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sweatandwoe · 2 years

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A new caretaker comes to him every two months, due to the lack of progress on his file. It had been only Turians at first, mixed with a couple of Asari until they ran out of them. Salarians were next, he even had a Krogan once. The emptiness has made him too weak to hate, but they still waited three years before assigning him a human caretaker.

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Paring: Saren x GN!Reader MDNI Rating: M with suggestive themes Warnings: Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Yearning, Saren is yearning but he's still ya know… Saren, Violence, Devotion as a use of escapsim, healing with kindness, masturbation Word count: 2k

Note: We feeling Mass Effecty in this chilis tonight thanks to @pomegranatebat. I'm gonna try and get a quick Arcane drabble out too to keep up with the dailies, but for now Saren time (with the post editor also being broken why tumblr)

AO3 Link

There is an emptiness inside of him.

The void cannot be filled. People try to fill it, try to give him tasks to do, to try and focus his mind like it once had been. To sharpen a dull and rusting weapon.

He can barely speak anymore. The turian is unsure if it’s due to the emptiness or the shame. His failure rings in every new body that enters this building, the others who suffered the same fate he once did.

Saren cannot even look at those that are still suffering from indoctrination, even with the Reapers dead for a year. The shame and disgust and hatred he feels are too much.

It doesn’t help that each time he attempts to look, the second they view him, with their same dead eyes that he knows far too well, they rage at him. Attempting to claw at him, bite him, wrap weak fingers around his thick neck.

Part of him wants them to do it. To do, what he no longer has the capacity to do himself anymore. In spite of how some of his caretakers have left him the tools, though he knows they were forbidden to. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, and he simply accepts the looks they give him at his continuous failure to end himself.

Weeks later, he sometimes gets an apology from the individual who raged. Other times no one cares to try, but it does not bother him.

He feels numb to it all. There is nothing now but his incompetence and failure to comfort him. His family is gone, with Desolas and Nihlus long dead. They were burned on Palaven, so he is told each year when the anniversary for each death passes. He had never attempted to check, not with Sovereign’s whispers and then the emptiness that followed.

There is no desire to do much but lay here and wait to die.

Perhaps the worst fact of his life is that he feels nothing anymore. Part of him wants it to end. Wants to damn Shepard for saving his life, when there was nothing more he could give to it. The doctors try to tell him that’s okay, that his fight is over, but it’s not okay. He knows how much his failure has cost the galaxy.

The realization had come ages ago; that he had never once been strong enough.

He guesses that they’re desperate or have simply run out of others who would be willing to care for him when they send you into his room. A human medic. His eyes draw over you, telling him already of all your weak points with his cybernetic gaze. Before drawing up to your face.

The hardened gaze he expects is not there, replaced with something soft. “Hello, Mr. Arterius.” You greet, with a smile that is real.

Human emotions were easy to discover with how the people emoted, easy to see if they were lying. It had been part of the reason he despised their species, to his trained eye he could spot a liar from a mile away.

Your smile is not a lie and that gives him some emotion - confusion. “Yes, human?”

The smile widens, and it is like turning on a leaking faucet. Droplets beginning to fill the emptiness. Too small of an amount to analyze. You look down at the holo tablet in your hands. “I see here you eat… Sorry if I mispronounce this, Gakil-Kavur on Wednesdays?”

He does not know what a Wednesday is. “Yes. If today is the fourth day.” He does not bother to re-correct your pronunciation, understanding the garbled way the words came out through the translator. It was made for someone who had mandibles, who could vocalize in sub-tones.

The attempt is still strange. The Asari and Salarians had never attempted it. His turian carers had been far earlier on, and they were filled with a hatred he understood. Despite what everyone knew now about indoctrination, in the eyes of the universe for those first few years, Saren was a traitor to his race. A person to be studied, rather than cared for.

At least they had left him alone once they had finished poking and prodding him, let him wallow in his emptiness alone.

You only leave to gather his meal and return with his own dextro meal and your own levo one. He eyes both, brow plates drawing together. “You’re dining with me?”

“I figured it had been some time since you shared a meal with someone.” You sit at his table awkwardly, at a seat not made for human legs, with no invitation, and it should enrage him. It should infuriate him to have a human act like him, so directly to his face. But when you pat the chair next to him, there is no rage in him at the motion.

He simply gets up and sits.

You ask him gentle questions, and he answers blandly or silently to each one. He thinks it won’t take long to drive you away.

But humans are stubborn. You are no different.

You sit with him for the next two weeks and do not walk away from his room unless it’s to gather something. Every meal you gather at the dining table with your own plate of human food. He doesn’t ask you questions, but you ask him plenty.

Gently, in a way that has the faucet continuing to drip, until there is something filling in him. It makes him dream of you one night. Soft skin, softer eyes, a smile that makes him feel.

He wants to kill you. He wants to worship you. Both sound inviting.

When you enter his room one day, and are quiet, asking him fewer questions, smiling far less, but still ensuring he had all his needs met, he knows something is wrong. Not that he will ask what it is, but he simply knows.

He finds he dislikes your silence, it weights heavier than your words. So at dinner, he turns to look at your food. A bowl of oddly spiraled strings. “What are you eating?”

Your gaze snaps at him, surprised but not fearful. He hates that. You should fear him, especially with the thoughts he has raging in his skull. He wants to taste your blood just as much as the heat between your legs.

The smile is back then. Gentle, kind. He isn’t sure if he hates it anymore. You hold up a forkful of it. “This is pasta. Plain, just with some garlic and butter.”

“Does it come in other varieties besides plain?” He doesn’t care. Not really. But the questions make you smile wider and brings back life into your gaze.

The faucet is no longer dripping, becoming a steady stream.

He dreams of you more often. And though he wants to taste your flesh, it is often more carnally than a literal sense. Though he dreams of nipping your neck until his mark is clear to see. A brand of his teeth, so everyone will know you are his.

Waking from his latest dream, he wonders if you have anyone else. A family to care for that you don’t mention. Caring for him is your job. He shakes the thoughts and doesn’t ask you any questions that night at supper. Still, you smile, you even laugh at one of his answers to your endless, noisy questions.

The sound carries in his head, until late that night when he doesn’t just dream about you but fists his cock to the thought of you beneath him. Has him clawing holes into his mattress, and thinks of how you should be worshipped by his tongue and hands before you bless him with a pleasure that will always feel unearned.

It has been a month and a half with you here, he realizes once he’s done. In a couple of weeks, you may leave him forever. The fear of losing you comes to mind, of becoming empty once more. He needs you to stay, and for that, he needs to make progress.

When you enter the next morning, he is already up and out of bed. Dressed in something nicer than his usual casual clothes. “Can we go on a walk today?”

You blink, but nod. Taking him by the hand, and giving it a squeeze that he can just barely feel. Weak. He could rip you to shreds. But your eyes would halt him from ever doing it.

“The gardens are nice this time of year.” You mention gently, drawing him into a secured garden house. The new environment suits you, surrounded by things that are subpar to your beauty. “We might get stopped by a supervisor.”

“Why?” He knows the answer, but he wishes to hear more of your voice. To curl a talon against the soft flesh of your cheek. How easily could it bleed under his touch? How careful would he truly have to be with you?

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you haven’t left your rooms in years, Saren.” His name rolls off of your tongue, tone amused and joyful, and he can feel his lower plates shifting. He is in casual clothing, no armor to hide it and he wills down the thoughts of all the other ways you can voice his first name.

It’s too intimate.

He slows in his walk, staring at some flowers. Your eyes would be too much right now. He grips the railing. “If I may be candid-”

“You may.”

“-You make things easier.” Scanning the plants, and pretending you’re not close. That he could pull you to him with the soft hold of your hand still in his, and never allow you to escape.

“I do?”

A nod is all he can manage. Once empty and now he feels too full. Far too full, he may burst.

Your free hand rests on his arm, and he stills. The hand still grasping his own squeezes again. He cannot look at you. “I’m happy to help you, Saren.”

He pauses and takes in a breath, hates how it shakes. “Do you have a family?”

“I had a brother. He was lost in the war.” Your hand grips his own, understanding spreading through the touch. You don’t say the words, you’ve read his dossier, you would know already. Just as he does.

He turns and looks at you. Your eyes are watery, and he raises his free hand. Running the back of his talons carefully over your cheek, unable to wipe the tears properly away. He would cut them for next time, to comfort you properly the next time he witness your tears.

As you lean into his touch, soft skin meeting his talon, and when he sees that it does not so easily pierce your flesh, he knows the future already. That one day he will devour your soul and heart until both of you are one. Until you are his, and he can display himself as yours. To show you the worship that you deserve as the new deity of his soul.

Saren knows he would die for you. Kill for you. You make him feel, you make his head and chest so full, that the emotions begin to overflow.

He settles on leaning forward and brushing his mouth over your forehead. Taking in as you tremble from the touch. You lean into it, and he shifts his head to rest his forehead against your own.

Saren vows to never be empty again, not when he has the fullness of your heart close by.

No matter the cost.

#saren arterius #saren x reader #mass effect #mass effect x reader #turian

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angry-geese · 2 years

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After Hours - chapter 2: Toji

Tags: strip club au, bartender!reader

Pairings: [Toji x reader], slight Choso x reader in this chapter

Warnings: not sfw/mdni. Alcohol usage, smoking mention, death mention (towards the beginning of the chapter, referenced in conversation). Porn with plot (heavy on the plot), fingering, oral (fem receiving), semi-public sex (If you squint), unprotected sex/creampies, use of pet names (darlin, my girl), fem!reader

Synopsis: slowly you begin settling in to your new job. The tips are decent, and you find yourself growing closer with your strange and eclectic group of coworkers. Meanwhile Toji, the bar's bouncer, decides to take you under his wing

A/n: I edited quite a bit of this on mobile so apologies for any formatting issues! The desktop editor has just really not been liking me recently and I did not feel like fighting it today lol

Word count: 5.8k

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Masterlist

Dreary eyes drag across the nearly empty bar. Your gaze is glued to the clock, waiting for 3am to finally roll around. Today has been slow. Almost painfully so. It's rare that there's enough downtime to be truly bored. There's almost always something to be done; cleaned, or prepped for the next shift.

Tonight, Sukuna has two of you working the bar: you, and Toji. You've been sweeping the same spot for the past fifteen minutes, deciding if it's worth the effort to mop. The floors need it badly. So you just sit and look pretty. But not so pretty you take attention away from anyone.

When Fushiguro Toji isn't slumming it up with one of the women around town, he's either at the bar, or out gambling. He never orders anything. Not alcohol at least. And he’s not one for much conversation—assuming he’s not trying to go home with you, at least. The smell of cigarettes, and cologne clings to him. Somewhere in the mix is the smell of something fruity—the perfume of one of his dates, if you had to guess. He leans on the bar, eyes skimming across the assortment of bottles behind it.

Typically, he walks out with the most tips out of anyone. Perhaps it's one of the perks of being here the longest. Toji seems to be a millionaire one day, and broke for the rest of the year. He must have side jobs, too. This can't be his only income.

"How ya holdin up?" He asks.

You give him a halfhearted shrug, before turning to him, and asking: "Fushiguro, do we sell soup?"

"What?"

The genuine confusion in his voice tells you he’s probably the wrong person to ask.

"Do we sell soup?" You ask again, quietly. "Some guy just ordered it."

You witness as he tries to stifle a laugh. "You should call Sukuna," he says. “He’ll know.”

“But-”

"I'm gonna go have a smoke." He says. “You’ve got it from here, don't ya?”

But you just went on a smoke break, you wish to say, but figure it pointless. This isn't a hill you’re particularly willing to die on. Forcing a smile, you nod. Sukuna isn't exactly going to be happy that you're calling him on his day off.

Hardly a moment later, you hear the exit to your left slide shut. Shoko went home an hour ago. Nanami is off today. The only people left are Choso, Gojo, and Geto—other closing shift workers. Gojo disappeared into a back room a while ago, and you haven't seen Choso since his set ended. Geto is splayed across the seat of a booth from two men in suits, leaving the stage empty. Their conversation isn't particularly hushed, but it's not loud either. You can only make out a few words, and none of it is particularly interesting, so you refrain from eavesdropping.

With a groan, you find your phone. It rings three times before it's picked up. Sukuna answers with a tired sounding "what's up?" There’s an audible shuffling on his end. You pray you haven't woken him up, an action akin to poking a sleeping dragon.

"Sukuna? Do we sell soup?” You ask.

And though you can't see his face, you imagine it scrunching in disgust, or perhaps confusion. On the other end, you hear him suck his teeth.

“By law we have to serve food in order to sell alcohol too." He hesitates for a moment before asking. "Why?”

“Some guy just ordered it.”

He's silent for a bit. The only way you can tell he hasn't hung up on you is the sigh he lets out before speaking. “There's probably a can in the back.” He says. “Just microwave it and serve it to the guy.”

Before you can ask him any more questions, you hear a click on his end, and the sound of dead air.

He hung up on you?! You allow yourself a moment to seethe, before collecting yourself. Using the light from your phone to guide you, you begin the task of finding soup.

Momentarily abandoning the bar, you head into the back. You check two closets before you find anything. A thin layer of dust blankets the shelves. But hidden between some extra glasses, and some grenadine, is a large can. Wiping some dust off of the label reveals the words CLAM CHOWDER in a bold yellow text. Internally, you groan. This has to be some sort of health code violation. Or at least a crime against humanity.

Unable to find a proper serving bowl, you ladle the chunky substance into a beer glass. Into the microwave it goes, until it's bubbling like tar. You garnish it with some sliced scallions, but that does little to make it look appetizing. Nausea leaves your stomach in knots. It smells about as appealing as it looks, and you find yourself needing a cigarette. Badly.

Soup man appears content with his order; grabbing a spoon, and returning to his booth. You swear you see a look resembling disgust cross Geto’s face. And you’re secretly praying this man doesn't throw up. Mopping up vomit is one thing; mopping up clam chowder vomit is another. Both are unfortunately similar in consistency.

"Where are you off to?" Asks Toji, appearing from what seems to be thin air. His voice comes from somewhere behind you. Spinning around on your heels, you find yourself face to face with the man.

"We're out of clean glasses." You answer. "I'm getting some more. Can you cover me for a minute?"

Toji lets out a noise between a scoff, and a grunt. But it doesn't sound like a downright refusal, so you take it as an agreement.

The back room—much like usual—isn't empty. It's probably warmer out on the street than it is back here. Winters in Tokyo aren't pleasant. The heater has been broken since you began working here, this room is rarely—if ever—warm.

Choso is too engrossed in his phone to notice you enter. The door latches shut, and he flinches, causing him to whip his head in your direction.

“Shit! Sorry!” He says, eyes widening in horror. “I didn't realize you were back here!”

“I was just heading back for a smoke,” you say, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the exit, “you alright? You look a little worked up.”

Choso Kamo is a lot smarter than he looks. You can't be more than five years older than him, yet it feels like he exceeds you in many ways. Looks, money, schooling. Customers—new ones, not regulars—seem to flock to the younger dancers, expecting their rates to be lesser. And Choso plays along with this, poking and prodding in the right places. There's intention behind every action of his. Not one movement of his is made without clear planning first. He’s charismatic when he needs to be, and clueless when the time arises. Sweet, and cold. Drawing in the attention of patrons, and leaving them wanting more. You find yourself often with them, captivated by him. Next to Toji, Choso walks out with the most cash on any given night.

So it’s odd to see him back here, wasting precious hours of his shift. Less time, less tips.

Choso sighs, as if he's debating whether or not to tell you. Eventually he does relent, mashing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

“One of my professors came into the club and I panicked,” he says. “I didn't want him to see me like-”

You watch as he folds his arms over his chest, goosebumps rising along his skin. You don't understand how he's not freezing. Maybe he is. Hell, you’re cold standing out here fully clothed.

"You look cold." You say.

"I am." He says.

You sincerely doubt you could make this situation more awkward. You shrug your jacket off your shoulders, handing it to him. Choso hesitates for a moment, before pulling it around his body. It's a little snug in the shoulders, and the sleeves are a bit short, but he seems grateful for any warmth he can get.

"I don't want him to know that I…" you watch as his lips press into a thin line.

“What? That you're a stripper?” You say. “This is just a job. It's not that deep.”

You can't blame anyone for wanting a better life. Sometimes the things you have to do to get that aren't all that great. This, however, is just a job. It's neither great, nor bad, it exists a level of neutrality.

Choso’s gaze drifts to the ground. “Not everyone views it the same as you do.” He says softly. “My parents would kill me if they were still around.”

“Still around?” You say, half laughing. “What? They dead or something?”

To say you’re horrified when he nods is an understatement. A rock hardens in the pit of your stomach. Countless apologies are bubbling their way up, and you're practically ready to throw yourself at his feet to make things right. But Choso, much to your surprise, seems unbothered.

“It was a car crash. Happened a few years ago.” He says. “I was living abroad for college at the time. Ended up getting custody of my youngest brother. Had to drop out, but now I’m going back to school here in Tokyo.”

His nonchalant tone does help to settle your nerves, but the topic at hand is still a sensitive one. You’re not quite certain how to respond. “I'm sorry.” You say.

“Don't be,” he says, smiling softly, “I try not to hold too much guilt in my heart. What’s happened has happened, and it's up to me to move on from that, ya know? I'm just trying to do my best with the hand of cards I’ve been dealt.”

And you've finally just noticed how close your faces have gotten. His cheeks are flushed, but it can't be from the heat of the room, or alcohol. Warmth radiates off his skin. The smell of cheap cologne clings to him. It's very vanilla, and sweet smelling.

“I'm sorry if this sounds weird,” he says, “but your jacket smells nice.”

"Thanks?" You say. “I guess” you want to add.

Everything about him is inviting; from the heat of his skin, to the way his body seems to fit so perfectly beside yours. You wish for nothing more than to bury your face in the crook of his neck, and stay there.

You understand it. Why he’s so popular. This feeling… it's definitely something worth paying for.

“Hey,” calls Toji, “we’re getting busy again. I need you back out here.”

“But I have five minutes left on my break!” You call back.

“We’re swamped!” He says, with very little urgency to his voice. “I need you out here.”

Mentally, you steel yourself for the rush. You shuffle your feet the entire walk to the door.

Choso smiles at you weakly, saying “good luck with the rush.”

“Good luck with your classes,” you say. “Want me to make this guy’s drink so bad he leaves?”

Choso laughs, and pauses, almost as if he's considering it. “You should probably be getting back. Before Toji yells at you again.”

The clock reads just past one, and you're counting down the minutes until you can leave. Someone has dimmed the lights again, and the music has gotten considerably louder, signaling the start of a set. One of Gojo’s, from the looks of it. When the doors open, a group of people stumble in. There's about five altogether. Three find a booth in view of the stage, and the other two join the line at the bar.

Toji might as well be a completely different person.

He's smiling, for one. Something you were certain he was incapable of. He finishes pouring a round of shots, and the customer tosses a few bills onto the bar, which Toji collects, stuffing into his front pocket.

It's not until you speak that he notices you. “Aren't we part of a tip pool?” You say.

“Yes. You’ll get your half of the tips when you clock out.” He says. His hand brushes against your lower back as he walks past you. “That guy needs a long island iced tea.”

You hate making those. They’re not a particularly difficult drink to make, but you have a very vivid memory of throwing up what looked like tar because of them. Ever since then, you haven't touched the stuff.

“Don't ask her for your drinks extra shaken,” Toji says, motioning to the customer. “You’re not sneaky. She knows what you’re trying to do.”

You gather a cocktail shaker, and the needed alcohol, and get to making this drink. Though Toji has his back to you, he continues his conversation with the other group of patrons.

Without much else to do, your eyes fall to the stage. Gojo’s set starts, and the sound of voices begins to die down. He notices you staring, and waves in your direction, leaning forward to blow a kiss. Several hands in the crowd reach up as if to catch it. Unsure of how else to respond, you flash what might be the most awkward set of finger guns in existence. This does elicit a laugh from him, and he says something you can't quite discern.

Toji’s laugh draws your attention from the stage. Their conversation isn't hushed, but it's difficult to make out over the music. You wonder how someone so cold could have a laugh so warm. You question how he does it. How he's quickly able to turn from cold, to charming. It's as if there's secretly two brains in his body, and he’s switching from one to the other.

“Take a shot with me?” The customer asks.

“As long as it's going on your tab,” Toji says.

He reaches under the bar, grabbing a large cloudy bottle. It was a grey goose bottle at one point in time, but the label has been scratched off, and the contents replaced with water. Sukuna left it there. If a customer won't stop pestering you to take a shot with them, that’s what it's for.

“Want one?” He asks. Although Toji isn't looking at you, the question is directed to you.

“I’ll pass,” you say. “Room three needs another bottle of-”

“Can't say I’ve seen you around here before,” one of the patrons—an older man—slurs. He must have been drinking before coming here, you think, he’s only had one shot.

“She’s new here.” Toji says. “We hired her a little over a week ago.”

The topic of conversation soon switches to something else entirely, before the man gathers his drinks and heads back for his table. The next fifty minutes go by without much note. You’re able to keep yourself busy pouring shots, eyes occasionally falling to the stage. Gojo’s set ends about halfway through, and Geto hops up onto the stage.

“Can I-”

“If you're asking to finish your break, the answer is no.” He says.

You groan, and rest your elbows on the bar. As far as the rest of your closing duties go, there's not a whole lot left. 2am rolls around, and the bar has grown nearly silent. The lights are turned on, and the music muted so Toji can announce that the place is closing.

The final few patrons file out for the night. You walk from booth to booth, gathering up any remaining glasses. Toji works beside you silently, wiping down tables. Any feeble attempts at small talk are met with short, one-word answers.

“When did you start working here?” You ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve been here about as long as Sukuna.”

A lightbulb seems to go off in your head. “Is it true then?” You ask. “Is he with the Yakuza?”

The scar on the corner of his mouth twitches. It's becoming clearer and clearer that you’re not getting an answer to that question.

The heat radiating off his body is tangible. The dishes clatter as you set them down at the bar. Toji isn't far behind you, gathering a few glasses, and setting them in the sink. He reaches above you to grab something—a spare rag. In that moment, as your body is pinned between the wall, and his, you feel your heart skip a beat. Toji notices this, and chuckles, his large hand moving to squeeze your bicep.

“How come you don't work on the stage all that often?” You ask. “I'm sure you’d pull more tips than Choso.”

“Kid,” he says, “I’m old, and my knees hurt.”

You laugh. “You are pretty old. Might as well take you back and put you out of your misery.”

He casts a glare at you, but you’re too busy wiping down the bar to pay him any mind. Once you’re done, the champagne rooms are next. On a good day, none of them take more than ten minutes to clean. Still, having a second hand helps things run smoother. You make Toji carry the chemicals, while you grab the broom. You hardly even notice the way the door latches behind you.

"So… what's the deal with the blonde guy?" You ask. "Kento? Is that his name? I've only seen him like twice."

You haven't worked with him a whole lot, but you have seen him around. He doesn't work the stage, but he's not really a bartender either.

"He's a long time friend of Sukuna's." Toji says. "He worked at a different club before coming here."

"What does he even do?" You ask, leaning against the broom.

"Well, he did work the stage for a while," Toji says, "he injured his knee a while back, so now all he really does is bartend, and take the occasional client."

Client? "And those two… Gojo and…?" What was his name again? It also started with a G…

"Geto?"

"Yeah," you say. "What's their deal?"

"Next to Kamo, Gojo pulls in the most tips. He’s the… main act, for lack of a better term. If someone has heard about this club, then it's been because of him. He and Geto often work sets together. They're partners."

"Oh, like work partners? I didn't realize you could do that." Does that mean they have to split tips, then?

He nods, clearing his throat. "They're married."

"Oh," you say. "Oh. I guess that explains why they go home together."

Really, you should have connected those dots sooner. It's obvious now looking back at it.

"You don't like talking about Gojo a whole lot, do you?" You ask.

Toji shuffles his feet. In his hands he has a rag, and a bottle of leather cleaner, but seems to be stalling on wiping down the couch.

“He's my ex-husband.” Toji says.

“You were married?!” You ask. Loudly. Toji holds up two fingers. “Twice?!”

Toji scowls.

“Don't look at me like that,” you say. "I'm not homophobic. I'm just surprised that one person married you, let alone two. It's not frowned upon where I'm from, or anything."

“And where I come from, nosey girls like you are left in the woods to fend for themselves.”

With Toji, it's nearly impossible for you to tell when he’s joking or not. The tone of his voice remains the same no matter the topic of conversation. Going off his expression isn’t particularly helpful, either.

"What backwards sort of town are you from?" You ask, only half joking.

From the table, he gathers a half-empty bottle of vodka, and an unused glass. He pours about a shot’s worth of liquid into it. You open your mouth to object, but decide he's more trouble than he's worth. If Sukuna has something to say about this, then he’ll bring it up with Toji. He doesn't need you speaking for him.

“Technically I’m from Kyoto,” he says. “That’s where my family home is, but I haven't lived there in a long time.”

“Really?” You say. “If I had to guess, I would have thought you were from the country.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

Toji takes the glass, placing it against his chest. As he moves his biceps closer together, his pecs hold it in place. Your eyes trail his chest, and you aren't subtle about it. He doesn't have to flex all that hard for it to stay put. Your eyes fall to the veins in his hands. They're most prominent on the back of his hands, running up his wrists. They twitch as he gestures to you in a “come here” motion.

The blood in your veins seems to turn to ice. You can't force your legs to move even if you wanted to. You stammer out a few broken fragments of a sentence, but nothing intelligible.

“What?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. The expression on his face is nothing short of smug. “You keep staring at them.”

That's not even the start of your questions. You’re staring at them because you’re eye level with them.

“Sukuna told me not to drink on the job,” you say quietly.

“He won't care about one shot.” Toji says. “Especially if it's at the end of your shift.”

“Aren't there cameras in here, though?” You ask.

“Do you really think he bothers watching the cameras on his day off?” He asks. Toji leans in close enough for you to smell the coffee on his breath. “You really think he’s got his eye on you right now?”

‘Yes’ you wish to say, but find yourself unable to do so.

The rough pad of his thumb brushes across your bottom lip. They part, briefly, allowing the digit to press between your teeth. If the circumstances were any different, you would be embarrassed. Hell, you are embarrassed. But the strange pleasure of the situation completely overpowers any embarrassment you would feel. Heat radiates off your face like a furnace. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, under your work shirt. A thin line of saliva drips down his thumb, onto his wrist. The scar on the corner of his mouth twitches, and he tilts his head to the side. He pulls away with an audible pop!

“Shouldn't I be paying for this?” You ask. The laugh that follows sounds far more nervous than you intend it to.

He laughs, and unceremoniously shoves your head into his tits. The strong taste of alcohol shocks you back to your senses. Half of the vodka ends up spilled down your chin, and onto the front of your work shirt. With his thumb, he wipes away a drop of alcohol that's spilled down your lips.

“Look at you,” he coos, “how pretty…”

He kisses you, and you taste something sweet on him. Alcohol makes your tongue burn. The smell of coffee floods your senses. Toji nips at your bottom lip until you relent, allowing the strong muscle of his tongue to explore your mouth. Everything about his presence is dominating. From the way his hands rest on your waist, to the way he guides you to move with him.

You are truly, totally, out of your depth.

If Sukuna could see you now…

It's not like this is strictly against the rules. It's possibly frowned upon, but not a fireable offense. It's not like the line cooks at one of your previous jobs weren't sleeping with as many waiters as they could; such a thing isn't unheard of. But you’re certain if your boss finds out, you’re in for the reaming of a lifetime.

“I can taste the liquor on you,” he says.

Your head is swimming. There's nothing but your weak knees and his arm keeping you standing. You’re certain that if he wasn't holding onto your waist, you’d collapse then and there.

“Is that good, or bad?” You ask.

"Neither," he says. "Just… strange."

He manhandles you. He's so strong. You’re certain it wouldn't take him much effort to snap you in half. Toji doesn't really mean it, you’re just so soft and malleable underneath him. Too eager to please. Or be pleased, in your case.

The feeling of a hot tongue across your neck nearly makes you scream. You hardly notice him guiding you to a seperate room. The backs of your knees hit the couch and you fall.

“Do you normally try to fuck patrons?” You ask, sounding considerably more drunk than you really are.

“No,” he says, laughing softly, “just coworkers.”

Even with the lights on, it's quite dark in here. The black paint on the walls appears to suck any and all light from the room. You can feel the cold leather of the couch through your clothes, and the pulsing of the music in the next room. The top button of your work shirt has come undone. Toji kneels between your parted legs, doing little to hide the way he leers hungrily at you.

Whether on instinct, or on purpose, you cross your arms over your chest. Toji must notice your apprehension, as he’s quickly guiding you to sit back on the couch, sitting beside you.

“You don't have to do this if you don't want to,” he says, “you know that, right?”

You're shaking your head. Though it was only a shot, you feel plastered. Your head is light, and your body is heavy. You are simply clay under his hands, meant to be molded to his liking.

“I need you to say it, darlin,” he says, “use your words.”

“I want this.” You say.

“You want what?”

“I want… you.” You say, sounding weaker than you’d like to admit.

The hem of your work shirt has come untucked from your pants, and his hands are sliding under it, ghosting up your back. His hands are a lot softer than they look—you were expecting them to be quite rough. He hooks one finger under the strap of your bra, tugging it off of your shoulder. Then the other. Then he finds the hook at the front, tugging it down, and tossing it carelessly behind the couch.

“I kind of need that,” you say.

“Then grab it before you leave.” He says.

His lips find the junction where your shoulder meets your neck, sucking a dark mark into it. Such a bruise will be hard to cover with just your shirt. Not impossible. But hard. His hands ghost across your ribs, before moving to settle on your breasts. Another button on your shirt has come undone, exposing your breasts. He leaves a line of hickeys across your collarbone, down to your breast.

You feel the lack of his hands groping your breasts, before you notice that they’ve moved down to your belt. You lift your hips enough for him to slide them down your legs, before kicking them off, along with your shoes.

The action of being nearly naked in front of him makes you want to shrink back and hide. He must notice you shying away. His hands find your wrists, gently nudging them apart.

“There’s my girl,” he says.

He's hard. There's no mistaking it.

Toji’s hands find your thighs, pulling your hips flush to his. His fingers dig into your thighs hard enough that his nails leave little indents. Your body jolts as his thumb brushes across your clit. Such a reaction elicits a soft laugh from him. His thumb rubs across the bundle of nerves, slowly. Enough to frustrate you, but not enough to get you anywhere. He presses one finger into your entrance, then a second, curling them.

You’ve always had the impression that he was skilled with his hands. Now you’re certain of it.

“You're still… fuck- pretty tight,” he says, adding a third finger.

You feel his breath ghost across your inner thighs as he leans closer. His eyes are trained on his fingers stuffed in your cunt. Your gaze remains trained on him as he sucks a dark mark into the inner part of your thigh. Toji licks a stripe from your belly button, to your mound. There's a lewd, wet sound as he fucks you with his fingers. His mouth does eventually find your clit, but not after he successfully marks up your thighs, and lower stomach. He’s achingly slow with his movements, almost as if he takes some sick joy in toying with you.

He brings you as close to your release as humanly possible, and keeps you there. He keeps you like that for what feels like ages. In your lust-addled mind, it feels like years, but in reality, it's only minutes. Tears of frustration prick at the corners of your eyes. You remain on that edge of release, unable to fall down the other side. You may actually scream. Toji may not necessarily be great with words, but he’s good with his mouth.

His name spills past your lips in what must be a prayer. You're trying your best to be quiet, and failing. You're certain that if someone were to walk past the door to this room, they'd be able to hear you. These walls aren't particularly thick, but the lack of patrons settles your nerves slightly. If someone were to hear you, you doubt they’ll think much of it.

In one singular movement, he shoves both his pants, and his boxers down his hips. His hardened cock springs free, and it's far bigger than you've imagined. Not intimidatingly big, but certainly above average. He's not completely shaved, but the hairs towards the base are trimmed. They’re dark, the same color as the hair on his head, albeit a bit curlier.

Now you understand what he meant about you being too tight.

“Couldn't… fuck,” his teeth dig into his bottom lip, “let you cum on my mouth. Had to have you do it on my cock first.”

Toji gathers a bit of saliva in his mouth, before spitting it out onto your cunt. The glob of spit is cold by the time it touches your skin. The lewdness of it all makes you squirm.

The head of his cock slips against your already slick folds. He runs his middle and ring finger up through them, grazing across your clit. Toji brings the digits to his mouth, making a show of licking his fingers. When he offers them to you, you take them into your mouth carefully. He pressed down slightly on your tongue. The taste of yourself is faint, but there.

Despite all the prep, there's a slight sting as he presses into you. Not enough to hurt. It's a more pleasant type of pain; like the stinging of his nails grazing across your skin. He hits deeper than any of your previous partners ever have. He's big enough that at certain angles you're certain he'll be able to touch your cervix. But, with the way your hips are positioned, combined with his shallow thrusts, he manages to avoid doing so.

His hands find your hips once again, trapping you against him. You're certain that if you made an attempt to wriggle out of his grasp, there'd be no escape. He's too strong.

With nothing else to do, you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Please,” you say.

A small, evil grin makes itself known on his face. “Please, what?”

You're not certain what he wants you to answer with. Toji? Sir? Neither of which seem to make sense if your foggy brain. There's not much you can focus on aside from him.

“Fuck me-” you inhale sharply. Your words come out as more of a plea, than a proper curse.

He laughs. “Close enough.”

It's another moment before he stops moving. Toji leans back, gaze glued to the way he bottoms out inside of you. His shirt has ridden up a bit, exposing a soft trail of hairs leading up to his bellybutton, and the muscles of his abs. Sweat beads on his forehead. He looks a lot different when he's focused.

His thrusts are rather shallow, but he remains buried deep enough inside of you that that’s hardly a problem. Precum mixes with your own arousal, only adding to the lewd noise of his hips slapping against yours. His pubic bone, and the hairs that reside there, grind against your clit with each shallow thrust. Such a feeling registers in your brain as both pain and pleasure. Your nails rake across his back, leaving little red lines. He lets out a low moan, shuddering.

Toji’s composure seems to have faltered completely. Soft grunts and moans are spilling past his lips. Despite this, he’s relatively quiet. Something tightens in your stomach, akin to a coil being wound.

“Toji! I’m-”

He silences you with a kiss, your teeth clashing together uncomfortably. It doesn't take him all that long to work you up—and through—your orgasm. You clench around him, overstimulated, and Toji appears to go limp. His chest presses against yours, and his head has fallen into the crook of your neck.

It's another moment until he pulls away, glancing down as if to confirm his fear. “Shit!” He says softly. Toji appears to look genuinely surprised that he’s cum so soon. But that doesn't last long. He chuckles quietly to himself, as if he’s not particularly worried.

Toji pulls out slowly, groaning as he does. His hand moves to knead at his shoulder like it aches.

“God I'm getting too old for this,” he says. Toji then proceeds to grumble something about being sore in the morning. It's impossible for you to tell if he’s serious or not. His expression isn't much help either.

He sits back, casually tucking himself back into his pants. A dull ache settles into your hips. The silence that falls over the room certainly isn't a comfortable one, but you can't call it awkward.

“We're going to have to clean this couch again,” you say, frowning.

Toji looks at you with something that resembles approval. It's hard to tell how much time passes as you lay there, but it can't have been more than ten minutes. You get up slowly, reaching for your discarded clothes.

“Where the hell did you throw my bra?” You ask.

“Behind us,” he says, throwing his arm over the back of the couch.

“I don't see it.” You say.

“It must have fallen under.”

You sigh, irritated. At this rate, you’re going to miss the train. Defeated, you scramble to get dressed.

“I’ll get it in the morning, I guess.” You say.

You’re going to have to take the train home with his cum still stuffed inside of you.

The thought crosses your mind for only a moment, before it's disrupted. Toji groans as he stands, reaching into his pocket. He throws a couple bills into your lap. Altogether they make up a couple thousand yen.

“What the hell is this?” You ask.

“Do me a favor, and buy yourself some Plan B." He says. "I don't need any more mini-me's runnin' around.”

More?

Taglist: @lucyrocks86 @getosugaru @scaredpigeons @ur-free-raven @needsaname @florethereal

#jjk x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #toji #not osha compliant #slight choso x reader in this one too #nothing major its just setting up the events of chapter 3 #after hours

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mochikeiji · 4 years

Text

Troublesome Baby

↠ Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader

↠ Warning: SMUT! Slight size kink, nipple play, overstimulation, hint of breeding, Akaashi wanting to make his baby know how pretty she is and how wrong people are about her.

↬ Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Pissing a delinquent is never a persons choice. And what pisses off Akaashi most was when people picked on you instead of him.

⇢ Day 2: Delinquent

A person's feelings can be confusing. One minute they're saying they like a good guy who knows how to keep track in time and hs his future planned out and the second they're liking someone whom their parent's had warned them about.

If you like someone who was always up to no good, are you a masochist? They would ask. Are you out of your mind? They would scold. Do you have any idea how this'll affect your life? They would judge.

You'd like to think otherwise of people who wore tattoos, have so many scars, are always picking fights or having that gangsta stance and aura. You prefer to see them as still a human being with a cold outer shell in order to protect themselves from the cruel world, shielding their gentleness deep within.

It was cliche; a bad person getting soft for one person. But that's how it is even in reality. Sometimes, we can only be vulnerable to the ones we trust the most. And the ones we trust the most are the loved ones.

And those who we love, never deserve how they spit at the world.

That's how Akaashi was with you.

Everyone was shock by the time the former first year had a drastic demeanor change. He was timid, reserved back at his first year in highschool. Polite, and what you'd expect to have an astounding school performance. Hey never would've thought that joining the volleyball club would change someone so idly.

They always thought they were a team filled with passionate players who loved to play fair, but it turns out they loved to get rough around games and outside matches.

Roughness was never Akaashi's agenda. But with a stoic facade and built, athletic feature, he fits in perfectly to look like someone you should stay away from. Still, he kept on being the reserved person he was by hiding his wounds underneath his uniform or volleyball jacket. He doesn't admit it outloud, but he was insecure about his beating wounds.

The times where he and the team would go on random beatings after losing a bet or if someone dares to mess with anyone close to them happened often. Now that word was spread that you, sweet little you, happened to be the pretty faced setters girlfriend is targeted by many disgusting comments.

No man would want to tolerate that or will tolerate their beloved pummeled onto the ground. From all the members of the team he was voted to be the most terrifying one, he doesn't stand down from a fight especially for his baby, he wouldn't stop until the person who made a worthless comment about you, the person who would make you look down at yourself, the person who would make you cry is at their mercy.

His delinquent phase soon carried on until he reached his 20s. Even though now he was an editor and his teammates had their own domestic lives and jobs ahead, they kept up with their ways to earn a bit of cash during the night. Minus Bokuto on some occasions due to his volleyball tournaments world wide, it was mostly just him and the former third years. Even the two females had managed to know their ways into the dangers in joining as long as it helped them raise the cash up a bit.

And that leads the scenario now, you cleaning up his wounds again at the peak of 1 am in the morning after a misunderstanding beat down the past hour. He came home more bruised and bloodied than before— that meant they were outnumbered. Usually, it's Bokuto who would bark at the people who would mess with them. He was known to be feared due to his popularity, but inside the group, it's really just Akaashi who was the monster amongst all of them when he was angry.

You didn't know how long you were going to tolerate this. Him always coming back to you with new scars drawing his skin and you patching him up. It was always like this since highschool, but as you grew, people get tougher, bolder. This was too much.

"Keiji, please stop doing this."

Dabbing the cotton on the alcohol a little and tapping his skin gently to avoid stinging him, you were sat on your study chair whilst he was sitting on your shared bed. You were already trying to hold in the dam from breaking as you had been cleaning all his wounds for the past minute, but as you do, they only seem to get bigger and painful for you to bear.

"I don't want you to keep getting hurt."

Finally putting ointments on his arm, he uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, and raises you too look into his eyes. Ones that weren't feral as they were a couple of hours ago.

"They were bad mouthing about you, I wasn't letting that slip."

"But it's fine! People bad mouth about me a lot even before.."

Inside it still stung. To be growing up mocked by society in any way they see flaw in you. You were always an insecure woman up until now, any little words from others can make you into a brawling mess. What more if some threatened you, you'd be a fleeting coward.

Akaashi knew that about you when you began dating. At first he didn't pay mind into it, but the more he got to know what a kind and loving person you were, he realized just how cruel people can be to those with soft hearts. He hated those to the bone, he would never tolerate that kind of person throwing a pile of crap to someone above them.

"I just don't want to keep thinking one day you won't be coming by the door because of this..I'd rather you just stop being like this after years than to get more bruises. I don't care about the money, Keiji, I earn a lot too."

Your trembling figure was obvious, he knew how emotional you get for whenever he gets reckless, and how you over think of the things the people he has placed back in their place said about you. He never liked the fact you tried to be strong for him so many times and not even reaching out for comfort from him.

"Baby."

He cooes softly, moving away the medical kit from your side and hoisting you up from your chair with ease, allowing you to straddle his lap. You were easy for him to carry considering the height difference, thus making him more protective of you seeing as you look like a small child in fear.

Protesting softly at him to put you down since he was just freshly fixed up, Akaashi let's your head fall on his naked shoulder blade with his hand behind your head, giving your hair a slow stroke down to your back.

That's where you started to cry on his skin.

"I don't care about the money that much, I just hate it when someone threatens or mocks you without even having to know you."

He hears you sniffle at his skin, your tears wetting a small patch on it along with your face. He hushes you for a second before patting your bum, indicating he wants to see your face. With head lowered, you pulled away from his shoulder, sniffling down the tears while roughly using your wrist to wipe your eyes.

He grabs one of your wrist as his soften eyes met your red ones. He lowers your hand down to your lap, with your other one following as he was the one to wipe your tears away.

"It hurts me to have them say such things and have you crying like this. You have no idea how far you are from what they say."

The both of you took a small pause, letting him squish your cheeks with his thumbs rubbing underneath your eyes as small, left over tears escaped. Your hands below pressing against his bandaged abdomen, wondering how much trouble he's gone through just for you with a new batch of tears ready to fall.

"You don't cause me trouble, baby. I did this because you didn't deserve it. It was my decision, not yours or anyones. You will never be the reason for my troubles."

He was an observant guy, any little sign of of your body he knows what's going on. He slides your hands up from his abdomen, to his chest and placing them on his shoulders for you to hold onto. Tilting his head a bit to get an angle of your view, he gives you an adoring smile at the sight of your lips slightly pouting out and your eyes wide and glossy.

"You look cute right now."

Blinking away the blurred vision, your heart thumps a little from the way he was looking at you and his small compliment. You loved it when he gave you a lot of assurance and reminders about yourself. Even in times where they seemed unnecessary.

His finger tracing your cheeks to your nose, tapping at the tip making you shut your eyes and crinkle a little. When he groaned at the shift of your hips now snugging against his growing bulge, he quickly places his hands on your hips to hold you in place.

Your eyes popped out, stammering apologies saying you didn't mean to do it on purpose while gripping his shoulders. You hear him sigh out, worried you might've hurt him but soon vanished when you felt his hands sliding down once again to your bum.

"Why don't I show you how pretty you really are?"

He moves from his position. By instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he lays you down on bed and pushes himself up.

"W-wait, your wounds."

"I'm fine, baby, don't worry."

His hands found their way down to your pajama shorts and pulls them down with ease. He let's his shirt that you were wearing on as it only fueled his arousal at the sight of you looking smaller compared to him.

Thighs shaking and biting back a moan when his index finger slid down on your clothed slit, he repeats his actions upwards and downwards until you shortly got the middle part of your panties wet.

"Just enjoy and relax for me."

You clutched the pillow underneath your head when his finger started to press in your clothed slit, his warmth radiating strongly against your sensitive regions, it made you grind shyly on the finger teasingly trying to intrude your entrance.

He bites lip at the delicious sight and pulls his fingers away, spreading your legs apart so that he could settle himself on his stomach and his face near your lower lips. Sliding your panties down almost too quickly, he pushes your inner thighs to spread for him, giving him a better view of what his teasings done to your body and blowing cool air on your twitching hole, drooling with more arousal.

He hears a small whimper from you and looks up, you covering your mouth with the back of your hand, and your other fisting the sheets. Giving your inner thighs a kiss to calm you down, he winks at you before repeatinf his early ministrations on your now bare pussy.

"You're so easily aroused."

It came out like a breathy whisper from his lips as he watches his finger slide up and down. The thought of you tight and clenching to nothing makes him want to plunge in immediately.

He hums pleasingly at the sight and slowly inserts his index finger in. You moan out loudly in surprise, hiding your face to side and not wanting to look down thinking you might just cum from the sight. He began pulling his finger out and then pushing it back in, he wiggles a little inside of your hole loving how warm and wet it was, until he inserted a nother finger in to stretch you.

"Keiji!!"

He thrusts both fingers in with a decent pace, not wanting to go fast knowing how sensitive and easily you'll cum. His mouth was watering at the sight of his fingers being swallowed in your small pussy, and leans his face down with his other hand spreading your lips and giving it a small kiss that made your hips jolt up as he began to attack your clit.

"K-keiji! Too good!"

His free hand holds one of your thighs way to keep you spread amd at his mercy. The two fingers inside of you thrusting erratically when you tightened around them, now hearing the sloshing noises and his mouth sucking you to death.

He watches your head move from side to side and your chest heaving from his treatment. He can feel his own cock painfully erect inside his pants and moves bit, moaning against your clit at his boxers friction, and your hands finding their way to his hair and begging him not to stop.

"Keiji! Please, please, don't stop! Please, I'm close!"

His fingers beckoning inside of you knowing what he was now pressing at and flattens his tongue on your pussy before smirking up and saying,

"Go on, pretty girl, cum for me."

Hearing his voice was like a knock out for you as your hips arched up and the grip on his hair tightened. The pads of his fingers pressing and teasing your sweet spot until you were cumming hard for his mouth to take in.

He pumps a few more thrust until your orgasm faded. You whimpered from the additional thrust and grabbed his wrist to stop.

"Too much, Keiji.."

Hungry eyes raking your sweating body and wet folds, his pants getting unbearable at the moment and zips it down immediately along with his boxers, letting his cock free and breathes in the cool air as it hits his cock that made it twitch in need.

How much he wanted to keep eating you out despite being sensitive, but the need to be inside of you caves in as he hovers above your quivering body and attatching his lips with yours. He slips in his tongue to deepen the kiss, grinding his cock against your wet slit as you moaned inside his mouth from the much needed friction and something inside your needy cunt.

But Akaashi wanted to savor the moment, he knows you were a virgin. He's only fingered and eaten you out during the years of relationship. Even though the thought of having his cock a taste of your cunt drives him insane, he wanted to make sure every part of your body was touched, kissed and adored like he promised.

"Mmh!"

Fingers now tweaking your right nipples as your legs tried to close themselves from now having to be stimulated from your torso, to his hard cock still grinding tantalizing. But his body was in between them, and his mouth was practically eating your whines and mewls for him. Seeing how sensitive you were getting over the little touches he was giving made him moan against your lips. His hand moves to tweak your other untouched nipple and pulled a little, your back arching as he releases his mouth from yours letting you moan loud.

Your back still arched giving him a quick access to suck on your erected nipple, biting softly yet playfully in synch with his pinching on the other nub.

"KEIJI! HAH— PLEASE!"

Trying to move away from his mouth and fingers by pushing his head gently, he uses other hand to pin both of your smaller ones above your head and releases your nipple with a pop, shivering from the air.

He stops playing with the other one and moves there to suck on it. His finger moving to the soaked one and pulling it softly. You trashed on his hold as he continued to assault your breast. Not seeing the way his eyes are now getting half lidded at the sight of your teary ones from the amount of pleasure and the sound of your pleading singing in his ears.

"AH! Keiji!! Please— no more!"

But he knows how much you didn't want this to stop. If you really did want to stop, you would've used your safe word. But just smiles at you fondly, letting his finger move from breast to breast and pulling and pinching quickly.

"Mm, I just love," he pulls a little harder on your left nub, but not to painfully for you, "How your body reacts to me." you hear his chuckled laugh when he stops to massage your breast alternatively, leaving you whimpering from how skillful his hands were.

"You're getting cuter and prettier as time goes by."

Shamefully, your walls clenched from his words. He knows judging by how you bit your lip and shutting your eyes and grins at you. He knows how much you loved getting praised and told all the lewd things he wants to do to you.

"You'll be prettier with my cock stuffing inside you, won't you, baby?

Hands trying to pry his stronger ones away so that you can hold him, hide on his skin and let him ravage you. He does however, using both his hands, he separated your arms and pins them at the side of your head and proceeds to attack your neck.

"Baby."

He cooes at the side of your skin, cock now lubed from his pre cum and yours with the tip just poking on your lower lips impatiently.

"Please..inside, Keiji, please."

Yours legs widened themselves, preparing for what you've both been wanting that evening. He laces his hands on yours, the position you now had more vulnerable for him and he wanted nothing more than to take you and make you feel protected and pleased.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

Lips pressing on your forehead as you relaxed on the sweet sensation, but as seconds went by, your body tensed when he entered the head of his cock in, inching slowly his hard length.

Akaashi's hands gripped yours harder when he feels your cunt fluttering and hugging his member tighter than he expected. His breating becoming ragged so he started leaving trail marks of love bites on your neck to calm the both of you down from the foreign feeling.

Each mark he gave came with a soft praise, telling you how good you were doing taking his cock perfectly and how beautiful you were breathless underneath him. He told you, you were doing a good job holding in and with that you let out a shaky breath before telling him he can move.

Thrusting out slowly, letting your juice slide freely on his cock before thrusting back in with force, enough for you to choke a moan. His hips taking their pace into what he knows is bearable for a first timer like you, but the way he was clenching his jaw tight indicates how much he wants to have his way and fuck you like he was on a rut. You were so tight and small compared to his impressive length that it was getting painful for him to be in a vice like grip down there.

It was a struggle to take him, but at the back of your head as you feel his cock move in and out of you felt so right, you wondered if it could be more pleasurable as it is. His face was alarming to you so you rubbed your thumb on his hand letting him pause and exhale harshly. He didn't know he was holding back so much to the point he forgot how to breathe.

"Are you okay?"

He panted above you as you stared in daze and in euphoria from being stuffed. Trying to stay grounded, you attempted to grind your hips to rile him up, only for him to growl and thrust in, forcing your hips down with a squeal from your lips.

"Don't do that."

"But you're struggling."

He breathes through his nose, he hates to admit it but he had to hold himself together not to take you like a freak in bed. He reminds himself that tonight was about you and only you. How wrong the words were of the people he's beaten for you.

"It's fine, I don't want to hurt you."

Nuzzling his nose on your cheek, he hums happily on your skin when you press your cheek in reply. As your eyes stared at each other, you knew how gentle your Keiji was with you. You knew he would never hurt you even if he could. He wasn't going to.

"Please Keiji."

Moaning wantonly when your shifted your hips in a good angle for his cock to thrust on, you looked at him with pleading eyes and drooling mouth.

"Please go harder."

Groaning on your skin, he thrusts in suddenly, lettinf your back arch once more as he placed his chin on your chest and licks his lips in hunger.

"You asked for it, baby girl."

The thrusts he was making was now audible inside your room; his balls slapping below your bum, your cunts lewd juices being messed up on both your bodies and your moans slowly becoming screams.

"KEIJI!!"

His mouth found their way back on your nipple, biting roughly and licking away the pain followed by a good sucking. Hips never faltering or holding back anymore and engulfs your shaking body.

"Fuckers were so wrong about you, love. Look at you,"

Your mouth was drooling from the side, hair messed up in display on the pillow that made them look soft and angelic on you, eyes, your hands holding onto him tight with your body jiggling up everytime he thrusts in.

"You look absolutely ravaging."

He lets go of your other hand and places his on the back of your leg, hoisting it up and placing it on his shoulder, letting his cock piston deeper into you and making a mess out of you.

"I can't even move a lot from how small and tight your cunt is."

He laughs breathlessly as he aims to find your sweet spot again. You were trying to pull away from his hold but with your thigh up on his shoudler, you were stuck taking this all in like a good girl.

"I think I may be too lucky to have you in my life."

The tip of his cock was now kissing that spot that made you scream out in the blue, Akaashi cursed when your cunt clenched his raging member as he kept aiming at your precious spot.

"Fuck, do you like that, baby?"

"AHN— YES! PLEASE, PLEASE, I WANT TO CUM!"

Sobbing for the much needed orgasm, your body gives up and lets the male above you use it to please you both.

"Fuck, my hips can't stop."

He buries himself at the crook of your neck, moaning near your ear, edging you close to your release to the sound of him. He lets out small whimpers and groans, his cock twitching violently inside you with his thrusts losing their rhythm.

"Baby girl."

"KEIJI, SLOW DOWN! AHH— I'M GOING TO CUM!"

The heat in your stomach felt different from your previous orgasms. This felt hotter, tighter, and a whole lot messier. But Akaashi showed no mercy and carried on,

"Cum for me, baby."

The freed hand he had a minute ago now being a teasing bastard and rubbed your swollen clit. Pinching and rolling all four of his fingers on, making you scream and thrash. Panting with the thought of dying frkm the immense sex he was giving until the last line made you scream without a sound,

"I'm going to cum inside."

Your eyes rolled sinfully at the last line, your bodh ascending above not hearing Akaashi gasp from the way you came and groan as both his cock and abdomen get soaked from your cum and your stomach filled with his thick load and kept thrusting in a slower pace. Your cunt spasming on his member, milking him dry until you were taking all of his load in.

Exhausted, his body stills and lays a bit above you, not wanting to squish you with his member remaining inside you. Sniffles can be heard coming from you as you calmed down from your high, Akaashi stroking your hand that was still clamped on his and peppered you with small kisses and sweet confessions.

"You did so good."

"That's my baby."

"Always so beautiful even like this."

You other arm came and wrapped themselves on his neck, pulling close to you as you inhaled his masculine scent, anchoring you down back to earth before coming to realization on how damp your bottom was.

"I—"

"Squirted?"

Blushing, you buried your head on his neck followed by a laugh from your boyfriend, listening to you blabber multiple apologies.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, I liked it," He captured your lips with kiss, kissing you lovingly and a little longer before pulling away only to give you small pecks repeatedly, "It was sexy."

"You sound so different when you use that word, Keiji.."

"But it's true."

He didn't bother pulling out after you pleaded him not to. Even if it was your first time, it was addicting to have something fill you up to the brim. It made you feel snug and full, and it felt right. Akaashi wasn't complaining on the cock warming, in fact he held you closer to his chest and twirled your hair nonetheless.

"You're really not what they describe you, love," he admires how the dim light from your room manages to create a good lighting that made your skin glow. The hairs that sticked to you forehead after the intimacy you both caught up made you look like a soft baby with eyes looking at him full of love,

"I can't even describe you anymore."

Your eyes trailed down to his wounded torso from his face. Even though he was tainted, Akaashi was sculptured beautifully like no other. But inside you prayed that he wouldn't go home another day with freshly opened wounds just to defend you as you traced your fingertips on each bruise and scar.

He spots on and grabs one of your hands and pulls it in for a kiss on the knuckles, "I promise, I won't make you worry anymore."

Smiling, you snuggled on his chest pleased and full of bliss, feeling his lips kissing the top of your head repeatedly and his arms hugging you closer to his body.

"Keiji?"

"Hm?"

Pressing your cheek on his chest, you looked up to him and asked, with a small tint of blush on your face in embarrassment, "Um..W-why did you you know...In me?"

For a second he blushes as well, but in the end he seemed to be smiling excitedly as you missed the way his eyes glanced somewhere down your stomach.

"So I can have another pretty baby to love."

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu fluff #akaashi keiji #akaashi smut #akaashi x reader #akaashi x y/n #akaashi x you #akaashi scenarios #akaashi headcanons #haikyuu smut #akaashiweek2020 #haikyuu akaashi keiji #hq akaashi

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cher-writes · 4 years

Text

Silver Screen / Silver Pole | Robert Sheehan x Reader (18+)

Summary: A night of celebration in a LA strip club takes an interesting and unexpected turn when a contrarian actor winds up offending the wrong stripper. But night is long and the possibilities are endless, where will it take them?

Word Count: 7.3k

CW: Mention of sexual harassment, Consensual slapping, NSFW smut

A/N: This one is surprisingly not bloody at all and the smut isn't wild either so like most everyone can read it. Although it's emotionally very heavy. So, get ready to feel some shit. Hopefully you'll enjoy.

Special thanks to @crisis-of-joy for being there for me the whole month I took to complete this emotionally taxing fic and also for being my kind beta reader & editor.

Burning on it’s way down, the third glass of whiskey finally gave her some life she desperately needed. Deafening music throbbed throughout her veins, drowning the club in the background. She wanted to drown with it too but she couldn’t, she was there to work and rent for the month was already due. The fourth glass was on the verge of meeting with her bitter mouth when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t drink so much, you’ll trip on the stage,” Coco practically shouted in her ear. Coco was the only friend she had in that goddamn place and It wasn’t a very rare occurrence that Coco had to drag her blackout drunk body out of the club. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she had a problem. Considering that she was already on her third strike of the month and the third drink of the night, Coco knew better than to let her get drunk this early.

“I can’t stay here and be sober at the same time,” she shouted back at Coco, “especially after...nevermind,” but decided against talking about it and instead focused her energy on finishing the fourth glass, which was gone just as quickly as the words stopped coming out of her mouth.

She could read the concern on Coco's face and sense the questions brewing behind it as Coco spoke up, “I want to know what the fuck is up with you but I have to go now, Caleb came home from school hours ago, it’s pretty late and I have to cook him dinner.”

“What happened to Larry? Can’t he take care of the kid? He’s fucking jobless anyway.”

“He got in a bad fight again. I can barely afford Caleb’s school fees and now the medical bills.”

“If only you had divorced him, you wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

“And if only you had been less violent towards customers, you wouldn’t be on the verge of getting fired. But, here we are.”

She furrowed her brows at this sudden sharp stab of truth by Coco and dealt with it the only way she knew how to, by ordering another drink. Coco crossed her arms letting out a deep sigh and said, “Look, I'm only trying to help you, (y/n). Sam wanted me to go up. You see that group seating in the fifth VIP booth? Up there. They are celebs and celebrating something so, ya know, good money. I said no cause, as I said I gotta go home, but I convinced him to let you go up there. It was hard given your recent less-than-favorable behavior, but I managed to.” Coco snatched the already empty glass from her hand and continued, “So stop drinking, go up there and get that money. And for the love of God, behave yourself or this might be your last night here.”

Giving her hand a quick but tight squeeze, Coco got up then soon after disappeared into the crowd. She thought to herself about how a last night there wouldn’t be so bad if she could afford it, and wanted another drink immediately to kill that thought, but Coco's words haunted her ears. She looked over her shoulder to see three men sitting in the booth, laughing.

------------

Her head was in a violent swirl, vision blurry. She was way too drunk to be spinning around the pole, but she had an audience to entertain and had no one but herself to blame.

When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste, the song was thudding against her skull. Pulling herself together, she counted every second, waiting for the song to end. She could feel the eyes on her, sticking to every bit of her, just as invasive as it was the very first day yet, she couldn’t care less. She had to live through it if she wanted the money and she needed the money if she wanted to live. The room was dancing circles around her as the tips came flying in, she kept counting the seconds, sliding down the pole, and your knee socks.

------------

She was swaying dangerously on her way down from the stage. If the song didn’t end when it did, she would have thrown up without a shadow of a doubt. At that point, she didn’t even know how or what she danced, only the awful sickness in her stomach let her know that it was more than she could take.

She needed to chat up the men, try and convince them to buy a champagne room before the next song came on, which she feared was way too soon for her liking. Nevertheless she tried to steady herself but the big glass platforms messed with her earnest efforts, nausea kicking her in the stomach once again, letting her know of her limits.

She didn’t ever really look at the men who sat in front of her, leering at her, they all looked the same, smelt the same and talked the same. So she followed the same old routine, bending down just enough to give them a view up her tits. Pressing her arms closer, she slurred, “What are we celebrating, gentlemen?”

She absolutely hated how she sounded pandering to men, two pitches higher. “My friend over here landed a role in a Spielberg film!” the middle one spoke up and pointed to the one sitting on the right side. The one in question grinned in response and repulsion licked the back of her neck at the sight of that. Yet she needed to please him, “That’s amazing! I’m sure I’ll be seeing your face on the billboards everyday now while driving,” she said and fantasized about having enough money to burn down all the billboards in LA and maybe LA with it too.

“Hell yeah you will!” the one in the middle spoke up and broke her reverie so she pretended he was supporting her fantasy instead. “Oh please! Speak for yourself!” the one on the right perked up in his seat and continued, “He’s literally working with Fincher AND he got engaged!”. The one in the middle gave a revolting smirk at the very humble revelation of his accomplishment and it was enough to turn her stomach or maybe it was the alcohol, she couldn’t really decipher.

“Oh really?” she looked at the man, tilted her head and said, “And you came to a stripclub to celebrate your engagement?”, her face deadpan. Notes of contempt stuck out like thorns from her voice, making her sound way more intense than she intended to.

He tensed up visibly at her sudden razor-edged tone and, even though she didn't want to, she had to ease the situation. I can’t piss off these bastards again, she kept repeating to herself like a mantra. “Boys will be boys!” she said, not being able to think of something better that wasn’t inherently insulting, and laughed the most disgusting laugh of her life. If she could she would pour gasoline down her throat just for uttering those words.

She couldn’t bear to linger at that conversation point anymore so she turned her attention to the man sitting on the far left. He looked distant and foreign, staring but not really looking at her. There was a peculiar absence behind his distinct green eyes, which she would even call beautiful under different circumstances. And that, something about that absence, made her want to zero in on him.

“And what about you? Did you win an Oscar or something?” mockery ringed clear in her voice, which brought his attention back to the presence. Startled slightly, he straightened his posture while saying, “No, not really... not yet at least,” he smiled sheepishly and continued, “I’m just here with them”.

“Come to think about it, I’ve never really seen you anywhere,” she said without thinking too much. In fact, she didn’t really pay enough attention to how he looked to recognize him even if she did.

Something intense flashed his eyes for a brief second. She couldn’t quite put her fingers on what it was but she could feel the energy shift very quickly between them.

“Oh I’ve been in things but I’d be surprised if you did see any of them,” his voice now stripped of the delicacy it previously held. She could feel the air between them getting unusually heavy, his words penetrating through her skin a bit too effortlessly, a bit too swiftly that it was unsettling.

“And why exactly would you be surprised?”

“You know...cause people like you don’t usually watch the kind of films I do.”

“What do you mean by ‘people like me?’”

“You know...people of your...stature,” he trailed off. Blood rushed the back of her neck as soon as the words hit her ears. She could feel her vision burning, a hot wave washed the crown of her skull, something unruly building at the base of her being. Clenching her jaw so as not to let it take over her, she said, “Stature huh? Fancy! I reckon from your accent that, wherever the hell you’re from, people get a kick out of looking down on others with such wispy language.”

She could sense the same unruly substance dancing behind his chest, but he was far better at keeping it on a leash.

“I wasn’t looking down upon you. What I was merely getting at is that some people aren’t cut for apprehending particular types of films,” he sounded snarky but calm, the type of calm that’s tainted with scorn, which only sent ripples of rage down her ribs.

“Oh so you think just because I’m a stripper by profession that I wouldn’t understand your low-budget dumb indie movies?” she was getting visibly worked up now. Traces of her seductive posture vanished long ago but there was a new hostile energy flowing through her stance.

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, of course you didn’t say that, you only meant that. You meant what you think and every one of you think that we aren’t people with brains and emotions. No, no, we’re just sacks of meat to ogle at in exchange of money, and then grope when you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“I think you're trying to put words in my mouth, this is -”

“God! you think you’re fucking better than me, don’t you? You contrarian little shit!” she could feel it in her bones. She knew what was coming. There were people behind, or maybe beside, her, trying to talk to her, probably. She could hear no one, not even the previously unbearable blaring music. She had tunnel vision and it was fixed on him. The air she breathed chafed her nose. Her nerves thumped as her heart leapt at irregular rapid intervals.

“Excuse me! but i neve -” he said as his body went alert. Posture anticipating something violent, flight or fight.

“You think you're better than me because I'm a stripper and you got enough money to buy me?” her voice was icy as she spoke, “You LA people are all the fucking same. You get a little money in your pockets and you think you own the world and anyone who isn’t jerking off to your pretentious bullshit isn’t worthy enough to deserve basic fucking decency. Huh is that it?” she quickly jumped on top of him, straddling him.

He was frozen under her as she leaned in and murmured, “Well then allow me to show you”, she pulled away, her left hand clutching his shoulder as right fist rose the air, “HOW FUCKING BETTER THAN ME YOU ARE!” then her fist crashed on the side of his mouth with all the force she could muster, releasing a knot built in her chest since she checked in with the manager in the evening. Hot, sweltering adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

The impact resulted in him burying his face in his right shoulder so she grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced him to face her. His lips were starting to swell up so she decided to help it. His eyes went blank as her fist met his face once more.

Involuntarily, her hand was raising in the air again when she felt a strong pull from behind. The security guard, twice her size, yanked her away from him. People gathered around them staring at her, the music stopped to her relief. The guard twisted her arms behind her back, enough to leave bruises that’ll sting for days to come. She couldn't move, her sight went hazy yet she felt this strange cool serenity soothe her tensed muscles. His friends were crowding him, probably consoling him. She could neither hear them nor make out their faces from her almost closed eyelids. She was pretty sure she was falling asleep in the guard’s painful hold until she heard a certain voice and the hair at the back of her neck stood up.

“What the fuck! She’s at it AGAIN? Sir, I'm so sorry -” Sam, the manager’s voice pierced her ears as he rushed into the booth. As he was talking to them, commotion rose in the background. She could feel blind rage beating with every thump of her heart. If it wasn’t for the guard holding her in place, she would have skinned him alive by now. She was struggling to free herself when Sam turned to her and said, “You! That’s it!” pointing his left index at her. “I’ve had just about enough of your drunkass assaulting fine gentlemen. You’re fired. Get out right now! And be grateful we’re not reporting you to the police.”

Suddenly everything went quiet in her head. She smiled, nothing behind her gaze. Grinning ear to ear like a maniac, she said, “I’m fired? Aww what’s gonna happen to you now Sam?”. She cooed, ''Whose tits and ass are you gonna grab from now on? Stella? I wonder if she’ll compare to me though.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sam almost hissed at her.

“Ohhh right! Of course, you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said while still tussling with whatever little strength she had left to loosen herself from the guard’s excruciating grip. “You don’t know anything about how you sexually harassed me day after day, how your disgusting, slimy little hands grabbed my body against my will at every chance that you got. You knew how much I need the money from this job and you used that against me to keep me silent, threatening to fire me every time I made even a sound. But guess what fucker? I’m fired now! And I’m gonna tell everyone about HOW YOU TRIED TO -”

“Take her to the staff room!” Sam cut her off, “NOW!” And, as soon as the words left Sam's mouth, the guard put his palm over her mouth and started dragging her back. The hand over her mouth muffled her screams and she glanced at the man, now with swollen lips, looking at her with eyes filled with, what looked like, concern.

As she was getting dragged, she finally managed to sink her teeth into the guard’s palm resulting in him withdrawing his hand just enough to give her a small window of time to scream at Sam: “YOU MOTHERFUCKER I’LL BE BACK AND I’LL PEEL THE SKIN OFF OF YOUR SCALP FUCKING SON OF A BITCH I’LL -” Before she could finish, her voice got cut off again and she faded into the dimly lit passageway at the back of the floor.

------------

The cherry of her fifth cigarette shone brightly in the shivering cold as the smoke drifted up in the air and sluggishly faded away. Mouth agape, her eyes meticulously followed the faint trails left after their disappearance. She wondered where they went, where she’ll go. If it wasn’t this late, and the water wasn’t so cold, maybe she could have gone for a swim in the ocean. If the water wasn’t so cold maybe she would have let it swallow her even. She was calculating the probable temperature of the hypothetical water she’d marry someday when the sound of slow approaching footsteps entered her field of perception. She would have preferred to ignore it but the, somehow already familiar, voice spoke up, “Hey erm...” and left her no choice but to look. And there he was, the foreign man with the swollen lip, looking culpable. There were distinct imprints of guilt in his voice as he continued, “I saw you across the parking lot…um I was actually just leaving with my friends,” he pointed at a black Mercedes parked at the far end of the lot. “They’re waiting in the car anyway so I decided -”

“So you decided now that she’s fired from being a stripper, she's probably a hooker! Lemme go ask the price she’s selling at,” her gestures and voice was comical, “you know, dude if you’ve got a kink of getting beaten up non-consensually then you’re really good at getting it cause I might just be up for round two.”

He stared at her for a good few seconds with a perplexed face, as if trying to process her stream of logic. When he started speaking, he sounded genuinely hurt, “No! Jesus Christ I came to apologize. Can you just not be defensive for one second? I’m not a monster ya know!”

His sincerity caught her off guard. She had about five thousand ways of dealing with assholes prepared and ready to go but an actually decent person? Now that was rocky territory for her.

“Well, uh, that’s a first. Go ahead I guess?” she shrugged her shoulders.

“I apologize for saying what I said back in the club. I shouldn’t have insinuated that you aren’t intelligent enough to understand my films just because of your choice of profession. It was really shitty of me to say that, and nothing can justify it either. And I feel like I caused you to be fired, that’s also weighing heavily on my soul and I don't know how to make it up to you. Just, I hope that you can forgive me and, again, I apologize, earnestly. Please tell me how I can make it up to you,” he said and looked at her with a rueful expression.

She was at a loss of words. It had been years since anyone apologized to her, let alone that sincerely. After a considerable amount of silence, she gathered her fragmented thoughts and spoke up, “Whoa, whoa man, chill. You didn’t murder my family or anything so calm down,” she held up her open palms, the cigarette almost at it’s end. “Apology accepted, okay? And don’t feel bad, I would have been fired sooner or later given my questionable behavior ever since I joined, so it’s not on your conscience. And I’m sorry too,” her index and middle finger holding the cigarette gestured at his lips, “for, um, punching you so let’s call it an even.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “yeah okay,” sounding clearly more relaxed than before.

“You know it’s a miracle how long it took for me to get fired,” she mused, “oh no it wasn’t a miracle it was sexual harassment, ah I see now. Wonder what Sam saw in me though that was worth not firing me for this long even though I pulled so much shit,” she took a long drag of her weary cigarette. “Maybe I've got a talent for getting harassed or something...who knows?”

His face tensed up again as he said, “That’s...not right,” eyes pooling with the same worried look as before.

“I was joking, chill. Humor is an excellent way to deal with most everything really, especially trauma.”

“I am sorry for what you had to go through, it’s gut-wrenching. Can’t you lodge a complaint to the police?”

“Going to the pigs? As a sex worker? Who just got fired for being drunk and punching a man in front of many eye witnesses? Now that was humor, you’re quite good at it actually.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Besides, that’s like one of the first things you gotta learn to put up with if you’re working in this business. As unfair and grim as it is, men, no actually, people don’t see sex workers as human beings and I’m just too obstinate to accept that simple fact, or maybe too much of a pussy, depending on where one’s priorities lie.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say.”

It was just setting in for her how beautiful he actually was. His crestfallen face was graced by two stunning green eyes, lush unruly curls sticking to his forehead, sharp jawline kissed with a scruffy goatee and the swollen lip throwing off the symmetry just right to make him look captivating, to say the least. In the chilly December ambience his face was a soothing sight to her eyes, his sweet voice kind to her drudging ears, his presence warm to her existence. And she wanted to hold onto the warmth, just for a bit longer.

“You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?” she said as the cigarette fell on the ground then died out under the crushing embrace of her cruel heels.

------------

“Well I'm Ro -” he said leaning against the passenger seat window, sitting half facing her.

“If you’re trying to say your name then don’t,” she cut him off quickly without averting her gaze from the road.

“Why?” he asked, staring at her intently yet without any emotion in particular.

“‘Cause it doesn’t matter. It’s better if we don’t know each other’s name. Names individualize people and that’s not necessary for tonight,” she answered nonchalantly as the neon lights of a passing by road sign illuminated her face and then faded into the past just as nonchalantly.

“Okay.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but it didn’t bother her, it wasn’t tainted. There was this unusual tranquility in the atmosphere of the car, this obscure but consistent serene rhythm. She felt a bizarre comfort in his presence and she could drive like this forever, on a never-ending road spiraling towards heaven or winding down pandemonium or just dissolving into the ether, with him sitting lazily on the side.

“Do you ever feel like that?” he spoke up absentmindedly, breaking into her almost fever dream.

“Huh?”

“The song, I feel like that often.”

She didn’t realize the radio was on, playing at quite a significant volume. She wondered if he had turned it on at some point and how long she was driving for without being present mentally.

This place will be the end of me. Take me out, LA. Take me out of LA, the voice from the radio filled the car to the brim.

“I don’t feel like that, I know that. I know I'll die here, kinda intrinsically...do you hate this place?”

“No, not hate. I just feel like I don't fit in here. It’s the way of life, it’s quite significantly different to what I was used to. The people and the city, it all feels hollow sometimes and every now and then i catch myself yearning for what I left behind me.”

“I see. Beautiful people and their beautiful problems.”

Silence fell in the car again. Except for the voice through the radio, Well this place is never what it seems.

“You don’t have to make small talk, you know. I'm fine with silence,” she said, finally looking at him for a brief second.

“Oh I know,” he was looking right into her eyes, unruffled. “I wasn’t making small talk, I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”

------------

The bleak fluorescent tube above buzzed in solidarity as the fatigued clock on the chipped convenience store wall dragged its hands and finally managed to tick at 2 am. The attendant was leaning on the counter, trying not to fall asleep when her voice echoed in the store: “$20 on pump 2.”

“I’ll pay”, he cut in, reaching for his wallet. “Okayyy...” she replied, narrowing her eyes at his benevolence and looked around the store which was significantly emptier that other nights. She closed her eyes for a second and the memories flashed behind her lids. She used to come here frequently, around this time, with someone when everything in her world was right, just right enough for her to not to seek out falling stars every night and wish for death over and over again. When she opened her eyes a shiny pack of Parliaments caught her gaze and she quickly gestured behind the counter, “Since you’re paying, can I get a pack of those also?”

“Sure”

“I remember surviving on those alone while writing my thesis papers,” she said wistfully, “good times.”

“You went to college?”

“University actually, but yeah.”

“Good lord.”

“But I had to drop out so I couldn’t complete my Master’s in Biochemistry.”

“Why?”

“Life.”

“I flunked out my first year of college so you did way more than I did in that regard.”

“Welp, look where that got me.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What?” she scoffed.

“Anything else?” the attendant interjected, visibly tired and clearly annoyed at their conversation.

She swiftly grabbed a lighter, “Can I get this too?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“That’ll be all,” she tossed the lighter towards the attendant and continued, “You’re clearly doing way better than me in life.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“No. I meant that seriously. I’m the one who fucked up my life and that’s a fact. Say, how did you know what you wanted to do?”

“That’ll be $30”, the attendant interjected again.

“I don’t know. I started acting as a kid and it just seemed right. It’s all I've known really and I can't see myself as anything else,” he said as he passed the money to the attendant.

“I envy that.”

“I do sometimes ponder what I would have been if not an actor.”

“Wondering too much isn’t good,” she grabbed the goods and shoved them in her coat pocket, “It might make someone into me.”

She stopped right before the glass door, pulled the lighter out and flicked it on, “I’ll use it later,” she leaned in close to him with a frivolous smirk and whispered, “to burn this city down.”

He chuckled at her sudden gaiety, “I’d gladly assist.”

Pushing the door open, she continued as he followed behind her, “Did you see the way that dude rolled his eyes to you? He definitely thought you were with a blabbering hooker and to be honest, my make up probably didn’t help either. Oh well it's not like -” her voice slowly evaporated into the gloomy gas-station lights.

------------

“So beautiful,” he said with awe looking over the vast and apparently endless ocean which the full, eternal moon bathed with its silver glory.

She clutched at her coat sleeves as the chilly wind sent shivers down her body and said, “I know right? I’ve always found the sea to be peaceful during this time of the night.”

“It’s lovely, I’ve never been to this beach before.”

“It’s my favorite spot actually, I used to come here pretty often,” melancholia dripping from her voice. She paused for a little while as if going over a mental checklist and said, “let’s go sit down there,” and pointed towards a vague place in the distance.

They walked down the beach for a bit side by side, knuckles occasionally brushing against each other’s, making them want to hold hands, feel the warmth of another being. But the hesitance of the yet to be known, the uncertainty of a nameless stranger clouded their minds and prevented them from reaching out.

She stopped, sat down and gestured to him to do the same by tapping the cold sand beside her. He sat a bit too far for her liking so she huddled up closer to him saying, “You blaze right?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” she said, taking out a small bag from an inside pocket of her coat, “keep an eye out for me while I roll it.”

They sat in silence as she rolled a joint meticulously. The waves kept crashing on the shore as if fulfilling some ancient duty. Wind rustled through the empty beach. Sand glimmered sporadically under the warm light of the moon, creating a transcendental atmosphere.

He sighed and thought out loud, interrupting the intoxicating stillness of the night, “Where do we go from here?”

“Other than plotting the murder of Sam, I don’t know about me,” she replied without looking up from the task at hand, “Don’t really wanna think about it tonight. That’s why I took you along with me. I wanted someone to keep me distracted from my thoughts and I had no one to go to...then you came to apologize, like my knight in shining armor.”

He smiled wryly and said, “I see.”

“What about you? What are you gonna do about your not fitting in or what was it?”

“I don’t know either. I just miss my people. I’m not meant for here, I think.”

“So can’t you go back there? To your home I assume?”

“I can...”

“Then go. Why the fuck would you stick around if you had the option to go back?”

“Maybe.”

“Huh! I wish I had a home to go back to too.”

She could see him from the corner of her eyes, clenching his knees tight with his fingers at her words, bringing them closer to his chest. She looked up to see him staring at her with his big, beautiful, hurt-puppy eyes.

“Did that make you sad or something?” she asked, almost amused.

“Yeah...yeah it did.”

His apparent empathy for a literal stranger who also punched him not so long ago struck her as odd and oddly enticing. He looked unreal to her in the strange moonlight, as if a remote but vivid memory. She felt as though if she reached out and touched him, he’d turn to dust and drift off with the wind. Those intense eyes and his fey beauty were getting too much for her to bear so she averted her gaze towards the ocean and said, “There’s no use for your or anyone’s sadness. You see, sadness changes nothing. Unless you can start a capital R revolution tomorrow, everything will be the same. It’ll be the same day with slight variations over and over again, things will repeat and go on and on and on until one day humanity just goes poof somehow and then the universe will go on as if we never even happened. There’s no significance of our lives, there’s no point in feeling sad about anything in this set up. One must always imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“That’s quite pessimistic, isn’t it?”

“Kinda absurdist actually, but It’s hard not to be pessimistic or defensive, when you have to lead a life like mine.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, “Glamour Boy,’” she said, licking the rolling paper.

He put his hand over his chest and feigned being hurt which made her laugh; a clear, hearty laughter. The beach echoed with a faint sound of the laughter of two stray souls as he joined in.

The joint hanged from her lips, sensual and reckless like an erotic magazine model, burning bright as she took a long drawn-out drag.

“Say, do you think the water is cold?” she said, passing the joint to him.

He took in a drag, inhaling some of her used up smoke with it too, tasting her cheap but obscenely sweet fruity lip gloss at the filter tip, “Yeah...very much so”.

She huddled up even closer to feel the heat of his body as he passed the joint back to her. Taking in another drag, she leisurely put her head on his shoulder.

The sedating smoke sank into their lungs as the sand anchored them from floating off in the elating static of the enveloping darkness.

------------

“Is this it?” she said, pulling up to a posh apartment complex, something she wouldn’t be able to afford even after paying off her debts.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied absently and unbuckled his seatbelt.

She was looking ahead at the road, expecting him to get out of the car, but he sat in silence. She looked at him and saw him laid back on the seat as if being consumed by it, tracing the edge of the left air vent softly with his fingers. He sighed and said, still looking at his busy fingers: “I feel strange and fucking awful.”

“It happens sometimes after coming down a high.”

“It’ll be a pain in the arse going to bed feeling like this.”

“I know,” her eyes travelled down the flow of his posture, giving birth to an urge of some aboriginal origin in her loins, “but you don’t have to.”

He turned his head towards her slowly, lethargy clear in his slow breathing pattern, “What do you mean?”

“Push your seat back.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

He furrowed his brows, alarmed by her sudden gratuitous command. He looked at her; motionless as if not even breathing awaiting his compliance and her eyes glinted with expectancy. He pushed his seat back, as far as it could go then parted his lips to say something but before the words could get out, she virtually jumped on top then sat astride him.

A deathly stillness engrossed the car as her previous bellicose energy returned to the atmosphere, only this time rather ardent in nature. His heart, instantaneously racing, almost audible to her.

“You know,” she said taking off her top, “dopamine is a hormone and neurotransmitter that’s an important part of your brain’s reward system, and it can elevate your mood and make you feel really good.”

Eyes wide with surprise, he struggled to keep his gaze fixed on her face as she unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingertips snaked up and down his smooth chest as if caressing a sumptuous painting one is not allowed to touch. She felt his taut muscle tighten at her touch, veins kindled with a hot rush pulsing under. Burying her face in the hollow of his neck, she felt the heat of his body as she pressed her chest against his. His breathing picked up it’s pace even more at the contact with her flushed skin.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she spoke up letting her lips skim over his bare shoulder.

“Terribly,” his voice breathy as he placed his hands on her hips hesitantly, not possessively, but affectionately.

“I do too.”

“What do we do about it?”

“Maybe we don’t do anything.”

“Maybe.” he said resting his right cheek against her head, “or maybe we keep each other company.”

“But for how long?”

“However long we need to.”

A mirthless laugh rippled from her lips then through his skin. She pulled back to look him in the eyes, curious green mixed with an unfamiliar kind of sorrow, a sorrow too costly for her. “Lust and attraction shut off the prefrontal cortex of the brain, which includes rational behavior,” she said, knocking softly on his temple.

“Makes sense.”

Cupping his face, she stroked his swollen lips with her rough thumbs, making him wince in response. The purple bruise steadily forming on the side of his mouth marred his flawless complexion yet his allure only enhanced. Her thumb rubbed on the bruise with reckless abandon, his flinches testifying to that. Withdrawing her hands from his face, she left a light peck on the bruise and said, “Slap me.”

“What?”

“Slap me, come on, I'm giving you a chance to get back at me for earlier.”

“No!”

“Prude!”

“Hey! I just don’t want to hurt you, especially not as revenge or what not,” he sounded genuinely offended.

She leaned in, “But I want to get hurt, silly,” her lips ghosting over his as she whispered, “Endorphins are our body’s natural pain reducer and it so happens to increase when we engage in reward-producing activities, such as eating, working out, or having sex.” She pulled away and continued, “So hit me. Hard.” His adam’s apple bobbed up then down as he searched at her face, as if trying to find some sort of sign. His fingers dug in her hips, indicating the upcoming crude impact. Her palms laid flat against his chest as his left hand rose then crashed against her face. Her fingers curled in response as she gasped weakly, eyes shut closed but the tensity clear in the lines on her eyelids and forehead.

“Ah... that was good,” she said as if talking to herself, caressing her cheek. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring with uncertain eyes, the doubt readable in the way he bit his lips.

“Just like that, once more,” her firm voice ringed in the vehicle. His hand cruelly collided once again with her face, leaving her face warm and red.

“Good boy,” she cooed as the sharp sting eddied on her cheek and then through her whole body, easing her off some unknown yet intrinsic discomfort. Her chest pounded in sync to his as she spoke up, “Do it for me once again, won’t you?”

Pressing his teeth even deeper into his lips, he struck her once again, with as much strength as he had. A white light flashed before her eyes, her ears ringed as she sat in silence for a bit. When her vision became clear, she held his face between her palms. Leaning closer, she rested her temple against his and murmured, “Such a good boy.”

Sweat dripped down as her nose grazed up the side of his neck, she could feel him growing hard through his pants. She buried her face in his curls and breathed in. He smelt sugary, sweet to the extent of almost making her nauseous. She whispered against his ear, “You’ve got a boner...it turned you on this much to hurt me?”

“It’s, um, n-not really that part it’s the -” he stammered in embarrassment.

“Ugh men,” she cut him off and rolled her eyes playfully. “But since we’ve got a situation at hand, and you’ve been so good to me, I think you deserve some relief for yourself,” she said, tugging at his waistband. To which he responded eagerly, elevating his hips just enough so she could slip his pants off as much as possible. His head sank back into the headrest as her hands wrapped around his cock. Her hand gilded up and down his length as her other hand ran through his hair, pulling lightly. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he quivered and moaned softly as she lovingly yet mercilessly worked on him. His breath hitched sharply as she stroked the tip of his cock with her thumb, making him groan and twitch under her touch. She was about to pick up the pace when he grabbed her wrist abruptly. “Wait!” he rasped, “I wanna...feel you.”

He panted, trying to catch his breath and said, “Let’s take this inside, there might be people around.”

“Why? Are you afraid of getting photographed with a hooker by the paparazzi, Mr. Actor?"

“No”, he answered, the same hurt as earlier could be heard in his voice, the type of hurt when one is misunderstood by someone they love, “I just - I just want it to be nice.”

“Let’s not make it too nice lest you fall in love with me,” she said sternly. “Besides, you should be more concerned about getting STDs. There should be some condoms in the glove box and also tissues for later.”

He brought his face closer to hers, looked at her lips and said, “You’ve got such a mean mouth, you know that?”

“And you like it?”

“Perhaps”, he replied then kissed her, deeply. Holding her face in his head, he bit her lips which made her moan in his mouth. After running out of breath she pulled away, still tasting his saliva on her tongue as he reached behind her and rifled through the glove compartment. Having found what he wanted, he turned on the radio then returned his focus to her; she was hiking up her dress and awkwardly slipping off her panties in the short space.

Heavy bass filled the car, I wanna be your vacuum cleaner breathing in your dust, as the sky started to light up with shades of azure and tangerine. Her tongue blended with his as she took his cock in her. Their bodies pressed and flushed against each other as a steady rhythm flowed through them. Her nails scratched his nape, as he kissed her neck, nibbling at her collarbone. Her head shot back as he thrust up into her, frantic and keen. His groans muffled in her chest, her moans melting into his hair as their hips clashed against one another.

Maybe I just wanna be yours.

I wanna be yours.

------------

The sparkling rays of the breaking dawn illuminated his face as he cleaned himself off and got dressed. She marveled from the driver’s seat at the magnificence of the sight of him in afterglow. There was something in him, something innate, that made him stand out from anyone she ever came across. He was made for the screen, he was made to shine, and she wondered whether or not he’ll remember her afterwards. It was for the better if he didn’t, she thought to herself, as this was probably one of the lowest points in his life, while that night was most definitely one of the highlights of hers. The sheer dichotomy was glaring at her soul when he spoke up, bringing her attention back to the present, “I was wondering if you’d like to -”

“Look if you want my name or number, then that’s just not gonna happen,” she said with a sigh, “It’s the oxytocin flooding your brain. Increased levels of oxytocin facilitate attachment and bonding and shit so, like, don’t be fooled.”

“But it’s not that, I feel a connection between us...something I haven’t felt with anyone here before.”

He averted his eyes from her and looked out the window. His hand lingered on the door handle for a second before he stepped out of the car. Turning his back towards the car, he walked into the apartment complex, without saying anything further. Her foot pressed on the accelerator, as the car drove past the buildings. A Parliament washed out the leftover taste of him in her mouth as she rolled down the window to let the nauseously sweet scent dissipate into the cold morning air.

“It is that. Believe me, I know. There is nothing between us. Whatever connection you feel is your hormones doing bullshit things.”

“You’re just evading me”

“I’m not. I do actually know. Okay, for instance you feel really tired and sleepy right now, right?”

“Yeah”

“That’s the parasympathetic nervous system down-regulating your body and a shit load of vasopressin coursing through you”

“But that could also be because we stayed up all night and got high and just had sex”

“Why don’t you understand? It’s all chemicals, everything! There is nothing called love and whatever the fuck people feel is just their chemicals doing somersaults. There is nothing between us, we don’t know each other. There can be nothing either, look at the circumstances. People like you shouldn’t have to do anything with people like me unless it requires a monetary transaction.”

“But i can help, with whatever you’re dealing with”, he said reaching to place his hand over hers, “we can help each other”

“and what exactly do you think i’m dealing with?, she asked, withdrawing her hand, eyes narrowed at him.

“I don’t know yet”

“Exactly. You don’t know anything. I’m not some sad little girl who went to college then got depressed but in a sexy way so maybe she did drugs or whatever and dropped out and now strips for fucking aesthetic reasons probably. No honey, I’m involved with shit that can drag you down faster than a meth withdrawal and my life is a living testimony of that, take my word for it. So, go get some rest. Sleep out your saviour complex and live out your promising life when you wake up.”

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