#om x reader

[clumsydolly]

Can you write Obey me side characters x Trey clover!reader?

Obey me x Trey Clover!reader

Warnings! ⚠️: none that I'm aware of!

Thank you so much for the ask, doll! You all be sweet dears and ask some more please!

Diavolo

Diavolo doesn’t know what he expected when you arrived at RAD. Maybe someone nervous, intimidated, desperate to impress. Instead, he got… you.

Polite but direct. Sweet but practical. Steady. You introduced yourself with a bow and a warm smile, then handed him a neatly wrapped bundle, explaining you had no idea what demons liked, so you baked something “universally comforting.” It was a golden-brown tart glazed in clover honey.

He blinked. Barbatos blinked. You stood there like this wasn’t the most charming first impression in the history of the Devildom.

It took Diavolo exactly five seconds to decide he liked you.

From that moment, your presence was… soothing. While others tried to gain favor through flattery or theatrics, you asked calm, insightful questions. You carried a handkerchief for people who cried during lectures. You wrote down notes in tidy, color-coded columns. You made a schedule and stuck to it. You learned everyone’s favorite snack within the first two weeks.

And when people got too rowdy? You didn’t yell, you just raised an eyebrow and folded your arms, that subtle “I’m not mad, just disappointed” energy rolling off you like smoke. Even Mammon shut up under that look.

You were the eye of the storm. And Diavolo, who was used to hurricanes, couldn’t stop gravitating toward you.

At first, it was under the guise of diplomacy. He’d ask you to help organize interspecies school events. You always agreed, but with a sigh like, “Alright, but only if I can bring my cookie tins.”

Then he started finding excuses. Late-night paperwork? You’d be there with tea and honey-lemon bars. Festival chaos? You’d already set up a snack station and were halfway through passing out hand warmers.

You weren’t loud about your care, but it was everywhere. Little kindnesses in quiet packages.

And then, one day, he caught you humming while you baked in the student kitchen. He was supposed to be meeting with Barbatos. Instead, he leaned against the doorway and listened.

You didn’t see him until you turned, eyes wide. “Oh—sorry, did you need the room?”

“No,” he said, smiling. “Just needed this moment.”

You rolled your eyes, flustered. “Cheesy.”

“But true.”

Diavolo wasn’t used to stillness, but you made him want to linger in it. Made him want to share long walks and quiet evenings and half-baked dreams. You didn’t fawn over his title, didn’t treat him like royalty, but you treated him like a person. And that? That was far rarer.

It wasn’t all gentle either. When he worked too hard, you scolded him. You dragged him away from his desk, pressed a granola bar into his hand, and told him to take a damn break.

He laughed. “You sound like Barbatos.”

“Well, one of you has to listen.”

You said it so seriously he almost choked on the granola.

He liked you in the same way gravity liked keeping things close. Quietly, inevitably, and a little dangerously.

When other demons hinted at your closeness, you waved it off. “I’m just here to help.”

But Diavolo heard the pause. The little breath before the sentence.

He never pushed. Not really. He just… kept looking at you a little longer than necessary. Let his hand brush yours during planning sessions. Spoke softer when it was just the two of you.

You were sharp enough to notice. Of course you were.

One night, after a long planning session for the next school festival, you packed up your notes and leftover lemon poppyseed muffins. He watched you from across the table, elbow resting on a stack of folders, gaze warm.

“You know,” he said, “you don’t have to do all this just because you feel responsible.”

You glanced up. “Who says I do?”

He smiled. “Just making sure you know. You’re allowed to want things for yourself too.”

You froze for half a second. Then gave a small, crooked grin. “That so?”

“Mm. Especially if one of those things might be me.”

The silence stretched, not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. You glanced down, fingers twitching where they clutched the muffin bag. Then you walked over and handed it to him.

“They’re better warm. Try one tomorrow morning.”

He took the bag, fingers brushing yours. “I’ll save the best one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how will you know which is the best?”

“I trust your hands,” he said, and the quiet between you almost cracked open.

But instead of speaking, you turned toward the door, tossing a soft “Goodnight, Diavolo” over your shoulder.

And he just sat there, grinning to himself, muffin bag in hand, wondering if maybe he was finally being chosen for more than just his title.

Barbatos

Barbatos noticed you before you even said a word.

You were quiet, meticulous, steady. The kind of student who arrived early to class and left a clean desk behind. You took notes in tidy cursive, highlighted by subject, and offered spare pencils to anyone who forgot theirs without ever saying a word about it. It wasn’t just your structure that intrigued him, it was your patience.

The Devildom was chaotic on the best of days, and humans typically responded to it with either shock or barely contained panic. But you? You adjusted.

You wore gloves in the greenhouse. You disinfected your workstation after potion labs. You asked politely but firmly for recipes when the kitchen tried to serve you food you couldn’t identify.

Barbatos found himself watching you. Not out of suspicion, but curiosity. You handled things the way he did. With care. With composure.

Then came the first time you crossed paths formally. He was organizing the RAD Spring Banquet preparations and was about to decline all human assistance when you walked in, clutching a clipboard and holding a hand-written seating chart, complete with tiny paper markers and names printed in calligraphy.

“I know it’s not my event, but Lucifer said I should help,” you said, offering the clipboard like an olive branch. “I made a draft of the seating plan. I thought we could avoid last year’s cupcake fight if we didn’t sit Mammon near Solomon.”

Barbatos paused.

“You accounted for demon grudges?”

You nodded. “Also food allergies and egos. Diavolo has a sweet tooth, right? I put him near the dessert cart.”

Barbatos took the clipboard and, for the first time in centuries, blinked in mild awe.

From then on, you were involved in most of the castle’s behind-the-scenes operations. No matter what the project, you showed up on time, took initiative, and somehow always remembered to bring Barbatos an extra pair of gloves when things got messy.

He appreciated your skills, but he came to admire your calm. When kitchen fires happened or spell ingredients exploded, you didn’t scream or blame anyone. You coughed once, rolled up your sleeves, and kept moving.

“You’re efficient,” he said one afternoon as you were elbow-deep in lemon batter.

You raised an eyebrow, cheeks lightly dusted in flour. “I’m just used to keeping things together.”

He knew what that meant. He recognized that quiet strength, the kind born from being relied upon too early, too often. You reminded him of himself in a way that was… unsettling. And oddly comforting.

You didn’t ask unnecessary questions. You noticed things. When he was too tired to stand, you’d nudge a chair toward him with your foot and say, “Break time. Don’t make me enforce it.”

The first time you made tea for him, his tea, perfectly steeped, with a twist of dry rose petals, he stared for a full three seconds before speaking.

“I never told you how I take it.”

“You didn’t need to,” you said, sliding the cup across the table. “I watched.”

He smiled, small and real. “You do that often.”

“Only with people I like.”

The moment hung there like steam above porcelain. Then you reached into your bag and pulled out a perfectly packed tea cookie tin, and the spell broke.

Barbatos didn’t say anything else about it. But later that week, he slipped a recipe book from the castle’s restricted archives into your bag with a handwritten note: “I think you’ll enjoy page 37.”

You left a honey cake in his office two days later. No note. But he understood.

Eventually, you both stopped pretending these small things weren’t a language.

When Diavolo asked about the two of you, Barbatos simply said, “We work well together.”

But when you were alone in the kitchens, in that quiet hour when the halls had gone still and the castle seemed to breathe with silence, he let himself enjoy it. Let himself pause beside you, hands brushing flour from your knuckles as you kneaded dough, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“I never imagined I’d enjoy company in the kitchen,” he said one evening, voice low.

You glanced up from the rising buns and gave him that familiar, unbothered smile. “That’s just because I’m the best sous-chef you’ve ever had.”

“No,” he said. “You’re much more than that.”

You didn’t reply right away. Just slid a finished tray into the oven, wiped your hands, and turned to face him.

“Well,” you said lightly, “if you ever feel like saying more—I’m listening.”

He didn’t speak then. He just stepped closer, the warm scent of spices between you, and gave you the smallest, most honest smile.

It wasn’t a grand confession. Not yet. But it was real.

And for both of you, that was enough.

Simeon

Simeon was the first to notice you because you were kind.

Not overly sweet, not loud or boisterous, just... considerate. Quietly offering a hand when someone dropped their books, wrapping up extra pastries after class and leaving them in the common room without asking for thanks, gently reminding others to eat before a long study session. It was simple, natural, human kindness, but in the Devildom, that stood out like sunlight in fog.

You reminded him of home.

Not in the way that made him nostalgic or sad, no, it was more like a little breeze blowing in from the Celestial Realm during a heatwave. Grounding. Comforting.

The first time he truly spoke with you, it was after a magic theory lecture that had gone entirely off the rails. Solomon had hijacked the conversation halfway through, Mammon fell asleep on the floor, and you were left at the back of the room, flipping through your notes and frowning.

Simeon approached gently. “Did the chaos get in the way of your learning?”

You didn’t look up right away. “I’m trying to make the Honor Student list,” you said, almost like it was embarrassing. “I can’t afford to fall behind.”

Simeon smiled. “That’s admirable. A rare kind of discipline.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “You sound like someone who never slacked off a day in his life.”

“Oh, I’ve slacked,” he said, laughing softly. “Just not where it counted.”

From that moment, you ended up spending more time together. It started small, sharing notes, organizing group study sessions, walking back to the House of Lamentation after late-night cram reviews. But Simeon noticed the rhythm of your world quickly.

You were always thinking ahead. Always prepared. Always making sure others had what they needed before you asked for help yourself.

“You carry a lot,” he said one evening as you packed up materials after another club meeting.

You shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve always been the one who holds things together.”

He watched your hands as you sorted paper, measured and even. “And who holds you together?”

You gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I bake.”

He didn’t push. He just started showing up in the kitchen more often. Not to interfere—just to be there. He’d read quietly at the table while you mixed batter or chopped ingredients, occasionally offering to taste-test or pass you the cinnamon.

And he always said thank you. Not just for the food—but for the care. The quiet dedication you gave to every little task.

“You are very gentle with others,” he said once.

You raised a brow. “And not with myself?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied gently. “But you might want to consider letting someone else return the kindness once in a while.”

It wasn’t flirtation, not exactly. Simeon didn’t flirt in the usual way. He offered warmth. Steadiness. And a kind of quiet attention that made it impossible to hide when you were overwhelmed.

He noticed when you didn’t eat. When you forgot to stretch after sitting too long. When you were downplaying stress by overfocusing on tasks.

He didn’t make a scene about it. He just… supported. Slid a cup of tea your way during exams. Gently reminded you to pace yourself. Walked you home slower when he could tell you were tired.

You didn’t realize how much you’d come to rely on that until he had to leave for a Celestial Realm check-in. Only a week, but the absence hit harder than expected. No soft hums in the kitchen. No quiet compliments or unspoken reassurances.

When he returned, you were waiting at the castle gates, holding a small pastry box, arms crossed like you hadn’t been worried at all.

“I made extra,” you said, thrusting the box forward. “Because you’re probably tired. From travel. Not because I missed you or anything.”

Simeon took the box with a warm smile. “Of course.”

You walked beside him without speaking for a moment. Then, after a quiet beat—

“You could’ve written.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone.”

He stopped walking. Turned to look at you, full and steady.

“I always notice when the light goes out of a room.”

You flushed and looked away, mumbling something about dramatics. But he didn’t tease you. He just stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

“I missed you too,” he said simply.

There was no need to define what existed between you. Not yet. It was soft. Unrushed. Real.

And when you returned to the House that night, Simeon took the long way around the hall, just so he could walk you to the kitchen, where the tea was warm, the cookies were cooling, and the quiet had started to feel like home.

Solomon

Solomon didn’t mean to mess with you.

Well, he kind of did. But not maliciously. You were just… interesting. Calm. Kind. Methodical. The kind of person who remembered other people’s favorite teas, wrapped sandwiches in parchment, and handed out home-baked treats in the middle of chaotic study halls like it was nothing.

You were a little too perfect. A little too composed. So, naturally, Solomon made it his mission to mess with that.

“Are you sure you measured that powder correctly?” he asked one day, leaning casually against the potions bench where you were working. “It’d be a shame if it turned into a love potion.”

You didn’t even flinch. “You’re the one who spiked Asmodeus’s shampoo with glitter yesterday.”

“Allegedly.”

“You labeled the vial. ‘Glitter Bomb for Asmo.’”

“…Could’ve been anyone.”

You didn’t laugh, but your mouth twitched. Barely. And that was enough to fuel Solomon’s curiosity.

At first, it was just for fun. You were so serious all the time. Focused. Responsible. The kind of person who double-checked ingredient lists, polished their cookware, and folded their apron three times before putting it away. You were clearly trying to be the “honor student” type, and for someone like Solomon, who operated on chaos and charm, that was like waving a red flag at a particularly mischievous bull.

He poked. Teased. Mixed up your labels. Dropped vague hints about cursed flour. And every time, you just gave him this tired, unimpressed look like he was the one who needed a nap and a snack and a better sense of time management.

But the more he got under your skin, the more you got under his.

You didn’t react to stress the way most people did. You didn’t flail, didn’t shout, didn’t throw things. You just got quiet. Focused. Poured yourself into your tasks like cooking was a spell and every motion had meaning.

You could bake someone into a better mood. Brew a tea that soothed aches Solomon hadn’t realized he had. And every now and then, you’d push a plate of food in front of him, eyes tired but firm, and say, “Eat. You haven’t today.”

You noticed things. Quiet things. When his shoulders were tense. When his eyes were dull. When he hadn’t touched his tea. You didn’t ask him what was wrong—you just placed something sweet in front of him and let the silence speak.

He’d forgotten what that kind of care felt like.

“You’re very… difficult to read,” he said once, watching you arrange cupcakes into perfect little rows.

“You’re very easy,” you replied, placing one crooked cupcake in front of him without looking up. “Chaos wrapped in a pretty face.”

He chuckled, leaning forward. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you know you are.”

Touché.

He started helping more after that, without being asked. Stirring pots while you chopped. Cleaning up after experiments (and after himself, for once). Bringing you new ingredients “accidentally stolen” from the Demon Lord’s pantry.

And the more he did, the more he noticed your edges softening. You didn’t smile often, but you relaxed. Let yourself lean a little. Didn’t argue when he walked you home.

One night, after a particularly long study session, he found you asleep at the counter, head on your arms, a whisk still in your hand.

He didn’t wake you. Just sat across from you, watching the rise and fall of your breath, the calm in your expression that you never let anyone else see.

In that moment, he realized: he didn’t want to mess with you anymore.

He wanted to know you.

All of you.

The discipline. The kindness. The little cracks you kept patched over with honey and peppermint tea.

So when you finally stirred and blinked sleepily at him, he just smiled and said, “You know, this isn’t how study dates are supposed to end.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “We’re not dating.”

“Yet.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time… you smiled. Just a little.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore. It was something warm. Familiar. Something that could, maybe, turn into something more.

You handed him a cookie without speaking. He took it like it meant something.

And when he walked you home that night, Solomon didn’t flirt. Didn’t tease.

He just walked quietly at your side, thinking, for once—not about chaos or magic or games.

But about how good it felt to be understood.

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles was not one to make a fuss. His presence was quiet, often overlooked, yet unmistakably there. You could spend an entire day with him in the same room and still wonder if he was silently judging your every move, or just waiting for the right moment to speak.

You weren’t quite sure what drew you to him at first. Maybe it was the way he seemed to exist in a space slightly apart from the world, his fingers curled loosely around a book, lips moving just barely in a whisper as he read to himself. Or how he always wore that little half-smile, as if he knew a secret joke you weren’t in on.

He didn’t talk much. And when he did, it was often clipped, straightforward, tinged with dry humor that caught you off guard.

“Did you mean to burn the toast or was that an experiment?”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling both guilty and amused. Mephistopheles, or Meph for short, had this way of pointing out your flaws without really being mean about it. More like a soft jab with a velvet glove.

“Maybe both.”

His eyes twinkled for a moment. “Impressive."

Being around Meph was like standing near a calm ocean surface. Quiet, steady. But beneath that calm, you sensed currents and depths, things he never quite let surface. And that made you want to know more. To read between his words, catch the subtle shifts in his expression.

You tried to break his reserve. Not by pushing, but by simply being there. Sitting near him while he studied, letting him get used to your presence like a cat would—patiently and without demanding attention.

One day, you found him carefully organizing his collection of rare books. “You really care about these,” you said softly.

Meph shrugged, a faint blush touching his cheeks. “They’re... a connection to the past. A reminder of things I can’t always say out loud.”

You nodded, understanding more than he realized. Sometimes silence said everything.

He’d often watch you from the corner of his eye, noting your habits, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when nervous, how your brow furrowed when you were deep in thought.

Meph didn’t easily admit that he noticed. He certainly didn’t say it outright. But when you caught him glancing your way and he quickly looked away, a slight pink haze colored his ears.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and the shadows stretched long in the House of Lamentation, you and Meph found yourselves alone in the library.

He was helping you with some ancient texts, his finger tracing the lines while you read aloud.

“You have a good voice,” he said quietly, eyes on the page.

You blinked, surprised. “You do?”

“It’s... clear. Not forced. Honest.”

You smiled, a little shy. “Thank you.”

There was a pause, comfortable and strange.

Meph cleared his throat, pushing his reading glasses glasses up. “I’m not good at this. Talking about feelings, I mean.”

You shook your head. “Neither am I.”

He looked at you then, eyes searching. “Maybe that’s why we get along. We don’t have to pretend.”

That small confession hung in the air like a fragile thread, connecting you in a way words never could.

From then on, Meph became a little more present. Not in grand gestures or declarations, but in tiny moments.

A cup of tea left on your desk before a tough day.

A bookmark placed exactly where you paused in your book.

A quiet “Good morning” before you could say it first.

You never pressed for more. You understood that for Meph, this was his way of caring, subtle, patient, a slow-burning ember rather than a roaring fire.

And maybe, that was enough.

One night, as you both sat in the garden under the stars, Meph reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

You looked up, meeting his gaze.

There was something unspoken there. Something soft and tentative.

He gave you a small, genuine smile, the kind that made his usual reserve feel like a warm cloak instead of a barrier.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply.

You smiled back.

And in the quiet between you, something fragile and real began to grow, not loud or flashy, but steady, patient, and true.

Thirteen

At first, Thirteen thought you were boring.

Not in the “I hate this person” kind of way, more in the “okay, and?” kind of way. You didn’t scream when she jumped out of the ceiling vent with a smoke bomb. You didn’t flinch when a trap was clearly about to spring on your head. You didn’t even fall for the classic bucket-over-the-door bit.

“Are you immune to fun or just emotionally detached?” she had asked, crouched on the back of a chair like some chaos goblin gremlin hybrid. “Because that’s either impressive or deeply suspicious.”

You blinked. “I saw the string.”

Thirteen narrowed her eyes. “That’s not the answer I wanted.”

From then on, it became her personal mission to catch you off guard. Not because she didn’t like you, quite the opposite. There was something about your calm reactions and dry wit that made her feel like she was constantly walking into a trap she didn’t set.

You were clever. You were quiet. You were aware.

And it drove her absolutely nuts.

One time, she tried to rig your entire bedroom with tripwires and confetti bombs. You slept through the first two. On the third, you sat up halfway through the explosion and said, “Cool colors. Now can you keep it down?”

Thirteen stood frozen in the middle of the room, still holding the detonation string, baffled and maybe a little bit impressed. “You’re not normal,” she muttered.

You tilted your head. “Neither are you.”

And that was it.

From then on, you became hers.

She wouldn’t admit it, not out loud that’s for losers and normies and people who talk about feelings instead of throwing spiders in your bag. But she started showing up more. Not just for pranks or chaos, but just to be there.

“Totally not stalking you,” she’d say, walking backwards next to you while juggling explosive slime. “Just coincidentally heading in the exact same direction as you all the time.”

You never called her out on it. You just smiled, shook your head, and handed her a snack like it was the most natural thing in the world to share your lunch with a mischievous reaper.

She’d never had that before. Someone who didn’t try to tone her down, or control her, or treat her like a pest to manage. You didn’t just tolerate her chaos. You understood it and you knew how to meet it with equal unpredictability.

Like the time you rigged her trap before she could prank you, and instead of the glitter landing on you, it exploded over her head in the dining hall. She stood there, completely doused, and you just said, “Welcome to the club.”

Everyone froze. Then she cackled.

No one had ever flipped one of her traps before. You weren’t just playing along. You were playing back.

That was the day she realized something dangerous: she actually… liked being around you.

Not just for the chaos.

But for the quiet stuff too.

Like walking next to you while pretending she wasn’t matching your pace. Or leaning her head on your shoulder during movie nights and pretending she was just “stretching weird.” Or catching you watching her and feeling her stomach do something stupid and fluttery.

It annoyed her. A lot.

So, obviously, she set a booby trap under your chair the next day. And the day after that, she gave you a box of cursed chocolates. And the day after that, she got weirdly flustered when you called her “cute” and accidentally set off one of her own firecrackers.

(“Not blushing, shut up!”)

She didn’t do vulnerability, not really. But there were moments where it slipped through. Like when you found her fixing a cracked mask late at night, unusually quiet, and just sat beside her without saying anything.

Or the way you handled her bad days, the ones where she overdid it, or lashed out, or spiraled in her own way.

You didn’t push. You didn’t scold. You just offered space. Or a shoulder. Or a distraction, depending on what she needed.

It freaked her out, how easy you made it look.

“You’re dangerous,” she said once, eyes narrowed, voice soft.

You raised an eyebrow. “Me? Dangerous? You’re literally a grim reaper.”

“Yeah, but you actually get under my skin. That's way scarier.”

She kissed you after that. Or maybe you kissed her. It’s hard to remember who moved first, but she still insists it was you.

“Obviously you cracked first. I’m the master of restraint.”

But when no one’s around, and you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder under the moonlight with her fingers intertwined in yours and a lazy grin tugging at her lips?

She doesn’t bother lying anymore.

“Fine,” she whispers. “I like you. Ugh. Happy now?”

You grin. “Extremely.”

Raphael

You annoyed Raphael.

Not in the dramatic way Mammon might complain about someone getting on his nerves, no, Raphael’s version of “annoyed” was quieter, more tightly controlled, with narrowed eyes and clipped words. Like he was recalibrating the world’s logic just to understand why you, of all people, were so hard to file away neatly.

You were unpredictable, and not in the usual Devildom sense. You didn’t cause chaos like Thirteen or spark rebellion like Satan. You simply asked questions he didn’t expect. Listened too carefully. Noticed too much.

“You observe people like you’re expecting them to lie,” he once said, sharp and flat.

You just smiled. “Only the interesting ones.”

Raphael went quiet after that. Because he was lying, in a way, always had been. Not about facts or loyalty, but about the way he carried himself: stiff, obedient, every emotion folded neatly away like a pressed robe. He didn’t like to be seen. He preferred order, clarity, clean lines.

But you? You wandered into his space with smudged edges and a look in your eye like you saw through the curtain before he could even draw it.

He wasn’t used to it.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

And yet, there you were. Again. And again.

You had a frustrating way of showing up in his routines without disrupting them. Somehow you’d slip into step with him during patrols, or offer him coffee without asking how he took it (you already knew), or hand him a book with a post-it note halfway through that read: “Don’t skip this chapter. It’s very you.”

He hated how right you were. He hated how curious he became when you weren’t around. He hated how his wings twitched whenever your name came up.

He hated… how much he didn’t actually hate you.

One day, during a particularly long meeting with Diavolo and the others, you leaned toward him and whispered a joke about celestial red tape being the eighth sin. He didn’t laugh, not out loud, but his expression twitched. A flicker. Enough for you to notice.

You bumped your elbow against his. “There it is.”

“There what is?” he asked flatly.

“A sign of life. I was starting to worry they’d replaced you with a grumpy statue.”

Raphael exhaled through his nose. “I am a grumpy statue.”

You smiled again, and this time, he didn’t look away.

The thing was, Raphael knew how to deal with danger. Demons, curses, even celestial politics. What he didn’t know how to deal with was comfort. With someone peeling back the armor without demanding to see what was underneath. With someone who could be present without asking for anything in return.

So when he found himself standing outside your room one evening with a book in hand and no clear reason for being there, he blamed it on celestial curiosity. That was safer.

You opened the door with your usual expression, half amused, half unimpressed, like he was ten minutes late to a party you hadn’t even invited him to.

“Let me guess,” you said, stepping aside. “You want to argue about morality and pretend that’s not foreplay.”

He paused, blinked, and then muttered, “That’s not—” but you were already laughing.

And the thing was… he didn’t leave.

He sat with you. Read with you. Debated a little. Not morality, this time, but art, and intention, and what it meant to choose silence over noise. You said something about wanting peace, not because you feared conflict, but because you knew what conflict cost.

He didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

From that night on, it became a quiet pattern. You, offering a piece of your inner world like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Him, showing up anyway. Listening. Sitting just close enough for it to mean something.

Eventually, you started walking together without words. Sitting together without needing to fill the space. You joked less around him. Not because you were bored, but because some silences felt safer than sound.

One evening, he handed you a charm. Nothing fancy. Just a small sigil etched into a coin-like pendant. You looked at it for a moment, then at him.

“What’s this for?”

He shrugged. “It wards off misdirection. Thought you might find it useful.”

You turned it over in your hand. “Thanks,” you said, softer than usual. “I didn’t think you believed in giving gifts.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I make exceptions.”

And that was that.

No big confession. No dramatic moment.

Just Raphael, choosing to be near you. Again. And again.

And one day, if you ever kissed him, it would be quiet. Intentional. The kind of kiss that says I see you, and I’m not leaving.

But for now, he just stayed.

And in Raphael’s language, that was everything.

Thank you so much for reading! 🩷Sorry this is coming out so late there will be more tomorrow morning, my loves! As usual Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated!

[melodiesz]

18+ ahead !! shower sex (๑>؂•̀๑)

⋆˚࿔˖° Imagine him fucking you in the shower by holding your entire body up effortlessly, large hands gripping the inside of your thighs and dragging you up and down his cock like a ragdoll.

✧˖°. Imagine him groaning into your ear, face buried in your neck so he could nip and suck at it all while the slaps of skin against skin echo louder than the water hitting the tiles.

⋆˚࿔˖° Imagine him bottoming out with every thrust, easily adjusting you how he wanted so that he hit that spot deep inside you that had you going limp in his arms.

✧˖°. Imagine his hold getting tighter, biceps flexing while he pounds you impossibly faster like his own personal fleshlight—the sound of his balls slapping against your ass and his groans drowning out the water splashing against your bodies.

⋆˚࿔˖° Imagine him cumming so deep inside you; his very own claim for nobody else to see. Still holding you against him as if you weighed nothing, he pulls out just to watch his release drip down your thighs.

✧˖°. Imagine him later gazing in the mirror as you do your skincare, admiring the red streaks you left across his back with a look of triumph. Before you know it he’s leaning over you with a tent in his pants and suggesting another shower. ⭑.ᐟ

Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Satoru Gojo, König, Beelzebub (omswd), Lucifer (omswd), Shota Aizawa, and anyone else u want !!‪‪ ❤︎‬

[rae-writes]

angelic alteration

om brothers x reader

wc : 1.k

warnings: nsfw, corruption kink based

synopsis : when Solomon and Diavolo can't fix the problem, it's up to Mc

a/n : thought the angel event (og) could use some more spice so I poured my entire spice rack on it

“Mc…I’m afraid we have bad news.”

You sighed into the receiver, “Yeah? You guys can’t reverse the magic, can you?”

“Nope!” Solomon chirped cheerfully, “Diavolo and Michael’s magic mixed together too strongly for us to reverse ourselves. You’ll just have to wait for them to go back to normal, or…”

“Or…what?”

“Well, this is just a theory, but what if you just corrupted the angelic magic and forced their demonic sides back out?”

“Corrupted, huh..? I like the sound of that.”

†

“I can feel the magic trying to stop me…how. stupidly. annoying.” Lucifer accentuated each word of his complaint with a sharp thrust, face pinched in concentration as sweat beaded at his temple. 

He’d be damned if something as trivial as a hexed bracelet from the celestial realm kept him from indulging in you, the one temptation he would never dare ignore. 

Your nails dug crescent moons into his shoulders, thighs squeezing at his hips tightly as you moaned and panted beneath him. “Lu-ci-fer! S-slow d-own!” 

He growled and sped up in response, snapping his hips into you harshly, “How dare they try to turn me back? I am the Avatar. Of. Pride!” Once again, each word was accentuated with a thrust, making his cock hit deeper and deeper each time. 

And he was so fucking proud each time he had you a moaning mess underneath him, crying out his name, begging him not to stop— you made his sin flood his entire body every time. 

An electric charge cracked through the air for a brief second before the bangle broke in half, magic forcibly shattering under Lucifer’s sheer prowess. 

He grinned sharply, capturing your legs against your chest in a mating press as he went even harder. His wings shedded to black, spanning out proudly behind him as the halo melted down into his horns. 

“I’m going to ruin you, do you hear me? You’re not leaving this bed- not tonight, or in the morning, or maybe even until tomorrow afternoon…I’m keeping you until I’ve had my fill.”

†

The sight of Mammon’s blue eyes peering up while his mouth was busy pleasuring you had always been a pretty sight— the shimmering halo was only a little bonus this time. 

But you wanted his horns to hold onto. “Just like that, Mams…doing so well, pretty boy.” Your hips rocked over his mouth, grinning down at him with gold flickering in your eyes. 

He was all about giving now that the bangle had taken hold, which even before, Mammon always keened when you sat on his face and just used him. 

The second born was moaning and whining and whimpering against your skin as his tongue lapped up everything he could, “Mmph- like this? ‘M I doing good, Mc?” 

“Y-yeah, baby, fuck— so good…” you carded your fingers through Mammon’s hair, feeling him get more and more excited before you lifted up off his face. 

And he was absolutely distraught with the lack of your taste, desperate cry leaving him as he tried to chase after you. “No, no, no! Mc, please, come back— wasn’t done, wanna taste you still, wanna make you feel good, please!” 

The laugh you let out made him whine even louder, fingers gripping frantically at your thighs. It was like a switch flipped, magic being overtaken by his greed. 

His eyes flickered gold like yours, a whiny growl escaping him. He forced you on your back within a second, mouth working at you even more desperately now as he held you down and took what he wanted— and he wanted to make you cum. 

“Jus’ let me, please let me make you cum— you taste so good, Mc, I don’t wanna stop. Want you to scream my name and yank my hair, grip my horns, just give me more- more, more, more!” 

†

A small shriek left Levi when you rammed against his prostate, hiccuped cries of your name following. His back arched, wings flaring out behind him, making you hit even deeper spots inside of him. 

With his new attitude, he’d been letting everyone else spend time with you and he was finally feeling the built up envy creep along his spine, right beside the spikes of pleasure. 

“Aww…look at you. So sweet for me, huh? Why so shy, Levi? Wasn’t this what you meant about strengthening connections?” 

Garbled sounds left him, courtesy of your fingers stuffed in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, hands gripping at your hips desperately, though it wasn’t clear if he was pushing you away or pulling you closer.

“How am I gonna know I’m doing good if you don’t tell me, ‘vi? C’mon, sweet thing, tell me. Or do you not want me?” 

It was like you asked the unthinkable. A loud whine left him and his tail returned, knocking the halo right off his head before it coiled around your abdomen. 

“No! I want you, I want you so badly, please keep fucking me— don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” Diamond shaped scales scattered across his body as the magic wore out. 

You cooed, thrusting into him sharply, making his body lurch, “Good boy, Leviathan..” 

†

“Fuck!” Satan cries out, fingers digging into his white wings to try and keep them from fluttering. His back arched almost painfully, loudly begging you to keep going. 

“Oh, look at you…” the coos that left you made him flush red, giving you a great sense of satisfaction. This was the most he’d been riled up since putting that ridiculous bangle on.

Your thighs were burning at the unforgiving pace you were riding him at, beads of sweat splashing onto his skin, so you decided to change the game a little. 

“Come on, Tannie, if you want it, work for it.” You settled your weight on top of him, ceasing your movements as you cockwarmed him instead. 

A displeased growl comes from the back of his throat, eyes snapping open with a glowing green. “Mc, move! Please!” 

Slowly, the halo above his head began to flicker and dim before it shattered, dissipating in the air. Another growl escaped him as his wings followed suit, tail lashing out like a whip. 

“That’s it— c’mon-!” You gasped when he yanked you forwards, chest pressing against his as his tail locked you in place. The only sounds that could leave you now were broken moans as he fucked you almost viciously. 

“You know how I feel about you fucking. teasing. me. Feels good doesn’t it? Yeah? Cause I’m not stopping. ‘M not stopping until I physically can’t fuck you anymore— fuck, I needed you.” 

†

Unabashed moans echo off the walls of Asmo’s bathroom as the fifth born writhes under your touch. The sound of water sloshing makes his cheeks burn fiery red and the sound of you moaning back at him makes it even worse. 

“W-wait! You d-don’t have to— oh!” 

“Shh, Azzy…’m just taking care of you. You were so hard and aching…could see it even though you tried to hide under the water.” 

The white feathers ruffled with pleasure (slowly shedded away and turning back), hips jerking frantically to chase the pleasure. The bangle’s magic was completely buried under how hot you made him feel and the feeling of you licking along the edges of his leathery wings increased it ten fold. 

“Yes, Mc, like that— don’t stop, just like that, just like that!” Amso curled over on you, horns knocking against your shoulder as he cried out even louder. 

You fisted his cock harder and swiped your thumb over the tip relentlessly, “Yeah? Made you feel so good, you corrupted yourself, huh? Pretty little Azzy…come on, cum.” 

The squeal he let out cracked halfway through, broken cries of your name following like a mantra. His hand encased yours, making sure you didn’t stop jerking him off. 

“K-keep going, don’t stop! Wanna cum for you again ‘n again, gotta make up for when I was giving you away to the others, please, please, let me cum again for you!”

†

“H-haaah…ah! M-Mc…what’re you..o-oh..doing?” 

“You said it made you happier seeing others get to eat, so…” you hummed, licking your lips before digging your tongue back into the slit of his cock, “I’m just..enjoying my meal…” 

Beel had always lost his cool when you went down on him, finding your mouth to be too good at pleasuring him. The growl he let out was something only a demon could make. 

The glowing of the bangle did nothing to deter you— in fact, you only laughed and peered up at him with the red sin of gluttony swirling through your irises. With another hum, you enveloped his cock in your mouth and forced your head as far down as you could, swallowing around him. 

He tried so hard to not buck into your mouth or grip at your head as the magic worked to keep his ravenous nature at bay, but…that’s just not who he was anymore. 

“C’mon, Beelie…want you to cum in my mouth, I wanna taste you..pretty please? Let me have it…” 

A low groan fell past his lips, hips finally jerking up and accidentally making you choke. A rushed apology was given as his fingers tangled in your hair and gently guided your head at a faster pace. 

The beating of his insectual wings was rapid as he got closer, magic completely dissipating when he let out a sound akin to a small roar, grabbing at his own horns when he came. 

Watching you pull away with visibly stuffed cheeks, slowly working on swallowing it all (though drops still ran down your chin) made a sharp pang shoot through him. 

“Thank you…you always make me feel so good, Mc…but..now ‘m hungry. Let me return the favor..wanna taste you too.” 

†

“A-are you sure…this is o-okay?” Belphie chokes out quietly, hands pressing down on your hips to keep you pinned to the bed with your knees bent to your sides. 

Your fingers curl in the sheets, body lurching forward at each thrust, “yeah, ‘s okay— feels good, doesn’t it? You’re doing so good, Bel…” 

The clipped whines and gasps that Belphie was making made his cheeks flair with an embarrassed flush; but you were right. It felt so. fucking. good. And he didn’t think he ever wanted to stop. 

Through the pleasure, it was easy to ignore the glowing bangle on his wrist and the voice in the back of his head telling him that he should have more reservations- that he shouldn’t be doing this— that voice wasn’t even his. Belphie wanted this, he did! 

As your hands stretched back to claw at his lower stomach, you moaned out his name and wiggled your hips, begging him to go faster. 

“Please, Bel…know you can go f-faster than this, want you to fuck me— please, please, please! Don’t wan’ you to be an angel, want you to be my demon again-!” 

Magic cracked in the air, sending the hair on the back of your neck rising before a familiar tail curled around your stomach and yanked your lower half higher up, forcing your chest further into the mattress. 

The attic bed creaked with the force he slammed into you at, whines mixing with growls now; his horns pressed against your skin as he rested his forehead against your back, making it arch even more. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you senseless again? Couldn’t even go a couple days without having me play with you, fuck, you’re such a slut for me.”

[bloomries]

yeah so my husband— my husband?!

includes : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, and belphegor.

summary : calling him your "husband" (even though you two aren't married yet) to see his reaction.

warnings : gn! reader. mention of marriage. suggestive (in asmodeus'). the word 'husband' will begin to look strange bc it's used so much, apologies.

LUCIFER

You just meant for it to be a harmless little prank, something to tease Lucifer with later when you two were alone, perhaps gauge his reaction to the idea, but after you said 'yeah, so my husband...' Diavolo's eyes grew as wide as the moon and you instantly regretted your prank idea.

Diavolo clasped a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, beaming. "You finally asked!" This statement went over your head as you tried to quickly take back your words, Lucifer's blanched face making it clear he'll definitely be scolding you later. "But it seems I missed the wedding? Oh well, I'll just host you another wedding so I can see it for myself!"

"Ah, L- Lord Diavolo..." Lucifer sends you a glare as you smile sheepishly. "We aren't- I haven't-"

"How do you both feel about a chocolate fountain?" Diavolo is already off in his own little world, imagining how he'll plan out your wedding. Lucifer decides he'll inform Barbatos of the prank, and have Barbatos deal with it- Lucifer already has his hands full with you. He pulls you aside as Diavolo talks to himself.

"Do you see what you've done?"

"Sorry..." You fake pout, batting your lashes up at him. "My darling husband will surely fix it though, right?" Oh, how can he stay mad when he truly likes the title so much. Perhaps this will make asking you to marry him easier? You surely seem to enjoy the title just as much.

MAMMON

Mammon is always trying to listen in on your phone calls, he's nosy and likes to know all the gossip. Today in particular though, he's trying extra hard to hear, clinging to you and making you unable to do other tasks whilst on your call.

Deciding to tease him a little, in hopes of getting him off of you, you sigh dramatically into the receiver. "I'm sorry, my husband needs my attention, one second."

And when you look down at him, his eyes are wide and shiny, a blush quickly forming on his cheeks. Him? Were you talking about him? He's your husband? A giant grin takes over his features and it seems your little prank has the opposite effect you wanted, as he takes the phone from you.

"Yeah, sorry, their husband- that's me!- needs 'em!" He boasts proudly before hanging up the call and clutching on to you tighter, burying his face into your side, his grin not changing in the slightest.

You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. "Rude, I was trying to talk to someone, you know." Mammon shrugs, not a care in the world.

"'m your husband, I take priority."

"You know you're not officially my husband yet, right?" Shit, you're right. Well, that'll change soon, don't you worry one bit! Mammon knows how to take a hint, and there'll be a ring on that finger soon enough!

LEVIATHAN

You and Levi were playing an online game, chat on full blast, when you decide to tease him- because it's just so fun to see his flustered expression, and you have an inkling that this'll give him some motivation for the game. "Ah, hubby, can you help me with these guys!"

"H- Hubby!?" Leviathan's neck nearly breaks from how quickly he snaps to look over at you, you seem unphased though by the phrase- as if it came so naturally. His heart skips a beat, his grip on the controller tightening. "W- Where are you, I'll come help!"

His gaming friends are all blowing up the chat box, some getting on voice chat just to ask what that meant- 'was Levi actually married?,' 'He was a husband?,' 'Since when!?,' 'Congratulations!,' etc.

Levi would have gotten more flustered, had he been paying any attention to said friends, but he's much more focused on proving he'd make an excellent spouse by rushing to where you were in the map and one-shotting all the enemies that surrounded you.

The battle is quickly won thanks to Levi, who puffs out his chest with pride. You lean over from your gaming station adjacent of his, and press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, hubby~" His cheeks grow a rosy pink, and he pulls his headphones off to give you a serious look.

"Let's get married."

SATAN

"Oh husband~" You call, "Can you help me get this book? I can't reach!" Satan peaks his head from around the corner to give you a questioning look. Who were you calling husband? He watches you struggle, leaning his frame against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I don't remember proposing." Satan watches as you deflates from his lack of reaction to your prank. He sighs, walking over to you and helping you reach the book, tapping it on your head lightly before handing it over to you.

"You're no fun, you know that?"

Satan has a feeling this was definitely set up by one of his brothers, and he'll definitely be getting his revenge on them for making you do this (and for making his heart hammer against his ribcage uncontrollably). Still, he hates to see you upset in the least, so he lifts your chin with his finger and thumb and sends you that smile that sends shivers down your spine.

"Don't be upset, you'll get to call me husband soon, okay?"

And he truly did mean that, he already had a ring, which sat heavy in his pocket. He just wanted to make sure you had the most perfect proposal, something straight out of a romance novel- because that's what you deserve. Soon, soon you'll be able to lovingly call him 'husband' whenever you wish.

ASMODEUS

Asmo is live-streaming again, doing a little grwm-type video, with you off to the side/in the background. As he begins to do his skin care, he asks for you to take over and chat for a little while for him, so you peak your head into view and wave at his viewers.

"Hello everyone!" You smile, glancing back at Asmo who's behind you in the bathroom, doing his skincare. "My lovely husband is doing his skincare right now, it usually takes him about ten to fifteen minutes to complete it." You say, however you can see his head pop-up from the sink and he whips around to look at you.

"Husband?" He calls, and when you nod, confirming your words, he grins. "Oh my, is this a proposal?" He asks with a teasing lilt, and you joking go along with his words, nodding before reenacting the famous getting-down-on-one-knee. You open your hands as if you had a ring box, presenting it to him. He holds his hand out to you, "I do~" You pretend to slip a ring on to his finger and he admires the imaginary ring before leaning down to kiss you.

"Now," He pulls away, wiggling his brows. "Shall we get started on the honeymoon part?"

"Asmo, that's typically after the weddi-" Asmo reaches for his phone, waving and saying a little 'byeeee' to his followers as he ends the livestream with a giggle, throwing you a lil' mischievous smile.

"No harm in starting earlier, right?" And despite only being halfway through his skincare, and this not being a real proposal, the honeymoon was very nice indeed- he can't wait for the real one though.

BEELZEBUB

You had seen the trend, and wondered how Beelzebub would react. So, under the guise of trying some new food and giving it a review, you set up your camera and begin filming. "Hey everyone, me and my husband are going to be rating food from the new McDevil menu~"

Beel doesn't react at all, and you send him a quick glance before trying again- perhaps he didn't hear you? "I think the Sin-Fries are a solid 7/10, what about you, husband?" But again, he doesn't react to the word at all, instead giving his own rating for the new fries.

Is he really not realizing what you're saying? You decide to try one last time. "My husbands food always looks better than mine," You whine, peaking over at him to see his reaction, only to see him offering you a bite of his burger. You sigh, giving up and deciding to just enjoy your food. You take a bite of his burger, offering him some of yours. The review ends swiftly, and you turn off the camera.

As you two clean up from eating, you notice Beelzebub quieter than usual. You're about to ask him if everything is okay, his face becoming flushed, when he speaks up.

"Soon, okay?" You blink a few times, confused by his words. He bashfully looks up at you, and that's when you realize what he's talking about- marriage, he plans on proposing to you soon. Your own cheeks now grow unbearably warm. "I promise."

Your prank definitely backfired, as now you're the one trying to calm your racing heart (although Beelzebub is definitely just as flustered). Still, you're holding him accountable to his promise- soon.

BELPHEGOR

You're not sure how this little prank managed to get turned against you, but Belphegor has made it so that you're now his personal pillow- again.

"I'm just saying, if I'm you're husband, then that means you should let me use you as a pillow whenever I want." You open your mouth to retaliate, but he beats you to it, batting his lashes up at you. "Don't you want your husband to be comfortable?"

"I..." You falter. You regret deciding to call him your 'husband~' to try and get him to help you with chores. You thought maybe it'd motivate him, or maybe you'd just get to see his cute blushing face, instead you're suffering.

"Come on now, don't be shy~" He wiggles about, trying to grab you to pull you towards him, but he doesn't really exert enough energy to be successful. "Ugh, why... do you... do this... to me- to your darling husband!"

"You're anything but darling." You say, crossing your arms over your chest. "Last time I call you 'husband' or any term of endearment, I swear..." You grumble, turning on your heels to leave, disappointed your prank didn't work.

Belphegor grins, snuggling up to his pillow as he watches you leave. "That's what you think," he mumbles to himself, yawning, "when I finally get that ring on your finger, I'll have ya calling me husband again, just you wait~" He snickers, and a cold chill runs down your spine. You glance back to see him asleep, although you feel as if he's planning something- and you weren't sticking around to find out what!

[kira-fluff]

thinking about sitting on the couch post-movie with mammon.

mammon tenatively rests his head on your lap, his gaze at last meeting your eyes. which was simultaneously the worst and best decision he ever made. because, dammit, your eyes are so. fucking. beautiful. despite his desire to spend the rest of his life looking at you - only you - he finds his eyes closing in relaxation as you quietly hum.

his eyes don't stay closed for long. you absently card your fingers through his silvery hair, and he lets out a moan. open-mouthed. head tilted back. eyes still closed. eyebrows raised, meeting in the middle in pure bliss.

his eyes shoot open, staring at you wide eyed. you briefly stop your ministrations, just as shocked at his reaction. and he is SO. EMBARRASSED. so, he turns his head, averting his gaze. but he turned to the wrong side, and now his mouth is centimeters away from your crotch.

in his attempt to remove himself, he scrambles and falls off the couch, slamming against the floor. he stares at you in horror, sitting up with his hands against the carpet, breathing heavily, face flushed bright red.

you stare at each other, completely silenced.

then, you let out a laugh, your eyes shinning brightly. you try to cover your mouth, but you know there's no point.

mammon sputters incredulously. "s-stop laughin'! 's not funny!"

you only laugh harder, falling off the couch yourself in your fit of hilarity.

despite his slight displeasure in your amusement, he can't help but tilt his head and smile.

you're his everything, don't you know?

-

a/n: trying something a little different with a short little imagine. hope you guys like it 💕

[madwomansapologist]

SINGLE FOR A HOT MINUTE

cw: fluff, crack, gn!mc

an: my first smau ever, and also the first thing i ever did for the obey me brothers.

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[luvfy0dor]

Bites or Hickeys? Various x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; suggestive, obv biting, hickeys, perhaps ooc,

Fandoms; Bungo Stray Dogs, Death Note, Attack on Titan, Obey Me

A/n; ogs remember when I was purple, but anyways happy 1 year of writing to me!! I'm super proud of my account and I'm so insanely thankful for all the love I've received and acquaintances/friends I've made. Thank you guys so much <3 even tho there have been times where I really thought I'd quit, I kept going and I'm so grateful I did

Bites ★

The feeling of their teeth sinking into your skin makes them feel almost electric, as if a spark has been lit inside their chest and cause an explosion of carnal desire. Some are softer with it, kissing and licking over the imprints of their teeth to soothe the mild pain it might have caused, but others just bite and move on to the next unoccupied spot. They can't help how desperate they are for you and to prove to themselves that they have you, and their affectionate gestures prove that theyre yours. After all, they'd never do the same for anyone else. Ofcourse after the heat of the moment died down, whether they were gentler or rougher earlier, they'd kiss over the indents and whisper soft praises and murmurs about whatever came to mind. Moments like those were their favorites- second to the actual rendezvous, ofcourse.

• RANPO, Dazai, Akutagwa, Kaji, Twain, Sasha, Zeke, Pieck, MELLO, Belphie, Satan, Leviathan

Hickeys ★

They prefer giving hickeys, sometimes because they think it's classier than biting, and others because they don't want to hurt you by biting too hard. They will, however, make you look just as ravaged, littering your pretty skin with dark, organically shaped marks. Their hands pin your wrists above your head while they suck and lick at your neck, humming as if they were enjoying a meal made by a world-class chef. Their eyes would flicker up to meet yours every now and again, lips curling upwards as they shove one of their knees between yours, allowing you to grind against their thigh while they make quick work of undoing your top and belt. They're far more shameless when they're leaving them along your thighs, so shameless that you almost look like you were bruised- no one was going to see them anyways, so why should they be modest? They'd be lying if they said being able to claim you in such a way didnt turn them on. ♡⁠˖

• fyodor, Sigma, Kunikida, Ango, Mori, Fitzgerald, Fukuzawa, Margaret, Poe, Erwin, Mikasa, Reiner, Historia, Lucifer

Both! ★

They simply can't choose, whether adorning your neck and thighs in dark, dotted half-moons or burgundy splotches, they can't get enough of you. They usually leave them in concealed places, but sometimes it's so difficult to not mark you up all over, especially when you're writhing underneath them and clinging to them like a vice because their lips and mouth just feel that good. You'd intertwines your fingers in their hair, pulling them closer or tugging them away when you're lying breathlessly in the wrinkled and messy sheets. They'd ask you if it's too much, rubbing circles into the sides of your hips with a wide, cheeky grin. God, you looked so good underneath them, all bashful and shy with your eyes half lidded and your lips slightly agape. Your labored breaths and quiet sighs were like music to their ears, so really, how could they choose just one when they could give you both and double the fun? ♡⁠˖

• NIKOLAI, Chuuya, yosano, bram, Oda, Atsushi, Lucy, Mushitaro, Tecchou, Tachihara, Eren, jean, Connie, Armin, Hange, maybeee levi, Ymir, Matt, Matsuda, Misa, im torn between both and neither for L, Mammon, Asmo, Beel

Neither ★

They prefer not to leave a physical mark on you, but rather give you a good time to remember them by. A mark will fade quicker than a memory. ♡⁠˖

• Nathaniel Hawthorne, Light, Jouno

A/n: hey chat I didn't realize today was my anniversary so I kinda speedran the characters, it might not be SUIUUPER in character so I'm sorry 😞

[mystictimemachinedream]

No Mercy

a/n: Damn, I haven't posted in a while but I finally had some ideas. This was just a filthy idea that came to me lmao. I should be posting another fic soon enough but it will be much longer than this.

Leviathan x Reader.

Cw: Rough Sex, Jealous!Levi, Possessiveness, Double Penetration, Degradation, Choking, Dumbification, Levi having two dicks, Creampies, Fem!reader, kinda OOC.

-----------------------

You had no idea how you ended up like this—on your hands and knees, your back arched so obscenely deep that your ass was high in the air, presenting like some desperate bitch in heat. You’d been like this for what felt like hours, stuffed full of two thick cocks, stretched beyond reason, your cunt clinging to them greedily despite not knowing how the hell they even fit in the first place. But they did—oh, they did—and now, they dragged against your slick, gooey walls, each thrust sending pleasure-cracked lightning through your body. One thick, blunt cock nudged mercilessly against your sweet spot while the other rammed into your cervix over and over, a punishing rhythm that left you shaking and delirious, every nerve in your body reduced to raw sensation.

The filthy plap! plap! of skin against skin echoed through the room, mingling with your ragged moans. Every thrust sent Leviathan’s heavy balls smacking against your swollen clit, the impact making your toes curl, your body shudder. It felt too good—too much. Your eyes rolled back as you drooled onto the floor, your body strung tight between pleasure and unbearable need.

“L-Levi! I-it’s—ah!—too much!” You whimpered, weakly trying to crawl forward, your trembling hands dragging uselessly and pathetically against the smooth floor. But you barely made it an inch before he growled, his long, serpentine tail snapping around your waist like a vice.

With a sharp yank, he hauled you back hard onto his cocks, impaling you deeper, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurred with white-hot pleasure as he bottomed out, stuffing you so full your cunt spasmed around the thick intrusion, making you choke on a broken scream.

“But it wasn’t too much when you were acting like a little slut around Belphie, huh?” Leviathan spat, his voice laced with venom. One clawed hand cracked down onto your ass—

SMACK!

A high-pitched mewl ripped from your throat as your abused cunt clenching down around him like a vice, milking him without even meaning to. His rhythm never faltered—deep, ruthless strokes that had your thighs quivering, your mind unraveling at the edges. Your mind scrambled, barely able to grasp what he was talking about—Belphie?

Vaguely, you remembered the youngest brother trying to tug you down for a nap, how you’d squirmed away, desperately refusing because you knew how Leviathan got. As much as he was the awkward, blushing otaku who stammered at the mere mention of holding hands, he was also the Avatar of Envy. And when that envy took hold of him?

He fucked you like the demon that he was, like he needed to carve his claim into your body, brand you from the inside out.

And fuck, it was always so hot.

“I-I—ngh!—didn’t d-do anything,” you moaned, only to yelp when Levi yanked your head back by your hair, exposing your throat, forcing your back into an even deeper arch. His cocks drove into you even harder, your walls stretching around him in helpless surrender. You swore you could feel him in your throat with how impossibly deep he was.

“Didn’t do anything? That w-wasn’t—ah!—an apology, you fucking whore,” Leviathan sneered, his sweaty indigo bangs plastered to his forehead, coral horns gleaming under the ethereal blue glow of his massive fish tank. Henry 2.0 swam lazily in the background, oblivious to the debauchery taking place in front of him.

The creamy mess at the base of his cocks was proof of how many times he had already wrung you dry—how many times he had forced your spent cunt to cum, again and again, until you were nothing more than a twitching, babbling wreck.

Another sharp tug on your hair made you cry out, his claws digging deep into your waist. He was always so mean when he fucked you like this, so cruel. You knew if you didn’t apologize properly, he’d break you completely—fuck you until you passed out, just to prove a point. It only made your cunt clench even more tightly around his cocks at the thought.

When he changed his pace, slowing just enough to make you feel every thick vein, every ridge, your forehead dropped against the cool floor. You drooled messily onto it, shuddering, your pupils practically heart-shaped at the change in pace. He pulled out almost completely, leaving just the fat, leaking heads stretching your entrance, before driving all the way in again, burying himself to the base, grinding deep. The pressure against your cervix made your breath hitch, made your walls squeeze around him in helpless spasms. His tail still kept your hips up, ass high in the air, forcing you to take everything he gave you.

“‘M-‘m sorry! I-I won’t—f-fuck—do it again!” you sobbed, voice breaking into little hiccupping cries. Another deep, merciless grind had you gasping, his cocks stretching you so wide it felt like they were reshaping your insides. “I-I’ll be g-good!”

At your pathetic little plea, Leviathan’s cocks throbbed, the tight heat of your desperate little cunt making him groan. He leaned forward, pressing his sweaty, overheated chest against your back, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as his long fingers abandoned your hair in favor to sliding down—

Oh.

Oh.

A keening whimper tore from your throat as his thumb pressed down, circling your swollen, aching bud in tight, merciless motions. Your cunt instantly clamped down, gripping him in a desperate, needy vice. Fuck—fuck—just that and the slow, deliberate grind of his hips had you teetering on the edge.

“I-I can feel you tightening up,” Levi panted, his breath hot against your ear. His normally pale cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, his sunset-colored eyes glowing orange with predatory hunger. His thumb pressed down harder, faster, dragging you toward the inevitable. “Gonna make a mess on my cocks again, huh?”

Your toes curled. Your eyes rolled. You tried to rock back against him, to get him to pound you again, but his tail kept you trapped. You whined, needy, desperate.

“L-Levi! M-more—ahn!—I n-need more!”

The groan he let out was pure filth, low and breathless. His breath tickled your ear as he dragged his tongue along the shell before pulling back again. You whimpered when his fingers left your clit, but before you could protest, his hands clamped around your waist and—

He slammed into you.

“You were just whining that it was too much, and now you want more?” Leviathan panted, voice rough. “I-I guess—s-shit—I shouldn’t expect anything less from a cock-hungry little slut like you.”

His heavy balls slammed against your clit again, the wet plap! plap! echoing through the room, so obscene you would’ve blushed if you had a single thought left in your fucked-out brain. The sound of your sloppy cunt sucking him in, taking both of his cocks to the root, was filthy. It only made you get wetter, made your slick drip down your thighs, messy and wanton.

One of his hands released your waist and snaked up—

Around your throat.

Your high-pitched squeal turned into something closer to a gargled sob as his grip tightened just enough, the pressure sending you careening straight over the edge. Your body trembled violently, your walls spasming around his cocks, milking them greedily as you gushed, slick dripping down your trembling thigh. Your mind blanked, drowned in white-hot euphoria. You weren’t even sure what you were saying anymore, just slurred, broken babbles of his name.

Leviathan let out a guttural moan, his grip tightening as he slammed into you one last time—twice—before burying himself deep and cumming.

Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your already abused cunt, making you tremble as the heat pooled inside you. He didn’t stop, didn’t pull out—just rocked his hips lazily, fucking his seed even deeper, filling you until you overflowed.

You barely twitched when his tail gently flipped you onto your back, legs spread, his cum already beginning to leak from your wrecked cunt. You expected him to be back to his awkward, flustered self—to stammer out apologies for being so rough, to blush and look away like he always did.

But your breath hitched when you looked up at him.

He was still in his demon form, his tail flicking idly, those glowing sunset eyes fixed on you like prey. His cocks—still hard—were glistening with his own release, drooling more thick strands onto your already ruined entrance.

Fuck.

“I thought we were done. I already apologized,” you murmured, voice shaky—though your traitorous thighs spread wider in silent invitation. Your twitchy, leaking cunt clenched around nothing, desperate for him to fill it again.

Leviathan’s lips curled, his tail coiling possessively around your waist. He took both of his cocks in one hand and—

Pap! Pap! Pap!

He slapped your soaked, needy cunt with the heavy, leaking heads, making you jolt, slick spilling even more in anticipation.

“It wasn’t good enough,” he murmured, voice dangerously low. “You need to give me a better apology.”

Leviathan was definitely going to fuck you unconscious.

Again.

[devildomditzy]

[clumsydolly]

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!

[melodiesz]

hihi! this is my first time requesting smth (T_T) i wus wondering if you could do what their first time "sleeping" w their lover wuld be like with levi, beel, n satan from obey me? (*_*)

Their first time with you ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ft: Leviathan, Beelzebub, & Satan x gn!reader

LEVIATHAN

❀ Levi is SO nervous. This isn’t just his first time with you, it’s his first time ever.

❀ That being said, you would definitely have to be the one to initiate it. While binging TSL together in your room, all it takes is for you to cuddle a little too close to him and suddenly he’s hardening in his pjs. ❀ Don’t be surprised if he passes out the second you take your shirt off. He’s a blushing mess, eyes wide and darting all over the room like he can’t decide if he wants to bolt or lean closer.

❀ And if you tease him? Maybe some grinding on the obvious tent in his pants and sucking on his neck? Oh, he’s coming in his favourite boxers with an embarrassed but pleased gasp of your name.

❀ He is SO loud, whiny moans and whimpers leaving his mouth when you finally sink down onto him, riding him while he buries his face in your neck.

❀ Has no clue where to put his hands, would let you guide them wherever you want. Would let you use him however you want, completely fine with being overstimulated if it meant you felt good.

❀ I actually feel like he would know how to please a partner surprisingly well for his first time (probably from reading some freaky ass stuff….), he knows to angle his hips a certain way so that he hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

❀ Again, just wants to make his favourite person feel good. Would die from embarrassment on the spot if you pointed this out, though.

BEELZEBUB

۶ৎ As the tallest out of all of the brothers, it’s common knowledge that Beelzebub is big.

۶ৎ So really it’s hardly a surprise that he has an equally large dick, just to be proportionate! ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

۶ৎ Ever the gentle giant, Beel decides to prepare you to take him by eating you out. He just gets a little distracted in the process and instead eats you out for hours in the sloppiest, filthiest way you’ve ever experienced.

۶ৎ He pulls orgasm out of orgasm out of you, holding you down with his massive hands splayed over your thighs when you try to squirm away from the overstimulation.

۶ৎ The idea of fucking you is long gone from his brain, happy to spend eternity between your legs. Beel could seriously cum from the taste of you on his tongue alone.

۶ৎ Lost in the sauce would be an understatement. His sounds are almost animalistic, deep grunts muffled by the sloppy sounds your messy eater is making during his feast.

۶ৎ By the time he finally lets up you’re so fucked out that you just lay there in a daze as he leans over you, pupils blown and a mess of drool and juices dripping down his chin. He gives you puppy eyes like he wants to ask for ‘just one more time’ (aka ten), but instead asks if it was good.

۶ৎ With your hair a mess—drool dry on your chin and eyes glazed over as you stare into space—you feel like you don't even need to answer that yes, yes it was good.

SATAN

❥ Now with how much Satan reads, I seriously think he’s a romantic. At least some of those books have got to be romance novels that he can’t help but fantasize about recreating with you.

❥ Your first time together is nothing short of sweet. He wants to show that he loves you, with that passionate look in his eyes that tells you you’re in for a long night.

❥ He guides you through it with a gentle dominance, you on your back on the bed while he traces over your body like he wants to commit your form to memory.

❥ He’s the type to be genuinely insulted if you hide your sounds from him. He wants to be gentle with you for your first time, but he will play dirty and edge you until your sweet voice is begging for him.

❥ He wouldn’t make much noise himself since he wants to hear you, but would talk you through it the whole time.

❥ His low voice whispers encouragements in your ear, telling you to take it or asking if you want it faster, harder, whatever you need; your perfect boyfriend will provide.

❥ His aftercare is top notch, massaging ointments into your sore muscles and hand feeding you your favourite snacks like you were a monarch. Besides, with how you have him wrapped around your finger, you might as well be.

a/n: tysm for the request !! I I’m sorry I took so long getting this out, life has been so busy .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

[rae-writes]

if you could do r trying on a new pheromone perfume and the brothers (separately) are js like 👁️👁️ and suddenly pounces on them and readers js so confused you’d literally be godsent😫

(my inspiration was that one Rafayel scene from lds-)

suggestive || bonus characters bc harem || whether or not Mc knew it was pheromone perfume is up for debate || 1.k wc

Lucifer pauses for a brief second while not faltering in what he was doing, subtly trying to detect the cause of the scent invading every sense of his. He's one of the quickest to figure it out, eyes darkening as he empties his hands before gripping your waist and pulling you as close as physically possible; his face is in your neck before you can even blink and you both stay like that for a moment before he's silently tugging you to wherever he can sit down with you on top of him

Mammon's head snaps up so fast it almost hurts, eyes zeroing in on you. He knows where the scent is coming from, but he just doesn't understand why you suddenly smell even better than usual...he ain't shy as he slides his fingers over your wrist, up your forearm, going until he's caressing the slope of your neck. His breathing is shaky and his voice cracks a little when he whispers how intoxicated you're making him feel. He's got you laid down against the closest flat surface so he can run his hands over you, nose buried against the underside of your jaw as he breathes you in until he's damn near drunk off it

Levi's tail acts faster than he does, curling around your thighs and yanking you closer before he catches up with the action. His embarrassment is cut off when he finally registers the smell, too, and suddenly his face is red for a different reason. He'll fire off a million questions, adding his own jumbled thoughts in between, subconsciously latching every possible limb around you; his face is buried against your chest, fangs accidentally brushing the skin as he stutters out apologies, but doesn't stop

Satan perks up much like a cat, intense blue-green hues staring you down like he's ready to actually pounce. He approaches slowly, trying to figure out the source of your new scent on the way over, but ultimately decides to bury himself against you— your neck, chest, shoulder, nape— breathily asking what you were doing to him. He feels like he's been drugged, almost like a feline with catnip, but it's so dizzily good that he can't complain. Drags you off to where no one will be able to find you, so that your scent won't find anyone but him

Asmo is giddy the second he catches a wiff, easily pinpointing the reason for your scent change, and the exact listing of the brand you used. He's shameless as he requests a thorough product review, rubbing his frame up against yours as he holds you from behind, eyes peering over your shoulder with a bright pink hue. Cheekily insists that you’re better off without so many clothes on, wanting your scent to rub off on him so you can match (and so he can smell it for the rest of the day).

Beel is confused when the food in his mouth isn’t tasting as good as it should. The scent invades his nose, making his eyes search for what has to be a delicious source, only to find you instead of something edible. He’s all over you, mumbling out apologies and that he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, asking won’t you please let him just…be near you? He trails after you like a puppy, not really sure why you’re captivating his entire being with just your smell. His mouth eventually finds your neck, nibbling and sucking as he tries to get a ‘taste’ of that scent.

Belphie, while unwilling to get up out of his spot, is instantly at attention with eyes following you around the room. He’ll whine and complain until he’s got you at his side, trapping you in his arms and against his lounging form. He’s almost tense, as he inhales that new scent, like a ram waiting to charge. His tone is lazy and drawn out, but tinged with a need that he’s confused about, yet so willing to dive into. He’s surrounded by you, literally and figuratively, as he keeps you tight in his arms, not above begging to get his way.

Diavolo is so fucking clueless, wide eyes blinking up at you almost innocently as he asks if you were wearing a new perfume. He finds himself inching closer to you, gaze never leaving your figure for long— a gaze that get darker and more lidded as time passes. He’s still clueless as ever, yet doesn’t mind the mystery since he’s always willing for an excuse to be with you. His cheeks are flushed and his touch a tad hesitant, but it all flies out the window when you allow him to bury his face against your abdomen, kneeling on the floor, letting his mind swim.

Barbatos takes one glance at you after catching on to the scent and knows, but unlike the pudding incident when he fled the scene, he’s coiling you up with his tail and keeping you impossibly close, unwilling to let anyone have you this time. Unabashedly, his nose is trailing along the slope of your neck, lips brushing the skin as he places slow kisses over all the right spots. Whether or not he does or doesn’t have time to spare, he’s whisking you away and trapping you against his frame, almost begging you to let him be selfish and improper as he inhales your scent with an abandon that would usually make him pause; he can forgive himself, if it’s because of you, unwilling to let go of this opportunity at your eager answer of ‘yes’.

Mephisto almost trips as he passes you by in the hallways of RAD, whirling around to gape at you rather dumbly. Stubbornly fights the urge to follow you for all of thirty seconds before he’s trailing after you with urgency. Manages to simply walk alongside you and keep polite small talk just until you’re both out of eyesight, because then he’s pulling you towards him and groaning, asking what the hell you thought you were doing walking around other demons while smelling so good. It’s a struggle to keep a dignified facade when he’s rushing you down the corridor— but once he gets you in a room, it’s all crumbling as he latches his lips to your neck’s pulse point. The Newspaper Club’s office is closed until further notice.

Solomon doesn’t really register the smell at first, both because it’s more subtle for humans, and because he was playing around with various potions— but once he did catch the smell after you’d gotten closer, he’s swiping everything to the side and placing you on the table instead. He is allll over you, not even hiding the flush on his cheeks as he inhales your scent; practically panting in the crook of your neck. Apologizes if you had something planned later, because he’s keeping you for the rest of the day, wanting to experiment with your new perfume. He knows he’s being overly touchy and a…bit desperate, but just indulge in his whims, yeah?

Simeon’s pretty sure that his heart was going to beat straight out of his chest. He couldn’t understand why he felt so warm and fuzzy all the sudden, but had a feeling it was probably because of you (because only you could make him feel this way). Shyly asks if he could sit closer to you, pleasantly surprised when you tug his head to rest in your lap. His fingers lift your shirt up just enough for him to press his nose against a sliver of skin, face buried against your stomach as his hands grip and massage your thighs. Genuinely content to just lay there and let your scent consume him, though he won’t argue if you ask to help him out.

Raphael…thinks he’s sick. Which is odd, because he hasn’t been sick in a few centuries, but then again..you make him feel…odd. Which is why he walked straight up to you and flat out asked if you were doing it on purpose— why did you smell so good? Why was it making him like this?? He’ll have to be guided, your hand leading both of his to your hips, his head tucking into your neck. He’s still confused, but more than willing to investigate. You’re so..enchanting…he can make idle complaints all day long, but he refuses to let go of you now. He likes how it feels. And he likes the way you react to him.

[bloomries]

Witch! Reader who simply wanted to summon a small time spirit to have help around but instead you accidently summon Satan— not that you know, still thinking it's some weak little demon rather than one of the strongest ones around. Cue Satan literally just becoming a househusband of sorts, cooking you proper meals and cleaning up around the house. He's living domestic bliss, and has an exceptional amount of downtime to read as many human books as he wants and gets to bask around in the sunlight to take a nap whenever he wants. Satan truly doesn't understand what Mammon thinks is so scary about witches? You're literally perfect and he's wondering how he can seal a deal to live this life forever.

[fridgemissionmaster]

The demon couldn’t help wringing his hands, oh so tempted to rip that glove off. He sighed marching through those empty halls, the tapping of his footfalls drowned out by the echoing, pounding rain who’s sound came pouring though the windows and open archways.

… This was ridiculous, he should turn on heel and go right back. He didn’t need to go home, but his presents would only hinder and distract at this point, everyone else had already decided to wrap up soon anyway. At least he was able to keep the notes to go over later.

Honestly what was wrong with him. Questioning his own decisions and being stubborn about this. This was…

What?

Who was that assaulting the halls of Diavolo’s academy!?

At the end of the hall under that grand entrance was a familiar figure. But it couldn’t be. Surely you, of all people, with your boisterous entourage wouldn’t be left here in this weather. It had to have been someone else.

Yet as he approached your visage only became more and more clear. You, standing there, lightly bonking your forehead against the stone frame.

Well… though odd you weren’t actually doing any sort of dam..age…

…

“Do you not have an umbrella?”

The human flinched looking over their shoulder. Did you not notice his approach? Did you just feel that safe here or were you that air headed to not be alert of your surrounding!?

“As of this afternoon, no! Not unless you count scrap metal I guess!” You heaved a sigh, turning to the man, a bruise forming where you kept meeting the stone.

“And none of those brothers are taking you back? Classes have long since ended!”

“tch.”

“Honestly! What is with that lot! They drone on and on of their love for you yet abandon you here? Are you kidding me!? Even if not you’re still their charge, it’s their job to care for you, not leave you out in the cold! How did you come to be under their care, they can barely keep themselves presentable let alone tend to another life!”

“OH, will you just shut up, yes they suck but they didn’t mean for THIS! Even if they did cause it!”

YOU raised your voice, at him. Mephisto couldn’t tear his gaze away as you paced around, beginning to wave your hands with such force a soft whooshing sound he could pick up as you cut the air.

“I could be home by now, NNNOOOOOO, Lucifer apparently can’t be a decent dog owner and not let Cerberus use whatever the pup can find as a chew toy, and of course he came in all like ‘oh guess we’ll just have to share, here stand closer’ and everyone gets into a fight over who I should share and umbrella with cause nobody could just, oh, I don’t know, just let me run through the rain for a few minuets to get to the market for a new one! And of course the old one I found in the closet Asmo had to mess up a spell in class and TURN IT INTO AN ANGRY GUITAR! Then obviously everyone had to be busy and needed to leave early. I just wanted to study some! Is that so wrong! And Mammon said we’d go home together but Lucifer just HAD to find out about Mammon holding a betting pool on the tournament and decided that OH OF COURSE IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS I HAVE TO DRAG HIM BACK HOME AND STRING HIM UP TO THE CEILING BECAUSE APPEARENTLY I CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE OTHER THAN WHAT WOULD BE THE BEST WAY TO GET ON EVERYONE’S NERVES TODAY! Oh, yeah, and guess what!? I can’t even call anybody cause Levi broke my phone! You know what it’s like to wake up DROWNING in the middle of the night, and all your stuff getting flooded! NOT! FUCKING FU-”

“MC!”

THWACK

He wasn’t fast enough.

You froze the moment your hand crashed into the wall, your fingers crumpling under the force.

In stiff jolty movements you slowly removed your hand from the wall.

“Here, let me-” The moment he took your hand you ripped it away.

“I’m Fine. I’m fine.” With a heavy huff you practically fell back against the archway, holding your wrist, your hand slowly stretching out of it’s awkward positioning, looking to the floor.

…

He looked out to the front gate, a chilling breeze rolling past. A step toward the precipitation, with a pop his umbrella came open.

“Mephistopheles, wait.”

He looked to you with a raised bow. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Huh?”

“Come along, it wouldn’t due for Diavolo’s guest to be left out here like this.” He tilted the umbrella your way.

It seemed your mind was running slow, just… staring at him for a moment before realizing what he was offering and scrambling to his side. “Uh- thank you!”

The pair of you walked in silence. He made sure to keep you covered, admittedly he felt a twinge of nerves, he knew the Devildom and human world shared rain but he knew there were different types and if the one today could harm you.

Those colorful lights danced and rippled across the ground, reflecting off the saturated world. It was not often he had the chance to just walk around like this. There was always so much to do, so much to research, so much to find, he always was doing something. Yet all he had to do for the moment was just… well, walk.

… Maybe it was due time to add a photography section to the paper. Students could submit entries, it could be another method to build more community in school, giving students a-

“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

“Huh? What are you talking about, you’re sounding like an angel. Is this some human nonsense.”

“What? No! I got mad at you, and had nothing to do with… ANY of that. I shouldn’t-… I don’t like that I lashed out at you.”

“… Wait, are you apologizing for indulging in your emotions?” You looked to him baffled, and likely you were greeted to a similar sight from him in that moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “You really are talking like an angel, repressing emotions and being ashamed of expressing them.”

“Hold on, I never said that! Look, just… know I’m not upset at you. I’m just upset you took the brunt of that.”

“Oh…” He shifted his gaze to the road ahead. It was difficult to look you in the eye for too long, they were too… too much swirled inside them, even he could get lost there. “You made it abundantly clear it was nothing on my part.”

“Still…”

Quietly the pair of you murmured amongst yourselves as you went along, drinking in the sights. It was a slow stroll back to the House of Lamentation, neither of you were in any particular rush to get there. On occasion you would point to a different path, saying there was less foot traffic. Did you really think he, of all people, the guy some people accused of being everywhere at once, wouldn’t know better? He didn’t mind though, you needed a break, and he admittedly was enjoying getting to just take a moment in the rain, it had been far too long since he last took a break himself.

Your pace slowed as you inevitably inched closer to the house, the rain the only thing separating you from those last few steps before the door.

“… Hey, thanks for being here.” You turned around to him, your back to the door. Though the porch was right behind you, you still huddled close under his umbrella.

“There’s no n-”

“Your hand! What happened?”

The demon tucked it closer to his side, trying to relax it some and not hold it so awkwardly. “We were interviewing Solomon on a new potion he made. One bump lead into some things getting knocked over and an unfinished, boiling potion spilled on it.”

“What!? It still hurts or is that just a side effect!?”

“It hurts some, even with a health potion. Solomon wanted to make me one, but I took one from the room’s emergency kit. The pain should subside in a few days.”

“A few days!? Are you kidding me!”

“It was, even if unfinished, a potion made by the most powerful wizard, I’m surprised the effects won’t last longer.”

… Huh, even more surprising, you looked more mad than when you ranted about the brothers before.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath.

Slowly your features relaxed. “Could I hold your hand a moment?”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to try a human world remedy for pain.”

“Oh?” Well, you couldn’t make it worse.

You held his hand so delicately in both of yours’, thumbs gently caressing the back of his. You held it up and close, simply looking to it before

…

“There, kiss it better.” You chuckled. “Judging by that stunned look… it worked?” You took a few steps back. “Uh… consider it a thank you or apology for earlier, again. Okay?........ well, see you?”

Before you could turn away, your hand was taken so softly. His hot breath brushed over it before he shut those emerald eyes, pressing his lips to the back of it. Then one after the other on each of your fingers. With soft clicks that umbrella was dropped to the ground, both his hands now occupied by your shoulders. It was so soft, that kiss to your forehead, was he scared of hurting you?

He stood back, eyes not quite meeting your’s for a moment. Those drops caught in his hair marvelously. “Here’s hoping both our days go better from here.”

“I don’t think it could get better than it is now.”

Quickly that umbrella was snatched up and he marched away.

Just what was he thinking!? Sure, your spell worked on him, but he’s a demon! Did it even work since he did it. And this unbearable heat coursing through him…

Absurd, this whole thing absurd! And why did you say that, of all things!?

…

Guess he’d just have to ask you tomorrow if the spell worked on, even if it was from him. And he could inform you it certainly worked on demons.

@penappal

[hopeluna]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

dividers from @/cafekitsune

Lucifer who doesn't know how in the hell he managed to win your affections. He was rude, arrogant, prideful and yet, after all that, you still choose to love him everyday. And he absolutely can't wrap his head around that information.

Lucifer, to whom taking care of you comes naturally. Leaving water bottles on your desk when you're working, handing you small snacks throughout the day, putting a hand protectively on your head when you look under the table for your dropped pen.

Lucifer who scoffs at your stupid jokes and puns and yet gets worried when you stay quiet any day. He will try to subtly (not so subtly) try to figure out what has gotten you so upset.

Lucifer, with whom you have date night every Saturday. Even if he has been overworking all week with visible dark circles under his eyes, he'd be damned if he misses or is late for date night.

Lucifer who sometimes falls asleep like dead weight on your shoulder if you are sitting next to him. You're not sure how the position is comfortable with his neck bent to fit in the crook of your neck but if you ask me, and he chooses to answer, he swears he has the best sleep like that. He also promptly ignores to tell you the neck pain he gets every time.

Lucifer who feels his eye twitch slightly when his brothers involve you in their antics only to blame it all on you when they get caught by him, cause they know he's not gonna say anything to you.

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[ironicallyyn]

Obey me cast getting Outta character.... Pt..?

Dinner at HoL

Mc: the food looks so cute! I can't eat this (⁠づ⁠￣⁠ ⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠づ

Mammon:

Satan:

Beel:

Belphie:

Asmo: you're cute too but I'd still eat y-

Lucifer: ONE DINNER

Levi: here we go again..

Lucifer: ONE NORMAL DINNER IS ALL I ASK FOR!