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bibliosophist · 3 years

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Soft as Bread, Sweet as Honey Chapter 1

Beel x Female Reader.

Description: Being the only female human in the Devildom can be tough, especially when you're surrounded by beautiful demons all day long. Your feelings of inadequacy are only heightened around the beautiful brothers, especially Beelzebub, who is as firm as you are soft.

(I've firmly set the characters to be college aged (give or take a few thousand years for the demons), since the idea of writing smut about high school kids squicks me out.) Porn with Plot.

Notes: Hello! This is my first fic in literally years, and my first Obey Me fic ever. Will eventually migrate over to AO3 when I get my new invitation. Let me know what you like because ~*I don't know what I'm doing*~

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Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | One of the things you miss the most about the human world is the sun. The Devildom exists in perpetual shade, and while the demons don’t seem to mind it (“No UV damage to worry about!” Asmo has reminded you multiple times), you miss the warmth on your skin. Today you’re feeling particularly nostalgic, so you’ve decided to sit in the grass of the RAD gardens for lunch. You have to admit that it is beautiful out here, if not in a way that you’re used to. The way the dusky purple sky just barely illuminates the garden causes shadows to dapple the stonework and dance over the petals of the jewel hued flowers. It also casts just enough light for you to see the other students walking through the open air hallways. They move with ethereal grace, willowy figures accentuated by the clean lines and tapered waists of your school uniforms. You hunch forward over your lunch, poking at your sad looking salad-- mixed lettuce, cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, light dressing-- without enthusiasm. Your body confidence wasn’t stellar in the human world, and now that you’re surrounded by beings that look like they had climbed from an Aubrey Beardsley work, you feel particularly unappealing.

“That’s not all you’re eating, is it?” says a voice from above you, before you feel someone drop down to sit on the grass beside you. You start, pulled from your thoughts as you look over into Beelzebub’s face. Even sitting, he towers over you. His brows are pulled together over his amethyst eyes as he watches you chew on a leaf of lettuce. Apparently, he’s actually waiting for an answer because he pokes you in the arm and repeats himself, leaning over to look at the salad in your bowl.

“Uh, I mean- yeah.” you say, glancing away from him. Then you clue in. “Oh, do you want some?” you ask, spearing a tomato and holding it out to him.

“Are you kidding? That’s not even enough for you,” he says, though he does lean in and take the tomato off your fork. “Oops, sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“Sure it is,” you say, going for a cucumber wedge, “it’s perfectly fine.”

The furrow between his eyebrows grows. “I don’t know a lot about humans, but I’m pretty sure that’s not true. Come to the cafeteria with me. They’ve got havoc devil tacos today. I’ve already had five, but I could go for a few more.”

You swallow. You can’t help but notice how handsome Beel looks, even in his rumpled uniform. As usual, he’s left the jacket open and hasn’t bothered to button his green shirt up all the way. If he was wearing a tie this morning, he’s discarded it by now.. Though he’s wearing a t-shirt underneath, you can see the outline of his firm chest. There’s no way you’re going to eat anything else in front of him-- maybe ever.

“It’s such a nice day,” you say, “I just want to stay here in the garden. Hey, did you start that project on genetic splicing for Professor Xavier?” you ask, desperately trying to switch the subject away from food.

Beel looks up at the sky, the violet color of the atmosphere reflecting off of his eyes, making them look like pools of liquid amethyst. “I guess it’s okay out. Yeah, we’ve started. Satan is my lab partner for this project, so he’s got most things covered. It’s best just to stay out of his way, you know?”

You laugh, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “I have Sybil. She’s already got our talking points outlined and a study schedule drawn up. I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of you guys this week.”

He nodded, chuckling. “I was her partner for a History project once, I don’t think she even let me sleep.”

You wonder if History class was the only time Beel and Sibyl were ever partners. You can’t help but notice the way she looks at him-- or the way she looks. She’s beautiful and leggy, with hair so soft you’re pretty sure that even Asmo is jealous. You do your best to turn your grimace into a smile. Sibyl is a lovely person. Er, demon. You know your feelings of inadequacy aren’t her fault.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick. It’s probably from all that rabbit food, I really think some tacos would make you feel better.”

“Look, Beel... I appreciate it, but just stop, okay? Stop offering me food.” You pull your legs closer to your body and dip your head, trying your best to occupy as little space as possible in front of the beautiful demon.

“I- okay. I’m sorry.” He pauses, then laughs, “I guess I just forget that not everybody is as hungry as me.”

“It’s not that,” you mumble as you feel your cheeks redden “I’m just... I’m on a diet, okay?” When he doesn’t say anything right away, your gut clenches and you instinctively try to lighten the mood, “I don’t need any more carbs, my thighs look like loaves of bread already!” You force a laugh.

He mumbles something beside you, and you’re worried that you’ve made him uncomfortable now. You doubt that Beel has ever looked less than incredible in his entire life. It’s quiet for a moment while you rack your brain desperately, looking for something else to say. But then, “Does that bother you?” he asks, voice quiet.

“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”

You hear him suck in a breath, and you raise your head to look at him, confused. Now it’s his cheeks that are flushed, his eyes on the ground. “I said, I know, and... and I like them.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. You feel like your stomach is in your chest, and it’s fighting for space with your heart, which you swear has started beating louder. You can’t help but picture Sibyl’s tiny, porcelain smooth thighs, and the perfect gap between them. You pull your skirt down lower, hoping to cover as much of your skin as you can. Even though your uniform is modest, you’ve never felt more exposed. You’re suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting.

“So,” he clears his throat, still looking at the ground as he tugs out fistfuls of grass, “does- does that bother you?”

“No, of course not. I just think that maybe you’re mistaken.”

Now he’s looking at you. Right at you. Surprise is written all over his face. “You think I’m mistaken about what I like?”

Now that you hear him say it, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. Did you honestly just say that? Yes, you did. And yes, you know it sounds stupid. But you stand by it anyway. “I just don’t see how anybody could, especially you. They’re all soft and dimply, and they touch when I stand up. You’re so...” you gesture at his body, “firm.”

Beel’s face and throat are absolutely scarlet now. You notice that his skin clashes beautifully with his hair, and your heart rate kicks up another notch. “Muscular isn’t the only way to look good,” he says, “I like soft, too.” He turns his body towards you and reaches forward, hand hovering over the hem of your skirt. “Can I... touch you?”

You stammer out something between “yes” and “sure” that comes out sounding like “yer” as he places his hand on your knee, running it up and down your thigh, pushing your skirt up as his warm palm glides over your skin. You’ve never noticed how big his hands are before. He moves his hand up to your knee again before running it back down, this time trailing his fingers all the way down the back of your thigh, brushing over the hem of your underwear. Your skin tingles where it touches his, and you gasp softly. He draws his hand away.

“Sorry. Too much?” he asks, his voice catching.

“No,” you say, unconsciously leaning towards him. You swallow, your throat suddenly very dry. “Not enough.”

He draws in a breath before closing the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is feather light, just a brush of lips, a testing of the waters. One of his hands weaves into your hair, gently cupping the back of your head as the other resumes stroking your leg. You sigh, leaning into him and deepening the kiss, softly sucking one of his lips into your mouth. He groans softly against you, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your panties. You clutch his wrinkled jacket in your hand, pulling him closer just as the alarm on your D.D.D. goes off, signalling the end of your break.

#Obey Me #Shall We Date #Shall We Date: Obey Me #Demons #Fic #PwP #PwP Fic #Beel #Beelzebub #beelzebub x reader

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littleeyesofpallas · 4 years

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The other day i had a kinda drunken rant I went on with a friend that I had wished I could’ve written down. But today I read an article about the shift in hollywood marketing from star power to IP and character driven power instead: the idea being that an original movie used be able to draw crowds with the basic idea of “your favorite star as <insert role>” but we’ve moved more towards the appeal of familiar franchise names like “from the creator of XYZ.” But I think this is an interesting place to draw the line because it does go back to that drunken rant. So, here I go again... this is gonna be lo~ng and boring (and this is the shortest possible version) and without pictures, but god knows i have no idea what i would put to accompany this super tangent-filled tirade, so I guess just buckle up...

(I apologize now for all the weird side subjects that I’m going to name drop but just not take the time here to go in depth with.)

I don’t even remember where my drunken rant with my friend the other night started so my first obstacle is finding a place to even begin with this because it has so many entry points and none of them are any closer to where this all ends than any other so like.... whatever... Shakespeare.

It’s a super complicated thing but in the first era of professional english theatre that Shakespeare ushered in (from the mid-late 1500s to early-mid 1600s) there were strong strong associations with theatre and prostitution. Maybe it was exactly what it sounded like, maybe it was elitist slander against the revolutionary accessibility of the arts to the poor as self debasing, maybe it was the church being really angry about literally everything all the time, maybe it was a little of all of that... But either way the persisting notion was that a theatre, established or travelling, was a place one could ostensibly go to pay for sex with the troupe’s actors. of course at the time women weren’t a part of that profession, and while they may have been as much a part of the theater going demographic as anyone else it’s hard to pinpoint how much of the already vaguely defined theatre sex trade they patronized --Point being when we talk about theatres prostituting their actors we’re talking about male theatre goers paying to have sex with male actors, and predominantly those young boys playing female roles. In most classic academic circles this is either wholly ignored, brushed aside/glossed over, or sloppily chalked up to “homosexuality.” But there’s a lot more nuance to that... which is part of the big mess of stuff I’m just not getting into here...

But this is where I draw my line of connection to Kabuki theatre. Kabuki somewhat infamously had similar practices as all-male theatre and as duel industry for theatre and prostitution. And as a parallel development it seems to make sense... In England and Japan alike, you have a group of people who by nature of their jobs charm people and constantly move from town to town. Even if a community or government thinks what they’re doing is wrong, by the time they can take notice or do anything to stop them: they charm, they fuck, they leave. But unlike Shakespearean theatre, kabuki has a slightly more convoluted history of development.

See, Kabuki started with Izumi-no-Okumo, a shinto shrine maid (ironically also in the 1500-1600s cusp, same as shakespeare) and although a lot of her personal history is lost to time you can imagine the basic development here: a shrine maid tells the myths, she tells the myths dramatically and with with character voice, then all that but with props, and costume, and then dividing roles into separate actors, and collecting donations for the shrine as regular practice anyway but hey look people donate more when they’ve come for a story they enjoy... and then oops you’ve invented theatre. Also on account of this being started with shinto shrine maids, the form naturally took an all female slant.

Whether it started with Okumo herself or not, as theatre became an established form, and a lucrative one at that, non shinto affiliated women quickly seized the chance to make a living outside the bounds of common peasantry, and with the growth of travelling theatre as an industry that same side venture of prostitution developed. But here’s where it gets interesting...

Due to things that, again I won’t dive into here, the untaxed revenues of prostitution painted a target on the backs of kabuki actresses, and women were eventually outlawed from theatre. The art form was of course immensely popular however so to keep the gravy train rolling the theatre form continued but now with all young-male casts, to retain the feminine aesthetics of female kabuki. This did absolutely nothing to stop the rate of prostitution however, so they outlawed it again and replaced the young boys with grown men. This still didn’t stop the prostitution but there was other stuff going on in Japan at that point and legislative attentions were pulled elsewhere.

And here’s my weird little take away from this... it’s not like Kabuki theatre suddenly went from being popular with horny straight men to horny gay men in a seemless and perfectly balanced transition. (and granted japan at the time was a lot more open about their grasp of sexuality compared to now and to the west in general) so presumably a lot of these thirsty theatre goers were just overwhelmingly indiscriminate in their tastes in fucking actors... But stick a pin in that, we’ve got a tangent to go on!

So around this same time Japan was having kind of a second rennaissance: japan’s high arts culture had first really risen to prominence in the heian period right before the long long descent into the civilwar we all know and lover for all its flashy samurai drama. When that 400-ish year civil war finally ended and then stabilized under the Tokugawa shogunate in the Edo period, the art scene finally had some room to breathe again, and among many other things ukiyo-e wood block prints saw a huge explosion in popularity. And part of this tied into Kabuki theatre, as an extremely popular genre of prints were actor portraits and theatre scenes. Actor portraits in particular are kind of culturally fascinating, because they weren’t simply prints of character illustration, they were frequently labeled with both the character played, the story they featured in, and the name of the actor playing them. moreover, despite the reverence of classical art historians now, these weren’t fine art at the time; they were mass produced, affordable and disposable. In major cities, everyone went to see theatre, and everyone bought, kept, and even collected actor portraits. As theatre seasons and troupes came and went actor portraits came to occupy and kind of cultural value space a lot like American baseball cards in how prestige, rarity, and trading became an entire subculture in and of itself within the sports/theatre community.

Now we see how Japan had created this thriving popular/mass culture, and celebrity culture for itself. And while the notion of a “parasocial relationship” wouldn’t be formulated and explored until the 1950s-60s in the wake of things like Elvis fever and Beetles mania, that brand of one-sided relationship where you as an audience member form a “relationship” with a celebrity that involves collecting information about their heavily curated persona is exactly what japan stumbled into some 300 years earlier. And in fact Japanese pop culture would maintain a lineage of parasocial relationships during the intervening years (in a way the deification and worship of the emperor as a god-king was a kind of parasocial relationship in the way a secular monarch doesn’t quite achieve) So it’s no surprise that when Takarazuka Revue opened in the 1910s as a new modern all-female theatre form, it attracted a familiar old brand of horny theatre audience --one that maintained a very nebulous relationship with the now much more stringent notions of gender and its relation to sexuality.

taking this tangent a little further, Japanese pop culture has always shown this interesting, self-aware approach to the parasocial relationship dynamic that western cultures seems to lack. I remember that when the 1990s put boy bands briefly into the spotlight, the thing that sunk them in the American eye seemed to be this weird sense of betrayal that the boys werent some garage band rags to riches story, and they didnt write their own music, or make their own dance moves, or even sing live at their own concerts. America seemed to be repulsed by this notion of a manufactured pop hit. Japan however (and Korea soon to follow) seemed to thrive in this instead; there was no pretense that J-pop idols weren’t manufactured, and in fact they took pride in the rigors of having been hand picked and raised to stardom --of course they were scouted and trained, because the idol could’ve been any of millions but it was them who got picked, it was them who sang the best, performed the best, climbed the charts, and fought to stay there. Stardom wasn’t an art form, it was a contest, and they were WINNING.

And the manufactured nature of that J-pop idol business model is what gave rise to Hatsune Miku (in fact there were multiple attempts in the 1980s to design and market a wholly fictional pop idol, but if anything they were too ahead of their time and lacked the technology to really sell the idea in its best form) because when your entire product is about making and curating your performers’ public persona, to the extreme level at which them having their own lives actually starts to contradict their stage persona and hurt their marketability... why bother projecting the persona onto a real person? Why not just cut the human component out all together and just market the persona for what it is? And for Japan I think that kind of relationship was one that they were culturally always just a few steps away from being ready to accept anyway, so it just took a little persistence.

Then came the anime waifu thing... Dating sims, and body pillow marriages, etc... and I think the pretty unanimous impulse to turn this into a enormous joke (and lets be real who could blame anyone for that) overlooks what actually happened here: paraosocial relationships in the purest form, with the fleshy middleman removed and with it the lie, not less false but somehow now false yet honest. A bizarre paradox to be sure...

But now lets back this up... Kabuki theatre. Prostitution. The change from women to young boys to men, and the almost hilarious unflappably bisexual audience who embraced it. I don’t think it was a component of sexuality as any historians who have looked at that time period bothered to conceive of it. Because even in an early japanese mass culture scene, the relationship was between the audience and the persona, and not the audience and the actors; The audience was always in love with the characters in their collectible trading prints, with their 15th century waifus, and they paid to have sex with those personas regardless of the bodies or real people involved.

...

okay, so, I typed all that out weeks ago and then just left it in my drafts, not even really intending to come back to it. And now that I’m here, I don’t know that I had a point to this when i went on my drunk rant. But i guess if there was any kind of a take away from this, it’s that I find that people have a lot of trouble separating personal identity from gender, from performance, from social dynamics... and in western culture, especially within recent history/memory, that’s kind of understandably hard to untangle. But historically people’s sexuality and sense of attraction have basically always been based implicitly on attraction to an idea made manifest in a persona first, and a body to match it only secondarily to that;

Society’s abiding dedication to forcing you into a gendered box, and to box gender into a narrow range of performance, is equitable to screeching fans being “in love” with celebrities they’ve never met and convinced that the steady feed of curated marketed personality traits constitute “knowing” those celebrity strangers. The idea that the person and the persona are the same is a lie told to sell product. Gender is just the brand. You’re the rockstar. Fuck marketing.

#long ass rant #who is this even aimed at #what do i even tag this with

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