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flowerbetweenfangs · 2 days

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Cream Filling: Chapter One

Warning: Use of drugs and dubcon.

(MC is dosed with an aphrodisiac and is all too willing... But you know)

This was originally posted on A03 and is my most popular work, so I thought I'd put it here.

I hope you enjoy.

Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up pitch black streets for an instant. Elle Shepard nearly slipped on a horribly placed patch of mud. Windmilling, she caught a streetlight and came to a stop. A crack of thunder made her let go. Another bolt struck, enveloping the buildings and pavement in a brightness that was almost blinding, before a loud boom shook the windows.

Finally, she came upon a neon sign, showing a drink being shaken, then poured into a martini glass. The glass then changed to a coffee mug, the shaker into a pitcher. The words read: Ramses Brew, Bar and Café.

Pushing open the door, Elle stepped inside and pulled down the hood of her raincoat. Closing her umbrella, she stuck it in the container with the rest. Music played, pool balls cracked, conversations blurred together in one continuous hum. A bartender passed out drinks, moving with inhuman speed.

Walking up to the bar, Elle took a seat on the stool near the end. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the polished wood.

“What will it-” The bartender flinched at her, their nostrils flaring. Their voice sounded like many people talking at once.

“Oh, you’re the human.” They reached into their pocket and pulled out a phone. Tapping on the screen, they sent a quick message and put it away. They dropped their voice and leaned in closer to her. “Sorry, our drinks are a little too strong for your kind.”

They were most likely a demon, with horizontal lined pupils and a pair of antlers. Their sunken face showed a skeletal structure that was more deer than human, with a slight brown fuzz instead of fur. Their hands were coal black, their fingers tapering off to a clawed end.

“Can I just have water?” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart fluttering. Focus! The job was more important than a one night stand.

“Of course.” They bowed their head, before going to a new arrival at the bar.

Sighing, Elle debated pulling her hood back up when she felt the eyes on her. No, she’d have to get used to the stares if she wanted to get this job. A human woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, wearing dress pants and a button up peach blouse. No horns, fangs, scales, or a tail. Not even markings that would signal she was a mage or tied to someone with magic.

Swinging her leg back and forth, Elle sipped at her water, looking around the bar. There was a pair of trolls playing pool. A pair of drow were in the corner, looking like they were discussing more… Intimate plans. A human looking man sat on the couch, a cane between his legs. A spread of cards were on the table in front of him, small black wisps curling around them. He seemed to be the shortest occupant, he was probably a head and shoulders taller than her.

“Ms. Elodie Shepard?” The voice made her turn.

An angular face stared at her. It was human in appearance, but black scales appeared like freckles, shimmering in the low light. A pair of ram horns curled around cheeks, the ends sharpened and looking ready to puncture anything that got near them. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and a red vest, with a black tie. He was young, appearing to only be in his early to mid 30s.

“Yes!” Elle held out her hand. The speaker took it in shimmering black hands that were very large compared to his body. They left a residue on her skin that she tried to discreetly wipe off when he turned around, looking at the loft above. "But please, call me Elle."

“Let’s go talk more privately.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs, unclipping a chain that indicated the area was closed until the morning.

Elle nodded and followed him. Stepping aside, he allowed her to go first and clipped the sign back in place. Once the links were formed, a small bit of magic rumbled through the floor, making Elle’s knees weak. Gripping the handrail, she kept herself from falling and quickly climbed up.

Once they were in the loft, Ramses clapped his hands and a few candles lit. The light was warm and calming. There were a few couches set up, with a coffee table between each pair facing one another.

Taking a seat, Elle set her papers on the table and cleared her throat. Even with the water, there was still a tickle in her throat.

“Alright,” The man sat down. “So, as you may know, this is my business. Ramses Sesbrun.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I appreciate you coming out so late, but since demons don’t do so well in sunlight…” He shook his hand back and forth like he was tipping a scale. “I still have a limited staff, so I don’t have much of a day shift.”

Elle nodded. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a silver chain, with wire wrapped around an obsidian stone.

Ramses flinched at the charm, before clearing his throat. Elle quickly stuffed it into her shirt and shuffled her papers.

“Alright. So as you may have noticed, we have a bit of a uniform.” He gestured to his attire. “It doesn’t matter if you prefer skirts or pants, just make sure it’s got a white button up shirt under your apron and a tie or scarf.” Inhaling sharply, he adjusted his glasses again. “We have a very diverse staff. If you do get the job, expect to work with all kinds of people.”

Elle simply nodded. “I know it is probably a strange thing, getting a human to apply.” The thought of being around so many demons and patrons of the “other side”, it was somewhat exhilarating.

“A little. But your safety is promised here,” Ramses insisted. “I’ll do what I can to make sure that you and your fellow employees are comfortable in this environment. Everyone here is just looking for a place to unwind.” He smiled at her, showing his teeth were fangs.

Shifting uncomfortably, Elle gave a smile. Those fangs looked like they could leave some decent hickeys. Wait, no, she had to remain professional. “Erm, not to sound too forward, but the job posting mentioned pay?” Right. Stay professional.

“Oh, right.” Ramses picked up a staff of his own papers from a table next to the couch. Flipping through the stack, he left small black thumbprints on each page. No wonder he needed help with the kitchen and other places. He probably couldn’t even touch the food he served his customers.

Finally, he stopped at what he was looking for. “I know the pay is high, but that means I’ll be expecting more from you. But if what I’ve heard about humans is correct…” His cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to rely on stereotypes, but I know humans are known for getting things done faster.” He clicked his mouth closed, not wanting to insert his foot into his mouth.

“Then you’ll be happy to know I fall into that!” Elle said quickly, hoping her tone didn’t sound too desperate. “I promise I’ll be fast and get the work done!” She clasped her hands together. “I just really… Need a job.” A job that seemed to offer a lot of eye candy...

Ramses nodded, taking her papers and flipping through them. “I’ve already read what you sent me, but I just want to make sure…”

He made a couple more noises of affirmation, before setting the now spotted pile down. “I don’t know if you’ll have a uniform on standby, but I think we might have something in your size. If you are willing to come in tomorrow, then I can have Wrecks and Horac show you the ropes.” Tapping a finger to his lips, Ramses’ brows knit together. “You don’t have Arachnophobia, do you?”

*** “Welcome to Ramses!” Elle called out, bowing her head. When she straightened, she ignored the look of befuddlement from the new arrivals. “Just two?”

After seating the pair, she bid farewell to some patrons as they left. They acknowledged her, but seemed more confused than anything else in her presence. When the door closed behind them, she went to quickly clean their table.

Despite looking bulky, the maid outfit they had provided her was light and cool, with a long skirt, deep pockets in the apron. She’d brought her own tights and comfortable shoes. Her hair was tied into a pair of buns to keep it out of her face.

The morning rush was a surprise. Most demons were supposed to be unable to walk in sunlight, but that didn’t stop the clientele from coming in, carrying parasols, charms to protect them, and even wrapping themselves in bandages.

The newly arrived pair were dragonborn, who had quickly fallen into an in depth discussion about maidens and maids. When she approached them with her notepad, pencil to the paper, they quickly quieted.

“Can I recommend one of our Ashburnt Scones?” She asked. “They’ve got an arsenic glaze!”

After taking down their order, Elle quickly scampered to the kitchen and placed the paper on the counter.

“A pair of Coalpressed Muffins with Ashen Dustings!” She called out.

The Drider at the stove nodded, pulling out some blood red pancakes with a tar like topping that he set on plates, the two smaller legs at his waist doing small clean up details. A pair of triple lens spectacles balanced on his nose, which he was constantly adjusting to allow a different pair of eyes to see. Despite his name being “Wrecks” he actually seemed rather dexterous and nimble.

The second was the boarman, Horac, who was frying several cuts of meat and eggs. He seemed immune to the open flames, casually reaching across them to turn over a large slice of ham. Elle tried to not think too hard about the implications.

“Breakfast rush is almost over, rookie.” He said, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the kitchen.

“Thanks!” She took the plates and lined them up on trays, before rushing back out to the main room with the orders.

“I can’t believe a real life human is here,” A goat headed man said as she passed.

“I know. And so fast, too.” Their companion appeared human, but their teeth were too sharp. Enough to pass the line from sexy to frightening.

Just smiling, Elle passed over their food, which they quickly began to ravenously tear into. The remarks, while strange, seemed mostly positive.

By the time the morning rush was over, Elle’s feet were killing her. She collapsed into a chair once the last customer left.

“Elle, can you tell Ram I’m coming in late tomorrow?” Horac said, not giving further details as he went out the back. The bell chimed as he left.

“Sure.” She merely lifted her hand to give a wave he wouldn’t see.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Wrecks said, his voice jolting through her. He hadn’t spoken all morning, only cooked and passed the orders to Elle. The dishes and counters were clean, so she wasn’t going to complain.

Once the ache had mostly gone, she got up and went to change the menus over. The bell chimed again when her back was turned, and she quickly turned back around.

The newcomer had silvery hair, a pair of fox ears twitching on his head. His eyes were closed, his mouth pulled into a vulpine grin.

“Welcome to Ramses!” She tried to pour in the sugary sweetness that customers loved. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Hopefully, Wrecks wouldn’t mind serving up breakfast still. “So, he did have a human on his payroll.” The new patron muttered to himself. “How quaint.” A bushy silver tail waved behind him.

Elle felt herself blushing. “Can I get you anything? Our Blasterjelly rolls are a customer favorite, along with our Hadesfire Pomegranate Tea.” She reached for a menu to shove in his hands. His gaze seemed focused on her, despite his eyes being closed.

“No,” He held up his hand. “Thank you. You served my friend earlier.” Reaching into his sash, he pulled out a box about the length of his hand, the width of two put together. “He’s too shy to show his gratitude in person, so he sent me in his stead.”

Setting the box on the podium, he turned on his heel and gave a backward wave, the bell chiming as he left.

Frowning, Elle used her pen to open the corner of the box. Inside, she saw a small flat pastry, the side of one showing a beet colored paste. Picking it up, she realized they were covered with powdered sugar. Setting it back down, she closed the box and stuffed it under the podium. How odd she’d been given a human friendly dessert.

“Ready for round two?” Wrecks asked when he came back in, wiping his hands on a towel.

“You know it!” She brushed back her hair, pushing the fox man out of her mind.

The bell chimed, a trio of trolls coming through, looking like they’d gotten off a construction job. A goat headed woman burst through the door behind them, looking frazzled. By the end of the second shift, Elle was nearly laying on the table. Her feet and back ached, her hair was a mess, and the uniform was rumpled.

“And my favorite part of the day…” Wrecks said, flipping the sign to indicate they were closed until the bar opened. He laughed to himself as he went to tally up the totals.

“Count this for me to make sure my math is right.” Taking the cash from the drawer, Wrecks slid it to her. He poured himself a sludge looking coffee, enough steam and heat coming off it to fog up his spectacles. Sweat trickled down his brow.

Elle’s stomach growled, and she found herself blushing. While his lower half made her nervous, his upper half was certainly handsome.

Right. Focus.

“Oh, right.” Wrecks paused. “You can’t…” He struggled to find the words. “Eat anything on our menu, can you?”

“Not without getting violently ill,” Elle admitted, before remembering the podium. “Oh! Right!” Rushing to it, she pulled out the box. “I was going to pack my lunch, but I woke up late!” She’d actually slept in her car because she was terrified of missing her first shift. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for her at home. And driving nearly half an hour both ways seemed like a poor use of her time.

Sitting next to the money, she took out one of the cakes and took a bite. Powdered sugar flew around her in a cloud, sending residue all over the uniform.

Keeping the cake in her mouth, she nursed at the paste and counted out the cash, keeping notes. Once she finished, she paused over the calculations and finished eating. Then, she quickly ate a second, barely tasting it as it went down.

“Get some actual food,” Wrecks chided. “I can smell the sweetness from here. Where did you get that if you didn’t pack your lunch?”

“Apparently one of the customers really liked my service and gave me a gift.” Elle shrugged. She looked down at her tips for the day, her breath catching in her throat. How much money did this damned clientele have!? Pulling out her wallet, she quickly signed off on the amount and collected it. Looking down at her uniform, she excused herself to the bathroom.

There was no way she was going to risk getting it dirty and looking unprofessional. If she was going to be making money like this every day, she was going to take this job seriously. Going to the restroom, she did what she could to clean up her uniform. No way was she going to take a dock in her pay to pay for the outfit.

Her face felt hot. Slipping off the apron, she unbuttoned her blouse and splashed water on herself. Looking in the mirror, she saw her cheeks and neck were crimson. The blush spread even further, hidden by her shirt.

Slipping off her blouse, she stared at the sleeveless shirt, which only showed off more of her flushed skin. It was still hot, but more bearable. And she was NOT undressing more. Splashing her face again, she got her hair damp. Slicking back her loose bangs, Elle took in a deep breath.

When she walked out, she saw Wrecks looking at the cakes. Holding one between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed it. The paste oozed out, dripping onto his fingers. He had his phone to his ear, waiting for someone to answer.

Elle was about to complain he’d ruined part of her gift, but his expression was serious. It sent a twinge of worry through her, followed by another hot flash. This one made her head spin, and she quickly sat down.

“Where did you get these?” His voice was sharp.

“Some guy dropped them off. Um… Foxy.” She started to recall his face, but all it did was cloud her mind with other details she’d overlooked. The way his collar bone peeked out over his robe. How veiny and strong his hands looked. His lips, perfectly glossy, the fangs peeking out with his grin.

“Shepard?” Wrecks asked.

“Hmm?” She smacked her cheeks to try and refocus. “Where was I again?”

Before Wrecks could answer, the person on the other end picked up.

“Yeah.” Wrecks tossed her a damp towel.

Wiping it across her sweaty skin, Elle began to inhale deeply. She felt hot all over, her body starting to shake. Every fiber of her clothing brushed against her, scraping her raw.

“I’m sure it was him,” Wrecks’ voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. “Bet my first born on it. I could smell fuckery on the box.” He looked over to Elle, licking his lips nervously. “She seems fine now, but I don’t want to touch her, could you get a hold of a human doctor?” He paused, nodding along with the speaker, small grunts escaping his mouth.

“Alright.” He hung up, inching closer to Elle.

“That was Ramses. He’s on his way.” He pulled another towel off the counter and soaked it in icy water, before passing it to Elle. “Those cakes were laced with… Something.” He frowned, brows coming together.

“I guess it was Tanpopo’s way of saying hello…”

“Who?” Although Elle was sure she had a good idea who the Drider spoke of. Her insides twitched, needing to be filled. Sweat trickled down her neck and back. Slowly, she laid down in the booth, her legs facing the wall.

“An asshole who runs the bakery down the road.” Wrecks jerked his thumb behind him. “He thought it would be funny to “prank,” He added air quotes. “Some of our staff last year by spiking some cakes and tea with Hellfire Mint.” Three pairs of eyes watered at the memory. “Most of them were fine, but one of our hosts got sent into early labor and had to go to the hospital.”

Fanning herself with a menu, Elle panted. “I wish I’d been warned.”

“Well, there hadn’t been any problems since then,” Wrecks explained. “Horac was a pretty decent deterrent.”

Elle’s mouth was suddenly dry. The heat was becoming unbearable. Her legs refused to budge, each breath making another flash of arousal go through her. “I’ll get you some water.” Wrecks excused himself, quickly coming back with a glass. He passed it to her. “Now, I’m not sure how long this is supposed to last, but Ramses seemed pretty sure he knew what it was.”

Their hands touched. Elle let out a cry, dropping the glass. She shook, nearly convulsing as the need seized her.

Wrecks jumped back, his legs skittering across the floor, unable to gain traction.

Elle was on her feet, grabbing the front of his vest and pulling him to her. Their lips nearly brushed.

“No no no no no no!” He said rapidly, using his front legs and arms to push her away. “It’s flattering, but you are in no condition to be initiating this!”

His skin was scalding hot against hers. She grabbed his clothing so tight she thought it would rip. Pulling him close again, she ignored the impact of his front legs against her skirt.

“I’m terribly sorry, Shepard.” Wrecks said, before she suddenly couldn’t move.

Looking down, she saw she was covered with white bindings. Webbing kept her still, binding her legs together below the knees, and her arms below the elbows. He then pushed her back into the booth.

The bell chimed. Nostrils flaring, Elle thrashed around to try and sit up as the scent of Demon hit her.

“Oh, thank Arachne.” Wrecks backed away. “You made good time.”

“Of course.” Ramses' voice thundered in her ears. Elle’s lips parted slightly as she continued to wriggle around, trying to get free of her bindings. “Leave us. This is easier if there’s only one target.”

Wrecks didn’t have to be told twice. He picked up his scant belongings and quickly scampered out the door.

Ramses stood in front of the booth, his crotch the perfect height for-

And he was gone.

The door locked.

Then, he was back.

“You’ve ingested Asmodeus Fruit,” He explained, pulling out a knife. “Better known as Lustberries.” Looking at the blade, he set it down on the table. “Hold still.” His visible skin was wrapped in bandages. To protect him from the sun?

The order made Elle still, the only movement was her shaking with desire.

“I’m going to cut you loose. But you have to promise me you’re not going to jump on me. Okay?”

Despite the words barely registering, Elle nodded, her body still trembling.

Ramses cut the bindings, his bandaged hands brushing against her. Unlike with Wrecks, it didn’t send a jolt through her. But his scent, the way he panted with exertion… She found herself leaning forward.

“KNIFE!” He yelled, shoving her back. His hand hit her protective charm, and both of them went flying back. She hit the wall hard, and he slid into the front counter in front of the kitchen. Wincing, he slowly got back up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you okay?” Her legs were still bound. She started to climb out of the booth.

“Stay!” He commanded, getting up.

Elle’s legs became weak, and she nearly face planted on the floor. Catching herself, Elle held onto the corner of the table. Her charm hung low.

Ramses rushed over, cutting her legs free.

“Now. Listen.” He shook his finger in her face.

Nodding, Elle leaned forward.

“Go to the loft.”

She rose up, the charm snagging on the corner of the table, the wire wrapping coming undone and the stone falling to the ground, sliding under the booth.

Her feet slapped against the floor, she nearly tripped over the chained sign as she ran. But she was up the stairs, lungs and chest heaving. Collapsing onto the couch, she felt the heat rolling over again, almost unbearable. Clothes continued to rake against her skin so roughly she thought it would make her bleed. Her hands went to her top, trying to pull it off.

“Okay, Elle. I need you to listen to me.” Ramses said, coming up in the loft. “Normally this stuff wears off after a few hours. But it’s demon fruit, so humans suffer-” He let out a surprised noise as Elle rushed over to him.

When her hands touched his shirt, she realized he wasn’t wrapped under his clothes. Working her fingers through the gaps between his buttons, she touched her fingertips to his bare chest. The heat of his skin made her shudder.

Dropping to her knees, she started to unbuckle his belt.

“Elle!” He said sharply. “Hold on!” Grabbing one of her buns, he held her head in place. Lips parted, she looked up. Panting, she reached for him. Despite denying her advances, his erection was growing quickly.

“Here.” He pulled out a vial, a white liquid inside. “Drink this first. I know it’ll be nasty, but-” As he spoke, the white liquid suddenly yellowed and seemed to become crusty.

She grimaced.

“I know. But the other cure is… Not ideal.” He offered her the vial. Uncorking the top, he pressed the glass to her lips.

Slowly, he tilted it. Once the liquid touched Elle’s lips, foul gelatinous sludge tried to worm its way into her mouth. Pulling back, she sputtered and coughed. Eyes watering, she shook her head.

There was glass breaking, and the liquid spilled all over the floor. The fog was gone, but Elle suddenly felt so hot she started to claw at her clothes.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Ramses grabbed her arms, straddling her. His erection dug into her as he pinned her to the floor.

“Elle, listen to me.” His breath was warm against her skin, caressing skin, the wetness from it sliding down her body.

Closing her eyes, Elle thrust against him. Ramses let out a distressed yelp, before gripping her tighter.

“Fuck me…” She moaned, rubbing against him. A wet spot was left on Ramses pants, although she wasn’t sure if it was from him or her.

It was getting so hot she felt like she was going to pass out, black spots filling her vision. Her clothes felt like they were tearing large chunks of her skin off.

“I’m… So sorry.” Ramses picked her up off the floor, setting her down on the couch.

“For what?” She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. Their lips almost touched, but he turned his face so she kissed his horn.

“You’re in no state of mind…” He knelt between her legs. “Just let me try something.” Taking her tights, he clumsily pulled them down. Catching the waist of Elle’s panties, Ramses left her completely bare. At the sight, averting his eyes, Ramses cheeks turned crimson.

“Yep…” He struggled to find the words. “That’s certainly Asmodeus fruit.”

Elle touched herself, spreading the soaking lips wide. Grinding against the couch, she felt herself drenching the fabric.

“Okay.” Ramses draped her legs over his shoulders. “I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work, then we have one option left.”

Elle nodded, but her mind was buzzing. Grabbing Ramses by the hair, she shoved him into her drenched folds. Whatever response he had was muffled, making her shiver.

His tongue began to trace her lower lips, before he slipped it inside. Ellen held his head in place, biting her lips as he continued to lick. Reaching up, he seized her thighs and spread her legs wider. His breath made her tingle.

Closing her eyes, Elle focused on the sensation, the heat now concentrating in her lower half. Ramses’ head bobbed back and forth, the sounds of licking and sucking so loud in the empty loft. She let out several moans, trying to lock her legs around his head.

Keeping her legs open, Ramses continued to lick, before exposing her clit and swirling his tongue around it. Elle moaned, releasing his hair and grinding against his face. “Come for me, Elle.” He groaned into her, his breath so warm. “Come for me, please.”

Letting her head lull back, Elle moaned and grabbed the couch tight enough to feel the fabric start to rip. She felt the orgasm start to build, each lick eliciting another cry from her. Eyes watering, she nearly screamed when Ramses plunged his tongue inside.

But before she could release, it was like slamming into a brick wall. White filled her vision as the heat became a searing pain. A scream escaped her and she shuddered, falling to the side.

“S-stop…” She panted, tears streaming down her face. “It… It hurts.”

Ramses pulled back, his bandages around the lower half of his face now loose. They were soaked with Elle. Small bits of skin were visible. Despite the pain in her lower half, Elle grabbed Ramses by the shirt. She then climbed on top of him, rubbing her aching groin over his crotch.

“Fuck me, please.” She begged, continuing to grind against his hardness.

“Hold on.” Ramses pushed the table to the other couch, his glasses askew. Picking Elle up, he placed her on the couch. Unzipping his pants, he let them fall to the ground. His fully erect cock came forth, beads of precum dripping from the tip. Elle leaned forward, wrapping her lips around it.

Ramses let out a surprised moan, knees nearly giving out as Elle sucked. Once the few drops of precum were swallowed, the heat drastically reduced. Panting, Elle pulled back and let her tongue swirl around the tip.

Then, she felt herself blushing. The reality of the situation began to crash around her. Pulling her head back, she quickly let go of Ramses cock and put her hands at her side.

“Um…” The wetness between her legs was almost unbearable. “I’m… Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ramses panted, sitting down on the table. “It wasn’t your fault. I understand if you want to leave now.”

Elle stared at his cock, swallowing hard. It was glistening with her saliva. She should leave. This was not only inappropriate, but they were both in a bad spot. But her body was literally hurting with need.

“Ramses.” Her face was probably tomato red. What had she just done? Ramses probably thought… “This wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I should have warned you.” He was attempting to put his dick back in his pants, which seemed to be a challenge.

“Erm…” She prodded her forefingers against one another, biting her lower lip. “This is super inappropriate. But is the antidote for this fruit…” Her voice trailed off as she became more flustered. “You know, demon semen?”

Mutely, Ramses nodded. “I didn’t want you to either get too excited or too disgusted.” He looked up at her when she stood over him. “Because I’ve been told it can be rather potent.”

“So, are you sure you gave me enough of a dose?” She lifted her skirt, showing him her wetness. “Because I would, uh, prefer not to go back to how I was.” Her legs shook, the blush filled her entire body.

Ramses’ eyes went wide, and he took off his glasses, setting them down on the table. “I’m not sure. It’s not an exact science. But…” He was cut off when Elle kissed him, straddling his lap.

“Oh.” He kissed her back, looping his hands around her waist.

“Elle,” He said, his voice muffled by her mouth. His pupils dilated slightly, the blood vessels thickening.

“Hm?” She pulled back, her arms around his neck.

“If you want to wait, the lust will wear off.”

Elle thought about it, but shook her head, “I want to do this.” She nibbled at his exposed skin, hands running up and down the nape of his neck.

“Very well.” He stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist.

Setting her back onto the couch, Ramses straddled her, pinning her arms above her head against the armrest.

“Are you still hot?”

She nodded.

Taking Elle’s shirt, he slid it off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her skirt.

“Aren’t you?”

“Sunlight.” He gestured to the windows.

“Oh.”

“Consider this… Paid overtime.” Nudging her legs open, Ramses lined himself up, prodding against her slit. Each touch made Elle gasp, grinding against him.

Then, he slid inside. Elle gasped, instantly clenching around him. Ramses gripped the back of the couch, letting out a surprised whimper. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her and began to thrust. Once her arms were free, she let her hands explore him.

The touch seemed to encourage him further and he hilted himself.

Elle screamed in pleasure, digging her nails into Ramses’ shirt. Covering her mouth with his, Ramses began to pound into her, each thrust making her see a flash of color.

“God,” He said between thrusts. “You’re so tight.” His breath was warm against her face and neck. Leaning down, he nibbled her neck. “I…” The blush returned to his face.

Elle pulled him back, their lips meeting again. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she let them dance as he found his rhythm and continued to pump back and forth. Each moan encouraged him, and he went harder.

As the thrusts went deeper, Elle cried out, her back arching. She ran her hands down Ramses shirt and vest, the fabric chafing against her skin. Unlike her own clothing, it pushed her closer to the edge, but she felt herself hitting the wall again.

Her breasts began to bounce, and Ramses groaned, his legs and buttock suddenly clenching.

“Please!” She begged, squeezing him tightly. “Finish inside me!”

“Fuck!” Ramses yelped, before he released, the fluid spilling out of Elle. Panting, he shuddered, placing his hands on either side of her head. Sweat trickled down his face. Clenching, he thrust against her as he emptied everything inside.

The orgasm finally came, and Elle clenched, wrapping her legs around his and pulling Ramses close. Shivering, she panted and closed her eyes.

“I think… That’s enough.” He slipped out of her and sat up on the couch, his softening cock still shimmering with her wetness.

Elle shuddered, then slowly sat up, rescuing her shirt from the floor and holding it up to her chest. She was covered with the strange black residue from his hands.

“I am very sorry about that.” Ramses zipped his pants up and buckled his belt. “I completely understand if you want to quit.”

“Umm…” Elle worried at her lower lip. “You see, I didn’t exactly dislike it and I really need this job.” She couldn’t even look at him without blushing.

“I could tell.” Ramses eyes went wide and he put his glasses back on. “Although I’m not sure how much of that was me or the Fruit.” He rubbed his face. “I’m going to kill that fox the next time I see him.”

Elle swallowed hard, thinking of the cakes. “Um, before you get all worked up, shouldn’t you get ready to open the bar?”

Ramses rubbed his face with a sigh. “I’ve got some time.” He looked her over. “I know you live farther away, but do you want to get cleaned up at my place? Er, not that I’m inviting you back over for...” He let the silence hang in the air.

Sighing, Elle nodded. “One thing at a time. I need to get this ‘antidote’ off me before it leaves a stink.” The scent of sex was already making her dizzy and flushed.

Helping her up, Ramses helped her dress and helped her back down to the main gathering area, collecting the charm from the floor. Stopping at the umbrella holder, he pulled out a parasol and opened it. When he took a few steps outside, he suddenly staggered.

Wrapping his arm around her, Elle helped him walk.

“It’s not too far," Ramses explained. “Erm, so, about what happened.”

“My lips are sealed,” Elle mimed locking her lips and throwing away a key. “As long as you don’t tell the others about me trying to blow you. And everything else.”

Ramses stifled a noise and looked away. “It’s fine. Just erm… Expect a bonus on your first check.”

“A bonus?” Now she was starting to feel like it was some sort of hush money.

“I take… Very good care of my employees.” Ramses frowned. “It’s hard to keep them on.” Swallowing hard, he sighed. “Elle, what I did back there, I promise I’m not normally like that. I know demons have a reputation for being sinners, but I don’t want you to feel I took advantage.”

“Too bad, I had a lot of fun.” Elle blushed at her words. “Sorry, was that too much?”

Ramses bit at his lip. “No, but I am your boss. I don’t want rumors to spread.”

“I understand.” She felt the rest of the heat finally leave her body, leaving her head clear. “But don’t… ever be afraid to ask. I um, headed after this job for a reason. Not just for the pay.”

Ramses hid his face and nodded.

If every day was going to be like this, then this new job was going to be interesting. She’d have to apologize to Wrecks tomorrow.

At least there was hazard pay.

#monster love #monster lover #monster x human #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monsterfucker #terato #demon #demon x human #demon fucker #demon smut #monster smut #demon lover #boss x employee

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tgmsunmontue · 1 day

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More than movie magic... 18/?

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN

Chapter 16 is pretty much the only explicit chapter (so far), so you can skip it if you like, but it's not explicit by my standards, and it's very soft/tender.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Well hey there…” Jake says, and now that he knows Bradley likes his Texan accent he makes no effort to temper it, but Bradley looks annoyed instead of amused or aroused and Jake hopes the annoyance isn’t directed at him. Not already.

“Hi. Can I talk to you real quick?”

“Uh, yeah, of course…”

Of course there are catcalls and Jake rolls his eyes, but his heart is beating fast, thundering in his ears, terrified that this is somehow going to be his shortest lived relationship ever. He doesn’t know what he’s projecting exactly, but Bradley’s reaching for him, lacing their fingers together and pulling him to the side, just out of the way and out of earshot from most people although he notes pretty much every eye in the room is turned their way.

“Hey. Hey calm down. We’re fine. You’re fine…”

Bradley has shifted, putting his back to the room, as if he’s protecting Jake from everyone, eyes flicking over his face and his expression is concerned. Fuck.

“Jake… you with me?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just… heard those words before and it’s generally not the start of a good conversation.”

“Sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry. I just need to tell you something, and I feel like I’m going to be apologizing a lot today. Nothing either of us did though, okay?”

“The photos?”

“Yeah. Mav’s seen them.”

“Mav?”

“Sorry. Pete. He’s on his way here because he called me from the air and he’s incapable of believing I can make my own life decisions.”

“Okay. That’s okay. I’ve met Pete before.”

“Yeah. You met professional-Pete, not parent-Pete. Different beast unfortunately. Just… if I could have kept him from meeting your mom until after we were married or something that’s how I would have played it, but, uh…”

“You’ve thought about us getting married?” Jake blurts out, surprised.

“Uh. No? Well. Not in detail exactly.”

All his feelings around Bradley second guessing his decision to be with him have just dissolved, and he knows he had no reason to doubt it, but also knows his brain isn’t a rational place sometimes. Instead he’s watching Bradley blush and look awkward and he’s definitely falling in love with him.

“I generally don’t start relationships with people I can’t imagine myself spending the rest of my life with? I’m thirty-five, I have a better idea of what I’m looking for. And I can imagine a future with you, so… here we are.”

“Oh. So why would Pete be worried about that?”

“God. This is not the place for that conversation. Just. I’ll tell you, but we have fifteen minutes before we’re meant to be on set and I need to tell you something else… He’s bringing Tom. His partner. Um.”

Jake has to admit he’s confused. Pete having a male partner doesn’t really explain why Bradley seems as worked up as he is.

“Okay. So it’s a man. You seriously don’t think I’d have a problem with that do you?” Jake asks, staring at him and gesturing between the two of them. Bradley is shaking his head though, like there’s more and Jake waits.

“Tom as in Tom Kazansky.”

“What?”

Okay then. That’s a name and a half. Jake knows who that is of course, but he never met the man, Kazansky being pretty much a recluse since his health scare a decade previous when Jake had only just started making a name for himself. Jake isn’t even sure he’d recognize the man, the photo used in any media one from over twenty years ago.

“Yeah. They’re… shit. Thought I’d have time to tell you and prepare you for how weird they are. They have… a complicated relationship. They’re both incredibly stubborn and agree that they love each other, but they also… well. Tom got cancer, so he called it all off, said Pete could find someone better, and that started a whole other fight, but it was the most ridiculous thing, arguing over who loved each other more. They’re both hopeless, but neither of them can see it.”

“Oookay…” Jake says slowly, his mind racing, because quite frankly he doesn’t care about Pete or Tom, he just wants Bradley to stop freaking out. “Bradley. They aren’t going to scare me off anymore than my family has scared you off.”

As he’d hoped that makes Bradley laugh and he can’t help his answering grin.

“I like your family.”

“Well, that’s good. God. We’ve got to get to set. Marcia is going to have my head.”

“I need to talk to her too, give her a heads up about Pete,” Bradley says, and he’s glancing over his shoulder then, eyes scanning the room and Jake reaches for his face and gets his attention before kissing him.

“Go. I’ll see you in the arena shortly. Hope you appreciate that I don’t have to do makeup today!”

… … …

He’s distracted as he watches Jake walk away, but only a little, because he needs to find Marcia and Arnold, let them know that Pete is coming, but only to visit him and not to be an ass and tread on another turf, despite that totally being Mav’s MO. He knows Mav is getting on and mutters about retiring, but whenever he’s not working Bradley has to deal with more of his bullshit than usual.

“Bradley, you haven’t eaten anything!” Aunty Kaye calls out, and he startles a little, turning toward her, because she’s not wrong, but he is going to be late to set.

“Uh, no, haven’t really had time yet. I did grab a protein bar. Thank you for that by the way,” Bradley says, and he hopes he isn’t blushing too badly.

“Hmm. That’s not proper food.”

“No, I know. I just had a phone call. My dad is coming to visit. Both of them I guess. They’ll probably be here for lunch actually. Assuming they don’t get lost…”

“Well I look forward to meeting them. Hmm. Do you know why I like you Bradley?”

“Um. I thought maybe you liked most people?” Bradley asks, suddenly feeling like he’s smack bang in the center of a minefield with no idea how he got there. And of course he can’t be rude and just run away, he’d much rather incur Marcia’s wrath than Aunty Kaye’s at the end of the day.

“Oh, I do dear. But I liked you before I’d even met you.”

“Oh.”

Now he’s confused.

“You stand up to him, you wouldn’t let him try anything risky or dangerous and he complained about it bitterly,” she says, laughing. “But you know what I thought?”

“What?”

“That that sounded like someone who would keep Jake safe and unharmed. I’m his mom, of course I want him safe. He gets into enough trouble without thinking he can do risky stunts.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“You don’t let him railroad you into things, I admire that too.”

“Thanks?”

“Here, on his own turf, watching him do something he was born with in his blood? You trust him to know his limits. He needs that too.”

Bradley just nods, not sure if he’s even allowed to speak.

“So. I like you. However if I ever find out you’ve deliberately hurt him, either emotionally, physically or mentally I want you to know that you won’t see me coming. I will find you. Now, I can’t really threaten you with bodily harm, however I can threaten you with my disappointing looks, which my children assure me are the worst thing they’ve ever experienced. Of course, if Jake screws this up he’ll also be on the receiving end of one of such looks. However, I feel like you’re a man who doesn’t give up easily. Some days you’re going to have to dig-deep, because my baby can get in his own head and think the worst of everything and everyone, but I think if he were easy you wouldn’t be as interested as you seem to be.”

Bradley gapes like a fish, mouth opening and closing and he has no idea what to even say, where to start with everything she’s just said. All it’s highlighting is that he and Jake really need to have a proper talk. Not just about their relationship, but maybe about potential baggage that they have, because he thought maybe he was the only one. He should have known that wasn’t going to be the case.

“I’ve already told Jake that I think he’s worth it.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll believe you.”

#Hangster #Sereshaw #more than movie magic #Top Gun Maverick

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revvnant · 6 months

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i sit and stew on a post so potent about the victim blaming that goes on in wider fandom headcanons about these characters that goes unnoticed because it's never overt or even intentional and i eat my hands because it's the jumpscare games for kids with their parents' credit cards.

#oh boy six a.m.! ( ooc )#|| the shortest form of the post is that.#|| people would rather will be insane and believe he's doing his best for those kids.#|| than entertain the possibility that he was an angry man like so many angry men.#|| and when you tip that domino. it does not stop falling.#|| if he loved and supported his kids why did michael act out that way? was it just his fault?#|| and i say this as someone who also takes mike to task for the bullying and fratricide but like.#|| to paint a picture of the perfect afton house. to say those three kids were consistently loved and treated well.#|| is to say what happened to them was pure happenstance.#|| which leaves a sour taste in my mouth and makes me kinda nauseous.#|| better that michael is just a bully and elizabeth was beloved and what happened to her was an accident.#|| and not a result of neglect and endangerment.#|| it feels like rolling a rock uphill to go into the tags every time and see how william was a loving parent.#|| and it also denies the reality that. your parent can love you and abuse you. it happens so often.#|| sometimes a parent will think they're doing what's best for you and they'll hold you dear in their heart.#|| and the physical manifestation of that love is nevertheless deeply harmful.#|| if will must be out of touch with reality why isn't it the idea that he did nothing wrong with his kids when that isn't at all true.#|| three dead kids all at his facilities but it's because michael was a bully elizabeth didn't listen and ennard just Did That.#|| not because evan had his party at a place he hated. or william brought his daughter to the premiere of his child killing machine.#|| gwuhhhh bluhhh GEHHHHHHHH. AAAAAAAAAAA.#negativity ///

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spokelseskladden · 2 years

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still weirded out by going from being considered a freakishly tall girl to being a kinda below average guy. truly had my worldview shattered by that tbh

#it's funny cause when i hang out with girls i usually have to bend down to be a part of the conversation #cause they're all like 160cm or something #but when I'm with the guys i bring a small stool with me that i stand on to feel Tall #cause my bf is the shortest oit of them and he's 186 so yeah. they're all so freaking tall I'm going insane #most men that are from here are above 180 and I'm 176 :(#i thought i was 177 but my dad was like. srry kid. the laser measurer spoke and you are NOT 177.#anyway pretend i said something smart about how we perceive certain things that by all accounts are arbitrary change based on gender idk

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grimescum · 2 months

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almost 4 in the morning getting emotional in the club thinkign about scenarios with my ocs

#fuckk i tried summarizing what i was thinking about here but it was jsut too much #way too much to explain for little old me #in the shortest possible way... guy and girl. guy is a bitch to girl on purpose #guy admires the angry reactions he gets because his loved ones were push overs #and he had to watch them be used like a doormat all the time #girl is always stressed and carrying both her and her sister on her shoulders #guy frequently antagonizes girl into beating the shit out of him #she does this. guy mentions that he's always admired her strength and wishes he was more like her #girl gets soft (very very rare) and tries to help him and hes like nuh uh #the end. zzzzz #flea talks #flea's ocs

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lilithland · 4 months

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imagine you move to somewhere in the south, lots of open land between houses and lots of friendly neighbors

one of your older neighbors, who could be your fathers age stops by one day dropping off treats, maybe it’s drinks you don’t realized are spiked, maybe it’s some brownies laced with weed, you’re just too dumb, too naive to question his motives

you’re just about to go out into town, dressed in the shortest skirt you can find, basically a belt, no panties of course

you have a top on so low that your nipples are nearly popping out, they’re hard from the cold so everyone can see them anyway

before you head out you munch on the treats your neighbor brought, you find yourself feeling fuzzy and light

you stumble out of the house, heels clicking and feet wobbely, you only make it as far as your old neighbors porch

he’s on a rocking chair, sipping away at a beer

“oh princess, what’s wrong?”

“i feel funny” you manage to get out through hiccups and giggles, far too gone by that point

he manhandles you into his lap, not that you’re resisting

he turns you around so you’re both facing the street, he doesn’t have to even try to hike your skirt up, your pussy is on display for anyone who walks by, he pulls your top down so your tits are also out in the open

he start to finger your tight little hole, you start to moan like a bitch in heat, throwing your head back, you’re far too gone to say no to anything that’s happening

without warning your neighbor starts to fuck his beer bottle in and out of your dripping cunt, you think you hear some other neighbors approach, the man striking up a conversation that you can’t hear, far too lost in the bottle working its way into your cunt

you start trying to hump the bottle but are cut off by your tits being smacked and then groped

“behave” he snaps

you whimper and whine, not processing a word that’s being said, and continue to try and hump the bottle that has now stilled in your pussy

“aww, is the bitch too dumb to understand. no worries we have all the time to train you to be the perfect little cocksleeve”

the man rips the bottle out of your cunt, when you open your mouth to whine he shoves the bottle down your throat

“clean up your girl juice”

you suck and he starts to finger your ass, you moan around the bottle and clench around nothing

“you know exactly where that’s going princess”

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elecman108 · 5 months

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The main reason the Log Ride at Freddy Fazbear's broke was because the Animatronics would ride it after hours and try to make the dumbest poses for the photo taken at the end of the ride.

I couldn't NOT upload this lineart, I love it too much. I may end up finishing this at some point idk, but for right now I love every single part of this. Monty putting on the middle finger lipstick. Sun facepalming Freddy trying to be cool. Moon and Vanny pretending they're on a roller coaster. DJ Music Man and Bonnie pretending they're bored. Chica and Roxy kissing. It could not be funnier lmao.

I guess this counts as a fun fact: when a character has glasses (Vanny, Music Man, Monty) or semi-transparent sections of their outfit (Roxy) they get done at the same stage as the lineart because I can't be assed to do them later and will forget about them! :D

#the disappointment speaks #drawings by me #ocs #fnaf #LOG RIDE LOG RIDE LOG RIDE I love that they have a log ride at the pizzaplex like of all the things a LOG RIDE #also just shout out to Vanny sitting next to DJ Music Man they look so funny side by side #Vanny's tiny and DJ is fucking huge. put the shortest of this group next to the largest (tallest is Bonnie but he skinny not muscle like DJ #imagine looking at the memorable moments thing of photos taken on the log ride and its mostly strangers just on the ride #and then there's this one. its the robots. they're being stupid on the log ride #its not been there for a long time. its very recent. it hasnt started to fade under the lights yet #you turn and look at them over your shoulder. the ones in the photo dont act like them. you look back at the photo. it was never there

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softgrungeprophet · 6 months

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one of these days i'll draw some of the other dancers....

#I've drawn seth obv and casey as well #have not drawn mark (the shortest male dancer) or saleha (the shortest dancer period) or bijou (androgynous) or #omg i forgot their name... irma that's it (genderfluid)#yes this is a diverse dance company tho tbh probably Seth Saleha Irma and Bijou still stick out a bit #(saleha is hijabi)#Casey certainly is notable in his own way for being a moderately dark skinned black dancer which as we know is less than common #though i was vaguely inspired by some irl handsome swan lake prince danseurs #mark isn't particularly notable other than being the shortest man in the entire company lol he's built like wolverine #as you can imagine he gets extremely specific roles compared to casey who is very graceful and lightfooted #saleha also tends to get kinda specific roles just because of the way her costumes need to be tailored #she and seth definitely identify with each other a bit in both having to have costumes modified (albeit for different reasons)#the corps at the SVB is mixed gender btw. reintroduced some partnered roles and integrated the group dances to include more half n half #mostly so the male dancers are actually dancing and not just standing around and competing for like 2-3 roles per show #i just thought that would be fun and also interacts nicely with them putting on a traditional production of swan lake #in which odette/odile is played by a 6'2'' agender gay dancer in a modified costume that is neither tutu nor vest #there IS of course the all male swan lake adaptation which rules of but i just wanted it to be the more classic one in this case #nadia rambles #oc stuff #scratchverse

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sutorus · 7 months

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BAD IDEA RIGHT? BEST FRIEND'S DAD!TOJI for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: you and megumi are old friends, but a recent development (called growing up) has made you aware of just how hot his dad, toji fushiguro, really is. you sit on your desire for years until one night, you get an idea.

PAIRING: best friend’s dad!fushiguro toji x reader

WC: 5.1k whoops!

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORDS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, age gap! power dynamics, slight daddy kink, degradation, spit (like a lot it's a Thing here), oral (m! receiving), unprotected relations, slapping, gaping, size difference/size kink, creampie, toji is Nasty and a pretty bad dude lol

A/N: this is nasty and very descriptive i’m so sorry i really sinned here. anyway enjoy!

you and megumi have been friends since school. after all, it was inevitable that a friendship would form between the only two kids whose parents consistently forgot to pick them up after class.

nods of acknowledgment quickly developed into trading pokémon cards, sharing samanco waffles, cheating off each other during tests.

it was the most meaningful relationship you had in your life, the one other person who really got you and the situation you were in, and before you knew it, you two were being admitted to the same college, like you’d talked about all those years ago.

in the meantime, megumi’s dad had… mellowed out. from what you knew.

sure, he was still gone for weeks at a time, neglectful, irresponsible and womanizing, but one final falling out with their family seemed to have lifted a big weight off his shoulders, and he became more present in megumi’s life, less resentful. you knew he wasn’t a good guy, but you also knew he was trying, in his own way.

besides that, you also couldn’t help noticing other things about the man. you first started paying attention when you were in high school, always hanging out at megumi’s place to play video games or study.

toji would come home sometimes, smelling of smoke and sake, tonguing the scar on the side of his lip. plopping down on their shaggy sofa, legs spread wide, thick thighs straining the fabric of his pants. you would give megumi some excuse about getting something from the kitchen and just watch toji, lazily browsing channels with one hand inside his sweats.

it wasn’t a big deal. but it never quite went away, your infatuation growing with your desperation the more the man hung around. you did everything you could to get his attention.

you wore the frilliest, shortest skirts, left dirty dishes on the sink, showed up too late at night drunk and stumbling “looking for megumi”, acting out so you could try to get some reaction out of toji. but he never seemed to give you a second thought, annoyance being the closest thing to an emotion on his face every time your eyes met.

but you were no quitter. you knew one day you would get what you deserved. maybe not today, but… eventually.

you approach the fushiguro household’s front door, fishing out the extra key megumi had given you from your backpack pocket. you two had a study session today but he’d texted you telling you he’d be late and to just let yourself in, so that’s what you do.

with a sigh, you set down your laptop on their coffee table and sit down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. before you can finish getting comfortable, a tall, broad figure is looming over your face and you almost jump out of your skin.

“what the f—oh my god,” you laugh in embarrassment. “you scared me, fushiguro-san.”

he doesn’t react, his eyes boring into yours. “me? you’re the one breaking into my house.”

you roll your eyes, pulling your legs up below your body. “megumi gave me a key. we’re supposed to study today, do you know where—“

“he’s with that itadori kid. don’t think he’s coming back tonight,” toji moves to sit down on the loveseat, turning the tv on. the old, boxy thing crackles to life, a boat race playing on the screen. toji adjusts his body in attention. “so you can fuck off back home.”

“um,” you start, but nothing else comes out of your mouth. you let your eyes wander all over his lax form, and you can faintly make out his abs below the raggedy shirt he’s wearing. it makes your stomach turn.

without taking his eyes off the screen, he addresses you again. “you know where the door is.”

an idea starts to form in your head. a really, really bad, tempting idea.

you discreetly take off your sweatshirt, leaving you in just your undershirt, no bra. you hope toji can scent the whiff of perfume you exude when you move, scooting closer to the edge of the sofa.

“nah, i think i’ll just study here. my parents are home today and they’re too… y’know.”

“not my fuckin’ problem,” he picks at his teeth, spreading his legs wider. your desperation is growing with each second he spends not looking at you.

you lift up your bag, something clinking inside. it's a bold move, but it's now or never.

“i brought booze. we could just share some and then i’ll go.”

that at least gets a reaction. the man snorts, finally glancing over at you from the corner of his eyes. you instinctively push your chest out, feeling eager.

“is that what you do with my son under my roof? get shitfaced in the house that i pay for?”

“well i paid for the vodka so i don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you make a point to pull out the bottle from your bag, swinging it around.

toji’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. you know he doesn’t like to be challenged, absolutely hates smart mouths. you should be in for a treat.

“who the hell do you think you’re talking to, kid?” he stands up and snatches the bottle from you, turning it around in his — big, veiny, deliciously calloused — hand and laughing. “vanilla flavored? fuck, you really are a kid.” he says it like the realization excites him.

you can feel your face flush.

“are you gonna turn down free alcohol, toji?” it’s risky, dropping the honorific. you know he doesn’t like it, can see it in his face, but he doesn’t say anything.

instead, he unscrews the top with ease and takes a swig, grimacing at the taste. you watch as his throat works, adam’s apple bobbing.

his arms are huge, you can’t imagine he was ever shaped like megumi is nowadays, slender and frail. toji is tall and broad and big, with a permanent 5 o’clock shadow on his defined features.

he grabs two whiskey glasses and sets them down on the coffee table — no coasters —, pouring some vodka in both of them. it was most definitely not your idea to do straight shots tonight with megumi, but you will not go through the humiliation of asking for a soda to mix it with.

you’re desperate to have toji view you as the adult you are, no longer megumi’s awkward middle school best friend. you know you’ve grown up well; all you need is for toji to see it too.

you drink in silence for a bit, the only noises coming from toji being his disappointed grunts as the boats he bet on fall behind. you type away at your laptop, not really being able to focus with the heat rising within you.

he refills both your cups a couple more times, but makes no effort to talk.

you slowly but surely start to get antsy, your determination wavering and giving way to a funny feeling one can only experience by drinking with their best friend’s dad who they’ve wanted to fuck for like, ever.

so you bite the bullet and with the liquid courage flowing in your veins, you strike up conversation.

“y’know, toji, i’ve always wanted to ask,” his head lolls on his shoulder to look at you lazily and disinterested. “what happened to megumi’s mom? he doesn’t talk about it.”

“yeah, well. me either,” toji replies. you take a deep breath.

“you’re gone a lot. megumi is alone a lot.”

toji scoffs.

“thought that was what you were here for, hmm? megumi’s done well for himself,” he finally, probably for the first time in your life, gives you a proper look over, his eyes traveling all over your frame, tucked into the armrest of the couch. “scored himself a nice little bitch.”

you let out a strangled noise. you’re fighting laughter when you exclaim, “i’m sorry?! you think megumi and i have a—like, a thing?”

toji just shrugs, stretching one leg out in front of him. “i figured. why else would you loiter around my house so much?”

oh, if he only knew.

“no, no. it’s never been like that. megumi’s not really my type.” toji hums inquisitively, and you take that as a sign to continue. “i’m into more… mature guys.”

toji eyes you knowingly, but seemingly amused.

“that right?” you nod. “fuckin’ kid like you even know what to do with a man?”

you raise an eyebrow. you’re a sophomore in college, well into your twenties. he can’t be serious. “surely you know i’m not a kid anymore. surely you d—“

“surely my ass,” he exclaims and oh, he’s a little terrifying like this. toji downs however much was left in his cup and turns to you, pointing with the hand holding his glass. “you’re a full of shit, foul mouthed, rude brat. get the fuck out of my house, you’re pissing me off.”

you’re used to toji’s outbursts, not because you know him well but because every time you see him, seldom as it is, he always loses his temper, sooner or later.

“i think,” you take another sip, feeling loose. “your old ass wouldn’t be able to handle sex. like, actual sex, not those rich hags you who just lay there for you and give you money in the end. if you had to put in any real work i bet your heart would give out you slimey pi—“

you can’t finish your sentence because you can’t breathe, suddenly. your eyes widen, chest spasming as your oxygen gets cut off mid-sentence. toji has one of his huge palms covering your nose and mouth.

you look up at him with watery eyes but he’s not looking back, he’s chugging vodka straight from the bottle again.

he puffs his cheeks and moves his hand to cup your jaw, smirking around a mouthful of alcohol.

you catch your breath quickly, the hand that was clawing at his falling limply on your lap. toji holds your face, his grip unforgiving as he leans over you. his form is so, so much bigger than yours, towering over you completely, and all you can do is look up at him with a blank expression.

his thumb pries your mouth open with ease, the digit hooking behind your bottom teeth as toji’s face gets closer and closer. on instinct, you close your eyes.

soon, hot, stinging liquid is pouring steadily into your mouth. toji swishes the rest of the vodka between his cheeks — on purpose, you’re sure — before spitting it directly on your tongue.

it’s disgusting, everything about it makes your stomach churn, but it also makes you squeeze your legs together, chest rising and falling rapidly as you swallow without having to be told to.

“ya talk too fuckin’ much, brat,” he grumbles. ironically, you’re at a loss for words. “someone needs put you in your place already.”

“you,” your voice cracks and nearly fails you, but you’re determined. it surprises him, that you’d have something to say. that you’re still game. you can see it in his face, in the way his hands come off of you. “i want you to.”

toji’s expression is hard and unchanging. his fingers go back to your face, two of them slipping inside your lax lips.

your breath stutters as you inhale, instinctively sucking the digits and working your tongue around them.

toji grabs his cock through his pants pointedly.

“fuckin’ slut… that what you want?” you nod. he takes a step forward, knees hitting the couch. “is that why you walk around my house looking like a fucking whore?”

a whine dies in your throat at the sweet, sweet recognition.

he noticed.

he noticed and it bothered him and you really couldn’t bring yourself to care that he was your best friend’s father right now because he was tenting his sweatpants and your mouth was watering at the sight.

“please…” you paw at his waistband, pulling on the drawstrings. toji laughs at your desperation, voice growing gruff.

he buries a hand in your hair, fingers closing around your locks tightly and making your eyes sting with tears. slowly, he pushes your face into his crotch, so close that you can feel it pulsing, can feel every ridge, can feel that he’s not wearing any underwear.

god, you can smell him, and it makes your head spin, your mouth huffing out hot breaths and wetting the front of his pants.

you hook your fingers in the back of his sweats and pull until they’re down tight around his thighs. you have to maneuver the fabric over the head of his erection, earning a hiss from the man towering over you.

his dick springs up, slapping you in the face and leaving a smear of pre across the bridge of your nose. you think toji snorts at that but you can’t be sure. you’re too mesmerized.

he’s so, so big, the skin darker and flushed, tight, heavy balls and the head, angry red, peeking out from the foreskin.

your throat goes dry at the thought of it inside of you, inside any of your holes, because you know it’ll destroy you forever. and you want it.

toji doesn’t have the appeal that most men his age do to most girls your age. he doesn’t make you feel safe, he doesn’t offer financial support, he doesn’t care about your well-being, he doesn’t have his shit together. and to make matters worse to you, he’s your best friend’s dad, who your best friend doesn’t even like that much, whose presence has been totally indifferent to megumi for most of his life.

it makes you burn in shame to know you’re about to have a man 25 years your senior in your mouth.

you readjust your position on the couch so that you’re sitting on your knees, angling your face with his cock. it’s curved, pointing up, and you wonder how much of it he’s gonna wanna stuff down your throat. judging by the pure evil glinting in his eyes, it’s gonna be as much as possible.

you take a deep breath, steadying a hand around his length. it’s concerning that you can just barely close your fingers around him, but you put that thought aside to focus on pulling the skin down gently so you can wrap your lips around the tip.

toji sighs in relief, his grip in your hair tightening.

you begin to work your head up and down, licking the underside of his cock to gather up saliva.

“thaaat’s it, what a good little bitch. got a sweet little mouth on ya,” he whispers, hips thrusting slightly to work his cock further into your mouth. “yer gonna take all of it? or are ya all talk?”

you whine, gripping the base and sliding further down his length. he’s already hitting the back of your throat, making your eyes water and your stomach seize. you pick up the pace, twisting your wrist rhythmically as you suck him.

“don’t swallow,” he threatens, forcing his cock deeper into you, the head sliding into the opening of your throat. “lemme see how messy this slutty face can get.”

you choke audibly, eyes smarting with tears, makeup smudging. you look up at him with furrowed brows in a silent plea of mercy.

toji’s having none of it.

he puts one foot down on the sofa, next to your legs, giving himself the leverage to start fully fucking your face now. he wraps both hands around your throat and thrusts his hips violently into your mouth, his thumbs pressing down to feel his length in your throat.

“ahh, fuck,” he throws his head back, reveling in your desperate gurgles. you feel like a fucking ragdoll, like a fleshlight, unable to control the noises you make or how much dick you take. “takin’ me so well. who taught you to squeeze your throat like that, huh? so fuckin’ slutty.”

you sob around his cock, nose buried in his pubes. he’s impossibly hard, impossibly wet as thick strings of spit and pre hang from your lips, dripping down to his balls, falling to the floor.

toji keeps fucking your throat relentlessly, granting you mere seconds between thrusts to inhale a desperate breath that immediately starts to burn in your lungs.

he’s a fucking sight though, above you. chin tucked into his chest, veins bulging and biceps flexed, nostrils flared as he watches you devour him.

he pulls out suddenly, leaving you choking for air. tears stream down your face, spit bubbling out of your nostril. you look all wrong, like you’d been put back together by someone after being utterly demolished.

“open your mouth,” toji orders. you obey and he grabs his cock, slapping the head against your tongue a few times. he slides his length in and out for a bit before he starts jerking himself off. “suck my balls.”

you take that moment to swallow down the saliva that had pooled between your teeth, tucking away the wet strands of hair that frame your face.

toji’s lifting his cock towards his belly, fisting the head and flicking his wrist. he looks at you expectantly, and you understand it’s time to prove yourself once again.

you place a gente thumb right below his shaft, where his sack hangs. your tongue dips in between his balls, shyly at first, just slightly tracing the shape of them before you pop one into your mouth.

toji groans, the hand on his cock gaining speed. you squeeze your thighs together; you’re so wet that it makes you uncomfortable. you lean forward on your knees, steadying yourself with your palms planted firmly on his thighs.

you’re sucking his balls earnestly now , one then the other, then both at the same time, angling your head up and working your tongue up and down the wrinkled skin.

toji’s loving it, maybe more than the blowjob, and it makes you feel like a toy all over again, in an even more humiliating way because now you’re not even allowed to touch his cock, he’s just getting to use your mouth anywhere he wants.

it’s so fucking hot that it makes you dizzy. you hollow your cheeks, giving his nutsack a good suck before gingerly lifting his balls. you sneak a glance up at toji, hoping to catch him by surprise when your tongue dips even lower, approaching some pretty controversial territory.

it works. his breath catches in his throat and his knee kicks out instinctively.

he grabs your hair immediately, pulling you away from him.

“fuck,” you look up at him smirking, lips smeared with saliva and snort. but you don’t even care how debauched you look right now, as long as you can keep the upper hand. “you’re a nasty little bitch, aren’t ya?”

he leans down to kiss you deeply, messily, inhaling loudly through his nose. toji finishes stepping out of his sweatpants and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing what you’d been imagining for so many years.

you run your hands over his chest, his abs, down his hips, his v-line. he’s so fucking hot, got bulging muscles you didn’t even know existed in the human body, and scars you can’t even fathom the origin of.

he stares at you, looking bored. “get up.”

you do, legs shaking and prickling with pins and needles. now you can fully feel the scope of your arousal, how your panties stick to your core uncomfortably, how the wet tops of your thighs rub together.

toji sits down on the sofa and you waste no time getting on his lap, clawing at his chest and leaning in for another kiss. he’s unforgiving even like this, so much bigger than you, his hand on the back of your neck and his mouth on yours.

“arms up,” and when you comply, he’s pulling your tank top off. “good girl.”

you shiver, instinctively wrapping an arm around yourself. toji tsks at that, easily taking both your wrists in one hand and pinning them behind your back. he grabs your tit with the other, popping as much of it as he can in his mouth.

you groan, fighting against his grip to get your hands on his hair, his shoulders, anywhere. toji relentlessly sucks on your nipple, nibbling and circling it with his tongue.

when he pulls off, he lands a swift slap across your boob, ripping a groan from you.

“such a good fuckin’ slut, look at that body.”

he slaps your ass, this time, tugging your shorts over your butt. you help him get it off of you and then, finally, you’re straddling toji’s cock, no layers in between you two, just your dripping core on him.

you think, belatedly, condom, but then toji is pulling you in for another kiss and for all you know megumi could come home any minute and you wouldn’t want to waste time like that. or so you tell yourself.

his hands guide your hips to grind over him, soft mewls coming out of you and being buried into the crook of his neck.

“pretty little girl, gonna ride me? hmm? gonna ride this old man’s cock?” you whine, nodding.

you press your front against his so you can lift your ass up and guide the tip into your entrance. you don’t expect to be able to take it all, but at least like this you can control the pace and how much of it is going into you, the only thing keeping you from panicking at the sheer size of him.

the head of toji’s cock doesn’t slip inside so much as it pops inside, the ridge locking just past your opening.

it’s too big, and even though you’re soaking wet, it’s still a stretch. you both groan in unison and you realize, this is it. this is your fantasy, you’re fucking toji fushiguro, megumi’s dad, your best friend’s dad.

your legs tremble as you hold yourself up, too soon to sink down more on his cock. toji’s playing with your nipples but you have a sneaking suspicion his patience isn’t going to last much longer.

you give it a valiant effort to take more in and it feels like being ripped in two. you clench your jaw, a bead of sweat rolling down your temple.

“fuuuuck, so fuckin’ tight,” toji spreads your ass cheeks with both hands, rubbing the thin skin where you two are connected. he thrusts up, feeding your poor pussy more of his cock, and you let out a scream. “take it, c’mon.”

“unghh—can’t, toji, hang on—“

“‘course ya can,” he fucks up into you again and you sob, nails raking down his chest. he hisses and slaps your ass in punishment. you realize you might really cry.

“i can’t, it’s too big, too much—“

“shhh,” in an uncharacteristic display of affection, toji kisses the furrow between your brows, snaking a thumb between you two to rub your clit.

you throw your head back, body torn between seeking more pleasure and running from the pain. you can hear how wet you are as toji fucks in and out of you, your plush walls hugging him so well, weeping around him.

he speeds up and you bury your face in his chest, moaning wantonly into his skin. toji lets out staccato grunts, working his cock further into you with each thrust.

“any scrubs your age givin’ it to you like this?” he breathes out, grabbing your ass hard and moving it up and down his length for you. you whine, drooling on him. “yeah, that’s right. fuck, take it, that’s a good girl.”

“ahh, toji—“

“that’s not my name, whore,” he fists your hair and drags your head back until your eyes meet. “try again.”

“fushiguro-san—“ that earns you a hard slap on your ass. you yelp — wrong answer.

“toji-sama—“ another slap, and this time he grips the reddening flesh viciously. you whine, squirming in his grip.

“little braindead cumslut,” he wipes a tear with his thumb. “who’s fucking this tight pussy right now? huh? tell me who's ruining this slutty cunt.”

“d—daddy?”

toji smiles, humming, his grip on you softening as he leans in for a kiss. “that’s right, sweetheart. show daddy how much you want it.”

it’s amusing to toji, you know it. he just wants to humiliate you because he’s aware of how badly you’ve wanted this. but it does something to you, it’s serious to you, it’s so fucking depraved and sexy to you.

he lifts you up with ease and lays you back down on the couch. you feel so empty suddenly that it makes you want to cry, like toji has already carved a home inside of you for his cock that no one else will ever be able to fill.

he wastes no time getting on top of you, hooking a hand under your leg and lifting it up onto his shoulder. your eyes widen immediately, a protest dying in your tongue. this position… his cock… it’s, god, it’s gonna be—

toji plunges in in one violent, perfunctory thrust. you let out a scream, your heel kicking toji square in the back as your body rises up from the couch. he’s all the way inside now.

you can feel him bruising your cervix, his balls, wet with a mixture of the two of you, slapping against your ass, his hip bones drilling into you.

“you’re so deep,” you look at him with panic in your eyes, chest gone cold at the overwhelming pleasure. “you’re so deep.”

toji laughs, pulling out to spit on his cock. he grabs your ankle and sets it on his shoulder. “yeah, baby, daddy’s all the way inside now. feels good, doesn’t it?”

“fuck. oh fuck,” you let out shaky breaths, allowing toji to lay more of his weight on top of you. your knee is by your head now and somehow in this position his cock seems to hit even deeper, to curve up exactly in the right spots that have you struggling to breathe. “you’re gonna break me.”

“takin’ me so well. just a natural slut aren’t ya,” he’s fucking you so fast now, wet, slapping sounds resounding across the whole house.

there’s a thick creamy ring at the base of his cock, frothy and bubbly with how much you’ve been gushing for him. toji presses a thumb against your clit and rubs tight little circles, making you squeeze against him like a vice.

he grunts, speeding up his movements.

“so sensitive, this cute little pussy. you a virgin?” he slaps it a few times, your wetness sticking to his fingers with every pat. “gonna cum soon, whore?”

you whine, nodding. you wrap both arms around toji’s neck and pull him closer, open mouth awaiting expectantly.

toji grins, spitting onto your tongue before leaning in to suck it.

“toj—daddy,” you moan against his mouth, “daddy, i’m close.”

you don’t recognize your own voice. it’s slutty, desperate, pitchy, juvenile. it's too far gone.

toji works your clit over and over again, fucking you harder than you’ve ever been fucked. he splays a hand over your stomach, kneading the place where his cock is nestled inside of you and hitting a spot that makes you lose control of your body and words.

“ah, ah, ah, oh god toji fuck daddy make me cum, please please can i cum—“

“oh, fuck,” his thrusts start to become erratic and you know he’s close too. you clench around him, one leg wrapping around his hips to make sure he stays inside until you're done. “cum on daddy’s cock, come on. make a mess, little girl.”

you throw your head back, burying it into the pillows as your entire body thrashes with your orgasm. you clamp around him so hard that you can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

toji takes no mercy on you, his messy cock plunging in and out of you fast.

“gonna fill up this pretty pussy, yeah?” you shake your head desperately, one hand punching his chest. he can’t finish inside of you, right? but why do you want it so bad? “no no no, don’t fuss now baby. you want daddy’s cum inside you, don’t you? wanna give megumi a baby brother? fuck yeah i know you do fuckin' take it whore fuuuuck, fuck i'm coming—”

he thrusts once, twice, three more times, knocking all air out of your lungs and the most ridiculous moans out of your mouth before he’s spilling into you, locking your legs like a fucking pretzel and biting down your neck.

you can feel it pulsing, spurting inside of you. you can feel both your heartbeats in your abused cunt, both of your juices combined and oozing out of you.

once you catch your breath, toji pulls out of you languidly, with a yawn. you two made a fucking mess, a sticky puddle on the couch right below your ass.

toji eyes it disinterestedly, much like how he’s eyeing you right now. your sweaty, messy, fucked out self, nearly melting on the fushiguro household’s sofa.

“ah. are ya on the pill or what?” he asks, like he just now remembered. after a few seconds you nod, a little incredulous. “heh. good.”

you slowly sit up, reaching for your sweatshirt to at least cover yourself up. you sneak a hand down to your cunt, fingers sliding through the mess there to dip inside you.

fuck, you’re gaping. toji well and truly ruined your pussy. it makes you panic a little bit, but it also makes pride swell within your chest, knowing you took it, all of it.

toji finally addresses you.

“i’m gonna go take a shower,” he looks behind his shoulder, sighing. he points at you. “we left the fuckin’ tv on. if this shit racks up my bills you’re gonna have to pay me back.”

you guffaw. “me? pay you how?”

he smirks.

“got one more hole i haven’t wrecked yet, dont’cha?” he flicks your forehead. you just sit there, incredulous, trembling legs, halfway to horny again. from the bathroom, toji calls out, “let yourself out. oh, and leave the vodka.”

A/N: lmfao! i got nothin to say in my defense. reblogs r very much appreciated

#✩.toji #✩.kinktober #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk kinktober #✩.tw daddy kink #✩.tw age gap #toji zenin #toji reader smut #✩.petra.doc #toji fushiguro x female reader #toji x female reader

6K notes · View notes

saetoru · 6 months

Text

BEWARE OF PHAGOCYTIC RAIN — AL-HAITHAM.

kinktober day three — aphrodisiacs ; find masterlist here

synopsis. the akademiya textbook reads as follows: consecrated scorpion stings are not deadly, but it is advised to proceed with caution in the event of encountering one. possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea, and mild sexual arousal. except the textbook lied. it’s not mild. al-haitham and you might need to pause your desert trip for a moment

length. 4.3k words (omg this is the shortest one so far)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs + dub con, mentions of injuries and blood (al-haitham gets stung by a consecrated scorpion), reader sits on his lap, hand jobs, unprotected sex, no prep, riding, creampie, implied (future) multiple orgasms, reader is mentioned to have a dendro vision + is a haravatat scholar

notes. i made this up. the new consecrated scorpions lore is that their venom can be a sex stimulant thanks

“haitham,” you complain—although, you probably really shouldn’t. in fact, you definitely should not complain. al-haitham has so graciously allowed you to accompany this trip to the desert, and you should not get in the way. still, your feet ache, and the sun is blaring, and god—would kill you both to have a break? “can’t we just stop for a bit?”

but with you, al-haitham is always patient. you can see him diligently take the time to be patient as he stills and sighs quietly, not letting himself ever get frustrated with you. “it’ll get cold if night falls,” he reasons, “c’mon, you’ll definitely want to rest inside the ruins instead of outside tonight.”

“but baby,” you protest, “my feet hurt.”

“i know,” he nods, like validating your feelings will make them any better, “but the safest option would be to camp inside the ruins instead of out here—”

“hey, haitham?” you cut him off, suddenly whispering quietly as you huddle closer, “what…what’s that?” he looks over his shoulder to where you point—and then he stiffens.

“oh, great,” he hisses, groaning under his breath, “seriously? now?”

what looks like a giant scorpion seems to be pacing in the distance, the large, sharp stinger on its tail clear as day, even from where you stand, a good range away. you’ve never seen one of these before, never even heard of giant scorpions that roam the desert. al-haitham has certainly never told you about seeing them, with all the times he visits the desert himself. he seems rather familiar with them, too, staring exasperatedly off at the beast as it circles the territory you absolutely have to pass.

“why is there a giant scorpion here? are there always these things in the desert? i’ve never heard of—wait,” you pause, “i have a textbook from the akademiya on desert exploration. i brought it just in case!”

“we don’t need that,” he insists, “i’ve dealt with these plenty of times. just leave it to me.”

you’ve never been to the desert—but al-haitham always mentions the ancient letters he sees in the ruins he explores. it’s tempting; being a scholar is always the never-ending temptation of knowledge—and you are both haravatat scholars, after all. studying an ancient alphabet is enough to make you plead with al-haitham to take you with him on his next trip.

he can’t say no to you, of course—he never can. but it’s your first time here, and evidently…it’s not going exactly as planned.

you open the book, skimming through the pages before your eyes land on a sketch that looks strikingly similar to the same beast you see in the distance. the textbook reads as follows: consecrated scorpion stings are not deadly, but it is advised to proceed with caution in the event of encountering one. that seems like complete and utter bullshit—this seems rather deadly.

“haitham,” you whisper, “i think we should leave. this doesn’t seem—”

“we can take it,” he argues, “i’ve taken them before on my own quite a lot in the past.”

“but baby, this one seems a bit big—”

“it’ll be fine,” he assures.

you sigh, looking back at the book and scanning over the section that goes into detail about its attack patterns. “okay, fine—let me just read over how they attack so i know what to expect.”

phagocytic form—beasts enter phagocytic form immediately when in combat, resulting in an increase in resistance to all elements. there is double the resistance to electro attacks. well, you think, it’s a good thing cyno isn’t the one fighting today—otherwise, you think you might be screwed.

this is fine. everything is fine. you and al-haitham both have dendro visions; this shouldn’t be too bad, right?

melee combo one—beasts perform a two-part combo with their claws. alright, not too bad. you can easily dodge that, you reason. melee combo two—beasts perform a three-part combo consisting of a single strike with both claws, a flurry of claw strikes while rushing forward, and a projectile fired from its stinger. now that seems a bit troublesome, but you’ve dealt with worse.

“i’ll take care of it,” al-haitham calls over his shoulder, catching your attention as he draws out his sword. you look up from the pages frantically.

“wait, i really think we should handle this together if we’re going to take this. just let me read on the attack patterns a bit more—”

he’s already made the first attack. you can hear the angry hiss of the scorpion, can practically see the fury in its beady eyes from behind the thick skull covering its head. al-haitham, to your slight comfort, dodges melee combos one and two expertly.

maybe he was right—maybe you’ve been panicking for nothing.

you look back at the book. dig—beasts dig into the ground and attack the target from below, staying within the range of a visible electro ring. alright, as long as you leave the ring before the scorpion pops out of the ground, you should be fine. nothing to worry about. spikes—beasts plug their tails into the ground and rapidly produce spikes around themselves to shock targets. another easy dodge—you just have to make sure you escape the vicinity.

you look up, and al-haitham has already easily leapt from the ring and landed himself on higher ground. he waits, watches as the beast emerges from underground, and plants its tail into the ground—this must be the spikes. al-haitham is rather excellent at fighting these things—you have to admit. as soon as the spikes are gone, he takes his chance to plunge down, perfectly landing a hard hit to its head with the edge of his sword, making its body slump to the ground.

he might just finish this alone like he said.

“there,” he nods, flashing you a smooth grin, “i told you i’d handle it. now then, let’s—”

the loud, sinister hiss from behind cuts him off—it makes you watch in abject horror as the scorpion rises and does a rapid spin.

you look over the pages as quickly as you can—is there more? there’s nothing else on the page, is there? you quickly flick your eyes to the next page and—oh.

oh no.

phagocytic rain—beasts rapidly spin and scatter many stingers into the air before slamming their claws and unleashing stingers down from above. these stingers, once pierced into the skin, can cause side effects as a result of consecrated venom.

“well, it’s never done that before,” al-haitham holds up his sword, getting ready to fight.

no. he has to get away—he needs to get away. the words don’t come quick enough from your throat as you scream, “haitham, no! you have to get away—”

it’s too late. you can hear him let out a strangled groan of pain, clutching his arm as his sword instantly falls to the floor, a gash already decorating his skin from a stinger he didn’t manage to dodge. before you can even think, you grab your weapon and run, leaping between al-haitham and the scorpion and landing another perfect blow to its head—just before that giant, deadly-looking stinger on its tail can plunge into him.

it goes limp, falling to the floor with a thud, the glow of its body dimming instantly.

“fuck,” he curses—al-haitham rarely curses. this is not a light sting. “since when do they do that?”

“since forever,” you hiss, grabbing the edge of his cape to press on his wound and stop the blood flow, “maybe if you’d just listened to me and read the attack patterns with me, you’d have known that.”

“i’ve fought these plenty of times,” he says indignantly, teeth still grit in pain, “they never do that.”

“maybe if you weren’t such a know it all,” you grumble—but then you gently reach over, cupping his cheek as you trace a thumb over the skin comfortingly, “is it too bad?” you ask, concern evident enough in your tone that he feels slightly bad.

al-haitham shakes his head, sighing quietly as you kiss his jaw. “i’ll be fine. i’ll just patch it up before we camp for the night.”

“are you sure? maybe we should—”

“it’ll be fine,” he hums, “their venom isn’t deadly anyway.”

—————

you and al-haitham manage to make it to the ruins by nightfall. somehow, miraculously, the two of you are able to trek towards the pyramid and seek shelter indoors for the night, right before it gets too dark and too cold.

al-haitham seems to act stranger and stranger as time goes on, quietly sitting in a corner against the wall and patching his arm up himself as you set up the fire by the tent. you look over at him and watch as he shudders and groans lightly.

“are you sure you’re alright?” you ask in concern, walking over and sitting as you curl up next to him, raising a brow as his body seems to stiffen at your touch, “baby, you seem…”

“i’m fine,” he says curtly.

you don’t seem to be convinced, furrowing your brows before pressing a palm to his forehead—hot. incredibly and unnaturally hot skin that’s flushed a shade of crimson you hardly see on al-haitham, even when you tease him in that cheeky, flirty little way of yours that dusts blush over his face every time.

“haitham,” you gasp, hand brushing back his bangs to feel more of his skin—it’s only then, do you realize just how sweaty his skin seems to be, too. “you’re burning up!”

“i’m okay—”

“maybe you should take your shirt off,” you say quickly, wiping the sweat from his forehead as you sit up straight, “it’s just the two of us here, anyway. it’ll be fine—”

“no,” he grits, voice strangled, “i’m—hah” he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, “—i’m okay. just leave me alone, please. i’ll just go walk it off in a bit.”

he’s panting. you can hear the way his voice is strained and the way his chest rises and falls rather rapidly. you should check the book again, just to see if there’s anything about the side effects in the event you do happen to get stung.

“hmm, the textbook says—”

“do not read the textbook,” he practically begs.

you do anyway. “possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea,” you start, glancing up at him and eyeing his patched arm, “well, there was some swelling. are you nauseous?”

“no,” he almost wheezes out.

“let’s see, and it also says it can cause—oh.”

possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea—you pause and swallow thickly as you read over the final part—and mild sexual arousal. sexual arousal. well, that would explain the heated and flushed skin, you suppose. and the sweat. you glance up at al-haitham—he does anything but meet your eyes.

“i told you,” he says stiffly, muffling a groan as he crosses his arms and hunches forward, “i’ll be fine—”

“baby,” you hum, chuckling slightly as you run a hand through his hair—he gulps, still avoiding your gaze, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

“don’t,” he warns, jaw clenching as he looks up and stares at you with that same look of hunger you’ve seen so many times before. it’s clear al-haitham is trying to fight off whatever he’s feeling—but the reality is clear.

he’s very quickly losing himself to his desires.

“but it’s just us in here,” you insist, hand trailing down his chest slowly before settling on his thigh. his breath hitches, following your hand with his eyes as it rubs along slowly and moves closer and closer inwards. “these ruins have been abandoned for who knows how long—and we’re the only ones from the akademiya cleared to explore them.”

“don’t,” he says again—there’s a warning tone to his voice this time, slightly more raspy and entirely more breathless, “if…if i start, i don’t know if i’ll be able to stop.”

“oh, but haitham,” you pout, slinging a leg over his waist and seating yourself on his lap. you stare down at his crotch—wet. there’s a very noticeable wet patch over the bulge in his pants. you wonder how you didn’t notice it sooner. “who says i’d want you to stop?”

“love, i’m serious,” he closes his eyes and swallows, panting as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple, “you should sleep. i’ll be okay—o-oh, fuck,” he cuts himself off with a gasp, hissing as you reach past his waistband and free his strained cock from the confinements.

it’s thick, his erection—probably far more swollen than you’ve ever seen it before. it almost looks painful, with how red it is at the tip, with how it twitches from nothing else but the cool air hitting the heated skin. you think it might just be aching, in fact, from how he whimpers as you wrap a hand around it, just barely squeezing, just barely applying pressure to really relieve anything.

“hmm,” you look down, inspecting, “seems sensitive.” you give it a slow, experimental stroke, instantly making him groan loudly as his head falls back, a stream of pre cum leaking from the tip enough to coat his already slick cock.

“fuck, fuck—more,” he rasps, hand grabbing your thigh and squeezing hard to ground himself.

“okay,” you murmur, nodding to yourself, “very sensitive. guess we’ll just have to get this out of your system.”

you drag your hand over his length, slow at first, before building up a quick, steady rhythm—just the way he’s always liked it. you lean in, kissing along his jaw as he writhes under you while you squeeze around the base of his cock, rolling your palm over his tip before repeating the motion over and over and over again.

his mouth is parted, low groans and the occasional soft whine fall past his lips, making the ache between your own legs worsen as you watch him fall apart. there’s a dull throb in your core, and you can feel the fabric of your underwear dampen, but all you’re worried about for now is the man before you. any other time, you’d think it’s a bit shameless, doing something so dirty, so filthy, so inappropriate in the middle of the desert like this–especially while on a research expedition, no less. but you couldn’t just leave your boyfriend to suffer like this, could you? what kind of girlfriend would you be then? and you’re not so cruel as to leave al-haitham to suffer like this all night, or longer, even—who knows how long before the side effects wear off? it’s the wisest choice to just help him, to take care of him like he always takes care of you.

that’s right, you think to yourself—you’re helping him like any doting lover would. you’re not at all interested by this predicament of his…or aroused, for that matter. no, you’re simply worried for him, and it’s up to you to relieve him of the painfully frustrating tension he must be suffering through after he so graciously fought to protect you from the dangers of the desert.

“jus’ like that,” he gasps as you touch him, chest still rising and falling as quickly as before—his shirt is damp too, a noticeable wet patch forming over most of it as the sweat collects on the fabric, “d-don’t stop—fuck, feels so good.”

“c’mon, haitham,” you murmur, taking your other hand to tug at the end of his shirt, “take this off—i told you, you’ll feel better.”

he listens—whatever is in that venom must be something strong because al-haitham is the most stubborn individual you’ve ever met. under normal circumstances, he’d refuse to take his shirt off even if, deep down, he knew himself it’d help. but right now, he quickly reaches at the hem before pulling it off, tossing it to the side as his bare chest is exposed for you to admire. his usual pale skin is flushed, a soft pink that glistens from the sweat that he can’t seem to get rid of, even as you work his swollen cock with your fist.

it’s pretty, the way he sounds, the way he looks. you run a thumb over his slit, and he whimpers. not too often of times have you heard al-haitham whimper—but today, he seems to have lost any and all control, too busy thrusting his hips up to meet your strokes as he moans lowly.

“when’d you start to feel it?” you ask curiously, pecking his forehead as you leave scattered kisses along his face, “how long have you been trying to play it off?”

“s-since…” he starts, but he trails off as your thumb traces over a thick being along the underside of his length, letting out a soft whine at the feeling before bucking his hip into your hand more desperately. you don’t think you’ve ever seen al-haitham so worked up—so needy and riled up and painfully fucked out before he’s even cum yet. “since i f-first got stung,” he admits through labored breaths, “just got worse slowly.”

“you should’ve told me,” you coo, “not like i don’t see you like this anyway. poor thing,” you pout softly, eyeing the way his cock twitches in your hand, more beads of pre cum oozing from the tip and leaving a stream down his length, “looks like it hurts.”

“it does,” he rasps, “feels…feels like ‘m gonna pass out.”

“don’t worry,” you hum, squeezing tighter around him, working him quicker as your hand jerks his aching cock off with a tight fist, “i’ll help you cum. ‘s what you deserve for fighting that thing for me. my strong baby.”

“c-close,” he says through a cracked voice, like the praise is enough to send him hurtling over the edge, “‘m so close—sh-shit.”

“yeah?” you ask sweetly, pecking his forehead, “then cum, baby. think you’ll feel much better.”

you roll a thumb over his nipple, hard under the pad of your thumb, and enough to make him gasp loudly before he lets out a deep grunt, cum spilling from his sensitive tip. it’s more than you’ve ever seen from him—thick, endless ropes of hot, sticky cum coating your hand and his abs as you pump his cock through his orgasm. you’re glad you made him take his shirt off—this would’ve been an even more unpleasant trip if he’d had to walk around in a soiled shirt.

“fuck, f-fuck—so g-good,” he stutters, his head thrown back against the wall that supports his body, legs spreading apart to give you better access to working his cock through his high. one hand reaches to play with his balls as you milk his cock, squeezing as you stroke upwards and watch every thick drop of cum shoot past his tip.

it feels like forever, his orgasm. it’s long, and his voice is strained from calling your name over and over by the time he’s finished—but he’s still just as hard as before. no—in fact, you think he might be even harder.

“well…” you start, staring at his erection as it rests against his sculpted abs, “i don’t think that did much.”

“no,” he pants, staring at you through lust-hazed eyes, “it didn’t. but i have an idea that might help, though.”

“yeah? what is it, oh wise grand sage?”

al-haitham, for the first time ever, doesn’t correct you that he’s the acting grand sage. instead, he lifts you up slightly and pulls your pants down to pool at your ankles before lining your dripping cunt over his cock. you bite your lip, moving to ever so slightly drag his tip along your clit, making the both of you shiver with a desperate gasp at the ghost friction.

“i think,” he starts, finger circling your clit slowly as you whine before letting your head fall to the crook of his neck, “that perhaps fucking you might be the only way to get this out of my system. what do you say?”

“haitham, please,” you whine, fingers digging into his shoulders as you clutch onto him, “need you.”

“yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly, replacing his finger and teasing your folds with the tip of his cock, coating the head with the slick of your pussy as you quiver over him, “need me, huh? i thought i was the one who got stung. shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

you would scoff if you weren’t aching to feel the burning stretch of him intruding your neglected cunt—al-haitham always finds a way to be himself at the end of the day. always so frustratingly confident and painfully good at teasing.

“fuck me, haitham,” you plead, pushing your hips down until the first few inches of his length push past your entrance, dragging his tip along your folds and pulling a whine from you as he chokes on a low groan.

“f-fuck,” he grunts, “so tight—a-always so tight.”

his hands grasp at your hips, slowly guiding you to sink all the way down on his cock, taking it inch by inch until he’s buried all the way, his tip nudging perfectly against that sensitive spot in the back of your walls. al-haitham feels like he’s been made just for you like that—fitting you perfectly enough that he hits all the right spots without even trying, without even having to angle his hips in order to give you what you need from him.

you feel sweat collect on your own forehead, mirroring the same glistening of his own skin as you bite your lip and whimper out a pathetic, “h-haitham, more—please.”

“it’s a good thing i brought you with me,” he pants as he snaps his hips up, his hands still guiding your hips to bounce on his cock as you pull up before slamming back down, your walls hugging his thick girth tightly while his fat tip presses against your sweet spot. “imagine where i’d be if you weren’t here. j-jus’ wouldn’t feel the same if i was fucking my fist instead of this sweet cunt.”

the stretch is too good—the way he splits you open as he bullies into your pussy, pushing past your folds and dragging his thick veins along your walls, makes your head spin, pleasure burning up your nerves and spreading across your entire body. your lips attach themselves to his neck, kissing and sucking along the skin as he groans and tightens his bruising grip on your hips.

“b-baby—fuck, ‘s so good,” you mewl, “h-haitham—oh.”

“take me so well,” he says breathlessly, face falling slack as your walls flutter around his length and relieve the ache that was all too overwhelming just a few moments ago—being buried into your pussy is enough to turn the tight grit of his jaw into a loose, parted lips as he moans your name. “taking it so well, like the good girl you are. you—ngh, fuck—you want to make me feel better, don’t you?”

“i do,” you nod, sobbing as his thumb finds your clit and rubs harsh circles into the delicate bundle of nerves, “i do, i do—please, haitham. faster, need more.”

“yeah?” he lets out a strangled chuckle, biting his lip and groaning as you snap your hips down particularly rough, squeezing around him tightly, “you need more? i’d almost say you were stung instead of me.”

your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving angry, red marks in their wake as his fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips. you slam down on him with every roll of your hips, his own meeting you halfway as he bucks up, fucking into you—you can feel it, the impending high that you reach closer and closer to, every circle of his thumb on your clit and every brush of his cock against your walls bringing you close to falling off the edge.

“‘m…g-gonna cum, haitham—fuck, a-almost there, baby,” you pant, mewling as you throw your head back while he leans in to kiss your neck, biting hard enough that you almost wonder if there’s blood.

“me too,” he groans, “you…you’re so perfect,” you feel his head bury into your shoulder, his forehead digging into your shoulder as you cradle the back of his head with a hand and whine, “i’m bringing you to every trip—fuck you in every ruin i explore. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“yes, yes—please,” you babble, nodding as your back arches before you feel the coil snap—you gasp his name, a repeat of haitham, haitham, haitham, falling from your lips as he fucks into you through your high. the spasm of your walls around him sends him hurtling into his second orgasm—even more earth-shattering than the first.

“that’s it,” he moans, his voice deep and raspy as it cracks in the middle, “can’t even be mad i got stung—not when you let me fuck you l-like this. so…feels so good—’m c-cumming.”

it’s not the first time al-haitham has cum in you—but it’s never felt like this before. it’s hot, his cum—it spills into you and coats your walls in a sticky mess that forms a ring at the base of his cock as it pumps into you. the mess of his release and your arousal coats both of your thighs, leaking from your abused cunt and smearing along your skin. you can feel him twitch with every rope, can feel the way he throbs as he spills into you and paints your walls white with his release. it’s desperate—needy and so, so filthy, just like the sounds he makes into your ear, breathless pants that make your stomach do flips as you listen to him fall apart and break.

he slumps as he finishes, your body falling against him as you both pant harshly and catch your breaths. he kisses your neck delicately as you stroke his hair, admiring his spent form under you.

“as much as i hate that you got stung,” you mumble, “this…this might not have been the worst thing.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, looking up and raising a brow—it’s only then that you feel it, the twitch of his still hard cock, still buried deep in your abused cunt, “are you sure? because we aren’t nearly finished yet—i really hope you’re prepared to take it.”

the textbook may have lied, you think—this is not mild at all. this might delay your trip quite a bit.

i would go with him hoping he gets stung every time so i could suck the soul out of him tbh

#🎃 — kinkteeber !!#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you #thirstee!#teepods.writings #fics.

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charliemwrites · 17 days

Text

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #nikto x reader #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #cod nikto #konig cod #neighbor!reader

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