Work Text:
When you originally got this job, it wasn’t so bad.
Sure, maybe the fluorescent lights made your head throb and working as a convenience store cashier wasn't the best job. And maybe the cash register roaches would skitter up your arm and into your uniform. And sure, maybe you had to rip your shirt off and roll around on the floor screaming (because the cash register roaches evolved into flesh-eating ones) before they chewed off your nipples. But it wasn’t that bad.
Until today of course.
Your eyes were burning, and every time you blinked it hurt more, which was nice. It was silent in the store, aside from the fridges and lights buzzing, which was also nice but not sarcastically this time.
You were staring at a wall, a pretty nice one too, paint chipped off it. It was marinating, still hardening off into perfect little squares for your collection.Yes, your paintchip collection will be quite prosperous this year it seems…. You had also gotten robbed for the forty(this is how you spell 40 lizzie shut the fuck up!!!!!) second time today a few minutes ago, and the dude just took the dead spider and a single remaining penny from the register the forty first robber left because he felt bad. It was a shame, you really liked that spider.
Anyways, all was quiet on the eastern front, but then the store bell chimed in time with the sliding door squealing loudly. There was a wooden board duct taped onto it to cover a giant hole, your fifth robber of the day tried to break in. The idiot didn’t know you were already open. You looked away from your wall, blinking slowly to moisten your eyes again.
Someone had just walked into your store, and before you could mutter out the company mandated greeting ( Welcome to Eleven Seven! Please don’t rob us because when you do we hurt our employees! It was true. Your manager Bertha sic’s the roaches on you.) They had disappeared, slinking behind shelves and opening the freezer/fridge. Well okay then. You opened the register in retaliation, counting the amount of cobwebs and roach carcasses idly, vaguely wondering if you hallucinated someone walking in. The mold spreading under the fridges was getting pretty bad….
Then your mold hallucination i mean customer (imagen a very loud and emphasised gulp like right now) appeared before you, and nearly scared you off your weirdly short stool. The customer was a guy, thankfully not in a ski mask- well, from what you could see, he was kind of… covered by the giant pile of dripping frooty-pops in his arms.
“Um.” You said as he unceremoniously dropped it onto your counter, some of the juice splattering into the open register. “Is.. this all?” You asked hopefully, staring down in mild horror. It was about fifty popsicle sticks. Why couldn't the other robbers just shoot you.
“Yess..” You glanced up, already ringing up the copious amounts of frozen sugar before pausing. Your customer was… hm. Well, how I put this politely… bulimic. He was skinny, pale, all lanky and weird looking with thin, spiky blue hair with two strands that hooked forward like antennae and bug-eyes. The two of you stared at each other, whilst he slowly unwrapped a frooty-pop and gnawed on it. He was a creepy kind of cute, in a way that would make a Christian mother shutter while going through your yearbook.
“So, uh, big fan?” You decided to just pick up the handheld scanner and sweep it over the pile to see how many barcodes it actually picked up.
“I looove frooty-pops..” He jutted the half-eaten popsicle in your face for emphasis, bite marks indented into the semi-visible stick. “Yes.”
“ok.”
You sat in silence, half-assingly scanning the popsicles with a continuous background beep . You leaned over the counter at the sound of a faint screeching, hoping a roach wasn’t chewing on a customer's feet.. Again. Speaking of his feet, your eyes widened at the sight of the coolest boots you've ever seen. You… you need to have those, You NEED to. Look at me, look at my digital body consisting of nothing but a typed name and a pixelated profile picture. You need to steal those boots. Do anything . To get those boots.
“Cool shirt.” You glanced up, pointing with your scanner at the guy's shirt. It was long sleeved, striped on the arms and plain in the middle. You were lying, the shirt was average. He didn't need to know that. He was cute though, and a little flattery never hurt. Maybe he'll tell you where to acquire some footwear.
“Oh? Thank you.” He tilted his head, smiling just a bit with a finger crooked into his collar, sneakily rubbing away some dripped popsicle. “I can somewhat appreciate yours.” He replied, pointing the now blank stick, aside from the horribly mangled print which was supposed to be a joke but now was gnawed off in a frayed mess of wood, at your own shirt. Your shirt was average too, plainly red and company stamped with a now flaky and unintelligible symbol with a few dried roach exoskeletons jammed into the fibers. Stinky liar.
“Thanks.”
Eventually, you gave up on scanning the frooty-pops, just throwing the scammer back in its holder and hoped no one checked the security cameras.
“Okay so your total is…. Thirty two dollars and twelve cents.” You yanked out the receipt before it could finish printing and dropped it onto the dripping pile. “Cash or card-“
He just… dropped a giant wad of money into your register. It unraveled, popping open like a geode to reveal half of it was literal Monopoly money. Like from the board game. “That should suffice.” He glanced at his own pile, frowning at the liquid oozing down your counter. “Do you have any bags..?”
“No. The roaches ate them before they developed a taste for human meat. Also this isn’t enough, you’ve got like, thirty more bucks to go,”
You paused for a second.
“And twelve cents.”
He just kind of stared at you for a second, mouth in a perfect line. It was like that one time you fell in a park and a dog stared at you until you showed the smallest sign of fear and it started aggressively licking your forehead. His eye twitched. You dared to slide an actual dollar in the register.
“ ARRUUGGHH !!” You jumped back, clutching your metaphorical pearls. Or actual. I don’t know man. He grabbed another frooty-pop and started eating it out of anger. “This is HORRIBLE!”
“I mean, you could start a tab-“
“NO! The- the moment is RUINED!” He screamed, leaning over the counter and accusatoringly (is that even a word????(i just checked no its not)) pointing the finished ice-cream stick at your face. How the fuck did he eat it that fast. You sighed, this is what you get for complimenting a weirdos average shirt. “I HAD IT PERFECT. EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT! They finally left me alone… only had to deal with one..” He starts to mutter, shaking violently. Why do you always get shifts with the batshit insane ones?
“ That’s it.” He practically sobbed, reaching into his pocket and- holy shit it’s a GUN! Are you getting robbed AGAIN? OVER FROOTY-POPS??? “I’m sick of this!” He grabbed you by the shirt collar, popping the seams a bit and nearly dragging you over the counter. Frooty-pop juice soaked into your shirt. Ok so you’re not getting robbed, you’re getting murdered.
“Oh my god!” You cried, “Please don’t shoot me! I have so many paint chips to collect, PLEASE!” He laughed, kind of spitting on you in that gross way people do sometimes. He smelled like a lukewarm fridge and body odor. What a dick, laughing at your paintchip collection. It's very respectable.., the paintchip collection.
“ Oohhh don’t worry,” he crooned, tsking as he tapped the gun to his temple. “You’re not going out alone, I’m killing myself WITH YOU!” Ok well, this was a major bruh moment. Is this guy serious? Your eyes widened, and seeing as you're now kneeling on the counter practically painted with frooty-pop juice, yeah, he seemed pretty serious. Just your luck, clocking in just to die to some suicidal maniac (say that again…) over only paying two dollars of his bill. FROM FROOTY-POPS .
“Wait!” You gasped, grabbing onto the wrist holding you, blindly fumbling your other hand towards the gun. He frowned, swatting your hand away with it. “You don’t have to end it all over this, we can work something out. There’s- uh, SO MUCH to live for!”
“Oh yeah, like what? ” He scoffed, clicking the safety off.
“Like- uh,” FUCK! Why won’t your neurons fire when you want them to!? “Like throwing rice filled socks soaked in milk at homeless people! And uh… getting your cooch pounded on Friday nights!”
“First of all,” He scoffed again, leaning away from you, thank god, pushing two little antennae like strands of hair out of his face with the gun-hand. “I’ve already tried the first one, WHO DO YOU TAKE ME FOR? HUH!? And second of all, who, pray tell, would ‘pound my cooch?’” He visibly cringed at the wording. “Why would I even want that,” he seems to be getting more visibly disgusted as time goes on. Intriguing… bring in the ants doctor lets see how the specimen reacts. “You think I would succumb to the vile fucking that the pigs on this rotting plane do?”
You would. You would pound that cooch. Even if today wasn’t Friday, it was Tuesday. ‘ Taco Tuesday, AHHHHHHH!!’ As that weird green dog that ran in the store sometimes would proclaim.
“I would.” You nodded proudly, held at gunpoint and yanked halfway over a sopping wet and sticky counter. “You could succumb,” You breathe, the image of his boots projecting itself onto your frontal lobe… yes, get the boots…..
You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, him slowly lowering the gun and then awkwardly but kinda violently shoving you back to your own side of the counter. He stood stiffly, hands curled to his sides and shoulders practically hiked up to his ears.
“Euughh…”
It sounded like a sound of pure and utter disgust from the thought of fucking with a gross walking grease and meat sack. But there was a deep coloring on his ears as his hands twitched and he quirked his head to the side a bit as if listening to the ground whisper. Commenting on his shirt must’ve really woo’ed him.
He blinked at you, kind of deeply red now. “Really?”
“On Jhonen I’d tap that.”
“You- I- ouuuggh… AUUGGHHHHH!!!!!”
As he shrieked you stood, awkwardly scratching your eyebrow as he went through paragraphs upon paragraphs of inner dialogue.
“When?”
Oh my god.
“When what?”
“When you- ouugghhhh I hateyouihatwyiu- WHEN WILL YOU POUND MY COOCH!?” This is what America was made for. Boning crazy people. And then stealing their shoes.
You stared, gaped-mouth, as he shoved the gun into his ass pocket before staring at you again. “Are you serious?”
“Well I guess if you don’t want to-“ He put a hand around his back.
“NO! No, wait..” You sighed. This is what happens when you work at a fanfiction version of Seven Eleven, you get held at gunpoint and half-forced to pound a twink you really wanna pound.
“I get off in like,” You checked your wrist, decked out with a bright pink Strawberry Shortcake watch that made you look thug as fuck. “Oh right now actually. Cool.” Don’t you just love plot convenience?
So, fun fact. It is not the best idea to, one: talk to strangers. Two: Almost flirt with strangers at your job. Three: Go home with a maniac that held you at gunpoint over frooty-pops. Remember children, if you or a friend is going through this situation, call for help at a library or something I don’t really know. I didn't pay attention during these types of school assemblies.
Anyways, the reason I’m saying this is because, you see the house you're currently standing in front of? Yeah? The one that’s labeled 777 and has no windows, just boards and has like a shiton of mildly unintelligible signs jammed into the lawn because the author used a LEGAL website to read the comic and couldn’t zoom in to see any tiny font? Damn, the shoes you're going to die in there.
“Nice traphouse,” You say, walking right up to the door despite my warnings. FUCK YOU
“Thanks,” Your mildly grimey customer replies, opening the door with a hard yank and walking in as if a tidal wave of stink doesn’t waft out immediately. “Don’t look too closely at any moist walls.”
You laugh awkwardly, stepping inside as a small tear runs from your eye at the putrid stench that seems to radiate from that inner house linings.
“What am I supposed to call you?” You manage to wipe away your small tear, cautiously following your mildly psychosisly (this isn’t an actual word either) affected customer.
He pauses, looking back at you as something similar to an animalistic, guttural howl practically rattles the floorboards.
“I- what was that?” You look around, there weren’t any wolves or something around here? Right? No horribly disfigured raccoons screaming to be put out of their misery?
“Don’t worry about them. They’re happy. They love it down there.” He rolls his eyes, waving his hand like he was trying to fan away the agonized screeching.
“I- who?”
“That’s not important-“ he snaps, you put your hands up in surrender. “Call me Nny, that’s fine.”
“Knee? You want me to call you Knee?”
“ NO! N-N-Y. Nny.” Nny screams, spitting on you again. Some of it lands on the corner of your mouth and you poke your tongue out to kind of sort of lick it. Don’t look at me like that, you were curious. It tastes like battery acid and it burns your tongue a bit.
“Okay,” you smack your lips, letting the taste of his weirdly acidic spit burn your tastebuds. “Nny, got it.”
Nny’s eyes squint, frowning as he turned and yanked open a door I'm going to say leads to his living room. I have no clue about the layout of his demonic ass house.
As he stalks forward towards his couch, equally as grimey and stained with what you hope is paint, you wonder why you made these life decisions. “Don’t make that face,” Nny mutters, fumbling with his boots… your treasure…your prize…
“You should consider yourself lucky, y’know.” He comments as you sit on the couch, kicking off your shoes as well. “I normally don’t indulge in the putrid activities the trash of this world has to offer.” Ok man whatever.
“So, why are you letting me stick my dick in you again?” You ask, your frantic reasoning could have not been that good. Maybe your sexy, sunken, sleep deprived eyes and untouched by sunlight skin really turned him on
“I got sick of hearing them mock me.” You had no idea who he was talking about, but you stayed quiet in favor of watching him strip off his shirt. Nny was all bones, lanky arms with pointy elbows and ribs that would’ve looked flared if he wasn’t so skinny. In fact he was mostly ribs, like a disappointing barbecue (You weren't disappointed though. Lets get some bone marrow babyyyy) his skin slid over them like it was too tight as he laid back on the couch, looking a little disturbed as you stared. “Hurry it up, I tolerate you but if I have to spend a second more doing this than I have to I’m going to use you to paint my wall!”
You hesitated, awkwardly pulling off your work shirt and watching Nny fumble with the button of his pants. “Are you sure you wanna do this? You don’t gotta give into peer pressure man-“
“Just take off your pants!” Sir yes sir. You keenly follow his instructions, yanking your pants off to reveal your sexy heart-print boxers. Nny looks like he wants to break your neck. Maybe this isn't a good idea. He may genuinely kill you and no boots are worth your beautiful life. Just kidding lol man up.
It’s just the two of you. Staring at each other on Nny’s crusty couch, there’s a piece of a chip digging into your knee from how you’re sitting; practically kneeling between Nny’s lanky ass legs, his knees bumping into your sides.
You guess to start, so you slide your hands over his thighs. Nny is ungodly cold, you guess from how skinny he is barely any body heat is contained. He shutters under your touch, squirming vaguely as you thumb along the elastics of his pretty pink underwear.
You try to lean forward to at least give him a little peck on the lips, to get that train going. Nny meets you halfway instead to bite you on the nose and you jerk back to rub your bitten sniffer.
“What the hell man!” You yell, spit (three times now this guy has gotten his body fluid on you… badum tiss) quickly drying.
“No.”
“If you didn’t want a kiss you could’ve just said so.” You mutter, scooting back to your acquaintance, restarting your adventurous fumble along the waistband of his underwear.
“Actions speak louder than words.” Nny brushes his hair out his face again, then reaches down to palm against his dick. You pull your hands back, before replacing them down on his ribs. Your face flushed, watching his hips vaguely twitch into his hand and a little whine escape from his mouth.
Just like that, you're instantly hard and straining against your boxers, at which Nny shifts his other hand to tug at the fabric. You shift, slipping them off your hips and allowing your donger to spring into the air like a watered flower.
“Wow.” Nny sucks his teeth, glancing at your dick and back up to you in a few quick seconds. “If you make me bleed I’ll kill you.” He grins a bit, you laugh awkwardly, praying to whatever god that’ll listen that you don’t fuck this up. He curiously reaches out to give it a quick stroke, grimacing then pulling his hand away to wipe it off on the couch. Sigh ok.
Your hips roll a bit, trying to follow his hand before stilling. “Are you ready?” He blinks and suddenly tilts his head again like the wall is talking at a frequency you could never hear before rolling his eyes and nodding.
You grab his shoulders, pushing him down to lay back down onto the couch. Nny frowns up at you but he allows you to tug his underwear down and discard them elsewhere. Maybe at this point he isn't frowning and that's just how he looks.
“Do you have any lube?” You breathe, rubbing yourself against his entrance, fingers lightly pushed up against Nny’s dick to keep it from obstructing your view. It’s slightly smaller than your own, flushed an angry red color and already dripping.
“Um, give me a minute.” His eyes zone in on your hand on his dick, and he pauses for a minute before sticking his arm into one of the couch cushions. He fumbled around for a bit before yanking out a- a knife? You know what, he already pulled a gun on you why are you even surprised. “Okay hold still..”
Nny then proceeded to stab you in the thigh. You screamed. Your dick twitched. Dear god, why does this always happen. I keep on telling you not to go into ominous houses but Nooooo you just HAVE to do that twink, you just HAVE to. You just HAVE to get those shoes. Ok i put you up to that one but dude.
“What the FUCK?” You raise both your hands, awkwardly hovering them above the knife jammed a good few inches deep into your leg. Oh god you touched his dick you have dick hand. You can’t touch a wound with dick hand.
“Calm down,” Nny drones, scoffing as he swipes up a good collection of your blood rapidly pouring out of your leg and adjusts his hand so it pours down to his two middle fingers. He looks at you watching with horror and blushes, “Don’t watch!” he says like a cute anime girl. You slowly turn to stare at the T.V (which you just noticed) with a pair of bunny ears on it. Just you and me now boy.
This is what happens when you work at Eleven Seven. You persuade a suicidal customer into letting you fuck him so he doesn’t kill the both of you and he lives in a fuckass apartment and he just stabbed you to use your blood as lube to prep for your weirdly long dick that he called a panty popper (i just reread this and he did not say that. Why did i write that). WHY ARE YOU HARDER????!!!!!!
Nny groans under you, and you find it increasingly harder to stare at the T.V as the sound of him slickening himself up grows increasingly louder. “I’m ready,” you look down, Nny’s slowly jerking himself, flustered and looking anywhere but at you. “Make this worth my while.”
“Okay…” You gulp, violently shaking as your leg tenses, every twitch of your tendons made you somehow feel the knife more. “Word.” You grab your own dick, jerking it yourself a bit for funsies, before lining up to Nny’s entrance. You grab his skinny thighs adjusting yourself to not bump the knife still inside of you against any of his lanky parts. For a second you consider the oddness of fucking someone who just got lubed up with your own blood, but then you remember that this is a smut fic and shame doesn’t exist in these! HAZZAH! Hurrah!
“FUCK!” Nny screams as you start to enter him, and frankly it isn’t that serious but you look up concern as your counterpart is screaming like he’s the one that got stabbed. Doesn”t feel so good does it ASSHOLE.
“Keep going,” He wheezes, one eye twitching as he bends his torso, almost sitting up to watch as you enter him further. Nny is unbelievably tight. You wonder if he actually stretched himself out or just slapped blood on his entrance and this was his plan all along. Squeezing your dick off.
As you get used to the skin ripping tightness, you start to thrust a bit, sinking your fingers into (what would’ve been) the meat of Nny’s thighs. Nny is spasming like a dying bug under you, gripping his dick like a vice and screaming. Whenever you stop he snaps at you to keep going and occasionally flicks the knife in your leg to get you going like a spur on a horse. Neighhhh
It’s only until a little bit later in your awkward thrusting, more akin to dry humping, that Nny starts to loosen up. You shift your position, putting one of his legs on your shoulder, now easily sliding in and out with quick jerks of your hips. Nny is looking down the bloody collision point with nothing less of disdain and vague disgust, yet doesn’t make an effort to stop you. But instead lazily strokes himself, lightly pushing himself down to meet your thrusts in absolute silence.
Well, not actually absolute silence, there’s always the wet smack of when you slide all the way in, or the occasional random shriek that rattles from the floorboards that has Nny turning his head to grin into the cushions, and also varying in pitch grunts he lets out every time you push forward. Ok I lied, it's not absolute silence.
“So,” you gasp, his walls starting to squeeze around you just right . “How do you feel about, um, the stars? The endless void of space that will eventually consume us all?” Nny blinks, pausing in his jerking to tap a heel against your back in thought.
“I like them,” He drawls, lolling his head back at one particularly hard twitch of your hips. “They’re pretty, they make me think. Regret. Yearn . ” Nny shutters, pushing down against you to grind down against your dick.
“Yearn- yearn for what?” You could feel yourself building up, getting closer to that sweet relief where you could bust a fat one, steal Nny’s boots, and get out of here.
“To rid this world of filth,” Nny moans this time, steadily pumping himself as he slightly arches into your thrusts. “To finally feel like myself again. To remember who I was before.” You had no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean, but okay.
“I’m close,” you groan, grabbing him by the hips to pull down onto you. Nny nods, then grimaces, but his dick twitches as you pant, eventually painting the upper part of your stomach white. Nny keens, gasping as he cums and tightening around you hard enough to milk the half-baked load out of your dick. You pause, giving a few sloppy thrusts before fully halting.
I hope you're happy you sick freak. We’re going to ignore the fact I willingly wrote this and point and laugh at YOU! Yes, YOU!
“Do you want this knife back?” You ask, pointing at the weapon still inside your leg, starting to ache kind of really painfully.
“No, you can keep it, I have more.” Nny shrugs, kicking you rapidly in the stomach as he pulls off of your softened dick. You watch the strawberries and cream esc. body fluid leak out of him for a second before going to stand up, casually ignoring the pain in your leg worse than your cash register roaches chewing your nipples off.
The knife wiggles in your leg when you move, and you’re gonna be honest. It really fucking hurts. You sigh as Nny stares in disgust at his couch.
At the end of this delightful story, you sat alone in a police station, no pants on or underwear, dick waving in the wind.
“Kind of chilly in here.” You rub your arms, pondering how this is the third time you’ve gotten arrested for public indecency. You should really stop fucking people who stab you in the legs and therefore leave you unable to pull the knife out to put on pants with the fear of bleeding to death.
Nny left an impression on you… from all the times he’s spat on you… sighs dreamily.. from all the disgusted looks he gave you ... .. another dreamy sigh… his love for painting walls…. SIGH!!!!!
While your time with Nny was fast, as he immediately kicked you out and you're pretty sure you saw a bedbug crawl into your armpit, it was nice. Even if he might get you fired because you won’t be able to bail out on time for work tomorrow.
But you still have your prize.
You sigh happily in your cell, dick fully out, no shirt on, no pants on, knife still in your leg. But your feet? Your ten little piggies? Oh yeah baby, you snagged those sickass boots.