#obey me formal

[solomonssock]

You Will Go Nowhere Else

I never planned for this to be so long, but I love Asmodeus sm...expect nothing less from me.

Pairing: gn!reader x Asmodeus; Leviathan makes an active appearance, but isn't the focus of this fic (romantic feelings are heavily implied, but a relationship has not been established...yet)

TW: Cyberbullying, Slutshaming, Cursing, Alcohol use (Asmodeus is an emotional drinker), Suggestive (Its Asmodeus), unspecific yet hinted spoiler for those who haven’t reached level 20, Asmodeus (and all demons) can be possessive, and I’m trying to figure out demon mannerisms I’d like to establish so bear with me on this awkward journey

Word Count: ~4,700

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So-called "weak" human subduing the Devildom's demon lords? It's more likely thank you think! WATCH OUT... YOU COULD BE NEXT!

Scoffing to yourself, you click off the Dreaddit thread to scroll through whatever else you could find under the "d/human" tag. You expected to make up some of the content, given that you and Solomon were quite literally the only two human exchange students in all nine circles. Yet, it wasn't any less unnerving that most of the top posts seemed to circulate around your "mysterious relationship" with the brothers.

At some level, you understood their fascination and hesitation with you. Your lone quest to free Belphegor during your first year was essentially the equivalent of what would happen if a lone demon managed to ensnare some of the Earth's top leaders under their command. You just wished they didn't have to be so mean about it.

This budding Dreaddit addiction of yours had started the evening prior, courtesy of Leviathan.

"ROFL, what an idiot!"

You two spent a good chunk of the night lounging on his extra-large beanbag chair, surfing Dreaddit posts under "d/R.A.D. memes" on his premium account. Leviathan had excitedly showed you his avatar's exclusive Ruri-chan t-shirt, emphasizing that 9.99 grimm a month was a necessary sacrifice for otakus everywhere, or at least those truly passionate about their fandoms. As his loyal Henry, you'd been privy to sensitive information regarding his identity as both creator and moderator of both the "d/TSLMerch" and "d/RuriChanUpd8s" forums.

"Levi," you chastise, “leave Mammon alone. This is already embarrassing enough."

A user by the name xXLuciferz_LegionzXx had uploaded footage of the second eldest being chased through the school halls by Cerberus.

"I-it's his own fault!" Levi defended. "He shouldn't have tried running off with the Council's debit card."

And try he did.

You watched as the video replayed from the beginning. The shaky scene followed Mammon as he rounded the corner in front of Potions Lab 3 with Cerberus hot on his tail. Looking backwards as he sprinted through the crowd of students, he failed to notice Lucifer already blocking the doors at end of the hall.

You cringed as the familiar "MAAAAAMOOONN" blew through the speakers.

Realizing his fuck up, Mammon skidded to a near-stop to pivot into the hall just before Lucifer. But it was too late. Cerberus, determined to catch the focus of his master's ire, latched onto his pantleg, and quickly pulled him back.

Except, only Mammon's pants went with him.

The video ended with the poor demon being pantsed as Lucifer menacingly appeared before the videographer.

After viewing it for the fifth time, you made a silent promise to treat Mammon to some lunch and TLC time this upcoming weekend.

"Levi. Please?" You sighed and pouted your lip a bit for good measure.

"F-fine, if it's that important to you." Flustered, he clicked off the video and flagged it for inappropriate content before he selected the home page.

"Thank you," you leaned your head on his shoulder, "I appreciate it."

A small squeak left Leviathan as he ducked his head further into his hoodie and kept scrolling.

"Oh? Levi, what's that one say?"

On the screen was a picture of you and Satan sitting together in the library. The time stamp confirmed it must have been taken this past Tuesday when Satan helped you review basic Enochian phrases. He'd recommended taking the language for your free elective this semester and offered to serve as your tutor.

Your brows furrowed as you looked at the post's heading.

"...who do they think they are?" You murmured. "What do they mean by that?"

You hadn't gotten any further as Leviathan quickly shut his laptop.

"Hey, I forgot I bought a new co-op farming-dungeon crawler game I thought you would like. Let's check it out!"

Without warning, he had popped up from the beanbag and headed straight towards his console to set up the controllers.

You gasp sharply as you finally reach the exact post Leviathan had hidden from you last night. Visibly uncomfortable with discussing how you ended up on the top page of Dreaddit, you didn't push him for more details. His diversion occupied you for some time as you kicked slime monster ass and planted dewdrop berries, but the curiosity lingered in the back of your mind throughout the school day.

After dinner and watching an episode of "One Day I Woke Up Reborn as An Oven: One Piping Hot Pie of Existentialism Coming Up!" with Leviathan, you'd returned to your room and set up a basic Dreaddit account. He wasn't kidding, the ads were no joke. Every two to three posts you clicked on led to an ad-break or brand deal, sometimes featuring even Asmodeus or Mammon as a model.

"Ok yea, maybe I'll look into getting premium."

You chuckle to yourself as an ad for DevilGlam Lip Balm in the shade RedRose pops up for the third time and wonder if Asmodeus got to take samples home from the shoot. Because if so-

"I'm definitely gonna ask to borrow it." It was pretty cute.

Exiting out of the ad, you save the picture of you and Satan. Despite the fact that it definitely wasn't meant to be seen by you, the intimacy layered within the shot warmed your heart. Focused on the heading, you had missed the adoring smile curled on his lips as you fumbled through past and present conjugation.

However, you don't miss that this was posted under the "d/Sa10Stans" tag. A peek at the authors username, SatansS0ulmate, is warning enough that you are entering dangerous territory. But the temptation is too great.

You scroll through the comments.

HellsKitchenette: There the human goes again, running through the boys each week like a common whore. I've caught them just begging for attention, it’s pathetic.

RADRum: UGH, I have them in seductive speechcraft, and they're just so annoying!! If you can manage a pact with nearly all of the fucking student council, you can figure classwork out for yourself, slut.

You click on the thread you see forming with over 300 replies and at least 150 upvotes.

DearDeerLights: Wait, what do you mean nearly all the student council?!?!?!

HellsKitchenette: Oh, you poor thing. You didn't know? They've managed to trap our boys, all seven of them.

GroundGossamberry: ACK! You guys scared me, I thought they had gotten to Barbatos or something! But seriously, how pathetic can they be... like having to be coddled in public? Not me, I'd rather drop dead <3

Solomonssock: I see I'm outnumbered, but isn't this a good thing? The whole point of the program is that the human is supposed to study with us. And the lords are their host-family. I don't see anyone in the comments giving Solomon such harsh treatment.

RADRum: At least Solomon carries his weight around. Like come on, after a fucking year of being here if you can't go out by yourself then don't come out at all is all I'm saying.

GroundGossamberry: Yeah...I wouldn't fuck with Solomon; I've seen him in potions. He's brewing liquid death.

HellsKitchenette: Solomon's strength and wit makes him increasingly more bearable, and I admit, dashing. This one...well, there's simply nothing special about them. Anyone who witnessed Lord Leviathan's TSL Quiz last year can attest to the fact that they were all coerced into these contracts. Honestly, the human should be ashamed.

You stop there, your throat constricting in response to your rising panic.

"...oh fuck." Hearing the wobble in your own voice, you swallow thickly and sit up from your bed. Exiting out of Dreaddit, you hurriedly delete the app and set your DDD face down on your bed, tripping over your fallen sheets as you scurry out of your room. You need water, or anything really, to stop you before you start spiraling.

You make the short trip to the kitchen and pour yourself a glass with shaky hands.

It doesn't take a genius to infer that you wouldn't be the most popular person in all the Devildom, but the pure vitriol of the subdreaddit had been a higher dose than you anticipated. Truthfully, the focus on you was the least of your worries.

You shotgun the glass, the cool liquid gliding down your throat and easing the tension that had started to build.

You admit you and the brothers still hadn't fully sorted through the emotional muck that releasing Belphegor had unleashed. You felt assured that your pact with Lucifer was mutual, but Leviathan, Mammon, and the others took precedence in your mind. Did they really feel that way?

Trapped?

The pit in your stomach, persistent and pernicious, prevents you from returning to your room to wallow in your worries. Instead, you pass through the now empty dining hall and open the door to the music room.

The grandiosity of the room isn't lost on you. The gold detailing, polished to perfection, reflects your shaken image. You take up so little of the room, and yet you are suffocated by it.

Shuffling over to the piano, you drag your hands softly over the keys, each muffled note bouncing around the room in short bursts. For a minute or two, you loom over the instrument, dragging out each note, trying to sort a melody from the emotional medley consuming you.

For the outcomes that had transpired the year prior, you were certain you had no regrets. The hatchets had long been buried - at least that's what you led yourself to believe, wrapped up in the arms, and roped into the plans, of your lords once more. The sacrifices and secrets of the past were all to mend a family in danger of falling apart. And yet...

You crash your fist onto the keys, rolling your knuckles into a harsh trill.

The nagging guilt you had thought to have laid to rest creeps up again, coiling tightly around your heart. Its weight drags you forward until your forehead presses against the dark wood. It cools your skin, flushed from the few tears you'd allowed to fall.

You had been reckless. Dived into matters that long existed before you ever did, took the mantle of master of the seven lords, and yes, deceived them to do so. The many times they have attempted to wrong you in the past is not lost on you. But, in the end they are demons, and you are no devil.

You strain to lift your head from the wood and turn to face the mirror beside you. You scoff at your own pitiful appearance. Surely, Dreaddit would have a field day if they could pick you apart now, crying over the grief of your own guilt. Without your lords, you know, you are weak. What good is unbridled power without belief in oneself? You stand proud in a world you were not born to wander because of their faith in you, your dear seven pillars. The thought that you have wronged them wounds you deeply. If they ever came to ha-

Abruptly, you slap your cheeks against your cheeks and stand up from the piano bench. It would be unfair, in the face of your regrets to be so bold as to assume their feelings. Regardless of the past, they have taken you in with open arms, adopting you as part of their family. You are here now, with room and board because of their desire for your return and continued stay.

After a deep breath, you pad over to the large windows stretched across the back of the room. You take in the foliage that surrounds the manor, and chuckle to yourself when your gaze happens upon Cerberus taking Belphegor for a walk. You are so happy, that he is here and whole, that their family is here and whole. You are so happy, yet feel so terribly guilty that you sob deeply into your hands.

You startle as the door to the music room is thrust open.

"Darling, are you in h-", Asmodeus stands in the doorway. Even with his hair in slight disarray, he is gorgeous. The panic in his voice, in his eyes, tapers off as he takes you in. In its stead, bleeds in worry.

"Oh, dear." Softly, he shuts the door behind himself.

Desperately, you wipe at your eyes. It's no use, the puffiness and ragged breath would quickly reveal your miserable state to any being. But you try, and try, and try.

He emerges before you, but still, you hide your face in your hands. Asmodeus's own hands reach for your arms first, but only his fingertips graze you as they test how you respond to his touch. You freeze, but don't step back. The thought of rejecting his touch, even when you feel so unworthy, is agonizing.

"I had wondered where you'd wandered off to." His hands move downward, fingers coming to dance across the expanse of your waist.

Knowing you cannot hide forever; you sniffle and rub at your eyes one last time. You're not ready to meet his eyes, so you don't. You occupy yourself with his hair, hands coming up to push back the soft strands that had fallen out of their usual place. You two stand like that for a moment: the moon casting an ethereal glow on his champagne hair as your fingers coil into its thickness to ground yourself.

The moment cannot last forever.

Fingertips press against your jaw, gently guiding you to face him. You want to run and hide, not bare to him this weakness. Not in the music room, and especially not on a Friday night. Or was it Saturday morning by now? You haven't a clue how much time has passed. Yet, you stay, drowning in pools of light orange that plead for your attention.

"I called, several times might I add, but you didn't answer!" With the dramatic flourish you've come to adore, he sighs and blows away the fringe that has fallen into his face from your ministrations. You try to bow your head, avoid his disappointed gaze, but he holds you firmly in place. His face inches closer, you two nose to nose as he whispers against your lips, "I was soooo worried."

The faint whiff of demonus on his breath lets you know Asmodeus had gone drinking after dinner tonight.

"I went to your room as soon as I got home, but you weren't there." You reach up and press your hand against the one he leaves curled around your jaw.

"Mo," Your heart clenches as tears begin prickling at his eyes. An uneasy and desperate expression you haven't seen since that time overcomes him.

"You left your door open", his cheek presses into your other palm as it moves to cup his cheek, "your sheets were on the floor and your DDD was just there on the bed. Levi said he hadn't seen you since after dinner-" His own sniffle interrupts him, and although you feel you haven't the right, you unfurl his hand from your jaw to press a grinning kiss into his palm.

Your Asmodeus, such an emotional drunk.

"I'm ok."  you whisper against his skin. The pout he forms cues you in on the fact that he heavily doubts that statement. His free hand trails up from your waist to trace the tear stains covering your cheeks. You can feel yourself tremble and will yourself to remain strong for the both of you right now.

You are not the only one laid bare tonight.

"Please, don't leave us,” his head lolls forward to rest on your shoulder with ease. You sigh, threading your fingers through his hair in soothing motions.

"MC," he whines into the junction of your neck and shoulder, "I can't lose you again."

"Mo," you gather him into your arms as much as you can, hushing him tenderly as another whine escapes him, "Asmodeus, I'm here."

His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he mumbles, "MC, promise...no. Pinky promise me you won't go! That you'll stay here forever with me." He rocks against you, swaying you both side-to-side.

Forever?

"A-are you sure-," he attempts to pull back from you, a noise of protest escaping him at your lack of immediate reassurance, but he quiets as your hold on him tightens, "are you really sure that's fine? Could you bear me forever, despite everything?"

You realize as his hands smooth themselves up and down your sides, that you were already shaking.

You know these worries have no place here. This should be a conversation when emotion has not fully overcome the both of you. But nothing is perfect, and nothing is planned when it comes to him or any of his brothers.

 "...bear you? You think you're a burden upon me?" Asmodeus's wounded tone affects you more than you care to admit. It strips you of the willpower to stop him as he pulls back from you a second time.

You try to stutter out a response, but you can't deny it. Asmodeus cocks a hip, expecting a response, but you look away from him. How selfish you are, you think, to have once again made the matter about you. That train of thought doesn't last for long, however. You quickly whip your head back up to face him as an unmistakable oppressive force creeps over the music room and caresses your spine. All at once, discord strikes as random notes are ripped from each instrument. 

"Sweetheart~" 

Asmodeus is smiling, but dread washes over you as his glamour begins to shimmer and shift.

"Come on, don't ignore me! Who put such a silly thought in your pretty little head?"

His true form pulsates beneath, ready to burst in response to his building annoyance. Glimpses of his wings, wound tight as they flicker back and forth reveals his worry. This display isn't to intimidate you and now would be a good time to say something to appease the demon. But it's embarrassing to admit to the fifth born that complete and utter strangers, demons whose opinions shouldn't matter when you have his attention, have turned your thoughts to the worst.

"Hmm, should I go have a chat with Levi?"

"N-no! It has nothing to do with him."

"No?" Asmodeus's form seems to settle as you finally respond. Only brief flickers occur as he moves past you, sitting on one of the chairs placed in front of the window.

"Then, why is my precious little human in tears?" 

You take in a deep breath. He will not let this go, and you are too tired to form a believable excuse.

"I'm just overthinking, Mo. Really, I'm going to be ok."

"Ah," Asmodeus's eyes crinkle softly as he catches the weakness in your statement, "but you aren't ok now." He motions for you to join him on his lap, but instead you take the seat beside him, leaving the table as a barrier between you two.

He hums to himself, and before you can register it, he sits himself on your lap and threads his fingers through your hair. Replicating, you realize after a long stretch of silence, the pattern you had used on him just minutes before.

"Don't hide your lovely face from me," he whispers against your ear, fingers curling around your jaw again, encouraging you to face him. When your eyes meet, his soften.

"What is it?"

"I.." You begin, but he stops you, clicking his tongue as your gaze starts to trail away from him.

"Mm-mm," when your eyes are firmly focused on him and him alone, he lets out a light purr that rumbles against your shoulder, "there we go, eyes on me."

"Mo, are you really ok with things as they are?"

"Well," he grins at you, shimmying in your lap, "this view is fine for now. But later I'd rather admire you from my bed."

You scoff at his attempt to lighten the mood when he knows you are being serious, but feel your cheeks flush, nonetheless.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean, darling?" You gulp as his pupils begin to constrict into sharp slits.

"You aren't implying that I'm unsatisfied with you or our current standing, right?" To any untrained ear, his playful lilt suggests a question. However, Asmodeus's tightening grip on you solidifies it as an accusation.

"No, no," he lets out a sickeningly sweet coo, "certainly you understand that your place is beside, over, or under me."

As you sit stunned by the possessiveness that floods his tone, he presses a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"And you will go nowhere else."

"I-I-" Of all the brothers, Asmodeus had teased you the most with being something more than whatever this situationship was. But how does anyone respond to such a forward declaration - from the Avatar of Lust, no less?

"Oh, sweetheart," Asmodeus adjusts his grip to delicately cup your face with two hands, cooing at you as you tremble more under his touch, "my favorite human is never a burden. Hmm, if you keep having such ugly thoughts, I can't be held responsible for what I'll have to do to distract you. I'll fill your head aaalll with me and me alone, ok?"

"Asmodeus, I'm serious."

His eyes flash, and your heart flutters as a low growl reverberates from deep within his chest, "As am I."

Deciding to change tactics, you wind your arms around his waist.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mo. I don't want to be anywhere else." You rub his back gently in an attempt to reassure him and assuage his fears. You wait until his pupils dilate some before you continue.

"I'm happy here with you, with all of you. I just want to make sure you're happy too."

"Aww, of course I'm happy!" Asmodeus wraps his arms across your shoulders and rests his head atop yours, "I have our sweet MC all to myself tonight."

You sigh heavily, feeling the way he shivers slightly at the drag of your palm over his spine. He's backing you into a corner.

"I feel like you deserve better than me." His breath hitches, but he says nothing.

"I was...thinking of the past. I thought I had no regrets coming here, studying here, becoming Solomon's apprentice, making pacts with you all..."  You halt, feeling Asmodeus's nails dig into the fabric covering your shoulder.

"Yet, you regret them. Your pacts with us?" He hisses.

"Never!" You're shocked with the strength of your denial. With the way he jolts, you guess the finality in your tone surprises Asmodeus too. His head lifts from yours, gaze locking onto your own.

"I don't regret our pact, just the way it came to be." You expect disappointment, anger, even annoyance. But all there is, is Asmodeus's amused expression in response to the confession you'd fretted over the past who-knows-how-long.

"How so?" His knowing little smirk irks you just a tad.

"What do you mean, "how so?"!? I deceived you, all of you, to free Belphegor."

Asmodeus's shoulders begin to shake with laughter. Flabbergasted, you try to find words, but all evade you.

"Deceived the deceivers! Our little human, so powerful and persuasive." Asmodeus mocks, swooning in your lap.

As he finally quiets down, he swipes a manicured thumb over your bottom lip.

“Mm, was I not clear enough then? No one, not even Solomon, has ever made me feel as powerful as you do." His thumb presses down, parting your lips.

"I can't speak for my adorable brothers, but you wanted a pact, and I desired your power. We both got what we wanted and," a hand returns to pet your hair, "maybe even more than we bargained for?"

You snort in disbelief. Your demons, always keeping you on your toes.

"Yeah, something like that."

Asmodeus giggles, pressing a kiss onto your cheek this time.

"No need to get so worked up. Should I go to Lucifer to arrange a family meeting? If you're that concerned, we can take turns," his fingers glide down from your hair to cup the back of your neck as he whispers, "reciting the vows of our arrangement."

"T-that's not necessary, Mo! I get it!"  You squirm in his hold and pout. Always such a tease!

"You're SO cute when you're all pouty. But I've suffered enough tonight by your hand, don't you think?" He hauls himself off your lap and takes a moment to stretch in a manner that is all too slow and all too intentional.

You melt at the mirth swimming in his eyes and wonder why you were ever worried to begin with. Forever, was it? Forever has a nice ring to it.

"Oh, forgive me, dearest. However, can I make it up to you?" Theatrics, your shared love language.

"Well," he begins, giddy when you get up to follow him out of the music room, "a nice long bath together should be enough to soothe my aching heart."

"Not too long," you chide, "your breath reeks of demonus. You need to rest."

"Reeks?!" He squeals and you laugh.

"Aww, I get it. You're worried about me! Oh, I always knew we'd be a perfect match." Asmodeus links his arm with your own and tugs you towards the stairs. You resign yourself to your fate, you don't want to sleep alone tonight anyway.

"Mo." You tsk.

"Fine, fine. We both need our beauty sleep, but I'm keeping you to myself aaalll day tomorrow." You take the time to make sure he doesn't stumble over any of the steps.

"And what will we do then?" The scent of roses floods your senses as you both enter his room. It seizes you whole, fills your lungs, and leaves you entranced. It smells like Asmodeus's signature perfume.

It smells like home.

Asmodeus reaches into his dresser and pulls out a matching set of pajamas. "I believe movies and massages are in order." To your surprise, he also pulls out a matching set in your size.

 "Romantic comedies?"  You can't stop the grin that splits across your lips.

Some time ago, as Mammon and Leviathan argued over whether to watch action movies or a live action rendition of TSL, Asmodeus had curled himself into your arms. Hidden beneath the covers of your bed and in between a stolen kiss or two, he'd confided that drama had once been his favorite genre. But in your absence, romantic comedies had occupied his time. The loveable leads reminded him of you both and the endless joy your unique and unexpected relationship brought him.

"You know me so well~" Asmodeus purrs.

"That does sound nice." You walk over, taking the pajamas from him to set them side-by-side onto his bed.

"Of course it does," Asmodeus tugs your arm and you move to join him in his bathroom, "I always know what you like!"

You move his hands away as he tries to undress you. He pouts but acquiesces, turning away from you to undress himself and slip into the bath.

When you finish undressing, you turn to find him with his head tilted back on the tile and at peace. You admire him for a moment, thankful that such a stunning creature had opened his fragile heart to you.

He doesn't move until you sit beside him, bubbly water sloshing side-to-side.

"So, you'll stay?" His head finds purchase on your shoulder, fingers tangled with yours beneath the water. You lay your head atop his own, pressing a kiss to his locks.

"For as long as you'll have me."

"So," he kisses your shoulder in return, "forever?"

"Forever is fine."

A soft trill escapes him. "I'll be sure to take good care of you."

You sink deeper into the bubbles with a hum.

 "I love you." He murmurs into your skin. 

The warmth sinks into your bones and pulls you deeper into relaxation. You could fall asleep here.

"Hey!" You yelp at the little nip he gives your shoulder. “Tell me you love me too."

You laugh, picking up his head to push your foreheads together. The adoration in his eyes makes your belly all warm and fuzzy. You feel safe here. This is where you want to belong.

"Love you too, Mo."

#I've never called him Asmo 'cause Mo is cuter #also why tf doesn't he have a tail? #please a heart-tipped tail or scorpion even i just- #Solmare work with me here #y'all i'm so dramatic i'm sorry i was in my feelings for that second half #also this is my formal apology to mammon #i love him and he does not deserve this disreapect #canonically (read: in my head) he is the funniest brother and i'm claiming my bestie #maybe my next drabble will be mammon centered as penitencr for my crime #there are demons out there in your corner #somewhere #probably #just not represented in this fic #ok bye #obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me mc #obey me x reader #obey me asmodeus #reader x asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x mc #obey me lucifer #asmodeus x you #asmodeus x y/n #obey me belphegor #obey me cerberus #omomtrta

[boozye]

I’m not feeling so salty anymore but the image appeared in my head and I thought it was funny.

#obey me shitpost #Obey me Lucifer #shitpostery #welo i better get to bed #i have another formal event tomorrow #getting mileage on my suit

[radarchives]

#obey me #lucifer #solomon #asmodeus #this confuses me to this day #was he just... really sticking to the formalities? #bc at that point asmo and sol have already been acquainted carnally for a whole chunk of time #solomon's probably seen more of asmo than he's seen of himself and lucifer is out here doing the introductions??? #queuecifer

[krys-loves-otome]

OC Brain Rot Introductions

After making the first post with Thea and Abby, I realized that I didn't have an intro post introducing the character or to formally address what these kind of posts are going to be about (aside what I put in Thea and Abby's first post)

OC Brain Rot (based on this post here originally) are posts where I ramble off about my OCs and what they're up to currently outside of my writings and arts. In essence, these are brain dump posts. Sometimes they might be a couple of sentences and half-formed ideas, others might go into meta involving my ocs and whichever game they are a part of. Sometimes it might also include simple screaming, you just never know.

Brain rots will also NOT be spoiler-free! I'll usually note at the top of each post if there are going to be spoilers. Content and trigger warnings will also be noted in the beginning and in the tags where applicable.

OC Brain Rot is also open to questions towards and about the OCs themselves. They might even answer your questions themselves!

I've decided that, instead of having a separate tumblr blog (since I have like four of them at this current moment in time), I'll just make little posts about the ocs on main since I'm not especially active here as I'd like to be outside of queued posts and I have answered some questions in my OC's voices on this blog before (like this one from Houki giving her opinion on IkeSen's Masamune) and would like to get back into doing something like that.

Brain rots are also mostly going to involve my otome/dating sim OCs, but everyone is also welcome to ask about my original ocs and, if you're really curious, about older ocs that I've made for other fandoms outside of the otome/dating sim ones.

Below the cut, I've also put short intros for each of my ocs as quick reference for future brain rot posts. Longer, more detailed profiles will be made at a later date, but these will serve as little reminders for where this oc is coming from when I make future oc brain rot posts.

For other posts involving my OCs, here's my writing masterlist for them

Thanks for stopping by lovelies and hope to hear from you again soon!

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Houki of Jiyel, "Houki"

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Game: Ikemen Sengoku

Suitor: Mitsunari Ishida

Age: Early 20s

Physical Description: Short stature and chubby, large, bright green eyes, long straight black hair (that looks blue in certain lights), light to medium skin, wears round glasses

Personality: Quiet, Introverted, Observant

Brief History: A transplant MC from a different game, Houki was a noble lady sent on a diplomatic mission to strengthen ties between her home nation and six other kingdoms, mainly through the means of political marriage and alliances. Her plans were interrupted when she arrived in Sengoku era Japan and is now trying to find a way back to her home world to complete her original goal.

Misc. Fact: She loves reading more than anything in the world. It is her favorite pastime and is more often than not found reading some tome at almost any point in the day.

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Ophelia of Revaire, "Ophelia"

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Game: Ikemen Sengoku

Suitor: Kennyo

Age: Late 20s

Physical Description: Pale skin and hair (chin length and straight, parted to her right, our left), medium height, thin and willowy, dark red eyes, chin mole towards the right side (our left) of her face

Personality: Calculating, calm, refined

Brief History: Another transplant MC from a different game (same game as Houki), she was on the same diplomatic mission as Houki, but for different reasons. Born into a poor noble family, Ophelia has spent most of her life trying to bring up her family's position, was even briefly married for the cause, but thanks to her previous husband's passing, she's needing to social climb again to keep her family afloat, thus joining in her country's call for this diplomatic mission, hoping to marry rich. Being transported to Sengoku era Japan was not on her agenda and she's definitely not happy about this new life turn.

Misc. Fact: She has eight younger siblings, six sisters and two brothers.

-----

Dorothea "Thea" Reid

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Game: Ikemen Vampire

Suitor: Theodorus van Gogh, Arthur Conan Doyle

Age: Early 20s

Physical Description: Fair skin with lots of freckles, esp on her face and shoulders, long reddish-brown hair that she keeps in a braid most of the time, large blue eyes, medium-tall-ish height (just shy of Theo's eye level)

Personality: Friendly, outgoing, stubborn

Brief History: A lover of history and fashion, Thea had combined her love of both and had just finished her degree to be a fashion historian, and thought to reward herself after finishing college by taking a trip to Paris! Who knew a trip to the Louvre would start her biggest adventure yet?

Misc. Fact: Always wearing something either historical or historically inspired, like long skirts and embroidered blouses.

------

Abigail "Abby" Clarke

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Game: Ikemen Vampire

Suitor: Vincent van Gogh

Age: Early 20s

Physical Description: Short-medium height, blonde bob/short hair that she grows longer to shoulder length as she ages, warm brown eyes, fair skin

Personality: Quiet, meek, curious

Brief History: Escaping from a bad situation, Abby finds herself in Paris, admiring the art and history that the city has to offer. Running into a mysterious gentleman that helps her escape some hooligans, she accidentally follows him through his magical time door and ends up in the 19th century! What's a girl to do now?

Misc. Fact: Her favorite hobbies are drawing and photography, though she wasn't really able to explore them as she liked in her previous life. She thrives under the tutelage of history's greats in Comte's mansion.

------

Madeline "Maddie" Fleming

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Game: Ikemen Revolution

Suitor: Harr Silver

Age: 30

Physical Description: Short and curvy, greenish grey short hair that's wavy, wine red eyes, light medium skin, ears pierced (once in each lobe, and two at the top of each ear, making a total of six piercings)

Personality: Outgoing, caring, fun

Brief History: Visiting her grandparents in London, Maddie had found herself in James Park, meeting with a nice, if absent-minded gentleman. She had tried to return his lost pocket watch to him, but she accidentally follows him back to Cradle, starting her journey to unlocking powers she previously didn't know she had and to bringing peace between the two warring armies fighting over the magical wonderland she had found herself in.

Misc. Fact: Her power manifests itself mostly in non-living items. When she was younger, she made fake flowers to give to people she knew, singing to them as she worked. Her flowers would then take on characteristics she was singing about (a la Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle book version). Her flowers could make you have more luck on a test or even give you the confidence to confess to your crush! But be careful if you piss her off as her negative vibes can transfer to her targeted item and turn it cursed!

------

Clara Laurent

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Game: Ikemen Prince

Suitor: Nokto Klein

Age: 27

Physical Description: Medium skin tone, wavy dark brown hair usually kept in a low bun, short to medium height, pink eyes

Personality: Serious, stubborn, kind

Brief History: A ward of Mr. Akatsuki, she was taken in by bookstore owner at a young age, growing up around books and a love of learning. During a festival, she met with a few of Rhodolite's princes, their interactions watched by Sariel, the prime minister, looking for candidates to be the next Belle, a person with a pure heart that chooses the next king of their country. She is chosen for this role, using her best judgement to make the right choice for her tiny kingdom, especially with the loom threat of war on their heels.

Misc. Fact: Her favorite book series is the Midnight Cinderella saga, telling the varying adventures of a commoner chosen to rule over the fictious kingdom of Wysteria. Her favorite in the series is Byron.

------

Miriam "Miri"

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her, They/Them

Game: Obey Me!

Suitor: Lucifer

Age: Early 20s in season 1, close to late-20s by season 4/nightbringer's timeline

Physical Description: Medium-dark skin tone, pink curly hair that gets to its longest by season 4 (which is mid back), purple to pink gradient eyes, short stature, her pact marks glow when she's actively using her pact bonds. Pact mark locations include: Chest over her heart (Lucifer), behind her right ear (Mammon), Left knee (Leviathan), Right forearm (Satan), Lower back (Asmo), Stomach above the navel (Beel), Neck right on her windpipe (Belphie). Post Season 2, she has Lucifer's Ring of Light on her left hand ring finger. Season 3 and beyond, she has her Sorcerer's Society Tattoo on the back of her right hand, along with a ring on her middle finger that signifies she's a sorcerer and a member of the Sorcerer's Society, given to her by Solomon.

Personality: Curious, kind, stubborn

Brief History: Arriving in Devildom as a little pink sheep, Miri works to find a way to turn herself back into a human, which leads her to being made an exchange student at RAD, a school-like organization run by the devildom prince Diavolo, who hopes to bring the three realms together into peaceful relations. While staying in devildom, she is taken in by a group of powerful demon brothers, former angels from the Celestial Realm fallen from grace. In order to turn herself back into a human, she needs their power and she makes pacts with each to gain their help and support. As her bonds grow stronger with the brothers, so too does her own power, coming to a realization that she is a sorcerer in later seasons, learning to control her powers and to use her powers for good and to help Diavolo's cause to bring the three realms to peace.

Misc. Fact: She loves sweets and hates spicy things. She has a healthy fear of Mammon's extra spicy ramen and refuses it every time it's offered to her. Even regular ramen makes her suspicious after having sampled Mammon's favorite once.

#krys talks #krys's adventures in fiction #krys's babies #oc brain rot #houki of jiyel #ophelia of revaire #dorothea reid (oc) #abigail clarke (oc) #madeline fleming (oc) #clara laurent (oc) #miriam (obey me oc) #jumped the gun with the first post before making any sort of formal introductions #whoops #but that is remedied now #hopefully #still need to make full intros for literally everyone #and reference sheets to go with the intros #like #Houki's updated version and Clara's intros are pretty much done aside from the visual reference sheets #Miri's is taking forever given the nature of Obey Me as it contains four main seasons plus two more (currently) with Nightbringer #I'll get there eventually

[etherealbelphie]

Everybody Makes Mistakes (Ft. Luke and Barbatos)

Warnings: Spoilers for Obey Me, Luke has a breakdown, Celestial Realm is toxic, possibly gaslighting?

Length: 1.1K words

Genre: Angst, hurt, fluff, comfort.

Summary: Barbatos notices that Luke doesn't seem to be in a good mood today. The reason why breaks his heart.

A/N: I've had this idea for a while. I wanted to explore the father-son-type dynamic Barbatos and Luke have, and this is what it turned into. I'm so sorry for putting Luke through this level of angst, but I hope you still think the story is cool.

I hope I tagged all the right warnings. If you think I should add some, please let me know! I hope you enjoy!

-Ethereal (✿◡‿◡)

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Luke was often at the Demon Lord’s castle baking alongside the royal butler, but it was rare that he was ever this quiet.  

On one hand, it made it a lot easier to get things done when Luke wasn’t distracted and excitedly bouncing around the kitchen, talking about this and that or how next time they just have to try this new recipe he found.

But Barbatos found that it wasn’t anywhere near as fun.

Their chaotic baking sessions always brightened up the kitchen. Even if the results weren’t perfect, they always had fun.

They made the lonely castle seem full of life.

And though Luke wasn’t any less distracted today, he wasn’t talking at all.

Barbatos found it very unnerving.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Luke grabbed a measuring cup and started to measure the wrong ingredient.

When he didn’t catch his own mistake, Barbatos intervened.

“Ah, Luke, hang on. That’s meant to be sugar.” Barbatos gently grabbed Luke’s wrist and pulled it away from the missing bowl.

“It’s…huh?” Luke shook his head slightly, snapping out of it and double checking. Sure enough, the container was labelled ‘salt’.

Usually Luke would’ve laughed it off, or perhaps reprimanded Barbatos for treating him like a child (despite the fact that he was).

Today wasn’t the usual sort of day, though.

“Oh,” was the only response he got, then Luke turned away to grab the right container.

Then Barbatos heard a sniffle.

“Luke…?” Barbatos took a few steps towards him, unsure. “Is something the matter?”

Luke whirled around, revealing tears streaming down his red face. “I just can’t do anything right!”

“It was only one mistake,” Barbatos pointed out, taking a few more steps towards the angel.

Luke shook his head, clearly frustrated.

“No, it’s not!” He looked away, furiously scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “I already messed up lots with Michael already, I can’t make any more mistakes!”

“With Michael?” Barbatos asked, prompting Luke to continue.

Luke sniffled. “When I was in the Celestial Realm, Michael asked me to send him stuff when I got back. He wanted some princess poison apple thingies, those cupcakes Asmodeus likes, and three different teas. He also asked me if I could do some baking for a bankquet that he was having next week.”

Luke took a deep breath, steadying his breathing. “He wanted a few dozen cookies with a few different flavors, a cake iced like the photo he sent me, and he asked if I could make some red velvet cupcakes.”

“Oh, was that all?” Barbatos said sarcastically. That seemed like an awful lot to demand of an angel as young as him.

Unfortunately, the sarcasm was completely lost on the child.

“Y-yeah!” Luke’s eyes started to water again, and he plopped down on the floor. He curled up into a ball, swallowing thickly. “It was so easy, and I still messed it up!”

“What happened?” Barbatos asked as he joined him on the ground.

“I-I made chocolate cupcakes instead!” Luke cried, throwing himself into the crook of Barbatos’ shoulder. “I forgot he wanted red velvet!”

“He didn’t write all that down for you?” Barbatos asked in disbelief.

Luke didn’t respond, sobbing.

Barbatos gave up on asking questions for the moment, wrapping his arms around the child as he wept.

“I know you’re not a child,” Barbatos said. It wasn’t true by any means, but it would make Luke feel better. “But as far as angels go, you’re still very young. It’s expected that you’re going to make mistakes. To be honest, I’m surprised Michael was this upset with you.”

Luke sobbed even harder, saying something that was mostly incoherent.

What Barbatos did manage to make out made his blood run cold.

“Wasn’t…can’t…gonna…fall…!”

“Falling? Who said you were going to fall?” Barbatos demanded a bit too harshly, peeling the child off of him to search his face.

“No one told me,” Luke scoffed. “But that’s what happens when angels make mistakes! Lucifer and his brothers and Lilith made a mistake, and they got casted out of heaven!”

“That’s…” Barbatos trailed off while Luke snuggled into him again. That was a gross oversimplification of what had actually happened. And using that twisted version of events to scare young angels into behaving was just disgusting.

Of course, Barbatos couldn’t tell Luke that. Luke was very proud of his role as Michael’s servant, and his home in the celestial realm. Telling him how awful the celestial realm truly was would only cause the angel more distress.

He had to say something, though. He couldn’t let his favorite baking partner think he’d be damned to Hell over cupcakes.

“That’s not what happened,” was what he finally settled on.  

“Huh?” Luke had settled down a little, but he was still trembling.

Barbatos rubbed a hand along Luke’s back, trying to reassure him. “What Lucifer and his siblings did was far…more severe than mixing up a delivery request.”

“What did they do?” Luke asked.

Barbatos sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”  

Because then you’d see that they were in the right.

“Because it’s not important,” he said instead. “You trust me, don’t you?”

He felt Luke nod.

“Yeah, you’re alright…for a demon…anyways.” He mumbled the last part under his breath.  

Barbatos knew better than to take it personally and chuckled instead. “Then please believe me when I say, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Little slip-ups happen to everyone.” He lowered his voice, his tone almost sly. “Even Michael.”

Luke gasped, pulling back. “What!? No way!”

Barbatos smiled, glad to see Luke wasn’t frowning anymore. “It’s true. Lucifer told me that once, during a very important meeting in the Celestial Realm, Michael spilled an entire cup of coffee on himself.”

 “Michael…he-?” Luke cut himself off, giggling.

Barbatos nodded. “Yes. And would you like to know what I find the most interesting about this story?”

Luke nodded eagerly, wiping the last remaining tears out of his eyes.

“The reason Michael spilled his coffee is because Lucifer startled him…by poking him with a pencil.”

There was a beat of silence before a huge grin spread across Luke’s face, and he burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Barbatos couldn’t help but laugh as well— laughter is contagious.

Suddenly the two were interrupted by a ding.

“Oh! The oven is ready for the cookies!” Luke exclaimed, scrambling to get up from Barbatos’ lap.

“Oof- Ah yes, you’re right.” Barbatos stood up as well, brushing himself off.

He watched as Luke began working on the cookie dough with his usual enthusiasm. He shook his head with a small smile and took his place beside the young angel.

Someday, Luke would be too old to distract that easily.

He’d learn more about the war. He’d learn why the brothers had truly fallen, and he’d learn about the less-than-perfect aspects of the Celestial Realm.

But today wasn’t that day.

No.

Today was the day they perfected their chocolate chip cookie recipe.

#obey me #obey me luke #obey me barbatos #obey me hurt #obey me angst #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #issuing my formal apology to the fandom in advance

[c-worldproductions]

The Cat Lady and the Shopkeeper meet a sleepy demon bunny.

🐮 Belphie: ? (If this was you or you know this cosplayer, please let me, so I can do a proper credit. Thanks!)

🐈‍⬛ Yoruichi: lockheartcosplay (IG)

❇️ Kisuke: me

📷 Photographer: Kai

🗓️ Event: @otafest 2023

🎀 Bow Tie: polarprincecosplays (IG)

#C-World Productions #Otafest #Otafest 2023 #cosplay #casual cosplay #formal cosplay #AU cosplay #Obey Me #Obey Me! #Obey Me! Shall We Date? #Belphie #Belphegor #Avatar Of Sloth #Bleach #Yoruichi #Yoruichi Shihouin #Shihouin Yoruichi #Kisuke #Kisuke Urahara #Urahara Kisuke

[chipped-chimera]

Sometimes I contemplate making smut fanart/content, but then I remember we live in a puritan tech dystopia and where the everloving fuck would I post it these days?

#kerytalk #I miss golden age tumblr #there's pillowfort but it's ... kinda dead #and the website formally known as twitter I am not touching for a multitude of reasons #a big one also being anything on there can be used for Muskrat's AI models now #idk what the fuck about bluesky but I don't have an invite for it anyway so that's moot #this brainworm brought to you by - #'I am sick of how so much fanart smut content of women feels gross and male-gaze-ey' #and 'I AM A 30 YEAR OLD AUSTRALIAN WOMAN STOP MAKING ME OBEY YOUR STUPID AMERICAN ANTI HOLE LAWS' #this has been a tag rant #nsft

[delphi-dreamin]

Do you have any pictures for the formal wear👀 I'd love to see

I don't have any drawings right now, unfortunately! None that are up to my standard. (I'll have to color the one I have digitally.) But I have a reference image saved!

This is one that I'm using for the fic based off my Lucifer getting off on watching others wanting you ask. See, she likes to show off her pact marks. And in this dress, you can see four of them clearly. Five if she crosses her legs right.

(Lucifer tries to rip it off of her and she absolutely yells at him about it. "You will cut the laces, Lucifer Morningstar!)

#obey me #mc!delphi #sweet hack #cute moots #☆whispers from the wood #i can for sure tag you when i finally post the formal drawings if you want! #mostly i design the dresses myself #so i don't have references for a lot of them

[leaving-grapefruitss]

what i wanted to export vs what the app exported

#it’s not a formal art app 💀 i use it for note taking but it was too hard to resist when it provided layers #regardless i know i said that i wouldn’t post more drawing content for a bit but i guess a few days is a bit..? #i’ll catch up on reblogging and whatnot soon but for the time being i #i’m going to chill 🥲 and finish the seasons of total drama again #obey me #obey me! #obey me fanart #obey me! fanart #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #om! #obm #shall we date #obmswd #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date? #shall we date? #omswd #obey me one master to rule them all #belphie #belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #obey me! belphie #om! belphie #om! belphegor #obey me shall we date belphie #obey me shall we date belphegor #shall we date belphie

[lucifersincentivetosleep]

3 months late on this news but apparently Seven Seas has been given license to translate the physical Obey Me! Manga which I was actually excited about.

Then I saw they're selling volume one for $15USD, which is usually what light novels sell for which this is not(manga are usually priced at $5-7 USD per volume).

Like no thank you, byeeeee 👋🏻

Though, if it's priced that way as a result of the unionizing that went on last year then actually I am fine with that, pay your translators.

I'm not excited to potentially pay what will round up to about $45 USD without shipping or tax for three volumes of manga, but if it's priced like that because manga should already be more expensive to cover the cost of paying your people a living wage then fine, whatever.

Unless they're only releasing the large trim editions; which are always more expensive, then the $15 price point actually makes sense.

Undecided on buying the physical manga rn but at least I know it's being translated by a reputable source this time and not... whatever the heck mangaplaza has going on.

#screaming into my personal void #obey me comic #we'll just have to wait and see honestly #apologies if this is all over i have trouble organizing my thoughts sometimes #also if you're curious about the union from what I understand they're formally recognised #and still in talks about finalizing agreements according to their twitter #solmares recent decisions are also making it hard to justify spending money on the game despite how much I like it

[solosatan]

saw the outfit board @barbabetos made for her mc and CAVED and threw together one for lydia as well.

they're a very simple bitch insofar as they default almost exclusively to neutrals and layers -- she's not super interesting LMFAO. they operate on a spectrum from like, vaguely grungy and casual to... idk schlubby office chic??

brother's thoughts under the cut hehe

lucifer: when they dress up they're very... same hat. the black + layers combo is a favorite for both of them. there have been times where they’ve walked downstairs for breakfast wearing almost identical outfits (albeit with lucifer looking significantly more well put together)) and both of them get clowned on hard. RAD newspaper club has an ongoing “who wore it better” segment for them bc i think its funny. when they dress down he's like "please try harder. you do realize you’re representing both mine and diavolo’s judgement in acting as a representative for the human realm etc., etc." and they bite him

mammon: prefers louder patterns/styles in general so he doesnt quite "get" her fashion sense but tends to prefer her more casual/grungy styles overall ((he feels weirdly out of place around her when they approach the 'lucifer' end of their fashion spectrum.)) thinks their tattoos are neat!

leviathan: generally has the same opinions as mammon + also is one of the brother's she's more likely to dress down with since they're usually hanging out in his room. he likens their all black palette to his favorite anime villains and she hits him even though she's secretly flattered.

satan: has mixed feelings -- he finds that their clothes suit them well and thinks they look nice in them, but on days where they’re walking around looking like lucifer jr... he’s ever so slightly perturbed LMFAO. he does get over it eventually tho. votes for her every time when the newspaper club runs a “who wore it better” segment on principle alone.

asmo: the one who suggested the segment to mephistopheles. generally doesn’t find anything wrong with her fashion sense, but finds it a little boring. constantly trying to drag them out shopping and push them out of their comfort zone. if you see lydia wearing something that doesn’t look like them, chances are it’s asmo’s doing.

beel: truly does not care either way. he thinks she looks nice! but if you were to ask him to describe anything they wear beyond basic colors, i don’t think he’d be able to. always comments on it when they wear a non-neutral color -- not in a passive aggressive/weird condescending way of course -- it’s just generally the only time he actually takes note of what she’s wearing. sometimes he slips a compliment in there (e.g., you don’t wear yellow often. i think it suits you, though) and accidentally flusters her. other times he just says some shit like “you’re wearing orange today” and they’re like “??? yeah?”

belphegor: also on team “does not care” but generally has similar fashion sense. on the off chance that belphie is dressed up for the day (slim to none) his clothes are relatively similar to lydia’s on a “dress down” kind of day. i’d say the one main difference being that belphegor seems to have a preference for colors over neutrals -- but in terms of form/function they’re pretty similar. 

bonus solomon: probably has the most similar fashion sense out of anyone in the cast, so it’s not at all uncommon to see them walking around together in very similar outfits. (this pisses lucifer off because he feels like solomon should be the one getting blasted in the newspaper every few weeks for dressing like her, because it really happens to him more than it does to lucifer. mephisto knows this and that’s why the segment is never going to change.) once they start dating lydia is constantly stealing his clothes, which he openly encourages and enjoys.

#SORRY i feel like this is boring fkkjhdjkfhdsakj #yes i dress like this no i do not have a particularly adventurous style no i will not change #literally rocking the grey slacks + turtleneck combo as i write this #obey me mc #lydia #didnt include the rest of the datables/newbies just bc i dont feel like they have any particular thoughts #also to clarify the ways in which their fashion sense overlaps with the three respective people mentioned: #'business casual' for lucifer = unusually dressy for lydia #'semi-formal' for belphie = casual/relaxed for lydia #and she and solomon just dress the fucking same

[jaegerdilf]

pairings: choso kamo x f! reader

warnings: oral + virginity + non / dubcon + cumplay

💌: choso has been rotting my brain so so bad n i need to write smth for him 😵‍💫 pls accept this as my formal intro to the jjk writing community on here

to say choso is inexperienced is an understatement. he can count the amount of times he’s jerked off on one hand and he’s never even had sex, but ever since he met you all he wants is to bury his cock inside your cunt and fuck you til he’s spent.

it becomes increasingly more difficult for choso to resist taking what he wants, blushing a deep red every time you speak to him because just seconds before he was picturing you beneath him, pussy stretched beyond it’s limits as he fucks you raw and fills your womb with load after load of his sticky cum, wanting nothing more than to use you for his pleasure.

he bides his time, growing closer to you and gaining your trust, subtly sinking his grasp deeper and deeper into you before suggesting you let him fuck you. what he doesn’t know, is that you crave his dick just as bad, spending your nights humping a pillow to the thought of him rearranging your insides.

you make your move first, “accidentally” grinding against choso’s sensitive bulge or pressing your tits into his arms, tired of waiting around for him to do something and each interaction leaves him impossibly hard, seconds away from blowing his load and cumming in his pants.

he’s finally had enough when you bend over and flash your panties, his eyes locked on the wet spot on the gusset and he nearly salivates while staring at your cunt.

choso wastes no time forcing you to your knees, watching as your eyes glaze over and noticing how eager you are to obey.

“oh,” he says, laughing a little when the realization that you’re a cockslut hits him, “you wanted this, huh?”

you nod dumbly, unable to tear your eyes away as he frees his cock. the veins make your mouth water but his thickness scares you, wondering how the hell you’re meant to take that. it’s almost like he can read your mind and it makes you shudder when your hear him speak. “don’t worry sweetheart, i’ll make it fit.”

that’s the only warning you receive before choso forces his entire length down your throat, not bothering to ask for permission. he uses you like a toy, ignoring your gags in favor of focusing on the feeling of your throat tightening up around him, grunting when you use your tongue to trace a vein on the underside of his cock. you do your best to keep your eyes open and on his face. he isn’t usually expressive but it seems as though the white hot pleasure he feels has done a number on him, brows furrowed and his jaw tight while you work your mouth over him.

he can feel his orgasm approaching as he fucks your throat and reluctantly pulls you off his cock, a whiney moan escaping him as you suckle the tip before releasing him from your mouth.

“why’d you make me stop?” you pout, voice raspy from having your mouth violated. you’re itching to make him cum and drain his balls until he can’t anymore, desperate to finally taste him.

choso’s torso is flushed and covered in sheen of sweat, the view making your thighs clench while you wait for him to do something. “made you stop ‘cause i’m gonna cum on your pretty face.”

he curses when you look up at him through wet lashes, tears threatening to fall, tongue hanging out in preparation for his thick load and it makes him cum almost instantly. he doesn’t even have to stroke his cock before it’s twitching and he’s emptying his balls on your face. his load is thick and seems never ending, globs of it draping over your lashes and covering your face, making you moan when some makes its way into your mouth.

choso thinks he’s in love.

in love with how you drag your fingers across your face and slip the cum coated digits in your mouth. the urge to kiss you is strong and he gives into it immediately, pressing his lips to your clumsily before you take the lead and slide your tongue into his mouth, causing him to groan into the kiss when he tastes himself on your tongue.

#♡.confectionary #jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo #jjk #jjk choso #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso x reader #choso smut #🍭.dubcon #🍭.oral #🍭.cum play #🍭.virginity

[onyourowndaisymae]

presenting the obey me dateables (+ luke) with a friendship bracelet

you all asked so nicely for the dateables that i couldn't help but get inspired! i intend to reverse this prompt and write the characters making you a friendship bracelet sometime soon (will be split by demon brothers/dateables bc that's so many words)

[the demon brothers version]

[the dateables (+ luke) presenting you with a friendship bracelet]

content warnings: none

prompt: you grin down at your work. in your hands is a small friendship bracelet, lovingly crafted from hard work and the embroidery thread you found in your closet. you weren't quite sure why you'd made it, but the thought of giving a certain someone the bracelet and watching their reaction made you smile. now, to hand it off...

Diavolo

this is a mistake.

at least, that's what barbatos and lucifer think. because from the moment you present diavolo with a friendship bracelet, it is all he talks about.

when you approach him with the little gift--a red and black bundle of knots and strings-- and offer it up, he laughs jovially and asked what it was. you explain it's a friendship bracelet. from where you're from, you make them for people you care about, so they can have a piece of you with them every day. it's usually a tradition for children and teens, but you thought it would be fun to give him the bracelet regardless. you were just thinking about him (and his lonely childhood-- but you don't say that part aloud) and how he didn't really do stuff like this when he was young... so maybe he'd appreciate it now? you start to feel a little silly by the end of your explanation, so you look up at him to try to gauge his reaction.

you would have thought you proposed with how touched this man looked.

his expression softens and his eyes go wide. he puts out his hands to take the gift and you hand it over. his face quickly splits into a grin as he inspects each individual knot and string. did you really make this? he's impressed. look at how lovely it is! he raves about the quality for longer than necessary (it's not that good, mind you) as you flush from all the praise.

you offer to tie it for him and his eyes sparkle. truly, you never thought he'd enjoy a gift like this that much-- nonetheless, you're incredibly flattered.

how did you make this bracelet? what material is this? will you teach him how to make one, too? how often is he supposed to wear this?

the last question makes you chuckle. honestly, that's up to him. you tell him about that time you wore a friendship bracelet all summer one year, until it was a frayed biohazard that stank up the whole room. you recommend taking it off for showers and activities that might get it that dirty-- please, diavolo, learn from your childhood mistakes-- but other than that, he can wear it whenever he feels like. you assure him that your feelings won't get hurt if he doesn't, but he quickly reassures you that he definitely plans on wearing it.

... and he is not bluffing when he pledges this commitment to you. diavolo will wear his friendship bracelet all day every day, only taking it off when absolutely necessary. that does not include formal meetings or events. he is wearing that damn bracelet. what are they going to do, call him out? he's the fucking demon king (well, close enough).

Barbatos

you present barbatos with the bracelet one day when you've joined him for an afternoon in the kitchen.

he's carefully explaining how he gets the texture to this pastry just right-- there's a clear balance between airiness and moisture, you see-- while you try to listen. you can't help but let your mind wander as he talks. doesn't he know this friendship bracelet is practically burning a hole in your pocket?!

"mc, are you listening?"

he's looking up at you with expectant eyes, and you feel yourself flush in embarrassment. you barely get alone time with him as-is, and here you are, wasting it! you apologize and explain you've been a bit distracted. he welcomes you to share (if you are so inclined), pausing his work to give you his full attention.

it's now or never. you can either be brave, or you can walk back to the house of lamentation with your tail between your legs!

you present the butler with your creation-- a green and black friendship bracelet-- with a small explanation of what it is. you feel juvenile presenting an ancient demon such a childish gift, but he accepts your gift with a nod and a small smile. barbatos sets aside the gift for the rest of the day, careful that it won't get soiled by the mess of ingredients as he continues his baking lesson.

you assume barbatos has stored in somewhere out of sight-- you'd like to think he cares enough about your feelings to keep it, but you have also never seen him wear it. you're starting to feel like an idiot for even gifting him such a silly thing in the first place. he's arguably the second most powerful demon in the realm. he doesn't have time for a chintzy little bundle of strings from some insignificant human!

you're at the castle one day on another retreat with the rest of the house of lamentation residents. in a chaotic scuffle with one of his brothers, mammon manages to knock an open bottle of demonus directly into barbatos' chest. the butler sighs and begins to take off his coat while lucifer is moments away from tearing mammon into thirds.

as he opens his jacket, you spot it.

pinned inside the front of his jacket is, undoubtably, your bracelet. you recognize that striped pattern from a mile away. you can't forget the embarrassing amount of time you spent toiling away over cheap embroidery floss (not to mention the several mess-ups you had to throw out). you almost can't believe that's where he's been keeping it all this time.

barbatos catches you staring at the bracelet and gives you a small, secret smile. he leaves the jacket open for a moment longer-- it's like he knows, like he's letting you commit the image to memory-- before folding it neatly in his arms. he turns on his heel and walks back to his room before you can react further.

you're a little bummed to see him go. after all, that bracelet was probably ruined in all the liquid-y chaos from a few minutes ago. yet when he returns, adjusting his jacket one last time, you swear you see a flash of green and black string.

maybe it was just your imagination. and maybe that knowing look on his face was, too.

Simeon

you've found the clump of tangled embroidery floss in your closet among things you've brought from the human world. you aren't really sure how it got there, but you've got some free time to kill-- why not try to make one of those friendship bracelets you had growing up?

it starts out in your head as a stupid little joke. who among the people you know here would be the most accepting of a dumb little gift like this?

... simeon, probably. i mean, the guy's an angel. isn't being gracious and kind part of their whole schtick?

as you weave the threads together, you feel yourself get excited. simeon means a lot to you. he's been there any time you've needed him throughout the entire exchange program, always there to lend a hand or a listening ear whenever you so desire. you don't get to see him as much as you'd like, seeing as he lives all the way over at purgatory hall, but you feel you're close enough to give him such a gift.

you catch him after class at RAD one day. you don't have time run by purgatory hall after school, and you're worried if you wait much longer to give him the bracelet, you'll somehow lose or destroy it. when you approach, he's all smiles.

"mc? to what do i owe the honor?"

you ask if you can speak to him alone-- nobody misses the suggestively suspicious look solomon tosses the two of you-- and he leads you to a quite corner of the hallway.

suddenly, this whole thing feels very silly. but, at this point, you've already dragged him away from everyone, so you might as well go through with it.

you pull the blue and white friendship bracelet from the pocket of your uniform and offer it out to him. you explain that it's a friendship bracelet, something that human kids usually exchange as a show of friendship and devotion. you were in the mood to make one the other night and thought he might appreciate it. there. that didn't sound too cringe, right?

your gaze slowly lifts from your hands to find simeon in as disheveled of a state as you. his cheeks are flushed and his face is frozen as he processes your explanation. then a slow, delighted smile spreads over his cheeks.

out of everything to happen today, he definitely did not anticipate this happening. yet he couldn't be more pleased. he gives you his thanks as you tie the bracelet around his wrist-- over his gloves, so he can show it off to everyone, he tells you.

what did you say these were for? an expression of friendship? he's touched that you'd include him in an intimate human ritual like this (it's not that deep, but his smile makes you bite your tongue). would you be willing to stop by purgatory hall sometime soon so he can learn more about it? he loves any story you tell, after all.

you part ways with identical grins and a promise to meet again sometime soon. simeon assures you that he'll take care of the bracelet-- it's very special, you know, since you're the one that gave it to him.

and take care of it he does. every time you see him, he's wearing that bracelet. it looks nicer than the day you gave it to him! you're surprised, until satan reminds you simeon's always wearing white. clearly, he's good at keeping things clean.

he wears a big ass white cloak all day, every day. you think a little bracelet is going to trip him up? nah. simeon values your gift-- the gesture, the time you put into making him the bracelet, the skill it took to make such a pretty little thing-- too much to let an ounce of dirt sully his favorite present.

Solomon

hey, solomon. you want a friendship bracelet?

he looks up from his school work to eye you curiously. you two are on opposite sides of a table in one of RAD's many libraries. you're supposed to be studying, but you got bored fifteen minutes ago and haven't been productive since.

you pull a bundle of embroidery floss out of your pocket and spread it out on the table. a rainbow of colors sits mostly untangled-- you've been trying all day, but some knots are simply too stubborn-- across the smooth wood, and across the materials you should really be studying right now.

got a color preference, sorcerer boy, or am i going to have to give you the ugliest combination i can think of?

he laughs and tells you to do your worst. are you actually going to make one, though? how do you even remember how to do that? he admits he's never actually had one before. you tease him for being a lonely old man. he teases you right back for being a dweeb who wastes brain space on how to make gifts for third graders.

just for that comment, his bracelet's going to be ugly. and you won't even try to make it not lumpy, too. in your face, peepaw.

you get to work weaving the strings into a particular pattern of knots. you've chosen snot green and tree bark brown, paired nicely with a subtle hot pink for a more elegant look. slowly but surely, you start forming the stripes of the bracelet. you can feel his eyes on you, but for once, you decide not to tease him. you're feeling generous today, after all.

when you finish, you tie off the lose end and untape the other from the front of your textbook-- that's certainly the most useful its been to you all day-- with a victorious little smirk. he's still watching you work. you've succeeded in distracting him as well, congrats! it's what he deserves for dragging you into a half an hour argument between levi and asmo last week for no other reason than to see you struggle to keep the peace. karma's a bitch, and seeing this ugly ass bracelet across his wrist will be the cherry on top.

you instruct him to hold out his wrist and he complies. you start tying the ends together, careful not to permanently knot it around his wrist, when--

"wow, you actually made it for me. does that mean we're best friends now? i guess i'll have to brag to those brothers about it, won't i?"

you feel your life flash before your eyes. suddenly, you can hear it in your mind-- seven overlapping voices arguing, louder and louder, for you to make them a friendship bracelet as well. nothing will satiate their jealousy with each other. it's like entertaining a horde of toddlers: a gift to one is an insult to the rest.

oh. oh shit.

you're on your feet before you can speak. suddenly, maybe you don't want solomon to have that bracelet anymore. but he's always five steps ahead of you. literally, in this case, seeing as he's already taken off towards the other end of the library. oh hell no.

you manage to catch up to him eventually, and the afternoon devolves into you (playfully and consensually) bullying each other over the gift.

for all his big talk, he does actually wear the bracelet every day. you think that it's mostly to make you worry that one of the brothers might ask about it-- and that's definitely a big part of why he does it, seeing as he smirks every time he catches you looking at it-- but you think there must be a part of him that actually likes it, ugly color scheme and all.

it's solomon, remember? horrible chef, spellcaster to varying degrees of success, general menace to society. that bracelet is filthy in a matter of days. what's worse, though, is that he also has a terrible habit of breaking or losing it. this would be fine under normal circumstances. no harm, no foul, right? but every three to four business days, whenever he breaks it or covers it in mud or loses it somewhere in the hallway, he's up your ass for you to make him a new one.

what can he say? you're besties, aren't you? that's why you made the bracelet in the first place. now chop chop, mc, his wrist feels naked.

Luke

you visit purgatory hall after school one day, a pep in your step and a bright smile on your face. a few of the brothers question your giddiness as you head out (mammon especially didn't like that you wouldn't elaborate where you were going or who you were seeing), but you make it to your destination unscathed and unfollowed.

when you walk in-- you've had an open invite to visit whenever since the early days of the exchange program-- you spot luke baking in the kitchen. he calls out to you from his spot near the oven and invites you to try this cake he's been working on. barbatos taught him the recipe last week, and ever since, he's been working hard to perfect his version of the dish.

you spend a few minutes playing taste tester for the little angel before you get his attention. you've got a gift for him. the anticipation is starting to kill you, so you'd like to get it out of your hands.

you open your palms and reveal your present: a white and gold friendship bracelet. you explain that it's usually a gift kids in the human realm give each other.

... probably the wrong wording, considering who you're giving the gift to.

"is this because you think i'm a child? now you sound like lucifer! listen here, i'll have you know i report directly to archangel michael, who--"

you let him continue his little rant until he gets it all out of his system. when he's done, looking at you expectantly for some sort of rebuttal, you grin and explain the real reason for your gift. you think of luke as a close friend, and you wanted to give him a gift familiar to your culture that communicates that with the world.

an embarrassed flush spreads over his cheeks as the cherub realizes he might have jumped to conclusions. he sheepishly smiles at you and asks you to tell him more.

you tie the bracelet onto his wrist and explain all your favorite childhood memories with gifts like these. every friendship bracelet, each matching necklace you got with a childhood friend, all of those little mementos of friendships past still sit in a box in your closet. you might outgrow wearing a yarn bracelet (or it might have grown filthy over the years with all your sticky-fingered adventures), but you'll never outgrow the memories behind them.

luke asks if he can see them some day. will you tell him more stories if he visits you at the house of lamentation? you smile and agree-- so long as he doesn't get gobbled up on the way there. now he's protesting again. he's not a child! (whatever you say, luke).

by the end of the evening, you've explained the knotting patterns you used to make the bracelet. luke tells you to watch out-- he's gonna make you such an amazing bracelet, just you wait! you grin, already excited to show off his little creation.

#solomon is SUCH a shithead #peepaw is so fun to bully #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me simeon #obey me simeon x reader #obey me luke #obey me headcanons #otome

[leclsrc]

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver. 

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are). 

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases. 

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?���

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.” 

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max. 

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed. 

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving. 

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?” 

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. 

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck. 

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up. 

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

[lancermylove]

Proposal (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Lucifer, Mammon, Diavolo, Barbatos with gn!Reader

Warning: None

Prompt: He proposes to you.

A/N: Sorry for only doing four! 🙏

———————————————

Lucifer spent weeks meticulously planning the perfect proposal for you, taking into account your personality, preferences, and the significance of the moment.

Ultimately, he arranged a private dinner in the garden of Diavolo's castle under the starlit sky.

Before the main event, Lucifer took you on a stroll through the lavish garden, walking hand in hand with you. He reminisced about your journey together and expressed his deep affection and gratitude for your presence in his life. If you hadn't been there, his relationship with his brothers would still be broken. And even if Lucifer didn't tell you, he was genuinely thankful for everything you did for him.

As the two of you reached a secluded spot near the banks of the lake, Lucifer stopped and firmly held onto your hand. His gaze softened as he spoke from the bottom of his heart. "I cannot fathom a life without your presence, nor do I wish to imagine it. You have changed me in a way I would not have thought. You have brought light and warmth into my barren heart. Hence..." 

He brought out a beautifully crafted jewelry box containing a ring with your favorite gemstone before getting down on one knee. "Would you do me the honors of protecting and loving you?"

The moment you said yes, he delicately slid the ring onto your finger and stood up to give you a long, passionate kiss. 

It was the happiest moment in his life thus far, and he hoped to create more happy memories and moments with you.

Despite his usual bravado, Mammon was secretly nervous about proposing to you, and while he wasn't the type to care for perfection, he wanted that moment to be perfect.

Mammon invited you to a casual outing as he wanted only the two of you to be present. The last thing the demon wanted was for his brothers to cause trouble or interfere in any way.

He took you on a long drive, eventually stopping at a secluded meadow under the pretense of a picnic. You thought it was a bit odd for him to have a picnic basket because you never considered him to be a picnic-going demon. But between your favorite snacks and the beauty of meadows, you weren't complaining.

Throughout the picnic, Mammon's nervous energy was palpable as he fidgeted with the ring box hidden in his pocket, stealing glances at you. He knew you picked up on his nervousness but was thankful you didn't point it out blatantly. 

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the meadow, Mammon took a deep breath and mustered up enough courage to speak from his heart. "Hey, (y/n). I've been thinkin'...a lot. Y'know I love ya, yeah? Look, I ain't good with my words, but since ya came into my life, things have been different, y'know? What I'm tryin' to say is I don't wanna live with ya by my side. I wanna see your face every morning, first thing when I wake up. I wanna hold ya close to me and not let go. You've made me a happy demon. I know I ain't perfect, but...I promise to be the best partner I can be for ya..." 

With trembling hands, Mammon took out the ring box and got down on one knee. His eyes were filled with nervousness, but his love for you overpowered his gaze. "So...what do ya say? Wanna marry me?"

As soon as you say yes, Mammon hopped up and gave you his tightest embrace. Then, he started to shower your face with kisses and completely forgot to put the ring on your finger.

Diavolo planned an extravagant proposal fit for royalty, wanting to sweep you off your feet with a grand gesture and let the beings in Devildom know you were taken.

He arranged for a formal ball at the Devildom palace, inviting everyone he could think of under the guise of a general celebration.

Throughout the evening, Diavolo made sure you were treated like royalty, from your attire to showering you with attention and complimenting you left and right.

As the night progressed, Diavolo discreetly signaled for the music to change and took your hand, leading you to the center of the ballroom, where a spotlight illuminated you and him.

If you showed the slightest hint of discomfort in the spotlight, he planned to apologize later. However, Diavolo sank to one knee, producing a velvet-lined box containing a stunning ring fit for his significant other.

With unwavering confidence and charm, Diavolo began to speak. "My dearest, you have brought much joy to us. You have shown perseverance in the face of challenges, compassion in times of need, and confidence in your feats. I cannot think of a better fit for myself and Devildom than you. Would you do the honors of marrying me and ruling Devildom by my side?" 

Diavolo presented the ring to you, his eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation as he awaited your answer. When you said yes, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. The prince slid the ring on your finger before picking you up by your waist and spinning you around. 

While Diavolo was a cheerful man, the smile he had on his lips was far brighter than one anyone had seen.

Barbatos invited you to dinner at the castle. Initially, you thought Diavolo was the one who asked you through Barbatos, but when you reached the kitchen, you noticed him making your favorite dishes from scratch.

You watched him gracefully move around around the kitchen, effortlessly preparing the ingredients and cooking with precision.

As he cooked, Barbatos engaged in light conversation, asking about your day, if the brothers did anything unusual today, and if you had anything planned for the upcoming days. He didn't give hints about his plan until he was almost done cooking. 

Barbatos' questions changed from casual inquiries to questions about your future plans, your goals, aspirations, and what you hoped to achieve. You were confused about why he was curious about your future but decided to shrug it off. However, the conversation left you very curious.

"I love you, (y/n)." He casually said as he passed by you, and just as casually, you responded to him. "I love you too." Not that you realized it then, but Barbatos had a victorious smile on his lips, which he hid from you. 

With the meal ready, Barbatos led you to a table with candles and flowers for a candlelight dinner. Through dinner, he continued the casual conversation until the end. When you began to eat dessert, Barbatos watched you with a smile warmer than his usual one. 

His question had no frills, no long speech, and got straight to the point. "(Y/n), since you love me as well, would you do me the honor of becoming my significant other?" 

With a warm smile, Barbatos presented you with a small, beautifully wrapped box containing the ring. You stared at him blankly with the dessert fork still in your mouth. Then, it dawned on Barbatos that he had confessed his feelings for you, and you confessed in return. He watched you with an amused smirk, enjoying the reel of expressions sweeping across your face.

"I shall take that as an affirmation." Without waiting for you to say yes, he slid the ring on your finger. But to add a cherry on top, he rubbed his thumb across the corner of your lip, wiping some icing. Bringing his thumb to his lips, he licked it off and smirked at you. "Scrumptuous." 

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

#obey me #obey me hcs #obey me headcanons #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #lucifer x you #om lucifer #mammon x reader #obey me mammon #om mammon #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #om diavolo #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader #om barbatos #nightbringer lucifer #nightbringer diavolo #nightbringer barbatos #nightbringer mammon

[sulumuns-dootah]

WHB Kings meeting their Obey Me! counterparts

A/N: I try to not pit/compare these two games against each other, but as someone who was into Obey Me! (and still is) and found out about WHB thanks to it, i need to get this out of my system.

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

The scenario is that OM!Solomon messed up some spell and made Obey Me! and What in Hell is bad? universes interconnect and our demon kings get to meet their other version. (I only included those kings that we've already met in WHB - when we get Belphie and Asmo, I might make part 2)

      ༺☆༻

Lucifer

Their meeting is the calmest and most civilised out of all of them.

They don't really talk outside of formal greeting and some polite small talk

Oh, but on the inside? OM!Lucifer is internally appalled by the amount of skin that's WHB!Lucifer showing

WHB!Lucifer is really wondering who this Diavolo guy is, since OM!Lucifer managed to mention him in their little small talk about ten times

OM!Lucifer excuses himself after some time to go make sure his brothers don't do anything stupid while meeting their counterpart

      ༺☆༻

Mammon

Oh

Oh no

This can go in two ways: OM!Mammon's ego gets absolutely crushed (there seems to be a pattern with WHB!Mammon) and just doesn't talk at all, just moping around while trying to look intimidating or he tries to get some treasures off WHB!Mammon since they're technically the same guy and he can definitely trust that he won't sell it to repay his debts

In the second case OM!Lucifer storms in and stops any of his attempts

That entertains WHB!Mammon though, and so he does give OM!Mammon some worthless (read: expensive, but not that rare) treasures

That lights up OM!Mammon's eyes and he doesn't shut up about it for the next century

      ༺☆༻

Leviathan

Well this goes even worse than the Mammons meeting

OM!Leviathan tries to keep his composure, but fails

The envy is strong in this one and some Lovecraftian horrors might get summoned

OM!Leviathan now has more reasons to put himself down, good luck OM!MC with this one

WHB!Leviathan has a hard time believing that that's him from different universe. What went wrong?

But it does make him feel better. He was worried that this other Leviathan would look better than him and beat him at one of the things he's best at

If OM!Lucifer manages to calm OM!Leviathan, they might be able to bond over their use of bathtubs, but no promises

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Beelzebub

WHB!Beelzebub expected a lot, but not this

He's not horny? He just loves to eat food so much he even eats inedible objects like pillars of buildings?

Though, he does now wonder how that tastes

OM!Beelzebub tries to not judge WHB!Beelzebub just based on looks, but can't help himself to see how thin he is. Does he even eat at all?

Also, what are those gemstones and how would they taste?

The huge word 'FEED' on WHB!Beelzebub's coat reminds him that he hasn't eaten in a while

The moment WHB!Beelzebub mentions about his hobby in cooking, OM!Beelzebub is on board and on the way to the nearest kitchen

Interestingly enough, the aphrodisiac effects don't seem to be working on OM!Beelzebub, so he just enjoys the meal, but secretly wishes it was Barbatos' cooking instead

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Satan

'What do you mean Lucifer is your father?'

These two have hard time accepting that they're technically the same demon.

WHB!Satan is disappointed. He expected someone more scary than horned chicken impersonator. What's that boa about? How do you fight angels in that?

OM!Satan tries to stay calm and not loose his temper when WHB!Satan teases his about his clothing. Somehow he manages.

WHB!Satan is surprisingly more talkative than with most demons. They're the same demon after all and therefore they face the same difficulties, no?

OM!Satan is glad to hear that his other self is favored by his people. The pain kink though? He could do without knowing that, really.

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A bonus! ^^

Barbatos

OM!Barbatos is trying to stay as calm and professional as possible, but can't help but wonder what on earth is that noose for

When he finds out it's to show loyalty for his master, he gets calmer

When he finds out that it does actually gets used for hanging, he's back to slight panic mode

WHB!Barbatos doesn't like OM!Barbatos from the beginning. How does one absorb sunlight in so much clothes? No wonder he's so pale and seemingly tired all the time.

All these gloomy colors make him sad. It's almost like this other Barbatos sucked all the color out of the room.

OM!Barbatos is appaled to find out about WHB!Barbatos' interests, but feels intrigued. If the sun ever came up in Devildom, he would try sunbathing, albeit more modestly dressed.

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