#i guess it's a drabble?
Note
Eren completely shocked and worrying his head off one day when Mikasa appears at school not wearing her goth outfit and doesn’t tell him why (she thinks the reason he hasn’t asked her out yet is because she’s a goth) (he hasn’t asked her out yet because he’s a dumbass)
That's a fun one! Here's a short scene that popped into my head when I was thinking about it.
***
Eren leaned forward and tapped the new girl on the shoulder, tilting his head to avoid bumping his face into her perky black ponytail. “Excuse me,” he said. “That’s not your seat. You have to move.”
She swiveled around to look at him, her eyebrows pushing together and making a crinkled furrow at the top of her nose. “Why?” she said.
Eren was nonplussed. He had never seen this girl in his life but she still looked really familiar. In fact, she looked just like the desk’s rightful occupant, Mikasa Ackerman. “My friend sits there,” he plowed on.
A slow smile spread across the girl’s pink-glossed lips. “Do you mean me, Eren?” she asked.
"No," said Eren, frowning at the little upstart. "I mean… wait…" His mouth fell open. "Mikasa?"
Her smile widened. "Hi."
"What happened to you?" asked Eren, chagrined. She didn't look like herself. She was wearing a pale pink cropped sweater, a floral skirt, and– he dipped down to look at her feet– white sandals. She’d taken out all of her piercings and she wasn’t even wearing her rings. Her usual dark makeup was lighter than a spring breeze. Something was very wrong here. “Is this… Is this because… Is this because you went to see the Barbie movie with Sasha and Connie?” he asked.
“What? No!” said Mikasa, smoothing her hand over her hair. “I just thought I would try out a different look.” Her cheeks pinkened. “Do you like it?”
Eren sputtered. “Do I–? No!”
Mikasa’s smile froze, then melted away.
“I mean! Wait!” said Eren, waving his hands in her face, hastening to backpedal. “You look fine! You just…. Now you look like everyone else! I liked it when you looked like yourself!”
Mikasa sniffed. “What if this is the real me?”
“Oh…” said Eren, turning red. “Okay. Then… Uh… I guess you look really pretty.”
Mikasa pursed her lips, studying him. “You really like my normal clothes?”
“Yeah,” said Eren.
“Oh,” she said, averting her eyes. “I guess I thought… Oh, nevermind.”
“What?” said Eren.
“Nothing,” she said, turning back around and clasping her hands on her desk. “Are you going to the homecoming dance?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” said Eren, trying to puzzle out why she was giving him the cold shoulder. “Wait. Are you going?” His stomach fell. “Do you have a date?”
“No,” she said. “But I would go if someone asked me.”
Eren’s head reeled as he imagined another, braver boy slow-dancing with Mikasa, holding her in his arms. He was going to be sick. “Well… what if I asked you?” he burst out before he could stop himself. “Would you go to the dance with me?”
“Yup. Pick me up at six,” she said without turning around.
“Huh?” said Eren.
“It’s a date,” said Mikasa, smiling over her shoulder at him. “Pick me up at six.”
Eren sat back in his chair, his heart pounding. “Okay, cool,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
#short#eremika#eren jaeger#mikasa ackerman#fanfic#eremika fanfic#fanfiction#i guess it's a drabble?#short scene#high school au#attack on titan#teenage eremika#ask me things#my asks#answered asks#drabbles#drabble
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Nanami is so used to treasuring you, treating you delicately like the sweet, precious gem that you are. It catches him completely off guard when one night, after he vents about work, you ask for him to be very rough with you. “Take it out on me, honey. Be as rough as you like. I can take it.”
He’s speechless at first, taken aback by the unusual request in the middle of him undressing from his office attire. He doesn’t notice that his signature tie is coiled tightly around his fist, button-up undone, revealing his brawny figure beneath his fitted undershirt. He has no clue how sexy he is right now, veins bulging from his beefy fingers, brows furrowed in a scowl, still frustrated from today’s nuisance at work. It’s a different side of him you usually don’t see, and maybe that’s why you’re so intrigued by it. You want to test him, see how hard he can give it you.
It takes a while for him to agree to it; he can’t imagine being even the slightest bit mean to his darling angel. But the further and further you badger him about it, tugging on his cuff, begging please, please, please, the more convinced he is to just do it. So, per your request, he pins your wrists together against your back, knotting his tie around them, locking you in a compromising position. You nestle your head into the pillow, knees digging into the mattress, ass sticking up, completely vulnerable. The anticipation already has your pussy fluttering.
He lies beneath you, eating you out first, slurping and sucking on your clit until your cunt is wet with your first orgasm, sleek enough for him to enter you smoothly. He kneels behind you, teasing your entrance with his fingers, feeling how juicy you are for him. He hums, satisfied, guiding his cock slowly inside you until he bottoms outs, groin pressed firmly to your ass. His thrusts are slow at first, easing into it to allow you to adjust to his size. But when you provoke him with a Is that the best you got? I know you can do better than that, he doesn’t hold back any longer. He grabs your wrists, pinning your shoulders back while he pumps himself deep inside you, bullying your sweet spot until you’re flooded with his cum. “You like it rough, don’t you, sweetheart? You like having this sloppy cunt filled with my seed. I’m gonna keep giving it to you until I’m milked dry and there’s nothing left. Understand?”
You can only nod, gasping when he starts fucking you again, still just as hard inside you, drilling into you until he gives you a second and third creamy load, relishing your unabashed moans echoing off the bedroom walls. When he finally pulls out of you, he watches his cum leak out of you, dripping onto the sheets. You collapse onto the bed, arms sore from being stretched out, wrists raw from the grip of his tie, pussy ragged by his intense pummeling. And the biggest fucking smile on your face, already looking forward to the next time he has a bad day at work.
#guess I couldn't hold off for too long lol#nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami x you#kento nanami smut#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami drabble#nanami kento#nanami drabbles
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ೃ⁀➷ MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE ★
a/n: fluff!! neuvillette being a touch starved loser (affectionate) + lots of terms of endearment. happy belated neuvillette day! may all neuvillette wanters be neuvillette havers ≧◡≦
Neuvillette can't stand coming home if not into your arms.
The deafening silence of a sleeping home drives him mad. It used to be welcomed after his terribly loud days. Now only serves to remind him of the millennium he spent alone, of the heartbreak he had to endure with no one to hold him, and of the growing emptiness within his heart long before he knew you.
It's unlike him to come home so late, but duty calls and as the Iudex of Fontaine he must go wherever summoned.
For days he has come home well into the latest hours of the night, sliding off his shoes in the darkness of the hall and allowing the silence to swallow him up whole. Five unbearably long days of missing your smile greeting him at the door, hands all over his face and squeezing his cheeks until he nudges them away in lieu of kissing you hello.
He expects tonight to be the same. It's so late that there was not a single soul wandering the streets of the city, no one awake to witness the very tired, very cranky Chief Justice.
You always find a way to defy his expectations.
The hall is quiet when he cracks open the front door. Crushing loneliness swells in his chest and sinks into the pit of his stomach when he realizes that you must have gone to bed long ago, as anyone sane would do. But then there's a click, followed by a small flame dancing in the dark.
You ignite an array of candles one by one, each additional glow illuminating your beautiful face in warm light. Neuvillette can't stop the hitching of his breath, nor the confusion knitted through his brows.
"What are you doing awake?"
You know he doesn't mean to scold you. Soft laughter fills his ears as you saunter over to him slowly. Realization crashes down on him as you approach, allowing him to see closer what has kept you up.
"Happy birthday, my love."
It's so late that midnight passed hours ago. He hadn't even realized amongst all the chaos of his work that the 17th had come and gone, making way for his birthday.
Only you would remember. It was a talent you had, memorizing every detail about him that sometimes even he lost track of.
("Neuvillette, dear, I picked up some dark roast on the way home today." He didn't even realize he had run out.
"Welcome home, I made ragout!" He wasn't aware he was craving it until you brought it up.
"Do you want this?" It's the last cookie in the bag, saved especially for him because you know it's from his favourite bakery in town.)
He leans in and blows out his candles, eyes never leaving yours as he blinks at you slowly. You look so beautiful even now, in the dimly moonlit hall. Darkness envelops your bodies again and yet he never tears his gaze away. Not even for a moment.
"Now put the cake down, please."
"Hm?" Your head tilts, clearly confused by his request.
"So I can hold you," he quickly explains, fingers itching at his sides because of how much he aches to hug you.
You gently set the cake down on the entrance table before you get scooped into a warm embrace, pressed snuggly to his chest as he memorizes the outline of your body against his once more.
"I've missed you, my dear," he says, face burrowed into the crook of your neck.
"It's only been a couple days," you laugh, and then remind him: "I see you every day at lunch."
"No, this is different." He pulls away slightly, forehead pressed against yours as he looks into your eyes. There's something in there— vulnerability and love all mixed into a beautiful purple harmony. "I miss coming home into your arms after long days," he admits.
"Oh, love," you breathe, reaching up to cup his face the way he's so used to. "Things will settle down again soon."
His eyes close as he savours your presence, soaking up all the affection you're giving him in his moment of weakness. You've always spoiled him.
"I suppose so," he agrees, a smile finally settling on his lips. Your thumb runs along it, tracing the curve of his happiness. There's a beat of silence before you open your mouth again.
"What did you wish for?" You ask curiously, voice growing quieter as you lean in to kiss him. And the answer he gives comes naturally.
Neuvillette has always wished for things he read about in novels; imaginary promises of treasure and desire and fame, sealed with the wispy smoke of blown out birthday candles. He isn't even sure if he has ever actually wanted any of those. But as he looks at you, with the slow beating of his heart and the brushing of your lips against him, he can't think of a single thing he could want more than this.
"I did not wish for anything," he tells you honestly, giving your waist a squeeze. "I already have everything I could ever want."
© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.
#— whispers in the wind ✧#it is NOT his bday but consider this my 3 month early submission for his bday i guess#also minimally proofread#genshin#genshin impact#genshin fluff#genshin impact fluff#genshin drabbles#genshin impact drabbles#neuvillette#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette x you#neuvillette x y/n#neuvillette x gender neutral reader#neuvillette x gn reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact x gn reader#genshin impact x gender neutral reader#neuvillette genshin#neuvillette fluff
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“i would rather die than to love you from afar„
rafayel would tuck your hair behind your ear and looks at you with loving eyes when you fall asleep listening to his ramblings.
rafayel who acts defiant and dramatic for the fun of it, he adores seeing you grin and laugh at his silly behavior.
rafayel relishes the warmth of your hand intertwined with his. although you may not remember him from your previous lives, he'll make sure to cherish you in this life anyways.
rafayel, who's heart overflows with love. he would do anything to stay by your side, even if it means giving up everything he has for you.
___
xavier, who puts himself on the line for you. your safety is his top priority.
xavier who rarely ever refuses you. he can't, he can't find himself refusing you. ask him anything, and he would do anything in his power to give it to you.
xavier, who would always get hurt and never go to the hospital. he always comes to you with one or two more wounds that you scold him for getting. it isn't his fault he keeps on getting hurt, maybe he just wanted to see you.
xavier would fall asleep everywhere, and sometimes even on you— if you let him. you may not see it, but his eyes is practically brimming with love for you.
___
zayne, who gives you gifts as a sign of his affection.
zayne treasures the memories you guys make together. he keeps those memories close to his heart, loving you despite being cursed with the pain that comes along with it.
zayne who gets flustered when you catch him eating sweets. although he is a doctor himself, he can't resist sweets— which makes you giggle at the mention of that.
zayne, who boldly holds and kisses you. he doesn't care if his love for you will kill him, he would rather die than to love you from afar.
a/n: this might be occ and inaccurate LMAO. had to use the fandom wiki to make it seem accurate as possible. i haven't played the game in a while so ^^
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace fics :p#headcanons#small drabble i guess??#writers block#supposed to write this an hour ago but lmao here you go :3#love and deepspace fluff!!!#i dont know if theres any writings about these peculiar three men#rafayel#xavier#zayne#zayne love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#xavier x reader#rafayel x reader#zayne x reader
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Ghost as a fuck buddy refuses to wear condoms, but he pays for your birth control/plan B every time. 😌
Ghost as a fuck buddy never comes inside you as a rule, but he scoops his come off of your belly with his fingers and stuffs it into your cunt when he’s done. 😌
#it’s all about balance I guess#moongreenlight#moongreenlightwrites#and that’s how seph sees it#cod mw2#call of duty#cod x reader#141 headcanons#drabble#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost x reader#ghost smut#ghost x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon riley
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Summary: You never expected your cute bunny costume to elicit this type of reaction from Lilia Vanrouge.
After returning from Deuce’s hometown, you and Silver decided to show off your costumes to Lilia and the others.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the time. Lilia commented how cute the outfits were while taking a bunch of pictures.
But you knew something was off as you spoke to Malleus, seeing those magenta eyes watching your every move.
A shiver went up your spine.
You swore you saw a fanged smirk from the corner of your eye.
Breath in.
Breathe out.
Melodic laughter fill the air as you ran.
You remember how Lilia cornered you right before this game of his.
Hand cupping your face as he leaned into you, “Run, my cute rabbit, run as fast as you can.”
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
You knew he was playing with you.
Could catch you any minute.
The light touch at your back or your ears teased how close he is to you this whole time.
How it was his choice to allow you to run.
But if you turned this corner…
A stream of water came to view.
“Oh?”
You flung yourself into the water as quick as you could.
The air stilled.
Before laughter broke out.
“Clever little prey. I went too easy on you.”
“I caught you~”
Fuck.
You were so close.
Gasps filled the air.
Clawed fingers wipes the tears clinging to your lashes.
Your outfit in tatters around you.
He couldn’t help the low chuckle escape him.
You were such a cunning prey.
And now? Such a delicious one.
He wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.
You had his blood pumping during the hunt and he planned on using this extra energy on you.
“Lilia…”
“Hm?”
“Plea- Ah!”
“Not yet Beloved, I’m far from done.”
His hunger was far from satisfied.
Oh Bunny event, how you entice me so with bunnies💞💞💚💚
#queuing this so I don’t keep editing and second guessing myself#lilia vanrouge#twisted wonderland#lilia vanrouge x reader#twst x reader#twst x you#lilia vanrouge x you#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland headcanon#Lilia Vanrouge x mc#twst lilia vanrouge x reader#twst lilia#lilia vanrouge headcanons#twst headcannons#twst scenarios#twst drabbles#twst imagines#twst fluff#twst smut ish at the end
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steve pov
He felt the pull at the same point every night.
As soon as he'd managed to get himself into the shower, he thought about him.
He looked at his bottle of shampoo and thought about how it wasn't next to Steve's.
He looked at the body wash he shared with the guys and wondered if he would ever get to steal from Steve's body wash again.
As Eddie got into bed, he listened to the guys sitting at the front of the shitty tour bus they could barely afford joking around, planning their futures as rock stars.
He tried to think like them, tried to think about the future he always wanted. He was so close. They were so close.
They were recording their second album. Their first was barely professional, barely even got produced, but this one. This one would change everything for them.
The more time they spent recording it, the more Eddie realized he didn't want to be singing into a microphone if Steve wasn't there watching him with that look.
The look that said 'I want you to kiss me until we can't breathe when you get off stage' and 'I know every song is about me already, but let me help you write a million more' and 'I love you, I love you, I love you.'
The look that was fading from his memory with every passing day.
If he could go back to the conversation that led to this, he wouldn't have it at all. He'd stay with Steve, he'd tell the guys he needed some more time, maybe they could just go on a state-wide tour of some bars and see what happens. Maybe Steve would warm up to the idea of leaving.
Or maybe they were meant to share this distance, to grow apart like this, to yearn for each other in ways they didn't even when Eddie was almost dead on the ground of another universe and Steve was begging any god that would listen to just 'save him, take me, he can't die.'
And maybe tomorrow Eddie would call him. Maybe tomorrow he would ask if Steve wanted to come to a show.
Maybe tomorrow he could find a way to get that face looking at him from the front row or backstage again.
Maybe tomorrow he would get to admit to Steve that his dream doesn't mean shit if he isn't under the same lights as him.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#drabble#angst with an ambiguous ending#but you guys know if i were to continue it they'd kiss and make up and be in love#anyways i'm gonna keep being in my feels i guess tonight#sorry to steve and eddie and steve and eddie only#post breakup
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Drabble but I had to make it pretty :3
Eren is pretty nosy. When he visited your dorm for the first time, he went through everything in your room, shamelessly. You were lying half naked waiting for him, meanwhile this dude was smelling your perfumes.
“‘Hmm, what’s this? ‘Who’s this in the picture with you?”
“His name is Dave, he was my prom date.” you tell him, growing irritated.
“He’s ugly.” He puts the photo facing down and joins you on bed but sits down instead of pushing your head into the mattress fucking you raw. “are your sheets linen? Is that what you prefer?”
You stare wordlessly, this was not how you expected the infamous collage star to to act when invited into your dorm. You usually meet at his place because he insists to always pick you up and have you spend the night at his. So when you asked him if he wanted to come to your place you instead, you could swear you saw his eyes sparkle.
You put your feet on each side of his shoulders which gets him to glance down in between your legs. “Wow, you want to fuck me so bad.” he tilts his head to the side as if to get a better look.
He’s on his knees, hovering over you as you’re lying down with your legs open “Keep talking like that and I’ll find somebody else to fuck me.”
He raises an eyebrow, “keep saying stuff like that and you’re gonna get punished.”
“By who?” you clench your thighs.
His eyes track the dirty motion of your hips and licks his lips as if to taste you. “only me. why, is there someone else on your mind?”
“I mean, dave did hit me up recently. he’s grown quite attractive.” you like being petty.
Not even a crack of a smile. “You know, when you say stuff like that, it makes me want to fuck you silly.” he delicately strokes your cheek.
Huffing out a breath, you’re about to tell him to go ahead but get interrupted by him tracing your lips with his fingers. “Your lips turn down at the edge,” he smiles, “you have the perfect pout.”
Your breath hitches in your throat, not really used to being treated like this. Eren keeps surprising you and yet you find ways to ignore it. But you have a feeling that he’s fully aware of your antics and is being patient with you.
“So?” you dart out your tongue around his finger. “want to see it wrapped around something other than your finger?”
He adjusts his boner and pushes your legs down around his waist. Gazing into your eyes, he calmly speaks. “you have no idea how much I crave you. every second of every day.”
Swallowing hard, you feel the tension in the room about to snap. He lowers his body and pushes your legs up, folding you in half with his body weight.
Face to face, Eren looks at your searchingly. He’s waiting for you to kiss him, he wants you to show him you want him. So your hands reach for his face, and you brush your lips against his. He sighs a breath of relief, as if he’s been holding it it this whole time, and kisses you back.
Feeling content, he draws back and watches as you’re unable to open your eyes for a few moments afterwards. Eren smiles and releases your legs, then viciously hugs you and starts rocking you back and forth.
“You’re so cute.” he squishes you.
“stop, I’ll cut your teddy bear the next time I’m over Eren I swear.” you threathen harmlessly. He gasps, “first of all, Eldy is not a teddybear he’s my son.” he jokes back. Laughing at his antics, you realize you’ve gotten further involved with him than you might’ve realized.
The inside jokes, he kissing and unnecessary cuddling. As if noticing you’re drifting away, he puts you on his lap and grabs your laptop. “Let’s watch a something.” he strokes your thighs.
“Dibs” you both say on the same time. Turning to face him, you yell “supernatural” again, at the same time.
He stares intensely, “oh baby, you were so made for me.” he draws out enthusiastically. “Yeah yeah, just put it on.” you turn your face back to hide your blush.
Your bodies are tangled together, he holds you as if you complete him. Legs in between yours, arm around your torso, you’re surrounded by him. “Eren, did something happen?”
You can tell this makes him happy. “you care about me.” he smiles cheekily and kisses your cheek. So that’s the reasons he just wants to hold you.
“So, what’s wrong?” you forcefully let out. It feels a bit uncomfortable but you can tell he’s not uncomfortable at all. “Don’t worry about it, just let me hold you.”
“Fine.” you don’t know why you make it sound like you’re irritated, you’re not. But Eren doesn’t say anything, you have a feeling he’s learning how you work and actually understands you. Either way, you let him hold you.
#was i need of slight comfort so idk why it ended sweet i planned on having him dive in between your legs but life is unexpected I guess!#btw this is rugby Eren getting you to lower your walls(if you read the prev drabble ykyk)#i have noooot read through this but atleast the header is pretty<3 hihi#you can send me asks if you want to read something in particular#eren smut#attack on titan eren#eren#eren jeager x reader#eren aot#eren fanfiction#eren jaeger#just in the clouds for eren#eren x reader#eren yeager x reader#Eren fics#Eren x you#Attack on titan
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At first Hob isn't even sure the shop is open. The tiny door inset above a few steps, the utter lack of welcoming signage, the windows packed with unlabelled stacks of books--it doesn't exactly scream come in and buy something. As Hob steps up to the door, he really expects it to be locked, or for a sign to fall from the ceiling reading, abandon all hope here, mortal.
But the door to the bookshop--the name of which he's yet to determine, again with the utter lack of signage thing--just swings open at his touch, and he steps into a narrow hallway made entirely of--of course!--books.
Dust rises from the rug as he carefully makes his way deeper into the meandering corridors. The lightbulbs overhead are dim and in desperate need of replacement. The stacks are teetering and untouched. If he learned the place had been sitting here on this winding side street, exactly the same, for the past seven hundred years, he wouldn't be at all surprised.
And now Hob's marring its mysterious mausoleum aura by opening a jaunty modern coffee shop across the street.
Whoops.
Hence why he's bringing a peace offering before he accidentally starts a war over noise or crowds or god knows what else. Most places would probably be happy about increased foot traffic, but that's not the sense he's getting here.
This is all, of course, assuming he does find an owner, and not just a skeleton manning a till somewhere in this place long gone dark.
Hob doesn't find any customers. He does find several interesting-looking side hallways labelled things like, ~ the occult ~ , Oneiromancy, and "falconry -- advanced" and has to drag himself back into focus because the only thing worse than starting a turf war with a mysterious bookstore owner on his cafe's opening day is accidentally spilling the coffee he's brought--as a peace offering!--all over some ancient magical text.
"Hello?" he calls, finally giving up on the creeping about. "Anyone there?"
No answer. All Hob finds is a rickety set of stairs leading up the next level. So he ascends.
At the top is an even more cluttered room of books. This time in disorganized, unlabelled stacks on every surface. Waiting to be shelved, maybe? And in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on the floor with several of these books spread out in a confusing array before him, is who Hob can only presume to be the owner.
An owner who is not dead, nor ancient and decrepit as Hob had kind of been picturing. Definitely not decrepit at all. Oohhhh dear.
The lithe, dark-haired, fey thing that is the owner tapes a note inside another book and says, in a distracted tone, "Can I help you?"
"Uh," says Hob, because he came here on a mission but he's gotten really turned around, "do you drink coffee?"
This gets him a raised eyebrow, but the shop owner does turn to look at him, staring up from his position on the floor. Christ he's pretty, spectacles and all. If there is a battle over street noise levels, Hob's going to lose by dint of caving automatically to those eyes. Pathetic.
The bookstore owner looks at the coffee in Hob's hand, then back at Hob's face. "Why?"
Hob thrusts the cup in his direction. "Here."
The owner looks alarmed now, but takes the cup, gingerly, peering at it as if he thinks Hob might have given him pureed nightshade instead. "Why?" he repeats, and then, because apparently his level of self-preservation doesn't extend to things like not drinking random shit thrust at him by strangers, takes a sip, and hums in appreciation.
"I-- fuck, sorry--" Hob sits down on the floor, which only makes him look more like a maniac to be honest-- "I just-- I just opened across the street? The cafe? So I just wanted to say hi and-- holy shit, is your name actually Dream? Were you a stripper in another life or something?"
This because he's finally spotted a tiny nametag pin on the bookstore owner's cardigan-- a cat curled around a book where the cover reads, I am Dream.
"Yes," says Dream, and Hob has no idea if that's in response to the first question, the second, or both. Both is terrifying to think about. As is the fact that Hob even asked that. "The cafe, you said?"
"Mmhmm," Hob agrees, cheeks burning. Oh, he's making a right mess of this, all right.
"Hmm," says Dream, peering at him over the coffee cup. This indicates nothing to Hob about how he feels about the cafe situation.
"I just worried that more noise and stuff might bother you," Hob rushes to explain. "You seem. To. You know. Like your quiet. Is all."
"It is my understanding that cafes and bookstores frequently have symbiotic relationships," says Dream evenly, though he's still watching Hob with unnerving intensity.
Well. That was easy. Maybe Hob was just worrying over nothing. Wanting to be liked when it wouldn't have been an issue.
"Alright," he says, letting out a breath. "Well. Good!"
"Good," echoes Dream, with a tiny, wry smile.
"What is this place anyway? I've seen no signage whatsoever."
"It's called The Library," Dream says.
Hob waits for him to explain. He doesn't. "Um, but... isn't it a shop?"
Dream raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "And?"
"So..." Hob says, "it's not a library."
"Purchasing something is but extended borrowing from the universe," says Dream, like that makes any sense at all.
But Hob decides there's other things he'd rather do with a pretty goth bookstore/library/whatever owner than argue semantics. "What do you carry, then?"
Now Dream preens like a cat. "The Library contains every book in print."
Now it's Hob's turn to raise an eyebrow. "That seems... unlikely? Impossible?"
Dream's self-satisfied little smile doesn't fade. "You are welcome to browse the stacks and let me know if there is anything you cannot find."
And, well, it's true that Hob didn't really get a sense of just how far back this place goes. It looks small from the street, but he's already wandered pretty far in just to find Dream, and has yet to reach a back wall.
"I will definitely have to come back," he agrees. And get lost. Definitely get lost. He's not even sure he can find his way out. He'll probably get swallowed up in Oneiromancy.
"In return I will be sure to visit your cafe," says Dream. He says it so strangely, like crossing into a foreign land. I will be sure to visit your court. "Are you open late?"
"On Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, yup," says Hob.
"Excellent." Dream inclines his head imperiously to Hob. "Thank you. For the coffee."
Hob figures he should let him get back to his labeling. He has plenty of his own work, too.
"Yeah, sure, any time. Good to meet you, Dream."
And then he scurries away before he can make it any weirder, makes his meandering way out of "The Library," and doesn't get lost in Oneiromancy.
This time.
--
The following night, Hob looks up from the till to find Dream standing across the counter from him. He looks much the same as before, with the addition of a long dark coat over his clothes, and no reading glasses this time. He offers Hob a tiny smile. "Hob Gadling."
Gosh, he looks, if possible, even prettier in the warm lighting of the cafe than in the darkness of his shop. Though to be honest, Hob had half-convinced himself he'd hallucinated Dream's existence. He hasn't seen anyone go in or out of the shop since.
"Dream," he greets, with a smile. "Anything I can get for you?"
"It is I who have something for you." He hands Hob what must be a book, though it's wrapped in brown paper. "Consider it a return gift. Or perhaps. A welcome."
And before Hob can even ask if he wants coffee or something, if he wants to sit down, he slips back out through the crowd and onto the street like a vapor, and then he's gone.
Hob tears open the paper. And then stares at the book in astonishment.
It's the book. Everyone has one. The book once read but since forgotten in the shuffle of time; title, author, too vague in recollection to pin down. Unsearchable. Never found, for all that the heart of the story might have lodged its way in somewhere deep.
It's one of those books that he remembers in blistering detail now that it's in his hands, that he read in uni but couldn't have found for the life of him on his own, and Dream's just handed it to him over the counter of his cafe.
He runs his fingertip over the midnight blue cover, the embossed lettering. In Search of Nightingales. And it's only as he looks up again at the hidden shop across the street, that he realizes he never told Dream his name, either.
#dream: its a library whose checkout term is the rest of your life :) ill get the books back eventually :) hope that clears it up for you hob#hob:.......#random drabble time i guess lol#dreamling#my writing#dream of the endless#hob gadling#bookstore cryptid dream
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Y'all ever get so heated that all you wanna do to calm down is to lay in someone's embrace?
Gaz x Male Reader
All fluff!
Ever think of going to Gaz after having a shitty day, where nothing went as they were supposed to. Your day was shit, waking up later than usual, getting chewed out, training didn't go well at all, some other soldier bumping into you at the mess hall making you spill some of your food on the ground and you just felt so drained and the cold environment did not help at all.
Stalking through the halls with your back tense with frustration. You can feel your jaw getting tighter and your brows furrowing as little bits of your day flashes in your mind. You walk around mindlessly as you try to think of a good way to de-stress, itching for the touch of a certain sergeant. And speak of the devil there he is.
You see Gaz being illuminated in the glow of the tv in front of him, the thin blanket wrapped around him making him look so much cozier. it's as if God was giving you a sign.
Gaz tore his eyes away from the telly to lock on to yours, seems like he noticed you, standing there all awkward. With a small quirk to his lips he beckoned you over with his hand, you immediately followed the order to sit next to him on the couch.
"Bad day?" He asks you, wrapping an arm around your stiff shoulders. You only grunt as an answer and relax into his hold, all the tension and frustration in your system melting away as he brings you closer to his side.
"Big guy just needed his cuddles after a long day, hmm?" He teased, you put all your weight onto him as a response. He's now stuck between the couch and you, effectively using your body to replace the thin blanket he had earlier.
You place your head between his pecs and he wraps his arms around you, gently stroking at your back, knowing that it helps you get more comfortable and just as he expects, you absolutely melt into the touch. Letting out content hums in the space between you. How easily you turned to putty in his embrace.
Gaz chuckles as he sees your brows unfurrow. Seems like you're getting quite comfortable there.
With a kiss to the top of your head he settles in, turning his head to face the tv once more but this time he has something infinitely better than that thin ass blanket.
#cod#cod x male reader#call of duty#x male reader#cod mw2 x male reader#tf 141 x reader#kyle gaz garrick x male reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x male reader#gaz#gaz x reader#kyle garrick#kyle garrick x reader#kyle garrick x male reader#guri writes#ayee guess who wrote a drabble before sleeping again (me)#im so touch starved#i am unabashedly a fluff lover#the most basic fluff thing ever? yeah thats my jam#i love freaky shit too dont get me wrong i just have no experience writing like that lol
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'Your soul isn't your own anymore'
Halloween outfits for the Daycare Attendant from this drabble I wrote.
#Solar Lunacy#Bytes of Lunacy#Reaper! Moon#Demon! Sun#i guess#Halloween Drabble#fnaf sb#fnaf daycare attendant#fnaf sun#fnaf moon#tw blood#doodles
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Hi! In Clueless Teens, how did Eren approach the topic of wanting a manbun to Mikasa? And her reaction to his manbun?
Hi! I feel like he handled it the way he handles so many things with Mikasa. He was like, "Do you think it would be hot if I grew my hair out? It would look pretty cool, right? Would you think that was sexy?"
And she was swooning like, "Yes".
And then I think the actual manbun discussion would go something like:
(begin scene)
Eren studied himself in Mikasa's mirror, frowning at his shoulder length hair.
"You okay over there?" she asked, looking up from her book.
"My hair got caught in my locker today," he said, batting at the chestnut strands.
"What?" said Mikasa with a disbelieving laugh. "How??"
"I don't fucking know!" Eren said, glaring at himself. "That's what I want to know. How does that fucking happen? I had to all twist around and put my combination in and Connie was laughing at me the whole time."
"Why were you even in your locker?" said Mikasa. "You don't even use it."
"I've been letting Connie-" he said this last with great vehemence- "store root vegetables in there since school started last month."
Mikasa blinked. "...Root vegetables?"
"Yeah," said Eren. "You know. Like carrots and yams and onions and potatoes and stuff."
"But... But why?" said Mikasa.
Eren shrugged. "YouTube, probably."
Mikasa was silent for a moment. "Yeah, okay," she said.
"Should I cut my hair?" asked Eren, frowning. He didn't really want to. He thought he looked really cool, and it felt really good when Mikasa brushed her fingers through it.
"You could put it up," said Mikasa, getting off of the bed.
"Like a braid?" asked Eren.
Mikasa came to stand behind him, peeking over his shoulder at their joint reflection. She smiled at him and pointed to a bowl on her vanity. "Give me a hair tie," she said.
Eren did and Mikasa swept his hair back, her nails gliding over his scalp as she neatened the strands and then twisted them into a bun and looped the elastic around it. She rested her chin on Eren's shoulder and hugged him around the waist. He studied himself.
"It looks all right," he decided, then caught her eyes in the mirror. "Do you think it looks good, though? Do you like manbuns?"
Mikasa smiled, tightening her arms around him.
"Mikasa?" said Eren, turning his head to look at her.
She giggled.
"Does it look bad?" he persisted.
Mikasa shook her head, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
"Babe," he said. "Please say something."
She shook her head and hid her face in his back.
"Why are you being so weird, helianthus?" he demanded.
Mikasa took a deep breath. "You look so hot I don't know what to do with myself," she squeaked.
"Oh?" said Eren.
She nodded against his back, another fit of hysterical giggles bursting through her.
Eren turned around inside her grip, beaming. She snuck a peek at him, then blushed even brighter red.
Eren grinned and put his arms around her, walking them both towards the bed. "Well, you may not know what to do with yourself, but I've got a pretty good idea you think I should do with you," he said, waggling his eyebrows.
"Ooh," said Mikasa, fanning herself with one hand and squeezing his bicep with the other, her eyes glued to his updo. "I think you're right."
(end scene)
#clueless teens#attack on titan#eremika#fanfic#eremika fanfic#drabble#i guess it's a drabble?#just for fun#they're underage. no smut#drabbles
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The place was Chicago. The year was 1990.
It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters.
Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment.
The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by.
So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there.
As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe.
Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums.
Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.
The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting.
It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two.
He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms.
The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.
All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated.
Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago.
The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.
It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal.
He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.
It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another.
He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers.
To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might.
Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now.
See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.
Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be.
After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore.
When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him.
Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you.
Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag.
The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket.
He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones.
Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear.
They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene.
He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.
“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.
Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable.
“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.
His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell.
“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf.
It was almost six. Shit.
Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie.
“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face.
The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked.
And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation.
The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.
“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected.
No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson.
Then Eddie remembered.
This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve.
“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose.
“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly.
“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself.
“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer.
“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair.
That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak.
“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied.
“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered.
A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention.
“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely.
“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive.
“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head.
“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves.
Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.
He really needed to get a hold of himself.
“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly.
Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears.
“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began.
Eddie screwed up his nose in response.
“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort.
“Stevie, you didn’t.”
Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush.
“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches.
“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned.
“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.
Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck.
“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands.
“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.”
Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.
“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.
“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living.
“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.
The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath.
Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead.
“Do you want to get a drink?”
And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans.
“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze.
“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.”
There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself.
“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone.
Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy.
“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.
“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt.
He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention.
The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular.
“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth.
“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve.
“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie.
“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table.
“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,
“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve.
“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject.
They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.
“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless.
“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on.
To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways.
He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak.
“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.
“Yeah, all on my own.”
The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up.
“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.
Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.
After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth.
“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin.
“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed.
“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan.
“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.
“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.
“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively.
“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit.
“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand.
“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy.
“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke.
It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking.
“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world.
“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.
“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.
“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.
“Let’s get out of here and find out.”
#steddie ficlet#steddie#steve harrington#ficlet#corroded coffin#eddie munson#drabble#prompt fill#stranger things#rockstar eddie munson#normal guy Steve Harrington#this won my prompt poll#it's not usually a trope I reach for#but I really LOVED writing this#I don't know how to explain it#but it came so easy#tw addiction#also I guess a blink and you'll miss it#reference to#aids/hiv#because it felt disingenuous to leave it out#some context for y'all#an 8 ball is#an eighth of an ounce of cocaine#while a party favour just generally refers#to hardcore party drugs#also 'Dream Warriors' is the third Nightmare on Elm Street film#and also a song#by the glam metal band Dokken#Corroded Coffin makes concept albums
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Curled atop Raphael to thaw.
@sky-kiss put it in my head how nice it would be to use Raphael's hellish body heat to unfreeze after a cold day. Actually, she's mentioned it several times. So of course I had to make a drabble. This is the softest Raphael has been or ever will be haha
(Also remoras are the fish which attaches to larger fish to "clean" them.)
“I feel like I just trudged through the snows of Cania.” Your teeth chattered, making it difficult to speak. Huddled as you were by the inn’s paltry fireplace, the flames were doing very little to thaw the bone chill.
Raphael looked up from where he reclined, perusing a long scroll of parchment. His hellfire gaze swept over your shivering form, arching a brow in amusement. “I did warn you not to venture forth. Yet you remain intrepid and stubborn as ever.” He cleared his throat and resumed reading the contract he’d been editing since your return.
You glared over at the devil on his bed, not that he saw. You shuffled off your heavy coat, the fabric stiff and just as frozen as the rest of you.
On numb bare feet you crossed the small room at a slight run,and hopped up next to where Raphael reclined. He gave you a look that you recognized as a sign his patience was slipping. “I don’t share my bed with little frozen mice.”
“Good thing I’m not a mouse, then.” You snuggled close to his body, his skin the shade of ripe cherries and giving off infernal heat. “Indulge me.” You repeated the words he’d spoken to you days previous, accentuating your accent to mimic his own.
Raphael tutted and, with a tug, moved his wing away from where you rested on it. “Your body has the appeal of a corpse. Get yourself hence ere I remove you.”
“Hurtful.” You didn’t budge, instead pressing yourself closer and sighing as the heat radiating off him began to seep beneath your clammy skin. “Please, Raphael.”
The cambion stilled, his hand holding the parchment still outstretched to keep the fresh ink from smudging as you moved yourself as much on top of him as possible. You felt him sigh beneath you and smiled, sensing victory.
You did not expect the pressure of Raphael’s hand upon your hair, stroking once before resting against your upper back. He waited for you to stop moving, finding a comfortable position half-curled atop his torso.
“What are you willing to do in exchange for my constant lenience?” Raphael’s breath stirred your hair. He rested the parchment back against the top of your head and seemed to be only half interested in your reply.
In response you made sure to tuck your ice block feet against his thighs. Raphael’s muscles twitched in response, and he gripped your waist hard in retribution. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy this at all?” You asked, your sense of self-preservation long since fled.
“I’m reminding you everything has a price, my dear.” Raphael murmured. “I shall let you ruminate. For now, be silent, I have work to do.”
You found no issue with that, feeling the rise and fall of the devil’s breath beneath your body as he warmed you. Your eyelashes fluttered with a sudden wave of drowsiness.
Raphael’s wings curled around you both in a sort of cocoon, increasing the feeling of being thawed. Soon you were enveloped in a haze of red and heat, every so often hearing the sound of paper rustling and the scratch of a quill.
You stretched, hooking one of your legs over the cambion’s waist and wrapped your arm around his chest.
Raphael looked down at your relaxed body, curled atop his. He smiled slightly to himself moved his long fingers through your hair. “What a soft, pliant creature you are. The errant remora seeking refuge, fully knowing it’s within the jaws of a shark.”
#Raphael bg3#raphael x tav#bg3 drabble#raphael x reader#raphael baldur's gate 3#fanfic#fluff I guess lmao#There has to be that underlying sinster sense or it wouldn't be our lovely cambion
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sleazy retired SAS now car mechanic Soap relentlessly flirting and leering at you every time you come by the shop. He’s gross and pushy, definitely a bit of a perv, but god is he so flirtatious and handsome you can’t even be bothered to push him away when he finally crowds you against the door of your own car to shove his tongue down your throat. Calloused fingers still covered in motor oil sliding past the waistband of your jeans as he kisses you with entirely too much tongue, all wet, sloppy and eager. He tastes like cigarettes and the cinnamon gum he’s always loudly smacking in your face :(
#sorry the sleazy car mechanic au was supposed to be a smutty one shot but now i’ve envisioned and outlined WAYYY too much detail for it so#it’s getting there my stupid brain just keeps thinking of more things to add#so here’s idk a small thought from the wip i guess?#cod#soap#soap x reader#soap drabble
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Nun! Alastor X Reader - Part 2 - The Confessional
HahahaHAH ITS HERE!
Warnings: serious filth and sacrilege, mentions of tentacles, some choking, fingering, oral (surprise for whose receiving~) and some really depraved confessions and convos. Cursing!!! Yay, sin! I hope you guys enjoy 💗 there will be a VERY important poll at the end, so be sure to give it a look 👀
Edit: I noticed a few mistakes on my 100th read-through, and made some changes. Apologies for that!
Never had you felt more nervous when stepping towards a chapel, hands wringing themselves soothingly. The sweat clung to your palms as you looked up towards the looming structure, head straining to take in the full magnitude of the building. The intricate stained-glass windows were illuminated under the moonlight, casting grand scenes across the earth at your feet.
In Hell, most sinners were more active at night. Depending on the Ring you would visit, you would likely run into 'unsavory' company. But thankfully, this humble part of the Pentagram was lulling with sleep, as if abiding by the arbitrary notion of a "Sabbath Day". How ironic.
You wet your lips, cursing yourself for not taking better care of yourself, before you quietly enter the building. Your eyes scanned the main hall, the room you had sat in not too long ago. Candles lit up the pulpit faithfully at the front of the chamber, while torches lined the perimeter. In this lighting, the room seemed so different, giving off the air of a deathly calm and peace; a juxtaposition to its normally bustling, jittery energy.
You almost called out into the dim room, but restrained yourself. You bowed your head, looking down cast before uttering a gentle apology for the intrusion. When you looked back up, you nodded, hyping yourself up before coming into the room further.
It is by this point that you hear something shuffling, your head snapping towards the sound. Your bravado was instantly dashed as you flew into a panic. Your eyes flash with fear, hands flying defensively upward... before you sigh with relief. You caught sight of a small, fuzzy mouse, scurrying away from you. False alarm, for now...
Your eyes scan your surroundings again, before you spy a short hallway. You step towards it, noticing that there appeared to be a private area. You squint in the dim light, spying a humble looking booth within the room.
Bingo. This must be where "confessions" occur.
You start to make your way down the hall, eager to meet with the Priest about redemption. Your head was high; you had genuine, innocent hope that this wouldn't be some money laundering, bait-and-switch scheme. And if it was... well, you just might punch a priest.
Your eyes observe paintings on the wall; you were surrounded by familiar depictions. The birth of Jesus, the Crucifixtion of Christ... the First Fallen Angel, Lucifer's decent. The rise of both Lilith and Lucifer in Hell... all of the depictions reminded you just how dire your predicament was, and how much you desperately wanted to leave hell.
In the last frame in the hallway, you spy a photograph, pausing to get a closer look. In the center, arms folded pridefully, there stood the Priest, St. Vox... among him, to both sides, stood honest though demonic looking nuns. You squint at the form to his right, unable to make out the face of the tall, slender Nun. All you could make out was a set of yellowed, razor sharp teeth smiling back at you. You shuddered, unable to shake the feeling you were being watched, before you entered the private room.
Without hesitation, you entered the booth, having a seat in the left side. You were not comforted by a cushion or pillow, the seat creaking under you. You flinched, the noise almost deafening in the resounding silence. And then, you waited, waiting for a sign of the Priest you sought to speak to.
You were welcomed in perfect silence, your eyes trained on the confessional booth before you. A simple construction, for sure, but the carvings and finishes made the booth seem... expensive. You walked up to it, hand tracing intricate carvings of religious iconography. Snakes, the Forbidden Fruit, Angelic wings... a myriad of designs and carvings litered the enter frame. Had you had better lighting, you would take the time to appreciate it more... but you were here on strick business.
When the bench in the booth to your left suddenly creaked, you nearly banged your head on ceiling. Your heart was in your throat, frightened; did the door even open??? How did someone get in there so quickly???
A throat was cleared, the sound of static crackle replaced with a low hum, before a familiar voice cut through.
"Child, I apologize for keeping you waiting. Sadly, there's no rest for the wicked, nor those who seek to help them." You sigh in relief as Vox speaks to you, shoulders instantly relaxing. You fold your hands neatly in your lap, looking towards the booth's door as you spoke.
"No worries! It uhh-- it wasn't for long, if that's what you're worried about. I... well, your Nun informed me that you had a chance to hear me out? I hope that I came at the correct time..."
Midnight, on the nose. Though some cultures differed, you were sure you were correct on this notion...
"My Child, you came at the perfect time. But, I must fulfill my duty to you; to listen first. What have you come to speak about?"
You leaned back as your thumbs twiddle, suddenly sheepish," Well... I know your methods of redemption usually come through... err, "offerings". Monetary ones, at that. I was wondering if you had ever seen anyone be saved? Redeemed and brought to Heaven on just... good will and sinless lifestyle alone?"
A dark chortle... then, an uproarious laughter fills the booth as you look in shock.
"Oh, dear Child, you are mistaken! A sinner is not capable of change! Nor is a sinner able to even fathom walking to the Heavenly Gates. No... the actions taken can never be washed clean... at least, not in Hell. What's done is done. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But..."
You feel your skin crawl as you feel the Priest facing you, still unable to see him in the darkness of the booth, just behind a lattice-patterned divider.
"You mention humble offerings... now those have proven to make life in hell more... comfortable. Much more so than that of anyone. Offerings have the ability to keep you safe; make you privy to things that others are not." You shrink back from the voice as it draws closer, a characteristic glitch setting in the tone.
Your face instantly morphed from bafflement to rage, anger brewing in your core," What-- what are you saying?!?"
"I-- your money can make you safe. It can welcome you to my fold, dear... Or... if money isn't on the table... there are... other ways to earn favor in this sacred place."
The voice past the partition seems to smile a wider," Dear, I believe you know that your soul could be traded... for freedom. For pleasures. Who best to give it to than a Priest who can promise you untold riches? No salvation, but, comforts in this life time? I can give you that-- and SO much more!!!"
"Forget it!!!" You shrieked, standing firmly on your feet and slamming your fist into the wall," I do have a confession to make, after all!"
You feel your eyes welling with hot, angry tears as your words spew out, unabashed," I LOATHE your methods! I think that taking people's money for their loyalty is-- it's sick! Almost as sickening as buying their love with promises of salvation! You're just-- just some pompous, religious twat!"
You slam your fist into the partition again, feeling your anger bleeding into your physical form," I'll tell you-- I'll tell you that I think you're a fucking sham.. this whole Chapel is! The only GOOD thing you have in this building is your fucking Nun, Alastor!"
The voice from the other end does nothing to interrupt you, seemingly silenced by your fury.
The door to your booth is slammed open by your hand, as you trudge towards the door.
"In fact-- I think I will go seek her-- him??? THEM out!!!"
"I've had it with this discussion. You aren't here to help me. You're here to coerce me. And I'm not gonna listen to another word of your warped gospel, you cheap, conniving, greedy fUCKER--!"
A sickening, twisted laughed bellowed in the chamber, the tone of voice morphed and unable.
You gasped when you were suddenly slammed into the wall, body pressed flush to it as someone pinned you from behind. You struggled, choking as the air was unintentionally pushed out of your lungs. You became frantic as the hot breath of the demon behind you fanned across your ear. Shit-- shit!!! You fucked up!
"At last, Sweet Lamb... you've begun to see the light!"
You freeze, eyes straining to look behind you. The voice of the Priest was no more, replaced with the familiar, velveteen tone of the Nun. You opened your mouth, struggling to speak with no support," Y-You! This is-- please explain!" was all you could squeak out, before a neutral hum sounds behind you. You shuddered as it reverberated through you, no time to think as you were spun around.
Again, the Nun's body pinned your own, craning downward to look at your frightened face," Sadly, the Priest could not make it to Confessional tonight... But, I was more than happy to step in, in his absence." You trembled as his arms left deep rivets in the wall beside you, swallowing hard," And, to be frank, the help he would have offered you would have been the same; inadequate, even."
You stopped struggling as you locked eyes with the demon above you, swallowing shallowly as he spoke again.
"Now, as for helping you: I'm afraid the only entity who can divinely interfere with your predicament is the Lord and his Seraphims. Not even the Ruler of the Hells could hope to overwrite God's Will." You eyes turn downcast, face heating at the words. Of course... that would make sense. Only God and the angels can open the gates, right? How foolish an idea you had...
"There are things that a Saint, such as myself, can still offer to you..." Your eyes widen in recognition: Aha! So he WAS a man, afterall. You blink, shaking your head quizzically.
"However..." You felt a clawed finger beneath your jaw, beckoning you to look up. You were faced with the same, wide smile, eyes narrow slits filled with delight.
"I have SO many questions-- for one, why would you be parading as a Nun, if you're a Saint?" Alastor's grin grows a touch mischievous, before a weighed sigh leaves him," Alas, the Priest here struggles with... containing himself. He has a history of giving in to Earthly desires, time and time again. I can bring him much discomfort with just my voice, let alone my body... I am merely a vessel for the Lord, and yet he wishes to, well, lay his claim. And so, the habit conceals everything he can't keep his eyes off of; everything he is not permitted to touch by the Lord."
His neck tilts, cracking with the harsh angle as he looks to you," I think it's quite the sound idea, don't you think?"
Alastor leans back, his hips still pinning you to the wall. Your face heats hastily with embarrassment. He seemed to be gauging your every move, calculating what you may try while under his trap.
"Sure, right-- Okay... perverted Priest. Wouldnt be the first time I've heard of that..." You looked up shakily to the nun... saint...? You aren't sure what to call him anymore. Alastor quirks a brow up at you, egging you to speak.
"Okay, okay, second question: what are you implying that you can help me with?" You yelp as a knee comes between your legs, caging you again. Alastor bends down at the waist to match your height, his face growing closer to yours. With hands at either side of your head... you were still so close... and so, so trapped.
"I think we both know that you have something else to get off your chest... Thoughts that you've been plagued with, My Lamb." A slender, warm finger runs down your cheek, knuckle first, ending the trail just below your jaw. You gasp as Alastor comes impossibly closer, his fringe nearly brushing your forehead.
"Wh...what do you mean...?"
The Saint chuckles darkly, shaking his head," Oh, wayward one... your eyes betray you. They betrayed you the moment you looked into mine." You nearly squeaked as his other hand brushed through your hair, ensuring he could see your entire face.
"I saw you, even from across the room... Eyes wide in awe, wonder... You were completely spellbound by a riveting performance. You tried to look away, you shifted in your seat to silence your nerves... And yet: your eyes never strayed far from this Servant of the Lord."
A choppy gasp as the hand in your hair ran down to your neck, lightly caressing and pressing to your pulse.
You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, subconsciously parting them as he continued to speak," Your body kept betraying your internal struggle, Little Lamb."
"I could sense your heartbeat, quivering and loud, with each movement I made, each inhale I had to take to sing. Each time I smiled just a touch more... I could almost taste the sweat that ran down your brow, your eyelids fluttering during the final chorus. Your thighs could only do so much to relieve the pressure that built up in you. You were enthralled... but not by the Lord's gospel: but by me."
His hand drifted down to your chest, settling over the very spot your heart should be. Your breathing quickened, your eyes never leaving his. You cursed yourself, biting your lip to stifle any shameful noise you might create.
St. Alastor's smile never wavered as he leaned over you, that familiar heat ghosting over your neck.
"I didn't miss the way that your pulse quickened when I walked closer... you hadn't even been a part of my original section, you know. But Sister Eunice was more than willing to switch. Your palms became clammy, eyes glassy as you tried desperately to plan your escape... And the moment my arms caught you, I knew for sure: you also struggle with impurities of the flesh. Specifically..."
You watched with baited breath as his hand drifted lower, until they landed on the hem of your bottoms, ghosting just above your core,"... you struggle to keep your thoughts, your body's reactions, at bay around me."
You gasp as you are groped by the large hand of the Saint, breath already ragged from his words," But... to know for sure, I need to hear these impurities come from your lips. The first step to forgiveness is confession; honesty. You must repent for your actions, in order to properly atone. So... is there anything you need to confess to, Bashful One?"
Your eyes glazed over, a familiar heat brewing downstairs as you felt his palm grind against your clothed sex. Your head rolled back, lip quivering as the Saint waited patiently. Your mouth fell open, a quiet sigh escaping you.
"Yes, there it is... let it out, Lamb. Don't hide in shame from the Lord. Embrace it-- embrace this--" You whined as your arms grabbed at his habit, his hands shifting and rubbing you through your clothing torturously. You try to stifle another moan, eyelids fluttering," Th-This is-- haaah!" You let your eyes fall closed, brows furrowing," Y-You have the wrong idea, I didn't come here to f-fuCK--"
You could barely contain yourself as you felt the hands of the Saint slip into your bottoms, fingers tracing a sensual line from the bottom of you slit, up to the pearl that sat atop it. You whined as Alastor pressed against it, unable to think clearly as he began to swirl two digits around your clit. His movements are slow, not to overwhelm you, eyes taking in your expressions to monitor your progression.
"St. Alastor! I--" you caved to the feeling, grinding into the saint's hand," I-I didn't come for this, but... I-I did think immoral things about you." Good choice, Alastor thought.
You bit your lip as you were rewarded a pinch to your bud, back arching off of the wall as you wailed," I-I-- fuck-- y-your voice was really-- mmph!" You grabbed onto the demon's shoulders above you, rooting yourself in place as you felt Alastor's pace increase.
"Hah... y-your hands looked-- feel-- so warm! Uhhn! Y-your eyes were--" Alastor pinches again, correcting you," A-Are--! Your eyes are s-so deep-- it feels like you were-- i-it felt like you were undressing me with them!"
"W-When you caught me, for a moment I felt- hah-- saAAaafee~" You mewl as Alastor's fingers move lower, teasing your entrance, where you desired his fingers the most. Your face was tilted further to the side, before you felt a wet, hot mouth suckling at the junction of your neck. You shuddered, fighting the mewl he tore from you so easily. Unsatisfied, you felt sharp teeth biting down, making you shriek with surprise. Pain was quickly replaced with a soothing pleasure, Alastor kissing and licking at the wound apologetically. You sighed, working up the mental capacity to speak again.
A sly smile graces his face, leaning in to place chaste, innocent kisses to your neck," ...and perhaps they were, clever Lamb... Perhaps they were~" You whined at the notion, mouth hanging open as you continued your confession. You could hardly think straight as you felt his fingers quicken, your eyes beginning to lose focus. You trembled, knowing that this confession had been doing lewd thing to your mind and body.
"I-I felt, no-- I needed those arms around me again. I wanted..." Boldly, you moved your arms from his shoulders, pulling lightly at Alastor's veil," I really wanted to see what was underneath all of this, too... call it a sin, but... I... I have nothing to hide anymore; not from you or the Lord."
You watch as Alastor's head doubles over, a shaky groan escaping him. When he looked back up at you, his eyes blended in with the rest of the room: they became pitch black.
"What an obedient, honest fucking pet you are, Little Lamb~"
Without warning, two fingers made their intrusion, but your silken heat was relaxed enough to take him. You cried out in bliss from the reward, tugging at the head dress again. Alastor simply kept going, leaning in to kiss your forehead as he thrust his digits up into your welcoming, quivering heat.
"Ahh, ahh~ I've taken an oath, little one. No one is permitted to see such secrets~"
You whine as you clamp down on his wet fingers, brows furrowing. You needed more; you demanded to see more. You didn't miss the way that Alastor hissed, brows furrowing at how tight you were. It seemed that he enjoyed the display far more than he let on...
Attempting to ground himself, his hand landed on your neck, holding you in place. The effect seemed to make you wetter, eyebrows raising with realization as your moans deepened. What an interesting revelation~ The Lord most certainly worked in mysterious ways!
He leans down to your ear, voice low and dripping with a sacrilegious heat," ...Tap once if you would like me to tighten my grip. Tap twice to stop it immediately." Your eyes, wide with desire, fluttered and rolled towards the ceiling, but you nodded nonetheless. If this was how all of your confessions would go... then you would become a zealot of the Lord and the Saint before sunrise.
You gave his shoulder a tap, hand landing there as you let his fingers explore and scissor the walls of your pussy. Alastor was happy to oblige, his hand squeezing your neck gently.
The action made your mouth run dry, your eyes glazing with desperate, passionate tears as his fingers thrust deliberately in your core.
Another tap to his shoulder, your eyes gazing into the flickering radio dials that had become Alastor's pupils. Again, Alastor was happy to amuse you.
You couldn't contort or stifle the noises you made, grunts and mewls the only music to leave your delicate throat. St. Alastor's hand squeezed as promised, making you flutter pathetically around him. You whined as you took in the nun turned god, your tongue hanging precariously out of your mouth. He smirked, a dangerous chortle bouncing off the chamber walls.
"Already at a loss for words, Lamb?" Alastor's fingers inside of you flex inward, pressing against a spot that made you see the pearly gates.
"My, my, your confessions will fall unto deaf ears at this rate~ Speak up, won't you? The Lord and I are granting you an audience~" He knew you couldn't speak; he knew and he didn't care. He just wanted to see you keen and struggle against him, unable to do anything but beg for more or stop this all together.
You couldn't even think of a sentence, let alone speak it into existence. Your lips flapped desperately, hands snaking up to grip at the wrist and hand on your throat. Your legs quaked, your eyes threatening to roll back as you gave a singular tap. Just one.
Alastor's eyes gleam with insidious joy as his smile expands.
Even tighter.
You felt your hips guiding themselves along Alastor's devout fingers, chasing a feeling that was hastily approaching. Alastor did little to stop you, intrigued by the display. At the intrusion of a third finger, a wanton dribble of saliva cascaded down your chin. A strangled groan: you certainly didnt mind the delicious stretch that your entrance underwent.
St. Alastor returned his attention to your face, licking a heated stripe across your parted, swollen lips. You sputtered with ecstacy, the feeling further spurring you on. You felt your coil tighten, your throat burning as you panted with reckless abandon.
"Come unto me, Little Lamb."
You needed little motivation, a silent scream gracing your face as you completely shut down. Your legs spasmed and stilled, heart racing as Alastor finally let go of your neck. Your voice was hoarse for a beat or two, hands instinctively going up to your neck. You felt a small, dried blood trail from the bite on your neck, trembling with the notion that he visibly marked you. If he didnt intend to own you, then he made a grave mistake.
You only whine as the feeling of his warm fingers left your core; this only managed to light a fire in you. You look back towards the Saint as your eyes lidded, a heavy sigh his only warning as you pushed him off of you. Alastor, surprised, caught himself with a pitch black tentacle that manifested behind him. You start to unbutton your bottoms, pushing them off of your hips before kicking them to the side. You start trudging towards the Saint with a renewed heat in your eyes. Alastor's grin nearly split his face in half as he watched you, completely overtaken by your desire to commit more sins.
Alastor tilts his head, taking deliberate paces away from you and towards the confessional booth. He had a grand idea!
"It seems that you are still plagued with impure thoughts. Tell me, Dear Lamb..." Alastor practically chuckles as he takes you by the wrist, tugging you off your feet and into the booth. You land harshly on his lap, the both of you groaning as you grind down on his firm, tall erection.
His tone was dangerous, a myriad of tenacles materializing around your limbs," What other impurities trouble you, my Lamb?" You grow impatient, boldly reaching for his lap before your hand is held aloft. Cursed tentacle!!!
"P-Please, Sister-- Saint Alastor," Your tone comes our more like a plea than a demand, as your other arm is held over your head. Your legs are spread apart, your bare cunt dribbling your essence; it drips down your glistening thighs in a tantalizing way.
"I have had thoughts of you f-fucking me... a-and I don't know how to b-b-- AHH!!" Your hips buck at an unfamiliar feeling, one of Alastor's tendrils caressing and teasing your entrance," I-I don't how to-- How to banish the thought... I-I may need higher intervention. I-I need your blessing, St. Alastor."
A prideful, malicious smile replaces the amusement on his face, long, slithering tongue dragging across his lips," Well, that is certainly a hefty demand! You poor, sinful wretch!"
You cry out in pleasure as the tentacle spears you, exploring parts much deeper than his fingers could reach. You felt your arousal slicken the foreign body, making the intrusion easier. A wanton moan sounds in the air everytime the tentacle thrusts into you.
Alastor stands on his feet, flicking a wrist as the tentacle's speed picks up. You were completely helpless to his whims, your eyes threatening to roll back as you are overcome by the tentacles' hold and movements. The Saint looked all too pleased as you heard the rustling of fabric. You tried to look down, but a tentacle covers your leering eyes, making you wail in frustration. Alastor tuts like a disappointed teacher, shaking his head.
"And here I was, about to reward you for your blatant, unabashed honesty... Should I stop? Should I call the Priest to finish the job? Or should I leave you here, tied up and aching for relief... Just to let any-old-sinner find you in such a state?"
You freeze, biting your lip as the tentacle slows to a painfully slow slog. You whine again, thrashing your head in protest," N-No, no, no...! Ughhnn, no please! Don't stop! I-I still want your blessing, Alastor! Pl-Please!"
A wicked laugh sounds in front of you as a hand snakes up your top, finding and fondling your right nipple. You jolt at the sensation, the feeling multiplied due to the lack of sight. You weren't expecting the tentacle inside of you to stir to life at the same time, now with a renewed, brutal pace. You were practically screaming at the onslaught, bouncing from every thrust you were gifted.
"Ohh, I knew you would succumb to God's Will, my dear... You see, we all fall helpless, begging at God's feet."
You feel yourself being dragged down until your knees hit the floor , your hands still held high above your head. You weren't expecting warm, firm flesh to land on your face, gently slapping at your parted lips. You could only speculate what it was, your thighs unable to clamp together.
"I must warn you, receiving my blessing can be quite taxing... do you still wish to accept it, Lamb?"
Your tongue comes out from your lips, swiping along Alastor's cock. You feel his hips stutter as you lick all that you could reach, your head already lightheaded from your desire to please him. You swirl your tongue around the head, the tip of your tongue teasing the slit in your movements. You heard a warning growl, a hand fisting your hair and holding you in place.
Still unable to see, you look up towards the noise, mouth wide open," G-Grace me with your blessing, Oh Shepard..." You could feel Alastor's breath hitching, trying to restrain himself.
"Guide this Lamb to the light of the Lord. Please.."
You were given no time to prepare as Alastor thrust into your mouth, his animalistic grunt your only solice. You were shell-shocked as he and the tentacle worked in tandem to break you. You swiveled your hips and met the thrusts from below, arching your back as your head was used as a personal cock sleeve. Though you wished to see Alastor's own lips, bruised and panting, his hair clinging to his forehead as he thrust into you... the feeling would have to surfice. And though you wanted to run your hands along his abdomen, raking your nails across his pistoning hips... you couldn't deny that the feel of the whole ordeal verged on the precipice of Nirvana.
You groans and mewls made his cock twitch and leak more precum, making your mouth even more slick for his movements. He couldn't deny how good this felt; he, himself, would have a lot to answer for later, in the privacy of the basement. He moaned as he thought of his future atonement, limbs spread and head to the floor to form the cross before a statue of Jesus. His fingers would be clawing into the floor as he recited his virtues and prayers, pleading forgiveness for a sin he felt no guilt for.
His mind clouded with visions of you, trying to seduce and distract him. Your hands would trace along his body and caressing his traitorous, sensitive tail. This information, for now, was still unknown to you...
He practically shouted from the pleasure your mouth offered him, one hand holding your face still while the other braced himself against the confession booth door and splinted the wood.
He was already approaching his climax, and by the looks of it, you were nearing your second. His smile strained as his hips lost their rhythm, opting to seek the feeling and not the motion.
"Fuck-- fuck, Lamb... oh, my sweet Lamb!!!"
You whined around Alastor's cock, your hands struggling against their restraints as you cunt throbbed with the desire to cum.
"You are so-- fuck, so fucking warm!" You felt your orgasm bubbling in your core, your tongue doing its best to carress and snake around his cock, welcoming his release with open mind and body.
"An obedient Lamb... worthy of my blessing!! Arggh-- b-blessings upon you, Lamb!! Take it! Take every last drop-- Hah--"
You gagged as Alastor bottomed out in your mouth, unable to pull away as his 'blessing' painted you white as snow. You shrieked around his cock as a new tentacle traced fast circles around your clit, forcing your release to hit you by surprise. You screamed into the climax, feeling a warm gush between you legs as you finally came undone.
Alastor pulled out of your mouth, his tentacles still touching and pulling you through your release. Your eyes are uncovered as Alastor kneels before you, kissing you hard and passionately. Your hands were soon freed, and so you tore off the damned veil. You began tangling your hands into the Saint's red and black locks, your euphoria starting to die down.
Once you felt like you were back in the right state of mind, you parted from Alastor's lips, a pleasant smile on your face. You looked down to your lap, embarrassed at the unmistakable puddle you left behind from your passions. Alastor looked too, eyes flicking back to yours as his grin softened.
"Worry not. I will handle this, Lamb. No one will know of this night. And your confessions will be safe with me."
"...REALLY now..."
The both of your freeze, looking to one another as a familiar voice sounds behind you.
"Y'know, confessions: they're supposed to be in a private, sacred place... and from your actions, this place has been sullied and desecrated."
The door to the booth flies open, Alastor and you both jumping from the sudden BANG. Your eyes widen in horror at the Demon who stood in the doorway.
"What do you both have to say for yourselves?"
#nun!alastor#@st-alastors-confessional#alastor x reader#alastor x you#alastor x y/n#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin hotel drabble#alastor hazbin hotel#radio demon#heheheheh whose at the doooooor? i guess you guys need to find out... NEXT TIME#i hope you enjoy this filthy piece of mine ❤️❤️❤️#i hope it lives up to the hype#hdhdjsjsj#gdusjs#hehe#ice bath time
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