#obey me raphael x you

[another-lost-mc]

RAPHAEL x gn!Reader, 0.8k words, nsfw. Content warnings: Marking/hickies. Possessiveness if you squint. A/N: Inspired by The RAD Vampire Club! Devilgram story.

“This looks fantastic,” you told Raphael as you stretched out your arms in the costume he made for you. It fit you perfectly, and you were genuinely impressed by the craftsmanship of his work. You didn’t expect he would put so much care into an outfit you were only going to wear for one night.

You were surprised when he invited you to Purgatory Hall earlier that week to confirm your measurements. You offered your approximate measurements over the phone, but he insisted he wanted to verify the numbers himself.

“Is that really necessary? I don’t want to waste your time.”

“It’ll be a bigger waste of time if what I make for you doesn’t fit. Who took your measurements?”

“…I did?”

It was embarrassing to think about—the way you twisted in front of the mirror, jotting down your measurements for him and hoping the entire time that the tape wasn't too loose or crooked as you awkwardly measured yourself. You tried your best and hoped that whatever he made would fit, at least.

But then he sighed into the receiver, and you guessed he was imagining how you managed to achieve the numbers you gave him, too. “Come over after dinner and I’ll confirm your measurements myself.”

That’s how you ended up in his bedroom in Purgatory Hall, wearing only your undershirt and underwear, perched on a stepping stool he grabbed from the kitchen he shared with his dorm mates.

You expected him to take your measurements quickly in the sitting room, and maybe he planned on that, until you both realized Solomon was reading on the sofa. Raphael sensed your apprehension and led you straight past the sorcerer and into his room instead.

Raphael’s intense focus while he worked was nerve-wracking enough—you didn’t want to worry about Solomon leering at your half-naked body.

Raphael worked quietly but quickly, drawing the tape measure across your limbs and around your torso. He was respectful, not touching you more than necessary, and you didn't notice his eyes roaming freely over so much exposed skin. You were surprised how comfortable you felt with him in such an intimate position, but there was nothing intimate about this. He was professional about it, and you tried to be too.

He scratched out numbers on the sheet of paper he brought with him—the one with the original dimensions you gave him—and he corrected all of them. He snickered under his breath when he came across one you had measured very poorly.

“Hey, I tried my best!”

He smiled when you crossed your arms over your chest and pouted. “You did, but I want you to look your best even if it’s for a silly party. Let me finish this for you and you can be on your way.”

When Raphael met you at the venue to prepare for the festivities, he handed you a zipped-up clothing bag. You put on the outfit excitedly and stepped out of the dressing room for his approval. He gave you an approving once-over, visibly pleased by how you looked in the costume he tailored specially for you. You were delighted—it was comfortable enough to move around in freely, but fitted enough to be flattering on your body.

He stepped closer to you and after a moment of scrutiny, he pulled a loose thread off your shoulder. “You look like a respectable vampire now. Your unsuspecting victims won't stand a chance.”

You admired yourself in the full-length mirror when he walked away and started tidying his supplies. “Are you coming to the party too?”

His reflection in the mirror shook its head. “I’m not sure I understand the appeal of blood-sucking, even if it's only pretend.”

“I’d let you try, if you're curious,” you joked, looking over your outfit one more time as you smoothed down the front of your jacket.

Your eyes shot back up when you felt something—someone—at your back. Raphael had moved behind you suddenly, and his bright eyes caught your gaze in the mirror. He pushed down the collar of your shirt—gently, so he didn't ruin the lace trim—and bent his head.

His hair tickled the side of your face when his lips brushed against the side of your neck. He hummed when you gasped, and he pushed down a little firmer with his mouth and sucked. He was careful enough so that it didn’t hurt, but there was no mistaking the hint of teeth that scraped your skin before he lifted his head and stepped back again.

“Perhaps I’ll see you the party after all,” he murmured, licking his lips as he turned away. He was out the door, closing it behind him with a decisive click before you could even respond.

You were frozen in place, overwhelmed by the tingling sensation radiating from your neck and the erratic heartbeat hammering in your chest. You leaned forward and stared at your reflection in the mirror. There was an unmistakable mark on your neck now, blooming purple just above your collar where everyone else would see it.

Taglist: @l-d-8 @mithrakira @your-next-daydream @xpixie @tortibomb @rensphilia @4allthefours4 @a-hidden-gem @beelsjuicytitties @goldenglow149 @callmesaya @alexxncl @sirimirihiro @i-am-empress-irish @angelsdilf @todothedodo

Join the taglist here. | Obey Me! Masterlist

[zephyrchama]

MC gifting the Obey Me! cast the same button-up shirts and asking them to wear it when they go out to dinner.

Mammon is the first to show up. He doesn't like to be away from you for extended periods of time keep you waiting, and he wants to get some use out of that fancy new shirt you gave him.

Leviathan is the next to arrive, wanting to cement himself in a seat before more people show up. He doesn't notice at first, but Mammon certainly does. Mammon is not very happy.

The two start bickering over free breadsticks as the twins walk in. Beelzebub is too distracted by the scent of appetizers to really care, but the situation gets a chuckle out of Belphegor. "You both look stupid," he tells Mammon and Leviathan.

They quip back, "Like you're one to talk!" and "You're wearin' the same thing, moron!"

"Shh, shh. It's funny. Be quiet, I think someone else is coming." At your behest, the table settles down.

Solomon's usual smug self is knocked down a peg when he sees everybody in the same attire. "I don't think this is mere coincidence," he surmises while taking a seat. "Did you give these to everyone?"

You nod, and finally Solomon smiles. "This will be good."

Within seconds of arrival, Satan is able to quickly connect the dots. He's not happy to be matching with Lucifer, but knows the look on the eldest's face will be worth it when he walks in and falls for the prank. Satan readies his phone camera to capture the occasion.

Simeon gets a good laugh when he shows up. Him and Luke are used to matching from time to time, but dressing up like the brothers reminds him of their days in the Celestial Realm. "I like your shirts," he jokes to an audience of eye rolls.

Luke presents you with a thank-you gift, a shirt he specially picked out for you. He understands though that everyone needs to match for this dinner, and eagerly awaits everyone else's reactions. Being included on these kinds of pranks is so much fun.

Asmodeus is temporarily stunned that you've managed to get everyone in matching outfits. They only humor him with such a treat once every handful of centuries. This is genius. After putting his things down he immediately gets to work adjusting buttons, smoothing collars, and demanding selfies. In the scramble to get the first of many group photos, Satan's phone is knocked out of his hand just as Lucifer walks in.

He's not alone though. The surprise was already foiled when Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer decided to come together. "I knew you were up to something," he sighs. Yet, he wore the shirt anyway. The three look like they've walked out of a commercial.

"What a wonderful surprise! This makes my new shirt even more special." Diavolo is clearly thrilled and more than happy to take selfies with Asmodeus while Barbatos asks the waiter for a round of drinks.

"That's cheating," Leviathan says. "You guys figured it out ahead of time."

"Unfair," Belphegor agreed. Satan just seethed quietly while waiting for his entree. He really thought Lucifer would be caught off guard this time.

"Good to know I pull it off best though." Mammon was confident in his looks and winked at his reflection in a spoon. Asmodeus scoffed, adding "in your dreams, maybe."

[leviathans-watching]

omg i love your work!! if posisble, can you do a part 2 to touching their wings and stuff with the dateables or maybe other characters? thank you and take care :D

touching their tails/horns/etc. pt 2

includes: diavolo, barbatos, simeon, mephisto, raphael x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .5k | rated t | m.list | pt 1

a/n: i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, either because their forms haven't been revealed or just because i wanted to so just assume most of this is not canon at all lol

please reblog and like <33

➳ diavolo laughs as you poke at the gilded ends of his wings, taking in the intricate design. “it’s real gold,” he says before you can ask, gesturing to the tips of his horns, “as are these. it’s a birth present to children of our family, laced with magic that let’s it grow and change along with is. it’s a symbol of our wealth, our status.” you reach up to touch his horns, and he leans into your touch, happy to let you explore as you wish. “sometimes i think they’re a bit much, and then i remember who i am,” he continues, and you chuckle, making him laugh again too.

➳ barbatos’ tail twitches as you run your hand along it, obviously surprised by the texture. “that feels good,” he says mildly, and you give him a grin, twisting the end of each forked part between your fingers gently. if it keeps you occupied he’s happy to let you play with his tail for as long as you want. only because of that, obviously. not because he can’t remember the last time, if ever, someone’s touched him like this. or because your touch is soothing something inside of him he hadn’t known needed soothed.

➳ mephisto bows his head for you, letting you feel over the nubs where his horns should have been. “they never grew in quite properly,” he explains, sighing as you scratch gently at his scalp around them, “which is why i don’t often reveal my demon form. it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? of course, my parents offered to have false horns inset, and lord diavolo knows we had the money for it, but, well, that just sounded like a bother.” you press your fingers to hs head, eyes steady, and he’s glad to see you’re not thinking of him any differently.

➳ raphael unfurls his wings, and you catch your breath. he’s often been told that his wings are beautiful, richly colored like a peacock’s, and your reaction goes on to support that opinion. “you can touch, if you’d like,” he offers, and you don’t hesitate, burying your fingers in the downy feathers near where they connect to his back. his head falls back, and a quiet peace goes over the two of you as you stroke your way from base to wing tip, then back, soothing actions putting him on the verge of sleep.

➳ simeon wakes up to the feel of your touch on his wing, soft and hesitant. sometime during the night, he’d transformed into his angel form, wings splayed out and over the bed, almost covering the whole thing in their enormity. they certainly cover you, like a warm, live, down blanket. he twitches instinctively, and you pull your hands back. “no, no,” he says sleepily, “you can keep going. it feels good when you touch me.” he sees you smile and smiles too, even though he’s already being lured back into sleep by your soft strokes across the top of his wing, where the feathers are smooth and packed together.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[omnomnb]

hey guys i've been thinking (bad sign)

anyway. you COULD totally just slap them all in the middle and it'd work but i've chosen contemplation so here are my elaborations. obvs take a grain of salt with the undateables since we still don't know them as well

i will kill for you

barbatos and satan are confident enough in how far they're willing to go to keep you safe that the idea of them needing to die for you doesn't come up

belphie has to stay alive for beel

asmo does not want to die

all of the above are decent at taking care of themselves already (but will try harder for you if need be)

i will die for you

literally look at how undyingly loyal mephisto is to the royal family. to him it is noble to die for those you love and that is an ideal engraved in his bones

mammon does not think before acting and his first priority is always your safety rather than eliminating the threat. he doesn't think to retaliate against a blow, he only tries to take it for you

i will kill for you and die for you

raphael and beel are/were both warriors and protectors and unflinchingly ready to shed blood for their loved ones

raphael leans more to kill and beel leans more to die though. lol

i will kill for you and take care of myself for you

diavolo has to stay alive for the sake of the devildom, but he's willing to crush heads if it comes to it

thirteen walks with death and while it won't take her, she can ask it favours. the walk is lonely and she will let you join her on the path (and maybe even,,, hold your hand 😳)

i will die for you and take care of myself for you

levi isn't incapable of sending forth floods on your behalf but he's liable to impulsively think that the only thing he can do is die so that you'll at least remember him as heroic (and then remind himself that you already do)

i will kill for you, die for you, and take care of myself for you

lucifer's ego is simultaneously through the roof and six feet under. he's the best and also the worst and he'll do whatever it takes in any situation

solomon has very little that personally attaches him to this world that isn't a greater loyalty to his realm in general so he's willing to do just about anything. but also you soothe him and make his long life worth it because he met you

simeon was apparently 100% willing to risk falling for you even in s2, before he was romanceable, so he's the one whose love really transcends time. he'll both worship and disgrace himself for you without a second thought. also you make him forget his catholic guilt

[eternity-111]

He's the type to... 𖹭

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Title is explanatory, this is the side characters part! including thirteen,Raphael & Mephistopheles. NO LUKE! (fem reader x side charas)

NSFW! minors scroll down ⊹

name calling (princess, daddy, etc), overstimulate, size different, public sex, creampie,Dacryphilia, etc

𝜗𝜚 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

୨୧

୨୧

୨୧

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reblogs, likes are appreciated! If you see any grammar mistakes, feel free to tell me <3

Diavolo is the type to purposely ruin you, in a good way of course. He loves to see you beg and whine for him to slow down because you can't take it anymore.

"princess, I know you can take it."

I know you don't want him to stop, so stop asking him to slow down. Besides, you are his anyway. Let him ruin your pussy whenever he likes. Oh, not only he can ruin you with his cock but he can ruin You with his thick fingers! You don't want to upset the future demon king, don't you?

Barbatos is the type to have a quick sex or a blowjob during his working hours.

"This will be quick, I promise you mc."

So be prepared for a few surprises during the day. Sometimes he can even go bold and fuck you where everyone can see. Meeting room, or even the garden, he doesn't care! The feeling of being able to show everyone that you are his makes him crazy. Moan his name out loud, Let everyone know that you are his!

Solomon is the type to use magic while having sex. randomly tying you up, making you hotter, and his favorite.. making his cock bigger inside you!

"What's wrong? it seems like you want to tell me something but physically can't."

It's true, his cock makes you go crazy. Especially when he suddenly makes it bigger! But.. you can't complain, you like it anyway. He can do whatever he wants! just relax and look sexy for Daddy! Maybe he'll reward you with a creampie if you are good enough.

Simeon is the type to get very vocal during sex, not that you don't like it but sometimes it's hard keeping him quiet while talking on the phone!

"Mmnff.. Mc.. Nghh.. I-im trying to be quiet! b-but you are making it harde- ahh.."

To be fair, you did that on purpose. You love it when he whimpers and moans. But you are calling someone right now! If he doesn't stop making noises.. you'll have to punish him! By not letting him cum or touch you. Watch that needy guy beg and whimper. He's so desperate to cum inside of your pussy!

Thirteen is the type to make toys that are specifically made for you. I mean.. you can use it on her but will she allow you to?

"Don't try to dominate me you little slut, I'm your mommy!"

She's good at making traps, and also toys! but that doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. She loves to see that her creations can make you lose your mind. Especially when you cry telling her to stop or else you'll get overstimulated. You can cry all you want but your wet pussy still needs her.

Raphael is the type to ask you for "help" about a certain topic from today's class, but he's actually just scanning and daydreaming about your body.

"what? me? yeah im listening princess."

All of that daydreaming made his cock tighten up inside of his pants. Why don't you make his dream come true and help his cock? He can finally touch every part of you while you ride him! It's a win-win situation, Your pussy gets what she wants and so does he. The way he touches you make you even wetter anyways, such a whore.

Mephistopheles is the type to fuck you at the RAD newspaper club. He'll even try to make news about you having sex with him.

"Don't worry mc, if you suck me a little bit longer I won't publish it!"

You already did a blowjob, a boobjob, and even a thighjob but he still wants more?! How the fuck are you going to be able to hold that wet pussy of yours? You can't just tell him that! Maybe give him a hint? Look pretty while you suck his huge cock, And swallow every bit of cum he released. all that effort just to try to get him into fucking your wet pussy. At this point, You don't even care if he published it or not. Just use that needy pussy, please.

#the_sidecharas ꩜ .ᐟ

[koolades-world]

Late night moments with Obey me! cast

Falling asleep in Lucifer's lap while he finishes paperwork and waking up with him in his bed the next morning

Wrapped up in a blanket with Mammon watching a movie marathon together in his room and going to bed at six am in each other's arms

Spending the night gaming with Levi and finished the entire game together

Partying with Asmo, but leaving early because you wanted to spend time with him alone

Satan reading you your favorite book to put you to sleep

Getting late night ice cream with Beel because he thought you needed a break from homework

Stargazing and cuddling with Belphie on a clear night

Diavolo abandoning duties to have a sleepover with you

Barbatos taking the next day off in order to paper you for as long as you need

Baking late into the night with Luke because neither of you could sleep

Doing henna art with Thirteen

Going horseback riding with Mephisto to enjoy time in the middle of nowhere together

Making a midnight snack with Simeon to enjoy together

Stealing kisses from Raphael while binging TV shows together

Potion making with Solomon that you found in an old potions book for pranks

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

For Obey me, how would our angles be when they have a crush on a demoness mc who unlike other demons just want to relax for the most part

Lazy Demon Reader | Yandere Obey Me!

Have you met Belphie? It's giving the same energy or lack thereof. Sleeping’s your passion and like any other, you go to RAD. Becoming an unlikely ally to their otherwise favorite human resident and ultimately the one who’s captured their heart:

Simeon 

“Ah (Y/n) I expected to find you here.”

“Oh hey, Simeon.”

He appreciates how much easier it is to keep track of you

And how easily you are to persuade

But you’re too relaxed to question his less-than-angelic reactions to people turning your attention from you

Not to mention keeping quiet about the way others avoid you now

“(Y/n)! Did you read the latest issue from Christopher Peugeot? It's about falling in love!”

Raphael

“Your sleeping here, again?”

“*Yawn* Oh its you…hi.”

“I have something I want you to try on.”

Has made you his unofficial model for his crocheting needs

Is not above stabbing his spear into the demons that demand your time away from him

If asked he will deny up and down what he feels for you is love

“I’m just very conscious of my model’s integrity. Therefore I will summon my spears if you have a problem with that.”

Luke

“Agh! Don’t sleep on me! I’m not a pillow!”

“Mmmh but you're the perfect size for one.”

He appreciates the respect you give

Or rather you don’t outwardly disrespect him like everyone else

And he appreciates that 

He doesn’t appreciate how your lackadaisical personality leads to your schedule being too filled not to hang out with him

How they steal his adopted older sibling least hated demon

You’ll hardly notice when you fall asleep so much easier

You sleep all the time anyway

“Just eat it (Y/n)! I-it’s really important that you miss-I mean try my new recipe!”

[angelgoeslewd]

skirt.

🔮 summary: Diavolo, Simeon, Solomon, and Raphael love when you wear a skirt.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI, skirt wearing, AFAB! reader, fingering, public sex, exhibitionism, spell sex.

DIAVOLO:

if there’s one thing good about entrusting your heart to the leader of the Devildom, it’s that Diavolo will never, ever, hide anything from you. this includes how worked up he gets when you he sees you in your school skirt.

he’ll hug you from behind in the morning, as you try and get ready for your classes, telling you if you’re dressed like that, better not to even leave the bed at all, his hand trailing up your thigh, ruffled the skirt up to your hip and flashing your panties at him.

you don’t understand it. you tell him countless times that he’s seen you in it before and this time should be no different, but he just can’t help him! the way it flutters around your thighs, how it rests perfectly on the curve of your ass, how he can nearly see the line of your panties… it drives him wild. expect him showing up in places just to get another look at you. and to make sure no one else gives you the same looks he does.

if he jokes about you sitting on his lap at lunch, DO IT. you’ll get to watch your perfect, eloquent prince freeze up and strain to create sentences. you can feel his cock pressing into you, and his face darkens with color and the promise to ruin you as soon as he can. you wonder if you’re in over your head.

he’s got you pressed up against the bathroom wall, strong hands on your hip, helping you press into his thigh as you grind on him. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers into your ear, “Wet those pretty little panties for me, let me see if drip down your thighs. I’ll lick it up for you after.” everyone else thinks you’ve gone to help Diavolo with human student affair matters. you aren’t sure this is what they had in mind. his cock presses into the front of your cunt, you reach for it, whining for something to fill you, but he grabs your hand away, shoving it above your head. “This is about you right now. Show me how naughty my pretty girl can get.”

make you cum on his thigh until it leaks out of your panties. he’s a cruel lover sometimes. he gives you a kiss and tells you to enjoy the rest of your day, he’s got to go back to the castle since Barbatos is finally forcing him to do work.

you’ll still be fucked into the bed tonight, but if you want your night to be non-stop from the time Diavolo gets home and rips the skirt in two, right off of you, to the next morning, text him ‘updates’ of your pussy with an upskirt view. Barbatos will not appreciate how much Diavolo rushed all his work though.

SIMEON:

you? in a skirt? that’s one way to ensure this man is all over you. Simeon isn’t one for PDA, preferring to keep all your shared, loving touches for when it’s just the two of you, but when you wear a skirt, he just can’t help himself.

it exposes your soft legs, gives him memories of the night before, having them tossed over his shoulder, his hand gently holding them, leaning his head over to kiss them as he rocks into you, guiding you to your orgasm.

his reserved nature doesn’t allow him to say anything to you on the matter, but you definitely notice how he glances at your ass you more frequently during those days, making up excuses to having his hands pressed to your thighs — “Oh, this problem isn’t correct,” he murmurs, leaning over you and using your leg for stability. he tries to distract you from his caressing by going a little too in depth on the answer, but you know your boyfriend by now. you can tell when he wants something, and smile coyly, playing along while your own hand rests on his, guiding it up your skirt further.

his face colors as you get more bold, spreading your legs when he reaches your panties, letting him feel the sticky wetness that he’s created. the library around you two are none the wiser, when his fingers push the thin fabric to the side and press into you slowly. it’s a sleepy pace, Simeon being cautious and inexperienced, but the heat in you is slowly building with his unwavering enthusiasm, the way he presses his fingers deep in you, pulling out only to rub your clit, almost as if telling you he owns this part of you, this pleasure he creates.

when you’re close, grab his wrist and gasp his name. the things he will do to you when he sees your slick drip out of you onto your skirt as he pulls his fingers out of you will be unimaginable, even for him. his gaze pins you to your chair, you’ve never seen such a look on your boyfriend’s face. such desire, such… heat. he’s smiling and asking if you’re ready to go home, but you can tell he’s on the verge of cracking.

you’re lucky Simeon has the willpower to get home and take you as soon as he gets you into the bed. you’ll never know how he almost pushed you into an alley, pulled out his cock, and stroked himself until he came all over that pretty little skirt of yours.

SOLOMON

the second most obvious one. I’d call him the first, since he’s the most bold, telling you straight up how much he likes you in your skirt, but Diavolo is more obvious when it comes to how it affects him.

Solomon sees this as a challenge. a game between you and him to see who can break first. which is why he’ll tell you in the first place, to be honest. he wants to see your cheeks flush when he leans down and whispers his crude words to you in the lunch line, the teasing, dangerous undertone of his unsaid promise teetering on the verge of being a threat.

he is the most touchy of them all, not even trying to hide how he gets his hands all over you, maybe to your embarrassment. when mammon is calling him out on it, it’s a lot. he tells the demon to mind his own business and to stop looking at his darling apprentice in such a manner, but doesn’t make any move to keep his hands off your waist and to himself.

will flip up your skirt. only does it when he’s the only one behind you, but does it to get a reaction out of you. you’re seeing a pattern here. when Solomon wants attention, he gets absolutely unbearable. whether it’s his underhanded comments, being physically a nuisance, or the way you can tell he’s planning something, it’s really up to you how long you want to let this go on. want to try and make it through the school day? sure, but it won’t be easy with your sorcerer interjecting himself into everything you do. the more you try to ignore him, the harder he’ll try.

want a way to get him back? ask him to try his new spell out on you, watch his eyes light up with delight at your suggestion, and sit back to enjoy the show. if you can.

see, being a sorcerer, you sometimes come across magic that was simply made for the user’s pleasure and have almost no way to test it out. of course, when he has you…

being able to feel your cunt around him, despite being across the room from you. it’s exactly the payback he deserves. you can watch him strain to keep a level expression, his jaw clenched as he feels your wet heat holding him securely. you can feel a phantom of a cock throbbing inside of you, wondering if you’ll make Solomon come in his pants. shift around to watch him try and stifle groans at your action. he’s a bad sport, however, and if he starts to lose, he quickly dissipate the spell.

it’ll only keep him at bay for a small time, however, and while you can keep doing it, Solomon is just going to get better at playing. he’ll turn it around on you quickly, so you better make arrangements to get him off or he’ll make you miserable.

and the only he’ll accept as an ‘apology’ for your behavior towards your ‘mentor’ is letting him cum in you and letting it leak out of you so it ruins your skirt.

RAPHAEL

whew, boy. here we go. there’s a good chance you never realize how your clothing choice affects your angel. mainly because Raphael avoids you. to the point of where you almost never see him throughout the day because he just leaves the room whenever he spots you. and no one calls him out on it because, well. it’s Raphael. no one knows what he’s thinking.

seriously? what the hell. he always does this when you wear skirts, too. and you’re getting rather sick of it, to be honest. you just want to at least SEE him. and treating you like a wild animal he has to be wary around isn’t very healthy of him, no matter what his problem is with you. ESPECIALLY when it’s coming from him, the celestial creature who makes demons quiver and whatnot.

cornering him is probably the only option. sometimes he has such a good poker face and is so good at turning tail that not even Simeon can help you. he tells you just to ask Raphael about it, since, “He probably won’t… can’t lie, to you, of all people.” whatever that means. so you have to go on an angel hunt.

so you do. it takes a while, but you find him in the gardens, sitting, attempting to read a book, you say attempting because you can tell he’s not having much success by the knit of his brow. you almost don’t do it, since he seems irritated enough, but work up your courage when he sees you and immediately closes his choice of material and tries to leave again.

“Really? You’re going to try and avoid me again?” he at least has the decency to look ashamed.

“I… I’m not avoiding you.” bullshit. he’s sweating. his one tell.

“So what do you call leaving every time I come into a room, then?”

“Trying to maintain my dignity.” what. the fuck. does that even mean. he can tell you’re flabbergasted, confused, and fed up with his behavior, so he sighs, finally giving in and sitting down on the bench. “When… you wear stuff like this,” he admits, shyly, dog-earing a page back and forth between his fingers, “It makes me feel. A certain way.”

you blink. oh. oh. so that’s why he…

you get it. he’s an Angel. you can’t expect that from him, not when his role is so dire to his world. it would be like asking him to give up his job, his very being for existence for you. you realize then why he was trying to distance himself. to excuse himself from such emotions for a human creature. you won’t see bad history repeat itself in the man you love.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I...” had such an effect on you. now that it’s out, you feel embarrassed at your rash actions, not even taking the time to consider what Raphael was going through. it’s the same reason why you hesitate at calling him your boyfriend, he’s got more on his shoulders then you could ever imagine, and you can’t ask him to give it all up for you. “I’m… just gonna go.”

his hand shoots out and grips your wrist at an impossible speed, his eyes widening at the thought of you leaving. it melts your heart and worries you all at once.

“No, no… you’re already here. And it wasn’t right of me not to tell you. It wasn’t fair. You should know,” he says, looking away from you as he adds, “And I miss you.”

your heart flutters, yearning to be close to him, and you let yourself sit next to him, daring to sit so close that your arms touch. “I missed you too. It’s why I was so upset. I thought you were angry at me or I did something wrong-”

“Nothing like that,” he murmurs, picking his book up again. he flips to a random page, but after a while of sitting and enjoying his company, you can tell he isn’t reading. he keeps glancing at your legs, your skirt dipping where you’ve spread them slightly to make yourself comfortable.

“Raphael…?” his eyes flicker up to meet yours. you didn’t realize the extent of his words. it’s almost smoldering, how much heat and desire fills his ocean eyes. it runs through you as deep and as quick as his spear could, the threat of something equal parts dangerous and exciting. you can’t help yourself, wanting to indulge in this emotion from him that you don’t get to see very often. you reach over slowly, closing his book, letting your fingers linger on the edge. his lips are inches from yours, hot breath fanning over your own.

there’s no one around to tell if he breaks.

[psst . . . if you liked Raphael’s part and want more, there’s a continuation here!]

[romcomeon]

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

✒ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋: life and fate are scary; and it takes immense sacrifice for one to be legendary.

✒ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: reader as calypso, solomon as odysseus, barbatos as athena, luke as telemachus, mammon as hermes, + a few special guests!

✒ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: solomon x gn! reader, epic the musical au, odyssey au, greek myths reimagined, unreciprocated love, signs of manipulation, angst, angst, angst, mentions of grief and death, character death [lightning strike], solomon has a breakdown at the end, "penelope" is gender neutral

✒ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒: wc: 7k+ | read on AO3 .ᐟ

✒ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒: @mammonsrockstargf ﾉ @satangcrush ﾉ @eraofkalki ﾉ @sadpancakeface ﾉ @torchvic

He whose fate was swallowed by the high seas was no less of a love-driven fool.

For years he never returned, yet for centuries, his legacy strives within legends. Epic poems crafted by the most renowned of writers, curated to accurately depict his outstanding feats whilst making them a tad more magical. All these stories were sung in praise by orators as crowds gathered around—eyes, ears, and minds working wonders. 

They themselves create their own interpretation of fantasized play for their greatest hero. The crowd’s silent roars, begging for a glimpse of a life once treasured. 

A valley without its savior. A court without a martyr. An army without a leader. 

Ballads and tragedies dedicate themselves to the fallen. With scholars utilizing this artistic medium as a bloodless graveyard for the ghosts of those who never returned. Their souls rest in peace among the wrathful flames of the underworld, dancing to the chants of the oracles. When the songs are as beautiful as the late Michael’s melodies reeking to the echoes of a meadow suffering drought to the god’s ear, perhaps, the scholars prophesied, Olympus would be merciful.

Of course, that would be if the world were as harmonious as the plays of the great Mephistopheles, with his cult's undying joy of wine and lust. Gaia was born from the depths of Chaos; Chaos had never been one for mercy.

By Satan’s decree and Barbatos’ valor, ruthlessness prevails in war. War was a testament to humanity’s own morals and beliefs. To relieve the growing surge of bloodlust when conflicts arise, bathing Troy in deep, luminous crimson. Screams of the deceased haunt these barren lands, filling the ruins of a grotesque landscape. Resembling the numb trauma soldiers possess murdering women and children, the hubris of the rulers sought to persuade them to do more.

Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

Amidst hamartia, these idols were worshiped by their men. Allowing their flaws to be redeemed, gifting them with celestial grace to guide them away from danger. The scholars call this peripeteia, the reversal of one’s fate. With bad turning good or divine turning corrupt, the choice was given to Chaos’ more prominent writers: the mortals. 

Peripeteia never guaranteed a positive turn, even as most stories seem to suggest. The loud guttural roar bounced off stone walls, spreading across the vast lands. From the skies to beneath the sea, his name repeats itself.

“Praise him, oh great Solomon of Ithaca.” 

Whispers of that name make the masses perk their heads up and gauge the source. The majority shake their heads in a low huff, mourning the disappearance of Greece’s greatest warrior and his crew of men. Tales depict him as one who matches Achilles in glory, Alexander in rule, and the gods in intellect.

Ask a cowardly soul about their view of the king, and they’d bashfully avert their gaze. Sealing their mouths shut lest they’d be able to speak for another day. The braver minority ridiculed the king’s rule, even as to boast about the castle remnants. With no hero, there was no order. Hundreds of suitors flock to the palace, offering sexuality for power. To them, this legend was no less of a dead man.

A kingdom without a king. A queen without a lover. A prince without a father. 

Being the God of Wisdom, Barbatos made sure his greatest warrior survived the most gruesome of trials that rivaled Hercules’ challenges. Molding the king to fit his ideals; triumph basking in newfound glory with every ferocious beast his hands slay. Well trained to become a warrior of the mind; cunning and wit, quick to produce a plan for his own benefit. 

The making of a warrior comes with many pitfalls. Intelligence carries a heavy burden of excessive knowledge, and with owning knowledge comes humanity’s impuissance—kindness. For knowledge is a gift of victors, but why supply ruthless killers with a force opposing their ideals? That was considered torture. A strong, well-respected legend was merciless. Never was it that there’d be justice, that was part of the reason, yes, though being just was clemency.

That marked the beginning of Solomon’s peripeteia. His virtue to spare one of  Leviathan’s cyclops turned the narrative against him.

It’s what turned his own god against him.

Albeit, those were years ago, and the said old god knew that. Barbatos lets out a sigh, trailing his gloved hands along the cold tread of marble stairs. He took off the old rusted helmet, dark and vibrant green locks swaying along to the warm breeze. The headpiece was set aside, carefully gracing the dark turquoise cloth adorned with embroidery of owl feathers and slippery snakes.

He never pictured that in all these years he’d be reminiscing of those fond moments with that lily-livered soul. Each faint ‘tap’ ticks for every second, recalling a memory as if it only happened yesterday. The time before the great fall, watching the familiar tufts of white hair, black robe with an ombre of white and night-sky blue, and stars; stars that marked a better time. 

He stood tall at the forecastle deck of his ship, raising the sword up high in his hand. Gray eyes fall upon the cyclops’ wounded figure, his face ridden with specks of blood. For he was no man nor mythical, his form casting a large shadow looming over the terrain. No man, but the reigning king of Ithaca. Leading with peace, working to save his comrades while the titan feeds. Hundreds of men’s deaths shan’t go in vain.

Remember him for if the beast chooses not to spare another weary soul, so be it. Perish. Solomon raised his chin up, pointing his sword to whoever sees. “I am your darkest moment,” he says.

“I am the infamous Solomon.” 

Stupid. Foolish. Mortals were always foolish. Barbatos shakes his head in disapproval upon the memory. Perhaps, maybe, things would’ve been much different had he himself…

What could he have done? He was a god, a divine force of nature, either a friend or foe to a benevolent protagonist. Yet perhaps if he had done something. Perhaps if he hadn’t simply lashed out at Solomon’s blatant naivety of showing mercy, then he’d be fine. They’d be fine. Barbatos already knew that mortals were susceptible to demons lurking in their minds, waiting to coerce an unintelligent soul’s light to go dark. Maybe, if he had just been a bit wiser, they’d be fine.

"Your friend?”

"Hm?" Barbatos lifts his gaze up, hearing the curious sound of a bright young boy, There he stood balancing on the stone balustrade. The boy, well, man, fixed his balance before walking towards the god. He swept the fabric beneath him before sitting beside the other, slowly inching closer.

"I do not know who your friend is, or the mistakes, and..." he trailed off, averting his golden blue eyes to the side whilst his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his chiton. He cleared his throat, possibly to not be any more awkward. "Well, my time with you has been splendid!"

Barbatos glanced at him, cocking his head. "How come?"

Stars glint within the boy’s eyes. Clenching one of his fists as if to grab an imaginary sword, before eventually exclaiming filled with excitement. "'Cause I got in a fight and I didn't die!"

He catches himself for a moment, blushing bashfully before scratching the back of his neck. "I've never felt strong before,” he admitted. Sure it was surprising, but the young prince wasn’t necessarily like his father. Though it’d made sense, had the young lad last seen the king when he was an infant. 

Barbatos could remember earlier events. Antinous and the other suitors, flocking the palace and picking fights with an unarmed little wolf. Barbatos knew that he can be stronger with the right guidance, so he did what he could; go into the warrior’s mind to quicken his thoughts, and make him effortlessly lunge attacks towards the bullies.

The prince had the motivation, the dream, and the intellect. Much like when Solomon was younger, he too had a good heart.

Then again, Barbatos knew this was different. This was no longer the same man who he grew apart with all those years prior. Rather of a hair as white as the brightest clouds, he was greeted with a soft, gentle blonde. And his eyes, not a harsh, stone cold gray, but a bright blue with golden ombre. That detail made Barbatos perk a smile, as in his thoughts, both of them looked like parts and recombinations of a certain godly messenger.

Those similarities turn to not be as glaring when he sees the fresh sparks of pure adoration on the prince’s face. Barbatos watches as the other composes himself, careful to choose his words but not holding back from ever portraying the swell of giddiness of his demeanor.

What shocked the god was instead was the words that escaped him. He spoke gently, invitingly even, but still nervous. He seems to not be so sure if these were acceptable to say, but he did.  “You're my friend, I couldn't ask for more," he said. “Maybe if life wasn't spent as planned. Though, I think it's time that you lend a hand— and I don't think he'll mind.”

He reaches out, raising his hand. “If not his friend, then mine.”

Barbatos stared at the boy’s palm, confused. For as many long years as he had lived, he had never seen this generous act of… celebration? Nevertheless, understand the traditions and gestures mortals made with other mortals. Although, he understood that the divine weren’t necessarily mingling with these mortals in the first place. 

Nevertheless, it was a new start. And the bridge between gods and mortals have slowly become invisible in the time of war.

So Barbatos also raised his hand, slapping his palm against the boy’s—if that’s how you do it. He thinks he did it correctly, seeing the prince’s smile widen. "You're a good kid, Luke," Barbatos sighs, smiling more in ten minutes than he ever had in ten years.

Luke only nodded his head. "Thanks!" 

A billow of clouds seize themselves over the mortal realm. Hidden within the trenches of the sea of indefinite wonder lies the peak of mount Olympus. At the foot of the temple, a black owl swiftly glides through the air. Once it reaches the foot of the temple, it shapeshifts back into Barbatos’ figure, dusting off any dirt that got on his clothes.

“So… Barbi,” a voice lurks within these halls. It didn’t take long for Barbatos to recognize that diction: zany and all reminds me of tricksters. “Still missing yer mortal?”

“Not now, Mammon.” the god of Wisdom sighed. “I’m busy.”

Mammon, the messenger of the gods, groaned. “This ‘bout the ‘moni guy again?” he complains, crossing his arms as his winged sandals lift him up in the air, allowing him to lie down on almost nothing. “C’mon, it’s been years.”

The god almost circles around Barbatos, with how his gold and silvers clang with his every movement. “Haven’t moved on, hm?” Mammon flipped himself over, resting his face on his palms while kicking his feet in the air. “Say it, Barbatos, you miss the guy as much as the last one.”

Barbatos only walked away. “Keep yourself out of this. This is simply urgent,” he said.

Mammon scowled, standing upright while clearing his throat. “Well I supposed the time he went hookin’ up with Thirteen wasn’t as urgent—”

“Thirteen?”

Barbatos stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at the messenger. “What about Thirteen?”

“Ah,” golden boy realized his mistake. He gave a faint whistle, tugging a few strands of dusty beige behind winged ears, averting his gaze so as to not directly anger the literal god of wisdom and war. Thirteen, daughter of Helios. Protector of nymphs, and known for turning men into swine. 

Mammon cleared his throat. “So ya didn’t know.”

Barbatos’ eyes narrowed, the shadows in the temple deepening around him. Suddenly his spear was pointed at Mammon, inches away from scarring the other’s throat. “What happened?” he pressed, his voice a low growl.

Mammon shrieked, hands in the air. “‘was that for!?”

“Say something,” Barbatos smiled, patience growing thinner.

Mammon groaned, shrugging. He leaned casually against a column, twirling a golden coin between his fingers. “It’s best if ya see it for y’self,” he said, sapphire eyes subtly hinting at mischief. “Sol’ gone be damned to do a billion more fuck ups than fraternalizing the old man.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he paced restlessly.

Barbatos raised an eyebrow, retreating back his spear. “I beg your pardon?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of concern in his tone.

“‘s speakin’ the truth ‘ere.” Mammon stopped, casting a piercing gaze back at Barbatos. It was rare to see the troublesome messenger of the gods be so serious. Though moments like this don’t last long, before a smirk breaks itself on his face. “Don’t thank me,” Mammon waves off, fanning his hand. 

“He might as well may die.”  

The sirens’ songs scream through ocean waves—no longer in an alluring tone that stops seafarers in their way, but an eerie melody whom irks many sailors to change their trajectory. “Spare us, oh spare us please.” 

Wailing cries die out with the thunderous waves reaching alarming heights, a yard longer with every second the sea god’s fury boils. The storms guard Sparta from any unwanted pests, for a simple step was met with a bolstering beam of light as the gods’ roar echoes through the mortal’s ears. Although  what tickled his ears, or the contrary, was how quiet it got. Immensely calm;  the sounds of despair long gone with every wave hitting the shore. In a matter of life and death, it was odd that it suddenly got so peaceful.

Specks of sand reach his eyelids. Solomon begrudgingly opens his eyes, greeted by the harsh golden rays of the sun. Lifting himself up off the shore, he lets out a low groan as his hand dusts off the rest of the sand. Long strands of hair fall on his face, his fingers scratching the bit of fuzz on his chin. The last time he recalled, he only had bits of stubble that he planned to shave off with the remaining beeswax they still had on the great ship.

The ship. Curse godblessed cattle.

He stays sitting there, eyes cautiously observing the surroundings. Unlike in the past years of his voyage where it was filled with dull, brooding shades of life and the underworld, this place almost hurts the eyes. Instead it is filled with light, soft yet vibrant hues of lush trees and serene waters: even the sand, finer than Spartan shores, colored in a beautiful light peach brown. Cupping a handful, the sand only smoothly glides through his fingertips; not a particle on his palm.

The sea greets him with little seafoam meeting the outline of his body, but not once wetting the worn out fabrics of his clothes. And at that moment, he realized, this was no ordinary island. 

“Where am I?” Solomon whispers out, feeling the well of dread picking up from the deepest swells of his stomach. This place looked lively; and by his induction, too lively. No land on Gaia would be this swell when there was that god’s ongoing rampage.

As Solomon was about to go and try to scavenge the shore for more clues on this mystery island, a loud, sing-song voice booms in the air. Your voice, waving your dominant hand while the other holds the woven basket filled with sweet fruits. You had a feeling he’d wake up sometime soon, though you underestimated the speed of time. “Good morning sleepyhead!” you cheered, walking towards him in rhythmic skips and hops on the sand.

You slowed down as you got closer, seeing the other flinch and take a step back, with his arm at his front and his brows furrowing. On the contrary, you softly smiled, humming. You extend your hands toward him, though not touching his skin quite yet. “You’ve been resting for a while,” you said, almost with a small bit of laughter. “I swore you were dead.”

Solomon clicked his tongue. “Who are—”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” you asked, your hand now resting on his scarred check. Carefully running your finger to the trace of his jaw while you gush about how adorable it was, hearing his gentle murmurs even when most of his words were incoherent. Pristine snow-colored hair, marvelous earthy gray eyes, delicate and commanding diction. 

Though you do wonder of a word that you could understand. Or well, not a word to, but a name. A name you heard through every gasp while his body twitched on the sand. They seem to grow more desperate with each repetition, a poor soul calling for someone in an endless void. Naturally, this had you curious, questioning him while your hand began to trail down his neck. “You keep mentioning their name quite lot. Who’re they?”

You didn’t expect him to grab your wrist, clenching his fists around it. You winced at the pain, though you observe how his actions may be harsh, yet his eyes, expression, looked happier. He wasn’t looking at you, no, far from it; he looked zoned out, catching imaginary glimpses, a loving smirk ghosts his face.

Solomon spoke gently, fondly even. Similar to his restless whispers of the night. “They’re my spouse.”

Suddenly that smile you had faltered, replaced by a confused expression. Your lips formed a small “oh,” your hand retreating back to the basket’s handle.  

You weren’t exactly terrified. Very much on the relative opposite; disappointed. It’s common in the legends for great to be utterly devoted to their lovers. A waste, your eyes falling back and inspecting his figure head to toe. The man looked ragged. Hurt. Malnourished. Dirty. Your thumb wipes itself on your index finger, remembering the rough, but smooth sensation of his imperfect flesh.

“Well they aren’t here now, no?” you tilt your head.

Solomon looked appalled, his eyes widening in offense. Was it something that you said? You weren’t lying— his spouse wasn’t here. You’re far from his homeland; whisked away to the safest, luxurious cove that you kept hidden away. That’s what there was with you, you’re rather secretive. You keep what’s yours hidden from peering eyes, where no mortal won’t get the privilege of seeing.

It took you a second to note your slip of the tongue. Noting that honesty may come off as rude. “Ah, forgive me,” you said. You bashfully averted your gaze, small hues of pink flushed on your cheeks. Being lonely on this land has made you too excited to see someone who even survived getting here. You worried that once his pulse came to a halt, you had to send his corpse away from the creatures to wholeheartedly devour. “It’s been a while since I’ve met someone.”

You were honestly starting to love this change of pace. It’s no fun if he leaves so soon. Perhaps the fates could care less if you allow yourself to adore him—even with his conflicting feelings

So you shake your head, giving him the basket as you take his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Anyways, come my love!” You chime, small stars sparkling in your irises. ”The island awaits us!”

His face grimaces, pulling back his hand yet your grip was just too strong. Solomon spouted bitterly, raising a brow in offense. “Your love?”

You paid no attention to his words, instead touring him of this wonderful landscape. Open arms, twirling around taking in the bright greens and luscious blues of wild flowers and old trees. So giddy, even come to admire this lonesome place even more. “We have everything we could ever ask for!” you jolly along, taking a brief glance at Solomon.

The other still looked to be so perplexed. His hands gripping the basket’s handles, his feet dragging themselves as if they were leashed to your arms. His eyes seem to wander, but not once purposely in your direction.

Still, he must still be processing being in such a wonderful place, isn’t he? You giggle. You stroll around, slowing down as to not yet lose your now forever lover. A small crab scuttles near your feet, pinching at the air with its tiny claws.

It’s a vivid shade of red, almost glowing in the sunlight. You crouched down, opening your hand as you waited for the little one to climb on it. Sadly, it didn’t seem to reciprocate your friendly actions. Instead it waddled away, strutting as quickly as it could with its little crab feet. You pouted as you watched, inching closer to instead grab it by the shell, before placing it on your shoulder. 

“Much better,” you laugh. Now that it’s there you twirled around, eager to prove to Solomon how wonderful heaven feels. How wonderful it’d be if he sees the joy soon. “Oh, we thank Queen Rose,” you giggled again. Ogygia was just as bountiful as the maiden you used to serve’s magical prowess.

You noticed that Solomon had  placed the basket on top of a moss-covered rock, feeling his hand along the bark in a calculated expression, mumbling something.

You spoke aloud in a melodic symphony. “The place is beautiful,” you coaxed, stepping closer with your hands behind your back. Closer and closer, you watch him stiffen up and he faces you, right hand quick to grab the handle of his sword.

“It is.”

There was no denying that he was supporting your sentiment. For the first time. 

You thought about how to get more from him, with each slow footstep you took forward. It couldn’t be helped that you felt cheeky, seeing the brave, powerful warrior back up against the tree; defensive, but oh so helpless. Tattered robes with rusted pieces of armor, worn out sandals and puffed up bruises. Stunning, you thought.

“Perhaps,” you cheekily say, the back of your hand running along his chest. “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time.” 

Solomon swats your wrist away. “I’m not your man.” 

‘Not yet,’ you thought. Again, you ignore all possible signs of rejection, clinging towards him. 

“I’m what you want. What you need, dear,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the outline of his armor. “It’s just you and me, my love in paradise.” You step closer, your breath warm against his skin.

“Now until the end of time, from here and out, you’re mine.” You smile, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his. “All mine.”

Solomon pushes you away, causing you you tumble back. As you were about to recompose yourself, you see a dull, rusted blade pointed at your neck

“I could kill you where you stand,” Solomon spouted bitterly, lifting your chin with the tip of his sword. “I’m no pet. I’m a married man.” 

Oh. He’s feisty, and can wield a weapon well. You left out a soft chuckle, holding the blade with two fingers as you moved it aside. “Oh handsome, you may try, ” you tease, even as you trace the sharper end of the sword, “pricking” your finger at its tip.

“But last I check, gods can’t die.” You kiss your own fingertip, one eye open to gauge at his reaction.

Solomon furrowed his brows, lowering his sword. “God…?”

You smile, resting on one of the larger rocks. You spoke not a word, but your cheeky smile and prominent glow at the ends of yours hair settled your case. You weren’t just some creepy owner of a secluded island that doesn't seem to appear in any of the olden maps. No. Of course you had to be a god.

This was bad. Very very bad. Solomon wished not to mingle with the gods. 

Solomon wished that you weren't a god. 

“But fear not, I bring no pain!”  you reassure. “We’re stuck in paradise. Where no one can come and go, as my island stays unknown—”

“This is no paradise.”

You raised a brow. Had you heard it correctly? It was a plethora of beautiful flora and fauna. “What are you talking about?”

Solomon only shook his head, giving a coy, but per say partly polite smile. “I won’t be drawn to ‘love in paradise’. Get me out this instant.”

“Oh! You really are such a fool.” You pout. Your eyes scan over him, lifting your hand to your chin. Humming, you spot a small, beautiful hyacinth blooming beneath the rock. You crouched to pick it, examining the wondrous petals.

“We could fix that starting with this bit of hair,” you said. As Solomon was about to interject, you had placed the flower up at his ear, making sure to lightly touch his skin. “Aww, poor you. I’m here now.” 

“Not ‘till the end of time.” Solomon takes a step back. “There is NO way—”

“But you’re mine,” you take a step closer once more. The man felt trapped, as every step he moved away only got you to inch closer. For gods, he expected a bit of decency. As far as he was concerned, mortals were more like puppets, only keen to serve every whim. Gods weren’t particularly opposed to mortal relationships, so why not?

Had he a choice? 

You give him a sudden, tight hug. “All mine.” 

“They’ve kept you out of your control,” Barbatos muttered, watching Solomon all the way from Olympus. 

The god pinches his temples, processing what he just saw.

Not only was Solomon truly making a barrage of avoidable mistakes, but now he's stranded in an island with a homewrecker and no crew.

"Time can take a heavy toll," the god sighed once more. He's quickly to splash along the waters, hopeful to catch small glimpses of progress. What kind? anything that can safely get him back.

'Seven years...'

It was the break of night, calm bright festive colors all reduced to the dark, lonesome blues and grays. You woke up to the cold gust of wind hitting your skin, feeling the warmth retreat back. You flutter your eyes open, only to be met with emptiness; the only indication that he was there was the subtle dent on the white silk.

You sighed, running your hand along your hair as you set up, blanket on your lap, staring at the cold bedside. You loathe the routine of getting up and fetching your lover, muttering silent prayers that he hadn’t whisked himself away and droned in hellscape. The only sign of warmth was only the moonlight peeking through the window of the wooden hut, and even that sent a chilling sensation down your spine. It was a matter of time before his thoughts would begin to unravel, and for his nightly cries to spiral.

You turned to your side, legs on the ground as you stood up from the kline.

“Solomon?” you yawned out, stretching your arms in the air before grabbing another silken sheet to cover yourself. It was during night where there were the harshest of colds, after all. Deafening silence, only exposed to the loud dining of crickets and other critters that lurk in these darkness. 

At day time, you would catch Solomon often sulking along the shoreline. His head hung low as he sat on the sand, arms crossed over his knees, pulling them closer to his body. In rare instances, he’d trace his fingers along the grains of sand, marking it with countless words, names, and symbols. 

One that stood out to you one time was his repeated scribbling of a certain phrase. You swore to have heard of it before, but watching as the perfect bed of sand and seashells instead was carved with constant repetition, seeing him grip whatever his hand got a hold on tightly as he goes to recall memories of a past he once lost.

Of how it was to be kind. “Greet the world with open arms. Relax, my friend.” 

It felt psychotic. You had to lull him out of his wicked trance before he went to hurt himself physically. Wiping off the dirt that stuck to his face, trimming his long hair to a more manageable length, and having to watch so he doesn't starve to death. He was a lot, going for hours without uttering a word or making eye-contact. Every time you nudge his arms and join you, whether it be in an act of passion or whimsy, the sparks in his eyes only continue to fade. Void of any speck of hope. 

“Solomon?” 

You call out once more. Walking out the safe confines of the hut, you went into the now quieter, eerier, more maniacal-driven call of the night. Every night, you’d wake up to sniffling whispers and faint sobs coming from the other side. You’d attempt a soft hum, hopefully soothing him to a calmer state of mind, caressing his sides and watch him twitch his body away from your touch. On more restless nights, he’d swat your wrist away before you’re able to touch him, huddled in a fecal position and shivering with the hour growing colder. 

It’s at night where you feel helpless. Every attempt proven futile, every act of service ignored or unsupported. Every word working to console him only worsens his cries. Long periods of solitude have rendered Solomon uncomfortable in the company of others. Within your shared hut he laments, and there was nothing you could do.

You find yourself at the foot of a steep cliff, all from following smudged footprints on the grass. You squint your eyes, making out a figure on top of the cliff, only illuminated by the bright moonlight as this figure stares down into the mellow waters. Slowly, as to not hopefully startle the figure, you inch closer, carefully tracing your eyes along his form.

Subtle white glow basking in the moonlight, the freshly woven chiton you made for him reflecting the rays through golden crewels of birds, waves and stars. When you made that, the symbols were supposed to represent hope and longing, a fortunate outcome if he gave you more time. Though when he adorns the garment, signs of hope turn into withering longing. Only engraved memories of the past that forever haunts him.

He stood as still as an oakwood tree, mildly resisting the harsh waft of air. As you inch closer you reach out to him once more. So that please, he’d turn around and see you eye-to-eye.

You desperately called out for him, worrying exuding through syllables when you took a momentary pause to utter his name. It was familiar, but foreign. “Solomon?” you pleaded, fingers clenching your palm when you still see him stand there. Still. A man who can’t be moved or accept the present; always stranded in the labyrinth of the past.

“I hear them,” he uttered. Catching his breath with every word, stifling a sob with every annunciation. “All I hear are screams.” 

Solomon takes a step forward. Tiny pebbles drop themselves towards the water. Ripples that marked tiny specks of heaven sunken beneath the surface. You flinch, rushing towards him yet still shy of a few steps. Small comets that guide the sky fall down and crash as a meteor, falling into seas where ripples turn into tides when they reach the shore.

“‘Moni, get away from the ledge.”

“Quiet,” Solomon snarked. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed.” 

The scholars would call this anagnorisis. How a tragic hero discovers the cruel reality of his circumstance. How despite any attempt for kindness—for mercy—all is worthless in his peripeteia. Loss was something you couldn’t understand. Being alien for a majority of your life had you numb to the thought of loss just yet.

Yet.

Perhaps you were instead afraid of experiencing that loss.

“Every comrade I long knew,” you hear Solomon say. Drowning in anagnorisis. Panting. He lifts his hand up to grab tuffs of snow locks, tugging on the strands. “ Every friend. I saw them die, and… all I hear are—”

“It will be fine, dear.”

Solomon turns his to the side, as if catching even a small glimpse. You held your ground, staying firm. Comforting him with gentle melodies, singing a small ballad to soothe his nerves once more.

“ Come back inside, dear,” you said. You hesitate, inching closer but make sure to keep your pace quiet. Your voice cracks, feeling the burning drops of tears trailing down your cheek. “Love of my life, please.”

“Come back to paradise.” “Just let me close my eyes.” 

You hear him resisting the melody, dueting your ballad with hoarse dissonance. Still, you continued, all until you were able to palace your hand on his shoulder. Squeezing it to give a blink of reassurance, pulling yourself closer to coddle him in your embrace. Though you don’t plan to hurt him. Never did, and never shall. You lean near his ears, whispering, “I know your life’s been hard. I’ll stay inside your heart.”

“If you could just see…” “All I hear are screams.” 

“I love our time here,” you pause, gulping. “I love your company, It’s just..” 

“Life would be so much worse if you had died.” “JUST LET ME CLOSE MY EYES!” 

Solomon snaps, pushing your hand away as he strides forwards, turning around and finally facing you. Finally seeing you. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? There you were, gray eyes with bits and the tiniest stars dying out in lonesome nebulae. Tears stream down the corners of his eyes as he takes erratic, shaky breaths. His hand still grabbing tufts of his own hair, running itself along it and pulling at the string begging for an ounce of control.

He noticed you, and you can vividly see the absolute madness swirling in his eyes.

“‘Moni,” you call out, grabbing both his wrists and gently grabbing him off the end of the cliff. He follows you, eyes now trailing downward, brows furrowed. His lips quivering, his lungs gasping, his hands warm from cold sweat; from all the stress of these memories.

“Please stay away from harm,” you lull him further, wrapping his arms around your waist. They’re dead, but you’re here. He wasn’t alone, you had a splendid time together. Flowers, petals, birds and bees—this was all you thought a man could ever want. There he stood, the only time ever acknowledging you since his first arrival was one of terror. One urging you to leave him. You run your thumb gently on his cheek, wiping those streams of regret.

“Stay in my open arms,” you cooed. You carefully caress his hair, your hand gliding through each silken strand. You were here, and you welcomed him to a palace where he’d otherwise may die.

You hear Solomon’s breath hitch, staring at you in shock. Irises turn into pinpricks, flinching as he grows appalled by your words. Suddenly, all in his view twisted off into blurs and blobs of a series of different hues and arrays of various colors. Shades of blue, yellow, browns and pinks littered his vision, and your form melted away into nothing but just a color of shapes.

“Moni?” Solomon could hear a voice. A voice not like yours: it wasn’t melodic, in a sing-song tone that’s as soft as the flutter of butterflies. This was more kind, more earthy, more human. And lastly, more familiar. Your voices swallowed by the whispers of a distant past, silken velvety words in a calming diction. It wasn’t yours. It was no longer you who clouded his mind.

The image of your gentle smile was gone; turned to instead to be more genuine. One of excitement. Suddenly, Solomon saw  the day at night. Sun kissed skin and curly, dark brown hair, with the figure’s bright cerulean eyes becoming clearer with the second. The hand was no longer on his cheek and the base of his neck, but tightly grabbing both his shoulders while lightly shaking him in glee.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms!” the figure cheered, taking a step back and he did just as he said: he opened his arms wide open. As if welcoming Solomon in a tight embrace.

Solomon gasped, reaching his hands out. A small, hopeful smile ghosts his face. “Simeon?”

Simeon chuckled, moving his hands around before slowly, blobs and blues start to resurface along the base of his arms. Colors of light, periwinkle blue contrasted with specks of black and wave strands. 

The king’s smile fades, squinting his eyes to focus more on the mysterious figure that his friend was holding. 

These blobs and sharp shapes of diamonds and triangles instead morphed into the innocent figure of a young baby boy peacefully asleep in his blanket. Solomon’s eyes widened, even shaking his head while closing his eyes. To do a double take as to make sure the child he saw wasn’t who he thought he was.

The child from the wooden crib back at Troy. The child whom the gods had ordered him to… to…

Simeon hummed, rocking the baby in his arms. Solomon’s ears perked up from the soft, childish giggles exuding from the blanket. Simeon chuckled, letting the young prince play with his finger. “He’s wonderful,” the lad crooned, chuckling before slowly going back to a playful tune. “To think a man like Hector was able to have a child. Tell me, Moni, why didn’t we get to keep him?”

He raises a brow as he pouts to confront Solomon. Though it doesn’t last long, a simple sneer quickly puts him back in his playful act. Simeon gave Solomon one final look, nodding his head. He said: “Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart.”

After that, Simeon’s figure soon faded away, carrying the down sleeping child. ‘Right,’ Solomon thought. He’s dead. He’s forever damned in the underworld; taking care of that Trojan. Although the man couldn’t help it. The image of a boy who once resembled his son before he left for war was too much for the king to bear.

And Simeon was too kind to be a father that he couldn’t be, unlike someone who would match Solomon’s lack of mercy.

“Captain?” 

There it was another voice. From Simeon’s warmth it shifted to coldness. Bitter. Solomon took a brief glance—not that you were able to perceive any coherent shape—and was only met with blurred circles and squares of gray and muted browns. And unlike Simeon, he didn’t need clarity to focus on who it was, nor was he really willing to face the obscured face. Hair and body perfectly matching a memory, yet face scribbled away as to not recall his mate’s dismay.

Solomon held his stance, tilting his head up whilst staring back at the figure. “Raphael,” he said.

Akin to the lack of facial features, Raphael never focused on his captain. Instead, as a mouth starts to clearly come into view, he seems to be talking to someone far in the distance. He’s quick to grab the handle of his sword, his grip tightening. And Raphael repeats it once more, “Captain?” 

“I have to see them.”

Solomon turned around again, as he heard a more uncanny resemblance. Instead of the ghost of the past haunting him, it was instead a clear image of himself. The only difference would be how ragged and scarred he used to look before being under Ogygia’s care. This wasn’t a blurry spectacle spawning itself to hurt it, this was just torture.

Not bearing to look at himself, he goes back to staring at Raphael. His mate’s eyes came into a clear view, and he wasn't mad. No. Instead he looked to be that he respects Solomon’s decision, but that wasn’t enough to ignore the stifling of his nose watching. “But we’ll die,” Raphael tried to reason out.

Raphael tried even as he knew that what Solomon said was final. Even with the regret lingering on right after, he was a man of his word. Even with his back facing his double, he could imagine himself hesitantly raising his hand, pointing towards his crew. Hearing the phrase he told the thunder bringer. 

“I know.” “I can’t.” 

Solomon watches Raphael’s shoulders relax. He sighs, clicking his tongue before bowing his head, only giving a cold, bitter gaze in dark, lapis irises. “How much longer till your luck runs out?” Raphael shots his gaze to the real Solomon. The flashing lights of lightning reflect at the of his shoulders and hair, illuminating a bright white light from behind. 

The roaring sounds of thunder fill the air, as the flashing grew more erratic. “Wait, no! Raphael!” Solomon exclaimed. He tries to take a step forward, but knees betray him, instead falling down to the ground. “You can’t do this to me!”

The lightning’s flickering worsens, and with ragged deep breaths, he looks up. Raphael looks down at him, shaking his head in disappointment. “How much longer till we all fall down?” he asked one last time, before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

“RAPHAEL!” 

The sky rips open. A jagged bolt of lightning arcs down, striking Raphael with a blinding flash. Time seems to stretch as Solomon watches. Horrified. The air crackles with energy, and the sound is deafening, a roar that drowns out everything else. The light envelops his mate’s body, and for a heartbeat, he was only a mere silhouette against the storm. All suspended in the surging flames of chaos. 

And all Solomon can see is the silhouette of Raphael collapsing. “No…” Solomon cries, scrambling to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he races toward the fallen figure. “No. No. No. No..”

Each step feels heavy, every step conspires to hold him back. “Raphael!” he shouts again, desperation clawing at his throat. Once he reached where the lightning struck, it was over. Raphael’s body was no more. 

Solomon falls to his knees, grasping at coarse sand. His other hand reaches out to scramble along finely combed locks, ruffling it up in a tangled mess. “Please don’t make me do this,” Solomon wept. “Don’t make me do this.”

The voices of sirens fill the air, trapping him in an endless echo of screams, terror and revenge. Melodies of “waiting..” bounces through imaginary walls, each note striking his ears to bleed. He covers them lowers, lowering his head down to deafen the silence.

“Waiting…” Make it stop. 

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Make it stop. 

“And it’s no longer you.” Make it all stop. 

The loudest of the voices resemble yours. A loud, brash symphony that’s louder than any of his other demons. Your figure walks towards him, pulling his hands away from his and placing them on your cheek, whispering to him to open his eyes.

Your figure meshed with the colors of someone else from a distant past. As if your forms blended into one, where one can no longer be separated from the other. Washed out imagery of the bed made of trees that lies in their shared bedroom could be seen behind you, as leaves carefully drift down in a steady pace.

You smile, making him open his eyes. In a sing-song voice, you cooed. “Let me take the suffering from you.” 

Solomon was quick to hug you back, sobbing into the fabric. You playfully scoffed, caressing your hands along his hair, murmuring sweet nothings. For judgment was blurry in watery eyes. 

You also weren’t real. Not this mashed, stitched together doll that only took to keep half of your figure.

And Solomon realized that too soon, when you come tumbling down as nothing but sand along the shore. Grains clinging on to his clothes, specks reaching his eyes as they grow even more red. He can’t bear to understand. He fought to save lives, but not killing ended up leading all his men to perish. 

Had he avoided it all if he hadn’t shown mercy.

And how foolish he looked begging for it. The gods were right; he was a Greek who reeked of false righteousness. The worst kind of good for he cannot be great.

The cauldron had overflowed, as the voices grew louder once again. Taunting him as their endless comedy, in his peripeteia, suffering in anagnorisis. In a final, desperate moment, Solomon went back to the safe confines of closing his eyes. To shut himself off from the truth. To move on, and hopefully get back on track to returning to Ithaca.

His queen. His child. That was who he fought for.

Hands clenching his chest, Solomon screamed.

“BARBATOS!” 

.

.

.

Call him a fool. He’ll never allow himself to indulge in hubris once more.

a/n: this was honestly too much for the heart. so uhh, i hope you enjoy! also if anyone is able to spot all of the references then you'll be getting a small little bonus

thank you all for your support for this event, and for your patience as this was published a day late. Never fret, we still have more stories to come! and i hope you're there to follow me along through this journey.

and also, don't forget to greet the world with open arms! <3

event materlist | main masterlist | divider by cafekitsune

[haydensky01]

[Obey me]: MC falling in love with Diavolo

Summary: The most powerful human, overthinker as every woman is, falling in love with the most powerful demon. No spoilers.

###############################

I remember I do, the first time I appeared here falling from the sky my eyes locked onto his with unwavering intensity. He exuded overwhelming elegance, his presence so immaculate, so radiant, so majestic. While I had yet to be informed of his royal status, it was a truth I instinctively grasped without needing confirmation.

"Skin of sand, eyes of honey, hair of fire" is all that filled my thoughts as his eyes captivated my sight whole.

"Eyes of honey" It's cold. "Eyes of honey" I'm adrift. "Eyes of honey" What strange realm is this?

The room unfamiliar, the faces foreign, the attire surreal. "Eyes of honey... eyes of honey".

Limbs frozen, fists clenched "Eyes of honey... eyes of honey" where am I?

Diavolo: "Welcome to the Devildom MC. .. Oh, pardon me. Feeling a bit shocked are we?"

"Oh... it speaks..."

Diavolo: "My name is Diavolo. I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know of me."

"Eyes of honey... the tolling of bells."

Diavolo: "And someday soon I will be crowned king of the Devildom."

###############################

I read the other day in the RAD Newspaper that the hue of the next king's eyes, Diavolo's, is a unique emblem of his lineage, exceedingly rare even among their kin and the colours found in nature. Liars. Ever since I came here 3 years ago, It is all I see everywhere, all the time, on everything. I could swear my pupils have been coated with eyes of honey, for whenever I close my eyes, his gaze manifests without fail.

I am not naïve; I know what this is. He is undeniably handsome, a prince on the brink of becoming king. He possesses the charm, the intelligence, the chivalry, the wealth, the smile... and the eyes of a man with whom to fall in love. And I am a human raised on fairy tails. The equation might be complex but its result is unmistakable.

However, I am me. And me doesn't like embarrassment, rejection or a three realms worth of attention and gossip. It is the natural course of events to feel deep affection for Eyes of honey. But it is also the right course of events to relegate it to the realm of pre-sleeping fantasies, even if my mind refuses to adhere to this reasonable schedule.

I mean, I do feel the desire to seduce when I am around Lucifer or Mammon or Simeon or Solomon and others. Hell, I even flirted and went on dates. For the same reasons perhaps. Beauty, intelligence, talents, tact... or is it? I don't deny I was unwillingly comparing them to Diavolo all the time, I admit I imagined every flirt and every courtesy as if between me and Diavolo. But it still counts... doesn't it?

I blame this on Diavolo to be frank. Had he not summon me here to witness extraordinary power and charm, I wouldn't have invited him into my fantasies. Had he not call upon me on every events to be its centre. But then again, I AM the exchange student after all. Or perhaps hadn't he showered me with gifts, shown such care, and asked so kindly... He IS the ruler and I AM under his guardianship, aren't I? Had he not protected me so dearly? Again, he IS the most powerful. I don't know, I have no base but I blame him I do. I blame him for it all. And above all, his gravest sin remains... He looked at me with his eyes of honey.

The other night, at the ball, when we danced I could swear it was only the two of us dancing.

In the council room, when his hand brushed against mine, I could feel the heat from his flushed cheeks radiating across the air.

His late-night text and calls asking silly things amongst which is thrown the smallest sentences about how he wishes for me to be with him or for him to be with me. A future king cannot possibly be asking a human about muffins at 3am the eve of a world changing event, right?

The angry rumbling in his chest every time the demons and angels get too cosy with me?

Every time we found ourselves alone his voice carried the weight of a suffocated man in desperation of someone to set his lungs free. The urgency in his voice and the half calls for affection were real. I want them to be real.

Silly silly human. It's rather amusing, isn't it? For every time I tried to initiate even the most innocent flirtations or slightly intimate exchanges, he would deflect or evade. It's almost comical. And if not him, Barbatos or Lucifer would intervene... those sly serpents. Perhaps Barbatos sensed the impending embarrassment through his powers and chose to spare me the humiliation? AAAAHHHHH... This is so mortifying.

Whyyyyy? Why are you doing this to me Diavolo? Does it amuse you to toy with me this way? Spare me the pain and caste me away. For I cannot oblige myself to restrain from you. Be the bigger person, the adult in the room, the king in the kingdom and set me free.

###############################

Tears streamed down her face as she pondered all of this.

Lying on her bed in the dark at the house of lamentation, she was holding her phone above her face.

On the screen, a text conversation was visible, with the name of the correspondent adorned with a yellow heart: "Eyes of honey💛"

The text read:

___________________________________________

Eyes of honey💛: "Your fireworks display tonight was truly spectacular. I had no idea your magical prowess had grown so strong."

MC: "Haha... Thank you. The sky was indeed breathtaking."

Eyes of honey💛: "I am sure it was, but the true beauty was seeing it reflected in your eyes."

___________________________________________

In the chat box, she had typed "I love you" for the first time, acknowledging it as love rather than mere affection. It was the first time she had ever written those words, the first time, despite the consequences of it all, she had seriously considered putting an end to both their agony.

To be sent? To be deleted? Who knows?

[another-lost-mc]

I have an idea what about Raphael eats one of Solomons dishes but Solomon did something to the food causing Raphael acting very strange like he blurts out stuff he normally wouldn't say like

Mc: *does something stupid and ends up falling down*

Raphael: *chuckles* you're such a cute idiot *immediately slaps his hand over his mouth*

everyone else in the room (including mc): *stares at him with concerns*

BUT it gets better or worse if mc alone with him like gets all touchy even if it leads to sex he doesn't act like himself this happens multiple times over the course of weeks making everyone confused while Raphael tries to understand why he's acting like until once he ate solomom food again he goes back to normal but solomom now has bandages and black eye

Oooh I like this! The implications this would have with Raphael already being in an established relationship are interesting to think about too. Going off in a slightly different direction with this one, but bear with me.

[RAPHAEL x gn!Reader, 1.5k words, nsfw. Content warnings: suggestive and sexual content.]

I could see Solomon’s cooking having unintended consequences. He’s too amused to care about trying to pinpoint what went wrong or how to fix it (so long as the side effects aren’t too severe).

Raphael eats the stew that Solomon made, and it tastes like all the other things the sorcerer has fed him (delicious), but it isn’t until later at RAD that the others start to suspect something might be wrong.

“You’re all invited to have lunch with Lord Diavolo tomorrow,” Barbatos said in the cafeteria. You were eating lunch with the angels today since the others were busy with student council business.

Luke nearly bounced in his chair with excitement. “Can we try that new brownie recipe too?”

Barbatos smiled at the young angel. “I’ve already secured the ingredients, and Simeon has agreed to bring you ahead of the others so we have time to make them.” He turned to you and added, “Of course, I’ll also brew that special blend of tea you enjoy so much.”

You loved his tea, but you missed Raphael’s frown when you beamed happily at the butler. “I’m looking forward to it, thank you.”

Raphael stabbed at something on his plate with his fork. “I don’t understand why,” he said between bites of his lunch, “his tea’s not that good.”

Everyone turned to him, startled and confused by the unexpected comment. Even Barbatos looked stunned for a moment, and a flicker of anger passed over his expression before he offered Raphael a tight-lipped smile that looked completely fake. “I shall do my best to meet your exceptionally high standards,” he said with a stiff bow before he walked away.

“Raph? Are you okay?” You scrutinized his expression, but he looked confused by your concern.

“Of course I am,” he said, because why wouldn’t he be okay? He continued eating like nothing happened, but he shuffled his chair just a bit closer to yours so your thighs touched under the table.

What everyone pieces together is that something is causing him to be a more honest, unfiltered version of himself. He’s more candid with his opinions and feelings and thoughts, especially when it comes to you.

Mammon plopped down into the seat next to yours, but you glanced at the doorway and back to him again. “Raphael should be here any moment,” you warned him, because the angel normally sat beside you at these group events and Mammon knew that.

But he scoffed and leaned back in the chair with a grin. “Yeah, well maybe he should’ve been here sooner then—“ Mammon started to say, but he yelped when his chair was suddenly pulled away from the table.

Raphael tipped the chair forward so Mammon slid off the seat onto the dining room floor with an oof. The angel tucked the chair next to yours and sat down himself, staring at the demon like he dared him to say about it.

You patted Raphael’s hand gently, and you weren’t sure whether to feel bad for Mammon or be shocked by Raphael’s behaviour. “Was that really necessary?” you asked him with an amused smile.

Raphael turned to you and the icy annoyance he showed Mammon moments ago thawed into warm affection. “He was in my seat,” he said as he took your hand in his and brought it to his mouth, tickling the backs of your fingers slightly when he hummed against your skin.

Without the censor tempering his thoughts and softening his tongue, Raphael’s language is more abrasive—crude, even. It feels almost like dirty talk, the way he weaves curses into his speech so easily now. You know it’s not a ruse or exaggeration, but simply a side of himself he normally hides from the world. You can pretend it doesn’t turn you on, but it’s difficult to keep that up for long when it affects him just as much.

It was half-time during Beel's Fangol game, and most of your friends dispersed from the stands to get more drinks and snacks. You noticed Raphael was fidgeting a lot during the game, playing with his arm sleeves and grumbling under his breath. You were here to support Beel moreso than your personal enjoyment of the game, and you assumed it was the same for him too.

You figured some fresh air away from the crowd would help his spirits, so you didn't protest when he grabbed your hand and led you down the steps to ground level. Confusion set in when he kept walking past the concession stands towards RAD, which was deserted this time of night.

"What's wrong?" you asked when you tried to keep up with his long strides. "The game's not over yet."

He glanced at you over his shoulder. "I know," he said, gaze flicking down somewhere around your chest level before he looked ahead again. "But I don't think I can wait anymore."

He led you around the corner of the courtyard and you bumped into him when he stopped walking suddenly. "Can't wait for what?" you asked, but instead of answering, he backed you up against the stone building and slid his arms around your waist.

"You're so lovely in this shirt," he said thickly as his hands slid up under the shirt hem and tickled your sides. "And I don't want to wait until the after-party to fuck you in it." He leaned forward and his nose grazed your jaw, and he tilted your head back gently before he placed biting kisses up along the delicate column of your throat

You grasped his shirt and tried to to think through the heat shooting through your belly every time his lips sucked another little mark into your skin. What he said didn't make sense; how could a shirt have this effect on him?

But then you remembered an off-handed comment he made shortly after you bought it a few months ago. He stared at you for a moment before turning away, mumbling something about, "that's a good colour on you." Since his compliments were sometimes rare and subdued, it still made you feel giddy with praise. Was this what he really feels every time he sees you wearing something he likes?

One of his hands groped the curve of your ass as he arched your body against his, and the other slipped down the front of your pants. He quickly derailed your thoughts about why this was happening. Instead, you succumbed to his tantalizing kisses against your skin, the filthy promises he whispered in your ear, and his deft fingers stroking the arousal between your legs.

Eventually the effects of Solomon's food fade away, and Raphael's temperament slowly returns to something like before, but not quite the same either. He's not as blunt with his criticisms and displeasure about things, and he's not as forthcoming in conversations he really wants no part of.

However, he's still more open than he used to be, more honest about things that matter to him. Mostly, he's more honest with you than anyone else, no matter the circumstances.

He braced himself on the carpet beside your head, and his other hand was curled around your hip. You rested your forehead on your arm to keep the carpet from rubbing unpleasantly against your skin every time a rough snap of his hips jerked you forward.

You're still not sure how you ended up on all fours on Raphael's bedroom floor, but it hardly mattered now. All you could think of was the coil deep inside that burned with need, the one that tightened with each greedy pump of his cock inside you, and the way he seemed to fill you so perfectly like no one else could.

Words escaped you as you moaned and whimpered and keened against your arm. You could hear his uttered curses behind you over the soft, wet sounds your bodies made.

"Fuck, you feel so good around my cock," he panted erratically, a sign he was close to coming undone.

The hand pulling your hip to meet his thrusts fell away. He fisted the hem of your shirt instead, and you felt his nails scratch lightly against your back. "You wore this shirt on purpose, didn't you?"

Your face burned at how easily he saw through your ploy. Perhaps you had new motivations to wear things in that particular colour he liked so much.

"M-maybe," you admitted breathlessly. You liked wearing clothes that reminded you of the evening he fucked you against the rough stone wall of RAD, while the cheers from the Fangol pitch drowned out the sinful noises you both made.

He smacked your ass—not hard, but enough to make you yelp in surprise. You moaned when he leaned forward and pressed against your back so he could reach your arousal between your legs, and he stroked you quickly in time with the sloppy rhythm of his hips.

The tingling sensation and his hand spreading your wetness to drive you over the edge was too much. You buried your cry in your arm, and he grew still behind you as hot warmth seeped inside you and trickled down your thighs.

He maneuvered you both onto the floor, his arm wrapped around you with his cock still buried deep inside. He panted against your temple and kissed you. "I love you," he murmured into your ear.

There were still things he didn't say often, feelings he had trouble expressing without some sorcerer's concoction loosening his tongue, but you basked in his quiet honesty and loving touches, because no matter what he did or didn't say, you still knew him better than anyone else.

Taglist: @mithrakira @your-next-daydream @xpixie @tortibomb

Join the taglist here.| Obey Me! Masterlist

[obm-avenquire]

Obey Me! Seven Minutes In Heaven Hell

[I’m honouring my rotten god awful roots from hell. Put up with it. I hope this gives someone whiplash. I am writing this both as a joke and with complete sincerity and i wont be explaining myself if you get it you get it if you dont then i hope youll find it entertaining anyway. I used my own deviantart for 2012 for reference for this]

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Another day, another party in the Devildom. 

You have no idea how any of them have energy for all this - it feels like every week someone will pull some cause for celebration out of thin air and suddenly they’ve hired a catering company and a truckload of helium balloons. Of course, Diavolo - fuelled by his unending fear of missing out and need for enrichment - enables it every time, doing everything he can to get himself and everyone else you know invited. Which is…fine, you like seeing them all. In moderation. At none noisy crowded events. Ah, well. Such is the burden of a dating sim protagonist. Slumber parties at the castle are a little less high maintenance at least.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Asmodeus calls your name, waving you over with Demonus-flushed cheeks before dragging you away from the balcony and back into the big guest room-turned-common-room-sleeping-area. You definitely think there’s a better way to phrase that, but you barely have time to think when Asmo is pushing you to sit down in the collective circle (his strength always surprises you, and he’s maybe just a little too tipsy to regulate it properly), pressing a kiss on your cheeks before running off to herd together the rest of the group.

You look around the circle, giving Satan an affirming but vague nod that he returns with an equally innocuous smile, which you accept as you always do and go back to your usual little headcount. Belphegor was dozing on the sofa, threatening to sprawl over Satan (who was ‘gently’ repositioning him whenever necessary), Mephistopholes (who had invited himself) was preaching his very special gospel to Beelzebub at the snack table while Asmodeus did whatever he could to wrangle the younger away because his plate was basically just a tower of snacks at this point and he could always get more later so if he would just pleeeeaaaaasssee-

You stop paying attention, instead giving Simeon and Raphael a little wave as they walk in.

“Welcome back,” You shuffle over slightly to make space for the two of them, Simeon sitting down next to you as Raphael decides to stand rigidly slightly off to the side just a little behind the sofa, and just…stay there. Well, whatever makes him comfortable, you guess. “Did Luke arrive safe?”

“He did, thankfully,” Simeon smiles, tucking his phone into the pockets of his trousers, “I can’t believe Serun broke all their bones and had to be hospitalised again. I feel awful not being able to visit, but, well…” He sighs, shrugging, “He wanted to go himself, and insisted he could manage, so…You know how he i-”

“What? I only came because I was promised melon cake!” You’re not sure where Thirteen popped up from, but she’s already on the armchair in the corner, kicking her legs over the armrests as she rolls her eyes. “What a waste of time.”

“Oh! Well, he still finished that, actually, so-” There’s a distinctive arcane shink sound that cuts Simeon off mid sentence. “Now, Raphael, put the spear away, you can’t do that here-” Ever the stickler for manners, it seems. Oh well. Not your problem. 

“Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask.” Thirteen raises her eyebrows at your voice, pupils knife-like and theatrically bitchy in the dim candlelight.  “Why are you covered in soot.” 

“Well,” She scoffs, clicking her tongue, “Since someone-” She glares at Solomon from across the room, who smiles very nicely and innocently through his conversation with Barbatos- “Decided to ‘dismantle’-” She does incredibly heavy and repeated air quotes with her fingers, “My special little bomb boy it exploded all wrong!”

“I understand completely. I’m sorry someone would ever do something so awful to you, you don’t deserve that even slightly.” She snorts, balling up the tissue she was using to wipe the ashes off her forearm and throws it at your head. It disintegrates in midair before so much as making contact, and you squint over in the sorcerer's direction. He’s not even looking your way, and Barbatos whispers something you can’t make out to him as Thirteen groans and throws up her hands in frustration, sliding into what must be an incredibly uncomfortable position. It doesn’t seem to bother her, though, and she picks at her nails grumpily. Oh well!

“-Stop complainin’ already, would it really kill ya to join in?” Mammon is doing everything in his power to pull Levi through the door by the collar of his coat, but the younger seems to be trying to retract his own head into his shirt like a turtle to try and get out of it. 

“You’re killing me you’re the worst and I hate youandIhopeeverythingbadeverhappenstoyoua-” 

“Yeah yeah whatever. Shut up and sit.” Mammon slings his arm over Levi’s shoulder, dragging him down into the circle just as Lucifer and Diavolo finally come back from whatever it was they were getting done. 

“Lucifer, don’t make that face!” Diavolo nudges his bestest of friends, who looks particularly miserable, even as Barbartos silently refills his glass before they all, too, sit to join, the prince and his right hand man on the final empty sofa, the butler instead choosing to kneel neatly a little off to the side from Mammon and Levi. Satan adeptly shoves Belphegor upwards at just the right timing for Beelzebub to sit down (his twin slumps right back into his shoulder). Mephistopholes complains that there isn’t a proper place to sit til Mammon trips him and he ungracefully tries to pass it off as deciding to sit on the floor as Thirteen barks a sharp laugh at him.

A pleasant hum of conversation settles through the room, Asmodeus stumbling into hugging Solomon, whispering something between the invocation trio that you can’t quite make out before spinning around and clapping his hands together (cutely. It’s important to emphasise that he did this so so cutely) to get everyone’s attention.

“E---veryone!!!” He waits a few seconds for silence, shooting a glare at whoever dares to continue in the wake of this very very important announcement. “It’s time for a very special game! Have we all heard of 7 minutes in heaven?” He bounces on the tips of his feet in excitement despite the lukewarm reception. “Okay well that’s a mostly no then I guess-  Honestly! I know it’s a human world thing, but really?” He pouts, and you note that Diavolo’s visible excitement has increased exponentially already. 

“Allow me to explain,” Solomon cuts in, confirming your suspicion that he’d been somehow roped into this. “Two or more participants are selected - in our case by drawing lots - to go into a closet or equivalent and do whatever they like for 7 minutes.” Everyone seems a lot more attentive, suddenly. “Ah, of course, we’ll be taking magic precautions to make sure that there’s no cheating, and certainly no one breaking into the closet before time is up,” He grins, clearly enjoying this already. 

“The heck.” Mammon grumbles, oddly fidgety all of a sudden, “There ain’t even a closet in here,” Leviathan nods aggressively. He’s sweating. 

“Hm? Oh! That won’t be a problem, haha! Barbatos was kind enough to offer to help out with that,” The aforementioned butler steps aside to reveal a simple wooden door on the wall that decidedly hadn’t been there earlier. “We even made sure it was sound-proofed! You know, just in case.”

“What a curious game! Shall we start right away?” Diavolo beams, inadvertently cutting off Mephistopholes, who’d just opened his mouth to no doubt complain that this sort of juvenile and inappropriate game had no place at a gathering with the Devildom’s one and only prince. 

“Yes!! Everyone write your name on a piece of paper, okay?” Asmo begins handing out paper and pens to everyone, shushing any complaining he meets. “You don’t have to play! It just means you’re boring and no fun and that you’ll never get a chance like this again.” 

Better write your name, then. You’d hate to miss out. 

You watch as Barbatos collects everyone’s paper slips, dropping them into a glass bowl and shaking periodically to shuffle them well. You immediately lose track of yours, so you figure that it’s worked.  After what feels like a slightly inordinate amount of time, everyone seems to have put their name in the bowl - sure, some were more…begrudging or in need of convincing than others, but that’s normal! Anyways-

“Oooo I’ve been waiting for this all evening!” Asmodeus grabs the bowl, tap-tap-tapping along the rim for effect, perfectly manicured nails making a pleasant ASMR-esque tink noise. “Right, first u-”

“Uhm, how do- how do we know you’re, uh, not rigging this?” Asmo whips his head around to stare open-mouthed at Levi.

“Excuse me? I would never-”

“Mm, there’s no guarantee though, is there?” Asmodeus pouts at Satan, grumbling something about being personally offended and making sure to snitch next time Satan asks him for a favour.

“Fine! Since I’m so untrustworthy and awful-” The smile is switched back on as he saunters over to you, swishing the bowl around carefully before holding it out to you. “Why don’t you pick? No one will complain then, right?” 

The silence in the room means yes, presumably.

“Go on hun! Don’t be nervous-” He winks, and your mouth quirks into a smile to humour him, carefully reaching into the bowl for two slips of paper, pulling them out and carefully unfolding them to reveal-

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

[As is tradition, I'll be uploading the individual 'endings' as I write them :) I'll be putting a poll up on my account for who to write first (within reason, I don't think tumblr will let me put up enough options to cover everyone) so feel free to suggest people in the replies/tags too!! there will be no luke option becuz i dont know how to put hardware destroying malware in clickable links yet sory :( feel free to simulate the experience urself tho!!]

[leviathans-watching]

Would you be willing to write how the brothers (any you decide but at least leviathan mammon and belphie) as well as any side characters (Raphael and barbatos perhaps?) would react to us/the reader telling them "you always were my favourite." ? Thank you even if you don't do my request I love how you characterize them. You write Raphael really well also [: - ⛓️

telling them they're your favorite

includes: older brothers, belphie, barbatos, raphael x/& gn!reader, luke & gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list

a/n: ught this was so fun to write and tysm!! i hope you enjoy! my inbox is open to chat, req, and leave feedback so come say hi &lt;3

reblogs plz =)

➳ lucifer flicks a glance over at you. “is that so?” he asks, brow raising. “i thought you didn’t have favorites.” “well, i would never admit it to the rest of them, but you just get me so well. and cause me the least number of headaches,” you reply, and he lets out a half-chuckle. “i wonder why you’re admitting it to me now,” lucifer ponders aloud. “it probably has nothing to do with the fact that i know you’re hungry and know i keep snacks hidden in my desk.”

➳ mammon loses his composure quickly, sputtering. you don’t think you’ve ever seen his cheeks get that red that fast. he recovers after a long moment, chest puffing out. “i always knew it,” he insists, pride heavy in his tone. “i mean, i am your first man an’ all. it’s only natural that you’d like me best, especially since i am the coolest and best-looking of all of us.” you laugh, and he goes on. “but ya should tell me. why exactly am i your favorite and what do you like about me best?”

➳ levi shakes his head. “no, you’re just saying that to cheer me up. there’s no way a gross, lonely, yucky otaku like me is your favorite!” “you shouldn’t say those things about yourself,” you insist, laying on the puppy-dog eyes for n extra guilt factor. “it makes me sad. and i hate seeing my favorite–or should i say my bias?–sad.” levi gives you a little half-smile, convincing clearly working, and you decide to go in for the kill, prey upon his envy. “but i suppose if you don’t want to be my favorite i can pick someone else…” wow, did that turn his mind around!

➳ belphie huffs out a laugh. “please, i know you wouldn’t actually ever admit it, even though it’s true. what is it you want?” even if you insist, you know he won’t believe you, or at least believe you’re actually admitting it like he said, so you just come clean. “well, i need a ride and mammon’s the only other one home but he always makes me give him gas money.” “i knew you wanted something,” belhie grumbles good-naturedly as he pulls himself out of bed. “fine, but only if i get payment of my own. don’t you think a kiss should be enough?” his eyes slant devilishly. “at least to start.”

➳ barbatos smirks. “i didn’t know my food was that good.” “are you kidding me?” you reply, grabbing another mini-cupcake. “these are so freaking good. barbatos, if you promised to bake for me every day i’d marry you in a heartbeat.” this gets a rare true smile out of him, one complete with crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “don’t let anyone else hear you saying that,” he warns, “or else you’re going to have a bunch of wannabe-bakers messing up the kitchen at the house of lamentation, and is that something you really want to deal with?”

➳ luke pumps his fist, vibrating with excitement. “i knew it! i knew it, i knew it, i knew it! of course you like me the most, especially compared to those mean demons!” wrapping his arms around your waist, he gives you a tight hug, looking up at you affectionately. “you’re my favorite too, mc! besides simeon of course, but no one will ever beat him.” you laugh, ruffling his hair, and even though it’s mean of you to think you’re sure if he were a puppy his tail would be wagging a million times a minute. “well, it is simeon so i suppose that’s fine.”

➳ raphael blinks uncomprehendingly. “me? i’m your favorite? but, we haven’t even known one another for that long and you seem so close with the brothers!” before he can fully spiral, you smile, knocking against his shoulder. “and? i really like you. you’re kind, smart, genuine, and a good mediator. why wouldn’t you be my favorite?” you leave then, but for the rest of the day note the small, bashful smile he wears, and the way he can’t make eye-contact for more than a few seconds at a time without looking away, ears turning the slightest bit red.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[omalice]

“Isn’t it cute?” P.2

When you glance at the store's biggest teddy bear and “Isn’t it cute?” with a gorgeous smile.

Character: Mammon, Beelzebub, Raphael x GN! Reader

Note: My English is really poor, so…please go easy on me if I write something wrong!

P.1 | P.3 | P.4

The “want to be a sugar daddy but fail”

Mammon

“Isn’t it cute?” You mumble while locking your eyes on the store's biggest teddy bear.

"Ya want it?" Mammon inquires.

“Uh-huh…?” You accept with a tone of voice that clearly conveys your confusion; you don't anticipate the avatar of greed spending a lot of money to show how much he values you.

Unexpectedly, Mammon actually buys your mentioned teddy bear!

You jerkily express thanks to him and question the meaning of his shocked actions.

“I can do anythin’ that makes ya happy, MC." He answers with a big smile that almost makes you cry because of how overwhelmed you are.

However, the following morning...

The real explanation has been revealed. Mammon was able to purchase the doll by using Lucifer's credit card(😅) and he ended up being chased after all day.

Mammon's forced to have a part-time job to pay off his newest debt as a result. Otherwise, Lucifer will take the teddy bear from you and sell it on Akuzon. You're not courageous enough to go against the firstborn order; instead, you only frown, implying that you must be upset if the dolls are actually sold, you really like it regardless.

And Mammon won't let that happen, of course! He will work hard!

By the way, it's still true that this demon can do anything to make you happy.

Beelzebub

“Isn’t it cute?” You mumble while locking your eyes on the store's biggest teddy bear.

“Do you like it?”

"Yes! …Wait, Beel—"

You attempt to stop him, but not quick enough, he's heading away to look for the price of the teddy bear already.

Unfortunately, Beel has little knowledge of prices except for food, so he wasn't prepared to face the enormous sum of money provided on the price card for the doll which is more than enough to make his face color fade and turn white.

Beelzebub returns bearing nothing but an apology, "It's okay." you say to him.

A few days later, he began to use his free time to do a part-time job. He normally works an additional job to cover the debt from his eating habit, so neither the brothers nor you are aware of his intentions.

One week later, Beelzebub invites you to visit his room, where you found the teddy bear you wanted waiting on the bed.

(He makes sure to also pick a time when Belphie won't be there. Just want to spend alone time with you.)

He apologizes about deciding to buy the smaller one because couldn't afford to buy the size you wanted.

You obviously don't care about the size! It suffices to simply know how big his love for you is.

Raphael

“Isn’t it cute?” You mumble while locking your eyes on the store's biggest teddy bear.

Raphael gazes at your side face as he steps to enter the store.

“R-Raphael…?” Confusedly calling his name, you jog behind him.

Your body shakes when you see an extensive amount of numbers on the price tag the angel flips to reveal.

“I didn't mean that—“ You start to explain yourself.

“Huh?” His low mumble cuts your sentence. “Not as expensive as I thought”

"?????"

What?

Is he actually super rich?? Or does Michael pay him lavishly?

"Almost this much is the average cost of goods in the Celestial Realm..." Raphael keeps making suggestions.

"Yes, but are there different currencies? We use Grimm here.”

“…” ”…”

"Oh." He halts, and blinks. “…You're right.”

“It's okay," Simeon soothes his friend after hearing about what happened during the day. “You know, it's kind of a culture shock! When I first arrived in Devildom, I ran into similar situations as well…”

It doesn’t help, to be honest.

The next part will feature Leviathan, Barbatos, and Thirteen!

[misc-obeyme]

Spears Crossed

LISTEN. Nobody said I was good at titles, okay? Spear Lessons was bad enough, but I didn't wanna just call this Spear Lessons Part Two, you know??

Anyway, this is the second part to Spear Lessons. I am completely addicted to medieval sparring youtube now and there is no turning back for me. Also might be a little in love with Raphael, but that's a different problem.

GN!MC x Raphael

Warnings: none, 'tis still fluff

You stood in the RAD coliseum, your feet spread and knees lowered in a fighting stance. You clutched a spear in one hand, held up and slightly behind yourself, waiting. The large space was filled with tense silence.

Across from you, still several feet away, Raphael stood straight, but relaxed. His spear was held in his hand, pointing up to the ceiling. He seemed perfectly composed as he kept his eyes on you.

You crouched slightly, waiting for him to make the first move.

When Raphael stepped back, bringing his spear down into position, you knew he was deliberately going slow enough for you to see what he was doing. It irritated you just a little. After all this time, why was he still going easy on you?

Because of this, you were prepared for his lunge. You brought your spear down and around, tucking it on the inside of his to easily knock it to the side. It stabbed past your head harmlessly.

You took advantage of the moment and stepped forward into your own thrust, aiming the tip of your spear at his chest.

Raphael stepped backward, pulling the tip of his spear just beneath yours so it was positioned to knock you out of the way.

Your spear listed to the side a little as you pulled it back into yourself, rearranging into a prepared stance. The tips of your spears were now crossed and they clanked against each other faintly as you each shuffled your feet in preparation for the next attack.

It was a split second decision for you to take the offense, stepping forward before Raphael could, bringing your spear into line to hit him.

Raphael deflected your spear almost too easily. He may have started slow for your benefit, but you recognized when he got serious.

That was when his spear slid across the top of yours, the tip aimed right at your neck.

Your best choice was to duck, so you did. You took several steps backward to further avoid the strike. Then you turned a little to re-enter the fighting space and thrust your own spear out at Raphael. You kept your dominant hand on the bottom of the spear, using your arm's strength to send it out from you as far as it would go.

You nearly clipped him, but Raphael knocked it aside in time.

You were breathing a little heavily now, but you were proud of yourself for getting that close.

You didn't let up. You decided a series of quick thrusts was the way to go - throw him off by not letting him take a break from defending against you.

You moved forward with each thrust, your feet carrying you across the coliseum floor easily, the continual jabs from the spear being repelled each time. But you noted how Raphael's parries were getting sloppier and sloppier as you pressed him.

So you continued, kept going until you saw the perfect opening. Raphael's spear was already slightly off to the side due to meeting your last thrust. So you used your own spear to press his down, forcing the tip to the ground. Then you thrust, letting your spear slide up the length of his until the point reached his throat.

If you had been fighting for real, he would be dead.

Raphael looked at you over the tip of your spear, which was made of a harmless rubber and was now bent in half against his neck. His surprised expression suddenly melted into a smile and your heart constricted when you saw the pride there.

You laughed, overwhelmed at the fact that you had finally beat him. For months now, you had been sparring here in the coliseum and you had never once managed to hit him. Every time, Raphael deflected your attacks.

You dropped your sparring spear, a simple thing made of wood, letting it clank against the ground.

"I did it!" you exclaimed.

You didn't wait for a reaction from Raphael, you simply ran toward him and flung your arms around his neck.

There was another clank as Raphael dropped his own spear - also for practice and made of wood and rubber. His arms caught you and he stepped back a few paces from your momentum.

You suddenly found yourself staring directly into those blue eyes. They were as calm as they always were, but there was something else there now. A spark of feeling that you couldn't quite decipher. It was more than pride, it was fondness, it was accomplishment.

Memories flashed through your mind - all the days you had come here with your practice spear, ready to lose yet again. Every time Raphael had carefully shown you the nuances of handling the spear correctly. Whenever he took the time to explain to you what you were doing wrong. The adrenaline of a sparring match firing you up, the rapid beating of your heart, from exertion and exhilaration and something else you couldn't quite admit to.

"I'm proud of you, MC," Raphael said. "You've really mastered the use of the spear."

It was such a simple statement. It was just like him to say something like that to you so easily, with all his emotions simmering beneath them. He remained so calm upon the surface, but his words gave him away.

"You were still holding back," you said quietly. "I saw how you fell into the stance so slowly. Don't do that next time, okay?"

Raphael chuckled. "I won't, I promise."

You pulled an arm back so you could let your fingertips brush through his hair, just barely catching the edges of the gold diamonds.

All the feelings that had built up inside you throughout the time you'd been learning from Raphael finally spilled over.

It seemed that Raphael could see it happening in your eyes because his arms tightened around you.

That was all the encouragement you needed. You cupped his face with your hands and kissed him.

The spark you'd seen in his eyes flared up between you instead, a swirling flutter in your stomach as he returned your kiss.

You pulled away with a little gasp, your nerves jangling.

Raphael's eyes were shining. "MC," he said. "I want to give you something."

He let go of you, though you could feel the reluctance as he did. You waited, watching him.

Raphael lifted a hand, a glow surrounded him, and the rain of spears he was so well known for began. You didn't need to step out of the way because you knew they wouldn't touch you.

And they didn't. They didn't even hit the ground. Raphael grabbed one and the rest disappeared. It looked just like the Celestial Realm spear he had been using that day you first saw him on the grass on the RAD campus. Bright and shining, all gold and steel.

Raphael held it out to you. "I want you to have this."

Your eyes widened. "Y-you… what?"

He smiled, stepped closer to you, lifted one of your hands to hold the spear with his. "You've earned it," he said. "And if there's ever a day when you need to defend yourself for real, you'll have a weapon that will never fail you."

The thoughtfulness of this gesture made you feel like you might explode into a tiny burst of spears yourself.

"Are you sure?" you asked.

Raphael's expression became serious. "I have never been so sure of anything in my life."

You turned into him, overwhelmed. And although the bright and shining spear was still clutched between you, Raphael kissed you again. It was full of all the things he hadn't said - everything you already knew from the look in his eyes and the spear in your hand.

It was a bit risky, perhaps. You were both keenly aware of what had happened the last time an angel fell in love with a human. But you were also prepared for any adversity that happened to come your way. Even if it meant that in the end, it would only be the two of you and some stolen Celestial Realm spears.

Spear Lessons | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[koolades-world]

Mornings moments with the Obey me! cast

Lucifer making coffee for the both of you to enjoy in his room

Sleeping in with Mammon and waking up first thing to see his face

Ordering breakfast for both you and Levi to enjoy after gaming all night

Going out for a morning walk with Satan and feeding the cats

Doing your morning skincare routine with Asmo and dressing up together for the day

Exercising with Beel and getting breakfast out afterwards

Skipping school to sleep in all day with Belphie and eating a very late breakfast when his brothers are getting home

Waking up to Diavolo telling you how much he loves you and how he wouldn't trade you for the world

Barbatos waking you up with breakfast in bed and feeding each other

Tickling Luke awake

Making breakfast with Simeon and having a flour war

Getting ready for the day with Solomon and fixing his messy hair

Sneaking kisses from Thirteen all morning

Enjoying a lazy morning with Raphael

Watching the sunrise with Mephisto