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samsaurwrites · 2 years

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Truth or Dare (Belphie x Reader x Beel NSFW Oneshot)

Belphie art by Saphire240400

▶ PLAYING ~ ❝ MIND GAMES ❞ "You had lost the game before it had ever even begun."

Truth or Dare (Belphie x fem!Reader x Beel, ~3k words)

Agreeing to a game of Truth or Dare with the youngest two demon brothers may not have been your best idea...

@asmos-pet, @blueparadis (thank you so much for organizing this!! i had a ton of fun participating 😏)

Tags: Belphegor Being a Little Shit (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mean Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Dom Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Soft Dom Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub Has a Large Penis (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Truth or Dare (but make it sexy), Threesome - F/M/M, Attic Club Sandwich, Mildly Dubious Consent, Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Extremely Dubious Consent, Inappropriate Use of Demon Powers (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Double Penetration, Under-negotiated Kink, Implied Marathon Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Read here or on AO3.

You had lost the game before it had ever even begun.

You should have known by the look on Belphie’s face when he’d suggested it, the way his lips twisted into a syrupy sweet smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You should have known by the way Beel glanced at his brother, the way he looked at you, sheepish and unsure.

But you agreed. Ignored the butterflies in your stomach—the ones that wriggled and writhed and warned, the ones that made your legs tremble as you climbed the spiral staircase up to the attic.

“So,” you begin, shifting on the plush little pillow they had given you, seated on the floor near Belphie’s bed. “It’s just Truth or Dare? Like we play back in the human world?”

“Yeah,” Belphie says, smirking lazily over at you from his own pillow. “And if you don’t want to answer or do the dare—” he sets down a large bottle of demonus and a single shot glass between the three of you. “—then you drink.”

You should have realized—should have known the dangerous game you were getting yourself into—when your heart lurches in your, when nerves steal your voice and, for a moment, all you can manage is a small nod.

You really should have known.

“Okay,” you say eventually, nodding again, “who goes first?”

“Me,” Belphie says, smiling again while he leans forward. He braces one elbow on his legs, props his chin up on his hand, and doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second. “Truth or dare?”

“Um,” you hesitate, glancing between the two of them—Beel, relaxed back against the foot of the bed, one knee bent up towards his chest, watching you intently; Belphie, drumming his fingers against his cheek, waiting. “Truth.”

“Boooooring,” Belphie drawls, rolling his eyes. “Fine, let me think…”

He trails off, makes a big show of thinking; he narrows his eyes, sucks his teeth, tilts his head one way, then the other, before his eyes flick over to his twin, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second before they return to you.

His smile turns predatory. “Have you ever touched yourself at school?”

“W-What?” you splutter. Heat floods your chest, your cheeks, the back of your neck. “No—I-I… No.”

The twins are quiet for a long moment—a moment they spend gauging your reaction, the set of your shoulders, the way you’ve curled in on yourself, just a little; it’s a moment you feel in your chest, in each frenzied thud of your heart, each fluttering wing beat trapped in the pit of your stomach.

You glance between them, open your mouth to say something, to try and fill the silence with something other than the sound of blood rushing behind your ears, but Belphie speaks up first.

“Beel’s turn~” he says, voice lilting with twisted glee.

You turn your head towards the older twin, and for the first time, you notice he’s blushing too, a soft pink that colors his cheeks, the bridge of his nose.

“Truth or dare?” he asks you, voice low and thrumming.

“Me again?” you look to Belphie, who merely shrugs, then back to Beel.

He nods.

You really should have known.

“U-uh… Dare?”

As soon as the word tumbles out of your mouth, you regret it. Wish you could snatch it out of the air; wish you could shove it back down your throat, down to join the butterflies roiling in your stomach.

But you can’t, and Belphie’s grin grows impossibly wider.

“Sit on his lap,” he says, urges, basking in the heat of your embarrassment, your discomfort.

You shift onto your knees, start to stand, to walk over to Beel and just get it over with—it’s only a game, after all—but Belphie grabs your wrist. He yanks you down, makes you fall, knees impacting on the soft carpet.

“Crawl,” he says, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

You stare up at him, eyes wide. “I… Th-that wasn’t part of the dare.”

“It is now,” he says, then lets go of your wrist and shrugs. “Drink, if you don’t want to do it.”

You eye the bottle of demonus. Mutter a short ‘fine’ under your breath and swallow down what’s left of your pride—a bitter taste the coats the back of your tongue, that has an insidious heat tingling between your legs—and crawl to Beel.

You can’t bear to look at him, at either of them. But you can feel them looking at you.

“C-Can I…?”

Thankfully, he doesn’t make you finish the sentence, lowering his leg so that you can climb onto his lap, so that you can face him and straddle his hips. You bite down on your lip, unsure of what to do with your arms, so you hold them close to your chest, back straight, shoulders tense, trying not to take too much notice of how wide your legs are spread around him.

“Good girl,” Belphie hums from behind you, much closer than he was—so close you jump. He smooths his hands down your arms, palms hot against your bare skin, wrapping his fingers around your wrists, guiding them up and around his brother’s neck. “Your turn.”

You drag your gaze away from Belphie’s hands, away from the slender fingers that rest against your pulse, to lock with eyes with Beel. Find that you can’t do anything but stare into his intensely violet eyes—eyes that threaten to swallow you whole, if you let them.

“Beel,” you say. “Truth or dare?”

Belphie squeezes at your sides, toying with the edge of your shirt at the same moment Beel’s hands find your hips, at the same moment they start to knead into your flesh and draw you closer.

“Truth,” he says.

It’s hard to think—with them like this, so close like this. With their hands all over you.

“Did… Did Belphie make you play this game?”

“No,” he says, wetting his lips with his tongue. “I wanted to play with you too.”

The way he says it, voice low and gravely and hungry. The fact that you’re straddling him, that Belphie’s arms have wound themselves around your waist. Those words. It all has you clenching around nothing.

“My turn,” Belphie murmurs, chest flush with your back. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathes in the scent of your hair, your skin. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you say, but your voice wavers, warbles when he sighs against your neck.

“Ah, ah,” he murmurs. “Beel just did truth. Can’t do that twice in a row.”

You don’t remember that being part of the rules, but you can find it in yourself to argue.

“D-Dare, then,” you stammer.

When he kisses your throat, you feel him smirking. “Let me blindfold you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, sticks there like a rock. Your pulse hammers in your chest—so hard, you know they must hear it, that they must feel it. You can’t get anything out past the cotton candy fog in your head and the ringing in your ears, so you nod.

Belphie shifts behind you, and then he draws a piece of fabric over your eyes, forcing them shut. He’s gentle when he ties it, has Beel hold your hair so it doesn’t pull when he cinches it tight against your skull.

You feel yourself swaying, steady yourself on Beel’s shoulders.

“Truth or dare?” Beel asks, and you know he’s talking to you.

“Truth.”

From behind you, “how often do you touch yourself?”

You stiffen, fingers twitching at Beel’s shoulders, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, fumbling for something, for anything.

“I… I don’t want to answer that.”

“Fine,” Belphie murmurs, breath hot against your ear. He releases your waist, and then you feel the cold press of the bottle against your lips. “Open.”

He presses his fingertips up underneath your chin, tilting your head backwards until it rests against his shoulder. Then he pours—too much, too fast—into your open mouth. You struggle to keep up, to gulp down the demonus that stings in the back of your throat, tasting like berries and spice and heat.

He pulls the bottle away—finally—and you cough and splutter, feel demonus dripping down your chin, rolling down your neck in amaranthine rivulets. The buzz sets in fast—far faster than you expect. Flowing through your veins, settling into your muscles, filling your thoughts with a distracting static.

“Who do you think about when you do it?” his voice is like silk, ghosting across the shell of your ear, low and lilting while Beel laps at the demonus trailing down your throat, sucking at your pulse point, tracing the hollow of your throat with his tongue, making you whimper.

“That… That’s two questions, Belphie,” you whine.

You. Both of you—just like this.

“Answer,” he says, hands skimming up and down your sides, “or drink.”

“I-I don’t—” you stammer, shifting your hips, squirming in Beel’s grip. The hands. The tongue. The heat. It’s too much. “I don’t want to answer that either.”

The bottle is back. “Then drink.”

You do. Or, try to. You swallow deep, tears welling up in your eyes, spilling over in time with the burning in your throat, in between your thighs. You gulp, drink and drink until Belphie is satisfied and Beel is left to clean up the mess you’ve made of yourself. When he takes the bottle away, you’re reeling, gasping.

“Truth or dare?” Beel asks, murmurs against your neck.

“Dare,” you choke out, suddenly very aware of the hardness pressing into you from underneath, from behind.

“Kiss him,” Belphie says, fingers twisted in your hair now. You feel hands on your face—Beel’s—thumb brushing across your cheekbone, over the plush of your bottom lip.

“Okay,” you whisper, and then his mouth is on yours. Greedy. Demanding. Hungry. His tongue dives into your mouth, licking and tasting, sucking the demonus from your tongue. He traces the shape of your teeth, groaning into you, intertwining his tongue with yours. Swallows down every gasp, every little whimper.

You’re drowning. In the way he rocks his hips into yours, the way he grinds his length against you—the way he tastes you, the way he devours. You’re lost. To the feel of Belphie’s hands under your shirt, palming your breast, teasing your nipples, nipping at the skin of your shoulders, sucking dark bruises along the column of your throat.

“Truth or dare?” Belphie asks as Beel pulls back and breaks the kiss, letting you breathe again.

“T-Truth,” you gasp, chest heaving up and down, arching into Belphie’s touch.

“Do you like what we’re doing to you?” he asks, twisting one nipple between his forefinger and thumb, grinning when you yelp. “Do you like it when we touch you like this? When we share you like this?”

You nod, nearly frantic, struggling to hold back the pathetic noises that fall from your open mouth.

“Say it,” Beel urges, “need to hear you say it.”

Oh, you really should have known.

“I like it,” you breathe.

Beel growls, a strangled sound low in his throat, grabbing tighter onto your hips, grinding your needy little cunt against his clothed cock. You suck in a gasp. Rock your hips against him. Dig your fingernails into his shoulders. Whine at the feeling of him—so thick, so hard—underneath you.

“Truth or dare?” Even Belphie sounds affected now. Breathy. Voice thick and heady.

Needy.

“Dare,” you whisper, voice breaking half-way through the word, head falling back against Belphie’s shoulder.

“Let us fuck you.”

Your whimper is all the answer they need.

You’re being lifted before you realize it, carried over and laid flat on your back on the edge of Belphie’s mattress. They peel of your clothing, drag your shirt up and over your head, fingertips lingering on your ribs, your thighs as they pull down your shorts, your panties, half-soaked through because—fuck, you’re wet, Beel groans.

Big hands—Beel’s hands—press your legs further apart, keep you open while he squeezes at the plush of your thighs. You feel breath, hot against your core, and then he’s licking you, laving his tongue over and around your swollen nub, lapping at slick that coats your folds, holding your hips in place while you twitch and writhe.

“Open,” Belphie grunts, smearing the head of his cock against your lips.

Your body reacts before your mind can, steeped in a fevered haze, mouth popping open, tongue dipping into the salty pre-cum that beads at the tip. He groans when he sinks into the wet heat of your mouth—an absolutely obscene sound that has chills rippling down your spine, heat tingling between your legs.

When you push back against his hips, when you shy away from the length prodding at the back of your throat, he grabs both your wrists and pins them to the mattress, binding them together with his belt.

“Keep them there,” he growls, bucking into your mouth, making you gag and choke, clench around the fingers that Beel slides inside you. He pumps in one, then two, scissoring them, stretching you open while he suck as your clit.

Belphie’s hand wraps around your throat, holding you down while he fucks your mouth, while he praises you for being such a good cock sucking whore. Pressure builds in your gut, spiraling tighter, brighter, and when Belphie drives his cock all the way in, when he gags you with it and holds you there, rutting into your face—panting and cursing and moaning your name—you cum on Beel’s fingers, his tongue.

Belphie pulls out of your mouth, lets you splutter and gasp for air, just barely conscious of the fact you’re being pulled upright, that Beel loops your tied arms around his neck and maneuvers you on top of him, straddling his hips.

“Need you,” he pants, tearing the blindfold off, guides your hips down and nudges at your entrance. “Need you so bad.”

He pushes in, just past the ring of muscle that struggles to accept him.

It burns—punches the air out of your lungs because he’s big.

“B-Beel,” you gasp, tightening involuntarily because it hurts. “S’too much—s’too much—”

He grunts, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His grip is unrelenting, pulling you down slowly, feeding inch after inch into your hole, forcing your legs wider around his hips, stretching your pussy open around his cock.

He’s only halfway in when you feel Belphie prodding at your puckered hole.

“Wai—” you choke on your next breath, eyes rolling into the back of your head when Beel bucks his hips up into yours, as Belphie pushes harder against your ass. “Wait, wait—” you babble, beg, squirming, struggling against the belt, the grip on your hips. “—slow, I can’t, I can’t—s-sto—”

Belphie clamps his hand over your mouth.

“Relax,” he hisses into your ear, and a sudden, overpowering wave of lethargy washes over you. His voice lulls you, coils around your mind and drags it down into a heavy fog. His voice soothes you, makes your eyelids heavy, makes your muscles unclench—lets Beel bottom out, fully sheathed in your fluttering pussy, lets Belphie pop the tip of his cock inside your ass and slide further inside.

You drift in and out of consciousness. Head lolling back against Belphie’s shoulder, arms hanging limp around Beel’s neck. In and out of pleasure. Pain. Stretch and fill. You hardly recognize your own voice, the weak, strangled noises barely audible past Belphie’s hand.

They use you. One fucking in while the other pulls out. Holding you captive between them.

“See?” Belphie grunts, abandoning his hold on your mouth to grip your throat. To squeeze while he ruts into you. “Isn’t it so much better when you just give in?”

“So tight,” Beel groans, right in your ear.

“What a fucking slut,” Belphie hisses in your other ear.

Gorgeous—and so goddamn noisy, they whisper. So perfect—making such a mess for us. Fucking harder. Faster. You’re melting, weeping, fucked out of your mind. Feel so good—our filthy little cocksleeve. In time now. Fucking you open. So full, so fucking full. So good for us—our needy little fuck toy.

When you cum again, you can’t even warn them, just a choked whine, just a fluttering of your walls, a clenching that has them both spilling inside of you a moment later, Beel crushing his mouth to yours, Belphie sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

Your eyes slip closed… then open.

You’re on your side, back to Beel’s chest, head tucked into Belphie’s neck, breathing heavy and achingly empty. They stroke your hair, trail their fingers across your flushed and sweaty skin.

Closed… Open.

Belphie kisses you. Parts your lips with his tongue. Moans into your mouth. Beel grinds against your ass, still hard, sliding through his brother’s release that leaks out of you.

Close… Open.

You whimper. Push weakly against Belphie’s chest, cry when Beel’s fingers find your clit, when searing pain-streaked pleasure burns through you.

“Shh,” Belphie soothes, hiking your leg up around his waist, dragging the tip of his cock up and down your soaking folds. “Just relax… we’ll take good care of you.”

The lethargy hits again, dragging you deeper.

Close… Open.

They’re inside you again. Rolling their hips into yours soft and slow… It feels good. Mind-numbingly good. The way Beel holds you tight against him. It feels good. The way Belphie’s tongue dances with yours. The way it’s sloppy and languid and soft. It feels so fucking good—

Close… Open.

You’re cumming again. And again. Over and over again as they bully open your insides, molding them to the shape of their cocks—you lose count. Lose your fucking mind while your eyes roll back. While tears stream down your cheeks.

They fill you. Your mouth, your ass, your pussy—with fingers and tongues and cocks and cum. They mark you. Paint your skin with hickies and bruises in the shape of their teeth.

Close… Open.

Belphie kisses you again, licking along your bottom lip. “… Truth or dare?”

Thanks for reading!! Consider giving it a ❤️ and a 🔁 if you enjoyed.

You can check out my other writing here.

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still-a-morosexual-help · 1 year

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LEGENDARY NON-BINARY ICON DEVILCAT✨️

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leaving-grapefruitss · 2 years

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bacc

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favficbirthdays · 1 year

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Happy Birthday

Beelzebub (11th March)

Obey Me!

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whatever-fanfics · 6 months

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Headcanon that the demons and angels don't have that instinct when somethings wrong.

MC *feels the hairs on their arms stand up*: Somethings wrong

Solomon *feels a pit in his stomach*: I agree

Demons and Angels: What the fuck

*Something goes wrong*

The Demons and Angels: What the F U C K 🤯😱🤯

#obey me #om! reblog #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #obey me leviathan #obey me beel #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #I feel like Barbatos would know about this but still #obey me mephisto #obey me raphael #obey me simeon #obey me thirteen #obey me shitpost

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smoft-demons · 2 months

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MC falls asleep on him

_______

Lucifer:

‘…?!’ Is what Lucifer is thinking as your head drops onto his shoulder.

You had cajoled him into doing some of his constant paperwork in a bigger chair for a change. So there’s room for you to sit next to him! You’re not even demanding his attention, or the spare time that he doesn’t have, you’re being very considerate, you just wanted sit next to him, that’s all, you had promised!

Lucifer caved, because he is very soft for his human—even though he’s loathe to look like it. You were in fact being considerate… so he had brought a stack of relatively low-importance papers out of his office, into the living room.

You were sitting on a couch together, him with his stack of administrative papers and you with a homework assignment. You finished yours quickly, so you ended up playing a game on your DDD as you lean against him.

He checks on you periodically out of the corner of his eye. He’s relaxed though—as relaxed as Lucifer gets. This is peaceful. Meditative, almost. He’s happy. All his brothers are elsewhere, his tasks are not too overwhelming, he gets to have a nice, calming afternoon sitting in companionable silence with his favourite housemate…

A sudden weight falling on him jolts him out of his trance. Your cheekbone thunks against his shoulder. He blinks. Processing.

In quick succession, his brain goes like ‘..?!’ then ‘it is mid-afternoon why are you sleeping’ and ‘have we been overworking our human?’ and ‘aww. MC really does trust me that much.’

He adjusts the way you’re situated so you’re more comfortable as he finishes up the last of his work. When he’s done, he takes a moment to just observe. To appreciate your trust in him. Also, to congratulate himself again for his part in the creation of the exchange program, because it brought you into his life.

(He tries to ignore the stubborn twinge of nostalgic heartache he feels as well. You’re reminding him so much of Belphie, from back when his relationship with him was good. He’d never admit it, but he misses having his babiest brother fall asleep on him like this.)

Lucifer gathers up his papers, then picks you up, being careful not to jostle you too much. Let no one ever say he doesn’t take good care of his human. He carries you to your room to put you to bed. Clearly you need the extra sleep. Or… well, he tries to. You’re holding onto him pretty insistently.

He expects himself to feel irritated, but… no. He can’t help but feel a little smug, actually. It’s cute, you’re cute, you don’t seem to want him to leave you. So… fine. He’ll oblige. For a short break.

(An hour or two later, you’ll wake up to the smells and sounds of dinner being prepared. You’re… not under your blanket? No, you’re covered by Lucifer’s ridiculously long coat. It’s warm, soft. It smells like him. In this moment, it’s impossible to miss how loved you are.)

_______

Mammon:

The first time this happened (in your room, watching movies without any of his brothers for once), Mammon was stunned. He had frozen up, stuttered some nonsense to no one in particular, then quickly slapped his free hand over his mouth as he realized he would wake you if he didn’t immediately chill out.

Now though? You’ve been in his life for a while. He’s your oldest friend here. Those movie nights had become a habit, even though it remained rare to have one with no one else joining in. So this has happened a lot, and he’s gotten used to it. He doesn’t react so outwardly anymore, not unless one of his brothers show up to make fun of him.

If they try it, Mammon is rather aggressive about shushing them. At first, because he hated to be so obvious about how much he cares about you, but now that he’s a bit more used to it, it’s because he doesn’t want them to disturb you. He feels like he’s protecting you by keeping his brothers from waking you up. Sometimes, he’s the one who wakes you up by telling them to shut up just a bit too loudly, or silently gesturing for them to be quiet or go away a little too enthusiastically.

His brothers roast him even more for that. Poor thing.

Time and time again, you pass out on his shoulder. During a movie, mid relaxed hangouts with various groups of the brothers, in the rare times when hanging out solo with Mammon is a relaxing low-energy affair, while studying, during the lunch break at school, even in class sometimes. His heart warms, and he can’t help but smile at the familiar feel of you conked out on his shoulder again. He doesn’t even mind if you snore.

Mammon is usually such a loud, high energy person. Neither you nor him finds anything wrong with that of course, it’s one of many lovable things about him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like being able to just chill with you sometimes though. It’s nice.

Eventually, he gets familiar enough with this that he’s willing to move you around to get more comfortable. With time, he learns exactly what ways he can move you without disturbing you. So most of the time when you fall asleep on him, you wake up in some other position. Sitting in his lap, lying down with a sleeping Mammon wrapped around you, being carried to another room, propped up against his side in your next class, being hugged like a teddy bear in his room, etc etc.

He never questions why you’re tired. He just lets you pass out on him. He wants you to be in the best possible condition, and he will happily take all the time with you he can get. He takes this to mean that you also want all the time with him that you can get, that you would rather stay with him than go to bed when you’re tired because you would rather not be separated from him. Just like how he feels about you. Why else would he be in your room as often as he is?

You trusting him enough to sleep on him all the time makes him feel like he’s being a good guardian demon, like he’s as precious to you as you are to him.

He’s a fan of all the free cuddles he gets out of this, too.

_______

Levi:

You’re in Levi’s room with him, set up very comfortably as you’re marathoning an anime together. You’ve been at it for hours though, you’re already a bit sleep deprived, and you’ve seen this one a few times already. You can’t stop yourself from nodding off. Your head drops onto his shoulder.

Levi freaks out.

“afgshrjdxssh—WH-!” He flails. You immediately snap awake again. “You—uhh-!” He shoves you away in a panic, then immediately changes his mind, pulling you back in, then freezes for a moment before letting go of you to flap his hands frantically. “Nonono stay—wait no, you don’t want to—I mean, you don’t have to—I mean, get o—uhh! Um! I mean! S-stay if you want, but I don’t care if you don’t want to—!”

You blink slowly at him a couple times. Trying to parse his contradictory sputtering. You’re tired, you’re not working at full brain power. You figure he means something along the lines of: ‘ooo I’m Levi, I have bad self esteem and I can’t believe you want to touch me, but I want you to, but I can’t say that because I cope with feeling unlovable by acting all tsundere because that way I feel less pathetic, love you though!’

You know. Standard Levi stuff. You love him so much—and you’d be very happy if he started therapy.

For now though, you just grab his arm and pull him closer to you again. You bury your face in his shoulder. This time, it’s unmistakably a deliberate move. Wordlessly telling him that you do in fact love him enough to want to touch him.

It’s like his body just took a screenshot! He keysmashes out loud.

Slowly, he calms down. He puts one hesitant arm around you. You don’t move. He can’t tell if you’re already asleep again or just pretending to be, but either way you seem to be comfortable.

Soon enough, he finds himself smiling like an absolute dork. This… is actually very effective reassurance. He feels all warm and fuzzy and loved. He likes holding you.

It’s reminding him of TSL fluff fics he’s read where absolutely nothing happens except Henry and the Lord of Shadows cuddle. A way for him to experience affection vicariously through a character he relates to and a character he loves, when he really wants hugs himself but can’t have any.

He squeezes you softly as his heart warms. He squishes his cheek against the side of your head.

“I love my Henry..!” Levi mumbles to himself, under his breath. He has no way of knowing if you heard that, which is why he said it out loud. It’ll be a while until he gets the nerve to say it when he knows you can hear.

_______

Satan:

He is HONOURED, he is OVERJOYED, he is MELTING, he is… very carefully remaining perfectly chill.

It’s the same type of happiness as when a cat decides to sit on you out of nowhere. He’s been chosen!

He is SO happy you trust him so much!

He had been reading, as usual. You had been sitting next to him, as usual. You had gotten tired, and without a moment of hesitation you had buried your face in his shoulder and fallen asleep.

He carefully contains all the joy this gives him, so he doesn’t disturb you. He wraps an arm around you, plants a soft kiss on your head, and goes right back to reading.

If you sleep fitfully, he’ll stroke your hair to soothe you.

When you wake up, he’ll ask if you had a nice nap. He won’t make any moves to make you get off him. If you choose to anyway, he won’t react outwardly, because he doesn’t want to discourage you falling asleep on him again. He wants this to happen lots more! So he’ll just smile at you and go back to his book.

But if you don’t choose to leave, he’ll shift you entirely into his lap to make you both more comfortable. He can hug you properly like this. If he’s sure you’ll be comfortable with it, he’ll kiss your forehead before going back to his book. He’s very happy to keep you there.

_______

Asmo:

Predictably, Asmo’s gonna take ALL the pictures of this!

A few in which he doesn’t look at the camera, as if they were candid shots. Some where he’s posing cutely, a couple where he’s kissing your head, a bunch of various angles of your sleeping face. What can he say, he thinks the way your cheek squishes against his collarbone is just precious.

A bit less predictably, he posts none on devilgram. No, these are just for him.

…maybe the best ones are for the group chat. He’s gotta show off his cute human to someone, it may as well be to his brothers. They’ll appreciate you properly. He’ll share after you’ve woken up, though. He doesn’t want anyone barging in to disturb you.

He’ll share the pictures with you as well if you ask, of course! What he will NOT do, however, is risk you deleting them! He’ll back them up first. He’ll store them in a hidden album if you’re shy about them, but he’s not deleting them!

Well, unless you’re genuinely uncomfortable. Then, okay fine. But please let him keep at least one? You’re so cute!

He’ll be more affectionate over the following days. Trying to be next to you all the time, inviting you to his room at every opportunity, pulling you to sit next to him. All because he hopes you’ll fall asleep on him again. Or just lean on him like that, and let him cuddle you. Please, he’d be SO happy!

_______

Beel:

Beel is so used to this behaviour. Belphie falls asleep on him all the time. He’d be the most chill about it.

As if it’s routine, he’ll secure you in your position with his arm, so you can’t fall and get hurt. He’ll rub your back and hum softly to you to help you relax if you don’t seem to be sleeping well. Beel is warm and soft and big and comfy, like the giant teddy bear he is at heart. He’s considerate and gentle. He’s always really sweet to you, and that doesn’t change one bit even when you’re unconscious.

When he inevitably gets too hungry to stay where he is, he’ll just take you to the kitchen with him. It’s no problem, he does this with Belphie all the time. It doesn’t matter how much you weigh, Beel can carry you easily. He thinks nothing of it.

He can cook one handed too if he needs to. He’s got practice—also because of Belphie. He’s chilling, he’s comfortable, there’s nothing unusual about this at all to him.

If the kitchen noises wake you up, he’ll apologize and share his food with you. He’ll tell you outright that he’s happy to let you use him as a pillow whenever you want.

(Also, he makes a mental note to drop you off with Belphie instead of bringing you along to the kitchen and risking waking you up again next time)

If it doesn’t wake you up, no problem! That’s what he expected. He just carries you around as he does what he needs to do around the house. He’ll put you to bed properly if he needs to go outside of course, but otherwise he’s bringing you with him.

When you wake up, he’ll put you down if you somehow indicate that’s what you want. If you don’t though, he just… won’t. He likes holding you. He’d do it so often if he thought you’d like him to.

_______

Belphie:

…Welp. The table has turned, hasn’t it.

People don’t fall asleep on Belphie while he’s awake too often! He’s not usually conscious to experience this! He likes it though. He thinks you’re being so cute.

9 times out of 10, Belphie will take this as his cue to cuddle up to you and join you in sleep. He can always be tempted into a nap. He’d make sure this the comfiest, nicest, most restful nap you’ve ever taken. He’d make sure you feel so safe and loved. You will NOT be disturbed on his watch.

On the rare tenth time, when Belphie isn’t tired, he might whine about being trapped. When one of his brothers points out that he can move you very easily, he glares at them. He maintains that it’s illegal to move when you’ve been chosen as someone’s pillow. When it’s pointed out that he’s perfectly capable of waking you if he really wants to get up, he looks affronted. He would NOT do that, he says. Do they think he’s completely heartless, he asks.

Well. He wouldn’t do that unless he’s feeling particularly bratty. He’d totally do it to any of his brothers… but he’s soft with you. He loves you. Be so for real, do you think he’d really ever pass up an opportunity to cuddle you? No way. He can go shopping later.

He won’t tell you that though. He’ll bitch about it to your face, complaining until you agree to go shopping with him next time, all the while refusing to let go of you.

He already was not hesitating to fall asleep on you, but he somehow gets more shameless and constant about it. Since you’re doing it too, it’s your thing now. You’d be a hypocrite to complain now.

Yeah, he couldn’t be happier about this. Please sleep on him all the time. Enable him even more! He’ll make sure you won’t regret it.

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meowsgirldrawing · 1 month

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Many Kisses~ (PolyAU! Obey me!)

Note: I got no excuse for the last one, the demons just love their human too much <3 (And MC is just loving life)

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obae-me · 10 months

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How many kisses I think it would take before he turns to mush

My creativity has been stuck in essentially a rush hour traffic jam for like weeks, so let's write something silly for practice, shall we?

Lucifer

Definitely ten or more. He tries to keep his composure, to focus on the task at hand, scold you for coddling him and distracting him, but if you hold onto your stubbornness and see it through to the end, he will be putty in your hands soon after you reach double digits. He might even fall faster if you give him little bits of praise after every kiss.

Mammon

Three MAX. One to catch him off guard, one to make it really sink in, and then the third to land the final blow. No amount of tsundere will outlast the triple attack. He'll be following you around like a lost puppy for the rest of the day, almost demanding more. He's greed after all, three might've broken him, but he'll be damned if he doesn't get more.

Levi

I would be tempted to say just one is enough, but we want a soft boy, not a vibrating, anxious mess. He gets tense at first, and he needs some reassurance and some time to understand that he likes and is okay what is happening. So I'm going to say five or more kisses. The first few he's just stuttering and blushing, but soon after, he can put that aside and just allow himself to relax a bit.

Satan

He acts like it takes him just as long as Lucifer, reaching double digits, when in reality he gave in internally much much earlier than that. Four is when his heart is melting and his mind is screaming, but around eight is when his body starts to unwind, almost curling around you like a cat.

Asmo

Much higher than you would expect. One must bridge the initial flirting phase before he becomes a puddle. I'm going to say probably six kisses. The first three he'll be giddy, but if you get softer with each kiss, he'll slowly start to become speechless.

Beel

As long as there isn't food in the way, just one. One kiss is all it takes. This demon has just so much love in him, you hardly need to kiss him for him to be soft for you. He doesn't need to put up an act. Just give him a single smooch and he'll drop whatever he's doing to cuddle into you.

Belphie

So many kisses. Probably even more than Lucifer. He feels like he deserves your kisses anyway, so it's hard to get him flustered about it, especially when he's so spoiled. Besides, you have to hope your affection won't lull him to sleep. Over ten for sure. Just keep going. Eventually, he'll be overwhelmed and give up his sleepy smug nature and transform into fluff.

Diavolo

Look me in the eyes and tell me this touch starved man will not cave after like two or three. He's not used to kisses, so the first kiss has his brain lagging. Hit him with the double combo and he's gone. Wasted. Fatality. Although please just kiss him more than twice. He really likes it.

Barbatos

Too many to count, unfortunately. He likes it, don't get him wrong, he's just tough to break. But there must be a breaking point somewhere. Keep attacking him with kisses and surely he must give in eventually, although most likely by his own will, giving in just so you can catch a proper breath. A win is a win.

Simeon

Probably no more than four, although it seems like more than that because he'll often return to sender and kiss you back. Don't give in, you must stay strong before he makes you melt first. Hum as you kiss him and he'll fall faster, almost cooing.

Solomon

He's got a stronger will than most, almost as good as Barbatos, but he will melt in due time. He'll treat it like a game at first, which it almost is to you, but he doesn't have to know that. It takes a while, but when he melts, he melts fast. He'll be trying to chuckle and make light of it one moment, and then be a completely speechless mess the next.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon

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tsukii0002 · 14 days

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Levi: Mc!!!! Mammon won't give me my money back

Mc: Mammon either give Levi his money back or stop asking him for money.

Later that day

Belphie: Mc, Lucifer won't stop sending me work that I don't have to do.

Mc: Lucifer!!! Stop bringing you extra work and you Belphie do your fair share!!!

A couple of hours later

Solomon: Mc! Asmo won't let me wear my wizard cape!

Mc: *sighing* Asmo let everyone dress the way they want to dress, ok?

A while later

Luke:*crying* Mc!! Beel has eaten the cake I had just made!!!!

Mc: Beel!!! What did we say about eating Luke's sweets without permission????

After all day resolving other people's conflicts

Mc: Can't you do anything on your own?!!!!

Barbatos: *standing next to Mc with a smile* ….

Mc: Barbatos?

Barbatos: Mc, the young master keeps touching my exclusive tea pots.

Mc: …

Mc: All of you do this on purpose, don't you?

Barbatos: ...

Mc: *sighs* Diavolo!!!!

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temis-de-leon · 3 months

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Pick me girls and OM! Brothers - Part 2

Characters: Satan, Asmo, Beel and Belphie (x reader, separately)

Part 1 - Lucifer, Mammon and Levi (x reader, separately)

Part 3 - Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

CW: pick me girl behavior, one of these girls is actually really stupid, suggestive, mentions of sex between the brothers and mc, mentions of violence, a bit of magic, mentions of cheating (not actual cheating), nightmares, implied death, jealous mc, some fluff, some hurt, some comfort, still ooc but i had even more fun

Satan

Your boyfriend looked more offended than you ever had the chance to feel.

The cashier at the bookstore barely had the time to say anything about her supposed romance with the demon before he appeared in his signature pose: a hand in his hip and the other one over his chest.

He had been a regular for years and you didn't know if the girl had been delusional enough to believe she had something with him or if she was just jealous and wanted to make you feel bad.

You weren't sure which one was sadder.

"Am I hearing this correctly?" he said with spite, distracting you from your own thoughts "Are you so daft you were considering me reciprocating your feelings?"

The girl lowered her gaze, clearly embarrassed, and for a moment you felt guilty. Maybe she really thought she had something mutual going on with Satan; a crush that went too far in her own imagination.

She proved you wrong, however, when not only did she give you a side eye, but also said the most stupidest thing one could ever muster.

"Well, obviously you are so daft you chose them over me"

You couldn't waste time on feeling hurt; not when Satan was showing his fangs, letting his tail scratch the floor as it lashed behind him. As hot as he looked like this, it was not the moment nor the place to show his demon form in a fit of rage.

The stupid cashier seemed proud of getting a reaction out of him, finally catching his attention. Maybe she was a demon of wrath too? Maybe that's how she flirted with other demons?

The poor thing would be lucky if she ever lived to see another day.

Let her discover that fact on her own.

"She's not worth it, Satan" you urged, pushing him to the door "Let's go to that cat cafe you mentioned earlier. You said they had new kittens, right?"

That seemed to do the trick.

He looked at you with love, still mixed with anger and bewilderment, but not enough for you not to hold his hand and lean against him.

"I'm sorry, my dear" he murmured, then he spoke louder "Do not believe a word she said"

"I would never"

"Good"

He nodded to himself, like the idea of you believing the cashier was too stupid to even consider it, but neither of you could ignore how his hand stiffened in yours for a second.

"Let's go see some kittens" you said in a singing voice, leading him in the street towards your destination.

You failed to see the adoration in his eyes.

Asmo

This succubus dated Asmo long before you were even an idea in your parents' minds and she wanted you to keep that in mind.

She wanted you to know that everything you knew, she knew better (a blatant lie) and that Asmo preferred experience over novelty (ew).

"I remember the times we went to the sauna and... Oh, sorry, does he take you to the sauna?"

"He invited me a couple of times, yes" but I had to say no or else I would've boiled alive.

"And does he...?"

Does he. Does he. Does he.

He does. HE DOES. HE DEFINITELY DOES.

In which moment did you think going to The Fall was a better plan than doing each other's skincare routine while making fun of 50 shades of Grey?

The both of you could be criticizing that poor excuse of BDSM right now (before recreating the correct version), but, instead, Asmo was ordering the girliest cocktail ever made while this Camila Cabello wannabe harassed you.

"...that was a little joke between us"

Lord Diavolo she just kept going.

"I'm so happy you remember so well your past relationship with him" you intervened with a strain in your voice, "but maybe it's time for you to stop and leave"

The succubus smirked with a smugness that made your innards burn from the inside out.

"Don't get jealous! I'm sure he loves you too"

Oh my Lord.

The lion, the witch and the audacity of this bitch.

"Hon', look at this!"

There he came, your savior, dressed in a skimpy dress with hands full of shimmery drinks and a glint in his very beautiful loving eyes.

"They didn't have human beverages, but I swear the taste is impeccable, you'll love it! Just let me take a picture for Devilgram first"

Camila Cabello, as you had finally decided to call her, cleared her throat in search of the demon's attention. Asmodeus looked in her direction, obviously trying to remember who she was.

"Asmo, baby!" she was nothing but a smile full teeth and a mission. Her gaze a little desperate "Remember me?"

Her determination died, however, when Asmo's expression turned shocked after studying her. He grasped his chest in sorrow as he asked the funniest question you could hear at the moment.

"What are you wearing?"

Camila Cabello was finally at a loss of words and you briefly wondered if this had ever happened to her.

"If you're gonna meddle in my relationship with MC at least take effort in looking decent"

His expression was sweet, saccharine, but there was an underlying seriousness in his voice.

He was so beautiful. And he was all yours.

Beel

She was one of the boys, apparently. Beel had definitely never mentioned her, but the girl only laughed when you told her that.

"Wow, controlling much? Does he have to tell you about every friend?"

Well, no, Beel didn't have to inform you about everyone he's ever met, but your boyfriend was sweet enough to want you in every aspect of his life, thus introducing you to his friends, his teammates and even his gym bros.

Definitely not to this girl.

You looked at her in disbelief, licking your teeth with a calculating glance. How much would Beel care if you hit this airhead with a dumbbell?

"We hang out together almost every day" she boasted, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger "It's not even weird for me to be in the boys locker room"

Were you strong enough to throw a dumbbell?

Surely she'd rather be with them instead of you if she was 'one of the boys', no? Why would she be in the bleachers with you, waiting for the team to finish their training, when she could be in any other part of the field doing exercise or playing for another sport?

"I'm not making you insecure, am I?" asked the girl in poorly faked innocence "If he loves you so much you should have nothing to worry about"

"Oh, I trust him" you assured her, but you didn't sound as confident as you wanted to. Although Beel never gave you any reasons to doubt him, it was difficult to defend your relationship when this girl was so convinced everyone was in love with her.

"That's so cool"

You decided to ignore her and her mocking tone, hoping to end the conversation right there, but she just kept talking. It was obvious she wanted to get under your skin.

For what? you wondered. Did she expect Beel to leave you if she batted her lashes fast enough? Did she know Beel at all??

"Oh, Beely!"

You cringed with a scowl visible to everyone around you. Some of Beel's teammates laughed at your missfortune, while the others, the ones you liked best, turned around in horror and left without a second glance.

Wether he was oblivious or just didn't care, Beel wasted no time in running towards you with a smile on his face.

"Did you see me?" he asked, looking up to you with a boyish grin and brightened eyes.

"I'm always looking at you"

Beel blushed, his smile still obvious in his face, but he couldn't get another word in before the girl talked again.

"I was looking at you too"

You rolled your eyes and Beel immediately stared at you with a curious glance. He hummed in response, ignoring her once again as he reached out for your hand to caress your knuckles.

"There's a new limited edition menu in a restaurant near RAD"

No questions added nor needed. You smiled at him and nodded, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss it. A promise for later.

"Noo, we used to go there so much..."

"Can you stop?" Beel interrupted her with a deadpan expression "You're making MC uncomfortable"

The girl looked at him in surprise, mouth wide open, clearly not expecting to be snapped at.

She didn't dare to look at you after that.

Belphie

It wasn't the first time you dreamt about this girl and it wasn't the first time you dreamt about her stealing your sloth of a boyfriend.

She wasn't some mystery girl, but rather Belphie's old seatmate, the one he had before you were kidnapped admitted in RAD. A quiet doe-eyed succubus that looked at him like he was the best thing that ever happened to both human and demon mankind.

She'd tried to sit next to him a couple of times with no avail, always getting rejected in your favor. Then, Belphie and you started dating and she stopped trying. You'd innocently thought she'd surrendered.

But not only did she search for him the very few times you guys weren't next to each other, she also ignored you completely when you were there.

Ignoring her back was easier said than done.

And this time, the oniric version of her wasn't just stealing your boyfriend. This time, he was willingly going to her, making your heart hurt so much it made you wake up with what felt like broken ribs.

It took you a couple of minutes to pull yourself together and not push Belphie away when he brought you back to his chest. The image of him kissing her while looking at you was engraved in your mind.

So, although sweating and hurting both from your heart and your confidence, you forced yourself to sleep.

You didn't notice just how awake Belphie was.

Back when you were still friends, you had allowed him to introduce himself into your slumber each time you had a nightmare. Images of you dying under the jaws and claws of faceless demons disappeared faster when the real Belphie was there. Ironic, isn't it?

He tried to stop every single one of them, but sometimes he was so deep in his own dreams it was proved to be impossible.

You thought this was one of those occasions, but, alas, you were wrong.

Days passed without any new event and Belphie mentioned nothing about your initial irrational coldness towards him, which made you feel a tiny bit better. Eventually you'd get so embarrassed about the situation that you had no other option but to dote on him like the brat he was, leading to a whole weekend sprawled over his bed in the attic.

The girl was still there, although not as persistent with Belphie, and she avoided you like the plague, with fright in her eyes.

So he did something about her, didn't he? But how did he know? And what did he do? You wanted to ask, curious as ever, but as time went by and the eyebags under her eyes started to occupy her entire face, you decided against it.

Barely a month later she disappeared without leaving trace. And since Belphie didn't even acknowledge her at all, why would you?

Tagging a little more: @hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae

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onyourowndaisymae · 7 months

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under where?

content + warnings: nsfw, x fem!reader, flashing, discussions of oral

prompt: "Imagine sitting across from the brothers and nonchalantly spreading your legs to reveal no underwear under your skirt. Just IMAGINE their reactions…" (via: @shywritersblog)

there's a tension in the air, a mixture of seven different reactions to the same action. seven demons who knew their master had such a commanding presence, had fallen victim to "stay" time and time again-- yet here you are, bringing all of them to their knees without uttering a single word.

lucifer pales when your legs spread. a low, possessive growl threatens to rock his chest, but he swallows hard and averts his gaze. you can see his cheeks flush a little. he meets your gaze-- he's very determined to show you he doesn't see you as a piece of meat-- and opens his mouth to scold you for such vulgar behavior. but there's this heat in your gaze, almost inviting as your eyes smolder with want. his mouth closes. he takes another look between your spread legs. fuck. you're so wet it's obscene. were you really that needy, working yourself up like that over there? he can only imagine what's running through your head, what depraved thoughts linger beneath that cheshire smile. no matter. just say the word and he's whisk you away to his room, alone, ready to please his master until dawn breaks through the darkened skies.

mammon whines, the sound loud and uninhibited, his cheeks engulfing in flames-- yet he can't bring himself to be ashamed. it takes everything in him not to pounce on you. he wants to yell, too. why? why're you so comfortable spreading your legs like that in front of all his brothers, huh?! don't you know the kind of filthy thoughts running through their heads?! the conflicting feelings make his stomach flutter. he wants to close your legs, guarding your entrance like a dragon to its hoard, greedy to keep its greatest treasure private. but he also wants to fall to his knees in front of you. to wait for your permission before burying his face in your cunt, fucking you on his tongue in front of everyone. he's getting impatient now that the thought's entered his mind-- so can you please stop looking at him like that and let him touch you already, before he loses whatever mind he has left?

leviathan can feel his shame rush to his face, burning heat pooling at the back of his neck. it's embarassing how quickly his pants grow tight and cumbersome. this-- this is too much for him. he needs to hide away, now, burrowing into a fort of blankets in his bathtub until a century or two passes and he's sure everyone's forgotten about this moment in time. but he can't. because you're staring at him. your eyes crawl up his body, lingering on his shifty feet, his quivering hands, his tented pants-- your gaze makes his head spin. he's going to pass out if you keep watching him like that. you wet your lips briefly, eyes darting to meet his before your gaze falls between his legs again, and he swears to every authority in every realm that he can feel his cock throb in need. please say something, do something. either let him retreat to lick his wounds or ride him until he's a puddle of drool and slick underneath you.

satan's cheeks flush, but he keeps his gaze steady as he thoroughly observes your sopping wet cunt. he wants to think of something clever or witty to say, but his mouth is so dry and his brain is so fuzzy-- do you know what you do to him? he's aware that you're teasing him. it's frustrating. all these eyes on you, and yet you're only looking at him. like a cat that got the cream, you're smirking, lounging in your chair like he can't see the slick gathering around your entrance. it would be so easy for his finger to slip inside you, finger fucking you senseless until you're so sensitive you writhe and dig your nails into the arms of that chair. but that would be too easy, wouldn't it? no, you're teasing the avatar of wrath. while patience is not his favorite virtue, it will be the one he has tonight-- because the moment you're finally underneath him, he's going to toy with you as much as he wants, prowl around your exposed body until he decides to pounce. after all, you're the one who wanted to play cat and mouse.

asmodeus can feel his lips curl into a grin. oh, you naughty little thing! a giggle escapes his lips as he watches you with rapt attention. oh, that slippery little cunt of yours is so cute! would you mind if he got a closer look? he wants to bask in this moment. you're biting your bottom lip and grinning right back at him, and it takes everything in him not to break the tension by letting honey filth spew from his lustful lips. sure, there's a lot he could say, but don't actions speak louder than words? in that case, he wouldn't mind running his tongue along that pretty clit of yours to taste your slick himself. he can't think of a better way to express his love for you than to ravish you as thoroughly as the tried and true avatar of lust can. the room is delightfully hot and intense, making his head spin as surges of lust bounce off the walls. oh, darling, the anticipation is killing him-- won't you just share all the dirty thoughts caught in that pretty little head of yours?

beelzebub suddenly feels like he shouldn't be here. he notices the change in the air before he notices your legs spread, ever perceptive to the emotions of his loved ones. and all of those feelings lead him to you-- specifically, that wet spot between your legs that's got everyone so riled all of a sudden. it makes him nervous. at first, he worries you've exposed yourself on accident. he looks away as his cheeks turn pink, ashamed of how quickly his mind begins to wander. but then he hears you shuffling-- so naturally, he looks back at you-- to find you pulling your skirt up further, bunching it around your thighs to give everyone a clearer view. he realizes now that you want everyone to see your cunt. now he doesn't feel so bad about staring, about the groan sitting in the back of his throat. he'll never push, never question your motives or try to touch you without explicit permission, but he can't help the way his mouth waters and his erection stirs in his pants. and judging by the way you're staring at him like a five course meal, it seems you don't mind much either.

belphegor's eyes widen in shock, before a predatory grin engulfs his face. oh. you're in for it now. you've given the game away by exposing yourself as a needy whore, and it's clear from your haughty smirk that you think you've won this game. that's cute. but you're playing with demons-- manipulative, scheming, needy demons that'd do anything to bury themselves deep inside of the very hole you're so determined to tease them with. or maybe you're just teasing one particular demon. because your eyes linger on his just a bit too long to be coincidental, flitting away to the ground or a nearby wall before meeting his again. are you feeling nervous now? you should be. make no mistake-- he sees what you're doing here, and he's already thinking of ways to handle it. you're clearly getting aroused by all the attention. he wants to help, but he's just feeling so tired. you're already so prepped and eager-- maybe he should let you sink onto his cock in this very room? he's curious to see how well you can perform with an audience.

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samsaurwrites · 2 years

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Watch Me (Beel x Reader NSFW Oneshot)

Watch Me

Beel asks you to film him while he works out. That should be easy... right?

Beel x Fem!reader Oneshot *inspired by the "A Summons from Beel 1" chat*

Tags: Soft Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Sweet Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub Has a Large Penis (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Size Difference, Size Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Slight Belly Bulge, Gentle Sex, Unsafe Sex

Read here or on AO3.

Steam fills the bathroom, rising up and over the glass shower, rolling down onto the tiled floor in thick waves. You hum to yourself, massaging shampoo into your scalp, enjoying the warmth of the water and the clean, minty smell of the suds in your hair. It’s been a long fucking day and you’re thankful it’s almost over. Passively, you register the buzzing of your D.D.D, just barely audible over the hissing of the showerhead and the water drumming against your scalp.

You take your time rinsing out the soap and smoothing conditioner over your ends, scrubbing every inch of your body with a pink bath pouf. Several minutes later, you turn off the water and step out onto the plush bathmat, reaching out for your towel. Still humming, you dry yourself off and squeeze the water from your hair, glancing up at your half-fogged reflection for just a moment before grabbing your phone.

One notification. A text from Beel.

9:18: Hey, could you come here? ASAP

You raise one eyebrow.

9:22: sorry i was in the shower. something wrong?

He takes a long time to answer. Long enough for you to pull a brush through your hair, press moisturizer into your skin, brush your teeth, and slip into some sweatpants and loose t-shirt, foregoing underwear. He takes long enough that you start to worry, to chew your lip and frown at your phone.

9:30: I want you to help me with something. I want you film me while working out.

You swallow thickly, stomach churning, full of all kinds of fluttering things that make your heart race and your cheeks flush (although you try to convince yourself that’s just because of the residual steam clinging to your skin).

9:31: If my form’s not right, I won’t be able to work the right muscle groups the way I want to.

You walk out into your bedroom in search of a hoodie, and the temperature difference makes you shiver. You grab one, a maroon colored one with the RAD crest on the front, and tug it over your head, peeling the wet hair from the back of your neck.

9:32: where are u?? ur room?

You type, settling down on the foot of your bed, one leg curled up underneath the other.

9:35: The gym.

beel, i don’t know where that is

Another few minutes pass before your phone buzzes again, minutes you pass alternating between standing, sitting, and pacing.

9:38: It shouldn’t be tough getting here. Just ask somebody out on the street for directions.

You rub one hand over the back of your neck, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Thinking back, you distinctly remember someone telling you to do pretty much anything but talk to random demons on the street, rambling on and on about you may or may not end up being eaten.

But you decide to go anyways. Because it’s Beel, and because you seem to have a knack for doing exactly the things you aren’t supposed to do. And, it’s Beel. You’d do just about anything for him, which is why you often end up on late night kitchen raids or “begrudgingly” bringing him snacks between classes.

9:39: ok omw

You pop your door open just a crack and peer outside, checking up and down the hallway. You don’t particularly feel like running into anyone or trying to explain why you thought it was a good idea to venture out alone so late at night, so you slip outside and hurry towards the front door. Just a quick walk, you tell yourself. I’ll help Beel, and then he’ll walk me back.

“Yeah,” you murmur under your breath, sliding outside into the cool evening air. “It’ll be fine.”

You pull your hood up and tuck your head down, shoving your phone into the front pocket of your hoodie, along with both your hands. Twenty-two minutes and three separate sets of directions from three extremely handsy demons later, you make it to what you hope is the gym.

10:11: im here i think

You walk up the steps and push through the front door, only to see that it’s completely deserted inside. No one behind the front desk. No one anywhere, as far as you can tell. Frowning, unease blossoming in your stomach, you reach for your phone, when out of fucking nowhere, fingers curl around the top of your arm. You spin around, clutching a hand to the drawstrings of your hoodie, only to be greeted by a familiar mop of orange hair.

“Fucking shit, Beel,” you gasp. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he says, flashing you a warm smile, the kind that crinkles his eyes and makes your cheeks feel warm. It’s the same kind of smile he gives Belphie, and the same kind of smile he gives his favorite food. “I saw you walking up. Thanks for coming.”

You take a step back, suddenly all too aware of how close he’s standing and how warm his hand feels and how tall he is. How he towers over you, all corded muscle and broad shoulders and spiraling tattoos.

“N-no problem,” you say, pulling your hood back off your head.

It’s really hot in here.

“Here,” he grabs your hand (and goddammit, it practically swallows yours) and pulls you towards the weightlifting benches and dumbbell stands. He crouches down, rummaging around in his gym bag before taking out his phone and handing it to you. He explains, again, what he wants you to do: record a few exercises so he can check his form later that night.

Easy enough.

And it is pretty easy. For the most part. If you don’t think too hard about the heavy thudding in your chest, or the dryness in your mouth, or the flush on your cheeks as you watch him. You clear your throat, wet your lips with your tongue, and worry at the skin there with your teeth.

The pushups are fine. The pushups you can handle, though you do find your eyes straying away from the phone screen and over to him. You find yourself paying way too much attention to the flex in his biceps when he lowers himself down, to the soft grunt as he pushes himself back up. You find yourself wondering what it would be like to be underneath him, to be caged in by those arms and—

Your eyes flick back to the screen.

“Oh, shit-” you mutter, adjusting the phone so it’s actually pointed at him again.

The sit-ups are fine too. You try your best not to notice the way the muscles in his abdomen contract or the way sweat slicks the fabric of his shirt to his skin giving you just a hint of what he looks like underneath.

You pull at your hoodie. It’s really fucking hot in here.

The bench presses are what do you in. Watching him load your weight and then some onto the bar is what does you in. What has you squeezing your thighs together and shifting uncomfortably when his back is turned.

Beel sits down, legs spread on either side of the bench. He glances over at you, just for a second, with a strange look on his face before he lays back. Your knees feel weak as you watch him heft the bar up and off the stand, lowering it down just above his chest before pushing it back up, grunting with the effort of it. They almost buckle when he does it again, when his shirt rides up just enough for you to see a sliver of his abs, to see the sharp v of his hips leading down.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuuuuuuck.

You have to look away. You make yourself look away.

With a final push, a strain of muscles, and a low huff that sends heat rushing down between your legs, he sets the weighs back in place and sits up, staring at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, standing up, walking over to you.

“N-Nothing… Nothing’s wrong,” you stammer, backing up and up until your back hits the wall. You feel overheated. Dizzy. And so fucking embarrasses. “I’m fine.”

He takes another step forward, practically pins you to the wall with the way he crowds you.

“You look sick,” he murmurs, pressing his hand to your forehead.

“I-I’m fine. Beel, seriously—" you whimper, audibly whimper when he leans down to look you in the eye, lips just inches from yours. You feel his breath against your mouth as he stares you down, and you swear, you could drown in violet hues you see there.

Something seems to click for him, and you see realization flicker across his face. You feel like you’re on fire. Like you’re suffocating. Like you might implode at any moment if he doesn’t either back up or kiss you already.

He’s always wondered why you react to him like this. Why you go all quiet and meek when he gets close to you (especially when you’re so fiery with his brothers), why your shoulders tense up when he leans over to whisper something in your ear during class, why your cheeks flush scarlet whenever he catches you staring at him, why you can’t seem to look him in the eye for longer than a few heartbeats. His gaze flicks down, lingering on your lips, before trailing back up to your own wide eyes.

But understands now. His voice is soft and sweet when he asks. “… Can I kiss you?”

You nod, so quickly, so eagerly you should be ashamed, but all you can focus on is him. On the heat radiating off him. On the way his fingers follow the line of your jaw and tilt your head up. On the way he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes and a soft smile. On the way he brushes his lips across yours, groaning deep and low in his throat when you melt into him, when you open your mouth and twist your hands in his shirt and pull him down to you.

He threads his fingers through your still-wet hair, tilting your head back further, kissing you deeper, wrapping an arm around your waist to press you closer to him. His tongue finds yours, licking and tasting and drinking every gasp and groan that you offer him.

He kisses you breathless, swallows your startled squeal when he lifts you up by your ass and lets you wrap your legs around his waist. He presses against you, cock thick and hot and throbbing against your sex. You kiss him harder, winding both arms around his neck while he holds you up with one hand, using the other to touch and fondle and squeeze, fingers searing against your bare skin when he explores under your hoodie, your shirt.

He lifts you off the wall and carries you to the closest locker room while you cling tighter to him, thighs clenching around his middle. He kisses you, tugs on the waistband of your sweatpants, breaking the kiss suddenly when he finds nothing underneath. Your eyes flutter open, and you just stare, panting, mesmerized by the trail of spit that still connects you.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” he says, voice low.

You shake your head. “I-I was… I was about to go to bed when you texted.”

His eyes widen, just slightly, as his pupils dilate.

He sits you down on one of the padded benches near the showers, kneeling between your legs, and peels your sweatpants down, fingertips feather-light against your skin. He grabs your hips, scoots you forward, urging you to part your legs further to accommodate him, to let him see how wet you are already.

“I want to taste you.” He says, voice thick and husky, and kisses you again, tongue dipping into your mouth, twisting with yours before pulling back to scan your face. “Can I?”

A needy noise catches in the back of your throat and you nod, pussy fluttering at the thought of his tongue down there.

“Lay back then,” he says, watching you with an intensity, a hunger that makes you shiver.

You do as he says, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow, biting down on your lip. Your head feels like it’s full of cotton. You’re high on embarrassment. You want to hide, you want to spread your legs wider for him. You want him to touch you.

He leans in close and trails warm, wet kisses up and down your thigh, on the insides of your knees, nipping at the sensitive skin. You whine, squirming, hips trying to wiggle away, but he just holds you there, laughs against your skin and kisses your hipbones.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” he murmurs. “And you’re already so wet.”

“Beel-” you whimper, trying to shift around, to get him to do something and then—

Then he licks you, one long swipe up and over your entrance, tongue teasing your aching clit, swirling around it, barely there, humming deep in his throat. You gasp, buck your hips. He uses his thumbs to spread you wider, licks you long and slow, then harder, faster, before slipping one thick finger inside of you.

And it feels so much better than yours.

You throw your head back, back arching, and you moan, fingers knotting in his hair.

“Ah, fuck,” you pant. “Beel.”

He adds another, crooking his fingers up against the spongey spot inside you, pressing up into it and holding his fingers there while he licks and sucks on your clit, driving you closer and closer. You writhe, pleasure coiling tighter inside you as you clamp down on his fingers, as you rock your hips and ride his face.

“You taste so fucking good,” he moans.

Your eyes roll back in your head, hips arching as finger tighten in his hair. Your legs clench around his head. Your toes curl. The coil inside you snaps, and you gasp out a broken moan and cum all over his face.

You collapse back on the bench, panting, legs going limp. You cover your eyes with one forearm, struggling to catch your breath, the aftershock of pleasure coursing through you as he laps softly around your entrance, around his fingers, still inside you. Then he starts to move them again, to scissor them inside you and stretch you.

“Beel, wait,” you whimper, sitting up just enough to grab his wrist with both hands. “’S too much—ah!”

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, pumping his fingers in and out. “One more, just one more.”

“I can’t,” you whine, fall back on the bench and arch into his touch. “I just-”

Too fast you can feel it again, as his tongue swirls and pleasure burns inside you. You writhe, tears pricking your eyes. It’s so intense—too intense—it almost hurts. You whimper out a broken gasp, a plea for more, more. He spreads you open with one hand, the other working mercilessly inside you, pushing you closer and closer and closer—

Fuck—you see stars. Crying and cumming and clenching around his fingers.

He slides his fingers out of you, and the squelch has your cheeks flushing.

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling your hips forward. “Sit up for me.”

You do, blissed out and hazy, staring wide-eyed at the slick on his face. You surge forward, off the bench and into his lap, lips colliding in a flurry of teeth and tongue and spit and fuck you can taste yourself in his mouth.

“Ready?” he whispers, kisses you again and frees his cock, grinding it against you, coating it in the slickness of your arousal. It’s maddening. The feel of him, hot and heavy and hard, sliding between your lips, grazing your clit

“Please-” You whine breaks off into a choked moan as he lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance, as he grabs your hips and sinks you down onto him—slowly, inch by fucking inch, until you’re weeping you’re so full, so stretched around him, stuffed to the brim and begging for more.

“Oh—fuck, baby, look-” he grunts. “Look at how good you take my cock.”

You look down, entranced by the way your legs are spread wide around his hips, the way your poor little pussy looks like it’s being stretched to it’s absolute fucking limit, the way your belly bulges, just a little, with the shape of his cock.

“B-Beel,” You rut against him weakly, so mind-bogglingly full.

He groans in your ear. “You’re doing so good. So, so good for me.”

You nod, head lulling forward, resting against his shoulder.

“Can I fuck you?”

You whimper. “Y-yes.”

He rolls his hips up into yours, slowly—too slowly—gently, giving you time to adjust as he bounces you on his lap, up and down on his dick.

“Do you like it?” he asks, and you can’t possibly answer, too pre-occupied with pressing sloppy kisses to the column of his throat, moaning into his shoulder. You lick and bite and suck, high on the taste of his skin and the feel of his cock stretching you open.

“Can I go faster?” he asks, begs. “I’ll fuck you so good, baby—I promise.”

You nod, squeal when he moves you and you’re on your back.

“Touch yourself,” he tells you, grabbing both your hips. “I want to see you cum on my cock.”

He drives into you, fucking you in earnest, using leverage and strength to fuck you absolutely stupid. Your eyes roll back in your head, your back arches and you writhe, fingers working furiously at your clit. You don’t care how loud you are anymore. You just cry and beg and scream his name because it feels so fucking good.

Overheated, overstimulated, eyes squeezed shut, you clamp down on him and shatter, pleasure surging hot through your veins. He curses, grips you tighter, fucks you through your orgasm and into his own, harder, faster, until he pulls out, pumps himself once, twice, and paints your bare stomach with his cum.

He’s quiet for a long moment, eyes closed, panting, then he looks down at you. “… Do you wanna go get something to eat?”

You laugh, so loud and long he starts to laugh too—you can’t help it. He’s just too fucking cute. You push up on one elbow, grab his shirt and seal your lips against his.

“I think we need to shower first."

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