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postmodernbeliever · 6 months

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stalker - fox mulder x female reader

at the fbi, your job is to watch who you're asked to. but on your own time, you watch fox mulder... and little do you know, he's watching you, too.

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my ao3 | word count: 3,518

content tags: sneaking around, embarrassment, stalking, longing, fox mulder is watching you, you are watching fox mulder, fox is a freak like you, fox likes weirdos, obsessive behavior, suggestive themes, you and fox just kinda eyefuck and nothing happens but god should it, cross-posted on ao3

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they all call him spooky mulder. what a nickname, spooky- even in its mainstream use, it has not lost its effect. there was always something off about him, something unsettling, which piqued your interest. you liked it so much that you paid special attention. it was your nature to keep tabs; you watched him come and go from his basement office, all the while pretending to be down in the gutter of the j. edgar hoover building for any other suspicious reason than taking mental notes on him.

sure, it may sound creepy, but this is your job- this is why the fbi has you on the payroll. you’re what they call “the eyes and ears”, and in a sense, you don’t really have a job. your cover is to work in the filing department, faceless and nameless, and keep things organized as they go off to different sectors. you are the one sending weapons to evidence (or elsewhere) and case files to agents (or not) at the heart of the organization, where you just become the signing-off signature. but that office, where you blend in, is how they use you best. orders directly from the top tell you who to watch and when to come forward with information. but they never assigned you to special agent fox mulder. as was his infamous passion project dubbed the X files, this was your unassigned interest within the bureau- he was your freakish fixation.

you followed his case files as they came to inconclusive endings. you noticed when his hair grew too long. you knew he liked the coffee from the break room by a.d. skinner’s office, but he liked the creamer they kept on the first floor, so he traveled cross-complex to make the cup taste just right. you’d read every report and drowned in his philosophical, metaphysical droning, admiring the prose so overdosed on sleep deprivation and the ramblings of a transcending mind. it was like twisted poetry, how he explained what each case had imparted upon him. the way he viewed sociology, the way he viewed intervention both divine and damned, the manner in which he proposed the forces at play work and how they are ever-changing and insurmountable… god, he really is a genius. everyone may think he’s insane, or that his work is a waste of valuable resources, but fox mulder’s mind was one to be entertained, one to be challenged. to let his power go misrepresented or his purpose go any less than unabated would be a crime (if anyone asked you.)

see, this is why it could be considered weird. you revered him like a deity, unapologetically idolatrous of his brainpower- and from a more internal, girlish yearning, you loved his face. god, that face. you had examined his personal files many times in the safety of your office, tracing invisible lines over the photographs of him; caressing the scrapes and bruises documented from altercations with suspects, drooling over his academy polaroids stashed away from old physical exams. he still looked as young and charming as he did in his old school photos. a young oxford man, beautiful, traumatized, in need of proof. his work demanded his darkest instincts and most disgusting thoughts, and you loved him for it, or at least the idea of what it turned him into. and as far as word travels, fox mulder bars no personality incontinuities. after all the stories of the blood he’s tasted at crime scenes and the horrific pictures of murders and monsters plastered on the walls of his murky office, he was more than just spooky. he was freakish, and uncomfortable, and alluring.

now, fox is no idiot. in fact, to even think your interest was going unnoticed was a major misjudgment of his perceptive abilities; the man is the best analyst in the crime division, for god’s sake. he's never missed a clue. yet somehow, in the midst of your innocent stalking, you’d imagined he never saw you standing in his basement hallway, or mingling in the first-floor break room by the irish cream. naivety never crossed into your work, but it clouded your visions when it came to him. he’d seen you every time, shifty eyes fidgeting with blatant secrecy. when the man who didn’t believe in random events saw you more than once, he began following your lead.

fox mulder kept copies of your personal files on his desk and sifted through them often, trying to get any information on you to substantiate why you paid so much attention to him. aside from his widespread suspicion, he also had a sense for intent, and he felt you were of no harm. even lurking in the shadows, there was a comfort to your presence. that might be his creepy personality being used to unsettling beings, but he didn’t mind. he liked catching you looking. he liked the way your suit jacket never matched your pants, but always somehow coordinated even in clashing patterns. he liked how your hair curled like french fries at the bottom, wide and loose. he liked how your manicured nails were always dark and sharp, and blatantly against bureau policy. fox knew you were as new to the fbi as he, so not new at all, but a child to seasoned agents; he learned of your ridiculous retention of information, and that you read twice the clocked words per minute of the average american. he knew of your graduation from yale and your speedy completion of the academy, as well as your elevated skill for firearms, which immunized you from a majority of field training. he knows about your secret connection, yet not who it’s with, and that it’s ushered you into a disguised deep-level position. in less legal ways of determining, the agent discovered you were the president of your high school’s history club, as well as the chief editor of the newsletter, and your family had a summer cabin on the oregon coast. you were smart, valuable, integral, even- and your talents were being wasted under cover of the monotonous filing department. he knew more than you realized. but even with his disturbing understanding of you, fox couldn’t figure out why it was him you watched- you had no connection to him, no link to his work or anyone who aimed to sabotage it. of all your secrets, he seemed to be the biggest.

you’d never expected anything to come of your little infatuation, but fox mulder didn’t like to let things linger. so when you just so happened to be venturing into the basement for something in the archived evidence room, he went into pursuit. you swiped your key card in the automatic door, and he followed you inside and made sure to close it nice and loud behind you. the lock clicked, causing you to jump out of your skin, and he laughed.

“not a fan of followers, huh?” the man teased.

“you just locked us in here, sir!” you nearly choked. you’d never seen him up close and personal. his shirt was a wrinkled mess, but it looked so nice rolled up on his fair-skinned arms, and his hair was a lot darker in person than it looked in the pictures. so were his eyes.

“sir? no, nobody calls me sir.”

“what should i call you, then?” you groaned.

“agent mulder. spooky mulder. basement boy. whatever floats your boat!”

“well, then, agent mulder,” you elected, “you just locked us in here!”

“is that what you’re worried about? don’t worry, i'm sure agent scully will come down soon enough. or maybe not. maybe you’re stuck in here with me.”

you pivoted and began walking down the first aisle of archives, trying to come up with something to grab to avoid blowing your cover. fox kept at your heels, poking his head playfully into your eyeline.

“looking for something… you?” he inquired.

“that’s agent to you.”

“no name? ooo… spooky,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you suppressed the fluttering in your stomach. you thought in frustration, how dare he make wordplay hot?

“says you.” you negated.

“so you do know me!”

“everyone knows you, agent mulder.”

“oh, sure… but you’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”

you stopped between the alphabetized boxes marked by Hs and Js, biting your tongue. you watched as fox sauntered around to the front of you, leaning nonchalantly against the filing shelf and smirking. his hand raised to wipe his mouth, and you analyzed the rough calluses and ink splotches carving uniqueness into his knuckles. a deep cut rested along his thumbnail down to his wrist. you recognized it as a healed-over wound from an inconclusive case months ago- something he claimed to have involved lizard men.

“i- i’m not sure what you mean.”

“you’ve been following me around, taking note of what i do. i see you every day. sometimes in the break room, sometimes in the bullpen by the car desk, sometimes shooting guns down at the range room on saturdays like i usually am. you’re always… floating around.'' fox mused, running a hand through his thick hair. a few pieces curled agonizingly over the frame of his face, and you felt like dying.

“must be coincidences.”

“you know well as me that there are no such things as coincidences,” fox stated, “there are simply events that occur, and more often than not, they occur causally, or in my case, through spurious correlation, but nobody can ever seem to pinpoint the third invisible factor that links one event to another, except for me.”

“speak english, agent mulder, would you?”

“you’ve been following me, which caused me to notice you, which caused you to pretend you haven’t been, and so forth,” he sighed, “but you know what i’m saying, don’t lie. you’re a yale alumni, graduated summa cum laude with a double major in psychology and international affairs. you’re one of the smartest women in the building. so why are you acting dumb?”

your stomach flipped as he stepped closer to you, leaning down in all his six-foot glory to meet your gaze. swallowing thickly, you shoved your hand in a box labeled CONFISCATED Ka-Kz and fished out the first object you grasped: a bloodied kazoo. wincing in embarrassment, you waved it in his face and grimaced.

“i'm just down here for this.”

“for a murder kazoo.” he deadpanned.

“…yes.”

you turned away and began heading for the door, but a strong palm wrapped around your wrist, halting your stride. fox tugged you back, and you tried to keep your drooling gaze to a minimum at how handsome he looked when he was searching for answers.

“if you tell me what you want from me, i'll let you go.”

“i don't want anything.”

“bullshit,” the agent rolled his eyes, “everyone wants something, agent, even you. you’re a bad liar, you know that? that’s why you’re not under deep cover.”

how little you know, you thought with a smirk. “well, not everyone is made for danger.”

“no. you’re just made for stalking.”

you seized up, “i am not stalking you!”

fox grinned, liking how worked up you were becoming. “then why are you always in the corner of my eye, agent?”

you huffed in desperation, weighing your options. you could,

a) keep lying.

b) tell fox the truth.

c) bang on the locked door and scream until someone saves you from spooky mulder.

none of your options were appealing, but you weren’t getting out of here if you didn’t choose. option A would drag it out, and option C would get him fired, so you only had one path if you wanted to control casualties and your level of embarrassment in one shot.

as he stood patiently waiting, tie so horrendously knotted that it took all your willpower not to tug him down by it, you gave in.

“well, agent mulder, you… you’re interesting.”

“am i?”

“y-yes. you do amazing work. you catch killers. and you… write beautifully.”

fox chuckled softly, “you like my writing? what, are you the one who files my field reports or something?”

now may not be a good time to admit you tweaked the computer system to always assign you files submitted by agents between L and P in the alphabet just to be the sole individual who received fox’s files, so you withheld the truth a bit. it will come back to bite you in the ass when he looks into the signatures on his official paperwork, but oh, well.

“every so often,” is what you settled on. “you have something to say, and you say it like you’ve been contemplating the proper phrasing forever. it’s always so eloquent and intelligent and… fascinating.” you stopped praising him, feeling shame wash over you like a bad shot of vodka.

“well, aren’t you a regular fan?” fox rested his head against the filing shelf, eyes raising to the ceiling. his neck stretched open far enough that you could watch his adam's apple bob as he spoke. “glad to know my conclusions aren’t just the ramblings of a lunatic.”

“quite the opposite, agent mulder.” you blushed.

fox looked back down to you, and his puppy dog eyes bore holes into your cheeks. “i know a lot about you, you know. i know where you went to high school. i know you also use the irish cream for your cup of joe every day. i know you drive that baby blue car out in the garage, with the stupid “honk if you love labs” bumper sticker. but what i don't know, agent, or rather what i can’t figure out, is why you’re working in the filing department when you should be on an analyst team, or why you’re so insistent on following me around work. so, can you enlighten me with the truth?”

the truth. even when encountering you, his true colors show. you would be frustrated if it wasn’t so attractive how he interrogated you.

with a shaky breath as support, you said, “i want to know you.”

“is that all? you just… want to know me?”

“we don't work together. you’re too off-limits. my orders require me to stick to the mundane and watch from afar. but you, agent mulder, you are never mundane. you sit down here every day and crane over horrific cases, imagining the unimaginable, and all in the stuffy confines of a basement office that people would rather die than visit you in. y-you’re terrifying, you’re… fresh air.”

fox would never admit to it, but his entire body experienced pins and needles at the sound of your voice. in the least creepy way possible, you reminded him of the school librarian from his childhood- thin glasses, a loose blouse, and a voice thick and sweet, just how he liked his coffee.

“well, as the resident spooky one around here, i'd say you’re more freakish than me. you’re quite the stalker.”

“that's my business.”

you put the kazoo back in the box, frustrated you even attempted to jeopardize the secrecy of your nature for being down in the basement. fox’s hazel eyes followed your lethal nails as they replaced the object, and he wondered if they hurt when they grazed skin. a part of him really wanted to find out.

the man huffed, “so that’s it? no plans to kill me, or turn me in to the boss for my beliefs?”

“nope. just… watching from a distance.”

“you could watch up close if you wanted to. i could really benefit from someone so smart as you are, and someone who has such a knack for detail,” he teased. “you seem to have a way with words yourself, agent.”

“well, i appreciate the offer, but my hands are full as it is, agent mulder.”

“call me fox.”

in a flustered blackout, you blurted, “but no one calls you fox!” and the agent’s pupils blew wide.

somehow, deep inside, the idea of you knowing his secrets without ever speaking to him turned him on. you were a watcher, and as a profiler he’d even go so far as to call you a creep- a girl with a case of muldermania following his every move and sniffing the air when he walked past. he saw it in how your hands shook before him, how you craned your neck back in submission, how your eyes darted between his eyes and lips with fervor; how you swallowed nothing every five seconds in what he couldn’t discern between fear and anticipation. you had slightly sick motivations, so driven by the feeling his writing gave you and the idea of what it must be like to be inside his mind. and he liked it. he liked being studied, and understood, and having no say in it being done by a pretty girl like you. the man took another step closer this time, and you didn’t budge. this was one of his personal space invasions he’s so famous for- the kind people complain about when they’re put on the job with him. also the kind you’d dreamt of since you learned of his existence beneath the bureau.

“but you do when you think of me, don’t you?” he crooned, knowing how to play you from one freak to another. “when you think of watching me when you’re alone, and how we might interact. you call me fox in that pretty little head of yours, right? so say it.”

“w-well…”

“come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

you licked your lips as the heat of his breath danced across your face, and you flushed. “a-as much as i'd love to stay and talk, i have my obligations. not everyone is at your whim, fox.”

in a hormonal lapse, fox let out a soft, “mmm,” and flashed his adorable grin for you to fuss over. “that's too bad, then.”

“but,” you interrupted, “if you ever need, um, proofreading… or help, i can- you can, uh, maybe leave me a note? or something?”

“on your desk? in the filing department, right? in that office with the blue walls and the photograph of you and your chocolate lab, the one who inspired your bumper sticker, agent?” fox revealed, showing his intellectual hand.

with a dry mouth, you mustered a meek, “yeah, that’s the one.”

“good. maybe i'll spray it with my cologne, so you can savor the moment.”

“excuse me?” you squeaked.

“come on, agent,” fox winked, “just a joke. unless you’d like that, y’know, i won’t judge.”

and of course you would. he smelled like dust and paper, with a little sugar left from the coffee he drinks, and a little smoke from the candles he lights when they turn the lights off on him overnight in that dark hole of an office.

“you live up to your name, spooky mulder,” you bit your lip.

“so do you,” fox agreed, “what would we do without our eyes and ears?”

“… what did you just say?” you could barely muster a voice.

“you heard me.”

fox slipped a hand in his suit pant pocket and revealed your business card- not the filing office one, but for your cover. you have no idea how he’d gotten one, because the only place you keep them is in the locked safe beneath your desk. you were in bold, with your full name, position, boss, and reserved extension line. you thought of fox breaking into your office at night- while you were at home having dreams you’d never admit to- and sifting through your belongings, touching all that was yours, cracking open your secrets. you shuddered as he placed the card gently in your hand, his fingers trailing against the veins at the center of your wrist, where he could feel your pulse hammering.

the man slid past you in a split second, heading for the evidence room door and jiggling the handle upwards. when it unlocked, he shot a premeditated glance towards your mortified face and said, “somebody ought to get this fixed. see you around, agent.”

just about shaking, you stood in the aisle, dizzy from the sound of his departure and how every word fell from his lips with such intention. after a moment of weakness in which you let yourself lean against the filing shelf and catch your breath, you straightened out your blazer and made for the door. when you came into the hallway, you saw spooky mulder standing in his doorframe, thumbing through a file with his silver-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. you turned quickly towards the stairs and left him to his devices, those being the file that was full of pictures of you.

all this time admiring from afar made you feel like a fool. now you were stuck with a lingering conversation and the overwhelming urge to visit the archives again, because someone downstairs had his eye on you. he knew you by way of his own eyes and ears, and there are a few things that aren’t in your files he’d like to learn.

and to think you were the stalker!

#Spotify #spooky mulder #x files #fox mulder #dana scully #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder smut #fox mulder fluff #fox mulder x you #fox mulder x reader fluff #something between smut and fluff idk #obsessive love #stalker #msr fanfic #msr #sculder

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paperstarwriters · 2 years

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A Little Game of Tag

Shy!Muriel x Shy!Reader

Warnings: lots of kisses, extreme fluff, a few hickies and shyness to a frankly ridiculous extent. It's kinda silly but I think its cute :3

Summary: You want to kiss Muriel, but you're too embarrassed to do it normally. Unfortunately (Fortunately?) he is too. In an attempt to get used to giving and receiving kisses, it all blooms into a silly little game between the two of you.

Inspired by @vivifromnowhere in their post asking for a shy MC to go with Muriel

[A/N]: Look, look. I intended to post this a lot sooner but I struggled a lot with the ending lol Idk. I might go back in and change it? Or maybe I'll just write a different version for the ending or something Idk... Anyways, as mentioned in the Warnings, the fic is kinda silly, but I think it's cute lol.

Masterlist | The Arcana Masterlist

Word count: 8,277

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It didn't start out this way.

In the beginning of your relationship when Lucio was just recently defeated, it had taken a lot of courage for you to manage pressing a kiss against his skin. You did so once when you first celebrated the battle, and he kissed you back with enough longing in his touch that you could have sworn that the people around you could feel the heat radiating from your face. Luckily for the both of you the crowd and the chaos of their celebration quickly tore your attention away, but you couldn't stop thinking about how it had felt to kiss him.

You just really, really, really wanted to kiss him again. Only, you weren't sure if you would be able to manage walking again if he kissed you back the way he did then.

So, you came up with a simple solution. All you needed to do, was kiss him and scurry away before he could kiss you back. You'd make up some excuse as well. Some reason to leave so that you wouldn't have to linger on the feeling of his lips on yours and so he wouldn't have the chance to chase you down.

...not like that wasn't enticing. But you don't think you'd be able to survive any of that afterwards. If you didn't spontaneously combust from the contact, you'd probably end up as a molten puddle on the ground.

Plus! You didn't want to pressure Muriel or anything either. He blushed with just about as much ferocity and heat as you did. If you couldn't survive this you didn't want to press the burden onto him. That was a valid excuse wasn't it? You were being considerate of Muriel's boundaries too!

Surely over time you'd eventually grow used to it, you'd grow more courageous with your kisses and you'd be comfortable enough to accept kisses from him. ...That's what you told yourself at least.

You followed your initial plan to a tee, pressing a kiss against his cheek and feeling the warmth bloom under the scrutiny of your lips. And then you pulled away and scurried out of reach, mentioning something about leaving to do something. You didn't expect your mind to be so frazzled amidst your escape, and so you weren't sure if you had said that you'd feed the market or go shop at the chickens. Either way it was blatant nonsense, and—even worse—as time went on you were getting no more used to these kisses.

Every time you pulled away, Muriel fixed you with the most agonized expression he could manage amidst the red of his face, futilely reaching to grab you before you slipped away. More than once you've considered lingering by his side in order to appease his desperate longing. More than once did the burn of embarrassment, and the sudden agonizing ache in your chest drive you away from his reach.

Since your attempts to cool that burn of embarrassment had since failed, you considered whether or not you wanted to continue for a while. It was something you had been pondering as you sat with Muriel by the fireplace. He was carving something out of wood, and you were... Well, you were trying to read over some magic text Nadia had lent you from her expansive library, but you were too stuck in your head to really focus on any of the words. Apparently he had been pondering over something as well.

"Do... Do you not like it when I kiss you?" he asked, tearing you away from your thoughts.

And just like that, your fluttering heart dropped from your chest. "I—what? No! No, no. I just—I wanted to practice kissing and all because the last time we kissed I swear I was about to pass out and—not in a bad way though, I just felt really inexperienced and you know that I struggle a bit sometimes and it's in the kind of same way that you do, I swear but I just— I didn't mean—"

Muriel leans towards you as you ramble, and just as you're about to apologize he presses the most tender fluttering kiss against your forehead, evaporating any and all thoughts with the heat he ignited on your face. Something was pressed into your hand as he did but you were too busy trying to keep your brain from evaporating that you couldn't tell what it was or why he gave it to you.

Far too soon, he pulled away. His face seemed as bright as yours was warm, the pink reaching all the way up from the tips of his ears and down to his neck and chest. Instinctively you reached out towards him, but he slipped away from your reach and scrambled for the door, just barely managing to toss an excuse before he left.

"I'm— I'm going to go get more wood!"

And just like that you were alone by the crackling fire. You wanted to raise your hand, cover your face to hide the shock and embarrassment, hide the warmth that radiated off of you, and just hide in general, but his carving sat heavily in your hand and although you still felt dizzy, you chanced a glance down at it.

A tiny little bear statue holding a tiny little heart. It looked like he was going to carve something into the heart, some words or something, but it remained unfinished.

If you had to guess, you'd imagine the word was "sorry"

You're glad he didn't finish that. You didn't want him to be sorry for kissing you.

Kissing you... He had kissed you....

The idea was still settling into your mind, and after you carefully dropped the carving somewhere in your lap and away from the fire, you hid yourself behind your hands and died. Soul withering away from the heat of your blush.

And that was how it all started.

You'd be passing by and you'd give Muriel a quick kiss to his cheek or to his forehead if you could reach it, and you'd scamper away before he was able to grab you.

And of course, Muriel would do the same to you.

You don't know why, nor do you know how, but your little method to train yourself to give and receive kisses quickly bloomed into a little game of tag filled with furious blushing, tampered down with soft giggles and featherlight chuckles. And sometimes if you were particularly surprised or surprising, or if you had just narrowly escaped, there would be loud laughter, and a race to the door. It became the sign of your escape. If you managed to get out the door you were free, left alone as the other glared on, sometimes pouting, or sometimes looking starved. In the forest, rules were a little more lax. Usually you'd let each other scurry off until they were out of sight, but sometimes if a chase ensued and getting out of Muriel's sight seemed nigh impossible you'd have to be the one to reach the hut first.

It was silly and fun, and it made the game comfortable to play.

It didn't stop you from blushing though. It didn't seem to stop him either, his cheeks still tinted pink with every kiss you pressed against his skin.

And then months into your little game, when you had once managed to kiss him twice before your great escape, Muriel had mentioned how unfair it had been when at the start of your game, you had kissed him so many times and how he never really got the chance to get you back for that.

At the time you had laughed and insisted that he was kissing you more than you did to him, but Muriel didn't seem to agree.

"What, do you want me to just sit here and take it?" you had so foolishly asked.

Comparable to the look of longing Muriel had given you so long ago, a dark look of temptation crossed his reddening face. If he wanted you to sit stock still for him to kiss you all over he had successfully already frozen you in place.

Instead he coughs a little and looks away his lips wobbling around his words, but taking no heat away from their meaning.

"No... I... I had something else in mind...."

He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear, his lips just barely fluttering against the warming flesh.

Your brain was roasting over the fire of your face, and you were certain your heart had just beat free from your chest. By pure habit alone you reached out to grab him, but with a red face and an alarmed but gleeful look in his eye, Muriel escaped your grasp and ran outside, something about watering the firewood only barely thrown over his shoulder.

Left on the floor of the hut you once again curled up and died.

You weren't exactly sure what you'd call it after that point. Better? Or Worse? On the one hand, these kisses felt fantastic. Pressed up against sensitive skin and always followed by a look so tender and sweet that you were pinned in place an left unable to even move. Save, of course, for your arm feebly reaching out with no true ability to grab him. On the other hand you were struggling to press even a few kisses into those very same spots.

Needless to say Muriel had quickly made up whatever amount he was missing and more, over the next few weeks with every kiss he'd press against your shoulder or neck, or once even on the inside of your wrist. And with each kiss, you had been left stunned and frozen in place, only ever able to stare him down longingly as you reached to grab him, your legs too liquefied to try to chase after him. Even the memory of those kisses alone had hurt you so horribly that it took you far longer to plot how to kiss him back before you could actually work up the nerve to do so, and by then he'd have already attacked a new spot against your skin and unleashed a new fog upon your mind.

Muriel had begun to enjoy his newfound power and he grew bolder with his kisses, satisfied with the look you'd give him and how you'd weaken at the feel of it. He blushed back brightly in turn, but you could see the look of delight on his face as he watched the effect he had on you take hold.

You were half driven by spite when you went to get him back.

Waiting and watching, you sat with a keen attention on Muriel even if you never directly looked his way. Silently, pretending to be immersed and slightly frustrated (so that you wouldn't seem suspicious for not moving much) with a passage in your book and you awaited for a golden opportunity.

Muriel was working on some small project using plants to colour the wood of his carvings. He had explained it in depth before, but he had done so after coming back inside, from kissing you along your neck. From the pleased look he gave you as he explained, you knew that he knew you picked up none of it. Whether it was because he wanted to watch your reactions, or because he wanted you to ask him about it again or something, you'd never really know. All you knew was that you had an excuse to talk to him about it now.

So you did. You asked what he was working on, and though he teased you a little for not remembering what he told you before, he was quick and eager to explain the project to you, and in reply you gave your own ideas. He was aiming to replicate some of the painted carvings he saw from some other scattered members of the Kokhuri that you met in your travels. Many had mentioned how they used newer or different herbs than what was traditional due to the new lands that they wandered along, and many others mentioned how technically it was traditional to use what was available. Swept up in his excitement, you mentioned herbs you had read about recently that might be useful not only in colour, but also for their magic content, and you offered to go to the market to fetch some herbs that might not currently available in the forest, but were familiar to Vesuvia.

And little by little Muriel's attention was torn between you and his project. Which, admittedly, was not what you were planning. You thought he would have focused a bit more on the project because you were mentioning it, you hoped he would have looked to that more, but instead he was turning to you, eager to hear of your contributions and things you had researched before.

So when the opportunity finally arose, when he finally lingered looking at the herbal concoctions he was working on more than he was looking at you, even for a few moments, you seized the opportunity.

It was a kiss to the column of his neck. Just like what he had given you plenty of times in the past... Only.... In your haste, your kiss had been a little sloppier than you had intended. Your teeth had brushed against his sensitive skin, and your tongue had gotten a taste of his skin. You practically bit him, and in reply, Muriel made a sound, torn between a moan and a whimper.

Shocked, you pulled away prepared to apologize for your roughness while also ready to scramble away from him. Torn between the two you froze, no words coming from your mouth as you stared at him, just as frozen in place as you were, staring at you with a beet red face, wearing an expression that you could call awe or horror. You would have liked to say it silent between you, but between the rapid beating of your heart in your ears, and your heavy breaths matched by his own, it felt much to loud instead.

He made no attempt to grab you as you fled.

No, his attempt was far more comparable to a bear hug. One you only barely dodged as you fell back onto your butt and scrambled away, faced with that intoxicating look of desire the entire way of your graceful exit out. You didn't manage to make any excuse as you slipped past the door, and hid against the outside wall. There was no way you were going to do anything anyways with the way your heart was still beating furiously or by the way your legs had refused to work for you again.

Hell, all you wanted to do in that moment was walk back in and see what'd happen if you pressed a kiss back onto the spot that you had bit, like an apology, or maybe even somewhere else along his neck, like along his collarbones or at the swell of his throat, or maybe to the his ear where he had kissed you before. Maybe that sort of tender spot, right behind his ear. You've heard some stories talk about kissing people there. Wasn't that a vulnerable part? How would it feel.... Your own fingers trail up to brush against the soft skin imagining the feel of his lips brushing against your skin.

...You could understand how he had gotten so swept up in kissing you again and again in these tender spots. It was addicting. Even just thinking about it. Where you wanted to press your next kiss, where you wanted to target him again, you couldn't stop thinking about it.

Even now you were tempted to slip back in and give him another kiss.

Gods, you really wanted to though. You wanted to kiss him again and again and again and again. You wanted to kiss him with those chaste tender kisses pressed against his cheeks and forehead again, you wanted to kiss up and down his throat, along the line of his collarbones, on his shoulders. Everywhere. You wanted to kiss him everywhere.

But your heart was still racing and your legs were far too shaky to walk with, so at the most, all you managed was a feeble glance around the corner of the door, looking back inside.

Muriel sat with his face buried in his hands. What little patches of skin were visible, namely his ears and his neck, were coloured a red so bright he nearly looked like he was glowing. Inanna sat nearby, nearly rolling her eyes as she watched him, clearly already long used to the both of your shenanigans. She didn't look concerned at the very least so you were certain Muriel's reaction wasn't anything bad.

Inanna saw you first, and you were certain she had mentioned something through her familial bond with Muriel, because he splayed his fingers and glanced your way, and fixed you once more with the most starved look you have ever seen on his face. It didn't last long though. The look of hunger was quickly overpowered by embarrassment and back he buried himself into his hands his face somehow becoming an even brighter red.

The embarrassment felt contagious and you quickly yanked yourself back behind the corner. Inanna's unimpressed "whuff" was loud enough even from where you sat.

You wanted to kiss him more. To go back in and kiss him again, and again, and again, and yet you sat outside trying to shoo the warmth from your face and fight the urge to bang your head against the wall.

It took almost an entire day before the game started up again.

Although you still felt wobbly from the memory of your little nibble, you still managed to press a simple kiss against Muriel's cheek. Though it made him jolt a little from the contact and blush furiously, Muriel was more than coherent enough to attempt to grab you. And though your legs still trembled a little, you were more than capable enough of dodging. You wouldn't exactly say you were 'coherent' though.

Filled with the need to just smother him in kisses you had every chance to just stand still and let yourself be caught by Muriel. Find out what he'd do to you if he caught you. Find out what you'd do to him if you stayed.

And yet you still dodged and evaded. You still ran. Why? You didn't know. Out of habit perhaps, or out of a desire not to loose this endless game, or maybe out of a still lingering feeling of embarrassment. Which is right? You don't think you'd be able to tell, but as you slip once more out of the hut, you find the urge to change the game somehow. You wanted to, but you weren't exactly sure how you'd do so.

Over the next few days, the game went on without any change. Besides, perhaps, the combination of those sweet kisses along your cheek or forehead as well as a few along your neck or against your ear. It had you absolutely spinning with every kiss and telling by the way Muriel looked at you, it did for him too.

Sometimes, there would be simple mundane moments where he'd lean in for a kiss and suddenly he'd press one against some sensitive patch of skin slipping away as you'd squawk at him and flailed around with no real attempt to grab him. Other times there would be moments that had the both of you blushing so hard the heat rivalled that of the fireplace, and you'd lean in for a kiss almost aiming for the neck or some other sensitive spot, only to press one quickly to his cheek and pull away before he realized what you had done. Muriel tended to pout for a while after that, which only made you quicker to land another kiss onto his skin.

Eventually, of course, Muriel had kissed you back. Just before bed when he was preparing to get some more firewood, he pressed a kiss against your neck and with more purpose than you had when you kissed him, he grazed his teeth ever so slightly against the tender flesh—and even went so far as to give you a little bite, pulling away before coherent thought could re-enter your mind. Left alone in the bed, you sat there blushing for what felt like several hours, and when Muriel eventually returned to the hut, and returned to your side, all you could do was bury your face in his chest.

It felt both safe and exposing, but above all else it felt warm, growing even warmer still from Muriel's own rising blush.

Even after all this time, it was a little embarrassing to share a bed, but more than anything else, it was familiar. It reminded you of when the both of you were first struggling to open up to each other, of days in frost laden forests when sleeping together was needed to keep yourselves alive in the night while you slept.

Familiarity and warmth were plenty enough to help you relax, easily luring you to sleep.

Though, just before you slipped away into unconscious, Muriel planted another kiss to your forehead. In the sleepy state you were in, you couldn't even manage to reach for him.

In the sleepy state you were in you didn't even realize you were already holding him.

On and on and on the game went.

Even if you'd never know where his next kiss would land, you couldn't help but feel like your little game had reached a stalling point. It wasn't necessarily as a bad thing, but you could feel your hesitation in moving forward seem to permeate your every kiss. In a way you supposed that it did, because your eyes had such a nasty habit of straying.

You wanted to kiss him.

Your lips pressed against his, you wanted the world-ending kiss he gave you those many weeks ago. A kiss that could drown the noise from the crowd, and bring the world to a halt. The kiss that had asked for so much while giving with equal measure.

The kiss you had started this entire game for.

You wanted to kiss him.

If your urges were obvious Muriel made no indication of knowing, so you sat and stewed in your feelings for as long as you could manage. Muriel kissed you many times in the span of your thoughts tearing every thought in your mind to shreds each time, but you couldn't bring yourself to kiss him back when all you wanted to do was to kiss him and feel just how soft his lips were against your own.

You... You could now though, couldn't you?

You've kissed him so many times and he's kissed you so many more times back. Sure, you've always needed to back away for some space but you could do that now too right? You could just kiss him like it was a part of the game, and then eventually you'd work up the courage to linger to maybe give you a kiss in return, or to allow you to kiss him over and over and over again. Or even for longer.

And you'd be able to do it without being so... Embarrassed.... Without feeling the need to escape or hide.

...Right?

A sudden weight beside you on the bed tore you away from your thoughts. Although he had sat down slowly, the shift in the weight and how close he was sitting still managed to make you nearly tip over onto his lap. You had just barely managed to adjust and lean away but it still had you a little flustered regardless.

Muriel on the other hand didn't seem to notice. He didn't look your way, as he sat, instead staring off into the distance before his eyes eventually sank onto the floor. Though you could only see his profile you could tell he was worried, brows drawn and furrowing together, and his lips torn between slipping beneath his teeth and curling into a pout.

When he finally did look at you, it was with that same anguished look he made when you first started your little game.

"Are you okay?"

Although confused you nodded. Did you not seem okay? Did something happen? Were you supposed to not be okay?

Muriel continued, "it's just.... It's been a while... Since...." You were going to scramble for all the things you hadn't done in a while, but the redness in his cheeks and his hesitance already made you suspect— "You haven't really... Kissed... me for awhile. Even if I've been.... Kissing.... you..... Are you.... Is everything okay?"

Had it really been so long?

"I'm fine! I'm—I've just been thinking a lot about... Some things." An understatement perhaps, but even as you said it, your eyes betrayed you, wandering and flickering to his lips, half chewed in worry and half twisted into a worried pout. They looked tender and sore, wouldn't a nice little kiss make them feel a bit better...?

"Are you....... Is there something wrong...?" he continued to press. "If there's a problem I could try and help."

Again he bit his lip and you watched half entranced as his teeth sank into the plushness of his lower lip. It truly looked so soft. You just wanted to...

Your eyes snapped back up to his, meeting the full force of his worry and concern.

If you could just muster up the courage, you could wipe that look clean off of his face, you could press your lips against his and ease any worries he had had. Make up for all the lost time that you had spent not kissing him. And maybe you'd stay too.

Of course, kissing away problems didn't really fix them.

You stood from the bed, and Muriel watched you go, the concern in his eyes deepening until you smiled.

"I'm fine. Really Muriel I was just... I was kinda caught up in thinking about.... In, uh, thinking about your... Kisses."

Once again, his concern grew stronger.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No! No, I don't— I mean, not really. But that's not in a bad sense of any sort or anything I just—I mean—! You know how we run away......? Ah, no but that isn't the point, I don't want to stop kissing you and I don't want you to stop kissing me I swear I really—"

You could see it this time. Watching him so closely as you rambled you saw how he leaned in, prepared to kiss your throat or your cheek or something in the vicinity.

But you also saw his smile. Small and tiny, you wondered just how many times a kiss against your skin had included his smile pressed against you.

Kissing you made him happy. He loved you. He loved kissing you.

In a burst of confidence, you beat him to the punch, and kissed him before he could kiss you. Your lips pressed against his, the world-ending kiss you had so desired.

There was the smallest little gasp against your lips before he relaxed a little, and if you lingered any longer maybe he would have leaned in and returned the kiss to you. But your face was growing hot and you were getting dizzy, and whether by habit, by embarrassment, or by a need to stick to your original plan, your legs itched with the urge to run. So you pulled back, and you skittered away once more.

It wasn't a far distance between the bed and the door and in any other circumstance you might have been able to make it in only a few steps.

But he called you, and you hesitated.

“No, no please. Don’t leave.”

The sound of his voice was so nearly a whine, practically begging you to return to his side, killing the urge to run before you could make even a full step away. It was just a moment's hesitation, just a second, but that's all he needed.

And for the first time since the start of your little game, you were caught.

His hand caged your wrist first, keeping you from moving any further. Then, with his free hand as quick as the first, he grabbed you just above your elbow and pulled. With two hands it made it easier to hold you down, prevent any chance of escape. With two hands it made it easier for him to yank you back towards the bed, back to his embrace, and most importantly, back to his lips on yours.

It was your turn to gasp at the contact. Your turn to melt as his arms snaked around you, one around your waist, and another cradling your head, caging you against him as if to keep you from escaping again.

As if you could escape, with the feeling of his lips on yours making you melt against him.

As if you wanted to escape.

Trapped against his chest, with no ability nor will to escape, you could do nothing but reciprocate everything he was giving you even amidst the dizzying feeling of warmth that permeated your face and chest.

It was strange; even though you were still blushing madly, even though your mind was melting in your skull, you couldn't help but feel calm and relaxed under the scrutiny of Muriel's lips against yours.

There was no panic, no concern worry or fear. There was just you and Muriel kissing each other, and relishing in the feelings that such a tender kiss could bring. He loved you, and you loved him. So, so much. And with the gentle caress of his lips against yours, you could feel it. You could feel how hungry he was for your affection, and you could feel how much he was trying to give in turn. Hopefully he could feel you too. How much you wanted this, how much you loved him, how much you adored every moment you spent with him and every kiss you had pressed against his skin.

So caught up in the kiss, you had almost forgotten to breathe. Thankfully Muriel didn't, and when he pulled away, you managed to gasp as he pressed his lips back down against your skin.

His hands slipped from their hold on you to wrap around your waist burying you in a hug as he spattered kisses against your cheek, trailing down towards your neck. With every kiss you could feel his certainty, retracing every kiss he’s lovingly planted on you before with the added calm and languid motions that more time allowed. He nibbles along your neck even more, toeing the line of biting you as his teeth sank almost teasingly into your skin. Not enough to hurt or even make a mark, just enough to know it was there. It made you whine, just a little, and that made him do it even more.

And amidst it all, he watched you. With eyes wide open, only fluttering closed to savour your reactions or the taste of your skin, all with a small giddy smile slowly growing wider and wider on his lips.

It didn’t take long before you were cupping his cheek and trying to guide him away from you, eager to have a taste of your own. At first he pouted, not wanting to be separated from your skin, but the pout quickly vanished as you leaned in and pressed your own kisses against his neck and chest.

It was easier than you expected, although… perhaps you had just been over-thinking things, or perhaps you truly had been able to get used to his kisses at least on some level…

Or perhaps it was just him. Muriel, the very same cause of your rapid heartbeat, was also what made kissing him and sticking around to kiss him more easy.

You knew Muriel. And even more than that, you knew that he loved you, and you knew that you loved him.

This… this was just another way to show that wasn’t it? Gently biting at his neck enough to make him whine, and then kissing over the tiny injury as if apologizing for hurting him, even if he loved the feeling. Spattering kisses over his chest, tracing scars big and small with the faintest brush of your lips against his skin, kissing his shoulders, broad and scarred, and kissing the tips of his ears as if trying to encourage the red of his blush to spread all the way there. Spattering kisses all over his face again, atop his eyelids and on his nose, around his lips, teasing him with the offer of another chance for him to kiss you…. That was all just a form of showing love, wasn’t it?

And when Muriel pulled you back him, cupped your cheek with the calloused pads of his fingers and palm, so gently pulling you in to slot his lips against yours and kiss you with the agonizing hunger of a man who’s been teased and deprived of this for months—that was just a means of showing love as well, wasn’t it?

It was... Just an expression of love and you didn't need to be overthinking or—

Muriel pulled away from you, and despite everything, you pouted at the loss of contact, digging your fingers into whatever fabric or flesh you could get a hold of, fully expecting him to try and run away. In reply, Muriel held you just as tight, pressing his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're shaking," he whispered. "Are you okay?"

Oh.

... Were you okay? You felt dizzy and you didn't think you'd be able to stand after this, just collapse into a pile of very warm goo. Yet, even despite that you could still feel the overwhelming urge to pull him back in and answer with another kiss. Could you actually survive that if you did? All those other kisses had felt so good... If you kissed him again would you have the same clarity he had to eventually pull away?

"Ah. Uh... It's... Nerves. I'm just... I feel both so excited and so nervous at the same time!" you squeaked out the last bit, biting your lips to try and hide the grin from crawling up your face.

Watching Muriel's face go red, and the corners of his lips wobble you wouldn't be surprised if he was trying to hide the very same thing.

“I...Me too," he confessed, chewing a little at his lip. "I... I've wanted this for so long."

"really?"

You couldn't help it at that point. No matter how much you bit your lips you could already feel the ache in your cheeks at the force of your smile. As his eyes darted up and down, glancing at your lips before darting back up to your eyes, he was quickly succumbing to the same fate.

"Y-yeah. Ever since our kiss in the colosseum... Your idea was better though."

"You had a plan too?"

"... Mhm... I was... I was going to try and practice by kissing you while you were... asleep—or at least really, really busy. Just... Sometime when you wouldn't notice or something." At this point you didn't think Muriel's face could get any redder from his blush, but as his eyes fluttered shut and he began to chew his lip, still smiling a little despite his embarrassment. "I was trying to figure out a different plan though since I wanted to know..." For a moment he faltered, his eyes fluttering open to look at you, his embarrassment growing stronger under your scrutiny. "...I wanted to know if you liked it."

Oh. You doubted that your face could get any warmer either, but you still pulled yourself back a little attempting to shield your face from his scrutiny with your hands. Similarly, Muriel was turning away, and hiding his face behind the crook of his arm, still determined to keep one hand around your waist as if he still worried that you'd still try to run away.

"well..." You peeked out from behind your hands, seeking Muriel's attention to try and gauge his reaction. Feeling you shift in his arms he did the same. "I uh... Feel kind of bad now. I always just assumed but...did you like it?"

Muriel's eyes grew wide.

Suddenly, even if Muriel had given you the most pleading and starved look with every kiss you gave him, even if he reached out to you after every kiss—even if he had returned your kisses after some time, and even if you still had the his gift of a little bear holding a heart in your possession—you couldn't help the instinctual fear that maybe, just maybe—

"I loved it," he whispered. Then softer, pressing himself against your neck instead of his arm, "...I love you."

You squeaked at the feeling quickly sputtering out your reply. "Me too—I mean, I love you too! And it! I loved the kisses— I loved your kisses. I just..."

Muriel pulls back, that wobbly look of worry and concern settling back on his face all over again as if he had felt something amiss in the pulse along your neck. With all the patience you've ever given him and more, Muriel waits for you dragging his hand up to your cheek, and waiting for words to eventually bubble free. He heard that you wanted to say something, now he's just waiting for you to say it. Only, you don't think you have anything to say.

For once, you don't think words can solve your problem.

You lean closer towards Muriel, offering yourself in the silent little way he did just moments ago. Without a single sound, he knows what you're saying loud and clear. His eyes grow wide at the notion, before they settle back into that starved look he had been taunting you with. In the same way you had bridged the gap between you, Muriel now did the same, crowding into you until he was tipping you onto the bed—until the both of you were lying side by side. Though Muriel held you close to keep you from escape, you held him close in hopes that he'd be able to feel what you could not say. That he'd be able to feel the rapid beat of your heart, or the lax nature of your muscles, or how comfortable you feel slotting yourself up against him, or how you can't help your wandering hands or—

Something knocks against your side a few times, hitting your back and ribs hard, before it scrambles on top of you barking all the way. Black fur crowds your space, and as Muriel squawks at the intrusion, you nearly tumble off the bed from your surprise, if not for Muriel's arm still wrapped around you.

Partly fueled by shock, and partly fueled by the strange one sided argument Muriel was having with Inanna as she wormed her way between the both of you, you began to laugh. You could feel Muriel's hold on you tighten just a little at the sound, and as you peered over the mass of black fur that sat between you, you could see the tiniest little smile on his lips, growing wider with every glance your way. Gods this was ridiculous. But...The whole thing was ridiculous, wasn't it?

Eventually Inanna settles herself in the centre of your hug, and though Muriel sighs at the interruption he's still smiling as well. It's an uphill battle to stomp down the corners of his mouth to convey his irritation to his familiar—an animal with an emotional and magical link with him—but he fruitlessly tries regardless, eyes snapping to you every so often, crumbling his attempts each time, while his cheeks grow even pinker with every passing glance.

It takes you a moment, far too distracted by his teeth sinking into his lips and the wonky curve of his lips, but Inanna had been talking to Muriel, and apparently she was mentioning something about you... Or well, the both of you.

"She's...she's telling us to get a room."

As if contagious, your own face picks up warmth, and you promptly find yourself fighting the same battle against your smile. On the one hand, you couldn't help the giddiness of your sucess, of being able to kiss Muriel so much, of that overwhelming sense of love that you could finally convey to not only him, but apparently everyone in the room. On the other hand... Embarrassment burned thickly across your face and shoulders, wedging itself down your throat where it had failed to burn.

Had the both of you been doing too much? Did it seem too... Too much to an outside eye? Was it something you shouldn't have done? Should you have asked Inanna to leave? Your mind spins with possibilities and confusion only adding to the disorienting state that your embarrassment was already granting you, any and all attempts at glancing Muriel's way in an attempt for help failed miserably as the two of you either quickly averted your eyes, or you both lingered on each other, the look of longing and delight somehow making you both feel worse.

Feel worse, and yet embarrassingly hungry to be even closer once more. Muriel still held you, albeit much more loosely with Inanna now between you, but he still held you and didn't seem intent to ever let you go.

Eventually, Muriel clears his throat and refocuses his attention on Inanna, visibly trying and failing to keep his eyes from flickering back to you.

"You could've gone outside yourself you know You don't have to stick around and... And watch."

In the most offended manner you've ever seen from a wolf Inanna whips around to stare you down silently asking with her bright eyes and pointed stare if you agreed as well. Not trusting your own voice, or your control over your lips you nodded furiously, hiding your smile behind your hand. You couldn't help it. Even amidst the embarrassment, Muriel's fingers dug into your hip, a distraction and a reassurance at once.

Inanna stares at the both of you for a moment, before she lets out a grouchy whuff, absolutely glaring the both of you down, before she finally slips from between you. In the same way water fills any given gap, Muriel pulls you back towards him, closing the distance between you, before Inanna promptly begins to separate you once more. Biting at your clothes she tries to drag you out of bed, drag you away from Muriel, though she's quick to rectify her mistake when she jumps back onto the bed and begins to furiously headbutt Muriel from behind.

In that manner, silent even to Muriel, save for her grunts and whuffs, Inanna herds the both of you towards the door, and proceeds to headbutt the door open when she decides that the two of you take far too long to open it yourself.

Ah..... When had it started raining?

Thick as a curtain, the downpour looks as if the hut had suddenly been relocated beneath a waterfall. And it's noisy too. Even if you had closed the door, the thud of rain against the stone and wood and the trees all created a cacophony of noise near impossible to ignore. And yet, so...preoccupied...you managed just that.

Your blush returns with a vengeance, though you aren't even sure if it had ever left in the first place, and in an attempt to maybe escape the heat, you step out into the coldness, reaching out into the rain. It's as heavy as it looks, only a hint lighter than the force of a waterfall. Despite that, standing beneath the tree, you remain protected from the downpour. A tree alone wouldn't have been able to protect you, but one enchanted, with carvings around it's trunk and charms dangling from its branches, it's doing it's best. Still, it's a pretty feeble protection, perhaps you could improve it somehow. You let your mind wander for a few minutes thinking of improvements you could add to the enchantments. Things that you've learned about that could be used next time downpour this heavy occurred, however rare it may be.

Just about to share your plans with Muriel, when the door slammed behind you. Both of you you spun around in horror mind racing between confusion and fear. Was that the wind or did—

You catch sight of him before you can even make your assumption.

Staring at the very same door as you Muriel looks far more betrayed than you had felt, his cheeks still pink tinted despite it. On the other side, Inanna barks loudly. In reply Muriel groans, and though he has no one to hide from Muriel covers his blush with a hand.

"She says she'd let us back in when we cool off."

....Oh.

Whatever progress you had made at cooling yourself off dissipates at Muriel's—or well, Inanna's—words. Even if it was true, even if the heat between the both of you had been.... Well..... Even then.... Your mind flooded once more. What had it looked like? Did you really seem so ravenous? You felt so but did it really look that much like...? Or did Inanna just have enough of the both of your nonsense? No, no surely it couldn't have been that... Right? She wouldn't just kick you out of the hut and lock the door without....? Speaking of, did Inanna even lock the door? Sure it was magic activated and she could have, but you didn't see the glow or—

"Are you okay? You're shivering."

Warm arms pull you into an even warmer chest, once more holding you tight against him, resting his face on the top of your head. Pressing a kiss into your hair.

Another kiss...

One you could return.

Or well, try to at least. When you tried to turn in his arms shuffling a little to try not to step on his toes in the process, Muriel only held you tighter against his chest still expecting you to try and run away. You couldn't exactly blame him for that though. If it were you, you'd probably do the same.

Instead, you revel a little in the warmth and the possessive little squeeze he gives you when you finally settle down, the second kiss he gives you, this time pressed to the very tip of your ear, taking the chance to enjoy it while he can't see your face, and the odd expression you surely have there. And yet you still itch to return his kisses in some way. With no other area of his body easy to access for you, you slip your hands up to one of his own, trying to coax it from it's grip around you and into your own hand, where you could raise it up to your lips, and press a kiss to his pulse, or his palm, or his calloused fingers or...

You can feel Muriel's grip grow ever so slightly tighter against you, keeping your back flush against his chest and letting you feel how he seems to grow warmer and warmer with every kiss. But with every caress you give him, and every kiss you plant on his arms and hands, Muriel readily gives you another to your ears or the top of your head, or your cheeks or your neck or your shoulders or....

With his arms looser around you now, you took the chance to turn back towards him, immediately burying yourself against his chest and pressing a kiss there, regardless of his shirt. You tried to hide your face for as long as you could, but you were eager to get your lips on his skin once more, and soon you were puling him by his cheeks down for you to reach, and he was holding you up by your waist, eager to reciprocate whatever you'd give.

Regardless of the rain or the wind, it was warm.

It'd probably take a while before you cooled off enough to go back inside...

After all, you wanted to get used to this warmth... Perhaps you should practice a little bit more.

✦✧✦✧ (Bonus!) ✧✦✧✦

Inanna stared at the door for a few minutes from where she laid nice and warm in front of the fireplace, awaiting the return of the both of you. Surely you wouldn't linger out in the rain for too long.... Right? Admittedly the comment she made was really just a joke. Revenge really, since the both of you had thought to kick her out into that rain, but she didn't intend for either of you to linger out there so long. She'd expect at least one of you to come banging on the door begging to be let back in, but the silence was deafening.

She waits for a few more moments, before she gives up and sighs, settling back down onto the floor and absorbing the warmth from the fireplace. It doesn't seem like you'll be back until you're both soaking wet and freezing your butts off and it'll be up to her to warm you both back up again, especially since both of your bodies are severely lacking fur.

She doesn't worry too much about the cold and wet though. You'll return when you grow tired of playing chase like little pups, and when you do, well...She didn't lock the door.

...

Hopefully one of you realizes that eventually.

#the arcana #muriel #muriel x reader #the arcana x reader #muriel x mc #the arcana muriel #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel the arcana #muriel the mountain man #muriel the hermit #muriel x apprentice #muriel x you #muriel x shy reader #x reader #reader insert

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joyxiety-shipper5423 · 2 months

Text

This comic was inspired by the following reference in the thinking bubble (Original drawing by @sweepswoop_ on twitter/X).

I made that "comic", because I thought, I wanted to make an original inspiration to the referenced comic.

I kinda believe that it may be a bit out of character for the both emotions, but I don't really care at the moment. I kinda wanted to make this "comic".

Of course I still ship Joyxiety a lot and my username will stay true, but I also want to post something else though. This picture doesn't necessarily have to be a ship pic, it could also be a friendship pic, but I still tagged their ship-name anyway, cause why not. Although I'm gonna be honest, I do kinda ship them as well, but only as crush besties. Their ship is the truly underrated one, whereas the Joyxiety ship has gotten a lot more popular now. The Joyxiety ship is no longer underrated anymore, it is now in the middle of underrated and overrated, I'd say. I'm glad and I appreciate it getting more shippers! :D The same with Joyness, although it might have been going since 2015 or later now. (although I'm not neccessarily crazy about the ship though, but I also consider them crush besties for the sake of the Joyness shippers.) Sadness' main and only love partner is and would be Embarrassment (at least for me at the moment). I will explain my definition "crush bestie"/"crush friendship" in another post. So yeah!

I am still going to keep my username the same though!

Sorry for the rambling though... 😅 My Anxiety was getting to the better of me though, but I'm not mad.

#inside out fandom #gacha club #inside out 2 #inside out anxiety #inside out sadness #sadxiety #sadness x anxiety #anxiety x sadness

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moltenwrites · 3 months

Text

Thanks @nczaversnick for the tag!

I got tagged for a character name origins tag, but I did that very recently, and the post also mentioned talking about the characters origins, which I’ll gladly yap about!

The Artist

Gotta be honest, it feels odd that Ive BARELY talked about the artist here considering how important they are to How Our World Ended. The Artist is a God who can create universes, and observes them

The artist is a literal outline of a person, with a white line covering their eyes. They exist within a black void, as a result of destroying their own universe. The origin for this character is odd, and many years old, but I’ll try to get a good timeline.

Initially, they were just a character for me to project negative thoughts onto. Then, the idea of them being a creator of universes came into my mind. They were first put into a story during a OLD assignment which I unfortunately do not have access to anymore. While it was bad, it solidified the character in my mind. And they always stayed in the back of my mind, untill I came up with How Our World Ended. And considering how important they are to the ending, and hell, the universe of Souls Collide, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them ( random note, but I feel like the watcher from What If was a big inspiration of the concept )

RES

Ugh, so this one is a littttle embarrassing. A lot of my older ideas have evolved a lot, and that includes the early stages where they were inspired by some…. Odd stuff ( you don’t wanna know how souls collide itself started )

Anyways, if I remember right, I always liked the idea of doing a more medieval fantasy story. Souls Collide takes place in current times, so that line of thought was always an interesting thought experiment. Anyways, in 2021 I was watching the game awards because I had nothing better to do. I was kinda zoning out, untill the live performance of the song enemy started playing. And as it played, the premise of How our World Ended, or at least a rough outline, hit me. And as time went on, more music inspired more about the story. Hells coming with me by Poor Man’s Poison gave me an idea for a second half of the story that was, admittedly, terrible. But the ending, that was cool, and it stayed. That song also gave me the rough outline of what I wanted Res to be. A revenge fueled fire soul was how he initially was gonna be. But as time went on, a lot changed. I changed him to be an ice soul, as the protagonist of souls collide is already a fire soul, and I didn’t want to overlap that. Then, Res became more fueled by grief. Now, Res is cold and calculated. He works as a vigilante of sorts, and is far more caring once he gets to know someone.

Oof- that was long, I’ll do a quick lighting round of origins that are WAY shorter.

Salazar

Two big inspos for this guy. Firstly, I always wanted to do something similar to the organization 13 from kingdom hearts. Salazar, and his past in the council of fate, was initially gonna fill that role. Over time, the council shrunk and that role more fell to the gods. Then, for his explicit personality, it was heavily inspired by moon waltz by cojum dip. Something about it just fit the guy, and me misinterpreting the wrestling mask of the album cover as a masquerade mask 100% shaped both his chilling personality and his design

Nelios

Okay I think this one is just funny. So, I didn’t plan this book well. At all. I kinda just went “ fuck it “ and let it happen. That’s why the first draft is VERY rough atm. Anyways, Nelios wasn’t originally in the story at all. I was just gonna name drop him, and maybe give him a scene or two, but when I wrote a full chapter of him, I loved him so much, he became VITAL to the story. His personality came from a mix of “ how can I make an arrogant asshole likable? “ and “ how can one make this guy a fun ass character to write “

Okay I rambled for WAYYY to long there, but I have a lot to say haha. Anyways, tag list time.

Tagging @aintgonnatakethis @ddgraywrites @jjoneswriting @revenantlore @noxxytocin @yourpenpaldee @illarian-rambling @theverumproject @autism-purgatory @gioiaalbanoart @the-letterbox-archives

@mk-writes-stuff

+ OPEN TAG

#writers on tumblr #writing #writing on tumblr #howourworldended #souls collide #fantasy #writeblr #howe #writing community #writerscommunity #res #salazar #nelios #the artist #tag game #open tag

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judyfromfinance · 1 year

Text

Dead to Me.

(Obey Me/Reader)

Summary: ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’, it was one of your favorite quotes. It meant that found family can often mean more to you than the family you were born with. The ones you share blood with. And often times it would get shortened down and paraphrased into meaning the exact opposite of what was initially intended.

But after coming back home from your year long stay in the Devildom, your house and family in shambles, it is no longer your favorite quote. The water of the womb that you shared with your sister meant more to you than any blood spilled between you and those 7 demons in hell.

Warnings: Violence. Death. Fighting and Shouting. Thoughts of suicide.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I totally forgot to post this to Tumblr. Oops. Just know this story would not exist without the talented earthliving on AO3 or @another-lost-mc here on Tumblr. My inspiration came from their headcanons Taken. (Hope you don’t mind me tagging you again girly. I totally thought I posted this here rip.)

Your stay in the Devildom was far from easy. Not just because demons threatened to kill you, eat you, or worse. Yes, there was a worse apparently. But because you had to leave behind everything you knew and loved. How the Prince of Hell even had a file on you to begin with was a mystery to you. You for sure don’t remember signing up for any exchange program. Supernatural or otherwise. But they did. And you were chosen. Just like that. Not because you were special or anything, no Lucifer made sure to drill it into your skull that you were chosen by happenstance. And nothing more.

In the beginning everything was rough. And it didn’t help that your ‘dorm mates’ were complete assholes. Stealing from you. At least what little you had to your name. Be it snacks or trinkets. And others ridiculed you. On your fashion sense or lack there of. And, peculiarly enough, on your lack of knowledge on Devildom gaming and anime. You thought for a second that Leviathan could be a friend to you considering your similar interests. You and your own sister grew up around video games and anime. You thought he’d be easier to befriend. But no. He couldn’t care less about you. You remember almost shouting at him after a particularly harsh verbal lashing. You wanted to remind him that anime (and you’re pretty sure video games too) were a human invention and he should get off his high horse and stop gatekeeping like a total incel. But no. You didn’t. Because even though you were upset, you still feared for your life here.

But slowly, things that seemed unnatural almost became… normal. Like some of the food. Although you couldn’t stomach some of it, others weren’t too far off from some human ingredients you were used to. Although no matter who cooked dinner or whatever take out was bought, it could never satisfy your hunger for a home cooked meal. And by home cooked you mean from your home. You didn’t cook often. You were kinda shit at it. But your sister? She liked cooking. And she would sometimes make you foods based off of tiktoks she saw earlier in the day. They may not have come out perfect, but they were great. And you would tell her time and time again how amazing her food was.

Being surrounded by a group of brothers would often bring up thoughts and memories of your sister. Though you tried not to linger too long, otherwise you might cry. And god forbid any of these demons caught you crying in the middle of the hallway. You wouldn’t be able to deal with that embarrassment and ridicule. No, instead you tried your damnded hardest to get used to living here. You’d be here for a year. A whole ass year. Not long for immortal demons sure but it was a lot for little human you. A year away from your little sister. Away from your loved ones and everything you knew. But thankfully, things got better. A lot better.

The brothers started to warm up to you. Starting with Mammon and Beelzebub. I guess it was inevitable with Mammon considering you had made a pact with him on your second day here. He was assigned as your protector. Or as he put it, your babysitter. And you would often tell him he did a shit job at it at first. But eventually after a few too many get rich quick schemes he started to learn more about you. Your dreams. Your fears. He tried to play it off like he didn’t care but it was hard to not care for somebody you eventually spent every waking moment with. He learned to love you. Just like Beel did after he formed a pact with you as well. After you protected him from Lucifer. You both shared stories about your siblings. Yea, Beel was the only one that knew you had a little sister. And he wiped your tears away as you cried about how much you missed her.

And after that each and every brother started to fall like dominoes. You remember the second to last brother to fall. Belphegor. You remember freeing him from the confines of his makeshift prison in the attic. He had tried to kill you. You can still feel the slight scratching of his claws as they grazed against your throat. No wait. He did kill you. You were pulled away by a strong magnetic force as you look at your own corpse on the ground. Bile rose up your throat. You remember your back colliding into a wall and when you looked up, all you saw was dazzling amber. Lord Diavolo and is ever loyal butler Barbatos were quick to arrive on the scene. They had explained who you were. And that maybe you were picked for a reason. The universe wanted you here evidently. Considering you shared blood with their long since dead sister. That day they all found out that Lilith survived and was turned into a human. To spend the rest of her days on earth happily. And you were her descendant. You remember looking around the room at the brothers. Some tearing up and others just looked at you in either awe or confusion. Except for one pair.

Belphegor had a hard time adjusting to this newfound knowledge. His hatred for humans ran deep and it was hard to override something that spanned eons. Even if his beloved sister had become human, it still didn’t mean they weren’t at fault for what happened. And he tried to hate you. He really did. But you wormed your way into his heart. Slowly but surely. Just like you did with the rest of his family. He learned to love you and all of your weird little human habits. He came to remember why he fell in love with the human realm all the way back in his Celestial years. Every time he looked into your eyes he remembered. And he hopes this time he doesn’t forget. Not just for you. But to honor his sister. He wishes he could burn the color of your eyes into his brain so he could see them every time he blinks. He told you that once. You just called him a weirdo and walked away.

You carved out a spot for you in this dysfunctional family. And you learned to love them. Though you had to set boundaries for each of them, lest they walk all over you. You were still human, you had to stick up for yourself ya know? But just because you learned to love these demons as much as they loved you, they can never fill the hole in your heart. And you started to get antsy. You weren’t allowed to contact anyone back home. To protect the Devildom and all that. But you swore up and down to who ever would listen that you wouldn’t jeopardize them like that. You loved them too much to do that. But you also loved your family back at home. And you wanted to just make sure they were ok. And although Lord Diavolo seemed to understand where you were coming from, all your requests were still denied.

Lucifer could tell you were trying to figure out ways to circumvent your denials. So he made sure to tell the other exchange student, mostly Simeon and Solomon, that they were not to help you contact anyone in the human realm. Simeon understood, considering he wouldn’t want to jeopardize his home, the Celestial Realm, either. Solomon just laughed it off but agreed once he saw Lucifer’s glare. He didn’t believe that you would come talk to him or better yet, ask him for a favor. He knew the brothers filled your head with rumors about him. Conniving, sly, shady and untrustworthy little wizard man. He still laughed every time he remembered the hushed whispers, that were a little too loud to still be considered whispers, that Mammon spewed to you about him. No, you wouldn’t come to him for help.

But color him surprised when you showed up at his bedroom door the very next day asking for help for the very thing that Lucifer warned him about. You pleaded your case very well in hindsight. He could see the hope in your eyes as you looked towards the only other human in Hell for help. Sadly for you, it’s been a long time since Solomon has felt such an intense love for a family member such as you do right now. He just didn’t understand your need to contact anyone. And he told you what everyone else did. It’s better for everyone if you just waited till the year ended to see them again. So you did.

You pushed your love for your sister to the back of your mind and tried to cover it up with the love you had for the brothers. You spoiled them rotten. Lucifer too when he would allow it. But he was often times the one to tell you to stop babying his brothers. Asmodeus would shout that you were a grown woman and if you wanted to baby him then Lucifer should let you! Everyone decided not to acknowledge the fact that he only mentioned you babying him and not any of the others. You learned how to cook with the best of them. Though you were still kinda scared of knifes. But you had to. To help feed Beel and his never ending appetite. You felt so bad for him that you always made sure to make extras for him every time you cooked. It must be Hell to feel like you’re starving all the time. You even bought him a mini fridge to keep in his room. Lucifer admonished you for that too.

No brother was left out of your loving and giving ways. Gaming with Levi was fun, though you did mention how much he hurt you at the beginning of your time here, he soon went on a spiel about how he was a yucky otaku and he didn’t deserve your friendship. You kind of wanted to let him know that this manipulation thing wasn’t cute but it was already 3 in the morning, you were too tired. So you just said you forgiven him and went to bed. Once in your room you noticed Satan on your bed, asleep with a book you had bought him from the human world open on his lap. You set the book aside and curled up next to him. He grumbled about pirates and treasure islands as drool dripped from his lips. No these brothers could never replace your lovely little sister. But they were becoming more of a family to you than some other members of your real family. You soon fell asleep and dreamed about memories long since passed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were sitting on your bed as your sister sat beside you. You both watched your tv and laughed as your favorite streamer said something stupid again. She turned to you and spoke.

“You know, I love it when I infect you.”

“What? What does that mean?” You questioned.

“I just like to see you enjoy stuff that I like. I like showing you my special interests and you actually listen and enjoy them too. It makes me feel nice. Appreciated isn’t the right word.” She grumbled, trying to find words for her jumbled thoughts. “I don’t know. I just like that you’re here with me.”

You stare into your sisters eyes as your own begin to tear up. You were always the one to cry in your family. A big ol’ crybaby. But you couldn’t help it. Sometimes you just ‘felt things’ way too much.

“I understand what you’re saying. I like that you’re here with me too.” You pull your sister into a hug. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what. You wanna talk about something you like for hours on end? Let’s do it, just let me get comfortable first.” She elbowed you. You kiss the top of her head. “If you ever need someone to talk to about your feelings, or if somebody is scaring you or bothering you or whatever, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. You know you’re the person I care most about in the world right?” She lifts up her head and smiles.

“I know.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s been a year. A whole year away from your family and you’re getting ready to finally see them again. You can’t wait to see them… but it feels… wrong somehow. Like you’re leaving a part of you behind. The whole house was in dismay this last week. Everyone was quiet. The brothers were contemplating on how they were going to get on with life without you. Some of them believed they can go about their regular business just fine without you. But they knew. In the back of their minds they knew that you stepped into their lives and shook up their world. Altering it forever. They loved you. Fully. And when these 7 demons loved something, it was hard for them to unclasp their claws from that something. But with you, they couldn’t hide you away. Lock you in a room and throwaway the key. Though some contemplated it. No. They had to let you go.

And like you said, it wasn’t just hard on them. You loved them too. Through all the blood, sweat, and tears you survived and came out the other side with a whole new perspective on life and a new family. It was gonna be hard leaving them. So when the day finally came to go, you cried. You couldn’t bring all your Devildom trinkets with you, considering some of their origins. So you gifted them back to the brothers that would cherish them the most.

You gifted Asmo a peculiar hexed hair comb that a RAD student gave you. It was supposed to be cursed so the user would always have bad hair days if they used the brush. Luckily for you, that person flunked their Hexing 101 class, so it literally did the exact opposite. You told Asmo that his hair was beautiful and he’d never need it, but he should have it, just in case. He wept into your shoulder as he hugged you. Levi got a anime figurine that you bought yourself. It was from a random Demonic Anime that you’ve never watched but you bought it because it was cute and pink. He told you exactly where he would be putting it and how he’d dust it everyday. You just giggled as you moved on.

Satan got a spell book from you. It belonged to your spell casting teacher that took a particular liking to you. Satan didn’t have the heart to tell you that he already had that edition. But he still cherished it regardless. Beel and Belphie got scarves that you crocheted yourself. Apparently the yarn was magical and imbued with a special silk webbing that would take the makers feelings and use them to keep itself warm. So if you loved the person you gifted it too, it would exude heat. And boy, were they toasty every time they wore it. Luckily it was always decently cold in the Devildom.

Then came the next two, Mammon and Lucifer. You stopped in front of them both as you knew you were keeping everyone too long. You took out a necklace and a ring. Both bought for you from your own mother. You felt a little bad giving these gifts away. They did mean a lot to you. But so did the 2 demons standing in front of you. You handed the necklace with a simple sunflower charm to Mammon as you handed the accompanying sunflower engraved ring to Lucifer. You told them they didn’t have to wear them or anything. Especially since the ring won’t fit Lucifer’s fingers anyways. But still, you wanted to leave a little part of you with them. A small sliver of your soul. Solomon told you once that if a human wore something or had something on their person for long enough, that object could retain pieces of that person spirit. Their energy. And you wore those bits of jewelry your whole life. It felt right to give these two men something from the heart. Since they truly stole yours.

You walked back over to Diavolo and Barbatos as you stood side by side with Solomon. They asked if you were finally ready to go back home. You nodded as you turned towards the portal, you wiped away your tears and pushed your way through the fog. Leaving this place you called Home.

Mammon looked down into his hand. The simple silver chain and sunflower charm glinting in the moonlight. He could feel a tear slip down his cheek as he saw your aura encapsulate the pendant. A beautiful shimmering glow that only creatures such as him could see. He quickly closed his hand into a fist, already feeling his sin clawing at his heart. Wanting no one to see the beautiful piece of yourself that you left for him and only him. Well, him and Lucifer. Lucifer ushered his brothers back the House of Lamentation. As they all walked into the parlor, a silent yearning filled them all. Belphegor was the one to brake it.

“I miss them.” All the brothers could do was nod, as they all felt the same.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No. No no no no. NO. This was not supposed to happen! What the fuck happened!? No no, you promised her. Now look what happened. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THERE! WHY WEREN’T YOU THERE!?

You sobbed and begged and pleaded. You choked on your own vomit as you heaved into the trash can. The people around the police station looked towards you in pity as you screamed and wailed that this was all just a bad dream. They had to interview you, as were a potential suspect but they could tell you had no idea what happened. The pain in your voice, in your eyes, was real. Now the interrogation was more so a formality , for the paperwork than to get any real answers.

You couldn’t go home. There was no home to go to. It was infested with men and women in blue uniforms and wrapped up in yellow tape. Your house was a crime scene. Your sister was gone. You promised her. No. You lied to her.

You look towards your phone and see the millions of messages and calls that never went through to you since you been stuck in hell. The last one replayed in your head on loop. Your little sisters voice pleading for you to come home, she’s scared. There’s someone in the house. She called 911 but their not here yet. Why’d you leave me? What did I do? Oh god. Their in my room. I can see him. No no NO! HE’S… than nothing but blood curdling screaming and sobbing came after that. You hear a wet squelch before someone picked up the phone to end the call.

You heaved into the bucket as you cried. Your baby sister. Your everything. Is gone. She’s gone. And it’s your fault.

This is all your fault.

It’s ALL YOUR FAULT!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s been months since any of the brothers have seen you and they’ve, for the most part, have gotten things back to normal. All of them miss you dreadfully but there’s nothing they can do. Despite how hard some of them try.

Belphie has tried multiple times, along with Satan, to open up a portal to the Human realm to visit you themselves. Lucifer thwarted each and every one of their attempts. Mammon tried bribing Witches and Warlocks alike to take him up top so he can see you all by himself. Of course, none of them helped him. And then there were the others that held onto their sadness but kept chugging on anyways. Like Asmo or Beel.

It was just a normal day in the House of Lamentation when Lucifer gets an urgent call from Lord Diavolo. Ordering him and his brothers to come down to the castle now. Lucifer rounds up his brothers and leave’s immediately.

“What’s the big rush? Why does he need us there right now?” Mammon shoves his hands into his pocket. Toying with his little piece of you.

“I don’t know but he sounded urgent. If there’s something wrong in the Devildom and Lord Diavolo needs our help with it, then we shall abide.” Lucifer storms off in front of everybody as he knocks upon the ginormous doors of the castle. Barbatos opens them and ushers everyone inside.

“Barbs~, what’s the problem? I don’t feel like getting my clothes dirty today.” Asmo groans as he glided next to Barbatos. He sighs. “It’s quite… difficult to explain. They’re back.” Levi rolls his eyes as he toys with his D.D.D.

“Who?”

“(Y/n).”

And with that, all the demons went sprinting towards the main dining area. As they got closer they heard shouting and screaming. They all feel their pact with you flare up. The burst through the doors as they see you being pinned down to the floor by some royal guards. All of them shifted into their demonic forms but only two of them went in for the kill. Mammon and Belphegor were held back as Lucifer and Beel struggled to keep them in place.

“What in the Hell happened here!?” Lucifer shouted. Satan looks around the room and sees destruction of plates and chairs. He looks towards Diavolo and notices a very slight reddening on his cheek. Had you… Had you hit him? How did you achieve that? He looked towards you and all he could see was a mess. Clothes dirty. Hair oily. Face splotchy and red. Your eyes were even redder. Puffy. Like you haven’t slept since leaving them all those months ago. But you didn’t look tired. You didn’t look sad despite the constant tears running down your face. He didn’t need to be the Avatar of Wrath to be able to tell that you were furious.

Lucifer has also came to the same conclusion as he eventually let go of Mammon and made his way to you. He kneels down by you as he ushers the guards away. The reluctantly let go and you slowly push yourself up. He tries to help you but you smack his hand as hard as you could. You sit on the floor as you try and catch your breath.

“(Y/n)… what has gotten into you? What has happened that would cause you to behave this way?” You wipe your face and look at your hand. Red blood smeared across the surface. Your nose was smashed pretty harshly on the ground when the guard tackled you. Lucifer just keeps calling your name. Spewing questions left and right. You don’t answer any of them. You don’t need to. No. No. They answer to you. You pull yourself with the broken chair beside you as you look towards Diavolo once again. There’s a sadness in his eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You wobble your way closer to him but the guards stop you. You can hear A few of the brothers growl in the background but you pay them no mind.

“It’s your fault.” You whisper. Barely holding back a sob. “It’s… it’s all your fault!” You cry. Diavolo tries to ask you about this perceived slight that you have against him. But you cut him off. “Out of all the shit that I’ve been through…” spit flies past your teeth as you stutter out your words in barely veiled anger. “All the shit I’ve done for YOU!” You point towards him. “For THEM!” You wave your arms towards the 7 demonic entities behind you. “And all I ask for was a call. Not even! A fucking text! Anything. FUCKING ANYTHING!” You grab a broken shard of something off the table as you chucked it at the Prince with all your might. You barely grazed his arm. “And look what fucking happened!”

You fall to your knees as you sob and heave. “She’s gone. I promised her and because of you I couldn’t be there. SHE needed me and YOU took me away!” You bang your hand against your chest hard enough to give yourself a bruise as you moaned in despair. The air in the room seemed to vanish. The brothers were told about your sister from Beel. You had never mentioned her to them. But Beel took it upon himself to mention her. They grew excited at the prospect of meeting another one of Lillith’s descendants. You were the oldest? Sooo, were you more like Lucifer or more like Mammon? The thought of meeting this person that you clearly loved, at least from what Beelzebub had told them, instantly left their minds as they all connected the dots. Your little sister was dead. She had died while you were down here. Having fun with your new family.

Asmo gasped silently into his hand as everyone else took their turns as shock and horror ran through them. Beel and Belphie however, stood stock still. The complet and utter pain you were feeling. They new it all too well. All the brothers did. But the twins had dealt with a different type of pain. Considering they were once triplets. Belphie made the first move to try and comfort you. But you just shoved him away as you clumsy maid your way to Barbatos. You cling to him as if he was the only thing keeping you alive. Sane.

“Please. You can bring her back. You did it with me you can do it it again. Please bring her back. Please just please do it. Please I’m begging you please…” you sob into his chest. Tears soaking into his butler uniform. He pays your back and says. “I’m sorry (Y/n). But that’s just now how it works.” You fling yourself off of him.

“YES. YES IT DOES! It has too. You have to bring her back. You did it with me. Why not her!?” You slowly raise your hands, palm up. “Or… or… you can take me instead? Yeah. You can do that right? My soul for hers.” You ask quietly but his constant shaking of his head just angers you. You claw at your head, pulling at your hair.

“You’re a fucking demon! Souls are your thing! Not only that but you’re the only demon in all of Hell to have fucking time powers. LIKE HELL IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY! Are you really that fucking stupid!? That fucking WEAK?” You feel arms pull you back towards a warm chest. Belphegor holds you close as he tries to overpower you with his Sin. You can feel yourself get sleepy. You start to fall back towards the ground but Belphie holds you up. He whispered in your ear.

“I know (Y/n). I understand your sadness. Your anger. Your violence. But let’s sleep for now.” You try and struggle out of his arms but your arms feel like lead. You feel numb to the world. So instead you use up your last bits of energy to spew out one more sentence.

“I don’t give a shit. You’re dead to me.” Because even though you knew they could understand you better than most, the guilt that warped your brain lingered heavily. The day your sister died was the same day you told the brothers during dinner that you considered all of them your family. Levi jokingly asked which of your family was better? And you jokingly replied… them. So in the back of your mind, to keep you from killing yourself in despair you pushed every single negative emotion you felt onto those around you.

“You’re fucking dead to me.”

#Dead to Me.#Obey Me/Reader #obey me x reader

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jackwolfes · 4 days

Note

How do you get people to interact more with your fanfic?

that's?? a really interesting question actually

in my experience it's 95% at the whims of external factors (size of the fandom, proximity to a new episode/season drop, age of the fandom, whether it's currently running/been cancelled/ended years ago) but other things i've seen influence this is:

- regularity/expectation: the fics and series that i've updated consistently or frequently tend to be my more popular ones

- rating: my E rated fics get more kudos/hits/bookmarks but relatively low comments, my T/M rated fics are entirely the reverse. and like, yeah, if I read a fic that's all horny I will probably be too embarrassed to comment, but a T/M fic is more likely to be something I only read once but leave longer comments on. all a matter of perspective really.

- tagging: people search for specific terms. tagging a fic with "romance" might be accurate but not reflective of what people are actually looking for. you kinda gotta just look at commonly used tags/how other people tag stuff/consider what you search for. market research babey. (this post has some handy tips)

- being in the fandom rather than treating fic like content: like, reader X comments on my fic. I reply. They reply back and we start a thread. I mention another fic I have on my pseud, which they read and comment on, and now I'm curious about what they're working on and check out their pseud. I read their fic and comment, we talk about it in their comments, and we now look out for each other's fics. i get the feeling that people want community, not content, and that fandom is most enriching for everyone when it operates like a community in all directions

- sheer audacity: crack-y fics with batshit premises might not be the most popular by kudos but there's something to be said for horrified "what the fuck" comments and general infamy

#asks #youallruinmylife

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fandomfluffandfuck · 22 days

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Remember how Steve never properly learned driving..., so he definitely lack some finer skills like proper reverse parking. So he is making this millionth try oneday increasingly becoming redder due to embarrassment and a true trucker Bucky can't bare the pain of watching it anymore as so he goes and says out of the seat punk and does it in one go 😌

I can't find the exact meta right now to link but you know the one where it considers how Steve wouldn't've needed to drive in Brooklyn because his Ma didn't have a car, he couldn't afford a car on his own definitely, Brooklyn is very walkable, etc. Then, during the war, he clearly learned to drive, but, like, battlefield drive where there are no rules other than don't get killed, besides it's not like those vehicles were like civilian cars. And, of course, in CA:TWS, he "barrows" a car but... when the hell would he have actually learned the rules of the civilian road? When would he have gotten a license? That meta.

What I can find are:

This post that made me laugh about bad driver Steve

And also this poll and relevant tags that's hilarious, too

Now, relevant meta posts aside...

Might I interest you in some hooker Steve and trucker Bucky from two wonderful writers K (@howdoyousleep3) and Lynne (@the1918)?

Because in a different version of their alternative universe, I can absolutely see that as their way of meeting. Just this perfect meet-cute, more like meet-awkward, lol. Or, I can absolutely see your idea as an opening to an entirely new trucker universe! Maybe even a universe where Steve is trying to park his car at a rest stop along some high way that he's traveling along (maybe this is shrunkclunks and Steve is driving to try and get away and find himself again? Maybe he's moving across the country in a modern universe? Maybe something else entirely?) and accidentally hits Bucky's truck much to his sheepish, complete embarrassment. He was just trying to back up! He didn't mean to!

Or, or-! How about a universe where Steve is tired of the bustling city life and he moves out to the country to try and get away from it all? But, oops, city boy doesn't know shit about bein' 'round these parts, and so he gets his lil old city car stuck in a ditch after a rain storm leaves the desolate road all slick as he's driving into town to restock on supplies. He's not hurt, at least, not physically. His pride might be hurt, but that's alright when his knight in mud-caked, worn out jeans and a dusty flannel shirt rolls up with a beat up, dented to hell pick up big enough to winch him outta the ditch and introduce himself as the neighbor that lives a few miles down from the plot of acreage Steve just bought himself.

It's also possible, though, that between Bucky's--and I'm talking canon Bucky now--odd jobs in Brooklyn pre-war and his time as the winter soldier that he was properly taught to drive. So, you could also write this as Bucky just forcing Steve, the punk, to always be a passenger princess when they go places because Bucky is not going to die like that after all he's been through. No thanks, Steve. That's not a cool way to go.

There 👏🏻 are 👏🏻 so 👏🏻 many 👏🏻 possibilities 👏🏻

And you just know, Steve might be red from embarrassment when his initial mishap occurs, but suddenly, seeing Bucky--this big, brawny man with a huge chest and wide-spanning, callous-rough hands saddle up in his car--smoothly coax the wheel around and back up with finesse... Steve is red because he, uh, he might... he'd like it if Bucky had that kinda fine touch and finesse with him 🥴🥴

In conclusion: this! is! genius!

#asks #au #fic rec #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky

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bfictioncorner · 2 years

Text

Harsher (Corey x Reader)

Media: Halloween Ends (2022)

Characters: Corey Cunningham x reader (reader’s gender not really mentioned, but written from a femme sort of perspective) (PRE-events of the movie, but POST-2019)

Rating: R or 18+ BECAUSE NO MINORS! Duh, get outta here if you’re not an adult!

CW: Submissive!Corey, (Dom!Reader, I guess, though it’s not an arranged thing), blood mentions/bloodplay, humiliation, dubcon maybe? kinda?, mentions of mugging, name calling, choking... that’s all I can remember...

Notes: Hello, I write a lot, but don’t know how to format for fics, so, sorry. And yes, we know Boy Harsher did a song for the Halloween Ends soundtrack, but their songs “Pain” and “Lust” are perfect--listen to those when you read this.

I hope this turns out okay...

Tagging @nachtmahr666

“Pain, I love pain…”

——

He was sweet, albeit probably more troubled than you would ever know, but that’s what made little rare glimpses of his smile all the more enticing. It wasn’t the feeling of butterflies or blushing when you saw his shy little face, glasses sliding down his nose. No doubt, he was always outwardly polite, though awkward, in public, and would probably be an absolute gentleman on a date. But that was just it. You couldn’t help it, something about the way his eyes looked glassy and innocent under those big round rims… Something about the way he looked down when he smiled, all bashful… Oh, and how he smiled, the way those soft, thick lips creased into such a sweet grin. You would get caught up in daydreams, imagining what it would be like to press your thumb onto his lower lip, and continue onto his tongue. Or what those lips looked like when formed into a pained and panting “O” shape, breathing hard in a rush of lust while pinned to the floor.

You would shake your head, trying to pry such questionable thoughts from your mind while working. It was bad enough to consider what fantasizing about Corey Cunningham, the “Psycho Killer Babysitter”, said about you. The truth was, he had been through so much, like a kicked puppy, that thinking about him in that way seemed so wrong.

But there was one day… One day that changed things. Opened things up.

Last shift of the day at your small-time cafe was almost over, and you had pretty much finished closing. It wasn’t too bad, as the owners didn’t like to keep long hours, so you usually wrapped around 7:00 PM. You had turned all but the overnight lights off, ready to head out for a stroll to the nearby tavern, when you saw him again. There was Corey, walking very gingerly across the street, one arm crossed over his chest, and the other rubbing his forehead. Most days you would see him take the same path to the corner store on the strip. He usually had his bike, or maybe a folded open book in one hand, so people wouldn’t bother him on his way. But this evening he seemed different; he looked hurt.

Dashing out of the front door, you spotted what looked like blood on his lip and collar. You had to check on him. “Uh, hey!” you called, still across the street. “Corey? Hey, are you okay?”

Despite knowing who he was (Who didn’t anymore?), and sort of knowing him in high school, it struck you that maybe he wasn’t as familiar with you. He glanced up timidly, brows furrowing in uncertainty.

“Are you okay?” you asked again.

Without many other solid options, he crossed the empty street, coming your way. You could more clearly see all the damage, at least not covered by clothes: a busted lip, a cut on his brow, a deeper cut on the bridge of his nose, and an already-purple cheekbone.

Embarrassment in his eyes, he looked down to the ground. “I got mugged by some drunk assholes hanging out in the park.”

You carefully reached out a hand to his chin, tilting his head so slightly to inspect the injuries. To your surprise, his eyes fluttered shut and he let out a little hum. His minute reaction sent a shiver through you.

“Come in,” you offered. “I haven’t locked up just yet. You should take care of all these.”

His eyes opened back up, looking at you meekly from behind his crooked frames. “Ah, no. Thank you, though. It’s fine. The nose is fine. Nothing’s broken. I just need to get home.”

Something within you stirred, pushing you to act on your intrusive thoughts. Gently, at first, you grabbed his shirt just below the collar where the button met. Gradually, you balled the fabric into your fist a little tighter, and let your thumb brush against his neck.

“You need to fix all that up,” you went on, sternly.

It was a gamble at what kind of reaction you were going to elicit, but you didn’t hate what you got. Corey’s already-wide eyes grew bigger, brows lightly raising up. His posture softened, like he was relaxing. With your thumb still on his throat, you felt him swallow.

“Corey, you’re going to let me take care of you, right?” It was less of a question and more of a sugar-dusted command.

He gave a small nod.

“Yes?” you confirmed, coercing him to give you a verbal answer.

“Yes. Please. Thank you.”

The exchange on paper sounded so simple. But every word, every question of the interaction was punctuated with tension. Maybe how you felt wasn’t such a one-sided thing.

The two of you slid back into the meager storefront, and into the back room. It was part-storage and part-office, but also where the first aid kit lived.

“Sit.” You gestured to the old chair against the wall as you rummaged through a shelf for the kit.

Even as he scrambled to take a seat, Corey seemed nervous, but not in the way one would expect from someone who just got jumped. His movements looked as if he was aiming to follow every instruction rigidly, properly.

Turning back to face him, you noticed this time, in the pallid lighting, a cut on the side of his neck. It wasn’t as deep or threatening as the ones on his face, but it was long and jagged.

“Head up,” you instructed, tapping his chin again. As he complied, you admired what sharp features he had. They often seemed to go overlooked by the fact that his demeanor was so soft, accompanied by messy curls. (Curls, you noted, that five years ago, he used to keep combed to the side like a do-good scoutmaster. Another shiver up your spine.)

“This will sting,” you spoke gently, but without apology.

As you applied a disinfectant to the cut, Corey let out a small, pained grunt. Maybe more of a whine. He reached his arms behind the chair to brace himself. While a little wince would have been natural for most anyone, his reaction was accompanied by a heavy breathing rising in his chest. You tried not to think too hard about it, or act hastily, so you went ahead and applied the bandaid over the cut, smoothing it out with the focused press of your thumb. There was no denying the moan he let out at that firm touch, eyes fluttering once more, teeth biting into his bloodied, tender lip.

He caught himself, embarrassed. “I–I–That doesn’t happen. I’m sor–”

But there was no recovering from the obvious: a deep blush on his bruised cheeks, a dewey forehead, and most of all, the tightening around the crotch of his pants. His eyes started to well up, caught in the shame of it all.

You pressed your thumb harder into the spot you bandaged. Small beads of blood rose from the adhesive, but the response was not a pained one. In fact, Corey seemed delightfully, though timidly, surprised. A corner of his mouth curled up slowly with satisfaction, though he dropped it quickly, uncertain if it was allowed.

“You seem okay,” you started to almost coo at him, thumb still in place. You spread the rest of your fingers out, letting them scratch the nape of his neck and tangle in his curly, brown hair. He whimpered softly, following his response with a sensual lick of blood on his lower lip.

“Corey?” you prompted him. “Does this… feel good?” Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, giving a solid tug at this point.

He tried to nod, but could barely move from your grasp.

“Can you tell me?” You bent your knee and pressed it hard against his undeniable erection between his splayed legs.

He whimpered louder this time, almost a yelp. “Yes,” he finally managed out, breathily. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roughly let go of his head, trying to not let his cranium knock the wall behind him, but not making an act of babying him at all. The heat between your own legs was starting to become overwhelming, making you nearly woozy.

“No,” he muttered. “Please, don’t stop doing that.”

There went your knee, pushing even further against his hardness under tight fabric. Just like in all your perverse daydreams, you brought a hand to his face, and rubbed a thumb to his dripping-wet lip, smearing the blood. Wantonly, Corey slipped his lips around your thumb, sucking and sliding his tongue around it like he would never let go. It was as if he wanted to feed off of you, take in your taste, all while being at the mercy of your harsh touch.

“Messy boy,” you chastised, allowing a small grin to escape. You slipped your hand from his mouth, being sure to drag the lines of blood down his neck. He looked pretty, like putty in your hands.

Shifting around, you came to a kneeling position between his legs. He over-eagerly spread his lap a little more open, as far as the chair would allow. With a nuanced glance, you took note of, despite having a fairly thin frame, how Corey’s thighs were thicker and more solid than expected.

Without any warning, you gruffly tugged at his waistband, waiting for a protest just in case it was too much. He squirmed, blushing from the thrill, and still bracing his hands behind the chair. It was for support, yes, but it was also as if he wanted the lack of control—as if he wanted to be bound there. Further you shucked the coarse jean material from his legs, until they were around his shins. There was something deliciously humiliating about him letting you expose him, no control, all lust in his glistening dark eyes.

“Did your mother buy you these?” you asked teasingly, poking fun at his white briefs, which barely contained his straining erection.

He nodded, turned on by the shame.

You grabbed his chin once more, squeezing his cheeks harder this time. “That’s cute,” you spoke in a dark, hushed tone. He winced at the pressure on his bruising. You were definitely drawing blood and tears now. Corey still didn’t protest, at least not in the way you expected.

“Please, harder,” he choked out, in a meek, tired voice. He actually released a hand from behind him, momentarily, to guide your hand back to his throat.

He was pushing your buttons by having the audacity to beg you. It was incredible how quickly this rapport had escalated. Might as well take advantage of it.

“Say it again. Beg me,” you commanded.

“Please…” he exhaled, desperate for the rush, for the start of the release.

This was fun. Who knew the evening would go down like this?

“Good boy,” you complimented, voice still cold with an undercurrent of cheekiness.

Corey squeezed his eyes shut as your careful fingers braced the soft sides of his throat, framing his Adam’s Apple. A few curls tumbled in fluffy strands over his eyes, gathering moisture from sweat and tears. His timid little sounds grew into more unrestrained grunts of pleasure. As your other hand wandered over to toy with his length, you felt the warm wetness that clung to his underwear. It was already too much for him. Immediately, your grip went from his neck to the crown of his head, clutching his brown hair.

“I didn’t tell you you could do that yet,” you whispered sharply, right into his ear. “That was bad.” Every word you spoke had a bite.

You rose, backing up to get a look at poor, spent Corey. He was so much messier than when you found him. He continued to lap up the blood smeared around his face, all the while trying to cover his bare thighs and wet crotch.

“Pathetic,” you huffed, feeling the rush of arousal, but wondering if the name-calling was too much. It wasn’t as if you established safe words and boundaries. This all just happened in the heat of the moment (fucked up as it was).

“I’m—I’m sorry,” his voice trembled, half-fearful, half-pleasurable. “Do what you want… I’m sorry I was bad.”

Gaining a twisted confidence in the situation, you raised your leg, planting your booted foot to his chest. It tipped his wobbling chair back towards the rough brick wall. “‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough,” you nearly growled. “We’ll do better next time.”

Would there be a next time?! What was this?

Corey hung his head, still half-attempting to collect himself.

“Let’s clean you up. For real.” Your tone—to even your surprise—switched to its more normal, kinder setting.

As you milled around, pulling his pants up, cleaning the blood off his wounds, plastering bandages here and there, Corey kept his eyes cast towards the floor. Maybe in a few quick moments his eyes would dart to yours, then back away when you caught him. But he remained shy.

The strange moment of lust had passed, allowing the both of you to forget about the mugging… for a bit. The next move seemed foreign, uncertain.

“I do need to lock up now,” you sighed with a half-disappointed smile. “But I can drive you home, if you need. Or… well, if you want, I’m popping into the tavern just down the street, if you wanna come with.” It was amazing how you could turn the switch to be so gentle with him.

“I think I’d like that,” he smiled, finally looking you in the eyes, his dimples crinkling up the sides of his face. You could tell he wanted to ask about the next time, but that would come. You didn’t want this to be the only time.

#corey cunningham smut #corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #read the warnings for real #but also enjoy

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