muttering curses under your breath.

Apparently, your older sibling had made a surprise visit, charming, graceful, beloved. The golden child. Of course. You hadn’t said much during dinner. Just sat through the smiles and praise, your shoulders stiff and smile fake.

But now the fury was spilling out.

“I tried, okay?” you hissed, tail lashing. “I studied. I trained. I cleaned up every mess they left behind! And they still act like I’m some… some spare! Like I’m nothing unless I’m chasing their shadow!”

Simeon watched you for a moment, then reached into his coat and handed you a handkerchief.

You stared at it. “What the hell is this?”

“Your ears are twitching too much. I thought maybe you were about to cry.”

You growled, stuffing it in your pocket. “Not crying. Just—mad.”

“Of course,” he said gently.

You slumped onto the nearby bench. “I hate that I care so much.”

Simeon sat beside you. “Caring doesn’t make you weak. It means you haven’t given up.”

“…I kinda want to give up.”

“But you won’t.”

You shot him a glare. “How would you know?”

“Because I see you,” he said softly. “Even when you’re pretending not to care. Even when you’re hiding how much it hurts. You’re still here. Still trying.”

“…You sound like you write poems about sad lions or something.”

He chuckled. “Only for the most majestic ones.”

You groaned, hiding your face. “Stop being nice. It makes it worse.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

You once dragged Simeon into a prank war with Mammon and swore him to secrecy. He helped you rig the kitchen to explode glitter when the fridge opened. When Lucifer questioned him, he simply smiled and said, “Forgive me, but I was compelled by divine chaos.”

He taught you how to bake “as a method of stress relief.” You pretended to hate it, but you now make cinnamon rolls when you're upset. (He always shows up five minutes after you take them out of the oven, suspiciously.)

Once, in a rare moment of unguarded emotion, you muttered, “Thanks. For not treating me like I’m broken.” He only responded with, “You were never broken. Just tired.”

He calls you “Little Lion” sometimes. You pretend it annoys you. (It doesn’t.)

Simeon never asked you to be softer.

He never demanded your walls come down or that you stop snarling at your reflection.

He just stayed. Listened. Brought tea and patience.

And over time, maybe that was the thing that helped you breathe again.

Because it wasn’t pity. It wasn’t praise.

It was just… acceptance.

And it felt like peace.

Solomon

Solomon didn’t quite stumble into your orbit, he slid into it. Smooth, knowing, and about three steps ahead even when you thought you’d caught him off guard.

You’d been paired for a group project at R.A.D., and from the moment your names were called together, you knew it was going to be a mess. Not because you were incapable, but because he was insufferable.

“You sure you’re up for this, desert royalty?” he’d asked with that damn grin, resting his chin in his hand like he already knew what buttons to push.

You clicked your tongue, flicking your tail with practiced indifference. “As long as you don’t mess it up with one of your shady little rituals, sure.”

“I don’t do shady rituals,” he said smoothly. “I do effective rituals. There’s a difference.”

From that day forward, it was game on.

You’d walk into study sessions five minutes late with sand still clinging to your robes and an attitude sharp enough to cut stone. He’d already be seated, sipping tea like he owned the damn academy, offering you a smirk instead of a greeting.

You were used to being underestimated, misread, branded lazy or arrogant by those who didn’t understand how exhausting it was to be second-best in a family where first was everything. But Solomon? No, he saw through you, and not in the gentle, saintly way Simeon might. More like he found it fascinating.

He wasn’t put off by your constant sarcasm or the barely-restrained yawns when people tried to impress you. He actually liked the edge in your voice, the flat way you said “Whatever” when someone praised your work, like you didn’t trust compliments not to come with strings.

You weren’t sure if that made him brave or just stupid.

Probably both.

“You act like you don’t care,” he mused one evening, casually flipping through a cursed tome while you pretended not to listen. “But you wouldn’t try so hard if you truly didn’t.”

You didn’t even look up from your notes. “Bold of you to assume I try.”

He laughed. “You memorize half the curriculum before the rest of the class has even blinked. You rewrite spells until they’re more efficient. You’re trying, Leona.”

You finally met his gaze, eyes sharp. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“…Because it means you’re getting too familiar.”

Solomon raised an eyebrow. “You’re afraid of being known?”

“No,” you said, voice low, “I’m afraid of being misunderstood. Again.”

There it was, that split-second pause in his smile. He didn’t pity you. He didn’t flinch. He just looked at you, really looked, and gave the smallest nod.

“Then let me understand you properly.”

You never had to explain the sibling thing with Solomon.

He figured it out in pieces, when you stiffened at the mention of “family visits,” when your scowl deepened after receiving a letter from home, when your spellwork got sharper, angrier, every time someone praised you with the phrase almost as good as…

He never asked you to talk about it. But he’d quietly offer you something to throw when you looked like you were about to implode. Sometimes a pillow. Sometimes a cursed rock that screamed when it hit the wall. Always thoughtful.

You found yourself trusting him, against your better judgment.

And naturally, he exploited that trust with relentless teasing.

“Ah, so the great Lia does have feelings,” he’d whisper after you accidentally admitted you enjoyed his cooking. “I was starting to think you were made of sun-baked stone.”

You glared at him. “That’s rich coming from the human cryptid who stores curses in teacups.”

“Oh, you noticed that?” he said, delighted. “Careful not to drink from the one with the eye sigil. It bites.”

You found that you actually liked working with him. Which was strange.

He never talked down to you. Never tried to “fix” you or push you past your limits. He knew when to back off and when to needle you into trying just a little harder. Sometimes he’d drop casual praise when you least expected it.

“By the way,” he’d murmur as you passed each other in the hallway, “your summoning circle last night? Cleanest I’ve seen in years.”

It was never about flattery. It was recognition. That made it worse. Or better. You couldn’t decide.

And the worst part?

You caught yourself smiling more often around him.

He tried to gift you a “good luck charm” for exams. It exploded in purple glitter the moment you touched it. He swears it was a malfunction. You still don’t believe him.

You enchanted his favorite coat to grow extra sleeves every time he made a smug comment. He wore it proudly. “Now I can cast four spells at once.”

One night, you fell asleep in the library while reading a dusty old text. When you woke up, a blanket had been draped over you, and a note rested on your lap: “Even royalty needs rest. Don’t burn out before you rule.”

You never brought it up. He never admitted to leaving it.

But your tail flicked a little slower when he was nearby after that.

Solomon never asked for the throne you never wanted.

But he chose to walk beside you anyway.

And somewhere in the long nights of spellcraft, side comments, and thinly veiled care, you realized—

You weren’t second to him.

You were something entirely your own.

And for once, that felt like enough.

Mephistopheles

To say Mephistopheles didn’t like you would be inaccurate.

He loathed you.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

You were lazy. Arrogant. Constantly skipping class or napping during lectures, yet somehow still managing to land in the top 5 every single time. You never tried to make people like you. You didn’t throw parties or preen for attention the way he did, and yet everyone seemed to gravitate toward you like moths to a sand-blasted sun.

It was infuriating.

Mephistopheles considered himself the pinnacle of demonic refinement, sharp wit, flawless grooming, exceptional academic standing. And then there was you, walking into R.A.D. with your half-lidded stare and “couldn’t care less” attitude, yawning like the world bored you… and stealing every ounce of attention without even meaning to.

He couldn’t stand it.

(And yet he couldn’t stop watching.)

It all started when Lord Diavolo assigned you both to cover the R.A.D. school newspaper for a week. A week.

“I refuse,” Mephisto had declared, dramatically flipping his scarf over his shoulder. “I have standards.”

You leaned against the doorframe, unimpressed. “You also have a deadline, Pretty Boy.”

“Do not call me that.”

“I’ll stop when you stop whining.”

He should’ve hexed you on the spot.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and got to work.

You were chaos in slow motion.

You rewrote headlines with pun-laced titles that made Mephisto visibly age. You interviewed demons by asking them ridiculous hypothetical questions ("If you could replace your horns with anything, what would it be?") and somehow got better quotes than his carefully worded inquiries ever did.

Worse yet, when he tried to correct your grammar… you were always right.

“Who taught you syntax?” he hissed after your second correction of the day.

You shrugged. “I read. A lot. Gotta do something between naps.”

“Do you enjoy being the bane of my existence?”

You smirked. “Kinda. You make funny faces when you’re mad.”

And oh, the faces he made.

You drove him up the wall, and not just because of the way you challenged his every word with calm, disinterested sass. No, it was something subtler than that. You saw through him. You saw the effort behind his flair, the insecurity behind his dramatics, and you didn’t mock it.

You just… matched it. Not with performance, but with presence. Steady. Grounded. Lethal when provoked.

He recognized that weight. That buried inferiority complex. That deep-seated ache to prove yourself in a world that kept expecting someone else.

He hated how well you understood him.

(He hated it more when he realized he didn’t mind.)

It wasn’t all bickering. There were cracks in the tension, brief moments of realness.

Like the night you stayed late editing an article because he’d rewritten the headline six times and couldn’t settle on anything.

You didn’t say anything. You just handed him a coffee, scribbled a new title on a scrap of parchment, and slid it toward him.

It was perfect.

“You’re insufferable,” he mumbled, cheeks faintly red.

“Thanks,” you said, already packing up your things.

Eventually, the lines blurred.

Your arguments became routines. Your eye-rolls became inside jokes. The tension was still there, sure, thick and buzzing like a storm on the horizon, but it was no longer hostile.

You called him “Mephi.” He pretended to hate it.

He called you “Your Highness” with a theatrical bow. You told him to choke on his cravat.

He gave you grammar quizzes just to mess with you. You passed every single one.

You’d nap on the newsroom couch. He’d throw a blanket over you and loudly claim it was for aesthetic cohesion.

Neither of you addressed it.

(Neither of you wanted to stop.)

He absolutely challenged you to a writing duel after you casually roasted one of his editorials. You won. He demanded a rematch. You won again.

Once, during a heated argument, he shouted, “You are the most aggravating, stubborn, sand-obsessed nightmare I’ve ever met!”

You blinked. “So… you like me?”

He almost combusted.

He gifted you a quill pen with gold trim and your name engraved in it. You caught him doing it and raised an eyebrow.

“For professionalism,” he huffed. “Nothing more.”

You smiled. “Sure, Mephi.”

He once dreamt that you stole the front page layout from him and redesigned the entire paper in your sleep. He woke up in a cold sweat.

The day you two finally published the R.A.D. paper together, clean, clever, and wildly successful, he looked at you across the printing press and muttered, “Damn it… you’re actually good.”

You grinned, tail flicking. “Told you. Now admit I’m the better editor.”

“In your dreams.”

He would never admit it, not to your face, not even to himself, but somewhere between the snark and the deadlines, Mephistopheles stopped trying to outshine you…

And started trying to keep up.

Just don’t expect him to say it out loud.

(Unless you catch him at 3 a.m., muttering your name while rewriting his headline again.)

Thirteen

No phones. No backup. No Beel to bust down the door.

You sat on the floor, head against the wall, arms crossed.

She flopped down beside you with a groan. “Ugh. Boring.”

Silence.

Then she glanced sideways. “Sooo… what’s your deal, anyway? Always acting like nothing matters.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then: “It’s easier.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

You stared ahead. “Caring means getting let down. Over and over. By people who expect you to be perfect just so they can ignore you.”

“…Oof. That got real.”

“You asked.”

She snorted. “Well. Guess I gotta share now. Demon code and all.”

She didn’t say much, just enough. A few mumbled words about growing up around the dead. About how traps were easier than people. About how being “too much” was better than being forgotten.

You didn’t say anything.

You just passed her a protein bar from your pocket and looked away.

She smiled.

After that, the traps got… weirder.

Personal.

She set up a glitter bomb that spelled out “King of Naps 💤” above your bed. You rigged her locker to play children’s lullabies every time she opened it. She replaced your morning alarm with a demon screech. You put ghost pepper powder in her mouthwash.

It was glorious.

Eventually, the others stopped asking if you two were fighting or flirting.

The answer was “yes.”

She once declared a “Trap-Off” in the forest behind R.A.D. You both built elaborate Rube Goldberg nightmare machines. Neither of you fell for the other’s trap. The entire area is now a no-go zone.

She tried to prank Barbatos once while you were watching. You told her she was insane. “Don’t mess with the butler.” Her trap vanished. No one ever found the trigger. To this day, she insists Barbatos is an interdimensional cryptid.

When you fell asleep under a tree, she dropped a plastic spider on your face. You grabbed it mid-snore and threw it back at her without waking up. She screamed. You smirked in your sleep.

One time, she caught you smiling at one of her successful traps. You denied it, but she saw. She knows.

You never said you liked her. Not directly.

But when she pulled off a perfect net trap that left you dangling from a tree and you just stared at her upside down and said, “Took you long enough,” she laughed so hard she nearly fell over.

“Admit it,” she said, eyes gleaming. “You love this.”

You just grinned back, eyes half-lidded. “Don’t push your luck.”

(But you didn’t tell her to let you down.)

And she didn’t.

She sat there beneath the tree with you swaying above her, both of you watching the sky in silence, until the stars blinked out one by one.

It was kind of… nice.

You’d never say it.

But she knew.

Raphael

The first time Raphael saw you, he assumed you were lazy.

You were leaned against a tree outside R.A.D., half-asleep, sun in your face, skipping whatever class he’d just been assigned to monitor. You didn’t move when he passed, didn’t even blink. You just gave him the most unimpressed side-eye he’d seen since Mammon tried to talk his way out of a fine.

And then you yawned.

“I’m not a threat,” you muttered. “So you can chill.”

Raphael raised a brow, halo gleaming faintly in the Devildom haze. “I don’t recall speaking to you.”

“Didn’t have to,” you replied, eyes closing again. “Judgmental angels always wear it on their faces.”

He should’ve walked away.

Instead, he stayed.

He kept running into you.

At first, it was coincidence. Then it was deliberate.

You fascinated him.

Because no matter how much he tried to provoke you with his silent judgment, his rigid rules, or the thin-lipped stares that scared most into submission, you never flinched.

“You sleep through half your responsibilities,” he said once.

“Still getting more done than you,” you fired back.

You weren’t kind. You weren’t social. You didn’t try to impress anyone. You just existed, quietly and confidently and somehow everyone still watched you when you entered a room.

Including him.

Which made him furious.

When you finally snapped at him during one of his lectures, it was less about volume and more about tone.

“Save the holier-than-thou act,” you muttered, arms crossed. “I already grew up in someone’s shadow. Don’t need a glowing one trying to stand over me now.”

That stopped him cold.

He hadn’t expected that.

Not the edge in your voice. Not the crack in it. Not the hint that maybe your indifference wasn’t just attitude, but armor.

That was the first moment Raphael didn’t see you as defiance personified.

He saw you as a mirror.

He started noticing things.

How you sat at the back of the room, close to exits. How your tail flicked just slightly when someone mentioned your family. How you avoided compliments like they burned.

You reminded him of himself, in ways he didn’t want to admit.

So of course, his way of dealing with it was… poorly.

“You should try harder,” he snapped once, when you skipped a meeting with Lord Diavolo.

“Maybe you should try relaxing,” you said. “I’m not going to combust if I’m not kissing royal boots 24/7.”

You never looked intimidated.

But Raphael, despite himself, felt challenged.

Intrigued.

Infuriated.

Drawn in.

One day, when the others were too busy arguing over snack rations and Mammon's latest debt, he found you alone again, lounging beneath that same tree.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched you.

“You can sit, if it helps,” you finally said without opening your eyes. “I’m not gonna throw shade if you need a break.”

Reluctantly, he lowered himself to the grass beside you.

Silence stretched.

Then you cracked an eye open. “You always that uptight, or did I bring it out of you?”

“I simply value order.”

“Yeah, and I value napping. Guess we’re both tragically misunderstood.”

He stared at you.

And for the first time, smiled.

Barely.

But it counted.

From then on, things shifted.

He still gave you a hard time.

You still rolled your eyes every time he talked about rules.

But there were moments small ones where he’d defend your choices. Where he’d tell the others to back off when they questioned your commitment. Where he’d pause a little too long when you stretched in the sun, catching the light just right and looking so unconcerned with the world that he envied you.

You never talked about your brother, the pressure, the constant feeling of never being enough.

But you didn’t have to.

He knew.

And somehow, that made the tension between you thrum just a little louder.

Bonus Divine Interference:

You once challenged Raphael to a sparring match, mostly because you were bored. You lost (barely), but your tail smacked his face during the final move and broke his concentration. He hasn’t lived it down.

He scolds you for napping in forbidden places. You ask why he’s always there to see it. He has no answer.

When someone accused you of being a lazy freeloader, Raphael shut it down so quickly and with so much barely-contained wrath that everyone went quiet. He didn’t even deny the lazy part. Just said, “They’re more capable than any of you.”

He gave you a book once. Didn’t say why. Just dropped it next to you. “Thought it suited you.” It was a historical account of second sons and succession disputes. You never said thank you, but you kept it tucked in your satchel every day after.

He’ll never say it directly.

Not “I care.” Not “I see you.” Not “You’re the only person who doesn’t treat me like some angel on a shelf.”

But when you sit down beside him in quiet moments, letting your silence do the talking, Raphael doesn’t pull away.

He just lets it happen.

And sometimes, that’s all either of you need.

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! As usual Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated!

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orim0ri · 2 years ago

Text

“Just a Sign, Lord, Anything”

(Nightbringer! Simeon x GN! Reader)

───────────────

Disclaimer(s): religious imagery, mentions of God, Celestial War spoilers, longing Simeon, religious doubt, blasphemy(?), angst, lots of angst, hints of poly MC, mentions of Lilith, slight Nightbringer spoilers for lessons 10-12 (I believe)

(A/N): I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw an entry of Aziraphale’s diary from Good Omens and thought of Simeon with Demon MC in Nightbringer. I’ll put a picture of the entry at the end of the fic, but if I am hurting, I will share with the masses so I won’t be alone.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Simeon is an archangel of God, mighty and powerful, yet so gentle and warm, embracing all and protecting every soul to guide them to Fathers Holy Light. Simeon, the archangel, who felt his heart shatter when he was forced to battle his Brothers, especially Lucifer, the one who he loved the most. He wept for days after their fall, the halls of Heaven were so much more colder after they left. Micheal couldn’t even comfort him, no matter how hard he tried. Heaven was warm, still, but quiet after the War. But Simeon had to move on, he knew.

But then he had the visitation from Diavolo to join the student transfer program to unite the realms. His heart clenched, stomach twisting in knots as he looked down at the letter clutched in his hands, he was close to shaking. In the Devildom, there would be demons, and with the demons, there would be the Brothers, but no Lilith.

He was fearful, even more fearful since that day.

Simeon was scared to go, but he had to. A part of him wanted to see this unification project through. He wanted to see the Brothers again, to be able to talk to Asmodeus, to drink coffee with Lucifer, to try and convince Mammon to stray away from his little pranks on his poor big brother.

Oh to have those mornings with them again, but he had to move on from the past. They would not be the same since the fall, especially now that they are slowly adapting to the Devildom. Maybe he was being a bit hopeful; delusion? But he could only wonder and question; have they been well? Are they okay? Are the demons welcoming them? Is Diavolo taking caring of them? Where are they living? Where would he live? Would he be with them?

His mind raced and he couldn’t pick a single one to fix himself to, for now, all he could do was pack his bags and be off with Luke.

When he arrived, was met with the expected reluctance, the heavy tension still lingering in the air, and the stiff presence of Lucifer who hung around him, protectively guarding his brothers.

But what he wasn’t expecting was you.

“Hello, you must be Simeon, right? My name is MC, the demon that is watching over the brothers during their stay of the Devildom!” You smiled at him so warmly, a warmth that he would expect to see from a fellow angel, as you held out your hand for him to take.

He felt his heart catch his throat when he looked into your eyes, a glitter in them that made him feel oddly nostalgic. His heart pounded, his knees felt weak, his skin was tingly as he grasped your hand, shaking it firmly. It was an odd feeling, a feeling he couldn’t quite explain when he met your eyes. They were so inviting, comforting, something he did not expect to see from any demon, like looking into the eyes of an old love.

Simeon shook himself out of his strange moment of vulnerability, silently, his guard was up. You were a demon. He could smell it on you, could feel the aura of your magic pulsing around you, sending a shiver down your spine. With the feeling alone, he felt it could take a single snap of your fingers and all realms could crumble.

But those eyes spoke otherwise.

“Ah, it’s good to know that Lucifer and the others are being taken care of.” Simeon smiled gently to you, retracting his hand, the tingle of your touch on his palm.

“Psh, it ain’t like we need the help. But Diavolo insisted.” Mammon crossed his arms, unconsciously leaning close to your side.

Simeon noticed this.

He only smiled while he watched you interact with the brothers for days after he arrived. The way you comforted Asmodeus and immediately noticed something was wrong, even if the facade he put up was practically perfect. The way you could calm Satan down. The way you brightened Mammons day, bring a smile and confidence to Leviathan, know exactly when Beelzebub was hungry and have everything on you immediately, carry Belphegor whenever he was sleepy and find a place for him to nap, and most of all, you’d always take care of Lucifer. Bring him coffee, make him food and snacks, convince him to sleep at odd hours.

You were more than he expected. It made his heart flutter at these acts of kindness, to see you beam with pride whenever you did these acts with nothing to gain in return, to see you be the safe haven for the brothers when they are ostracized by the demons of the Devildom, even despite their status. You were the arms of heaven that they couldn’t reach anymore, you were the home they deserved, the love they needed, and he saw it.

Lucifer looked at you with such softness, even when his words would even feel like nails against the skin, even to Simeon.

Mammon was greedy, constantly wanting your attention and words of praise, melting into your touch and wanting nothing more than to hold you.

Leviathan was a bit confident whenever he spoke to you, being proud to speak little by little about his interests, finding his home in your arms much like his brother.

Asmodeus admitted to wanting to stare at you for hours, and there are days where he finds Asmodeus staring at his phone, looking at pictures of you and him together with a smile on his face and cheeks pink.

Satan is… A hard on for Simeon to read, but the only noticeable thing Simeon can see is the anger vanish as soon as you enter the room or come near him, leaning in close to you to melt into your touch.

Beelzebub shared his food with you always, making sure you take the first bite and watch you as you eat. Seeing you eat, he could tell, brought him joy knowing you enjoyed it as much as he did.

Belphegor was a demanding one, the youngest of the seven, the one who is spoiled the most aside from Mammon. He would always come to you and lay himself on you when you were sitting, or sit in your lap, promptly falling asleep on you happily.

Simeon noticed all of those, his heart clenching whenever he saw these little things. He wasn’t expecting to feel so much love inside the home, to see it for himself, to see that a demon is the one causing the House of Lamentations to feel so… Welcoming, so much like home.

And he wasn’t even going to start with Solomon, the human with hundreds of pacts and as powerful as you. The way he acted like a newlywed husband was clear in how he held you. It was even more strange to see the brothers get quickly jealous over Solomon, especially knowing you’d have to leave and go back to your home, where you live, with him.

The looks of admiration were even clear on Diavolo’s face! And even his butler!

It baffled Simeon.

It bugged him to no end. A demon like you had the whole Devildom wrapped around your finger. You could easily crush it under your thumb, bring the entire realm to its knees, yet you cradled it in your hands like it was home, feeling yourself only a resident living your life.

Everytime he saw this, everytime he saw you whenever you showed up to HOL, his heart fluttered and he barely knew how to speak, finding himself trapped in those eyes again, close to drowning in them again, submitting to the love that you emitted everywhere you went, so much love you wanted to give. He found himself envious, just like the brothers would be whenever Solomon showed off his relationship with you. Craving you. Desiring you.

It was wrong.

He knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. It was wrong.

So he resisted you while being kind, promising himself that he wouldn’t fall into the arms of your warmth. He promised himself to Heaven, and Heaven alone, to his Father and Their love.

But then it was that day he found out that it would be more difficult than he anticipated.

Simeon and Luke were in the kitchen together, attempting to bake whatever they could to gather experience with Devildom’s strange ingredients. Simeon had his back turned for only a moment, failing to see Luke attempting to climb the counter to grab the flour that was on the top shelf, when he found himself tumbling backwards with the flour coming down as well. Simeon turned around to grab Luke when he heard the little Angel yelp out, when you suddenly appeared and grabbed Luke into your arms, the flour hitting your head and spraying all over you and onto the floor. Luke looked up at you horrified as you coughed and clutched your eyes close tightly, sputtering to get the bland, thick flour out of your mouth.

“Well… This was unexpected.” You coughed out.

“MC!?” Luke gaped at you, the look on his face was of pure guilt but also embarrassment with you holding him. “P-Put me down!… Please?”

He figured saying please was the least he could do to the person holding him and the one who saved him from having to suffer a huge bump on the back of his head, even if his savior was a demon. He plopped himself on the ground and looked about at the flour, flushing with embarrassment.

“Are you okay Luke?” You asked, wiping the flour off your face.

His face darkened with red and looked down, nodding silently, and then running off to grab something to clean up the flour.

That left you and Simeon alone.

His heart was already thumping hard as he looked at you. You were so beautiful even with flour all over you, that smile running across your face as you looked at him, that sheepish grin that set his heart ablaze.

“Sorry about that Simeon. You didn’t get any flour on you, did you?”

He shook his head. Heart trapped in his throat as he swallowed. He couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“That’s good! I actually came here to ask if you wanted to see the stars with me tonight before, uh, you know…” you gestured to the flour and chuckled a little. “But, do you wanna see the stars with me tonight? You don’t have to if you’re busy, I just wanted to know if you’d like to see the Devildom constellations with me. Belphegor is grounded after cursing Lucifer’s ties again.”

He couldn’t. This was dangerous, he can’t say yes to you. This feeling would only worsen. Saying yes would mean burying himself further into the possibility of giving into the temptation.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The stars were beautiful, especially reflected in the color of your eyes, lighting them up as you stared up at the glass of the observatory, the stars lighting up the dark room as the two of you laid out on the ground with a blanket beneath you to make the two of you comfortable.

The stars were so beautiful, but you were more than the stars themselves, you were greater than the light above and he believed it deep down, even if he were to try and deny it. He understood what the brothers saw when they looked at you, the feeling inside of them that swelled inside, so close to bursting whenever he was near you. It was so unbearable, but he couldn’t get enough. It was a sin to be as greedy as this. The guilt followed him whenever this feeling occurred, but the overwhelming love would cloud over it, making it easier to bear, just a little.

“And that one, it looks similar to the one back in the human realm. It’s called the Libra, I think. But I’m not exactly sure.”

“You know a lot about the human realm and their stars, but not of the Devildom’s?”

“Ahh yeah… Is it wrong to say I was more interested in the stars of the other realms than in the Devildom?” You gave him that sheepish grin again, a small bit of sweat going down your brow.

He could tell you were lying. But said nothing. The lie went straight over his head because the smile you wore shrouded any doubt or concern he had. And that was wrong for an Angel to do, wasn’t it?

“No, no… Not at all.”

Then the silence. It left him alone with you and his thoughts, the feeling of you nearby made him warm inside. The more you inched closer, the more it grew, a fire inside of him growing hotter and hotter, the craving of greed to have and to hold you beginning to form, but he beat those thoughts down. They wavered the moment your hands touched, just a little.

“I hope to get to know you more, Simeon.” You whispered, his name on your lips sounding oh so sweet, sweeter than any cake or pastry, oh so sickening.

“And I, too, MC.” Your name flowed off his tongue, as if he were exhaling it just like he breathed it, your very existence hanging off your name on his tongue, burying itself inside of his chest and filling him. He wanted nothing more than to speak your name over and over, to call onto you every second of the day, to try and quell the desire that bubbled inside of him, but at the same time, wanting nothing more than to let this feeling simmer inside of him. He never wanted a moment to get enough of you.

But it was wrong to put something above the Divine.

The time passed and you were asleep right beside him, head lulled to the side and close to his shoulder, the feeling of your hair tickling against his skin.

He stared up at the stars, the simmering of his desire and his guilt fulling growing inside of him like a tight knot only growing tighter and tighter.

The thoughts of craving your touch, of wanting to feel your lips pressed against his skin, his lips, his face. To feel nothing more than your back pressed against his chest while in the kitchen, baking sweets and sharing a moment of being domestic like you’d be with Solomon.

Father, I don’t ask You for much, it’s not my place to ask and Angels don’t pray.

As he stared up at the stars he couldn’t help but feel his lower lip tremble and fists clench when you shifted yourself closer to him unconsciously, nuzzling yourself further into him, a small smile on your face.

But if you could give me a hint. Just a little one. Anything really.

He unclenched his fists, chest so much heavier than it was previously, fingers twitching as your hand was so much closer to his, the warmth of your body radiating onto him as you cuddled into his side while he laid there stiffly.

Is this a test?

“Simeon, as the brothers attendant and yours, I’d like to offer my help anyway I can. You are welcome here as far as I’m concerned. Any issue you have, let me know.” That smile again… Oh that smile and those eyes, those imperfections that came with that only added to your complexion, that only added to you.

I’m sure I’m being foolish. You’re far too busy to waste Your valuable time with a lowly angel like me.

But is it?

“Thank you for taking care of the brothers while I was in my coma, Simeon… I cant thank you enough and I truly can’t thank you enough…” You brought him into a hug, the warmth of your body much like how you’re cuddling him. “Even though I don’t regret what I did, I’m glad you were around for them when I couldn’t.”

Is MC my apple?

I’ve said no to them so many times… Yet they keep coming back everytime…

“Please, MC, I don’t need you to tell me how to handle my… ‘problems’ that I might have with the brothers. I appreciate your help, but I don’t need a demon to tell me how to deal with my problems.”

He doesn’t mean that. He needs your help desperately. He needs to know how he can make himself more approachable to the brothers, more close to them as he was before.

“That’s just fine. If you ever need me, Ill always be around for you.”

When everything else is uncertain, they are there.

I don’t want to disappoint You, Father, I don’t want to fail You. Everyday we grow closer, and everyday…

He brings his hand close to yours.

Simeon turns his head, your head close to his, his forehead touched yours. He turned his body to where he mirrored your position, his forehead still touching yours and he exhaled lightly, a shaky breath leaving him, tears close to escaping his eyes as his lip trembled, holding your hand in his tightly, feeling the warmth as if it would be for but a fleeting moment, the guilt only worsening but he couldn’t bare to find himself pull away from your warmth. The rise and fall of your chest hypnotizing to him, you looking so peaceful, even when you were just a demon. Your lips were so close to his with how his forehead was pressed against yours, so delectable and looking so soft and sweet.

I don’t know if my resolve can last much longer…

Please, Father, just a sign. Anything.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Here is the picture I found on Twitter, I’m currently sobbing and will need to recover.

#x reader #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #fluff #obey me angst #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x y/n #obey me poly #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me Beelzebub #obey me belphegor #ansgt

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