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thecitythatdoesntsleep · 2 years

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i love your nsfw stuff and even in the tame content its still so creepy. do you have any tricks for making nsfwhump or noncon more implied instead of being graphic? i know the fade-to-black premise but you always get the idea across and somehow salvage the whumpy feeling.

How to write intimate whumpers without being explicit: A guide to getting the point across but leaving out the act.

!!!Viewer discretion: Severe Content Warning!!!

Contents include expanded topics of NC, forced intimacy, manipulation, and mental conditioning. Please inspect further tags before expanding the cut.

(Tags: noncon, forced intimacy, gaslighting, mental reconditioning, mind-games, manipulation, implied torture, bondage, dirty-talk, degradation, fade to black, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, begging, threatening, obsessive whumper, toxic relationships, trauma mentions/discussion, explicit situations)

Fixed tagging/linking issue.

Non-con situations and content can be a very difficult thing to navigate, tactfully or without egregious severity. It's ultimately a very potentially triggering subject and some find it more disgusting than scary. Some blur the lines with dub-con, some hyper-focus on the full scene.

While each and every person that writes or creates content about it, does so for their own reasons and likeness, I have seen many examples and this is a subject matter that I have a gratuitous amount of experience working with.

I think there can be varying levels of how much you want to show. If you'd rather not be explicit at all, there are ways to build what I call 'the appearance' of an intimate noncon relationship: which is just using a little knowledge about perception and body language to help add to the situation.

For instance, if you want to psychologically imply that Whumper is too physically/mentally comfortable with Whumpee- here are a few shortcuts that get the point across in my opinion. Little gestures and clips of positioning that you can add to your settings to make them just a touch more dubious or predatorily lustful in nature.

I will also include a few things that can help recognize your Whumper as an intimately inclined one. A few words or thoughts about how to set the scene or embellish things to guide the reader to the feelings you want to instill. Without having to traumatize yourself or anyone involved.

I've dabbled in both explicit and non-explicit dub/non-con and I believe I have a good understanding of trying to balance both. There are ways that if the story or character progression needs it but you're not comfortable writing it in graphic detail; you can work around but get the same effect, essentially.

Whumper touching Whumpee's thigh/knee. Legs in general tend to be considered infrequent touch zones that imply an amount of intimacy on their own. Think of the last person or most common situations your legs have/are touched? How many times does someone hug your legs? Exactly my point, it's a very common part of the body that is ignored unless injured, intimate, or in combat.

Whumper being too casual about stripping them for baths, soiled clothing or hygienic purpose. Slowly taking off their clothing, doing it gently if they're otherwise rough. Clothing is like wrapping paper for bodies, if Whumper is intense about this factor, it can imply they're anticipating and fantasizing. If they're casual, it's understood that stripping happens often to Whumpee, it's a normal thing and they've definitely done it before.

Whumper staring and Whumpee feeling continuously affected by it. (Feeling pinned, trapped, held by the gaze. Following Whumper's gaze to certain parts of their body. Catching the side-ways glances at them when they are thought to be 'not looking'.)

Whumpee automatically closing their legs or adjusting a tighter posture around Whumper. Making movements if possible that create imaginary distance and protection from Whumper. Crossing arms over the chest, crossing legs, creating a barrier between them, if only in body language. Taking a step back in pace, sitting up in their chair if they'd been slouching. Some form of physically responsive tension gives insight into how cautious Whumpee is.

Whumpee is terrified in everyday situations of being restrained, not specifically from the restraints themselves. Seat-belts, heavy blankets, arms over them while they sleep, any sense of restraint making them feel powerless and triggering them. This can also expand to, of course, being physically pinned down, held, hugged, or grabbed.

Whumper skimming into the neck of their shirt while intimidating them. Or alt: dipping into the waistband of their pants while holding them. Just a slide of fingers beyond a physical boundary to push unease. Giving an indication that Whumper would or has gone further than just that covering.

Whumper deliberately whispering in Whumpee's ear and attention being drawn to how close/heated their breath is. You can set a little more mood depending on how you describe the breath. To make it uneasy, calling it sticky or humid can give an insight into the way Whumpee feels.

Whumper licking them, tasting them, biting them exct. Alt: Whumper playing with Whumpee's mouth. Grabbing their tongue, fingers into their mouth, studying, or toying with their lips or teeth. Mouths are intimate by themselves depending on the context of the situation but showing an extra layer of comfort with these things, sets up for a weird feeling. If you want to make it creepy, heavily focus on how much Whumper enjoys these things and vocalize it in the story somehow. Have them comment or narrate to Whumpee what they taste like or how good, etc.

Whumper baiting them with pushing further each time and then changing it up to confuse their internal prep time. Touching them a little more, showing a bit more intention, and then leaving them without the bait for a few days before going again. Make the first move, make the second move on Whumpee, then wait a day or two before going even further the third time. Until they're at the level of intimacy Whumper (or you) want to show.

Whumper exhibits dominance while assuming 'intimate' positions. Parting Whumpee's legs to stand or kneel between them. Grabbing their ankles while putting them into bindings or restraints. Pinning their wrists behind them and sitting on their backside to keep them from fighting. Forcing Whumpee to straddle their lap while doing something as simple as recapping their boring day.

Whumper dictating their dress, fashion, or style. Telling them what to wear, how to wear it, when they look good. Demanding a certain level of perfection. This can also include Whumper hand-dressing them to take that much more autonomy from them. Insults are still a viable way to break a Whumpee down and get in their head. Critiquing their appearance, praising it too much, both could be lethal to a Whumpee's psyche if that's the direction you want to go.

Intrusive personal hygiene is another way; Whumper forcing them to sit still while they brush their hair and fawn over it. Putting lotion on their skin, first aid, bathing them, or brushing their teeth to imply they want it fresh.

Whumper making Whumpee sit at their feet for movies or forcing them to allow an embrace/hold. Long, awkward gaps of silence where Whumper merely holds onto Whumpee. Could be painful, could be normal but Whumpee is expected and required at these times to sit still. Whumper can make it worse by petting them or repetitiously touching them in some manner. Each path could be lower or higher on Whumpee's body in such a way it makes them uncomfortably aware of their intentions.

Whumpee dreading going to go to a bedroom or Whumper's bed. Perhaps they fear all beds and prefer the floor or a chair. Signifying that bed/sleeping or personal space is fearful for Whumpee, gives a surefire way to tip-off that something is intimately askew.

Important factors that in my opinion can help separate intimate Whumpers and regular Whumpers:

Eye contact. It's personal enough that it drives a point of subtle dominance home. If Whumper is obsessive with it and Whumpee is scared of it (or afraid of not making it) that can clue in a good dynamic to build upon for an intimate Whumper.

A desire to touch Whumpee, even if it's just in thoughtful dialogue. Make effort to include how much they want to, or how much they relish in it when they do. Even if it's not an intimate situation, how heavily you focus on their attention to Whumpee's physicality can make for a nice setup or slow-burner.

Removing the typical detachment of 'it' and calling Whumpee she/he/they/them or something affectionate in nature such as pet names, pet, darling, precious, etc. Even just addressing them by their name can shed a form of attachment and or mindset for the scene and Whumper. (Alt: If you want to keep the detachment, have Whumper call them 'it' in general but call them something else when they're becoming intimate/attached. Bringing that much fear around being called anything personally driven.)

Making excuses to Whumpee as to why they're punishing or hurting them. Grandious explanations soothe Whumper's mind as they torment or punish Whumpee for their indebted crimes. Talking to Whumpee through the process of their torture is another minuscule form of intimacy that could potentially confuse and damage their relationship further. (Especially if you mix it with Whumper giving them the silent treatment or withholding sound from them, so they enjoy Whumper's narration of their pain.)

Giving Whumper a hatred for other people in Whumpee's life, circle or even distrusting their own relationships when it comes to Whumpee. The paranoia surrounding Whumpee's activities, if they've been touched, perhaps grilling them with questions if Whumper allows them to be in contact with others. This is a thin chip of obsession that if you include it right, can paint a portrait of Whumper wanting Whumpee all to themselves. (Asking questions like Who touched you? Did anyone hug you? Or even going as far as physically checking Whumpee for marks/evidence of contact while Whumpee was out of their sight.)

Whumper having more interest in their health can be a telltale sign of attraction. Keeping them from starving, dehydrating, giving them sleep at certain times. (Including Whumper addressing their appearance while doing so is added bonus: 'You're prettier when you've slept, you're starting to get too thin for my liking, your lips get dry when you're dehydrated, etc.)

Whumper focuses on intimate zones on Whumpee. Staring them in the eyes, staring at their lips or chest or backside. It's common body language to look where your mind goes or stare at someone's lips to indicate you want to kiss them. The more predatory that you include this, the higher chance the reader will clue in and unwrap the hidden desires. If it's more obvious, the more creepy Whump factor you can add with how shameless it's held. Whumper daring Whumpee to notice them staring and uncaring to how they might feel or react.

Whumper waits until Whumpee is dazed/fevered/delirious to make small gestures or passes at them. Keeping them in bed with them, touching a bit too low or too high to be right but Whumpee doesn't entirely notice. This also works if Whumpee is injured or low-powered; anything that makes them defenseless but Whumper makes it known just how defenseless they potentially are. It could form a pattern, increase in boldness each time. But Whumper only has the courage to show or do things like that to them when they have a larger chance of not remembering it.

Whumper makes hungered gestures when looking at Whumpee or looking at the damage they've caused them. Licking lips, setting jaw, biting tongue/cheek/lips, salivating. Especially if you've made them inhuman, heavily work with the tendencies that happen with hunger or cravings. You can sell a lot.

Whumper intentionally gets them messy, bloody, dismantled in some way that forces them to be close, if not have an excuse to get them naked. This could include staged accidents, spilling, anything to soil whatever Whumpee usually wears. This can also extend easily to making it extra whumpy and breaking something and roughing them up after. An excuse to bandage and care for Whumpee or at least be close enough to examine their handiwork.

Setting the scene and keeping the whump intact:

First off, you'll need to decide what your limits are going to be for your current writing. Also, decide if things will stay in the scene or if you're building up for more explicit happenings to be left up to the imagination.

If you are comfortable with more intense dialogue, I encourage everyone looking to avoid writing the full scenes, to implore it. Dialogue can create more intensive thoughts, projections, and ideas without the hard or uncomfortable work of going all out on an extensive non-con theme.

If you have no objections to 'dirty-talk' dialogue, it can do some heavy-duty work at selling the creepy/intimate factor without having to again, craft a whole scene. This can also include non-explicit but imploratory dialogue that can give a view into how deeply Whumper's intentions and obsession can go.

To give a small idea, Whumper could talk about these topics to push more distress with dialogue:

How Whumpee tastes/smells.

Narrate what they're doing to Whumpee OR what they'd like to do if they had the chance./How they're going to do what they're planning in the long term.

How Whumpee feels under their hands.

How Whumpee is reacting; shaking, trembling, making small noises.

How aroused/interested they are.

How long they've waited to do/get the chance to do something to Whumpee./How much they've looked forward to it or fantasized about it.

How 'honest' Whumpee's body is compared to their words.

What made them want to do the acts in the first place.

How they first fell in love with them.

When they first saw them/How they felt at the time of seeing Whumpee the first time.

Plans for both of them in the future sound too normal to be situationally based. Marriage, a family, buying a house, vacationing, etc. Even celebrating holidays or birthdays.

Praising or scolding them for not fighting/fighting them.

NSFW:

Telling them how tight they were when/are being fucked.

Complimenting how they look while performing a sexual act.

Describing Whumpee back to themselves in a demeaning, sexualized way; narrating their actions with degrading 'pet' names. (Slut, bitch, even more extreme like cumdump, fuckdoll, etc.)

Telling Whumpee how much they were begging for it/asking to be fucked while doing it. Demonizing their normal bodies/actions in such a way implies they've somehow led Whumper on or consented to it. Can be built up with some proper gaslighting.

Critiquing their body in such a way that it implies that they're made for taking the abuse. (Your lips were made for this, Your ass has been begging for it all night, etc.)

How much they love hearing Whumpee's moans and cries of pain and pleasure.

Pointing out how much Whumpee clings or tries to escape/hide from the acts and sensations. Lamenting about how sensitive/unused to the pleasure they are.

Telling them they have no intention of stopping until Whumper is satisfied or talking about how long/much they have to look forward to.

Informing Whumpee how often they'll be fucked/how normal the act will become or has become.

Once you've figured out how far you want to go, what your limits are, and if you want to rely on heavier dialogue for context; the next thing I encourage is to work with whichever side you want to be the most powerful.

If you focus on the Whumper, dialogue, inner thought process and mentality all play big roles in the display I feel. You can get across a lot of intent and cut corners by how much you have Whumper obsess with the thought of the things they want to inflict on Whumpee. If you have them thinking about it, showing physical signs of it (blush/flush, dilated pupils, quick heart rate, physical genitalia ques, etc.) there is a better impact in my opinion no matter how much you cut out.

If Whumper is hyper-focused, soaking in every detail and outer projection Whumpee gives them, it's going to paint a picture of how much Whumper wants them. How far they are willing to go to get those reactions, how much they want to see come out of Whumpee. Giving Whumper a finely tuned sense for Whumpee and a vice for reveling in their physical pains and tip-offs can express how vividly and how deeply the obsession goes.

Don't be afraid to make Whumpers watch. Watch everything. The way Whumpee cries, moans, frowns, twitches. Everything is information for Whumper and if they're addicted to the response, it gives an air of entrapment.

If you focus on Whumpee, lean into the unease and discomfort of whatever situation you throw at them. Make them feel everything, even if they don't show it to Whumper. Try to express the disgust or dread that comes up every time Whumper touches them. Make their skin crawl, prickle, give goosebumps that mean a thousand things.

Close them off from Whumper physically, make them crave distance when Whumper gets close. Flinching when they're touched, pulling away, knocking hands back if it won't get them destroyed by Whumper. The closer Whumper is, the sweatier they get by just how much they already expect contact to be dished out.

If you choose to re-work with dialogue, make them unsure of their responses. Try to make them dubious or open-ended to ensure that the reader and Whumper could take it wrong, whenever you get the chance. You can show heavy manipulation through Whumpee's dialogue, depending on how conditioned or unconditioned it is to the happenstance. If Whumper says something lustful and they reply with something polite but still heading towards a decline; it gives easy reason for Whumper to push further if they don't like being told no.

Whumpee can be forced to verbally consent to relieve Whumper's consciousness and still internally process it as trauma. These two things can very much coincide if Whumpee is aware that they will be treated with more brutal power if they don't consent/agree to Whumper's whims.

An interesting twist could present to have Whumpee be the one to talk dirty to Whumper. Initiate it in such a way they're almost begging to have what they're saying, done to them, to spare themselves Whumpers original wrath. Asking for a gentle touch, even giving explicit detail of what they want Whumper to do them, to try to lead them in a less aggressive direction.

This might seem like a less submissive route but if Whumpee is smart enough and able to play with their outcome, I highly encourage you to make them do so! This can create a bond with Whumper and build trust, even if the situation is faked on Whumpee's end. Even if they still have to hold back their fearful reactions, they can control Whumper in an aspect they couldn't before. Even though they have to give themselves up, they are able to save themselves from the angry, violent aspect.

Another incredible way to imply that a non-con situation is present; Whumpee waking up on a bed, on furniture, and undressed in some fashion. If you set the scene with clothing on the floor, restraints on the bedframe, bruised wrists; you can paint a picture without having to go through the scene itself. Plus, you're able to bypass straight to the aftermath and internalized whump.

You're able to cut a corner and instead, move to Whumpee having a reason to fear Whumper and act skittish around them. Despite how the relationship goes, has went or how the scene itself played out. It's going to add trauma and layers of hurt to Whumpee and their mental status. It will take safety from them, drive them to paranoia if it's randomized and they can't spot Whumpers patterns to prepare themselves.

Things we take as comfort will be horror if the only times they see beds and bedding are when the non-con is coming. If the only time they're allowed in the bedroom, given pillows and blankets after as a sick form of reconciliation for their compliance. If the only time they're bathed or given new clothing is when it's about to be ripped off or their body is about to be used.

This can add a form of panic inside Whumpee and 100% give them enough reason to act however you need/want them to.

Sexually based trauma is no small feat and it can and will destroy your mind whether you want it to or not. It can ruin relationships, all senses of security and make you incredibly self-destructive and irrational.

On top of losing sleep, eating habits, nightmares, night terrors, depression, anxiety, the works. PTSD is a very normal thing to happen in response to sexual trauma, trauma of all kinds too, but it's a very high given for non-consensual assaults.

If you or anyone you love, needs to speak with someone or needs help with sexual abuse or violence; Please don't hesitate to contact someone, even with a text or a phone call. There are so many resources and hotlines out there, that even if you just get it off your chest, you can survive another day.

[Link to American and International Hotlines]

[Official RAINN Resources NA]

[RCNE EU and International Help]

(If anyone has more thorough lists they could link, I'd love to attach them to the post to continue to push them out there. If I'm going to be presenting topics, I'd also like to add real-life solutions, as well.)

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #intimate whumper #nsfwhump #whump writer #writing help #whump inspiration #whump scenario #whump trope #creepy whumper #tw triggers #tw whump #tw noncon

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rosewould · 2 years

Text

brat; cbg

part i | part ii

pairing; beomgyu x reader

words; 2.2k

genre; smut & fluff, non-idol au

warnings; virgin!reader, corruption kink

preface; Hi I'm pulp and I hate a couple of my TXT oneshots (I archived the ones I hated). I think they suck so I'm gonna work on making up for them. Also the very end is unedited, I’ll check it later.

"You're like a pig." You remark and you stab your food with your fork. Beomgyu looks around, confusion evident on his face before his eyes land on you. You try not to laugh at his theatrics.

"Excuse me?" You couldn't help it, you let out a chuckle.

"Come again?"

"You have food on your face."

Beomgyu's nostrils flare as he snatches a napkin from next to your plate.

"WHERE?" He wipes just about everywhere but the spot on the right side of his mouth.

"You're missing it so much. Just forget it."

"No. I don't wanna be a pig." He continues to miss the spot and you're starting to believe he's doing it on purpose...! You gasp and look up at him. He smiles at you, knowing you caught him.

"I dunno, ___. I can't seem to find it..."

You can't believe you nearly fell for this again.

"You've got another thing coming if you think I'm wiping off your face."

"You called me a pig."

"Wow, every time you bring it up I care even less than before. I'm astounded." You stare at him blankly as he narrows his eyes at you.

"Stupefied even-"

"Just wipe the food off already."

"Fine but don't you dare do it." You snatch the napkin back from him. Why couldn't you say no to him?

You wipe the food off, while maybe being a little bit rough but at least it's gone. You wipe the little bit that's on his bottom lip and you freeze. Were his lips always this plump? He looks like a bratz doll.

"Jealous?"

You look up at Beomgyu who's sporting a shit-eating grin.

"Of what??"

Beomgyu smacks his lips together obnoxiously.

"Nah, nothing to be jealous of." You smack your own lips mockingly. Beomgyu snorts.

"When you close your mouth it looks like a paper cut-" You barely let him finish before you're throwing the napkin at him.

"Me when I lie."

"Just one of my lips is the size three of your mouths stacked on top of each other." Beomgyu widens his eyes for dramatic effect. You sigh loudly, purposefully making noise to cover up Beomgyu's jabs.

"No proof no case."

"Ugh, what do you want me to do, whip out my phone and compare selfies? That's so much work." Beomgyu whines as he slouches in his chair.

"Hey, you don't have to do anything. I'm already convinced you're a liar."

Beomgyu glares at you before squinting his eyes quizzically.

"What?"

"Come closer for a sec." He knits his brows together as he leans closer to you. You couldn't stop yourself from mentally remarking on how attractive he looked when he was focused. You lean closer instinctively. He quickly leaves a peck on your lips.

You gasp as he pulls back with a grin. You giggle like an idiot, face piping hot. Your eyes were probably as wide as two moons.

This was the inside joke between you and your... friend Beomgyu. He would ask you to clean something off his face, apply lip balm, things along those lines. Then he'd pretend to lean in and kiss you. You kept falling for it, sort of because he was clever with how he did it. Also because... you didn't mind it. A part of you hoped he would actually kissed you.

And now that he did, you place your fingers over your lips. His peck left a tingling sensation. Your stomach was erupting with butterflies. You couldn't stop yourself from repeatedly blinking like a fool.

Beomgyu laughs, throwing his head back.

"The look on your face!" He hunches over, fist banging on the table. You gasp again.

"Beomgyu! You're... you're such an asshole." Your face was still burning hot. You fan yourself in attempts to cool it down but it was no use. "Y-you actually did it!" You sit there dumbfounded, struggling to react accordingly.

Your heart was going a mile a minute. It felt like it would beat right out of your chest. You clutch your hands over it. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't get yourself under control. All you could think about was his lips on yours. The way his hooded eyes were trained on your lips before he kissed you. They were so soft, and definitely plump. You really wanted to feel them again.

You look over at him, he'd just finished his fit of laughter. He wipes a tear from his eye. Did he think this was some game? He had no clue what he was putting you through. You opened your mouth to quip at him but he was suddenly scooting his chair closer to yours. He leans closer to you, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Shit, you were staring at them again.

It took him placing his hands on either side of your face to break your gaze away. He tsks at you. "Your face is so hot princess." He smirks. "Was that your first kiss?"

You stare blankly at him, not daring to answer. You wouldn't live that down until one of you died.

"You don't have to answer, I can tell." He chuckles, teasing you again. His eyes flicker to your lips then back up at your eyes.

"Do you want me to do it again?" His voice is quieter this time. The sultry nature of his words send a shiver up your spine. This feeling was new and intoxicating. You nod, transfixed on his face.

He closes in again. The kiss is tender and soft. You inhale, feeling your entire body ignite with excitement. You lean into the kiss, awkwardly placing your hands on his shoulders. Your lips are hasty and inexperienced as you desperately drink him in. He chuckles before pulling away. Being this close to him for this long was making you crazy. The way he stared at you only made you descend further.

He places one hand at your jaw, rubbing his thumb gently over your bottom lip. With his other hand he gently caresses your cheek.

"Let me take the lead, okay?"

He looks at you with intent, awaiting your reply. As if in a trance, you nod again, still unable to speak properly. He moves back in, lips expertly gliding against yours. They were pillowy soft and tasted of his honey lip balm. It felt like instinct when you bit down on his lip, drawing it backwards a bit before releasing. The look in his eyes sends heat straight to your core. You clench your legs under his gaze. His aura shifted, suggesting that there would be no more light-hearted teasing.

He pulls you into his lap before resuming. His lips were hungrier now, his movements punctuated with breathy grunts.

"You taste so good, love."

Cold fingers slide under your shirt and you gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your noses collide and brush past each other. More and more desperate noises escape the two of you. Wrapping his arms around he pulls you closer. He reaches for the latch of your bra. Hands fumbling and lips kissing down your jaw, you didn't know which to focus on. He peppers wet kisses down to your neck. Softly, he licks and kisses, making you squirm.

"Fuck-" He says frustratedly. You inhale sharply as he rips the front of your bra in half. He removes it, along with your shirt.

"Was that okay?"

You shake your head thinking I don't care. Realizing that isn't helpful, you nod, swallowing hard. You felt drunk, lids heavy as you drowned in lust. Looking down at him only made it worse. His shaggy black hair hanging over his forehead, nearly covering up his lust-filled gaze. He bites his lip before grabbing a handful of your breast to squeeze.

Your mouth drops open, wordlessly reacting as he dug his nails into your flesh. He latches his mouth onto the other breast. Lurching forward, your hips buck right into his groin. He groans against your skin before biting your nipple. This elicits a whimper from you at the new sensation. You subconsciously grind against him again. The friction is faint, but enough to satisfy for now.

He looks up at you with your breast in his mouth. He seemed like an entirely new person as he swirled his tongue around your nipple. A man overcome with lust to the point of corruption. Your hips pick up in speed, finding new motivation. He grew harder underneath you, pressing right into your core. You clench your eyes shut, mindlessly reveling in the pleasure. Beomgyu detaches from you with a pop.

"You look so fucking sexy right now." His expression was devilish. "Can I?" He looks down at his member straining against his jeans. He looks back up at you with inquiry. You lean closer, kissing him deeply. Your tongues intertwine and move in harmony. You pull back, raising your eyebrows at him.

"Yes." You finally say.

He lifts you slightly as he frees his member from his pants. Nimbly, he pulls down your shorts followed by your underwear. Brown eyes peer up at you as you feel something prodding at your entrance. Placing his hands on your waist, he slowly pulls you down. You wince, the stretch is a bit painful. The drastic change in expression cases him to watch your reaction carefully.

"Are you okay princess?" He halts his movement. You clench your eyes shut, inhaling deeply. You release a shaky breath before speaking.

"Yes." You say in a hushed voice. Beomgyu, slowly and carefully, lowers you down a bit more. Inhaling again, you catch his scent and it calms you. You lean over, head resting on his shoulder. Breathing him in distracted you from pain. The feeling of his hands moving up and down your sides made you melt into him. Heady scents invade your senses as your body ignites. The pain is subtler now. A more apparent feeling was heat, a tiny bit of pleasant stinging as he continued to stretch you open. You curve into him.

He notices your positive reaction. Taking note of the airy moans right next to his ear, he quickens the pace of his hips. You weren't sure when you started, but your hips were moving in rhythm with his. The pace was properly set. You connect your lips back to his, reveling in his taste. The feeling of his tongue and lips moving against yours was exhilarating. You may have gotten a bit enthusiastic, since you pulled back with a line of saliva connecting the two of you.

You bounced on him, knees starting to get tired. It was about time you shifted positions, so you swing your legs around and extended them behind him. This allowed for Beomgyu to discover a whole new level of depth inside you.

You make a strangled noise. Beomgyu groans, thighs tensing. He huffs, his beautiful, swollen lips parting. You squirm, trying to get comfortable again. Once you finally do, you sigh with bliss, eyes fluttering shut. Your hips begin to roll against him.

Hissing, he grips your ass. He sinks his nails into your flesh, coaxing you to grind down on him. His breath is shakier with every thrust. You place your forehead on his as you grow closer. Not only to your climax, but closer to Beomgyu. You didn't care if you couldn't go back to being normal friends. To be this close to him was something you always wanted to be.

Grinding your hips back and forth, a feeling of heat pooling in your lower abdomen catches your attention. Your eyes start to water as you relish this feeling. You dig your nails in Beomgyu's back. His moans are growing more audible. They rumble in his chest and enter your ears like a sweet melody. You feel his breath puff out onto your face as he squeezes you tightly.

"I'm so fucking close." Beomgyu breathes out.

You whimper, unable to vocalize how close your were. Beomgyu's moans grow even louder and rhythmic. He bites his lip, trying to silence himself, but you place your finger over his lips. You coax him to open his mouth again.

"I like to hear you." The words coming out of your own mouth shock you, but also excite you. This catches Beomgyu off guard, eyes blown wide.

"Y-you- Really?"

You nod enthusiastically. You grind forward, stomach bumping against his. A moan rips through Beomgyu as he digs his fingers in further into you. He grunts, face twisting in pleasure.

"I love hearing you talk to me like that." Beomgyu moans halfway through his sentence.

"Yeah? I love feeling you inside me." It felt like someone else was taking control of you. Beomgyu moans out your name as you feel something spurt inside you. The combination of feeling his seed spill out of you and seeing his beautiful face contort as he reaches his climax brings you over the edge. Your vision goes white as you fall forward. Your legs shake, hips convulsing against him.

Lips dragging against his shoulder, you sit up again. Your body felt drained. Judging by the way his head was thrown over the back of the chair, his did too.

"My god, what has gotten into you?"

You chuckle, feeling euphoric during the comedown.

"I dunno, but I want more."

Beomgyu lifts his head up. A devilish grin stretches his features.

"That can be arranged."

#500 #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt #kpop #smut #beomgyu smut #txt smut #kpop smut

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ckneal · 3 years

Text

There’s a midam AU idea that’s been living in the back of my mind for months now, but it’s been slow going. Mainly because I suspect that doing the idea justice is going to mean doing more research than I’m used to, and maybe even rewatching the series proper to help me fill in some of the weak spots, and I have so many other story ideas that are frankly just easier to work on, two of which are already slated to be multi-chapter works. . . But I’m in the mood to type up something longwinded, so here we go. Keep reading if you’d like to see a rough outline of the first few chapters of this story I really hope to write out properly sometime.

(Warning, this is a long one.)

So, this story is loosely based on the Hundred Years War that took place between England and France from 1337-1453. But it’s only very loosely inspired. Very, very loosely. As in, I was reading a book, I read about one thing that happened, it germinated in my head, and then suddenly I had a plot developing that featured my current favorite ship. Additional sources of inspiration include one of my favorite fantasy series, and a personally beloved trashy romance novel. Because it’s fanfiction, folks. There are no rules here.

Of course, in this AU, the entire world is going to be made up, with neither side of the war distinctly being assigned the role of England or France—or Flanders or Burgundy, for that matter. I barrowed an inciting incident, and few smaller details from history to help things along here and there, but with no regard for keeping all the French things assigned to one group and the English ones to another.

That said, the inciting incident took its inspiration from the Battle of Poiters, a conflict during which England not only won against the French, but also took their king hostage. King Jean II was later ransomed back to his people, but at a sum that was so high, France could not afford to pay it all at once. England still returned France’s king, but new hostages were provided to serve as collateral during the interim, including the King’s son.

So. . .crown Prince Michael Shurley completely decimates King John Winchester on the battlefield, and sends his demands to John’s queen, Mary Winchester. The two kingdoms have been locked in a territory dispute for several decades, and this is one of the more humiliating events to befall the smaller kingdom yet, especially since they are unable to meet all of Michael’s demands. When the Winchesters begrudgingly admit this to the Shurley representatives, they’re caught off guard when they’re offered a trade: John Winchester will be returned, so long Dean Winchester takes his place as collateral.

Things are less than stable in the Winchester kingdom however, with more than a few factions quietly scheming for power. John and Mary were an arranged marriage that was originally held up like a fairytale when the two seemingly fell madly in love during their mandated courtship, but the years afterward had changed them. Civil unrest sparked by the war had brought out a lot of disagreements between the Winchesters and the Campbells and their approaches to governing.

John’s supporters are the ones to step forward with a plan, and convince Mary that it’s vitally important the people are not alarmed by their king’s capture. Mary initially finds it distasteful, but it’s talked around and adjusted and reframed, as John’s people ferret out more and more information about the vital party involved, until she finally agrees.

Because John Winchester just happened to have a bastard son. The resemblance to Dean might not be particularly remarkable, but no one at the Shurley court has ever seen the Winchester heir before. Plus, Adam Milligan has spent the entirety of his teen years studying to become a physician, of all things. He’s perfect for their purposes.

Ten years prior, the Shurley court had had to deal with its own bout of civil unrest, when King Chuck Shurley’s second eldest son had attempted to overthrow him with the support of several nobles from one the kingdom’s richest providences. Lucifer had allegedly been driven into exile following his defeat, and Chuck had been said to have contracted some sort of mysterious illness. According to rumors, the king had shut himself up in his private chambers and refused to admit anyone apart from his remaining children. Even servants were barred from tending him directly.

They snatch Adam away from his studies and force him into compliance by dusting off an archaic law left over from before the start of the war, when the kingdom relied on a conscription military force rather than a standing army full of career military professionals—this law empowering the crown to call on any of its citizens for a minimum forty days of military service per year. They tell Adam that his mission seems more dangerous than it is—really, all he has to do is pretend to be Dean, and use his medical knowledge to figure out exactly what mysterious illness has bedridden the enemy monarch.

Sam and Dean—the proverbial heir and spare of the kingdom—are not at court to meet their younger brother, when he’s hastily fitted for a royal wardrobe and put through a crash course on court etiquette. Sam is very publicly put on display at a holiday festival in another part of the kingdom, while Dean is sent orders to quietly stay behind at a country estate while his valet, Kevin Tran, is sent on to court. Neither of the princes is told about the plan until after Adam has already been shipped out, with Kevin in toe to help Adam along with the impersonation.

No one involved is in anyway comfortable with the mission. But it was only supposed to be for forty days. Adam was assured that the necessary funds to pay off the ransom would either be raised by the end of the minimum mandated service, or they would make contact to extract him. The Campbells and the Winchesters both allegedly had spies in the Shurley court, and they would make themselves known when the time was right.

Adam is given the impression that the latter had been told to him with the intention of making him feel safer. It did not work.

He’s terrified when he arrives—almost would have preferred being promptly thrown into a dungeon upon arrival, instead of a room full of foreign nobility who one and all give off the impression that if cut they’d bleed straight silver, and look at “Dean,” the hostage prince and purported military genius from the tiny, vicious country across the channel, as a curiosity to be studied. He’s assigned two guards (who I decided will be Anael and Samandriel, based entirely on the tags I threw together at then end of this post, during which I decided that I love these three together), who follow him around relentlessly, but beyond that, he’s. . .pretty much treated like a guest. If a stiflingly monitored one. There are limitations on where he can go and what he can do, but for the most part he’s just sort of. . .there.

Most unnerving of all, however, is the small package that Adam finds in his room when he first settles in. Kevin swears he has no idea who left it. It has the Campbell’s insignia clearly worked into the pattern of the paper it’s wrapped in, and inside he finds a knife small enough to conceal on his person, and a number of different herbs and powders that he recognizes from his studies—though of course, he’s more familiar with remedies to counteract their effects.

In other words, he finds an assassin’s-first-kill-job kit, and instructions on how and when to use it, if opportunity arises. This had not been part of the deal when Adam reluctantly signed on.

Unbeknownst to Adam however—though suspected by some parties in the Winchester court—Adam cannot assassinate Chuck Shurley, because Chuck is not there. Shortly after Lucifer’s insurrection, Chuck had quietly disappeared. Michael had only been a teenager at the time. He invented the story about Chuck being ill on impulse, certain that Chuck would be back sooner than later, and Raphael had gone along with it because, being twelve years old, Raphael was not yet old enough to question Michael’s judgement. It is now an awkward point between them.

Adam soon becomes another.

Michael regularly checks in to see how Adam’s getting on, in a way that Kevin assures Adam is entirely appropriate, since Michael is under the impression that Adam is going to be a fellow monarch someday, and is likely trying to be courteous. Adam inherently feels somewhat flustered around Michael though, which is not helped by the fact that Michael is somehow always present whenever Adam puts his foot in his mouth socially. On more than one occasion, he’s thankful that almost no one has actually been to his homeland, allowing Adam to blame an astonishing number of fuck ups on cultural differences.

Michael and Adam’s early one on one interaction are intensely awkward. Adam will forget to wear gloves, and then Michael will comment that Adam’s hands are oddly devoid of callouses for someone who’d practically been raised with a sword in his hand, leaving Adam to scramble for some flimsy excuse about hand cream. Adam will inquisitively ask questions about what sort of illness would be severe enough to leave someone bedridden for a decade but not kill them in that time (Kevin frantically motioning over Michael’s shoulder to convey that that is NOT the right way to fish for details on such a sensitive subject), and Michael will struggle to find an excuse around the quietly bubbling panic, because he hasn’t had to try to explain anything about his father since that first year, and he is not a particularly gifted liar.

And then there’s Raphael.

Unlike Michael, Raphael is suspicious of “Dean” right from the start, pulling Michael aside to point out things that don’t seem quite right according to what their informants have told them about Dean Winchester.

“Doesn’t he look a bit young?”

“Some people look younger than they are, Raphael.”

“I was told Dean Winchester had dark hair.”

“Dark blond is dark.”

“Aren’t his eyes supposed to be green?”

“They’re obviously blue.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

The forty days come and go with Adam and Kevin nervously waiting for some sort of sign from home. Roughly two weeks later, a messenger arrives with unexpected news for Michael’s court: the Campbells have officially broken ties with the Winchesters in a violent bid for power that has left the kingdom at war with itself.

According to Kevin, the civil war has probably slowed things down a bit, if it’s as bad as the rumors say. . .

Adam and Kevin are stranded.

“Don’t worry though—I know Dean, and he knows our necks are on the line. He’ll keep out of sight until they manage to get us out of here.”

Adam finds it difficult to put faith in the virtues of a brother he’s never met, but doesn’t have it in him to question Kevin’s faith. He worries about his mother, who might have been safe in the countryside, but also might have made the trek to the capitol when it came out that Adam had been abducted for the sake of persevering the royal family's throne. He can’t be sure.

And to top it off, Michael takes to stopping by Adam’s room every couple of days to privately talk about the movements of the various factions—who has been sighted where and in what condition, where they’re rumored to be headed. Adam interprets it as an attempt to shake out inside information. One day, Adam finally tries to set him straight by saying it doesn’t matter how many ugly details Michael throws at him, Adam can’t help him because he doesn’t know anything—and is promptly put to shame when Michael looks at him in surprise and says, “You misunderstand. I assumed that you would want to know these things, because they are your family.”

Michael leaves, and Adam’s guards exchange a look. When asked, Samandriel awkwardly tells Adam that the royal family used to have a fourth child. Gabriel. He was lost during Lucifer’s insurrection. Pirates overtook his ship. They’d never received a ransom. Michael had purportedly offered a standing reward for any news of Gabriel, and put an unwise amount of resources into searching for him until it threatened the war effort.

Adam and Michael start talking more frequently from there, starting with an apology on Adam’s part. It’s tricky at first, because Michael starts out asking questions about Dean Winchester's military exploits—it is the most likely common ground between them, after all—and Adam has to hastily change the subject every time. By the two month mark, they’re talking affably, and rumors start to circulate through the courts as Michael's routine check ins on Adam start getting less formal and more frequent.

On the four month mark, rumors get even worse. Raphael finally sits Michael down and really gets into all of the things about “Dean” that don’t add up, item by item. If he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know anything about his country’s military exploits, he’s far too convincing given his reported record, and Raphael has it on good authority that more than half of those “cultural differences” in etiquette that keep cropping up are completely unfounded—and look here, three different informants have sent lists of Dean Winchester’s physical characteristics, and the foreign prince DOES NOT MATCH.

“Michael, something is not right here.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it now.”

And Michael storms off to address “Dean,” while Raphael calls after him that he should wait until morning. Because it is the middle of the night.

Adam just happens to be up reading. Michael’s familiar with the book. Michael gets distracted, and they talk all night. The sun’s coming up when Michael finally leaves, and a servant happens to see him slipping out of Adam’s room. Suggestive conjectures promptly follow, and Raphael exasperatedly admits they only have themself to blame.

And this only gets worse, because now Adam and Michael have transitioned into being friends. No more guarded conversations where one is convinced the other is about to catch them in some sort of lie. When Raphael mentions that some of the lesser nobles are starting to think Michael and Adam are courting, Michael’s fidgeting is not at all lost on them, as Michael assures them that of course that isn't the case. He and Dean are merely establishing friendly relations that will serve them well down the road politically—

“After the war is over?”

“Of course, after the war is over.”

Adam’s been stranded in the Shurley court for almost a year by the time that he finally slips into his room and sees a sealed message set out on his bed. Adam doesn’t recognize the insignia as belonging to either the Winchesters or the Campbells, but it’s signed with the initials “SW” at the bottom. It mostly contains a lot of vague phrases that make Adam wonder if he was supposed to be versed in some sort of code. As far as he’s concerned, the only important information comes at the end: Kate Milligan has been safely relocated for the duration of the civil war.

Relieved, Adam goes down to dinner, where some sort of seasonal holiday is being celebrated, and has a bit more wine than he normally would. The Shurley court is one of those stuffy courts where seating is stiffly dictated by tradition. As a foreign prince, Adam’s assigned seat is at the same table as Michael, although, according to Kevin, his placement's much further down due to his being a hostage. After a few drinks, and after most of the nobles have cleared off from the table to talk and celebrate elsewhere in the hall, Adam sees no reason not to get up and relocate down the line of chairs to sit closer to Michael. It was against the rules, but Adam was aware enough not to sit in Raphael’s empty seat, and he’d been seen with Michael so often that Anael and Samandriel barely even blinked, because Adam obviously wasn’t about to attack their prince or anything.

However, it is worth noting that while talking to Adam, Michael consumes a decent amount more wine than he would normally have as well.

Later that night, Michael’s walking Adam back to his room, and he starts to comment that Adam seems happier than usual. But even when sober, Michael would struggle to say something like that—if he’d even attempt it while sober—and Adam winds up biting his lip as he watches Michael’s mounting embarrassment, as a simple compliment inexplicably morphs—words seemingly forcing their way out as Michael tries and utterly fails to stop them—into a compliment about how Adam is beautiful—that is, he’s always beautiful—that is, Michael can’t help noticing Adam most days—that is. . .

. . .Michael is adorable. And in a moment of pure, thoughtless impulse, Adam leans in and kisses Michael right there in the corridor.

Michael is profoundly shocked, and his reaction delayed. Adam had only gone in intending to briefly press his lips against Michael’s, but as he’s pulling away Michael abruptly leans in and reseals the kiss, and Adam in turn takes that as an invitation to pull Michael closer. And a few minutes later, Raphael happens to walk down the hallway and find the two of them enthusiastically kissing against the wall.

And Raphael promptly turns around and goes back the way they came, only stopping at one point to flag down a servant and order them not to let anyone else walk down that particular corridor for at least an hour, hoping that Michael and Adam’s “friendly relations” wouldn’t result in anything too inappropriate.

As it happens, nothing particularly inappropriate happens. Nonetheless, Michael still wakes up the next morning, fully clothed in his own bed, in panic because the first thought to distinctly make its way through the ungodly pain in his head is that he’d taken liberties with a guest the night before. The heir to a foreign power at that, a peer, a hostage! Michael never thought he was capable of something so dishonorable--he’d had Dean pressed up against the wall as if they were a couple of ill-bred urchins, and how does one even go about apologizing for something like that?

(Of course, if Michael were thinking clearly, he might have remembered that Adam had actually been the one to back himself up against the wall, with Michael obligingly following along, quite malleable to whatever positioning Adam wanted so long as Adam kept kissing him.)

Michael’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. If his father hadn’t already abandoned them, he’d likely disown Michael out of pure shame. There was no telling what kind of damage he’d done to the relationship between their kingdoms. At best, Michael’s uncouth actions would be a dirty secret between them in the years to come, after Dean married, and Michael was left barely able to look Dean’s spouse in the eye. If Michael were a lesser noble, his parents might demand he married Dean outright.

And suddenly Michael sat up in bed, realizing he could marry Dean. His mind begins racing, because of course he could marry Dean! It made perfect sense. They enjoyed each other’s company, and with both of them being heir to their respective kingdoms, their union would effectively end the war. It might be complicated—especially given some of the odd customs Dean had introduced to Michael’s court—but marriages had been used to cemented alliances often enough, and the thought of marrying Dean elicited a curiously hot feeling in Michael’s stomach, remembering the way Adam had pulled him close the night before.

(Fun fact, England and France actually did try to do this with the Treaty of Troyes in 1420; it did not go as planned.)

Michael goes through the rest of his day in an uncharacteristically upbeat mindset, because now it all seems to just be a matter of organizing things, and he is good at organizing. He would have to write to either John or Mary Winchester as soon as the situation in their kingdom settled, and formally ask for Dean’s hand, and he and Dean should have a chaperone present at all times moving forward to avoid scandal--though there would be no way to sidestep scandal altogether, of course. Adam was still technically Michael’s prisoner.

More than likely, the Winchesters or Campbells would demand Michael relinquish his claim to at least half of the territories that they’d spent the last few decades fighting over, but that would be fine. It’s traditional in Michael’s country to give gifts to one’s in-laws, and Dean is a future monarch. Anything too little would be insulting, and all would be consolidated eventually when Dean and Michael assumed their respective thrones. . .

Michael is still walking around delightfully living in his own head when Raphael pulls him into an empty room to discuss what they witnessed the night before. While not the most shocking scenario they could have imagined, they were not expecting to hear their brother announce that he and Dean Winchester would be getting married.

“And how are we to explain away our father’s absence during the proceedings, Michael?”

Michael’s good mood promptly withers. Because of course Chuck would be expected to play some part in arranging his son’s wedding. Ill or not, at the very least, he would be expected to make an appearance at the wedding. To have no part in it at all would be suspicious, not to mention rude.

While Raphael intended to snap Michael back to his senses, they had not meant to shake Michael into an immediate depression. They try for a gentler tone.

“You know, Michael. Our father has been gone for over a decade. He left no formal plans, he's sent no word. By any standard, he's abdicated. Perhaps this isn’t the right time to introduce a political marriage. Perhaps we should consider your assuming the kingship, and then come back around to formalizing your relationship with Dean—”

Michael, of course, is against this. Because their father is alive, and he will come back, and it will not be to find that another one of his sons had greedily tried to usurp the throne.

Seeing Michael about to fall back onto a familiar tangent, Raphael chooses the lesser of two evils and takes the conversation back to “Dean.” They ask which out of the two of them proposed to the other.

Michael abruptly realizes that he's forgotten something.

Meanwhile, Adam starts his morning on a much happier note. His headache is less punishing than Michael’s, and while feeling the normal amount of embarrassment that comes with drinking a little too much, the feeling does not extend to kissing Michael. His mother’s safe, he’s nailing his Dean impression, and Michael apparently likes him. Things could not be better. Until Adam remembers how the latter two items on that list are linked.

Michael is not like a classmate back home, who he could chat up, get a drink with, and maybe start seeing regularly if all things went well. Michael is, in fact, the acting ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world, which just so happens to be at war with Adam’s, and under the explicit impression that Adam is similarly situated in the world.

Adam promptly begins freaking out.

And then Michael finds him.

Adam’s in the library at the time. Michael walks in and quietly dismisses Adam’s guards, and Kevin, leaving the two of them completely alone. Adam doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing right away, though he’s spent enough time with Michael to recognize how nervous he is as he starts talking about a proposal to end the war—selling the idea, as if Michael wouldn’t be enough on his own—and then sheepishly tapering into the idea that both he and Adam seem to have feelings for one another. And if Adam were able to go back in time and strangle his tipsy past self, he would, because then he wouldn’t have to see the look on Michael’s face when he says no.

And no, Michael does not understand.

Adam can hear years of living in the public eye at work in Michael voice, as he just manages to keep his voice level in asking, “Even if it would mean peace?”

"I'm sorry, I just—I can't."

". . .I see."

Michael excuses himself, and Adam collapses onto a couch, assuring himself that no was the only right answer, and he shouldn’t feel terrible—which, of course, since Adam’s spent the last couple of months flirting with Michael while posing as someone else, is not an easy idea to buy into.

Michael and Adam avoid eye contact at dinner, even as Raphael—who has zero doubts as to who initiated what the night before—practically burns holes into Adam’s skin with the looks they shoot down the table.

And then a messenger comes in. One of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom (the same one that had once supported Lucifer, and of course would be populated with demon characters in the narrative) has declared its independence, having formed an alliance with the Campbells, and has launched an attack not far from the castle. Several villages have already been attacked along the way. Michael accompanies the armed forces he sends out to quash the uprising.

Raphael is left behind to fortify the castle and take in the refugees, who the messenger assured them are not far behind. Unlike Michael, Raphael rarely saw combat. Officially, it was because Raphael had adamantly insisted on training as a healer rather than a warrior, which was true enough. Unofficially though, Michael and Raphael are both fully aware that if anything happened to Michael, Raphael is the only one left to inherent the crown.

Samandirel and Anael escort Adam back to his room. Samandriel assures Adam that no one thinks he had anything to do with the duchy double crossing them, but it would probably just be safer for Adam to stay out of sight until things calm down. Anael is more closed-lipped about the situation.

From his window, Adam watches the first of the villagers come trickling in, and even from his vantage point he can make out burn wounds, makeshift bandages and hastily thrown together tourniquets, and he’s in hell, because it seems the only two options in front of him are to worry about Michael, or feel absolutely sick with guilt because he’s a trained physician and he should be down there helping.

Finally he pokes his head out into the corridor and asks if someone can find Kevin for him. Anael raises an eyebrow that “Dean,” who’s usually inordinately self-suffice for a prince, is suddenly insisting that he needs to see his manservant, but Samandriel is already helpfully heading down the hall. A few minutes later, Kevin is in Adam’s room, confused, as Adam asks him to take off his clothes.

“You can have mine, just switch with me, okay?”

“Uuh. . . Don’t you think mine will be a little tight on you—”

“Less talk! Strip!”

Michael had probably errored in assigning the same two guards to watch over Adam. After a year, the three of them had gotten to be on fairly familiar terms. Adam waited until Samandriel started to get chatty, and slipped quietly out of his room when Anael was distracted—neither of them having had any reason to think Adam would try to escape, because he had been nothing but compliant since the day he arrived.

From there, he goes straight to the infirmary.

Raphael had set up tents in the courtyard to accommodate the high number of people in need of care. Adam was a year out of practice, but the atmosphere was still familiar to him, and he slipped into the chaos unnoticed. Raphael doesn’t notice him until they are well into the thick of things, and Adam’s as covered in grime and gore as anyone else present. Adam had just gone for more bandages and the two of them nearly ran into each other, and for a split second Adam thinks Raphael just might not recognize him until hand closes around his arm like a vice.

“What exactly are YOU doing here?”

Then Raphael notices the stitches Adam had just finished putting in for his latest patient—and Adam’s stitchwork is immaculate, not the clumsy, half-hazard work of a solider who picked up the mechanics of it over the course of their career.

"YOU did that?"

Adam starts to fumble out an answer, but they are interrupted because then Michael is being brought in. The fighting is over. Raphael and Adam promptly drop everything.

Michael has a concussion. He’s also been lightly stabbed. You know, just lightly. Needs stitches though. Raphael is adamant that Adam leave immediately, but Michael, who is delirious, sees Adam and absolutely refuses to let Raphael send him away. Raphael winds up patching Michael together while Adam—annoyingly, to Raphael—is sat next to him, holding Michael’s hand. Adam winds up sitting next to Michael all night, because it’s the only way to keep Michael from getting up and tearing his stitches like a feverish moron.

Initially, Raphael refuses to leave too, not trusting their brother’s suspiciously competent love interest, whose family was purportedly allied with the traitors who’d just attacked their people. There are still more wounded to tend to, however, and Raphael begrudgingly has to step away—making sure to leave orders that a guard be present in the room the entire time that Raphael is gone.

Little does Raphael know, Adam would have lowkey given a limb to have Raphael stay. Michael’s demeanor is a lot less closed off when he’s feverish and concussed. Shortly after Raphael leaves, Michael starts apologizing for proposing earlier, and Adam feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. And as he’s lying there, looking at Adam’s hand in his, Michael starts saying things he would not normally blurt out—like that ending the war was not the main reason he wanted to marry Adam, because the last year has been the best he can remember, and it is entirely due to spending time with Adam—even if Adam was only there by obligation—and he would do anything to make Adam happy, even if they weren’t together—and Adam is just stuck there, highkey dying on the inside.

Then Michael sees his face.

"I apologize, you’ve already said you do not want to marry me, I should not have brought this up—”

Michael starts to get out of bed completely unconcerned about his stab wounds, and as Adam’s pushing him back down, the words “That’s not true!” just sort of. . .fly out.

Then Michael’s suddenly looking at Adam, and his face is suddenly very sober, and Adam can feel his own face turning red.

"That is, I. . ." Adam realizes, suddenly, that he’s fucked. Telling Michael the truth is somehow both the right and wrong thing to do at the same time, and Michael is definitely in no condition to hear it either way. “How about, if you still want to marry me when all this is over, then I’ll say yes?”

The next morning is a string of stressful events for Adam. Raphael shooed him out of Michael room at dawn, and Adam went straight back to his own. Kevin, Samandriel, and Anael had all been reprimanded for Adam’s escape, with the latter two being replaced as Adam’s guard under Raphael’s orders. His first interaction with Ishim and Maribel does not bode well for them becoming friends.

When Adam tells Kevin that he’s thinking about coming clean to Michael, Kevin panics. News from the Winchesters had dried up weeks ago, even for Michael and Raphael’s sources. Kevin argues that they’d be better off attempting to escape on their own if the charade was getting to be too much for Adam, especially after last night—but even then, they should wait awhile longer. Why take any chances right now? And Adam doesn’t know how to go about explaining the why. . .

And it gets taken out of his hands anyway, when they step out of the room and find that it’s somehow leaked that Adam and Michael—who had completely misunderstood what Adam meant by “when all this is over”—are engaged.

Kevin doesn’t get another moment alone with Adam to discuss how stupidly dangerous this whole situation is, and Adam, no matter how hard he tries—can’t seem to get a moment alone with his fiancé to try to explain that the situation is not what he thinks it is. Everyone had vastly underestimated how far the rumors about Michael and Adam secretly courting had gone, and Adam can barely take three steps without a noble or courtier or someone pulling him aside to offer their congratulations, and as Adam gets closer to Michael’s chambers, there’s Raphael, circling like a shark and Adam does not want to make his confession to Raphael before he sees Michael.

Come dinner time, Adam finds that his seat had been reassigned. He now sits directly to Michael’s left. He keeps trying to convince Michael to step out into the hall with him for a second, while Raphael, seated in their normal place to Michael’s right, continuously circumvents him, firmly believing that Adam has done more than enough in private.

Then there’s a scream. A servant comes running out into the dining hall, carrying a bloody knife. They run up to Michael—up until the guards step forward to stop her, but she’s not attacking. Instead she hands over the knife and says that she found in the corridor outside the king’s chambers. She had been worried, so she broke protocol and went in. The king’s bed was drenched in blood.

Adam looks over and feels a chill when he recognizes the same knife that had been included in the murder kit he found in his room on day one.

If Raphael had looked up, Adam had no doubt that Raphael would have read something in his face, but they didn’t get the chance to. Michael and Raphael are busy staring at each, the only ones in the room who know beyond any doubt that the implication could not be true, because there had not been anyone in that bed to assassinate in over ten years. Neither of them is given the chance to try to spin the knife’s implications in any direction, however. While the court is still reeling in shocked silence, a guard walks in—completely oblivious—and announces that a messenger has arrived with urgent news.

Adam looks up, and finds he has room to panic more, when he sees Anna Milton walk in, a serving maid in the Winchester court, and as she drops a curtsey to Michael, she identifies herself as one of Raphael’s spies. She had held her place in the Winchester court for as long as she could, but when her real identity had been uncovered she’d had no choice but to flee, and she’s come with monumental news. The civil war across the channel has ended, the Campbells having been forced to seek asylum with their allies outside the kingdom, John Winchester deposed, and Dean Winchester installed on the throne in his place. She had witnessed his coronation herself the very day they identified her.

And Adam feels very cold, as if his blood had actually managed to turn into ice, which would have explained why he couldn’t seem to move, as every eye in the room immediately turns to him.

And that would be the end of part one.

#midam #adam milligan #supernatural michael #samandriel #supernatural raphael #anael #kevin tran #my thougths #i'm very tempted to throw jack in a joan-of-arc-inspired role

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fancyfade · 3 years

Text

Okay, a lonely place of dying thoughts. This will be long

So, I just finished re-reading a lonely place of dying. before I get to far into it: This is specifically to analyze the way the character and information is presented to the reader. It’s not to say “so and so is a bad character” or “this is a bad plotline”.

Starting off: they were definitely playing it super safe for the comic reader when they introduced Tim. It feels as if he is introduced literally as an audience avatar. For a large portion of the time before we meet him, we literally are seeing through his eyes -- the panel is positioned so that we would be at his head height, looking at whatever he’s looking at. we never see him except for his hands (so the audience can presumably imagine themselves in his shoes).

this isn’t the way they usually frame unknown characters or characters whose identity is obscured to create an air of mystery -- and there’s an excellent comparison in this same plotline, because there is a character with their identity obscured, who was framed a different way

[image: first two panels are of two face, who is wearing a trench coat and a fedora that casts a shadodw and obscures his face so we cannot tell who he is. His face is completely in shadow. he is talking to someone behind him. he says "Tomorrow. The zwei brothers warehouse. Two am. Now go back to your wife. the fat lady's about to sing." in the next panel, we see him from behind. the back of his head is entirely in shadow to avoid giving us any hints as to who he is. the man he's talking to, Gerry sky, says "whatever it is -- later." two face says "now. 'payroll activation'" and gerry says "okay, okay -- now."

next there's a panel with the dialogue whited out. We still see two face, wearing gloves and having nearly all of his skin (except for his face, which is always in shadow) covered. First we look at him from above and he is small against a dark room with a bookshelf in the background. Then there's a closeup of only his gloved hand as he turns off the radio. We see him from behind (thighs up) as he stands in front of a window, then another shot of his gloved hand trying to touch the radio. and both his hands clench in fists. He hits the radio, breaking it (his body is still off screen except for his arm and hand) and then at his feet we see the broken radio. end image]

end image/begin commentary - Framing of two face on panel

Notice: The presumed “camera angle” is dynamic around Two face. We see him from multiple angles -- from both in front and behind. When we are looking at the same thing he's looking at, we are positioned behind him, like we're looking over his shoulder. the close ups on his hand are not positioned as if he's looking at his own hand and we are in his head pay special attention to the panel he's adjusting the radio on and the fourth panel of the page -- we're looking from the side of him or from behind him and under his elbow there.

Two face is our mysterious bad guy. This is how they visually frame a character they want an air of mystery around.

compare that to the framing around tim

[image: first, we are looking through a camera that is continuously taking pictures of Batman as he stumbles down a slide, walks shakily to his batmobile, and takes off. then the camera is lowered (we see the hand that is lowering the camera in the view, it is below us as if we were looking through this person's eyes) and put inside a duffle bag. after that, we see something in the conrer of the screen -- an arm wearing a jacket?) and puddles of blood, then a bike tire -- but not the rest of the bike, which is off panel -- cutting through the puddles of blood. next pages shows a bunch of internal monologue that has been blockedo ut. a series of batman and robin pictures from the newspapers and a picture of batman swinging on a line in a scrap book. (in the first panel, batman and robin looking victorious in pictures, the second panel some headlines: “batman attacks mom” and “batman on the rampage” and “batman collars dope ring”. the third a picture of reporters interviewing gordon captioned with “batman batters bandits”. we can see the hand grabbing this picture as if we were holding it.

then we appear to be behind whoever is on the page, looking at his elbow, as he opens up a drawer, then we're back "inside" his head again as he holds up a photo with the graysons (john, dick, mary) and the drakes (tim and his parents). 3 year old tim is sitting on 12 year old dick's leg. end image]

end image/begin commentary - Framing of Tim in Panel

okay sorry forgive me but this is fucking fascinating in my opinion. Notice that for two face, most of the close ups on his hands were specifically away from his point of view -- we weren’t positioned where his eyes were, but looking from the outside in.

For tim, we’re almost always looking through his eyes, contrasting to two face

and for tim, even when we were not looking through his eyes, in the very first page, he wasn’t even on panel -- we knew nothing about him, we just saw the edge of his bike. the second page we saw a bit of his arm but we never zoom out far enough to see his whole body and definitely not his face -- even if it would be obscured by shadow.

The first read through, I assumed they were going for an air of mystery, but the contrast between how they handle two face and tim to me makes it clear that they weren’t -- it might have been an unintended side effect, or a bonus effect, but it wasn’t the main purpose. The audience is literally viewing most of the panels Tim is in through Tim’s eyes. He is almost literally an audience avatar.

My general hypothesis here (which I think I am supplying proof of) is that Tim is intended to be an avatar in universe for the “average comic reader" (with some assumptions made by the writer about the average comic reader re: race, age, gender, socioeconomic class)

For more support of this, let’s see how Tim talks about batman and robin --

[image: 3 comic panels from batman 440 featuring newspaper clippings (in the first panel, batman and robin looking victorious in pictures, the second panel some headlines: “batman attacks mom” and “batman on the rampage” and “batman collars dope ring”. the third a picture of reporters interviewing gordon captioned with “batman batters bandits”. there is internal monologue from (the framing of the scene implies tim drake, but at this point he is unknown to the audience) reading “He seemed happier with dick. Now, I guess it’s like he just doesn’t care. But I want him to care again. I want him to be the batman I remember.” then, we have panels from the new titans 61 dick, as nightwing, is reaching in to talk to tim. he grabs tim's arm. dick says, “I don't believe this. that man raised me. I've gone through hell with him and because of him. Don't lecture me about him until you've cared for him and loved him as long as I have”. dick puts his helmet on and drives off on his bike. before leaving, he says "when jason died, he took robin with him." Tim cries and calls after him: "I... I was only thinking of the team... of what Batman and Robin meant! You can't let a legend die like that, Dick..." end image]

end image/begin comment - Tim’s perception of Batman & Robin

Notice in the first panels (with the newspaper clippings) that Tim is reminiscent, he specifically talks about ‘teh batman and robin’ that he remembers. The narrative puts more significance for tim on the fact that batman is not happy and he is not the batman tim remembers, rather than the fact that batman is beating people nearly to death (tim notices this, and it seems to be a “because batman is so clearly sad” thing -- which this is not I believe intended to be a commentary on tim’s priorities, since the general narrative seems to be using bruce’s ultra-violence as a sign he’s angsty).

Then, compare dick’s reaction to bruce with Tim’s.

Dick’s connection to Bruce is extremely personal. Bruce, Batman, whatever, is his dad and raised him and, like he said, put him through hell sometimes. His connection to Jason’s death is similarly personal.

Tim’s connection to Batman and Robin is extremely abstract and idealized. He is thinking of them as, say, a comics reader might think of them. As a crimefighting team who are not together anymore, and this is bad.

this is just bulletpoint 2 in “tim is supposed to represent the audience”, not intending to be a condemnation of tim.

Thirdly

[image: first, a comic panel from Batman 440 showing a close up of Tim’s hand as he reads a paper and him thinking ‘No! the haly circus is closing?’ then, a series of comic panels from the new titans # 60. first, we see mr haly (off screen) and his cigar (on screen) as haly gestures at a photo of the flying grayson's on the wall. then he says "Yeah. Cost us a fortune and brought down our selling price. You know, sometimes I sit here and just remember the good old days. We were barely breaking even back then, too -- but man, were we having fun. then, we see dick grayson wearing jeans and a red shirt, walking through the circus ground. first, he looks kind of dejected and his hands are in his pockets. the narration box reads "he leaves, trying to reconcile the past and the present. Kids grow up and change. but why should everything do the same? The animal cages stink with waste. Was it always this way? At times like now, he wishes for never-never land." then, dick turns as he hears something and says "Hunh? That scream?" end image]

end image/begin comment - Nostalgia as a Theme

Nostalgia is an EXTREMELY strong theme in this comic. Batman is different, he’s not like he used to be. Haley’s circus is different and at risk, but Dick goes back and meets the performers he used to know -- some are still the same, some are in a more rough situation (alcoholic clown). Someone’s trying to kill his friends in the circus, it’s not really a place of childhood innocence for Dick. Dick explicitly wishes to be in never-never land (the imaginary far off place where you never grow up)

How things should be -- both in Tim’s mind and Dick’s mind, Haly’s mind -- is the idealistic past, but we clearly can’t go back to it -- Dick says that the first thing Bruce taught him was how to grow up.

Next bulletpoint:

[image: first are some comic panels showing Tim Drake talking to Dick Grayson and Alfred Pennyworth in wayne manor. Tim says “You know, since I was able to read, I clipped every article I could about Batman and Robin. Heck, I used to fantasize about what it would be like to be robin. I study hard. I get mostly A’s. I work out. I’m no circus acrobat, but I’m pretty good, I guess. But mostly, I read aobut you two. You’ve both been so important to me in so many ways. And when I see that without Robin Batman is going off hte deep end, I know there’s serious trouble.” next, we see Dick stepping forward and talking to Tim. he says "But you haven't told me anything I don't already know. I want the rest of it. All of it." end image]

end image/ begin commentary - textually a fanboy

Textually, Tim is presented as a Batman and Robin fanboy -- that’s how he found Batman’s secret identity (link)

He studies Batman and Robin from afar. He reads about them. Kind of like a comics reader would. he wants to be Robin. Again, superhero comics have some wish fulfillment element and definitely wanting to imagine yourself in a character’s shoes is an appeal for many fans. Tim wanted to imagine himself in robin’s shoes and fantasized about being him -- there’s kind of two layers here, one is the presumed audience member reading tim, wanting to imagine themselves in his shoes as he interacts with his heroes, the other is tim, who wanted to imagine himself in dick’s shoes.

re: the second posted image in this set: Tim hasn’t told dick anything that dick doesn’t know, because tim doesn’t know anything dick doesn’t know -- he is the comic reader here. That’s also why he’s so up-to-date on all of the other comic character’s stuff -- we see him list off all of the teen titans, he talks about jason’s death casually, he knows that alfred is batman’s confident -- he pretty much has all of the information that a reader of DC comics would have if they just got beamed into the DC universe at this point.

[image: first, two panels, one showing tim smiling and thinking "Wow! And I thought Harry did it. Man, Dick is good". tehn we see dick holding some photos and talking ot tim, who is at his bike. dick says "These pictures, two face is back in town, isn't he?" Tim says "You can tell, just from them? Wow! You're even better than I thought." the next scene is in the batcave. Dick is nightwing and is about to leave on his motor cycle, alfred and tim are behind him. tim says "no, not nightwing, Dick. don't you understand -- Batman needs Robin!" he turns to look at alfred and says "Doesn't anyone understand?" Alfred says "Perhaps, young man. Perhaps master Dick understands profoundly -- perhaps that is why he brought you here." tim looks surprised. end image]

end image/begin commentary: The old robin’s approval

another very important thing here: DC plays it as safe as possible with tim’s introduction, trying to make the audience like him, and one is definitely establishing that Tim both looks up to dick and thinks he’s cool (first two panels) and that he has dick’s presumed approval/blessing to be robin (last three panels). it’s also important to note that while tim is portrayed as competent, he never shows up Batman and Nightwing -- he rescues them because two-face lured them into an expert trap, but he doesn’t outdo either of them on fighting or detective work. this has an in universe explanation -- he is 13 years old, just starting out -- and an out of universe explanation -- if he’s not showing up anyone’s favorite character, he is presumably more palatable and less threatening for the presumed reader.

that’s what i mean when I say taht DC played their intro of tim very safe -- he falls in with the established characters, already likes them, is practically already a fan of them with full fanboy connotations. The idealized past is presented as something as desirable, both to the reader and to the characters themselves, and there is a strong current of nostalgia and returning things to how they “should” be with Batman having a robin. Tim voices what many readers may feel: That batman lost his way, that he needs Robin, and he gets to act out those feelings in the comic. the text acknowledges that they can’t just force dick back into it, that people have to grow up, and dick passes the mantle to tim.

overall I think that tim’s employment here was effective, but I look forward to seeing more when he’s allowed to be himself rather than an audience avatar. I understand lots of people like audience avatars and he was wildly popular presumably for those reasons, but I personally found the plotline lackluster at points.

#okay here it is #fade reads dc comics #dc comics #a lonely place of dying #batman 1940 #dick grayson #tim drake #batfam #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #character meta #or more of like #comic meta

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solomonish · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains (Lucifer & Mammon)

At first, Lucifer thought that to fall with those he loved more dearly than anyone was the final blessing the Celestial Realm would bestow upon him.

But Father did not intend to stop after taking Lilith from them. He just took her first - the brothers still had themselves and each other to lose.

ao3 link: here!

---

The office in the manor was slowly becoming more and more cluttered as Lucifer continued to drag stacks of paperwork and countless manuals on Devildom culture into the house when he returned from his meetings with Diavolo. The business he had been tasked to sort out for the rest of his existence needed to be started on right away, leaving Lucifer tied up with an amount of work fitting for the place he now had to learn to call home. Instead of navigating the new life with his brothers, he had to spend his time navigating the halls of the palace or bent over an old wooden desk. The impressive castle doors now instinctively sent a pit into his stomach and finding the Royal Butler Barbatos waiting for him to lead him so he wouldn't lose himself in the halls hurt Lucifer in a weird, bruising way he had never felt before.

By the time he got home, the house was normally quiet. It scared him, at first: after spending so long in battle, silence could only mean something bad. During the first days, he found his brothers huddled up in the same spot, unwilling to be alone. Beel and Belphie would be curled around each other in some way, inseparable as they had always been. Mammon could be found sprawled over the carpet,, one hand gripping Satan's ankle or wrist as if that'd be enough to stop one of his rampages. Perhaps it was; from what Lucifer heard, every day he was getting better, learning more. Mammon wasn't the only one gripping him; Asmodeus was often cuddled next to Satan, clinging tightly to his arm or sometimes even to him. He was getting awfully affectionate lately, but maybe it was doing Satan some good. Only Levi wasn't directly touching anyone, but even though his back was turned, his new tail would occasionally twitch and brush against one of his brothers.

These scenes gave Lucifer pause, the feeling he was learning to be pride swelling in his chest. Everything was alright. Mammon had kept things under control.

He left them alone, not wanting to disturb their peace, and continued his work, the task distracting his mind and the affection distracting his heart from the crippling grief that loomed above them all.

Eventually, though, the brothers disbanded. The quirks he had noticed growing in them soon became hallmarks of their new beings: Asmodeus' affections were becoming increasingly licentious, Belphegor could hardly be found awake regardless of the time, items turned up missing and wound up in Mammon’s possession...each of his brothers seemed to spiral further and further towards degeneracy, save for Satan, who was as sinful as it got and instead retreated into himself and forming a grudge against everyone for his status as what seemed like a half-baked replacement.

Ever the dependable brother - a thought that was now strangely accompanied by a twinge of something unpleasant instead of the warm, affectionate delight Lucifer was used to - Mammon still tried to keep everyone together.

At first, it seemed to work. Nobody seemed entirely willing or even purposely trying to avoid the others. However, it seemed that the sin they began to embody were too great an obstacle none of them knew how to hurdle. Any interruption infuriated Satan, and Asmo seemed offended at the concept of taking his own time away from himself to check in on his brothers. Beel and Belphie could never be taken away from easing the effects of their sins for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation, and Levi had already dug himself so deep in a self-deprecating hole he seemed convinced any efforts to connect were the beginning of an elaborate prank to make fun of him. When items turned up missing immediately after Mammon’s visits, doors started slamming if they even opened.

Still, his attempts to keep the camaraderie alive meant Lucifer had more time to spend on the paperwork. It was a good system - at least, that’s how he felt. Evidently, Mammon didn’t feel the same.

Normally, on the days where Mammon made a futile attempt at his rounds (days that were becoming more and more scarce throughout the week), Mammon passed by Lucifer’s door. This time, there was an angry knock on the door, more of an alert to Mammon’s presence than a request for permission. The door didn’t bang against the wall, but Mammon had twisted the doorknob rather ferociously and Lucifer almost flinched at the noise it made. Taken aback by his brother’s stormy entrance, he nearly watched him approach impassively. There hadn’t been any opportunity to discuss the proper, respectful way to enter his workspace - clearly, this needed to be remedied soon.

“What’re ya even doing in here?” Mammon bellowed, looking around. The shelves that had books in them were put together nicely, the sturdy wood packed with old books about a life they both used to find reprehensible. How cruel of their father to force them to live what He made them fear most.

“You can lower your voice,” Lucifer answered, dropping his pen on the desk. When he leaned back, ignoring the way his upper back twinged at the change from his previous slumped posture, he met Mammon’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine frustration behind them. “I’ve been working.”

A scoff had never sounded more irritating to Lucifer’s ears. “Is that what it is? Because to me, it seems like you’re avoiding us.”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “Where did you-”

“Is that it? What, we all lost so now we’re losers and you can’t stand to look at us?”

“I never-”

“Or you couldn’t fill the void left when you were thrown out as the world’s best lapdog, so you became Diavolo’s instead?”

“Stop right there, Mammon,” Lucifer commanded, standing from his seat. His voice had a steely chill to it that it never had before, one to match the resentment burning inside of him. Instinctively, Mammon backed off. They didn’t know much about their new predicament, but they knew how the seven of them ranked in power, and Lucifer would always come out on top. “I’m won’t concern myself with where you got these foolish thoughts from. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend less time with Levi-”

“Levi? How could you know if he even had anything to do with this? When’s the last time you saw him?” Mammon shot back. “Spending less time with anybody isn’t the answer to anything, though of course it’d be your answer to things.”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m working out the details of this situation so you don’t have to worry yourselves with it.”

Mammon didn’t have an immediate response to that, instead watching Lucifer with betrayed eyes. He seemed to deflate over time, a resignation falling over him that forced his fire out with a sigh. "We were a team, Lucifer. What the hell happened?"

There were obvious answers to that, and there were not so obvious answers. Faced with so many options, Lucifer found himself unable to choose between them, and instead stared blankly at Mammon. Slowly, Lucifer sat back in his seat without breaking eye contact.

We've been ripped away from everything and left to become scabs over the wounds we've been given. All I'm trying to do is give you the freedom to heal however you need to, to keep you from the chains that could have just as easily awaited us as this fate did.

I'm hiding from you a burden that is too heavy to pass on - if I move it from my shoulders, I fear my arms would be too weak to carry it to you.

There were so many ways to tell Mammon that Lucifer had to lock himself away, the door a heavy shield against his own grief and the ever-growing work that buried him and the secret he carried. Even if Lucifer didn’t trust his own mouth to only say what was necessary, he could just thank Mammon for his efforts, tell him that he trusted Mammon more than anybody to keep together the one thing that ought to stay intact after the holy hell they’d created. But something inside him bristled, swelling uncomfortably until he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Gulping down his thoughts, Lucifer resumed his writing, the pen scratching against the paper more ferociously than the claws of any creature by which they now found themselves surrounded.

"I don't need your help," Lucifer answered simply, with finality. Though the words rang true in his mind, they were leaden with the way they pulled on his heart and tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mammon scoffed again, narrowing his eyes so Lucifer wouldn't be able to notice the tears that began to gather within them. "Fine, then. I-I didn't wanna help ya out anymore anyway."

As Mammon stomped out the door of his office with a huff, Lucifer felt something snap inside him. It wasn't in the way pent up rage unleashed itself, apparently, somehow in the form of a sixth brother, but more in the way one holds on desperately to a branch too thin for the weight. Once it snaps, the plummet is rough, with stronger branches breaking up the fall and taunting tossing them around in a cruel ricochet. Outside of the thick wooden door, it was startlingly quiet, as if the house itself was forcing Lucifer to grapple with the final thread holding them together being cut with his own words.

The pain started in his chest, the way it always did, wrapping around his heart and lungs like thorny vines. The spot on his lower back, occasionally tickled by phantom feathers, throbbed as his entire brain seemed to weigh heavier in his head. After a near eternity surrounded by laughter and the beautiful, enchanting hum of Celestial life and a thundering of battle that would ring in his head for the rest of his existence, the silence seemed like a stifling blanket, the final lock on the cage they had been forced into.

When one opposed Father and lost, he truly did lose everything.

#MMMMMMMMMMM brothers #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me sw #swd obey me #lucifer #mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #lucifer angst #mammon angst #mine #swd lucifer #swd mammon #obey me fanfic

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

Work of Art

A/N: Oh boy, here we go again with my tries at getting out of my comfort zone. The only reason why this is happening is because @lady-bakuhoe got me thirsting on main feeling things for Hawks after sending out something she wrote a while back and I was suddenly reminded of this idea that lurked behind my head.

Pairing: Takami Keigo x reader

Description: Your boyfriend had a beautiful body hiding beneath those layers, you could not be blamed that you wanted to trascript that sight into actual art.

Warning: nsfw below cut

Word count: 2932

“Can I tie you up?”

“What?” Keigo tensed up from where he was standing, couldn’t quite believe his own ears.

“Can I tie you up?” You repeated with such a casual tone that sounded more like you were asking him what he wanted for dinner than you were with your actual request.

Seeing the stunned look on his face, you realised that perhaps you had worded it too vaguely and not given enough details as to what you actually wanted him to do. “It’s for my sketching class, I need to practice my anatomies. I want to tie you up for...” you thought of what ways you could possibly rephrased it to get your point across, “...aesthetic purpose.”

“A sketch, huh?” He smirked as he walked closer to you, his wings leaning forward to circle around your frame, “You know, normally people have to pay me to model for them.”

You lifted an eyebrow at him, twirling the pencil in your hand. “So you’re saying?”

“Are you planning to pay me back in some sort of way for my contribution to your aesthetic research?” The suggestive look on his face did not falter at all even as you snickered at his teasing.

“That’d depend on how you behave in the process.” You lifted your hand and traced a finger along the sharp line of his jaw, “So what do you say, pretty bird? Are you gonna help me or what?”

You knew you had the answer you wanted when the corner of his lips lifted up.

With the white shirt he was wearing discarded on the floor, he kneeled down in front of the chair as you instructed him to. As you gently twisted his arms to his back and held his wrist together, he chuckled and earned him a playful glare from you. “I’m starting to think that the whole ‘do it for the arts’ thing was an excuse.”

“If I want to have you half naked and kneeled down, all I have to do is ask, isn’t it?.” You retaliated with an amused twinkle in your eye, “Now shush and let me do my thing.”

Pulling out the velvet rope that he didn’t know you own, you carefully wrapped it around his wrist and tied it with a knot. With one hand smoothing the restraint, you tugged at it to make sure that it sat snuggly around his skin as you pulled it to the front of his torso. You were no expert at this but you had done enough reearch to know just where each knot should be in order to get the image you wanted. With the rope travelling around the side of his arms and down his upper body, you tightened each trail and knot with attention, carefully setting the loops right above and below the base of his wings.

Facing him as you leaned back, you admired your handiwork. No matter how many times you had seen that body of his, you would never fail to be amazed at how much beauty there could be to the human body and the position he was in only heightened your admiration.

You were not lying when you said that this was intended for your venture into the arts, only now you were starting to have doubts on whether your skills could do justice to the view in front of you.

The red rope was a huge contrast to his skin, the colour an odd resemblance to the feathers behind his back. The way his arms were folded to his back gave his toned arms even more definition, pulling at the muscles of his forearm with a barely visible vein adorning it all the way up. Each breath he took, everything pulsation made him flex unintentionally, only adding to the defined curves of each muscle. It was a shame that his torso was usually hidden from the rest of the world, if only they knew what they were missing out on. You had carefully positioned the rope to hug every dip and dent of his chest, the way it pulled against his skin with each exhale of breath could only be described as utterly tempting. You had to resist the urge to run your hand down his toned pecs and traced the v that dipped all the way down to a much more sensitive parts of his body.

What a sight to witness, really. It was like he was carved out of marble but only there was life to each, his flushed skin under the chilly air together with his beautiful form making every piece of artwork pale in comparison. If art could come to life, you were sure what you were blessed to see in front you right now would be it.

“Is the rope too tight?” You asked, reaching out to touch the edge of the red restraint and fixed the places that were moved.

“No, just alright.” Keigo tried to maintain his usual chirpy tone, ignoring the itch he had started to feel ever since you put one hand on his lower waist to arch his back just a little just when you were about to finish with tying him up. Even with his greatest effort, he could not stop the goose bumps from forming on his skin as your fingertips nearly brushed against his skin when you went to slide it across the rope, every hair on him standing up at the mere contact that only made him sense more alerted. He was pretty sure that he would only get more sensitive as time passed by.

“How long do you think it’ll take you?” He asked tentatively as you got up to fetch your sketchbook from another room.

You tilted your head. “Not more than an hour, I assume.” You did not catch onto the faint groan your boyfriend let out when you turned around.

Staying still and pushing the discomfort he was feeling to the back of his head appeared to be more difficult than he had expected it to be. With each second passing by, Keigo was only feeling more and more tensed. The rope that was tied around him so snuggly did not help with his shiver as the cold air hit his skin, only tightening with even the slightest of movements. The rough material brushing against his already hardened nipples only made them more sensitive and feeling the friction of the rope to the fullest effect. It did not help that there was pleasure mixed into the pain he felt as nothing came in contact with him but each breeze of the ventilation of the room.

The rubbing of the velvet against his skin he could stand. The ridiculously low temperature of the air conditioning he could try to ignore. But what truly got to him was the way you studied his figure with such intensity. Keigo had always been aware of the appeal of his own physique and he would never shy away from the appreciative stares you sent his way whenever he undress, but it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him right now. It was like no corner of his body could escape your gaze as you took into each and every feature of him. He felt exposed, like he was completely under your control and one look was enough to put him in his place.

Dear god, was that look doing things to him.

He had to physically restraint the feathers at his back from standing up as he recognized a familiar twitch at his crotch. The desperate attempt at self-control only made the rope rubbed against him even more, sending yet another rush of blood down south.

“Don’t move.” You pursed your brows in disapproval at his movements and bent down to fix his posture. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry when the warmth of your palms came in contact will his skin that almost went numb from the chilliness and sensitivity.

“Are you near finish?” He managed to hide the choked whine at the back of his throat and forced the words out of his mouth in the most decent voice he could pull off in his current state.

“Kinda?” You said. If you had bothered to look up, you would be able to see the clear discomfort that was showing on his face. The redness at the tip of his ears was starting to spread to the rest of his face, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold onto the remaining calmness that was there in his mind. “Only the shading left, so just stay still.”

Forcing out a hum in response, his knuckles already turned white from how hard he had been fisting his hands to get more grasp on his own sanity, the pain he felt from his nails digging in wasn’t even that much of a bother to him anymore. Right now, his main focus was to ignore that dull ache in his pants and the shiver on his skin.

“You have been oddly quiet today.” You asked as you glided the lead across the paper one last time, being utterly content with what you had managed to create as you put the finished drawing up to your face.

It was when you put down your pen and was about to undo the tie on Keigo that you noticed just why your usually talkative lover had been in silence the whole time you were sketching him. You immediately picked up on how his breaths were heavier than usual with his lips pursed tightly together like he was trying to hold back whatever sounds were threatening to escape if he didn’t. His knees were trembling from kneeling for too long and as your eyes travelled upwards, there was no way you could pretend that you didn’t saw the bulge in between his legs.

So that’s what it was.

Keigo knew he was gone for the moment you sank down onto your knees to be eye-levelled with him and smirked. “I was going to untie you but now I’m having second thoughts.” You said, mockingly tilt your head as you pretended to ponder as you ran a finger along the rope, very barely touching the skin underneath.

He did not say anything but you could feel his breath getting more rigid at the contact. You leaned in closer and watched as his body shook once he could feel your warmth against his chest. He was holding back and you were determined to make him break.

“If I knew that you like being tied up so much I would have offered much sooner.” You whispered into his ear, your finger roaming dangerously close to his nipple and the spare hand holding onto his shoulder. The closer you traced to the sensitive, the more his was trying to squirm under your touch.

His back arched the moment you placed the first touch on his nipple and you immediately forced him back onto his previous position with your firm hold on his shoulder blade. Your lips lingered on his ear as you rolled the tip between your fingers, giving it a soft pinch. It only added to your amusement when you heard the heavy swallowing at his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you did not slow down the movement at your hand for even the slightest.

Just your fingers, you were too cruel to even spare him the touch of your palm.

“You look so pretty all tied up like this, so pretty for me.” You cooed in his ear, sliding your palm down his chest to give some attention to the rest of his body that you had been aching to touch. Feeling each mound under your hand, you could feel your own arousal building up at just how his entire body was begging for you to give him more. But the tensing of his muscles were not enough, the quickening breath was not enough, the bite back whimpers you were only hearing because you had your face pressed to the side of his neck was not enough.

You would like to think that as an artist, you were naturally attracted to beautiful things. There was nothing more appealing to you than the lovely reactions he was capable of giving and you could never be ashamed of being greedy towards such beautiful things.

Keigo hissed when your hand stopped at the top of the fabric that was covering his bulge, his entire body heated up as you traced circles just above where he craved your touch the most. Peppering kisses up his neck, you grinned as he very eager closed the gap you had painfully left between your lips and his as your face hovered above him. Nothing could compare to the stir at the pit of your stomach as you heard him moan into the kiss when you had slowly undid the fly of his pants. Only pulling the band of his boxers low enough to release his hardened cock from the strain of fabric, his length slapped against his lower stomach and the sensitive skin around the area rubbing against the material of his pants only added to his desire for a relieve.

Running a finger along the vein at the underside of his shaft, you gently yanked at his hair to expose his neck and placed many wet kisses along his chin down to the valley where his neck met his collar bone. While your other hand slowly ghosted over the slit at his tip, the one that just gripped onto his blonde locks now travelled down the back of his neck to where his wings grew out.

Keeping up with the teasing at his length, what you would only consider as whimpers grew louder when your hand smoothed over the red feathers but you were yet to be satisfied. Feeling his uneven breath at your neck, you searched for the one spot that you knew would had him crumbling in an instant.

Where was it, where was it?

Ah, found it.

Your hand found its way to the much softer feathers at the base of his wings and the moment you scratched down, the last but of self-restraint in him snapped as he let out a loud, delicious moan.

Beautiful, exactly what you were looking for.

No longer holding back, you were satisfied with the loud noises that escaped from his flushed lips. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as your thumb toyed at his tip, collecting the pre-cum that was oozing out. You collected the droplet at the tip of your tongue when it slide down his jaw, the saltiness that spread in your mouth only elicited your own desire even more.

Slowly pumping his cock with the help of the sticky liquid on your hand, you pressed yourself against his chest as you sped up the movement of your hand. His hip bucked against your hand and you clicked your tongue in disapproval as his cock twitched. A loud whine slipped past his mouth when you suddenly paused whatever you were doing all while pushing him down from moving against you himself.

“I should really just leave you here like this,” you said as you pulled back, you chuckled as you were now looking right at his very flushed face, “my pretty bird that is tied up for me and under my mercy. Perhaps I can even make you sing for me.”

The skin underneath the rope was now much paler comparing to the rest of his body, lines of redness starting to show from how much he was tensed up. The corner of his eyes were tearing up from the stimulation and your denial of his release, the feathers at his back pulsating and the tip of his length in nearly the same shade of red.

Again, what a sight. But no matter how much you liked when you were seeing, you could never be so cruel as to keep your birdie in pain.

“As much as that thought tempts me,” you said as you leaned in close to him once again, "I guess you deserve a reward for being so well-behaved.”

He yelped when your hand circled around his shaft and started jerking him off. The loud sound of skin slapping echoed off the walls and the whiny sounds he was making was erotic to hear.

You knew he couldn’t last much longer when you felt the twitching in your hand. “Such a good little bird. Are you going to make a mess for me?” The way you licked the piercing at his ear lobe as you said such profanities was what gave him the final push as he reached his high.

Strings of warmth spurted out, covering your hand and stomach as you pulled away. He was still trying to catch his breath as you looked down at your shirt that was now covered with cum and scrunched your eyebrows together.

“When I said ‘making a mess for me’, I definitely didn’t mean it as ‘on me’.”

“Yeah, yeah, my apologies.” To think that mere seconds ago he was like putty in your hands. As he came down from his high, Keigo’s composure was quick to return as a slight smirk now graced his features.

“Now get me out of this.” He said as your hands went to tug at the knots against his torso, “I feel like you still haven’t fully repay me for all that posing I did for you.”

#hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks imagine #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha smut #bnha x reader #takami keigo smut #mha imagine #mha imagines #mha smut #mha x reader

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bilgisticallykosher · 3 years

Text

Superheroes in Retail

Aka Oh god I am the maple syrup drowned enemies

Masterpost | AO3 link

Hey, remember that time Lime posted a fake fic titles meme, then I accidentally posted half of this as a reblog because tumblr mobile bamboozled me and then I said I'd post this after no content November but then didn't realize December was now?

Warnings: Blood and bruises.

Word count: 1,140

Virgil had definitely seen and experienced a lot in his short life. He'd crashed a local parade in costume, spreading a wave of chaos and fear throughout the city, block by block. He'd faced down a horde of black Friday shoppers the day after an accidental two-for-one coupon had been printed in the circular. He'd even come in third place in a talent contest that he hadn't even entered in the first place.

But now, well, he was in a Situation. It deserved the capital letter. He'd just been innocently stocking shelves, on the late shift as usual, trying desperately to fade into the background so customers wouldn't bother him, to no such luck. He visibly cringed as he heard the damnable automatic doors open and someone call out to him.

"Ex...cuse...me..." the customer wheezed out. Virgil sighed to himself, assuming that this idiot had run all the way to the store to get his late night bulk maple syrup that was on sale to put onto his breakfast foods, or use as moisturizer, or chug shots of, or drown his enemies in, or whatever. Maybe he'd just ask Virgil several times where an item was, while staring the giant signage for said item dead-on.

He plastered on his best customer service smile, which he was proud to say was not that good, and turned.

"Hello, how may I help oh my god." And there, clutching onto the caution wet floor sign (which, it wasn't, he had no idea why they left it by the entrance,) was one of his mortal enemies.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but it was one of the heroes that was always trying to best him and save innocent people and prevent him from doing his evil deeds and blah, blah, whatever they were always prattling on about. He knew, in fact, that it was SuperNerd, or whatever he was actually called, because he was still in costume... mostly.

The right arm of his suit had been completely torn off. On top of that, he was bleeding from several different cuts, and had a big gash on his leg. From what he could see of his face, it looked like he had a nasty bruise, too. He had bruises other places, and looked generally roughed up, and his costume frayed.

Virgil gulped. Okay, so there was no way he knew who he was. Even if he did, Virgil had no impact on why he was so beaten up right now. This was just a coincidence. An unfortunate coincidence. A very big, bad, unfortunate coincidence.

He idly wondered where Dudley Do-Right and His Royal Whineness were, and damn, that was a good one he'd have to remember that for another time. The trio was almost always together, whether staking out a place, or working together to defeat him, and wasn't that a little overkill, he was only one guy. Although, it was also kind of flattering that they needed the three of them to take him down...

But in the meantime, his harrowed hero was still there, starting to slump over where he stood, one eyelid flickering, ready to close. So, Virgil did the only thing he could think of.

"Hello, sir, welcome to Kalmart, I see you're in need of some assistance," his customer service smile, already strained, twitched a little as he watched the hero jolt at his loud, firm tone. He tried to ignore his instinct to jump behind a building to protect himself from what was sure to be an incoming attack, but then immediately gave in to that instinct as he ducked into the next aisle to grab the first aid kit that was hanging there on the wall.

He speed-walked back, and all but shoved the kit into his hands as he repeated the 'difficult customer mantra' to himself. CALM; be Calm, Apologize, Listen, and get a Manager.

"I was assaulted in a villainous attack, while attempting to protect the city, and am in dire need of medical assistance." If he weren't so sure he was out of it, Virgil would have sworn that he was being deadpan on purpose.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath in and out. Calm. "I'm sorry that you're inconvenienced." Apologize. "If you could describe your problem to me, then I could do my best to resolve it." Virgil watched as the hero blinked slowly, then his head lolled to one side, as he peered his eyes together, squinting at him.

"I'm sorry that that's happened to you, sir," Apologize again for good measure, "and rest assured, we'll make sure you get the medical treatment you need," Listen, "I'll just need to get my manager, he'll be more than happy to help you." Get. A. Manager.

"Wh-" But Virgil had already swiftly turned around and walked away. As he headed towards the breakroom, he stopped by the customer service desk where his manager was tiredly explaining to a woman that she couldn't get the product she wanted, because the factory had temporarily closed, therefore they didn't have any in the store.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt," Virgil interrupted, not sorry at all, even as the woman glared at him, "but there appears to be a superhero bleeding out by the paper goods, if you'd like to take care of that." Remy leaned forward, peering past the shockingly long line considering the late hour, until he spotted the hero, still dripping onto the tile.

"Well, do you know when they're getting it in, then?!" She huffed, "I came all the way out, it was a forty minute drive, just for it, could you call me when it comes in?"

The effect was instantaneous, Remy stood bolt upright, already stumbling out from behind the counter.

"Bitch, why didn't you page me, this is important, I swear if you're pranking me, I'm moving you to the customer service desk for a year," he pulled out his personal store intercom, hitting an extension, and slammed the 'Sorry, we're closed' sign down on the counter. He ran, speaking into his device, calling for someone with access to an outside line.

Virgil shoved his hands in his pockets, continuing the leisurely stroll to the breakroom. He pushed through the door, then swung around to the phone, letting it close behind him. He picked up the reciever, punching in the extension for store-wide announcements.

"Maintenance," his voice was light and smooth, "please report to aisle ten for a biological spill, maintenance, aisle ten for biological spill, thank you." As he hung up, he knew Remy would probably get him back for that, but, he flopped into a chair, kicking his feet up onto another one, he decided it was worth it.

-----

Fun game, try and pick out which of these things are based on my real life job in a supermarket.

Taglist from the Repository and from anyone who expressed interest in the concept in the original post.

@demoniccheese83 @thatgaydemigodnerd @arya-skywalker @rainbowbowtie @aceawkwardunicorn @lookingforaplacetosleep @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @thefivecalls @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @just-your-typical-trans-guy @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @idont-freaking-know @entitydark @llamaly @psychosnowfox @picazos-angsty-typist @enby-phoenix @callboxkat

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #my stories #superheroes in retail #delimeful

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