Affection Headcannons (Leviathan)

Affection Headcannons (Lucifer)

Fandom: Obey Me!

Part 1/7

General

Lucifer wasn’t used to so much soft physical contact before you. 

But now he’s used to your daily acts of affection.

He doesn’t often seek out your affections first, but will accept you any time that you want attention. 

Unless it’s past curfew.

Then expect him to scold you lightly and walk you back to your room.

Secretly he wants to pull you into his room and fall asleep with his arms around you.

But he knows he should wait until you specifically ask for that.

He doesn’t want to push your limits too far after all.

Hands

He’ll let you hold his hand or arm when you’re walking together, often seeking out your hand himself if you don’t make the first move.

Lucifer likes to rub little circles on the back of your hands whenever he holds them.

His hands are typically a little below room temperature, so they feel nice against your warm skin.

If you’re sick or just really hot, he’ll let you hold his hands against your forehead to cool you down a bit.

He particularly likes when you play with his hair while he’s working, often leaning into your touch like a cat when your nails scratch against his scalp.

Kisses

Lucifer prefers to keep the kissing to when you’re alone, but if you manage to look sad enough, he’ll allow you to press a quick kiss to the corner of his lips.

Unsurprisingly, his lips are soft, and a little warmer than his hands.

He likes to kiss your shoulders whenever you’re laying down together, and if you’re standing, he’ll swoop you up into his arms to kiss your lips and forehead.

If you’re feeling sad, Lucifer will kiss each of your fingers (provided they’re clean) and then steal a breathtaking kiss from your lips.

Lucifer’s kisses are deliberate and passionate. He kisses you like there’s no one else in the world.

Hugs

Hugging Lucifer makes you feel so safe.

He knows you like when he rests his chin on the top of your head, so he dos that often. 

Occasionally when you’re sitting on your chair and working he’ll come up behind you and wrap his arms around you to watch you work.

He doesn’t want to distract you though so it doesn’t happen very often.

He likes when you come into his room (after knocking of course) and hug him from behind while he works.

Don’t expect him to get much work done if you combine that with neck kisses.

Cuddles

Lucifer is a sucker for cuddles.

He is definitely a big spoon, but will let you be the big spoon if you ask.

He likes to wrap his arms around your waist and trace patterns on your skin with a couple fingers.

Sometimes he’ll ask to lay his head on your lap so you can play with his hair while he takes a nap if he’s hard a particularly bad day.

Once you start sleeping together, his favorite position is spooning.

He just loves the feeling of your smaller back pressed to his front.

His chin is always at the top of your head, unless his nose is against your hair.

Affection Headcannons (Beelzebub)

Fandom: Obey Me

Part: 6/7

General

Beelzebub is always so afraid of hurting you because he’s so big.

Compared to his brothers, he’s more used to physical affection due to all of his time spent with Belphegor.

Beel is also the most open when it comes to attention, and will flat out ask for hugs or kisses whenever he wants them.

Hands

Beels hands absolutely dwarf yours.

When you hold his hand yours is just completely engulfed in his and he finds it adorable.

The man just has big hands.

If he’s not holding food when out in public, you can bet he’s holding your hand.

Beelzebub's hands are always pleasantly warm.

Play with his fingers while cuddling and he’ll just give you the softest smile as he thinks about how happy he is to have you.

Kisses

Not gonna lie, he gets distracted easily.

If Beel is kissing your neck, he’ll add a little nibble here and there because you just smell so good and he got hungry for a moment.

Don’t worry though, he won’t break skin.

He loves kissing your stomach where his pact mark is, and your neck is his second favorite place to kiss.

If you want a kiss on the lips, you’ll either have to pull his head down to your height or he’ll pick you up.

Hugs

To hug Beelzebub is to hug a giant teddy bear.

You just flat out disappear from view as he wraps his arms around you.

He’s always so warm and when he holds you against him and presses a quick kiss to the top of your head?

Boom. Instant blush.

He gets flustered about those innocent kisses too, you just can’t see the faint blush on his face because you’re too busy trying not to fall asleep in his warm embrace.

Cuddles

Cuddling with Beel is like cuddling with a giant pillow.

Although he’s mostly firm muscle, if you lay on his chest then it gets pretty comfy.

Beelzebub is afraid of accidentally hurting you, so he’ll insist that you’re always on top of him when cuddling or the little spoon.

He loves when you trace little patterns on any of his exposed skin while you cuddle.

The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces and he loves it.

Asmo is always squealing about how cute this is whenever you fall asleep on Beel on the living room couch during movie night.

Incorrect Quote 37/50

Simeon: Luke there are three ways to do things in the kitchen: the right way, the wrong way, and the Solomon way.

Luke: Isn't that just the wrong way?

Simeon: Yes, but it's faster.

Affection Headcannons (Mammon)

Fandom: Obey Me

Part: 2/7

General

Mammon wants to show you off to everyone.

But at the same time, he doesn’t want anyone else to see you.

He just wants all of your attention on him.

Mammon always wants to be touching you in some way, especially around other people.

He needs everyone to know that you belong to him.

When in reality, everyone in the Devildom knows that you have him wrapped around your little finger.

Hands

He tends to grab your hands first.

Mammon loves holding your hands and tangling your fingers together.

Whenever the two of you are out in public people can always expect to see either his arm around you, or his fingers tangled in yours.

He just wants to show off to everyone that hey, this human chose me, I win.

He’s always grabbing one of your hands with his when you’re eating at the dinner table.

He thinks he’s being sneaky but literally everyone knows.

Kisses

Mammon loves to kiss you. 

He likes to pull you against his chest when he kisses you too, making you have to tilt your chin up to actually be able to reach his mouth.

Mammon 100% uses toungue and you can’t prove otherwise.

If he’s not pulling you against his chest, he’s backing you against a wall.

He will kiss you in front of his brothers and complete strangers.

Mammon will kiss you in front of lord Diavolo himself.

The boy does not care who sees him kissing you.

Hugs

Mammon gives strong hugs.

When he’s not kissing you, his arms are wrapped around you tightly.

Whether he’s behind you or in front of you while he hugs you is usually up to you.

You’re talking to a friend on the street? Mammon is coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his face against your neck.

He just doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or reach once you’re his.

Cuddles

When Mammon wants cuddles, he gets cuddles.

You’re doing homework? Good luck prying him off of you.

Mammon will pick you up off of your chair and throw you onto the bed, only to plop down with his face on your stomach and his arms around your waist.

Whenever you’re cuddling, he will insist on either you playing with his hair, or he gets to play with yours.

You still do not know why that is.

He’s trying to show you that he appreciates you in the best way he can.

Mammon just wants you all to himself. 

Imagine (Beelzebub)

In which you can feel the pain of your soulmate. You can’t figure out whether your soulmate is just accident prone or has an intense workout regime. But then something happens to your soulmate and you can’t put off meeting them any longer.

(Imagine below the cut)

When you wake up sore every morning since your soulmark activated, you became grumpy.

Sure you were happy to know that you had a soulmate that was fit, but couldn’t they tone it down a notch?

In retaliation, you started working out too, and made sure to go a little overboard to give them a taste of their own medicine.

You  noticed that your soulmate seemed to go a little easier, and you wanted to cry in relief.

But then one day you feel like someone stabbed you in the stomach, and you keeled over in the middle of the street, leaving concerned bystanders to try and help you into a more comfortable position.

You ended up dialing your friends number to get him to come get you.

That one old lady was shooketh when a swirling portal appeared in front of you and a white haired man stepped through to pick you up and carry you to god knows where.

Hell, you were vaguely confused when it happened, but at the moment you were in too much pain to care that your best friend was apparently magical.

When Solomon brought you to the bedside of a ginger man surrounded by six other men, you just about died in embarrassment.

“Who the hell is that and why did you bring them?”

Solomon said nothing, and instead laid you next to the ginger man, who was unconscious at the time.

“Solomon what the hell is going on?”

You were embarrassed, and the fact that he was laying you in a bed next to a man you didn’t know wasn’t helping.

But then he forcefully moved your hand to touch the bare skin of the ginger and the pain melted away.

You knew exactly what this meant, but right then you were thinking less about the fact that Solomon found your soulmate, and more about the fact that the man was taking away your pain.

He too seemed to relax a little, and to the surprise of the other six boys, he pulled you into his embrace.

Incorrect Quote 7/50

Mammon: *gets down on one knee*

MC: Oh my god it's finally happening.

Mammon: *ties shoelaces*

MC, tearing up: He finally stopped wearing fucking crocs

Asmodeus (Obey Me)

Fluff:

Affection Headcannons

Smut:

Soulmate AU:

First Meeting

Reblogging this so I don't lose it because oh my god I love it

The eye of the hurricane. I like to think Cassandra sometimes called the brothers by the nicknames their dad used, given they were probably pretty close before his passing.

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT (SOON) MASTER POST

Man oh man, this one was way messier and off model than my last few updates but whatever, we got to keep this ball rolling! Life's been crazy so I've had to take some unwanted breaks in between updates. Thanks everyone for your patience as always!

One thing I wanted in this flashback was to really get a sense of how the brothers worked as an experienced team with Leo at the helm as a proper leader. It's something we never got to see much of in Rise and I felt it was important to include since half the team is already gone by the time of Replica. Team Dynamics Ted Talk under the cut!

We know from Casey Jr that Leo stressed the importance of listening to your team. A big part of that also means knowing how to communicate with them in general.

With Michelangelo, he keeps it short and succinct, trusting his brother to know what he's doing when in his element. This trust goes a long way with Mikey, having spent years of his youth as the baby striving for the respect he felt he deserved. Leo knows it's best to not bog Mikey down with details, allowing him to improvise as needed. This unspoken freedom has only grown over time as Mikey has dipped deeper into spiritual arts that, frankly, go completely over Leo's head.

The greatest sacrifice Leo has ever made was read Donnie's Big Book of Bad Guy Codes. While he doesn't remember ALL the numbers, he has memorized the ones that matter and it has helped tremendously in avoiding miscommunication with his genius brother. More importantly it silenced any of Donnie's usual belly-aching. As Leo's "twin"/"equal" the two still butt heads from time to time. Donnie respects his brother's authority (mostly) but will still push the boundaries of what he's allowed on a semi-regular basis. Give Donnie an inch and he will take the mile and then find a loop hole that allows him to go twenty miles more. This is partially due to him often being the one left behind at HQ, making the turtle just a TAD stir crazy. Leo does his best to keep him in line regardless.

Big brother Raph will forever and always be big brother to Leo. As such he holds a place of authority in Leo's heart and is someone he still regularly seeks counsel from in both the ways of leadership and more. Raph is always happy to support his younger brother and does a surprisingly good job (albeit after years of practice) of walking the line so as not to step on his brother's toes in the process. At least not since the secret of "the Key" blew up in their faces several years ago. They don't talk about that anymore. Leo is the leader now and he's done a great job in recent years as far as Raph is concerned. He trusts him to make the right call. The two have a close bond and regularly use mind meld to quickly communicate rather than speak ...this will be important to remember for the future.

Hope that overall feeling came through for this group!

Just got into this Fandom and oh my god I am a simp for Donatello help

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

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