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plush-rabbit · 2 years

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The Dateables Seeing You In Bed

Sometimes I think my friends don’t like me lmao -

You send them a simple message. Just one sentence. A simple plea, asking if they can come to your room and in a few minutes, you hear knocking at your door. The knob turns and they take a quick step inside, closing the door behind them and shutting out the rest of the world. Just as they’re about to ask what you needed- or what you wanted- they see the sad look on your face and make their way to you.

Barbatos:

It isn’t rare for you to message him throughout the day. You’ve expressed that you might be overwhelming him with your constant messages, but he snuffs out those worries each and every time they approach. Barbatos likes knowing that you want to talk to him, and when you send voice notes, he can just listen to you in the background, listen to your ramble on and talk about whatever comes to mind. Everyday, he looks forward to your messages, checking his phone and seeing your name pop up in his notifications. However, when you don’t message him, he starts to worry. Of course, you could have just been busy- living in the House of Lamentation, can take up much of your time due the brothers’ shenanigans. But then you message him, and you ask him to come over and there’s no emoticon, no follow up message, there’s nothing, it’s just a simple plea. Even without a pact, he feels compelled to listen to you, his legs already moving and abandoning the cleaning of one of the many rooms. He calls out to the prince, telling him that it’s urgent and there’s this pit in his stomach.

He knows that something is wrong when he enters the house and no noise greets him. As much as he can roll his eyes at the tomfoolery that happens in the house, it’s a nice change of pace, it’s fun and lively. It’s everything that the brothers brought with them in their descent. But now, it’s silent, and he knows that you’re in your room, and that something is wrong. He reaches the door, and it’s so foreboding, there’s a pit in his that whatever is wrong, is something that can’t be fixed- at least, not now. His knuckles rap against the wood, a hollow sound echoes in his ears. One second passes and he feels something lodged in his throat. Two seconds, and you still haven’t answered. Three seconds, and your voice is muffled by the wood, telling him to come in. The knob twists in his hands, and the metal knob chills his gloved hand.

The door closes behind him in a soft click, and the rest of the world is shut out. It’s so quiet in your room. When he speaks to ask if you’re okay, it feels criminal to break such a silence, like he’s ruining the safety of your room. He turns to see you, and finds you in the bed, curled in a blanket, the fabric twisted in your hands and pulled to your chest. You look so sad, and he rushes to you, dropping to his knees to look you in the eye. Your eyes quickly avert from him in something that he can’t decipher. Shame? Sadness? A mixture of guilt and loneliness? He pulls his gloves off and lays them on the floor beside him. Your eyes close when his hand cups your cheek, his thumb soothing an arch against your cheek. The blanket clenched in your hand relaxes, and he doesn’t speak when your mouth pulls into a thin line and you can’t look at him. For a moment, he worries that he had done something wrong- that perhaps he forgot an important date, that something, whatever it was or is, is causing you so much grief. But the way that you look so alone, and exhausted- he knows that it isn’t him. You’re the one who called him, you’re allowing him to keep his hands on you- you’re in need of his comfort, and he knows enough that that is all that you need at the moment.

It’s not rare for him to remain quiet, but in this situation where you can’t look at him and can’t bring yourself to talk, he is unsure what to do. He can’t speak, his words having lodged themselves in his throat, suffocating him and rendering him into nothing more than a demon kneeled before you. You open your eyes slowly, and they’re shining with dew, and he’s before you, the hand on your cheek curving to your bicep covered by the blanket. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and you shift your eyes, and part your mouth, closing it without a word. He asks you if you need anything- if there’s anything that you want. You let the fabric fall and and your hands reach out, fingers curved and pulling back into a loose fist as if that action were too rash, too selfish and forward. He nods, and raises himself to kiss at your temple.

As he moves, the bed creaks under his weight, and he’s careful to not disturb you, careful to leave the blanket as it is. He lies beside you, and despite being clothed in his uniform, he pushes any thought of being uncomfortable away, hands curving around you, pulling your back close to his chest. With his hand on your chest, your heart beats against his palm, like a bird trying to free itself from a cage. In the next moment, he can hear your soft cries- the way that you take in shuddering breaths, the whimpers and whines that escape through closed lips; and he holds you tighter, kissing the back of your head and mumbling comforting words when a sob is louder than the rest. It’s clear that you don’t want to talk about whatever is making you feel upset, but you also don’t want to be alone. He won’t leave you alone. You could refuse to talk and only weep, and he would still be here, his duties forgotten as you lay beside him. Your nail scratches along the side of his index finger, and with wet lips, you kiss where you've scratched, mumbling a soft apology as if you would ever need to apologize to him. You twist in his arms and Barbatos finally sees the defeat in your eyes- how you blink away the fresh tears, and ignore the way that they wet the pillowcase under you. There are heavy bags under your eyes and with his hand, he cups your cheek. He kisses the tip of your nose, and you hug him, pulling yourself close to him, and he can feel your breath exhale against his chest.

Diavolo:

The day is dragging by, turning seconds into minutes and minutes into hours and so on and so on. It’s a bore that he has felt before, something so heavy, like an anchor sinking him into a pit. His day is dragging by, consuming and slow, a detached reality that feels far too fuzzy and much like static. Surprisingly, you haven’t responded to any of his messages. Of course, you could be busy, but you’re so diligent with responding to him- or at the very least opening his messages. However, for today, you don’t seem to do any of that. As if committing a crime, molten gold is focused on the gap between the door and the floor, searching for any glances- fearing that a certain butler would pop in and chastise him for not being focused on the paperwork that’s been set in front of him. Diavolo has a good reason to glance at his phone and search for you on Devilgram, seeing if you had uploaded any stories that could give him an answer as to why you’re so radio silent. However, there is nothing there; the last update is from hours ago- from yesterday to be exact. His brows knit together and in that same moment, a message from you pops in his notification bar. He reads it in the next moment- you’re asking him to come over. It’s a simple request, one that you and he have asked each other plenty of times before, but for some reason, it feels different. There’s an added weight onto it.

He rushes out the door and before his sudden exit can be questioned or worried, he says in a hurried voice that he has to check up on you. The door isn’t full shut behind him- the cast of the yellow glow off the palace tiles shine into the outside, and then it’s gone- replaced by the doors to the House of Lamentation, and there’s an eeriness to it- something that makes him hesitate before he opens the door without warning. He doesn’t take notice of the silent house, how it’s far too quiet, far too lonely. His mind is set on you- on finding you, and- and- being with you. He stands at your door, and he hesitates to open the door. His hand is centimeters away from the knob, and he pulls away. He wants to enter, and he knows that you’re inside, blocked by a piece of wood that is far too easy to break. With restraint, he knocks against the hollow, and waits for you. It takes a moment for him to hear your voice croaking, allowing him passage into your room.

A yellow glow from your lamp illuminates the hallway for a moment before it’s snuffed out by the closing of the door. He steps inside and finds you in an instant, curled up towards the edge of your bed, blanket wrapped around you and with red rimmed eyes that are still wet with tears. You give him a sad smile, and sniffle while doing so. He’s at your side in an instant, the knees of his pants stretched and dirtied by the floor. His words are said in a gentle manner, asking what had happened, and it only strives to make you whimper and shake your head, trying to bury it further into the pillow like a lost child too scared to face the monster under the bed. He hates to be the one to cause you to cry, but he presses further, asking if someone had done this to you, and once more, you shake your head, telling him your answer that’s muffled by the pillow.

You’re in no manner to talk at the moment. You try to stop your tears, trying so desperately to hold the cries in and all that comes out are pitiful whimpers. A heavy hand wipes away the tears that can be seen, that aren’t caught by the fabric of the pillowcase. In a strained voice, you tell him that you’re not feeling too well, that right now, things are just a bit too much. He has an inkling of what that feels like, but to see you reduced to tears and clinging at his wrist with a weak grip, he knows that right now, you need him in the way that he’s always needed someone like you. The bed groans under his familiar weight, and you turn, twisting the blanket above your body as you hold onto him. Your tears catch onto his shirt, and his arms encircle around you, pulling you close and running his hand down your back, hoping that it’ll soothe you in some type of way.

Every shake of your breath and sob, shakes your body, and he can only imagine what was the breaking point in all of this. But even that proves to be far too much for him- he doesn’t want to think about what you held onto for so long only to have it crumble. The silence in your room is broken by your cries and apologies, and he doesn’t know why you’re apologizing- for crying? For crying onto his shirt? He isn’t sure, but all the same, he tells you not to worry, to just let it out, and that he’ll still be here, waiting patiently until you’ve calmed down. Diavolo holds you, pulls you into him and tells you that no matter what, he’s here, he isn’t going to go anyway, whatever you want, you only need to ask, and he’d give you the world, he’d give you the sun and moon if you’d ask. If it was someone, you could mention the name, and he’d take care of it. He’d stain his hands and feel the grime underneath his nails if it meant that you would smile for him once more. For now, you’ll cry and apologize with a stutter and a tightening grip onto his shirt, and he’ll hold you all the same. Finally, you start to breathe, shakily and unevenly, and you start to whine and hiccup, and his eyes are heavy and so must yours. He presses his lips against your temple, and with the pads of his thumbs, he smears your tears across your cheeks. There’s a ghost of a smile that traces along his lips, and he kisses your crown, pulling you close to him.

Simeon:

The words on the document are blurring in his mind. The words don’t tell a story, but rather they are just words, empty and staining the paper before his eyes. Simeon raises his arms over his head, his eyes closed and joints popping from relief. His phone has been silent save for a few messages, none of too much importance, just a casual update or a picture sent. He is alone in his room, the solidarity making him feel constricted, his room too much of a prison rather than a haven for him away from others. With his eyes on the screen, he grabs at his phone on his side, and as he does so, the screen lights up in a notification. His lips turn upward at your name being displayed. Your message, however, makes his brows furrow and lips part in a soft frown. It’s unlike you- it’s candid. There is no follow up text telling him to take his time, or to not worry. There is no emoticon, or sticker sent to him. It’s a simple message that is unlike you- it has a different tone. Whatever this message is, it isn’t right- it’s worrisome. The chair scrapes against the floor, the door is closed and worry is eroding his mind. He’s unsure of what it could mean- you didn’t even give him a location as to where to go, but he knows where to go as if there is a string of red attaching him to you, leading him to you.

He wastes no time in knocking at the doors- the house is always open and despite the complaints that people come and go as they please, the doors never lock. The House of Lamentation is quiet upon his arrival. His steps echo, his heels clicking against the tiles and it steadily grows into a rapid pace as he rushes towards your room. His side collides with a decorative table in the halls, and a sound of pain wisps into the air and is forgotten behind him. At your door, he stands, catching his breath, lungs collapsing and filling with air as he raises his hand to knock at the door. There’s a sense of urgency as he knocks, and he isn’t fearing for the worst, but rather fearing that you’re alone, that you want him enough to call for him, that the House is silent and you’re alone and trapped in your room. He hears your voice- soft and raspy, muted by the wood that separates him from you- allowing for him to enter.

The knob is swallowed by his hand and the door creaks, extinguishing the silence in a mere second. With the door shutting behind him, the world outside is snuffed out of existence. His eyes find themselves at your bed, where you’re curled up, and you have this shameful look in your eyes. He can see the shining tears that wet your lashes, how you part your mouth to speak, but close it, unable to form any words. He walks swiftly towards you, back straight and legs giving out when he reaches you. He falls to his knees without a second thought, his hands prying yours out of the blanket and interlacing them with his. With his words tenderhearted, he asks what’s wrong, his voice not raising above a whisper.

You squeeze tighter onto his hand, unable to answer, and your brows knit together. He pulls his hand away from yours, tapping at the back of your hand to give you some type of comfort. His hand is empty, so he can brush the pad of his thumb between the wrinkles of your brows. The skin smooths out, and his hand curves to the back of your head. He sits on a knee, craning his neck to kiss the corner of your mouth. You look up at him with sad eyes, tears staining them and leaving marks against the curve of your face. A part of him knows what must be causing you such distress, but if you’d rather not talk about it, he won’t be one to pry. He gives you soft words, frowning when you whine and close your eyes, dew wetting your cheeks and bottom lip trembling, as you call his name in broken whispers. He hushes you gently, scratching at your scalp and running his thumb over your knuckles. His knees ache from the floor, sullied and imprinted with the floor patterns, but he stays there, waiting for you to calm, holding your hand.

With a quivering inhale of breath, you move away from him, your arm stretched long and hands holding onto him as to not let go of him even in this short distance. With this silent invitation, he stands, his knees and legs aching and stiff. His back is against the headboard, arms reaching to hold you close to his chest as your arms wrap around his midsection. His palms press into the wrinkled fabric of your shirt, feeling the soft skin that rests underneath a thin piece of cotton. His hands sink into you, and he’s holding you close, trying to find a place to rest his hands, fisting your own shirt in his, as you have done to him. You cling to him so desperately, so feverishly, as if you feared that if you let your grip loosen for a moment, he’d float away from you. At this moment, you need him. It was you who had called for him. And perhaps it’s selfish, but he’s elated that you had called him- that you had wanted him beside you, holding him and clinging to him with ears wetting his shirt. Simeon lies with you, kissing the crown on your head, and hushing you gently when you start to talk, only to find that the words are mismatched and that they run faster than you can hold onto them and form a coherent sentence. You don’t have to explain anything to him. He’ll lay here for an entire night, sit on his knees and hold your hands if it meant that you would have a moment of peace.

Solomon:

It's rare for you to not message him throughout the day. It’s become such a habit, such a norm, for the both of you to talk throughout the day, and when he doesn’t receive a message, he thinks that you must be busy. But then, he sends you one, and you don't reply to it, nor do you see it. Worry begins to settle in him- it’s far too late into the day for you to be asleep, and if you were out, you would have sent him a picture of something that reminded you of him or something that you found cute. And then his phone pings awake- the screen bright with your name displayed on it and the preview of your message showing for a moment. Solomon reads the text and his worry only deepens, filling him with a heavy weight that pulls down on him. You’re asking him to come over- no follow up text, no emoticon just a simple message and he’s rushing out the door.

Scenery blurs past him and it’s only part way that he realizes that he can place himself there; that he doesn’t have to waste time running to get to you. The words come out heaved and he thanks his lucky stars that he was able to remember them in such a state. His chest is rising and falling, his heart beating against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage and air is nothing more than a fleeting kiss to him, puffing past his lips in wisps. He doesn’t even realize how empty the house is- how it lacks all signs of life that it holds. The sorcerer is much too busy knocking against your door, his hand around the knob, and your name is hissed between his teeth. In the early days of the both of you arriving at Devildom, he had mentioned to you how he would like for the two of you to remain close since you were both humans and you had happily agreed. You’ve clung to those words ever since- seeking him out, wanting to befriend him despite all the rumors and words said about him. You wanted to be close to him, and he never wanted to leave you alone, he always wanted to be by your side. And now, wood separates the both of you, your name breaking on his tongue. He isn’t sure why he’s so worried. You must be fine- but then again, you hadn’t messaged him all day and when you finally do, he can feel the urgency behind it. It’s a deep rooted worry that’s clawing in the inside of him.

Your voice creaks past the wood and he stops himself, taking a deep breath that expands his lungs. The door opens and he rushes inside, already finding you at the bed, and there’s something in your eyes that makes his shoulders sag. The door locks behind him, and he sits at the edge of your bed, his hand on the curve of your back, fingertips past the collar of your shirt and tickling at your neck. He asks you what’s wrong and you can only lay there and shake your head slightly. A thick blanket covers your frame, and your eyes are heavy, circles underneath that indicate that you lack sleep- that at least you’ve been up with worry. There are no words that can be said, at least not without knowing what is ailing you. He can’t tell you empty words, he can’t make that promise to you and then have it break. He’d promise you the world, but only because it could be something that he could give to you.

He asks if it’s okay if he can join you in bed, and you nod, while looking at him. He’s at least glad that you want to be with him, that you don’t want to be alone. He lays beside you, his chest against your back and eyes closed. He can be witty, and somehow, he always knows what to say in response to something, but now, he doesn’t know what to tell you to make you feel better. If you don’t want to talk about it, then it’s fine, he won’t force you, but he does wish that he could help. You shift in the bed, turning until you face him, and your hands tremble as they pull themselves out of the blanket. They clutch at his shirt and he watches in silence as you move your hands under his arms, placing your hands against his back. Your nose presses against his breast, and his hands come to circle around you, holding your shirt and keeping you close to him. And you do the same, clinging to him and wetting his shirt and cooling it with your shuddering breaths.

In a pitiful voice, you apologize for ruining his shirt- for dirtying it with your tears. He can hear you sniffling and your voice is tight and congested. There’s no reason for you to worry about his clothes, not at this moment. He debates on making some remark, wanting to hope that it’ll put you in a better mood even if it’s just for a moment, but he decides against it when you apologize again and this time it sounds so deep, so croaked and dry, and he decides against it. With his lips against your temple, he tells you not to worry about it- that you matter so much more than the shirt that he could just wash. The sentence is finished with a kiss to you. Solomon wishes that he could help, that he could give you the type of comfort that you had hoped for and that you so rightly deserve, but he can’t seem to find anything that could comfort you. He holds you tightly, clinging to you and scratching dully at your back. You give so much to others, and are so careful with them, that he wishes he could at least be the same for you- that he could give you his all, that he’d give you his entire being, but he cannot. So, he lays in bed with you, hushing you and telling you a random story that even he thought he had forgotten long ago.

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astrichaoz · 1 year

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Avast ye whore, angst prompt be upon ye!

I disrespectfully request something with Lucifer getting his heart broken (Maybe through death or infidelity?)

(Thanks for your request! I wrote this piece in regards to MC passing due to old age. For real made myself sad with this 💀💀. Sorry if it sucks, I'm a little rusty. Requests are open!!!)

The Last Note

You were as beautiful as a melody, a wondrous gift, an angel in disguise.

You danced your way into Lucifer's life, and soon his heart, you two swaying to the tune of true and unbreakable love.

You'd sit with him on the piano bench, his hands withered and old yet you saw nothing but beauty in them as they gracefully flew across the keys, playing a song he dedicated to you and only you.

Lucifer had never felt so loved before, so seen. You were the light in the darkness that surrounded him, he felt so blessed by your unbounding kindness and love. He never thought about the day where

he would have to say goodbye.

Years upon years went on, your body slowly decaying, becoming old and withered. Yet Lucifer still stayed by your side, for your love was unbreakable.

When you didn't have the strength anymore to move out of bed, he would bring the piano to you, playing that same song he dedicated to you and only you.

He played that sweet melody for you everyday, till you could no longer hear it anymore, till angels came and swooped you up and carried you to the light, till you left him.

Now here he was, standing in your room, eyes void of emotion as he started at your vacant bed, a bed that would never be laid in again.

He stared at the piano bench picturing the two of you there laughing like you used to, as you watched him with a lovestruck gaze playing that beautiful melody you adored so much.

He stared at the piano, different emotions rippling through him all at once as he walked over to the piano and took a seat, making sure to leave enough room for you.

He removed his gloves and shakily placed his hands on the keys, ready to play the reprise.

So he played that same song for you, only for you. Tears flowed freely from his eyes and splashed onto the keys beneath him, his body racking with sobs as he picked up the tempo, the melody matching his current state of melancholy.

He would never stop loving you, not for as long as he lived.

You were his one, his only.

He wiped his tears away as he concluded on the final note, the sound of the piano echoing throughout the room.

You were his favorite melody, and now you were gone.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me drabbles #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer obey me #obey me oneshot #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me mc #angst #drabble #sad so so sad smh #idk how this app works sorry about the formatting #obey me angst #xxstarrycosmoxxwrites

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kpakrman · 1 year

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Mammon when you breakup with him

Like the shortest one shot, I’m hurting really bad rn Idek what this is really. One day at a time I guess.

He goes numb when the words leave your mouth.

He feels his heart shatter in a matter of seconds.

All that goes through this mind is all the memories you’ve made together. Every kiss, every touch, every look…

“Y-y/n please, don’t do this. Tell me what I did wrong. tell me…Please.”

Wanting to make everything right in that moment, mammon pleads to you with tears in his eyes

Seeing him like this makes you rethink if you made the right decision

But what’s done is done, it’s too late to take it back so you try not to look at him.

“Y/n” he says while he grabs a hold of you before you walk away. “Please…” he looks at you with innocent and sincere eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You pull away and leave before you begin to cry.

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me sad #obey me breakups #obey me one shot #obey me x mc #obey me imagines #obey me x reader

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0mcsheep0 · 1 year

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I'm here for you (part 2 )

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DISCLAIMER: it is the continuation of the previous ''I'm here for you'', with the younger brothers. I had the idea to develop more about MC's point of view (to be more precise about what makes them feel sad). ( Part 1 below ) https://www.tumblr.com/0mcsheep0/711531618684289025/im-here-for-you?source=share

Warnings : sad topics in which the brothers would comfort you

Characters : Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie

GN!MC

-> The brothers when MC is feeling sad <-

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Satan (academic failure)

Satan is one of the most intelligent (if not the wisest) demons of Devildom; everyone knew it. He was also the closest of the seven brothers to you, the perfect sentimental and supportive guy. You often came into his room to study RAD for your future exams. He was patient and would explain any subject well. Last night, you were stressing out about that important math examen coming up the next day. You feel bad about it, even if you’ve been studying it for a week. As you were reading your notes laid on the bed, Satan checked up on you: « Hey there, MC. You’ve been quite academic for the past few days, and I noticed you’d neglected your health. When was the last time you had a consistent sleep schedule? Have you eaten this morning? You seem so tense; let me give you a shoulder massage ». How kind of Him! You got on your belly while Satan climbed on your back, his smooth but firm grip on your back muscles. « You think I will be good tomorrow? I’m afraid I will forget everything because of the stress. If so, I know I might get grounded by Lucifer… » you said with a sigh. ** The next day Even with Satan’s comforting words, you still couldn’t stay in place as you started your exam. It didn’t go as well as it was supposed to. Unfortunately, despite all your efforts, you still missed a few questions, which influenced your grade to lower at the bare minimum required. You felt empty after the test; you went home and locked yourself in your room. A few hours later, the blond demon knocked at your door, but even if it was locked, he used his magic to reach you. You were sobbing on your pillow. « Hey, kitten….. Levi told me you left RAD earlier. I know it was your exam this morning; I presume you are in this state because it didn’t go well, was it » he asked with a sad look. It didn’t go well? No, it was disastrous for both your final paper and your self-esteem. You were so confident about yourself; did you succumb to your anxiety? Even if you tried so, you could never be as good as the others. The worst part of it was that you tried! « Can I sit next to you »? You nodded. « Listen, MC; I’m aware of how frustrating you might have felt at the moment because, behind my look of the perfect student, I sometimes feel stressed too. You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself. With practice, you will be able to perform under stress like a pro, I promise ». You smiled a bit; then Satan brought you into his arms for a loooong hug.

Asmo (bad image of your body)

Asmo always cheers you up when you are questioning how worthy you think you are. You are nothing but the perfection in his eyes, the little sunshine that brightens his days in this dark world of devils. We all know that Asmodeus is hiding behind his confident and cocky appearance, insecurities, and fears about others’ perceptions of him. When times like this happened, you comforted him by saying, Everyone has his thoughts about other people, some are bad, but some are flattering. You must always think good about yourself and not let others bring you down. You were always the one who comforted him; never would he have thought YOU would be the one who needed him. You were sitting on your bed, clothes scattered everywhere on the floor. There was a big party at Diavolo’s castle tonight, in which you should be present, and you wanted to wear something elegant for the event. The problem was that you needed to determine what to choose; all your clothes seemed too casual. You didn’t have the money to buy something beautiful, and anyways, those types of clothes were styles to fit demon figures (holes for wings/tail, large sized because I headcanon the demons to be naturally taller than humans). You were desperate, and tears were slowly filling your eyes because of the frustration you felt at the instant. You searched for something cool to wear for almost two hours, but nothing was good enough. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and intrusive yet exaggerated thoughts entered your mind. Could your silhouette be the problem? Maybe everything was looking wrong on you, and it was your fault. You could never look as great surrendered by demons; they all looked magnificent, and you are only a human.

*** knock knock ***

You recognized Asmo’s voice behind the door, announcing his upcoming in your room. He was also invited to the party, and you felt even worse when you saw how stunning he looked in his relevant outfit. « My, my MC… what is all this mess made for? Your beautiful clothes will be dusty and wrinkled! Have you found what you’ll be wearing tonight»? You looked at him, clearly looking exasperated. Asmo was now looking at you with a concerned expression. You? Crying over something as simple as a lack of items of clothing? That wasn’t like you, the MC he knew wouldn’t give up that easily over something unworthy. He thought about what could have made you feel that way; « Mc dear… you aren’t concerned about how you might look around everyone else, right»? The tears were now showing on your shameful face. « Listen now. You are the most pretty person I’ve ever seen in my life. You heard me right; I said the most pretty PERSON, which means I’m comparing you to every species I know. It would help if you didn’t even compare yourself to others ». Those words; you’ve heard them countless times from many people. As insignificant as they might have sounded, the comment went directly to your heart. Asmo, the one you loved the most in the three worlds, thought this much about you? You smiled, then stood up with a sudden burst of confidence:

« Well, my clothes won’t get chosen if we stay in place. Would you mind helping me with that » you asked the fifth-born.

Beel (guilt of eating)

Beel is the most thoughtful, generous, and loving demon of all the Devildom, and he shows it daily to his brothers and you. Constantly checking up on others, he is someone you can rely on every time for anything. You trusted him, so you told him about something that had made you sad for the past few weeks. To be exact, HE was the one who initiated the talk since he caught you doing something he would never understand; restricting yourself from eating. Last night, he sneaked to the kitchen for a midnight snack when he noticed your dinner still on the fridge shelf. How could you skip dinner? From Beel's point of view, dinner time is the most satisfying time of the day. He hesitated to eat it but finally decided to wait till tomorrow to ask you about it. The next day, you answered that you weren't hungry and that it was nothing to worry about since it wouldn't occur again. Beel smiled in relief and left but found your dinner again in the fridge a few hours later. The Lord of the Flies was surprised. He decided to bring the meal directly to your room to have an honest response to your weird behavior. Once he passed your door, the demon was surprised to see you on a weighing scale. You were startled by his arrival and started to cry. « MC? Do you feel ashamed about your weight? Is it why you skipped your meals? Taking such restrictions isn't good for your health; you might end up sick. Please, tell me what's wrong». You explained to him that, for the past few weeks, many lower demons had been mocking you for your weight. You weren't thinking badly about yourself initially, but the repetitive insults were getting to your head. You thought about it more often, starting to wonder if those imbeciles were, in fact, correct about you. Did you overeat? Was your figure pretty enough? Maybe occasionally skipping meals would change your looks, then those unkind demons would shut up. Beelzebub was shocked by everything you said. To his eyes, you are splendid, a perfect work of art. He never thought that stupidities like that would affect you that much. « My love, don't ever get influenced by nasty insults like that again. Those demons are jealous of how good-looking you are, so they try to put you down. Skipping meals won't bring any positive changes to you. If you want to change your appearance, we could work it out together with healthier measures. Please, eat the three meals you need daily; I don't want you to end up sick ». The red-haired demon then got closer to you and hugged you tightly. You are feeling a lot better now.

Belphie (sadness from leaving the Devildom)

It was supposed to be a casual day. Like every other morning, you woke up in your bed sheets, with Belphegor at your side, squatting the left side of your mattress. The weather outside sounded perfect for walking or organizing a picnic with the brothers. A tiny bat (I thought bats would be the ideal representation of ''birds'' down in Devildom since they are nocturnal) got closer to the window of your room as if it was calling for the morning. You straightened up on your bed, carefully resting your back on the wall to not wake the sleepyhead beside you. You reached your D.D.D. to look on Delvilgram; your post from the last day with Asmo on the beach might have gotten many likes! Unfortunately, the message that first popped on your screen faded your smile. Diavolo sent you the following statement: « Good morning MC! You have been staying in the Devildom for two years now; you must return to the human world for a while to see your family. I will pick you up at the front entrance in an hour ». You tilted your head down; time flies so fast when you enjoy your time with the ones you love. Like every time you leave the Devildom, a massive wave of sadness fills your heart. The memories of your good moments with Belphie, as he is the one you love, ran through your mind, and a few tears escaped your eyes and blurred your vision. At this moment, Belphie opened his eyes and frowned; « MC, why are you crying? Did you have another nightmare? Tell me everything ». You quickly announced your future leaving to the youngest brother, and he sighted of disagreement. Of course, he knew that day would come, but he hadn't acknowledged how quickly this day would come. « It sucks; I would have loved to keep you by my side every day, to wake up next to you every morning. I guess I understand that you have to go back to your family, but what about me? You will miss me, am I wrong? (…) Do you remember when we went camping outside the House of Lamentation to see the bright stars illuminating the sky? It was fun, wasn't it? (…) Listen, MC, I won't beat around the bush and will tell you how I feel about the situation. You know that I love you unconditionally and that I will always do. It won't change anything that you leave for another time; I will still love you once you return to me ». His words comforted you; you knew he was thinking everything he said. You smiled, then took him in your arms to enjoy your last moments together.

#obey me beelzebub #belphie my beloved #obey me satan #comforting thoughts #obey me asmodeus #sadness hours #obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #sad thoughts #obey me x reader #obey me mc

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misc-obeyme · 10 months

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Lets say a prince of hell dies and they have a child who is half human and half demon what do you think happens to the child?

This is just a research purpose

Oh there are a lot of things to consider for this question, anon!

I'm assuming that the child is still a child when the prince dies, so they need looking after. I would think that if the child was grown they could probably handle themselves. But if they are still a kid at the time, then it's going to depend on who's still around.

For instance, if we're saying the parents of this child are Diavolo and MC and that for whatever reason MC can't care for that child themselves, then there is no doubt that Barbatos would adopt them and raise them. Most likely all the brothers would help, too. I can't imagine any child of any of these demons being left to fend for themselves if their parents are both gone.

However, if we're thinking more about whether or not that child would be able to say... ascend to the throne, well... I don't know. I think it would be extremely difficult for them because you know there are gonna be a bunch of demons that are against it. If we're still talking about Diavolo's kid, though, you know the brothers and Barbatos would be behind them, so it might not matter.

If we're considering which demons are likely to take on the role of caretaker, I do think it would depend slightly on who the child's father was. This would be such a sad situation, since anyone who took over the responsibility would also be dealing with the grief of losing that child's father to begin with.

Of course if we're talking about non-Obey Me demons, then it really depends on the demons. Because while I think in Obey Me, all the demons care about each other deeply enough that if one of them had a child and then died, the others would step in, that isn't necessarily how it would go for every demon-related story. And with demons you can really choose to go into some dark places.

I could really get into some of this stuff, but I hope this has at least answered the question! If not, feel free to ask follow up questions lol. I try not to ramble too much in these answers so you don't have to read a whole essay about it.

But this was fun to think about, so thank you for asking!

#I really feel like there is so much angst potential with this idea #cause while I think Barb would be an excellent parental figure #just imagine how he would deal with Diavolo's death #oof #now I'm making myself sad lol #obey me #anon asks #misc answers

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dearieshima · 1 year

Text

I know Lucifer listens to Frank Sinatra while thinking about Lilith

#currently im listening to “the world we knew (over and over)”#and its the most heartbreaking and tragic sounding song I've ever heard #its so beautiful that i cried to it #i like to imagine that lucifer plays it on his record player when he's alone #and lean back in his chair listening to it as he thinks of lilth #of everything he did for her #and im feeling sad #im gonna go cry some more #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #─𝕳𝖎𝖒𝖇𝖔𝖘.✦

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freedomfireflies · 7 months

Text

Jealous*

Summary: The fourth part to 404*

The one where Harry's even more annoying when he's jealous.

But he's kind of cute, too.

Word Count: 5.6k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

(Note: This edit is not mine!! I believe the @ is on it, but full credit to the incredible creator! It's so perfect!!)

“Head back, tongue out.”

Quickly shifting onto your knees, you glance up at the man before you. Watching eagerly as Harry’s large hand strokes the hardened cock that lingers near your lips.

His other palm reaches out for your neck, slowly sliding up into your hair before tugging you back even further. “Like this,” he murmurs, only satiated when you oblige. “Good girl. Show me your tongue, Tink. Come on, not gonna ask you again.”

Quickly, you rush to obey, presenting it to him willingly as you scoot closer and silently plead for his offering.

He gives you a rare, pleased smile that makes your insides jump before he brings his cock closer to your mouth, tapping it twice. “Gonna swallow it all, yeah? Like a good little cumslut?”

Nodding fervently, your lashes flutter in a somewhat desperate attempt to coax him closer to release.

To this, he exhales an amused breath, smirk growing until you see that familiar and infuriatingly charming dimple. “You’re a lot less annoying when you’re desperate, you know that?”

You swat at his thigh. “Shut up and cum in my mouth already.”

“Eager, are we?”

“The fuck do you think? Just do it, come on.”

“See, there you go again. Don’t know how to romance a guy, do you?”

“And why would I ever want to romance you?”

He laughs and sweeps the tip of his cock along your bottom lip. “Because deep down…you like me. Don’t you, Princess?”

And before you can reply with another quippy retort, he’s sliding himself along your tongue, and filling your mouth completely.

It doesn’t take long for that warm, salty tang to go slipping down your throat. Effortlessly coating your taste buds as Harry tightens his grip on your head and releases a rather lascivious groan.

“Fuck…there you go, that’s a good girl,” he murmurs, using his other hand to brace himself against the wall to keep upright. “Take it…fucking take it, Tink, good. Feel so fucking good, don’t you? Such a tight little mouth, yeah?”

He’s babbling, a string of nonsense and praises falling from his tongue, but you revel in it. Indulge in the way you’re the only one on his mind, the only one to make him fall apart so quickly.

And you imagine you’d both like to stay here in the lobby coat closet for at least a few more minutes (or a few more rounds), but before you can entertain the idea, your phone is going off.

The shrill alarm cuts the moment in two, slicing it right down the middle as you pop off his cock and reach over to turn it off.

In turn, Harry blinks, breathing still a tad ragged as he steps back. “What…what is that for?”

“Oh, I have a meeting with Mr. Prescott in five.” You straighten up onto your feet and swipe the back of your wrist across your mouth. “This was fun, though. Thanks.”

Harry blinks. “Wow. Way to dine and dash.”

“Funny,” you snort as you head for the door. “Anyway, I think I’ll be good for a while, so…no need to keep dragging me in here.”

“I didn’t drag you,” he argues with a huff while yanking his jeans back up. “I casually suggested it and you jumped at the opportunity.”

“Mm…wrong.”

“Mm…right. Face it, Princess, you can’t stop thinking about me.”

“Actually, I think about everybody but you,” you tell him. “Seriously, just the sound of your name kills my libido. It’s quite sad.”

His eyes roll. “Fucking go already, I have shit to do.”

“Fine, but you have to wait at least three minutes,” you remind him as you slip out into the hallway. “I mean it. Cassie almost saw us last time and I was mortified. So be less suspicious this time.”

“Come on, do you really think I want people to know we’re shagging?” he retorts, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall in wait. “Getting seen with you at the bar was already bad enough.”

“Yeah? Is that why you stuck your hand down my pants in front of everybody?”

“Okay, you know what—”

“No, I don’t. Bye,” you call before swinging the door shut.

Harry’s muffled grumbling follows you all the way to the elevator.

You can’t help but grin as you step inside and hit the button for the fifth floor, flashes of his hands and practiced fingers flooding the forefront of your mind.

You might still hate him, but you suppose you don’t mind his company as much anymore. He’s not as irritating as he was when you first started this little arrangement, and you’ve noticed his technique has gotten better. He’s always been good, but recently he seems to be trying incredibly hard to make each time the best.

Not that you’d dare complain. After all, it’s not like you’ve really—

“Wait, hold the door!”

Quickly, you reach out and press your palm against the sliding entrance, keeping it inside the frame as the stranger swiftly slides through.

You watch as he gratefully slumps against the railing, seemingly out of breath as he nods his appreciation and allows you to release your hand.

“Thank you,” he exhales, head dropping back against the wall as the elevator takes off. “Thought I was gonna have to take the stairs.”

“No problem,” you return before gesturing toward the buttons. “Which floor?”

“Fifth,” he answers, smiling when he notices it’s already been selected. “You, too?”

“Yeah, I work in the lab.”

Curious, the man straightens up. “No kidding. You’re one of the engineers?”

“Mhm. For about four years now.”

“No fucking way,” he replies, studying you with interest. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, actually. Pay is good, hours are better.”

“Ah, very nice,” he muses. “In that case, do you think you’d be able to show me to Prescott’s office?”

“Sure. I’m headed there now, actually.”

“Yeah?” His head tilts. “Wait, shit…you wouldn’t be working on the Keaton Project, would you?”

Surprised by his knowledge on your current work, you blink. “Uh…yes, actually. How did you…?”

“I’ve been hired to help with your development operations,” he tells you. “Just for a couple weeks, see where you’re at.”

“Oh, that’s good. Harry and I could use the help.”

The mystery man smirks. “Good. S’what I like to hear.”

With that, the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open, allowing you and the stranger to begin down the hall and toward the main office.

After a rather interesting discussion with Mr. Prescott, you learn a bit more about Lucas, your new project partner.

He’s incredibly smart and well spoken, he’s got some wonderful ideas for the website, and he’s absolutely going to drive Harry up the goddamn wall.

You’re practically giddy as you lead Lucas back to the lab to help him get set up. Already imagining the scowl on Harry’s face when he learns he’ll be sharing a space with someone else. Someone arguably much better suited for the position and with much fresher ideas.

Unfortunately, Harry has already left for the day by the time you return. And while you’re somewhat disappointed that you’ll have to wait on the introductions, you use the rest of the shift to get acquainted with Lucas.

Turns out, he’s delightful, and you laugh harder with him than you have anybody else in a long time. He’s rather flirty, too, you notice, but you don’t mind. It’s nice to have such forward attention and you revel in his sneaky smiles and playful remarks.

You leave the lab that afternoon with a large grin, laughing when he calls, “Goodbye, Duchess,” as you walk out the door.

Come Monday morning, Harry is in a foul mood. You notice it before he’s even set foot into the room, the exasperated expression on his face visible from the parking lot.

He walks differently when he’s upset, you realize. With his hunched shoulders, clenched fists, and heavy footsteps that echo through the halls.

Everyone within a hundred-foot radius takes notice, shooting him odd looks as he strides by, but he pays them no mind. Instead making a beeline for his corner of the room where you reside before throwing his things down with a huff.

“Morning, Sunshine,” you call, turning in your chair to watch while he slumps into his. “What the hell is going on with your hair? It looks…well, like shit.”

A venomous glare is shot through the dark frames of his glasses. “Blow me, Princess. I’m not in the fucking mood today.”

“I can see that,” you reply calmly, hiding a smirk behind the rim of your coffee mug. “Hope you’re at least a little nicer to the new guy.”

Harry’s frazzled and irritated shuffling stills. “What new guy?”

“The new guy,” you say, nodding toward Lucas who’s beginning to make his way through the lab. “Prescott told you, right? He’s working with us for the next couple of weeks on development operations.”

Harry’s attention follows the tall, lanky figure as he moves between the tables, a frown beginning to form. “What the fuck?” he scoffs quietly but full of repulsion. “I’m sorry, since when do we need a fucking babysitter?”

“He’s not a babysitter, Harold. He’s just extra help—”

“We don’t need extra help,” Harry bites back. “Okay, I had it covered—”

“Clearly, yeah. Is that why the simulation kept glitching—”

“It wasn’t glitching, the code was just off. But I had it handled—”

“Sure, yeah. Obviously. That’s why Prescott hired someone else—”

“Duchess,” comes a new addition to the conversation, forcing you and Harry to lean back as Lucas approaches. “Hey, listen. Thank you again for showing me where to set up my shit, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” you return with a smile. “Seriously, anything we can help you with, just let us know.”

He nods. “Perfect, yeah. Most of it is just working on the HTML, but eventually I’d like your input on the file transfer.”

Peeved, Harry’s eyes flitter across the man’s face. “Right. And you are?”

“Lucas,” he replies brightly, offering you both a charming smile. “Yeah, sorry. Met Duchess here the other day on the elevator. You must be…Harry, right?”

Harry’s eyebrows begin to weave together, broad shoulders straightening up ever-so-slightly. “Why the fuck were you in our elevator?”

“Well, Duchess was showing me up to the lab," Lucas says, nodding his chin at you while you share a smirk. "Helped me set up, which was really sweet.”

You wave the compliment away while Harry slowly turns to you and subtly mouths, “Duchess?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Yes. Well. Anyway, Harry and I are really excited about working with you. Aren’t we?”

Harry merely returns your stare with a glare of his own before gritting his teeth. “Fucking ecstatic.”

If Lucas picks up on the charged air between you, he doesn’t comment on it, instead grinning again as he steps back. “Perfect. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You nod. “Absolutely. Oh, we’re still on for lunch, right?”

“Of course,” he calls before returning to the hallway, leaving you with a very displeased partner.

You blink.

“Lunch?” Harry repeats, almost incredulously. “You’re having fucking lunch with the babysitter now?”

You snort. “It’s lunch, not an orgy. Relax, Harold—”

“And what the fuck is with the degrading nickname?” he continues, nodding his chin in the direction Lucas disappeared to before nudging his glasses back up. “He sounds like a fucking twat.”

“For your information, Duchess means queen,” you tell him haughtily. “And I love it. It’s a lot nicer than anything you call me.”

“I call you the same fucking thing—”

“No, you call me Tinkerbell,” you correct. “And Princess. Which is nice. But Queen trumps Princess. Sorry.”

He makes another noise before spinning around in his seat, turning his back to you. “Fucking ridiculous. Fine, have your fucking tea parties and your fucking nicknames while I get some real shit done.”

“It’s not a tea party, it’s lunch—”

“Oh, my apologies, your Royal Fucking Highness.”

You smirk.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Got it stuck right up there. Poor thing had to go to the emergency room just to get it removed.”

Lucas laughs – a loud, infectious laugh – while glancing down at his plate with a shake of his head. “Shit. I bet he enjoyed that.”

“No. No, not at all,” you chuckle. “And he wouldn’t speak to me for about a week afterward. Honestly? It was the best week of my life.”

“I imagine.” He runs a long finger around the rim of his glass in thought. “So, he’s always been like that, then? Kind of…sullen? And moody?”

Smiling to yourself, you run through your memories of the brooding man you’ve known for years. Remembering the first day you met, and the way you instantly became enamored by those bright green eyes and chestnut curls.

“No,” you admit. “No, he used to be…fun. Nice. Shy, even.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was…I mean, he was nervous, I think. It was one of his first jobs out of university, and I think he just wanted to do a good job.”

“Makes sense,” Lucas replies. “From what I’ve seen, he’s quite good at what he does.”

“He is,” you agree, almost begrudgingly. “Always has been, which is really annoying.”

He smiles. “So, what happened? What made him switch?”

You release a heavy sigh and shrug your shoulder. “Honestly…I don’t know. There was a bit of a dark period. He stopped talking to people, stopped going out. Got a motorcycle of all things. And then he just…wasn’t the same.”

“And he never talked about it?”

You snort. “No, Harry doesn’t…talk. About personal things. At least not with me. And asking never gets me anywhere.”

A quiet pause settles over your small table before Lucas leans closer.

“I think he trusts you, Duchess,” he says. “And I think he’s scared of how much.”

“That’s quite an observation from someone who just met him.”

“What can I say, it’s my superpower,” he teases. “But I mean it. His hostility felt…forced. Like he was putting up a wall to save face. And if he really didn’t like you…he wouldn’t spend so much of his time trying to be near you.”

It’s a nice thought. Sweet, even, and you’re almost tempted to entertain the idea.

But you know Harry. You know his cruel jokes, and his pensive demeanor. You know that he fucks to drown out the rest of the world, and that he’d rather spend the rest of his life alone than in someone else’s company.

So, you simply sigh, and offer Lucas another shrug. “Yeah, well. If that were the case, I’d hope he’d at least—”

“The fuck is all this?”

The two of you turn toward the sound of Harry’s huffed remark, smirking to yourselves when you see that familiar frown.

“Uh…lunch,” you reply calmly, raising an eyebrow. “Like I told you.”

Harry comes to a stop just beside the table, flicking his glare between you. “It takes you a fucking hour to eat?”

Your eyes narrow. “It hasn’t been an hour, and we were talking.”

“So you were wasting time?”

Lucas grins, and you catch the way he glances down at the table to hide his amusement.

You straighten up and direct your displeasure toward Harry. “We were not wasting time, we were eating and getting to know each other. Is that all right with you?”

“No,” Harry says simply, and it infuriates you. “You don’t get paid to talk shit.”

“We were not—” You suck in a sharp breath, silently commanding yourself to remain relaxed. “Do you want something?”

“Yes, actually. Prescott wants to see us.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Don’t know.”

You look to Lucas, confused and slightly annoyed while Lucas leans back curiously.

“I’ll come with you,” he offers as you both stand. “If it’s about the project, maybe I can help explain—”

“We don’t need your help,” Harry interjects bluntly. “And he didn’t ask for you. He asked for us.”

You shoot another peeved look his way. “Harry—”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Lucas tries. “I probably need to get caught up, anyway—”

“Then catch up on your own fucking time,” Harry nearly snaps, large hand outstretching to snatch onto your upper arm. “If we need you, we’ll ask for you.”

With that, he begins to drag you away from the table, leaving Lucas and his mystification behind.

Stumbling along, you begin to fight against Harry’s firm grip, already wildly annoyed. “What the fuck is your problem—”

“Your car is fixed, right?” is all he says, keeping his eyes forward as he leads you through the lobby and toward the parking lot.

You hesitate. “Uh…yeah? Why?”

“Where is it?”

Your lashes flutter as you look from him to the array of vehicles before you. “Um…there. By the tree.”

With a short nod, he yanks you forward, guiding you to your car without so much as an explanation.

Still irritated, you slip yourself free right as he stops beside the trunk. “The hell are you doing—”

He opens the backdoor. “Get in.”

“What?”

“I said get in,” Harry repeats, “Duchess.”

You frown. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m gonna fuck you.”

And you almost want to laugh because you can’t believe where he got the nerve. “You’ve got to be kidding—”

“I’m not,” he says, rather assuredly before guiding his glasses back up. “Get in.”

“Harry…this is so fucking—”

“Don’t care.” He nods his chin toward the backseat. “In, Princess.”

You reckon you should stand your ground and refuse him. Tell him how childish he’s being, how vulgar, how rude. Make it clear that he doesn’t get to stomp his foot and demand you do as you’re told just because he’s upset.

And yet…your legs urge you forward until you’re slipping inside the car and settling on the other side.

Harry follows suit, yanking the door shut to close out the rest of the world before facing you. “Take off your jeans.”

However, your expression is menacing as you begin to fumble with the zipper on your pants. “You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, but he’s beginning to smile as he tugs off his own belt. “But I’m not as pathetic as whatever the fuck that was.”

“What was? A harmless, friendly lunch?”

“Please,” he snorts. “He was clearly flirting with you, and it was hard to watch.”

Your eyes roll as you tug your jeans down your legs. “He was not flirting with me, he was just being nice—”

“Guys aren’t nice,” he retorts. “Not for nothing. He wanted something from you, and I spared you from having to pretend you were interested. You’re welcome.”

“Oh, really? And what did he want? To fuck me? Like you so desperately want to do?”

He scoffs, but he’s smirking. “I fuck you to make you feel better.”

“Right, okay.” You wiggle your underwear down your thighs. “Who’s to say he wasn’t gonna do the same?”

“He wasn’t,” he replies simply. “Trust me. Get up.”

With a huff, you oblige, turning around so you can settle on your hands and knees while Harry gets situated behind you. Strong hands melding to your hips to keep you steady.

His fingers move to smooth between your cheeks and down to your cunt, stroking it softly to prepare you.

Then, he chuckles. “And who is this for, hm?” he taunts, dipping into your arousal to spread it around. Ignoring the way you inhale a sharp hiss. “Me or him?”

You brace yourself against the seat of the car, chin dropping to your chest. “Him,” you grit. “Obviously.”

Harry hums, thumbing at your clit. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, there’s a sharp smack to your left ass cheek that makes you reel, the pain instantly dissolving into pleasure as you whine.

“Try again,” he tsks before slipping a practiced finger inside. “And this time…be honest.”

“I’m always honest,” you argue, already breathless from the feel of his touch. “How could it ever be for you?”

You can’t see him, but you imagine he’s smiling, entertained by your bratty behavior as he adds a second digit. Curling and pumping at a deliciously slow pace.

“You’re right,” he finally answers. “You hate me. You’d never get wet for me.”

You swallow another noise. “Exactly.”

“And if I fuck you…you’ll moan his name. Won’t you, Tink?”

“Yes.”

“Think about him the whole time. Beg him for what you think he can give you.”

“Shit—”

“Imagine his tiny, soft little cock. Too small to get you off. Probably wouldn’t even feel it, would you?”

He’s cruel. Sadistic and outrageously annoying. But he knows exactly how to play you, and you damn him to hell for how well it works.

He reaches around your body to tug your shirt up, pushing it over your tits until he can take a nice handful.

You love his hands. Love the way his skin feels against yours. The way he tweaks your nipple and rolls it around.

“Like that, don’t you?” he coos, the rhythm of his strokes through your pussy ever steady. “Know you do. Cause I know your body, Princess. Better than he ever will.”

You try to ignore the pleasure that ripples across the deep of your stomach, keeping your focus on the stitching beneath you. You hate when he’s right.

Suddenly, and without warning, he rips his fingers out, leaving you empty and dripping while you groan.

“Easy,” he tuts, now tugging his cock free. He shifts some, propping his leg up onto the seat while his other foot remains on the floor. “Gonna have to be quick, aren’t we? Since you wasted so much of our lunch break with him.”

You exhale a scoff at this, glancing back just long enough to glare.

He grins.

“Stay still,” he instructs, dragging the tip through your folds. Spreading you gently and moaning when he sees his cock glisten with you. “Just like that, s’a good girl. Gonna make it better. Gonna fuck you right.”

The first push in is heaven. It always is, and you aren’t sure why. Like adding the final piece to the puzzle. Complete, in a sense.

Your nails curl into the seat below, a futile attempt at finding some stability as his thick cock stretches you open.

You hear him hiss through gritted teeth, his hands once again finding your waist to hold you in place. “Breathe,” he suddenly calls, smacking your leg once. “You’re not breathing.”

“Sorry,” you gasp, forcing air back into your lungs. “Don’t…don’t know why I do that.”

He makes a small, entertained noise before allowing you a moment to adjust. “Feels that good, yeah? Do I take your breath away?”

“Blow me,” you retort, but you can’t help smiling.

Finally, he settles himself all the way, sinking into your warm cunt rather comfortably as you both release sighs of relief.

“There it is,” you hear him murmur, his fingers curling into your side before he pulls back. “Okay, easy. Easy, Tink, yeah? Shit—”

The rapid but hard pace is addictive. Perfectly full and pleasurable with each thrust and snap of his hips against your ass.

Despite the somewhat small space, Harry finds a way to bend your body to his will. Keeping you below him as he drives himself faster and faster. Uncoordinated and unrhythmic. He’s merely chasing the feeling, chasing the way your pussy pulls him in. Clenches around him, soaks him, keeps him warm.

“You know what?” he suddenly seethes, surging forward until he finds a new angle. “I think you were right…think you should have gone with him.”

You want to respond – want to make any other noise besides these strained whimpers, but it’s useless. Your voice forming around his name yet again as your toes curl.

“You were better before he came along,” he says, hand coming down to slap against your ass. The sound echoing around the tiny constraints of the vehicle. “Tighter. Needier. So fucking easy.”

Your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back. He’s feeding into the part of you that likes to be degraded, and you feel a chill dance down your spine.

“Did anything I fucking wanted. Took my cock like a good girl,” he continues. “Let me stretch you. Let me train you. Break you. Have my fucking way with my fucking pussy. Behaved so well for me.”

Another spank is had to your tender skin, and you cry out as you bury yourself into the seat below.

“Now, well…now you're just useless to me. Aren’t you, Princess?” His movements get sloppier. Faster. “Now you waste your time with him.”

In any other moment, you’d refute his comments. Play his game, egg him on.

But in this moment – a moment where your singular focus is him and only him – you find that you can only shake your head quickly and with misery. “No. No, just you.”

You hear him chuckle, and it makes a new wave of arousal rush between your legs. A type of praise you thrive on. “Just me, huh? But you’re not my whore anymore, are you? You’re his—”

“No,” you whimper, writhing when he reaches down to press his fingers to your clit. “Yours…you…only you.”

“I don’t know, Tink. Seemed awful smitten with him. Same way you used to be smitten with me—”

You can do nothing but whine pitifully as you push back into his touch, ass raised and spread in front of him.

Another smack ripples across your cheek before he kneads the flesh with his free hand, circling your clit with the other. “What? What do you wanna say, baby, hm? Wanna beg me to let you cum? Is that what you want?”

You try to nod, but your cheek is pressed firmly to the seat of the car.

“I know you’re close,” he murmurs, shifting some so he has a better position to fuck himself into you quicker. “God, you’re so fucking close. Can feel your pretty little walls clamping down on me. You’re fucking shaking, baby, come on. Come on, let go. I’ll let you cum. Go ahead.”

To accompany his instruction, he begins to rub the sensitive nerves in a harder fashion. Pressing them down as he forces your body to comply.

It happens all in the same moment. There’s no time for preparation or warning as you release a strangled gasp that disappears into his equally fervent moan.

Instantly, he releases your clit to take hold of your hips with both hands, and slam his cock into you – sheathing himself completely as he releases his load.

It’s familiar and incredible. The car is hot and filled with the sounds of your ecstasy. You’re drowning in it – drowning in him. In the way he makes you feel, in the blinding pleasure that still travels down the back of your neck all the way to your toes.

It’s deep and it’s full and it’s endless. One of the best you’ve had, and you can’t help but smile as you work to catch your breath.

You begin to slump forward as Harry chases after you. Slipping his arm beneath your stomach to keep you upright and turn you toward him as his cock slips out.

“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, glancing over the part of your face he can see. “You all right? You breathing?”

You nod weakly. “Mhm. M’good. So good.”

You catch his soft smile. “Good.”

He reaches for your panties, gently dragging them back up until they settle around your hips. Keeping what’s left of his cum inside of you.

“Just in case Lucas gets any ideas,” he teases, shooting you a wink before helping you sit up.

You both begin to wrangle your clothing back on, redoing belts and buttons as you work to catch your breath.

Oddly enough, Harry doesn’t rush to exit the car, and you find yourself somewhat surprised. Instead, he merely readjusts his glasses, runs a hand through his hair, and slumps back against the seat.

And for some reason, the sight of his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils makes you grin. And you find that you can’t resist moving closer and crawling onto his lap.

Once you’re straddled across his thighs, you dip down, and take his lips with yours. Kissing him hard and with everything you haven’t been able to give him before, ignoring his look of his surprise.

But he kisses you back, exactly the way you knew he would. Taking hold of your body once more to keep you close.

Tongues and teeth clash – it’s messy and rushed, yet effortless and easy. And you can’t help but smile giddily as you tug on his bottom lip.

When you finally pull back to breathe, Harry is wearing a similar expression, seemingly dazed and amused as he holds you on his lap.

Chuckling, you swipe your thumb across his mouth. “God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

He nips at your finger to make you squeal. “I know.”

A quiet moment settles then as you study him, feeling entranced and relaxed by the soft green behind his crooked glasses.

With a gentle smirk, you push them back up, and whisper, “Were you really jealous?”

His snobby scoff makes you laugh. “I was not fucking jealous, Tinkerbell. You just don’t know him.”

“Neither do you,” you retort. “He’s really nice. He just wants to help.”

He groans again, letting his head drop back. “For fuck’s sake, Princess. You’re so goddamn trusting—”

“Yeah, I am. After all, I trust you.”

His eyes fall to yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles again, and you feel your heart flutter. Reminded yet again of the way things used to be – a time before the hostility and angry comments.

You think back to what Lucas said. His inquiry on the shift, and while you’re sure nothing good can come from your prying, you find yourself asking, “What happened?”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“To you. To us, I guess,” you ask, growing oddly nervous under his confused stare. “When you first started, you were so…nice. And happy. And sweet, even.”

His expression falls, settling into a chilling frown.

“And then…I don’t know, something happened,” you continue, now a bit quieter. “You changed, you got…angry, and tense, and you just…you hid yourself away, you know? And don’t get me wrong, I like bickering with you, I just…I guess I’ve always wondered what…went…wrong?”

You feel him tense beneath you. The way his hands tighten and the way that soft green turns into a raging storm of indifference and spite.

Almost within the blink of an eye, he disappears into another version of himself. One that refuses to participate in this discussion and one that desperately wants to remove himself from you.

You can feel him slipping away. Can feel the drop in your stomach – a pit a mile deep. Normally, you like to piss him off. But this is different, this is…this isn’t what you want.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing once. “Why does it fucking matter?”

“I don’t…I guess it doesn’t,” you stammer, shrugging once. “I just wondered, is all. I don’t mind, or anything, I just…I was thinking about it—”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know. Lucas asked, and I thought—”

“Lucas?” It’s a venomous scoff that makes you jolt. “Let me guess. He was just trying to help—”

“No, he just…he asked what you were like, and I said that you…you—”

“I what?”

“That…fuck, I just said things used to be different,” you huff, but your cheeks feel warm. You’re embarrassed. Disappointed in yourself for pushing. For ruining the first calm moment the two of you have ever shared. “And it made me think about it, so I…I wanted to ask—”

“Well don’t,” he seethes, releasing your waist as if trying to get away from you. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

“I know,” you agree, sliding off his lap to give him a bit of space. “I know, I’m sorry, I just…I thought maybe I could help.”

He shoots you a look that splits right through you. It’s cold and it’s incredulous and it makes your throat run dry.

“Why?” he says again, studying you closely. “Why the fuck would you want to help?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure. “I don’t know. Maybe because there’s a part of me…a very small part…that doesn’t totally hate you? I guess?”

You wince as you say it. You hate the way it sounds. Hate what it implies because you do hate him.

But not enough to leave him when he needs you.

Harry’s lashes flutter at your response, and he watches you for a moment more before he leans back, and his expression twists.

“Yeah, well…it doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, almost to himself as he reaches for the handle on the door. “So don’t fucking worry about it.”

Confused and somewhat dejected, you lean forward. “Har—”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“…what?”

He sighs, looking down toward the floor. Refusing your eye. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t…I don’t want to do this. With you. It’s too fucking…there’s too much extra shit. All right, it was fun, but I don’t…I’m done.”

There are a hundred things you want to say. A hundred excuses, a hundred pleas, a hundred retorts.

But none of them feel fitting as you watch him push the door open and step out.

He hesitates, almost as though expecting you to stop him. To argue and call him back.

Yet you don’t. Because you know that nothing you say will ever be able to change his mind.

He’s already decided.

“Fine,” you whisper, offering a short nod. “Yeah, fine. Whatever you want.”

He looks at you. Finally. Expression filled with a solemn sort of goodbye before he nods as well.

And the door slams shut.

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lale-txt · 9 hours

Text

❥ falling asleep besides you for the first time ↳ w/ Toji, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Higuruma, Sukuna & Choso

a/n: this came over me like a fever dream during another episode of insomnia. some of those drabbles are a little sad, i apologize. it's what you get with all those tragics characters. reader is gn!

word count: 1.4k

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t even want to fall asleep; it’s not like he had a good night of rest ever since… well. He tells himself he’s just gonna close his eyes for a bit, stretched out on the couch next to you, his weary head in your lap. There’s still blood on his hands and on the side of his face, he’s gonna get cleaned up in just a bit, he mumbles, but the words come out heavy and drowsy, and your fingers are tangled in his hair now and your voice is this sweet whisper, baby, I love you anyway, and Toji–Toji just gives in. For the first time, sleep doesn’t come over him as a heavy veil, as if he’s drowning; for once it’s something peaceful, something quiet. Something he welcomes. Next to you, you with your fingers woven between his, you who loves even the broken parts of him, you with quiet love and reassurance that you’re still gonna be there when he wakes up again.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 hasn’t had another warm body next to him under the covers in a long time. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until your body melts into his, one leg swung over his thighs, your arm sneaking around his waist and your head finding its spot in the crook of his neck. His cheek falls softly against your forehead when he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent of you that’s the closest to home he ever felt, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. It’s not just lust–oh, he wants to devour you, but there’ll be time in the morning–it’s the absence of loneliness and unspoken confessions. Higuruma can tell when he’s falling in love and in this moment he’s wading deep, deeper through his feelings for you, biting his tongue so they don’t spill out all over the pillows and into you. You already know anyway, and when the sun comes up again, you’ll lick them from the cave of his mouth like a prayer.

𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 can’t fall asleep, not on his wedding night, not when your mouth is whispering all those words he’s demanding from you. His cheek is pressed against your palm while he’s pinning you down, almost nuzzling into it like a touch-starved stray, golden eyes lingering on you. Say you’re mine. Again. Say who you belong to. Mine. Mine. All mine. He isn’t aware how pleading he sounds, how raspy his voice gets the more you obey, every time you sigh his name so softly into his open mouth. Naoya doesn’t care if you’re lying, as long as you wear your wedding band on your ring finger for everyone to see. You’re his to keep now, and if he could have it his way, you would be forbidden to leave this bed forever; he wasn’t aware just how much he had craved the presence of another being by his side at night, one who doesn’t leave once he had his share of pleasure. No, you’re his now, and before sleep eventually finds him, he’ll make sure to sink his teeth into you till his name rolls off your tongue like a lullaby.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 doesn’t let go of your hand; he’s afraid it’ll go cold if he allows himself to let his guard down even for one second. This isn’t how he had imagined spending the first night with you. Not under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, not with your body wrapped in gauze and machinery monitoring your heart rate. It dawns on him as he’s sitting on your bedside–how attached he’s gotten to you, then: How he had almost lost you today. He squeezes your hand tighter and sighs, his weary head sinking down on the mattress. Your fingers twitch and find their way into his hair, combing through it weakly. As if they say, it’s okay, I’m alive, you’re not to blame. So please don’t leave and take all your love with you. And Nanami takes your hand once again and kisses your fingertips, pressing promises against your skin, promises of a future where you and him can just be, one where he can finally put all of these feelings down, down in your open and gentle palms for you to keep.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 is clingy throughout the day, but even more so at night. He doesn’t like the eerie quiet that settles in once the sun has sunken, not when he can listen to your steady breathing next to him instead, so naturally he feels a rush of joy when you push your futons together for the first time. His heart is beating way too fast to find sleep now, his eyes taking in everything about your sleeping figure, from the way your chest rises and falls to how your nose scrunches slightly for a moment. Choso wants to know what you’re dreaming about, what colors your dreams are, and if he’s ever in them. He wants to engrave himself into your being, wants to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. His kisses feel light against your skin, careful not to wake you but enough to fill his desire. Choso loves you with his entire being, and sleep is merely an obstacle, cutting away from your time spent together–though he must admit, his eyes flutter shut quite easily in your embrace.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 realizes that his idea of ‘sweets in bed’ now has a double meaning, seeing you sprawled out in his sheets with candy wrapping paper clenched between your fist and more of it lying on the floor. Cute, he can’t help but murmur as he lays down next to you on his side, mustering you with an amused smile on his lips. When he told you to knock yourself out on the sweet souvenirs he brought, he didn’t assume you would take it that literally. His thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the powdered sugar that’s still stuck there, and Gojo could swear he never tasted anything sweeter than this when he brings it to his tongue. He gently replaces the trash you hold onto in your sleep with his fingers, woven between yours, and pulls you close to him, his tall figure embracing you; and for the first time in a long time, Gojo feels a wave of calm wash over him, allowing him to exhale and sink into a dream almost as sweet as you.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 doesn’t know why he keeps entertaining your antics. Sharing a bed, sleeping together side by side? How utterly foolish, but as to be expected from a mere human; they’ve always been like this, seeking comfort and warmth when they’re the most vulnerable. Of course a predator like Sukuna wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping safe and sound. Yet still; he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you, wrapped up in his embrace, four arms holding you in place on top of him. Everyone else would freeze in fear, but you? You snore quietly without a single worry in the world, knowing you have a king watching over you in your slumber. Sukuna huffs but still brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Maybe he’ll tell Uraume that you’re off the menu, for now. As long as you know your place–in his embrace, wearing his marks with pride, providing a sense of comfort Sukuna had never known before. Fool, he mutters and rests his chin on top of your head, not sure if those words were for him or you.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 doesn’t question when you knock on the door of his dorm room, asking for shelter after a particular nightmare. He hasn’t found any sleep yet anyway. When he lifts up the covers for you to slip under, he’s surprised that you don’t even hesitate to do so, wrapping yourself around his body as if it was molded for that only. Geto can tell that you’re trying not to tremble, but the nightmare still lingers. He knows it all too well. His fingers brush through your hair when he pulls you closer to his chest, as if this could prevent you from falling apart–though deep down he’s aware that he might be the one on the verge of breaking. You know it too, don’t you? Geto is tired, oh, so tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix, and he can’t help but wonder if this would also be the last time that you’re in his arms, clinging onto someone who is long gone; a version of him that he shed together with his dream of letting himself love you.

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lancermylove · 2 months

Text

Not Good Enough (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Demon brothers x gn!Reader

Warning: Reader with low self-esteem.

Prompt: You don't think you are good enough for him.

———————————————

Lucifer found you alone in your bedroom. One look, and he could tell something was very wrong. "Why so pensive, my dear? You seem troubled. You know you can confide in me. What's on your mind?"

You hesitated to tell him the truth, not knowing how he would react to your words. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for you. You're so accomplished and strong, and I'm just..."

"You are just what?" He asked, crossing his arms. But when you didn't reply, he continued in a stern voice; however, his expression was soft. "Let me tell you, it's your humanity, your kindness, and your unwavering spirit that I find truly captivating. You challenge, inspire, and bring light into my life in ways you can't imagine. You are more than enough, and it's high time you see yourself through my eyes."

Lucifer sat down beside you and took your hands. He met your gaze and spoke in a warm voice. "I vow to you, on my honor, that I will spend an eternity proving just how extraordinary you are to me. You are not just 'good enough'; you are everything I could ever desire."

The Avatar of Pride pressed his lips to the back of your hand before whispering, "Never doubt my feelings for you, my dear. You are my chosen one, now and forever."

Mammon walked into your room unannounced and saw you sitting on the bed, staring down at your lap. "Oi, what's with the long face? You didn't lose any Grimm, did ya?"

It's nothing, Mammon... Just some personal stuff."

"I'm your boyfriend, y'know, so your personal stuff is my personal stuff. Come on, spill it. 'Sides, I'm the Great Mammon. I can handle it!"

You weren't sure if he would be upset with you for thinking you were not good enough, but you decided to come clean. "I just... sometimes feel like I'm not special enough for you. I'm just... too ordinary."

"What?! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Listen here, ya got it all backward. I'm Mammon the Great. I wouldn't hang around someone who ain't worth my time, got it?"

His words drew a smile to your lips. "So, you think I'm... worth your time?"

"Yeah, but that ain't a big deal or anything. Look, I feel like a total loser sometimes. But you...you make those times less crappy. You're important to me, y'know? And if anyone makes ya feel less, I'll make 'em pay for it."

Mammon plopped on the empty spot beside you and wrapped his right arm around your shoulders. "You're amazin', so don't ya forget it."

As you leaned against his shoulder, Mammon nuzzled the top of your head.

Levi saw you sitting in the corner of your room and froze in his tracks. He knew well what was going on in your mind but decided to make handle the matter with a touch of lightheartedness. "(Y/n), did someone spoil the latest episode of your favorite anime for you?"

Without looking at him, you quietly asked. "Levi, do you ever feel like... like you're not good enough for someone? That's how I feel about being with you."

Levi didn't expect to hear that, and for a moment, he didn't know how to react. "I mean, I'm just a shut-in otaku. If anyone's not worthy, it's me, not you. You're like the special event SSR card, and I'm just a common R card."

His references made you chuckle slightly, but you also disagreed with him. "You're not a common R card."

"(Y/n), how do I," Levi started to say but struggled to get his words out. He couldn't figure out how to put his feelings into genuine words. "(Y/n), in my eyes, you're the ultimate co-op partner. I wouldn't want to face any boss battles with you...s-something like that..."

His cheeks turned red, and Levi struggled to make eye contact with you as he continued in a shy voice. "So, um, I promise to be your player two, always supporting you. And... maybe we can help each other level up in confidence and stuff, 'kay? So, don't look so sad..."

Satan saw you in the library room of the House of Lamentation, and while your eyes were on the pages of the book in your hand, it was evident you were not reading. "You seemed trouble, (y/n). Would you accept my offer if I say I will lend you an ear?"

"Satan, how are you so smart...handsome..and amazing?" You asked without moving your eyes from the book.

Initially, the Avatar of Wrath thought you were complimenting him and blushed. But it didn't take him long to realize there was something more to your statement, so he remained silent, hoping you would share your true feelings with him.

"It makes me wonder if I'm good enough to be with you."

And there it was—something Satan hoped you wouldn't say as a follow-up statement: "Your worth isn't defined by how much you know or how you handle your emotions. It's your curiosity, love, and the way you view the world that I find invaluable. You are someone irreplaceable in my life."

When you moved your gaze to him, Satan's expression softened. He walked close to the sofa chair you sat in and leaned down to place a kiss atop your head. "I'm here to remind you of your significance. Not as a scholar to a student but as one soul to another. If I lose you, I will lose myself."

Asmo saw you sitting on your bed with slumped shoulders and figured you needed a pep talk. "Why does my precious diamond look so down? Did something say something mean?"

Shifting your eyes to him, you studied his flawless face, silky hair, perfect body, and radiating beauty. You lowered your head again, feeling worse than before. "I...can't even match up to you."

"Match up to me? What are you talking about?"

"You are just so dazzling, charming, beautiful...and perfect. I am nothing..."

Asmo was stunned at the way you perceived yourself and felt like shaking your by your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. "Oh, sweetie, why do you think such things? They are absolutely not true!"

The Avatar of Lust walked up to you, held your hands, and helped you up. He cupped your cheeks and smiled sweetly. "You must see yourself as I see you: utterly irresistible and enchanting. There's no need to match up to anyone because you shine so brightly on your own."

He gently pressed his lips to your forehead and whispered. "Let's have a little pampering session, shall we? I'll show you just how breathtaking you truly are."

When Beel saw you pushing around your food with your fork, he knew something was wrong. Putting his fork down, he looked at you, concerned. "(Y/n), you're not eating much. Is something wrong?"

"Beel, you are so strong, caring, loveable, and...deserve better. You deserve someone better than me."

Your words nearly made his heart stop as just the thought of losing you sent a shock through his heart. "(Y/n), don't say that. I like sharing meals with you...hearing you laugh...and hugging you. When I'm with you, I don't feel hungry for food. I feel hungry for your love. You fill up a part of me that I didn't even know was empty."

His words made you blush, and before you could argue or make another statement to hurt his heart, Beel stood up and walked to your side of the table. Scooping you up in his arms, he held you close to him and nuzzled the side of your face.

"You make me happy just by being you. I don't want you to change because you're perfect to me. I'll always be here for you - to protect and support you, just like I know you're here for me."

Belphie saw you lying on your stomach on the bed with your face turned to the side. He studied you for a moment before walking close to your bed. "You look more tired than me for once. What's bothering you?"

"Belphie, do you ever think I am not interesting or special?" You mumbled after a moment of silence.

"Hmm, that's a strange thing to worry about. Why do you ask?" He asked, raising his eyebrow. When you didn't reply, he sighed and sat down on your mattress. "You know, I don't spend my time with just anyone. If I'm with you, it's because there's something about you that's different, something peaceful."

Opening your eyes, you looked at him with tears in your eyes. His gaze softened, and Belphie rested his hand on your head. "You shine brighter than any star I know. You are interesting and special. If you need me to say this nonstop, I will say it...and mean it every time."

Belphie lay down next to you and wrapped his arm around you, giving you a soft smile. "With you, I always feel like I'm exactly where I need to be. You're enough, more than enough for me. Remember that."

———————————————

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