Strike while the iron's hot, even though this should've happened way sooner.
In short, this is what happens when I take what were initially two separate lemon plot bunnies and mash them together into a frankenprompt.
Disclaimer: this story contains material of a sexually explicit nature, you've been forewarned I guess who cares really i certainly do not btw trigger warning ?????? probably maybe no wait definitely probably so yeah this is the real important Real Stuff or at least as i've been told by buttfrustrated Actual Content Creators so uh yeah Fate/stay night, Fate/hollow ataraxia, Fate/Apocrypha and its related concepts and ideas are the intellectual properties of kinoko nasu yuuichirou higashide type-moon notes ltd. aniplex and other respective rights holders this story is written solely for the purpose of entertainment and not for any sort of monetary profit if anything consider this free advertising or something i actually really dislike putting in these disclaimers if only because i always try to spice them up and i hate myself for doing that to myself and why are you still here just read th damn porn already sweet baby jesus h. Christ FUCK
Devil/Angel's Food Cake
The night air thrummed softly with the gentle hum of lamplight and the semi-muffled rabble of the few patrons who were still out on the town and nursing their drinks at the parlours. A gaggle of schoolgirls and what boyfriends they had among themselves dodged their responsibilities underneath an awning that jutted from one such bar. "Come onnnn! There's no way THAT's true! A scythe-wielding gravekeeper who lives down in the catacombs? Fat chance!" Stinking of alcohol, they gossiped loudly, laughter a constant element from all, shooting the shit with whatever came to their rambunctious brains.
"I know, right?! It's a shitty place to live. Not even the homeless wanna squat down there. Plus, isn't it pretty well-guarded anyway?"
"As if ghosts cared about guards! Hahaha!"
"Hey, your scary story? It sucked super hard, haha. I've got a better one, and this one, I swear, is all true."
"Bet it's bullshit."
"You know you love bullshit."
"Anyway. Story time. Do you remember that one cafe? The one that opened, like, half a year ago, last summer? Of course you remember. There was a grand opening and everything. Anyway. They say that at that cafe there's a server who works there, as a part timer. He's courteous, meek, and friendly. In short, the man's a perfect gentlemen. However; during four certain nights he transforms into—it. Yes, he turns into..."
She paused, for dramatic effect (and to great effect on her friends).
"...The Waiter from Hell!—and he'll gobble up any customers who walk in on him during his ghoulish shift! Beware! BEWAREEE~!"
Her drunken friends were entertained enough by her kitschy delivery to laugh like madmen. "Where'd you hear that tall tale?" One of her girlfriends, more amused than incredulous, asked. "Friend of a friend. Real on-the-level source," the storyteller replied with an equally hackneyed replied. This, naturally, elicited even more jolly caterwauls from her squad.
Laeticia heard none of that as she jogged past the merry-makers. She couldn't even hear herself breathe. The blood pumped in her ears. The heels of her running shoes tapped against the cobbled walk. The pair of headphones she wore blasted the most Happening charttoppers of the season straight from her iPod and into those very same, blood-pumped eardrums.
As the saint that Laeticia had once served as vessel to promised, memories of the miracle her body had borne had become hazy, impossible for her to recollect—as distant as a forgotten dream. As promised, the months following the miracle had seen to it that her humanity would be restored. Even so, such a wish couldn't be granted even by the most altruistic of miracles. Not in full. From a certain point of view, her normal life had returned to her as promised. But, the inverse held just as viable a stance—that the events that happened were an indelible stain on her life, no matter how much she couldn't remember any of it. Yes, the saint's mission had been a success. Yes, Laeticia's body had been returned to her. Yes, she was allowed to freshly graduate from college, hang out with her friends, and experience firsthand the blessing of being a young adult in the modern age. All of this she was able to have, without a trace that the World had touched her so profoundly.
Then why did she find herself with a newfound and unexplained affinity for the night, was more active during the dark hours than she had ever been before, even taking into account her late nights as a student?
Why did THEY remain?
She didn't think about it. She couldn't think about it. She hadn't the answers, nor any way to reach them.
That was why she ran during the night for hours. Until her breath ran ragged like it was now, she would run and run, and then return home, shower off, and collapse into a deep—dreamless—sleep that would seal her mind away until morning's call.
That was how it should have been. She ought to have started her return trip by now. Instead, Laeticia was taken upon by an impulse. Adrenaline flowed through her veins. Night stirred her soul—and she knew, without thinking, that she had to stay it.
If she always ran herself ragged, tonight she would tear herself to pieces.
Before that could happen, she stumbled across a cafe. It's architecture? Bavarian, dark old wood, white sandstone. The town itself was quite old, so it wasn't as if the design of the building was unusual in any regard. Rather, what caught her attention was that the lights still glowed in its windows even at this dead hour. Indeed, a dead hour; Laeticia had kept at her nocturnal workout for so long that even last call came and went. Now, at that time of night, at that time of morning, nothing roamed the darkness.
Nothing good, that is.
Nothing good, plus Laeticia.
Her stomach growled, painfully. Painfully enough that she clutched herself, made it seem as if she had just had the misfortune of catching a side stitch. However, Laeticia was unconcerned with how it felt as if her stomach meant to crush itself. Instead, she was ashamed that it was so loud that could have very well echoed up and down the street for all (of the nothing) to hear. In embarrassment, the young woman tore her headphones from her ears, did a quadruple take both ways up and down the empty road.
Convinced that none had heard her in her moment, she breathed a self-deprecating sigh, and cast a glance at the entrance that led inside.
The delightfully quaint ring of a bell above the doorway signaled Laeticia's entrance. The only staff member in sight greeted her as she walked into the main space " 'sup. Welcome to Cafe Ahnenerbe." He spoke casually, lackadaisical, and his appearance—
"Ummm... H-Hello there. G-Good evening. Er, morning?" She didn't want to, but she stared—more intently than the simple curtesy of eye contact allowed for. She knew it to be rude. She berated herself, yet she couldn't help herself. This man's appearance—
"You come just to say hi, or are you an actual customer, little lady?"
"Umm... Well, I am rather, um, hungry..."
He grinned a toothy smile accentuated by pronounced, pearly-white canines, "Plop that sweet ass wherever suits ya. The best part about this ungodly hour is that yer spoilt for choice—it owns."
Laeticia self-consciously ran a hand over her pink running shorts-sporting behind with an acute sense of regard and chose an empty seat nowhere of particular note in the cafe. Yes, she had seen people who wore tattoos before. That wasn't what it was about him that put her on edge. Now, to be decked out to such extremes, and—on top of it all—that raggedy bandana he wore, it clashed rather than juxtaposed with his otherwise well-kempt waiter's uniform, and it surely wasn't an allowed part of the cafe's dress code, right?, and beyond that—
"Yo. Gonna order now, or do you reckon that the sun oughta rise first before ya make such an important decision?" He leaned on her shoulder, looked at her.
"Yes!" she said, a little too loudly and suddenly to be attributed to enthusiasm as she fumbled with the menu, almost dropping it.
"And?"
"Oh! Um, the special."
"Which one?"
"—Surprise me?"
"Such confident choices. But hey, if that's what you want—" The waiter drew his hand, equally as tattooed as the rest of himself, from her shoulder and across her back as he walked away to take himself to task.
The touch made Laeticia let out a moan and gave a shiver. She immediately covered her mouth with her hands but it was too late.
"Hey. Your back's pretty sensitive."
"No, not particularly?" Laeticia waved her hands in meager protest.
"That so?" The waiter grabbed the wrists of those meek hands of hers and brought his face in, close to hers, those striking amber eyes of his, set within his dark face, piercing straight through her thoroughly-shook amethyst ones to deeply within her psyche. Holding her arms in place, he broke the eye contact that she had locked herself into of his own volition. He sniffed her neck like an animal, heard the faint music play on her Bose 'phones. "You know what? You smell."
"N-No!!"
"Yep, that's right! You're a smelly, dirty girl, and you waltzed right into a business, without freshening up, looking to get pampered like some princess." He ran his tongue up her lithe neck. "Yeah. Filthy."
"That's not—"
"And there's something else, too. A special ingredient? A secret sauce? Can't quite place it. But you, you got it—that x-factor that I like."
Once again, his eyes locked with Laeticia's, and once again, Laeticia was powerless to resist. She felt as if she was being judged. No, not quite that. She felt as if she was being eyed up, and found to have made the grade. "Don't move," he told her. "You placed your order. I've gotta go produce it for you." He turned and left for the counter.
"He's a—very friendly man," she muttered to herself.
Service with a smile.
—A smile that made her feel like a piece of meat, like she was caught down the sight of a gun.
"O-Our Father, who art in heaven..."
"Oi! What's your name?"
"L-Laeticia!"
"Ain't you a good girl. Laeticia, you were praying just now, weren't you?"
She said nothing, but kept her hands clasped all the same.
"Don't worry about. Just a funny coincidence. At least, it will be." He grinned that animal grin of his as he wheeled a cart laden with desserts over to Laeticia's table. "Go on. Eat up." He waved a hand, regarded the whole smorgasboard. "You wanted the special. You wanted me to surprise you. I said to myself 'Fuck it!' and got you all of them, plus extra."
"Um..." Laeticia had been off her guard since she first set foot inside Ahnenerbe. She was caught up in the pace of this place, smack dab in the centerpoint of the circle, bound by that circle's ways. "I'm certain this isn't exactly restaurant policy to be this generous, so, well, thank you." As the 'good girl' did her best to go with the flow of that highly uncertain situation her stomach gave another noisy growl. At that, Laeticia gave a distressed meep and impulsively reached for a slice of cake.
"What can I say? I like you. But, first—" She leaned precariously over the table. He capitalized on that. He sprung into action. He pushed her down onto it, leaned over her in turn. The loud thud of the impact made the tableware jingle. With a free hand he flipped up her short-sleeved hoodie, stole a peek at what sordidity she had hidden beneath.
—And a peek he did steal. "Bingo! Unusual sight, that." He gave that Catholic pussycat an impressed wolf whistle. They were faded, patchy, like a nearly-healed bruise. Partly-hidden by her grey and white sporty top, so he deigned to have a better look. He lifted up the back of that, too. Laeticia squirmed, whined, struggled to get away, but all of her protests were in vain. The waiter's strength, although not unnaturally overbearing, was still greater than hers, and he was in an advantageous position over her. Free for the moment to inspect his customer as he wished, he placed his fingertips on a fairly distinctive red outline. "Your body is a temple, and you've sure got yerself some interesting old ruins stowed back here"
The effect of his touch on her was instantaneous. Laeticia reacted. She gave a soft, but genuine moan as he traced the vestiges of the shapes. "These marks—the Seals. You got yourself caught up in something twisted back in the day. No wonder you smelled like it. Like... home. Like a bad wake-up call." He pressed down harder, in response to a memory. He followed their perimeter more vigorously than before.
Her voice zenithed appropriately. Her resistance; untrained, weak. "Hey—wait—p-please—!"
"It ain't nostalgia, though. Got no familiarity with that class. It don't exist where I come from. Looks like that old fart is right; this joint really is a nexus, and anyone can just walk right in if they find it!"
"I don't, un—" and then it came again, brought on by his fascination with the remains of the Command Seals that Ruler bore during that War. The wordless whining. Her body not responding to her desires, only to her desire. Laeticia burned up with shame—and more.
"I don't hate it!" He laughed, a jovial, menacing sound. "That means you're kinda like my little sister. Or somehow my twin sister. Or, to some degree, my twin little sister. Best of both worlds! Why choose?!" He pressed down harder, further, into her soft back muscle with callused fingertips. Her energy drained as the heat within grew. Laeticia could only muster up the impulsive strength to ball the table cloth in her hands as he mercilessly continued at her.
"Such a sensitive back. I bet taking a shower is excruciating, huh? All that stimulation must be a good way to conk on out. Exhaust yourself so much you just plop onto the bed and fall asleep just like that." He scraped his nails across her back, traced the very-faded remains of the red marks as he left red marks of his own upon her. But, all that he did before was just him nipping at her heels. Now, he went straight for her vital tideway. The waiter slid his hot, wet tongue down her spine, dragged them over the Seals. He tasted her back, tasted the dried, sweaty salt, pulled on her long braid in tandem. She mewled through gritted teeth and pursed lips, quickly brought her knees together to feebly prevent something—anything—embarrassing from slipping out. "Whatsa matter? You cum? Piss yourself? Either way way is fine with me."
"N-No... Nothing happened," she told him, told herself.
"That so?" He echoed words and actions both previous and bold and grabbed her over nylon of the pink shorts. "You're hella wet. You can hear how damn sticky and soaked that shit is." Laeticia winced at his crudeness, but didn't articulate against him. The shorts rustled moistly. She didn't even try to pull away from his touch. Her body, instead, throbbed more for more. Numbed with afterglow and loopy from desire, Laeticia helplessly slid off the table and onto her knees on the floor.
"Uh... Huh...?" Laeticia's sight was hazy, but she saw what she saw, standing proudly from his opened fly, like a branch that had sprouted in full from a patch of earthy soil.
"Why, why is that out?"
"Oh, I think you know damn well why it is." He gave it a shake. "I'm your waiter for the evening. It's my job to serve you, anticipate the customer's needs—and you absolutely want it, Little Miss Workout."
"I—do I???"
She didn't want to tell him, in no uncertain words, that she had finished. It was called a climax, after all. Then why, oh why, did her body still hunger, and not for any of that spread her brought for her epicurean delight?
Then, why did she take that dark, curving trunk of his right into her mouth? It was just as tattooed as the rest of him. Laeticia was entranced by the intricate, rolling designs; black and red as his bandana and hair. She sucked numbly, hesitant where to start.
"Gotta do more than that, honey. Though, fun fact: I've got some guidelines, just like you do."
She got the picture. She traced the tattoos with her tongue, mimicking what he did to her. He put his hand on her head, ruffled her fluffy blonde hair underneath his rough palm. Somehow, that made her bob her head up and down, gulp down his length into her unpracticed throat.
"I'm barely forcing you—you religious sluts are something else."
Laeticia gasped. "The sooner I, mmph, get it done, nnn, the better!"
"That just means you're thirsty as fuck for some good dick!!"
She remembered something risqué that her less conservative friends had joked about that always made her blush, and impulsively gave into the act. The customer peeled back from the aggressive waiter, and before he could push her head back and push himself back down her throat she sandwiched that object of interest between her bosom. An easy slip, given the sheer cut of her top. Her pair of feminine assets, that those certain friends of hers would playfully squeeze in the showers and tease her about. They were now the ones doing the squeezing, and were serious about it. As serious as Laeticia could be, in her earnest inexperience.
"Et cetera, et cetera, religious sluts. If you're capable of that much, you gotta at least s—oh hello, you're already at it, dammmmn!" Laeticia doubled down on her breastjob, incorporated her recently learned and still evolving oral technique. He gave a wolf whistle, impressed, for all the peace of mind that did her. "You just, gotta, get s'more slobber all over that thing since yer tits're so dry, even with that fresh coat'a sweat!" That hand atop her head pushed down and again. She moaned with her mouth full, gagged on his piece. Even so, she continued to stroke with that bouncy pressure, too determined and ignorant to not force herself to work it all the way.
The young man gave no warning, no concern for her, like she imagined a lover would have spared. There was only pure need heedlessly heaped upon her. He gave a self-satisfied grunt as he spewed into her mouth, as she choked and it spilled onto her top and tits alike. "Here's a word of advice for ya: next time, drink it all down," he told her. "Dirty drawers are easier to hide than this messy thing you've got going on here."
He produced a napkin for her, look a good waiter would.
Because he had knelt to her level, she could see it. So distracted was she by everything else about him before now that Laeticia only now caught sight of his nametag: "Avenger."
A strange name for a strange man.
"You taste dirty..." complained Laeticia, wiping her mouth and chest with the absorbent cloth.
"So do you, toots." He replied—"Avenger" replied.
The table rustled again, and Laeticia was, again, laid out on top of it. "What are you doing now?" The quickly murmured trepidation in her voice made Avenger chuckle. "Told you, didn't I? I'm your waiter. Trust me, this place has some good shit, and you wanted some anyway, no? So, let's." He went for a slice of chocolate cake. "Saw you starin' down this lovely zuger kirschtorte. What? Don't gimme the hairy eyeball. I might look like a badass, but I'm still an employee here—and I know these goods."
Keeping the sporty-looking schoolgirl pressed down onto the table, he tilted the plate in hand—and slid the golden, delicious slice onto her smooth, flat belly. "Hey! Why are you doing that?! People will, they shall see!"
"Who cares? I found a much better plate."
"I, I don't think it's that better."
"I can tell. You'll like it better." Without skipping a beat, he went for the berry cheesecake, topped with fresh fruit and sporting vibrant purple filling, and placed it atop her ample breasts. To her, her rock-hard nipples felt strange as they pressed into the firm-yet-crumbly texture of the pie crust. "Don't stir too much. Otherwise, you'll ruin allllll of this delicious food."
"Okay..." She responded, a force of habit, and pressed her breasts together, make it so that the cheesecake's perch was a little less precarious. "...why am I even listening to you?"
This was now Laeticia's world, whether she liked it or not.
The pièce de résistance; a warm chocolate cake, the heat of it enough to make her shiver, on her mound of venus, above a delicately small tuft of pubic hair growing in a pattern that vaguely resembled a blonde, little fleur-de-lis. "Cute," Avenger commented on, toyed with the strangest and most lewd stigmata she had ended up with following her possession before he buried it beneath the dark dessert. "Best of the best goodies right here. So go on. Eat up."
Avenger took the spoon from the silverware set and ran its tip over Laeticia's skin, the cold metal encircling the perimeter of the desserts upon her, keeping distance, like a lone wolf stalking its prey. "Ch-Chilly," she said.
"Pretty astute'a'ya," he replied, not actually complimenting her. He stuck the spoon in the dessert, dug all the way through until it pressed her stomach. Laeticia lightly convulsed. "I said don't move." He spoons out a bite, and brings the spoonful of kirschtorte to her lips. "Go on. Chow down."
Laeticia, awash with many emotions, opens her mouth. "...It's actually quite good!" she remarked, fingers on her lips to keep crumbs from falling.
" 'Course it is." Avenger—he dug the spoon in again. Pressed further. Laeticia restrained herself. But, the strain she felt in doing so was apparent. He grinned, and scooped up a fully-loaded bite of the cake and popped it into his mouth. "Honestly, this shit's a little sweet for my tastes. I prefer things more fresh. Raw. But, if it tastes this good, eaten like this, then I can see myself developing a sweet tooth for it." Naturally, he talked with his mouth full, and cackled at his own amusing musing.
"Eating on the job like that isn't very profess—"
"Shut up. I'll stuff your mouth with cheesecake. Or dick. You don't get a choice, nor do you care either way." The threat wasn't empty, but his whims were whimsical. He went for the cheesecake after all, stuck the spoon in even more aggressively than before, pressed into her breastflesh with the edge of the spoon. Laeticia sucked in air, kept them steady. Avenger took the first bite this time, and dug an equally aggressively-procured piece of colourful berry cheesecake for her. Despite her misgivings, of this and the whole situation up to this point, she honestly voiced her feelings for the dessert. "You women all love sweets, doncha? I love that. I love it when people love the things they love! Hate's also pretty rad, too! Heh! Especially when they hate something they love! Or love something they hate!
"—Something a little like this, matter of fact." Avenger put that spoon to good use again. He tore a steaming wound into that southern cake, lightly dusted with powdered sugar and topped with caramelized almonds, and it OOZED. Sweet cocoa sauce viscerally spilled out. The cake steadily spilled its hot guts down over Laeticia's crotch.
"By the way, do you happen to know what this dessert is called?"
"I don't—know—"
"A molten chocolate lava cake." Avenger ran the back of it up her taint, brushed her maidenhead as he spooned up that proverbial molten chocolate into the round.
"Is that so-Ahhh—!"
"The owner say that they'll be pretty popular in a few years. It's pretty nice ain't it?"
"It's—um—it's rich. And, heavy on the tongue. And, is that, cinnamon? Or, um, nutmeg...?"
It was merely a distraction. Her blessedly curved body, a plate for the half-eaten food atop it, was a nude plate. Essentially nude, for her disheveled, brushed-aside, pushed up and down clothes provided nothing for her decency.
Avenger struck again. He lifted her hips up, pushed into her, and had his way with her right there on that table. Laeticia's virginal tightness juxtaposed with her slick ride and formed a crowd-pleaser of a flavor profile.
—an intense taste.
Her breathing: rough. "But—! You said—! About the food—!" Her words: laboured.
"In some cultures it's good table manners to not down every bitty scrap on your plate. Makes 'em all think you're hungry," Avenger spoke as he dug into Laeticia and became the first man she'd ever known.
"Oh—Ohhhh...!"
The desserts slipped. Crumbled. Smeared.
"However, there ain't no such tradition in this establishment! You wasted food! Tsk tsk, you messy girl!" He accentuated that sordid accusation with an acutely powerful thrust that scraped every inch and made her shake and whine. "But you're a paying customer, so that's no skin off my nose! So go—better put on a good show. Give the peepin' toms somethin' to really rape themselves to!" The windows that normally would've offered street-level views of the neighborhood were dark. They exposed nothing, hid everything, fitting for the hour.
The table shook beneath their antics. Plates and utensils rattled, wild rhythm resulting from wild rhythm, instrument-like. That reminded Avenger, and he reached for Laeticia. "Let's hear what sorta fly jams a Good Girl like you gets jiggy with." He swiped her 'phones from her neck; she protested, meekly, unable to get out more than a single word of complaint due to her lack of resistance.
Promiscuous girl, you're teasing me;
You know what I want, and I got what you need;
Promiscuous boy, let's get to the point;
Cause we're on a roll, you ready;
Roses are red, some diamonds are blue;
Chivalry is dead but you're still kinda cute
"These're some lyrics" said Avenger.
"Nooo!!!" Laeticia wailed, covered her face with her hands as she burnt up an even brighter red than her rosy complexion had mustered up until that point.
"I can take the hint!"
"Th-That's not, I mean—!?"
His movements were a blur. He peeled back, nearly all the way out, his bellend between those two worlds. He stabbed forth, took her, took something else of hers with something else of his. "Ahh!! So cold!!" Truly shaken, she gasped her words, aghast with deep disbelief.
His tool, it was still there, in her. But, he had another tool, also in her.
A cold, stainless steel ice cream scooper—and a scoop of ice cream.
"Cheer up! It's French vanilla!"
"Like that's supposed to make me feel bettOHHH!!!" He pulled her close, belted into her, not skipping a beat even as that scoop of delicious dairy treat stirred and melted within her butt, mouthed her sensually full yet girlishly charming breasts. Laeticia's nipples met with Avenger's wolfish teeth, drew marks, small trickles of blood that mingled with the smear of desserts. The sensation was almost enough to distract her from the numbing cold trapped inside of her. Heedless and hungry, her sweating, sticky body ground against his in burning need."Too much, that's too muchhh...!"
"It ain't enough!"He retorted back. "Keep up that damn little innocent act all you want, but if you wanna make it on outta here show me like you mean it!" A reversal of positions; Avenger was on the table, and Laeticia was on top. Even so, there was no doubt as to which of the two, customer and waiter, was in charge.
Her freedom depended on it. Laeticia rode. Yet, there was something else that depended on it. Something that she wanted—needed—out of it.
"Squat on it! Burn those calories you just downed and do those reps!" The worst(?) waiter ever snapped at her, relishing his advantage even while underneath.
With violet eyes glazed over in pure delight, she rode.
That ice cream began to leak. Avenger was unperturbed. "Refill. It's complementary." Two-scoops stuffed, she moaned in protest and so much more and rode. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty squats; Laetica felt the burn, burn oh so, so hot even as the spot of melty acuteness threatened to spread to the depths of her core.
She leaked, not just from her ass. Her lust seeped more and more, from the walls of her honeypot to his black trousers.
He tore into her like a ravenous beast. For every moment they continued to rut he throbbed within her; brought another tear to her eye that she didn't, COULDN'T do without.
Laeticia was completely enthralled.
"Aaand, three! Perfection. The perfect number for a waffle cone. Though, this is certainly way better than any waffle cone out there, even what this store's got in stock!"
Her chocolate star was thoroughly stuffed with vanilla ice cream, and Avenger's pace went even further beyond, stroked Laeticia every which way from the inside out, didn't give her a moment's rest. He dumped another one on her, because he felt like it. She instantly felt like she was under pressure, and she pressed her breasts together, smeared the stray scoop between them, as she continued to bounce. Her chest feeling heavy, wet, creamy, Laeticia's body felt so heavy, yet so light—incredibly self-conscious about it even though she squatted on his crotch enough times to lose track of the count, and the self-consciousness itself turning her on.
Nothing could be done.
Might as well enjoy it.
It was all just a sweet dream, a hot nightmare, an electrical spark that took hold of her and magnified and burnt her up.
No, it continued even past that point. The tattooed man took control again, turned her around, pushed her forward, stole her not just her virginity from behind, but her black cherry as well. The moist, soft sludge of sweets was pushed deeper into her gut, packed away by his snarling, thrashing cock. Her cries came out higher, pitchier, and he tugged on the long and coiled braid again and again and again in his tightly wrung his as he pushed himself past the brink and flooded her anus with a different sort of vibrantly white creamy confection.
The point of climax. Upon that moment, her braid was tugged so hard that it explosively came undone, and her golden-blonde locks went wild.
"Oh GoooOOOOOODDDDDDhhh—!!!...", Laeticia, feeling every drop of Avenger's, swore out her most plaintive, most desirable call yet. "I can't believe it...," she bemoaned, "that my first time was in my butt..."
"No. It was in your cunt. But if that's the story you wanna stick to in order to preserve your modesty then, sure, word it that way and it works out!" Avenger looked her over with still hungering eyes. A mess of fluid, food, disheveled clothes, messy hair...
"—Job well done."
"Wh—Excuse me?"
"Ya look pretty satisfied, so I'm gonna need a prettyyyyy big tip for my hard work."
"Ehhhhh?!"
"Don't sweat the small shit, sexy. Your money's no good at Cafe Ahnenerbe. At least, a slightly different currency's the tender, here. Yeah, it's real tender, alright."
He stood full-mast, soiled. Laeticia remained transfixed. "I see," she acquiesced, and took it into her mouth. As she worked her head up and down, cleaned it all up, leaving only a glimmering sheen as a trace, she just wanted it more and more. She wanted to touch herself as much as she touched him. She wanted this wild beast of a man to continue to ravish her. Laeticia wanted her body, even at such obscene hours, and in such a public place, to be forced to feel more and more and more and more unprecedented pleasure.
"Also, I'm gonna need your phone number, address, and spare key."
"Huh?!"
"Oh, and feel free to restore and darken up those tatts of yours. Guess it works out great that our bods both've got hella fresh ink."
"O-Oh. You really think so?"
Perhaps those Command Seals of hers, such vexing marks, finally, after all this time, came in useful for her.
Author's Notes
Why Laeticia instead of Jeanne? Because it's much less convoluted to try and come up with a reason for her to don this outfit than it is for a Servant, Top or otherwise, to sport such revealing, sporty wear. Plus, even though Laeticia is, quite honestly, a far-less developed character than Jeanne ever will be, I thought that there was enough wiggle room post-F/Ap to do something—if not necessarily that interesting—unique with someone who's otherwise just a plot device in the weakest Fate/spinoff yet. With that in mind, I dusted off the old Type-MOON trope of 'those who are touched by the supernatural tend to experience it again' and veered towards the unsettling urban fantasy theme so prevalent in vintage Nasu work. Hence, why I took some liberties and had Laeticia retain some small vestigial traits of Jeanne's. It's a 'the world remembers even if the mind forgets' sort of deal. The shadows of experiences will always be with us to some degree. There's also that juxtaposition between the Fuyuki Grail's two extra classes interacting in the context of this particular setup, even if only by proxy and with a certain amount of distance and time between them.
Also, I like how her eyes are violet and like them more than I like default Jeanne's (perfectly servicable, if not exactly the most novel of colours) blue.
To expand on the brief foreword, yeah, this lemon was originally two different story prompts. Or, at least, one that then assimiliated another prompt shortly after it came to me. I'd the idea to do a post-F/Ap Jeanne x Avenger oneshot set in everyone's favorite multiverse-spanning cafe for a while now, but it was always on the back burner and not developed further. However, the moment that costume was revealed to be Extella Link paid DLC the gears started turning, and the idea developed from there. Confession time: I actually have a crippling weakness for workout clothes. I blame being Cali-based.
Anyway, that's all for now. See you folks next time! Hopefully. Maybe... Who knows?
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; June 19th, 2018 at 01:46 PM.
McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
Okay, that was hot. And pretty hilarious with some of the cheesy dialogue in parts. BTW, I share your weakness for exercise clothes. (Girls in short shorts and cropped tank tops are God's gift to man)
Alright, with the important stuff out of the way, good show good show, could probably use an editing pass to smooth out a few "I thought about word A but went with word B in the end" kinks but otherwise solid. I wonder what else Laeticia could pick up from experiencing Avenger's body; dude's probably got the Kama Sutra inscribed on his scapula.
"Anyway. Story time. Do you remember that one cafe? The one that opened, like, half a year ago, last summer? Of course you remember. There was a grand opening and everything. Anyway. They say that at that cafe there's a server who works there, as a part timer. He's courteous, meek, and friendly. In short, the man's a perfect gentlemen. However; during four certain nights he transforms into—it. Yes, he turns into..."
She paused, for dramatic effect (and to great effect on her friends).
"...The Waiter from Hell!—and he'll gobble up any customers who walk in on him during his ghoulish shift! Beware! BEWAREEE~!"
The other waiter is a certain redhead?
And man, Laeticia looks great in exercise clothes and eating off of her would be a dream come true~.
Though I do hope she doesn't get a yeast infection from the ice cream stuffed into her lower mouth.
Last edited by warellis; June 19th, 2018 at 08:30 PM.
Alright, with the important stuff out of the way, good show good show, could probably use an editing pass to smooth out a few "I thought about word A but went with word B in the end" kinks but otherwise solid. I wonder what else Laeticia could pick up from experiencing Avenger's body; dude's probably got the Kama Sutra inscribed on his scapula.
Fair enough! And thanks for the kind words anyway. I won't make excuses.
I didn't know laeticia was in fate/labyrinth
Okay, you got me there. But, at least /Labyrinth has Manaka going for yes.
Yes. I'm one of those guys. I won't apologize for it.
Originally Posted by warellis
The other waiter is a certain redhead?
You are indeed correct! Laeticia walked in at a bad time. Or, from a certain point of view, a really good time.
Originally Posted by RoydGolden
(Girls in short shorts and cropped tank tops are God's gift to man)
- - - Updated - - -
Originally Posted by Deathwings
Angry Manju actually getting lucky ? What sorcery is this ?
Well, Caren. But I get what you mean.
Last edited by ItsaRandomUsername; June 19th, 2018 at 09:32 PM.
McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
You are indeed correct! Laeticia walked in at a bad time. Or, from a certain point of view, a really good time.
Now this sort of makes me imagine a possible companion lemon being made but this time with the Shirou side. Sort of a what if/flip of the coin or something for Laeticia or someone else.
Last edited by warellis; June 20th, 2018 at 11:43 AM.
This is the second time you've scratched one of my kink-itches, IRUn. While me and the missus appreciate the, er, stimulation, get out of my head, you telepathic voyeur! :-P
Also, may I point out how utterly annoying and disgusting the entire idea of "you say one thing but your body says another" is?!
Um... it's porn? It's not intended to reflect what sex is like in real life any more than Shonen battle manga is trying to represent what a real fistfight is like. It's fine if you don't share the kink, but don't act like the people who do are automatically condoning the same attitudes in reality. I'm pretty sure IRUn doesn't advocate RL waiters fucking their catholic schoolgirl customers on top of the dining table...
Also, may I point out how utterly annoying and disgusting the entire idea of "you say one thing but your body says another" is?!
"I will be the voice of Reason(The voice of reason being a calm and logical voice that points out the absurdity of the situation in a factual manner)."
"MY TASTES DID NOT ALIGN WITH THIS WRITING." (while this is a statement that is not inherently calm or shook, it is however something that does not present any form of logic argumentation that should follow up an announcement of being the voice of reason. It is an opinion. You may be the voice of opinion as you wish. No one will stop you.)
"I DON'T LIKE HENTAI TROPES." (Were you the voice of reason you wouldn't simply say this, but you'd explain the true depth and complexity that has no doubt never occurred to anyone about the various implications of that phrase. As it were though, you didn't, also yes, everyone already knows. If you get anal about that, you must not derive much enjoyment from Hentai. A shame!)
They're not wrong, Royd. I defend the idea that porn works as a form of catharsis for certain acts and behaviours which are immoral and / or unethical, but that is predicated on those things not being normalised - by, say, arguing "it's just porn, it's no big deal".
Still, fair warning was given regarding this piece, so eh.
They're not wrong, Royd. I defend the idea that porn works as a form of catharsis for certain acts and behaviours which are immoral and / or unethical, but that is predicated on those things not being normalised - by, say, arguing "it's just porn, it's no big deal".
Still, fair warning was given regarding this piece, so eh.
I mean, obviously people who enjoy a work of fiction are fulfilling some emotional urge through it. But that's far from implying a one-to-one correspondence between acts you enjoy seeing in fiction and ones you secretly want to do in reality. For instance, I have no doubt that zombie apocalypse fiction acts as a form of catharsis for many people, but that doesn't mean the people who enjoy it think a real life zombie apocalypse would be fun.
Last edited by RoydGolden; June 20th, 2018 at 10:40 PM.
Came here to read the good stuff, stayed for the Trashman's dialogue. Kink isn't my cup of tea, but I admit that it was pretty hot. Don't normally comment much, but just here to say that this was good -- if not the kind, then the fact I got a good laugh from it.
The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed. Coffee would be nice, though.
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Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
