#drinking alcohol effects liver

[paeinovis]

I rbd a post abt it a while ago but it is Truly annoying that every result about mixing xyz thing with abc thing (medication, alcohol, drugs) is just "DON'T NO MATTER WHAT" every time as if that's helpful at all and doesn't diminish how seriously people take that warning when there's something you Actually shouldn't mix. And then the next ten links immediately assume you're an addict like ok or you could give me useful information

[ereh-emanresu-tresni]

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[thejackofalltrades42069]

Chronic alcohol use (its consequences).

I’ll start by defining what chronic alcohol consumption is, then list the negative effects. I won’t get too much into detail in this post to avoid giving confusing information.

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The chronic consumption of alcohol isn’t necessarily being an alcoholic, being an alcoholic is much worse. What consuming alcohol chronically means is drinking about 4 or more drinks a week, it could mean taking 4 drinks 1 day of the week, it could mean taking 1 drink 4 days of the week. Depending on the drink, your weight, if you ate something right before drinking, your genetics, etc, even 2-3 drinks a week could mean chronic drinking, and it has negative consequences.

Ethanol is the alcohol we can drink, it could be defined like a poison we can tolerate, but that will hurt us, it can kill people if they drink enough in one day or overtime.

Many people are used to drink a lot more than 4 drinks a week, the suggestion would be to drink less, whatever the case, it’s only negative results from drinking, and the more you drink, it will be worse. What I’m trying to do personally is to cut down drinking to 2 drinks a week or less, especially after learning all this information that’s unknown to many people and that many times is disregarded.

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Here's the list of some consequences for chronic consumption with a small explanation:

-Dehydration. Alcohol will purge your gut, both liquids and solids will come out faster than they usually do, this will cause dehydration. The best way to recover is to drink electrolytes right after drinking alcohol.

-Headaches. Being hungover means you’ll get a headache for different reasons like dehydration and because your whole body took a beating when drinking alcohol.

-Stress and anxiety increase. Whenever alcohol enters our system, we have a “stress response”, our body releases epinephrine (adrenaline), cortisol, dopamine, etc. The more someone drinks, the more stress responses their body will have. Alcohol also means your sleep will not be as good as it could be, not sleeping well enough means more stress.

-Worse sleep. It’s been long studied and proven that even if you only have 1 drink (especially in the evening or later), your sleep cycle will be interrupted multiple times at night, the brain activity is different when we have alcohol in our system, and that will lead to have a sleep that is not as recovering as it would usually be (even if you feel like you had a more deep sleep, that’s not the case really). Adding to this the stress that drinking creates, more stress also affects sleep.

-Damages to your gut microbiome. Alcohol will kill many bacteria in your gut, good and bad, that worsens the condition of your gut microbiome or gut flora. It will also irritate your gut, it can cause pain and discomfort the next day, it can lead to gastritis or even ulcers overtime.

-Liver damage. Your liver must work harder than usual to convert ethanol into something else you can digest, if you drink enough overtime, you can get a liver disease like cirrhosis. Here take into consideration many anti-inflammatory medicines also make your liver take a beating/ work a lot harder, the consumption of alcohol or the combination of alcohol and some medicines can be very bad for your liver overtime.

-Testosterone decrease, increase in estrogen. This happens with chronic use, some studies suggest you get higher testosterone if you drink a little, but not the case with chronic drinking. These unbalances and decrease in testosterone aren’t good for anyone.

-During pregnancy, it damages the fetus development. This is self-explanatory, don’t drink anything at all if you’re pregnant, it will hurt the development of the body and brain of the baby.

-Becoming more impulsive. Alcohol affects how parts of the brain interact with each other; it specifically makes your frontal lobe thinner (lower density of gray matter in the frontal lobe). The frontal lobe has many functions, such as helping us control our impulses, also tied to movement, speech, etc. The reason many people who drink overtime become more impulsive is because the alcohol is affecting the brain negatively, this together with making the person who drinks chronically stressed overtime, no wonder why people become so angry and impulsive.

-Increased chances of getting cancer. This sounds probably like the worst; our body usually spends a lot of time healing/ repairing different parts of our body, our immune system usually protects us from getting cancer by killing cancer cells. When we drink alcohol, a lot of the repairing stuff going on in our bodies is interrupted, the more someone drinks, the more risk that person will have getting cancer. There’s very clear evidence about this.

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There are some more negative consequences, the list could go on, but I think this is enough for this post. I'd say that any "positive effects" from drinking alcohol that people can come up with are completely crushed by the negative consequences. Anyone can enjoy 1 drink a week or maybe 2, as long as it's not chronic consumption of alcohol.

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Here’s some bibliography:

A few short videos about this:

[taliax-second-dumpster]

Additional note that NSAIDs shouldn't be taken if you have kidney damage (and they can cause kidney damage if used in excess) but other than that this post is pretty comprehensive. But of course you can always check with a pharmacist and read the backs of the bottles

Every time I see another ibuprofen post on this site I'm like STOP

STOP

Stop.

Take that after a meal. Take it with a big glass of water. Don't take it on an empty stomach EVER. Don't take it with alcohol. You will destroy your stomach. You will end up with an ulcer. You will vomit blood. I'm not exaggerating.

Yes, you. Yes, it will happen to cute little you. With your cute little bottle of miracles. Ibuprofen really does that to your body.

Love, an adult person over 35 who can't take NSAIDs anymore

[ikilledamanforthisurl]

the virgin grey skin Majima vs the chad yellow scleras Minami

[veil-village]

Why is my AST high and ALT low lol, first blood test in ages and the numbers indicate alcoholic liver disease + a super low BUN score.

And I'm anemic.

At least my chloresterol is fine tho lol.

[lilleluv]

Beer for Diabetes – Can Diabetic Patients Drink Beer?

Beer has long been a staple drink in many cultures, but for those with diabetes, the question of whether they can enjoy a cold brew has been a subject of much debate. If you’re a diabetic, you may be wondering if beer is off limits or if you can have it in moderation. In this article, we’ll explore the relationship between beer and diabetes and help you make an informed decision. First, let’s…

[mangoku]

I’m not allergic but a secret forth thing!

[supernova41st]

Hiiii can you do some tf2 x drunk/sleepy reader? I need sniper comfort rn. You write so well, I wish I could devour it.

Roses are red, I’m going to bed 🌘

Tf2 x Sleepy!Reader

A/n: this request is pretty yum, also I CANNOT have 3 day weekends. I literally just ruined my sleep schedule on those three days I’m dead 😵

Warnings: Alcoholism

Divider by Cat Kitsune on Tumblr

Spy

Will not hesitate to force you to wake up or go to bed, he can’t a snoozy hoe on his team

If you have messy bed hair he’s always prepared to brush it. He firmly believes that when coming to work you should look your best.

“Ow! Stop you’re gonna pull it out!!”

“Oh enough whining, you’re fine.”

Proceeds to pull a whole knot you had in that bird nest you call hair

Showing up in your pajama pants? Not on his watch. He’s always bringing a spare of your uniform

“Here, put this on”

“Cmon spy I’m really tired, can I just skip this one?”

“No, you said that last time and ended up sleeping in the middle of battle because you ‘felt too comfortable’.”

He’ll slap you awake, don’t doubt him, he will.

He mostly does it whenever he’s giving out one of his little speeches, he can’t stand it when people don’t listen to him

“If we don’t do this mission right, we might as well kill ourselves now.”

snore

“sigh I’ve had enough of this girl/boy.”

You’d be lurking around the kitchen getting your midnight snack, then he just suddenly pops out of nowhere scaring the shit out of you

Will try to offer you an espresso to wake you up or get you sober but you didn’t enjoy it

Sniper

You sleepy fucks.

Ok but he’s always taking care of you, he doesn’t have much going on in his little world so he’s always able to cut some time to bring you to bed

“Cmon mate, let’s go”

“Nooo, just one more shot”

“There are no more shots, you finished the bloody bottle.”

He tried giving you coffee but you puked in his van because this motherfucker served you BLACK coffee

“I’m so sorry Snipez! I’ll make sure to scrub it clean so that it doesn’t smell”

“No worries lad, it’s on me for draggin’ ya into me van”

Oof, and here you were ready to get the daylights knocked out of you for making his van smell like sour liquor

Of course he forgave you mostly because he loves you, but he also relates to you on the sleepy note

If you guys even sit next to each other then one of you guys are gonna sleep on the others shoulder

You better be a heavy sleeper tho, his snores are LOUDD

If you guys sleep in the base soldier wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming how the enemy team is shooting missiles at the base

However it’s a rare occasion since for the most part he lets you sleep with him in his van

even if it can barely fit him

Whenever you pass out with your head laying on a surface, he’d put his hat on your head because he thinks it’s cute

“Heh, sleep well love.”

Medic

Don’t pass out around him, just don’t

Long story short Demoman passed out in his presence once and stole the Scottish guys liver to test the effects his experiments would have on you and demo since you guys drink a lot

He’s so surprised how you have so much energy on the field and immediately pass out as before you can even change out your uniform

“BRING IT ON YOU BLUEBERRY BITCHES”

You’d pass out in the middle of battle

He offered to do some experiments on you to see how he can give you more energy to stay awake but you declined because, duh.

Once you just took your daily hour long nap and the first think you saw when waking up was a pair of brown eyes staring at you

“Ah, you’re awake. Vell my job here is done.”

“Medic please don’t tell me you did some shit to me.”

“Vat? Nonsense!! I just watched you sleep for a bit.”

“..I think I’d rather have you do the first option”

[ooffmlsorry]

Hold Me Closer

Law x reader

2.4k words, slow burn for a tumblr post i guess??

A/N: Law is such a touch-starved disaster in this god bless him. Don't worry...this is my last drunk post. I don't wanna accidentally promote alcoholism on this good Christian hellsite I just need to write my fav blorbo drunk and in love once and then I'm good.

CW: drinking, drunk behavior

"You know, for as smart as Law is you really can manipulate him into just about anything," Nami says. "He's no better than Luffy, as soon as you tell him he can't do something he has to go and try it."

"Huh?" You're drunk, and by the look of the Straw Hat's navigator significantly more so than her. (What are the Straw Hats' livers made out of? Steel?)

You follow your gaze to your captain, Trafalgar Law, and feel a giddy bubble of laughter make its way through you. "I'm just happy to see him cut loose for once," you say. From the looks of it he might actually be tipsy. Law’s cheeks are flushed a little and he’s talking animatedly about something. The shine in his eyes captivate you. 

Yeah, you're definitely feeling the effects if you're openly giggling at the sight of him.

Despite your last thought you take another sip of your drink. It stopped tasting sweet and sharp a while ago and is starting to taste more and more like I should be next to him.

"He's so beautiful when he's happy," you mutter.

"What?!" Nami presses her hand flush to her chest and turns to look at you. A mischievous grin passes over her tipsy face, "beautiful, huh?" She pokes your side playfully and giggles. "What's that supposed to mean?”

"Nothing!" You flinch away from her and drain your drink to quench your suddenly dry mouth. "You like seeing Luffy happy! It's the same thing!"

She laughs so loud and so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. "Oh yeah! Sure! But have you ever heard me call Luffy beautiful?"

At that exact moment you watch Luffy snort with laughter and shoot beer out of his nose. 

"Point taken.”

“He’s not my type, that’s for sure,” Nami says.

“No, your type is Alabastan princesses,” you tease back. 

“Hey!” Her ears pink a little more. “It’s not…” she stammers. “You know what! You’re getting me my next drink just for that!” She pushes her empty mug towards you. “Chop! Chop, Y/N! I’m thirsty!” 

You roll your eyes. It’s true all the Straw Hats are bossy in one way or another, no wonder they exhaust Law. You grab her mug and yours and head to the bar for another round.

Your eyes move back to where you last saw Law talking with someone, except he wasn’t there anymore. Where did he go? The room’s crowded with people talking and laughing, yelling and singing. Between the alcohol and another raucous round of Binx’s Sake sung across the banquet, it’s hard to focus. Did he leave already? Disappointment washed over you, but you weren’t surprised. That would be your captain, Trafalgar Law, ever restrained. 

You sighed. Hopefully he didn’t go back to the ship to get more work done. You fill up yours and Nami’s cup and start to head back to your seat. 

“You’re drinking poison, you know that Y/N-ya?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the hot breath against the shell of your ear. Then, you process what was said to you. Poison? Instinctively you reach for a weapon, and then remember you left it behind. 

“What? Law—” 

Barely have room to turn around, he’s standing so close to you. The flush in cheeks is darker than you realized and his dark eyes have lost some of their sharpness. A mischievous smirk plays upon his lips. “And you tell me I need to lighten up?” You’re not met with the level of seriousness you normally expect from your captain. “This,” he holds his mug up, only nearly sloshing its contents, “is poison. It’s the ethanol. That’s what slows you down, it’s not all that different from slowly poisoning yourself.” He puts the cup up to his lips and tips it back. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the muscles of his neck visible to you until they disappear into his collar bones. You wish you could run your fingers down the column of his throat and watch goosebumps rise in your wake. If he would even have anyone.

It must be the drinks. That’s the only reason you can think of to explain why you want to place your hand there and feel his skin. To touch him. 

“Neither of us should be drinking this, Y/N-ya,” he says. There’s no sterness in his tone like he would if he was lecturing you, in fact, you realize your captain’s likely joking with you…in his own way. 

“Well, sometimes you have to die a little to live a little.” You wink at him. 

Law’s lips part a little and his eyes widen. “I–You–” He looks away from you and takes another sip. “That’s your justification? Ridiculous.”

“It sure is!” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you take a small step closer, deciding to tease him a little. After all, he started it first by sneaking up on you, “what’s yours?”   

Law stares at you—speechless. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” You don’t have time to hide your laughter except behind your hand. “You don’t need to justify yourself, Law. I’m just happy you’re here!” 

Warmth spreads across your captain’s face. It travels up to the tips of his ears which look crimson next to his spotted white hat and down his chest to the heart tattoo that rests there. For a moment you fixate on his skin, the ink swirling across it, the blood pumping underneath, a sign that he’s alive and solid, standing in front of you. Curiosity rears its untameable head, how can you know he’s solid if you’ve never touched him? A missing piece of Law sits in front of you and you want. 

“Just don’t drink too much,” he says quickly and side steps to walk around you. 

You watch him go, shaking your head with a smile. “I would say, hope he does the same, but it’d be funny if he didn’t.” 

“Y/N!!” Nami calls. “Where’s my drink!?”

“Coming!” 

Later…

Oh yeah, you’ve done it now. Somewhere between fruitlessly trying to keep up with Nami, drowning your thoughts of Law, and enjoying the party, you’re certain you’ve overdone it…and you’ve only accomplished the latter. 

“That’s enough or I’m gonna die,” you stand up and your head swims. You use the chair you were sitting in to stablize yourself. 

“Boo!” Shachi says weakly. Although his head is resting on the table, barely awake.

“Yeah, Boo!” Nami repeats.“Who’s gonna watch me drain your crew of all their money?!” 

 You shrug,“Bepo will.”

The first mate of the Heart Pirates was laid out on the floor asleep. 

“Any chance you know where Law is?” 

“Last I saw him, he went outside,” Penguin says. He grins and laughs a little before slipping out of his chair with a thud.

Safe to say the Heart Pirates were a crew of light weights. 

You stumble toward the door that leads out to the balcony. Outside the night air is cold enough to send a shiver through you, but Penguin didn’t send you out there for nothing. Law is sitting with his legs between the balcony bars, his head leaning on another. In the light of paper lanterns you saw his hand moving in quick small movements. Next to him sat an empty bottle of umeshu.

“Either you’re jacking off out here or you’re working. Only one of those things would be disappointing to me,” you say. In the back of your mind you know you’d never say something like that out loud but alcohol makes your lips loose. 

The sound Law makes is less than controlled as he jerks a book shut and sits on it. “NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN!”  

You start laughing and fall down next to him unceremoniously, nearly landing flat on your back. “I’m sorry, captain! I couldn’t–I couldn’t help myself!” you howl with laughter. “Please! I didn’t–the joke was just right there!” 

You hear Law grumble-slur something, but he’s either too drunk or too tired to get up and leave you because he stays where he is. 

“I mean it,” you say, catching your breath. “I am sorry. I just came out here to tell you I think the party’s dying down. You can come inside if you want to. It’s only supposed to get colder tonight.” 

“I will when I’m ready,” Law slurs. 

“As always,” you sigh heavily. “I’ve learned to stop expecting you to do something just because I think it’s a good idea

That wins you a brief smile from your captain, a rarity, surely brought out of him by the drink alone. “You…you can stay,” he says quietly. “If you’d like to. I don’t care either way. Really, I don’t. ” 

Normally, you’d at least begin to believe him, but you know your captain…and he’s already draped half of his long blue coat around you. The scent cologne and antiseptic envelope you. 

“You probably should’ve said that before you put your coat around me, Law.” 

He tenses for a moment. The brim of his hat hides his eyes. “Forgive me, Y/N-ya I’m being ridiculous,” he mumbles.

So shy! 

“I was going to stay anyway,” you say, before he can pull away. “And thank you, I’m probably chillier than I know.” 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while connected only by this moment and Law’s coat draped over both of you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his arm, his side, his thigh, all nearly touching you. 

“Did you have a good time?” 

“As long as I don’t remember any of this tomorrow, you can tell me I did.” 

“Good!” You chirp. “I’ll take it!” 

Law picks up the bottle and takes a long pull. “Did you?” 

“Yup! It’s the first party I’ve been to in a long time. Actually, I haven’t been to any, but that’s another story from before…well, everything.” 

Law snorts, but he doesn’t turn back to leaning his head on the guard bars, instead he stares at you with an expression close to contentment. “Good,” he says. 

Your faces stay a few inches from each other. There’s an eyelash resting on his cheek, just out of your reach and before you can think you gently cup your captain’s face and swipe the eyelash away. 

In an instant he’s solid. Smooth skin and bone rest just below your fingertips. And somehow, despite the sharp angles of Law’s face all you feel is softness and warmth against your skin. To your surprise he doesn’t move away. 

“I’m sorry, you just had an eyelash…” You go to pull your hand back and Law catches your wrist in a grip that’s nearly too tight.

His eyes flutter as he rests his face in your hand. “It feels so nice,” he says. He doesn’t stop you when you slide your fingers up his sideburns into the silky spikes of his hair. You remove his hat and place it beside him. 

Contact between you and Law has been minimal, even after you explained your devil fruit only works on inanimate objects. You think he’s been especially cautious around you not to touch you–even if by accident. Touch doesn’t come easy to you, unconsciously building a wall between yourself and others, with Law being the same that wall felt doubly thick. Only to come crashing down over drinks and an errant eyelash. Touching Law plugs a hole dug out of both want and curiosity that you’ve been ignoring.

Law leans into you as if being pulled down by magnetism until he’s almost on top of you. Your thumb settles behind his ear along the nape of his neck and rubs back and forth slowly. 

You look down at him, his eyes shut and lips barely parted. If it weren’t for the fingers working up the back of your shirt, you’d think he was asleep. Law’s hand stops at the small of your back, resting there like a warm patch. It feels so utterly right having the captain of the Heart Pirates in your arms, as if holding Law was one of the many things they were made for. 

Honesty takes over you. “I think I like being close to you, Law. It feels…warm…good,” you speak softly. If you could be like this all the time you wouldn’t complain. You receive a throaty rumble in response, not unlike a purring animal. “You must be drunk,” you chuckle.

“Extremely.” 

You’re not sure if you feel like you’re spinning from all the alcohol or because of this moment with Law. Eventually you begin to hum softly, and sleep begins to take hold of you. 

“Y/N-ya,” you hear Law say groggily. 

You hum a sound in response to show you’re still awake to listen to him. Law’s arms tighten around you and you understand instantly what he won’t let himself say. Against both your better judgment you drift off to sleep together on the balcony.  

The Next Morning…

Law awakens to dawn’s blinding sun and a pounding headache. His mouth feels cottony and his stomach roils in a way that doesn’t immediately threaten vomit but could. The second thing he takes in is that he’s outside; he never made it to his bed or any bed for that matter. And third, you. 

You’re still asleep, your chin nearly touching your chest and soft snore escaping you with every exhale. You don’t stir as he pulls himself away from you. The realization that he slept on you rocks through him. The sun’s barely risen and his heart’s already racing.

What did I do? 

He rubs at his eyes and scrubs a hand through his hair. Where’s my hat? He quickly finds it and pulls the brim down low enough to block the sun. 

Law takes off his jacket and covers you with it, only when he’s wrapped it around your shoulders do you grumble and smack your lips sleepily. “Don’t worry, Law. All’s good, had fun,” you mumble. 

He freezes. Out of everything he thought you would say, reassuring him didn’t cross his mind. 

Your eyes crack open just enough to look at his stunned face. “Yesterday’s already forgotten.” Loose limbed, you make a sealed lips gesture as if to say your secret's safe with me. 

Law stands and grabs his journal. He takes one more glance at you and feels butterflies flutter from his stomach up to his chest. That's the second time he's felt safe around you, he notes. It's information he chooses to ignore.

[santobambis]

ALCOHOL-FREE — G. Satoru

blurb — i'm alcohol free but you make me drunk. in which satoru just can't get enough of you, and it makes you both heady.

pairing — gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings — gojo is sort of his own warning, oral (fem), making out, established relationship, pwp, reader doesn't drink alcohol for the sake of this story (look after your livers everyone!). reader is referred to as 'my girl'

word count — 1.5k!

note — because twice's comeback got announced. also this is my first smut piece, please be kind <3

The room was thick with the scent of sweet cedar, the low light casting a warm glow that danced over the two of you. Gojo's large hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as his lips pressed against yours, slow, intoxicating and so maddening. Each kiss of his deepened, such heat and urgency as he drew you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

'God, you’re so tempting,' he murmured against your mouth, his skin hot against your hands. The way he looked at you — the jewel-tone of his eyes almost smouldering — made your heart race, igniting a fire deep within that had you shifting your legs uncomfortably.

You giggled softly, feeling bold and reckless, 'And you’re not helping, 'Toru.'

His lips curled into a smirk, and he captured your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging it gently before releasing it, and you taste sweet flecks on his tongue. 'Maybe I want to get you drunk on me,' he teased, his voice low, deeper as it would get when he was wanting.

You tried to snicker, in some attempt to pretend that his words had less of the effect he so desired, and were more humorous, but the dampness between your legs spoke volumes otherwise.

'Alcohol-free, remember? Some of us didn't stumble out of a bar, singing sea-shanties last week, entirely off our rockers,' you shot back, though your voice tremoured, such easy betrayal from your own body.

'And here I was thinking that Nanami was going to keep that part a secret,' Gojo grumbled, but he tangled his fingers over the nape of your neck, 'but I can still make you feel high,' Gojo challenged, his hands trailing down your sides, warm fingers skimming over your waist until they found the hem of your shirt.

With a swift motion, he lifted it, exposing your skin to the cool air, and you gasped as the chill autumn night hit your bare flesh.

You gasped, but he silenced you with another deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, coaxing you to open up. You melted into him, your hands tangling in his white hair, pulling him closer as you lost yourself in the taste of him — rich, sweet, and utterly addictive.

As the kiss deepened, his hands roamed further, fingers brushing against the creamy lace of your panties, teasingly close yet maddeningly far away. You could feel the heat building, desperation creeping in as he continued to explore, his touch igniting every nerve ending in your body.

'Let me,' he whispered, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, and you felt your resolve melting away.

'Please, oh, Satoru!' you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, as his teeth snuck into the soft skin over your collarbones.

With a primal growl, he swept you off your feet, carrying you to the plush couch, where he laid you down gently. Gojo knelt before you, his gaze locked onto yours, a wicked grin spreading across his face. 'You don’t know what you’re asking for.'

'Then show me,' you challenged, your heart racing with anticipation.

Gojo's slender fingers slid beneath the waistband of your panties, teasingly slow. 'You’re gonna regret this,' he said, but the rough heat in his voice told you he wanted it just as much.

As he pulled your panties down, he leaned in, his hot breath sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, even though he had barely touched you.

'You’re so beautiful, my love,' he murmured, his tongue flicking out to taste you before he dove in, his mouth enveloping you with an eagerness that made your entire body tremble.

You responded with a soft whimper, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer to the apex of your thighs.

'More,' you urged, your voice barely above a whisper. 'Please, 'Toru.' You could barely gasp out his name.

With a sly smirk, your lover pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the cerulean of his gaze darkened. 'More, huh? You really think you can handle it? My girl's getting brave now?'

His fingers brushing against your slick folds. 'So wet for me already,' he murmured, his breath warm against your skin and it left you shaking.

With that, Gojo leaned in, his mouth finally connecting with you, once more. The warmth of his tongue sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you gasped, arching your back as he expertly licked and sucked, drawing soft moans from your lips.

'Just like that,' you encouraged, your fingers clawing at the fabric around you. Every flick of his tongue sent you higher, the world around you fading until it was just the two of you, lost in this intoxicating moment.

Gojo's hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he devoured you, his eyes locked onto yours, watching the pleasure bloom on your face. 'You really do get me drunk,' he murmured between licks, and the way he said it made you smile through the haze of lust.

His mouth was a relentless wave, each flick of his tongue sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his breath hitched every time he tasted you deeper, the way that your glittering slick coating the lower half of his face.

'Ah, Satoru!,' you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer, and closer.

'Just like that,' he encouraged, his voice a low growl that vibrated against your sensitive skin, and puffy cunt. He pulled back just enough to catch your gaze, a wicked grin spreading across his face, 'Tell me how good it feels.”

Your response was a breathless whimper, the words lodged in your throat as his mouth resumed its delicious torment. Every stroke of his tongue felt like a shot of pure ecstasy, intoxicating and heady. 'I —oh my god, 'Toru!,' you managed, your back arching instinctively, desperate for more.

He chuckled into your dripping core, a dark, sultry sound that sent another wave of heat pooling in your abdomen, ready to snap and release. Gojo's hands tightened around your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as he feasted on you, showing no signs of slowing down.

You felt the familiar pressure building, coiling tight within you, and you instinctively lifted your hips to meet his mouth. 'I’m so close,' you breathed, your voice trembling with urgency.

'Good,' he lowly purred, his eyes glinting with mischief. 'I want to make you come apart for me.'

With that, he focused on your most sensitive spot, his tongue swirling around your swollen bud in a rhythm that drove you absolutely nuts.

The world around you faded, leaving only the sensations he was igniting within you. You were floating, lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, every lick and kiss pulling you deeper into bliss.

'Satoru, please,' you begged, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer, urging him on.

'Please what?' he teased, pulling back just enough to let you catch your breath, his lips glistening with your gloss.

'Don’t stop. I need…I need to feel you.'

He smirked, a devilish glint in his eye, before diving back in with renewed fervor. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way he savored every moment, every taste. His determination only heightened your arousal, pushing you closer to the edge.

“C’mon, let go for me,” he murmured, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves straight to your core. You could barely form words, the pressure tightening with each flick of his tongue. “That’s it, just let it happen.”

With a final, exquisite stroke, the coil snapped, and pleasure surged through you, washing over you like a tidal wave. You gasped, your body trembling as you surrendered to the overwhelming bliss, your fingers clutching at him as the world exploded in colour, in shades of shimmering white snow and vibrant blues that painted the sky.

Gojo didn’t stop; he continued to lick and tease through your climax, drawing out every last shred of pleasure. You whimpered, caught between the ecstasy and the sensitivity, the sensation almost too much to bear.

As your lover finally drew back, his breath mingling with yours, you could see the satisfaction etched across his handsome features. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, the remnants of your shared pleasure glistening on his skin, and you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose. 'You’re addictive, you know that?' he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, amused at your expression. You weakly chuckled, still riding the waves of bliss that washed over you, feeling both exhilarated and utterly spent.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, savouring the closeness. 'Maybe I should keep you around, then,' you teased, your fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw.

Gojo's eyes sparkled with mischief as he pulled you in closer, his warmth enveloping you like a soft blanket. 'Only if you promise to keep getting me drunk.'

[mariacallous]

A little bit of alcohol was once thought to be good for you. However, as scientific research advances, we’re gaining a clearer picture of alcohol’s effect on health—especially regarding cancer.

The complex relationship between alcohol and cancer was recently highlighted in a new report from the American Association for Cancer Research. The report’s findings are eye-opening.

The authors of the report estimate that 40 percent of all cancer cases are associated with “modifiable risk factors”—in other words, things we can change ourselves. Alcohol consumption being prominent among them.

Six types of cancer are linked to alcohol consumption: head and neck cancers, esophageal cancer, liver cancer, breast cancer, colorectal cancer, and stomach cancer.

The statistics are sobering. In 2019, more than one in 20 cancer diagnoses in the West were attributed to alcohol consumption, and this is increasing with time. This figure challenges the widespread perception of alcohol as a harmless social lubricant and builds on several well-conducted studies linking alcohol consumption to cancer risk.

But this isn’t just about the present—it’s also about the future. The report highlights a concerning trend: rising rates of certain cancers among younger adults. It’s a plot twist that researchers like me are still trying to understand, but alcohol consumption is emerging as a potential frontrunner in the list of causes.

Of particular concern is the rising incidence of early-onset colorectal cancer among adults under 50. The report notes a 1.9 percent annual increase between 2011 and 2019.

While the exact causes of this trend are still being investigated, research consistently shows a link between frequent and regular drinking in early and mid-adulthood and a higher risk of colon and rectal cancers later in life. But it’s also important to realize this story isn’t a tragedy.

It’s more of a cautionary tale with the potential for a hopeful ending. Unlike many risk factors for cancer, alcohol consumption is one we can control. Reducing or eliminating alcohol intake can lower the risk, offering a form of empowerment in the face of an often unpredictable disease.

The relationship between alcohol and cancer risk generally follows a dose-response pattern, meaning simply that higher levels of consumption are associated with greater risk. Even light to moderate drinking has been linked to increased risk for some cancers, particularly breast cancer.

Yet it’s crucial to remember that while alcohol increases cancer risk, it doesn’t mean everyone who drinks will develop cancer. Many factors contribute to cancer development.

Damages DNA

The story doesn’t end with these numbers. It extends to the very cells of our bodies, where alcohol’s journey begins. When we drink, our bodies break down alcohol into acetaldehyde, a substance that can damage our DNA, the blueprint of our cells. This means that alcohol can potentially rewrite our DNA and create changes called mutations, which in turn can cause cancer.

The tale grows more complex when we consider the various ways alcohol interacts with our bodies. It can impair nutrient and vitamin absorption, alter hormone levels, and even make it easier for harmful chemicals to penetrate cells in the mouth and throat. It can affect the bacteria in our guts, the so-called microbiome, that we live with and is important for our health and well-being.

Alcohol consumption is also linked to other aspects of our own health and lifestyle and it’s important not just to consider this alone. Tobacco use and smoking, for instance, can significantly amplify the cancer risks associated with alcohol. Genetic factors play a role too, with certain variations affecting how our bodies metabolize (break down) alcohol.

Physical inactivity and obesity, often associated with heavy drinking, also separately increase cancer risks but on top of alcohol makes this much worse. Despite this, misconceptions persist. The type of alcoholic beverage, be it beer, wine, or spirits, doesn’t significantly alter the cancer risk. It’s the ethanol (the chemical name for alcohol) itself that’s carcinogenic (cancer-causing).

And while some studies have suggested that red wine might have protective effects against certain diseases, there’s no clear evidence that it helps prevent cancer.

The potential risks of alcohol consumption probably outweigh any potential benefits. The takeaway is not that we should never enjoy a glass of wine or a beer with friends. Rather, it’s about being aware of the potential risks and making choices that align with our health goals. It’s about moderation, mindfulness, and informed decisionmaking.

Alcohol has lots of effects not just in terms of causing cancer. A recent large study of more than 135,000 older drinkers in the UK has shown that the more people drink, the higher the risk of death from any cause.

These and similar findings underscore the importance of public awareness and education about the potential risks associated with alcohol consumption. As our understanding of the alcohol-cancer link grows, it becomes increasingly clear that what many consider a harmless indulgence may have more significant health implications than previously thought.

Unfortunately, not many people appear to be aware of these risks. In the US, around half of people don’t know that alcohol increases the risk of cancer. Clearly, a lot of work needs to be done to overcome this lack of awareness.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

I feel like not enough people know or understand that blacking out drinking meets the criteria of a mild brain injury. Or that withdrawal from long term heavy alcohol use is actually more dangerous than withdrawal from long term heavy heroin use. Two-bit Mathews may be a jokester but he's actually such a tragic character in that his alocholism truly does control him, and it's clear from even Ponyboy's narration that he doesn't know or care the extent to which it is affecting his life. Like. He isn't my favourite character but I wish his addiction issues were explored a bit more, both as a parallel to Ponyboy's own issues with substance abuse, but also because they're too often brushed off or made out to kind of be not a big deal, but alcoholism and the long term effects of alcohol use go beyond just liver problems and Two-bit is a character who is very clearly set up in a way that it isn't hard to imagine how the rest of his life would go given his problems with alcohol. i'm having a hard time saying this how I want to, but yeah.

[pierrotdoesnteat]

FIVE STAGES OF FASTING:

- the process of fasting begins about 8 hours after your last meal, and has five different stages each with different benefits. I am by no means an expert, and am using various sources to piece this together; with that being said, if I get something wrong please feel free to correct me.

STAGE ONE:

- 8-12 hours after last meal. - blood sugar/glucose levels begins to dip; you may experience hunger, fatigue, food cravings, and trouble concentrating. - at around 12 hours, blood sugar levels begin to stabilize as your body starts tapping into stored glycogen. - also around 12 hours, your body begins to enter early stages of ketosis meaning your body isn't relying on carbohydrates for fuel and instead begins to burn stored fat. - short-term fasting may also lower blood pressure and increase insulin sensitivity.

STAGE TWO:

- 12-18 hours after last meal. - by now, your body should be fully in ketosis. your liver should begin converting stored fat into ketone bodies; these provide energy to your heart, brain, and muscles. - ketones suppress your appetite; this stage of fasting decreases ghrelin, the hormone that makes you want to eat a lot of food and stabilizes insulin levels which helps to reduce cravings. - you may notice an increase in mental clarity in this stage due to a boost in brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF).

STAGE THREE:

- 24 hours after last meal. - this stage is referred to as autophagy, or "self-eating." this stage is when your body begins recycling old or damaged cells and reducing inflammation; this can provide an anti-aging effect.

STAGE FOUR:

- 36-48 hours after last meal. - 48-hour fasting can increase human growth hormone (HGH) secretion by up to 400%. HGH increases muscle mass, stimulates faster muscle repair, and can speed up the healing process for wounds and more serious injuries. - this stage is no longer considered intermittent fasting.

STAGE FIVE:

- 72+ hours after last meal. - this stage of fasting should not be taken lightly; if fasting for several days, make sure you drink plenty of water, get plenty of electrolytes such as sodium, magnesium, and potassium. - by now, you should be in a deep state of ketosis and autophagy should be in full effect. - during this stage, your liver significantly reduces the production of a hormone called IGF-1, triggering stem cell production. - a study from 2014 found that prolonged fasts between 48-120 hours activate pathways that induce stem cell production, leading to cellular toxin resistance, immune system regulation, and protection against cellular damage caused by chemotherapy.

FASTING TIPS:

- regardless of the length of fast, stay hydrated. - keep physical activity to a minimum, or only do light exercises. walking, stretching/yoga, and meditating are great options during this time. - do not break your fast with large amounts of food, or processed foods. easily digestible natural foods, like bone broth, chicken, and green vegetables are your best option. avoid things like dairy, alcohol, and foods high in lectin like baked goods for the first couple days after your fast ends. - when breaking your fast, eat slowly and hydrate before eating. the less junk food your body is used to, the easier it is. - adding probiotics into your diet can make breaking a fast easier; your body needs these either way.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

the counterpart

chapter 4 — the day after you stole my heart

rating: explicit. the smut chapter is here. i’m done edging ya’ll. or am i?…

word count: 5,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of y/n, as usual)

cw: smoking, some mild cussing. now to the real shit: did you know you can play chess and fuck simultaneously? well now you know. everybody say thank you sober. brief oral, (fem receiving), unprotected sex. poorly proof-read, i’ll deal with that a bit later.

part 5 —

Every chess player had a favourite vice. That is a proverbial axiom, a mandatory requirement to pursuing a chess career: if one doesn’t have a murderous little something to kill him slowly, but surely — then they shall forever be declared an amateur, a poser, a pathetic excuse of a genius. 

Blackburne loved a good drink. He would chug that scotch down like a thirsty man, but it didn’t stop him from becoming the greatest of his time — he mastered the art of combining poison with flawless skill. Tal, on the other hand, held onto his liquor crutch a bit too tight — it didn’t blunt his sharp mind, yet still made people wonder how he‘d managed not to drink himself into a much earlier grave. Generational differences or the infamous Eastern European relationship with alcohol? The biographers weren’t exactly sure, but one fact still remains a tragic reality: once you touch the piece professionally — you’re doomed, and winning a tournament won’t be the only addictive feeling in your life. 

But what were Viktor’s vices? 

He liked to think he had none. He would politely turn down every temptation, and it made him unique — an outstanding exception, a pleasant anomaly. 

Until he met his undoing. His mess of disheveled hair, mingled scents of thrifted threadbare leather, nail-polish and tobacco, mascara fallouts under each tortured with the lack of sleep eye, his  constant, impeccable taunt — light-hearted, slightly erotic, animate. 

A vice of special danger. A vice much worse than some substance corrupting one's lungs or liver. A vice that went straight for his poor heart. 

A woman. 

A provocation.

You. 

Viktor knew he was a goner the second you challenged him, smartassing your way out of the massacre of pawns — a risky trick not every professional is daring to try, crass and intimidating, and therefore effective. Quite the aggressive nuisance you were — you encroached on his pieces, yet even the possibility of swallowing a delicious knight or two wasn’t tempting enough for you to stoop down to chasing after a man. He really had to lure you into losing that carefulness, boring you out to make you throw yourself at him — but only on the board, of course. Viktor would never indulge more unvarnished fantasies. A bewitched one, yet still a gentleman. 

Although he could picture making a solid threat out of you. After all, you were already threatening his sanity. He wore the afterglow of your touch like a phantom trophy, sweetly picturing how other parts of you would feel at the mercy of his tenderness — if only you’d be willing to allow him near you like that: in ways that involved sacrally holding hands and shyly asking for permission to press a goodbye kiss to the crooked corner of your smirking mouth. A threat like that is more than capable of becoming a chess menace: if that’s what you can do to a delicate man’s mind after just one unfinished match and a few equivocal conversations — then you could easily become a champion.

But was he allowed to become something more than just a counterpart shaping you into a better player? Was he allowed to think of you softly when he laid face up in the dark comfort of his room, silence pulsating rhythmically in each ear, as mind drifted to the sound of your laughter — raspy from all the cigarettes you have for lunch? Was he allowed to stare at your hands as they contemplated their next move? To memorize each crack of the thick red coating your nails? To wonder if you’d be opposed to accepting a soft kiss pressed to the cleft of your knuckles after he’d helped you patch up — if only he was brave enough to offer it?

The desperate need to acquaint himself with you more intimately kept suckling at his usually reserved demeanor, melting it off his secretly passion-starved soul. The whole Saturday was spent in aching anticipation, the board with your by-heart recorded moves spread on his desk, a palm slammed across Viktor’s forehead as he replayed your game over and over again. Jayce peeked from behind the sharp arc of his shoulder, clueless as to what could possibly drive his tactful friend into a distress of that extent. 

Viktor groaned, aggressively pressing his fingers into his hot from the restless thinking temple. The pieces were mocking him from their hopeless positions — at this point they could’ve aligned into the word ‘liar’ and it would still pain him less than their current placement. 

There was no draw. The absence of queen was crucial in your situation — especially considering your previous moves. You really couldn’t get out of this. And he knew it the very instance you’d accidentally caged yourself with that impulsive hunger for his bishop. 

And he lied to you. Willingly. Out of pure, selfish eagerness — just to see your brain come up with a solution, and he was oh so close to witnessing it — if only you didn’t gnaw into your nail halfway through. If only he didn’t have a lecture to get to that Friday. 

But charming women demand academic sacrifices. He’ll do better next time. If next time ever comes. How naїve of him. 

“I don’t get it,” Jayce muttered, throwing another puzzled gaze on Viktor’s dim misery, “why would you lie to her about the draw?” 

Viktor sighed, leaning into his chair, wincing at the heavy moanful creak of it.

“I wanted to see her squirm, I suppose,” he confessed, but the answer didn’t seem to please him. “Scratch that, not squirm. She’s a… strange player, let’s put it that way. I just wanted to see her try to get out of that irreparable quandary. Sheer curiosity, if you will.” 

“Strange player as in… hopeless?” Jayce quiered, carefully hovering about the board, forehead wrinkled into a frown as he desperately tried to understand what ‘quandary’ Viktor was referring to.

“No, not at all,” Viktor objected, defensively. Had Jayce smiling knowingly at the rushed remark, light-hearted mockery spilling out of his friendly grin. “Impulsive, more like. Brilliant, but so impulsive. If that wasn’t the case — I would‘ve offered her a draw. At the very least. She could’ve beat me if she noticed my plans on her queen in time.” 

“Tell her you lied to her.” 

“I’m certain she already noticed that much,” Viktor muttered, tired frustration prominent in each heavy sigh as his fingers found a few pieces, twisted them nervously a few times, then poked the pad of his index sharp and angry — as if trying to pierce right through it, to sober up from the heaving regret. 

Charming women demand honesty. Precision. Utter resentment even towards experimental white lies.

Or do they really? Viktor was about to find out. 

On a Sunday morning he woke up coated in sweat, trembling hand an anxious slam against his wet forehead in a frightened search for signs of fever, followed by a relieved exhale when he didn’t find any. The squealing alarm clock kept persistently reminding him of the tortures he was yet to endure before the revanche — two hours of cramping anticipation: one spent on a rushed meal and a cold shower and the other on an even more hastened trip to the bakery. 

He watched the baker wrap the pastries for him with a meticulous frown — that polite old lady wasn’t aware of the importance of her mission, of the fact that those fluffy buchteln were actually a peace offering. Them, and his decision not to bring the timers with him today. Perhaps keeping you well-fed and unlimited in torturing him on the board for however long you pleased could make up for the silly lie he’d regretted so immensely. 

The walk to your dorm was slow, slothful even — he picked the long picturesque path on purpose: both not to suffer from the still merciless sunlight, and to avoid showing up earlier than you requested. It takes a lot to please a woman, and he was willing to commit to it — but a sweet little something and some punctuality would have to suffice for now. 

So at eleven sharp, with a handful of baked goods wrapped in crispy paper and a nervous grip on the handle of his cane, Viktor was already standing at your door. He sighed, checking the number on it for the umpteenth time — and when that glistening little ‘505’ glared down at him from its honorary position, his hand had finally flexed into a fist and knocked. Politely. 

No response. Only an illegible little something — supposedly, an annoyed groan — audible through the door, and Viktor cocks an eyebrow, knocking again; this time, a little bit more insistently. 

“Fuck’s sake, what part of ‘do not disturb’ you didn’t get?” 

Five angry footsteps. No warning to back off. Five more jarring spins of the clanking keys — and the door flies open, practically disarming Viktor of his cane, forcing him to clumsily step away, going limp and even paler. 

“Oh. It’s you.” So soft. Like that mouth — now stretched into a lovely grin — wasn’t just spewing harsh swears. Like those tangled signs of freshly interrupted slumber weren’t scattered across your hair like a sweet morning torture. Like you were completely oblivious to the slight arc your waist caught as you leaned on the doorframe, thin straps of the see-through shirt hanging loosely off each shoulder.

A dare. To slip even lower, to find that fabric crumpled above your navel and — of course — fully absent around the hips, flowing into just as exposed thighs, then calves, and, finally, a definitely barefoot sight. 

He didn’t make it past your underwear. 

Spellbound, he followed the nod of your head — a few hesitant steps inside, gaze clumsy and inquisitive, already roaming across your room. A humble tremble as it slid over the swell of your backside when you rushed to the lock — to keep him in that cozy cage of yours for today. Eyes rolled, running over the messy bed — no doubt, still warm after you basked in it sweet and half-naked. He spotted the board and lingered there, in a nervous attempt to count every fallen into the folded sheets piece. Anything to find a decent enough distraction while you were struggling to crawl into your jeans — the ones you threw onto your desk the night before, hoping to have them on before he shows up. 

“You really do sleep in on Sundays,” he found his voice, choking on a chuckle and watching you scurry around the place, finally not with your ass out. One hop to the left to grab a brush, one slip to the right to practically knock over an ashtray on the bookshelf — a haphazard thing, chaotic and rhythmless. 

“I went to bed late,” you mumbled a confession apologetically. “Took me a while to analyze our game. Which, mind you, wouldn’t have been the case if someone hadn’t lied to me about the draw.” 

“Is that the reason for your, eh… discontentment?” Viktor quiered, chuckling again. Caught you facing his back with a quizzical frown and met your gaze slyly over his shoulder. Pupils dilated and swiftly followed you to the bathroom, beautifully regretful as he realised that you were about to leave him for a few minutes. 

“No,” you laughed, walking out of the reach of his peripheral vision. “A few neighbors tried to disturb my precious beauty sleep earlier. You just happened to come under the fire.” 

He hummed in silent understanding, accepting the invitation to explore your room with every fiber of his insatiable curiosity — fingers ran over the contents of your bookshelf, stroked the spine of ‘Masters of the Chessboard’ languid and delicate, relishing that delicious dejavu of the library incident in dreamy reminiscence. Had him stiffening as he caught a rhythmic shuffle coming from the bathroom, then smirking awkwardly as he realized you were simply brushing your teeth. Legs were aching for rest, yet he didn’t answer their painful calling, simply hovering above your desk with a heavy gasp — taking in every notebook and unsharpened pencil.  

“Would you take that handsome nose out of my writing?” 

Viktor shuddered, clinging off the crime scene with a dismissive shrug, shoulders arched and tense as you raced past them and whisked an ashtray out of its lonesome spot behind the books. Elbows brushed against each other sharp and brief, causing him to turn around with a guilty giggle. Eyes met yours one more time, then fell to your still tortuously uncovered clavicles. You didn’t change out of that loose shirt. A vengeful move or a generous blessing — Viktor was grateful for it nonetheless. And you kindly let him feast upon you in his respectful rapture, as long as he kept looking at you like that — with the excitement of a medieval man fainting at the sight of an exposed ankle. 

You crossed whatever little distance divided you from the bed in a single step, kicked the muddled blanket off it like a stupid obstacle and slithered straight on the mattress, ordering him to sit down with a muffled tap by your side. Viktor cleared his throat and obeyed, albeit not expecting to get into one bed with you that fast; left his cane by your desk, took his shoes off and joined you on the sheets, stretching a braced leg out with a fleeting wince. Smiles were exchanged again, limbs relaxed and sank into the all-besieging softness, fallen chess pieces found and resurrected from their countless dents in the linens. 

“Did you have any trouble finding me?” you finally interrupted the comfortable silence. He shook his head. 

“No. I’m good at following instructions. Didn’t even have to bother your clientele.” 

“And what’s that?” your finger pointed at the package he held protectively and your stomach suddenly whined for whatever was inside of it, instantly recognising the familiar bakery label on the paper. You spotted an oily stain at the bottom of it. Must be something sweet. Pastries. 

“Oh,” he handed the precious wrap to you. “I’ve brought lunch. Well, breakfast, in your case, I suppose.” 

You abandoned the chess board for him to set and anchored greedily into your bucheln, devouring it in a few excitedly large bites. It made him laugh — low and raspy, head rocked back in a precious quiver as eyes closed shut, tempting you to steal a peek at his contorted with chortling face. Flushed. Pretty. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled through a chew, feeling the treat melt on your tongue deliciously — a freshly baked gift all yours to satiate with. And when you were done with it — all too fast, to be frank — your gaze returned to the board, widening at the sight of patiently waiting at your side white pieces. 

“I thought we’re handling some unfinished business first?” 

“No need. We both know the outcome anyway,” he declined discreetly. “I’d rather watch you take your revenge.” 

You froze above the row of your pawns, considering the offered privilege. They were reflecting the light with hostile glints, ready to attack. Belligerent and nothing like those glimmers in Viktor’s eyes — all humble and endlessly curious. His dark pieces tensed up in quiet obedience, fully anticipating the first blood to be drawn. 

So you indulged him, but not at all mercifully. No pastries can quench the hunger for vengeance. And he understood. He complied. 

You greeted him with the taste of his own venom — pawns met in a good old Sicilian once again, resenting each other obliquely from their standard positions. 

1.e4. The predictable, flavourful treason. A choice made not for the sake of efficiency — you opened like that because it was personal. 

Simply couldn’t resist when it felt so right — to have Viktor completely at your disposal, and, most importantly, out of his own will. He huffed and moved his piece with an unimpressed sigh. Must’ve seen that coming. Of course. 

“Eye for an eye, Viktor.” 

He snickered. “Pawn for a pawn, more like.” A fucking smartass. 

Your knight made an appearance next — you wanted to punch your way through a barricade he was about to build for you, hoping to prevent a possible attack. No need to fight the urge to shift closer, foreheads practically touching as both of you hovered above the board, glances so sharp no blade could ever compete with their inveteracy.

The plan was working. He moved another pawn to d6 for protection, playing into your delusion, and your breath grew hotter before his face in a cheeky laugh. Matched his energy with the same careful move — but not for the sake of creating a shield. It was a calculated preparation for a strike. And as you waited for him to bend to your will, he proved you wrong and took your pawn in two swift motions — one on the board, the other in a small jerk forward, close enough to steal that incredulous gasp of yours into his mouth, if only he was persistent enough. 

Oh the fucking audacity! You pulled away from him to a distance more appropriate for a game of chess: both to bite back and to compensate for the distracting nature of your attire. Amber eyes twitched and descended to the crevice of your cleavage, then sprinted back to the board. Either still not brave enough, or simply reluctant to stare at the cost of a loss. 

But you noticed. Noticed, and took it to your advantage, cruelly destroying the pawn he tricked you with while he was distraught. Weaponized his obvious weakness to whatever was so precious about your chest and bare shoulders, watching him put his knight into action with a now trembling hand. All is fair in love and war. 

The torture was impeccable. It lasted long — diabolically so, extending every time he stepped back to save his pale ass from your aggressive approach. Fingers fiddled with the button of his collar when you almost caged him into a stalemate. Took you a dozen moves, one lost knight and around twenty minutes to do so.

Only twenty minutes. Filled with tension thicker than Bobby Fisher’s book, but that’s besides the point. 

And yet he managed to get out of it — his queen lurched a few squares forward and dissected you from the check, ruining the perfect sight; made you swear angrily in a bitter whisper. Close, but no cigar. And you needed one. Desperately. 

“Do you mind if I smoke?” you queried, watching him frown with a dismissive shrug. 

“It’s your room.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

Viktor sighed. Fingers flew to his shirt again, popping open one more button. Had your gaze nailed to the bulge of his voice box, to the slight tilt of his head when he smiled, tucking a single chestnut strand out of his narrowed eyes. A tease. A fidgety vision. 

“If you please.” 

Good. 

You reached for the thrown somewhere nearby ashtray — as if the version of you from twenty minutes before knew that dealing with this man would be impossible without nicotine. Slipped into your pocket and handed him a pack, offering to share the poison together. He declined with a polite head shake and watched you put the cigarette slowly into your mouth — supposedly jealous of the stupid thing. Your pieces waited all around the place, aching to repeat the maneuver as soon as you were done harassing that poor, rusty lighter. 

He ousted you of some promising options. You let the smoke fill your lungs, overlooking whatever little possibilities he left you to choose from — you could sacrifice one more pawn in exchange for his bishop later: but that won’t work if he notices it in time. Or you could refrain from attacking him just now in order to move closer to that delicious piece you were eyeing — both would result in a little compromise nonetheless. 

You picked the latter. Moved the rook to d6 and exhaled with a wet little pop, catching him drawn to the slowly flowing out of your mouth smoke. Like he cared more about the shape of your lips than a grave you dug for him on the board. If only he slipped up to actually fall in it. 

“You look distracted,” you whispered, going in for another drag. It burned your throat nice and thorough, adding to the kick you were getting out of aiming for his defense. 

“I am distracted,” he confirmed with a hard swallow. “You’re not playing fair.” 

“How so?” 

“There was no need to make this so, eh… intimate.”

“Intimate?” 

“Well, excuse me for the lack of a better vocabulary,” he snapped and abruptly captured your pawn, then threw it off the board with a hopeless huff. “You never claimed to be condescending and I’m aware of that, but please don’t toy with me. That’s beyond cruel.” 

You stirred, letting the cigarette smolder into a thin bridge of ashes. Smiling to the accusation didn’t feel right anymore — his voice, tired of devastation, reduced you to thoughtfulness for a split second. Made you crave to address it softly. 

“Are you questioning my methods?” 

“No,” Viktor sighed. “I’m questioning my ability to resist them.” 

Amber eyes flickered and slid up the curve of your shoulder, hands failed to abide by the stupid restraint and reached for you: one twined around your wrist and squeezed, tight and desperate, the other itched to cup your knee — but still lacked the boldness. Thankfully, you had just enough to flood the whole room. 

“Then don’t resist,” you pleaded, feeling his breath collide with the bitter heat of yours. 

And his hesitation crumbled, spilling clumsily against your bottom lip. Faces crushed together above the board, mouths opened and molded together hastily — a strangling union, full of whimpers and urgent tongue flicks. Made your hand go limp in his possessive clutch, and he used that opportunity to guide it into the ashtray, putting out the cigarette your tongue still tasted of. 

So needy. Like he wanted you to crawl into his throat and slice it tenderly from the inside — if only doing so could guarantee that your kiss will be his undoing. In every single appropriate and inappropriate way. 

Lips felt bruised, fingers used their newfound freedom to dig into his hair and tug him away from you softly, lungs burned from breathing him in sharply but oh so heavenly, and you were back at it again within seconds, though with starvation not nearly as impressive as his. Spine arched for him, tingling sweetly when he nudged you slightly to the left  — away from the ashtray, the board and all the moves you were yet to make. Feral, but so careful — he was so afraid of destroying your work, yet so keen on ruining you. Preferably for any other man. 

Viktor touched like a keeper, like someone others wouldn’t even dare to compete with. Had you shivering in a little convulsion when two undoubtedly talented fingers clung to your lower back and pressed, gliding swiftly into that delicious little dip. Made you wish he could grab more — like a trembling thigh or an ass cheek. You should’ve stayed in your underwear. 

But he yielded so preciously. Didn’t let you near that pulsing spot on his neck when you tried to switch to it from his mouth: lips stayed on lips, and he intended to keep it that way. Hands locked behind your back and forced an attack, pulling you close enough to melt gently into his lap, and you left that vampiric attempt for later, settling for straddling him — tight and selfish. Not without a tiny evil itch to tease him out of that sudden bravery, to remind him that it’s you who plays White today. But judging from every pant Viktor made beneath you, he was pretty much aware of that. 

You heard him gasp when tongues finally unraveled reluctantly, sharp chin still glistened with your spit, breath was a mess subtly tickling your neck. It drew a laugh out of him — that lovely sound of contentment nuzzling your collarbones with a soft shake, grateful for whatever pieces of you he was allowed to feel. Palms kept sweating nervously against the skin he found under your rolled up shirt. 

“Greedy much?” you gave into the soft, tempting mockery. Leaned into his craving mouth and threw your head back, seizing every lick, nip and suck it had to offer. Let him move his palms elsewhere — wherever he pleased, really — and they fell into a cautious squeeze of both breasts, leaving sweet, eager scorches. Scooped your heart race up into a grip and pinched teasingly at one nipple, rolled it hard and stole a choked up moan. Yes. He was greedy. Very much so. 

But the jeans were still there, tangling into the embrace and making it impossibly hard to find where he was hard for you. And you needed to feel him throb, raw and impatient as he was against your own torturous ache. As he would’ve been, to be precise — if not for the thick denim separating you cruelly from this obscenity. 

He wasn’t thrilled to part with you even for a moment, eyes the prettiest begging stunt when you slid out of his lap — and, simultaneously, out of bed, pupils widened when he realized just what kind of honor you were about to do him. Fingers stayed on your hips and held them in place as you rose above him, digging into each shoulder for whatever leverage those trembling things could provide. Letting him help you out of that attire nice and slow — for the sake of savoring the sight Viktor didn’t deem himself worthy of earlier. Catching the bat of his breath when the cloth thumped to the floor, wrapping around your feet creased and forgotten. You stepped out of it in mad haste, felt him admire the softness of thighs with a languid touch as gaze flew back to yours in a shy request for permission. 

And when you nodded, suddenly flushed from having this boy like this — messy-haired, hot and soft spoken, he stilled you securely between his widely parted legs and kissed you softly on the belly — just above that aroused little spot where you needed him most. Had you breaking in half above him, keening raggedly as he hooked his thumb into your pitifully soaked underwear and pulled it tenderly to the side, dark eyes glistening about just as much as the slick of your exposed folds. 

A resolute man —  he knew exactly what he wanted and went for it without hesitation. His tongue darted out to taste you in one long, relishing swipe — from slit to clit, deliciously sour as you were, moaning at his ministration. And that skilfull torture lasted a few pleasantly long minutes — until you were turned into an almost cumming disarray of weak knees and spasming muscles. 

But, strangely enough, you wanted to be even with him. One knee bent and pushed lightly into his crotch, felt him tense up inside the tight cage of pants. He handed you the lead and fell boneless onto the sheets, head a muffled smack against the roughness of your headboard. Had you crawling back to him on all shaky fourth, shirt and ruined undergarments thrown barbarously to the nearest nightstand. 

Impeccable in your naked splendor, you sat atop him again, chest heavy with all the things his spread out form did to your fragile heart. And it failed to resist the flaming urge to kiss him, smiling at the way he absorbed all of you so quickly — tongue caustic with your flavour, chestnut hair smelled of bitter cigarettes. Like he was already yours, ready to be kept in this muggy room for as long as you wished to have him. 

You pulled away to cup him gently through the tortuous obstacle of clothes, palming whatever you could feel through that redundantly thick layer. And, judging from the Czech curse he hissed through his clenched teeth, you managed to feel just enough — made him slam a palm against that debauched little whimper, appalled to his own loss of eloquence. Bit his lip and nodded, weak and wobbly, at that curved throb. 

“Please.” 

And you allowed him that mercy. More so to soothe that painful need of him inside you than to ease his sensitive predicament — but it didn’t matter. Not when you pulled his pants down, brusque and impatient, let them roll clumsily around his lean thighs. Didn’t waste much time on his underwear either — lust came before manners, made you gasp when fingers wrapped around just what you were about to take. Body foretasted a tight, girthy fit. 

It felt heavy in your hand, smacked against his stomach with a lewd sound when you failed to hold it through a shudder. Caught him staring not so placidly when hips arched, making you glide along the inches of him in a smooth little agony. Gaze darkened when you hovered, working him through the warm clench of entrance. He didn’t dare to rush you, to pierce through you to get that over with. Just took you carefully by the wrists and leveled the back of one palm with his swollen lips, softly kissing each knuckle while you stretched around him slow and pliable. Had you swearing when he budged and tip finally slid deep inside with a delicious tingle. 

“Is being defeated the price I must pay for this?” he spoke through a raspy laugh, eyes still nailed to the debauched twine of your bodies. “I’ll gladly start resigning after my very first move if that’s the case.” 

“But I didn’t win,” you breathed out, freeing one hand out of his lovely grasp. “We didn’t get to finish.” 

He stiffened. Fingers unraveled from yours completely, returning to his side. 

“Would you like to finish?” 

You gulped, twitching around him with a strangled whimper. 

“Yes.” 

And he took it for a command. Turned slowly to the board and reached for it not exactly effortlessly, cautious not to knock any pieces over. Brows formed a concentrated frown as he rotated it, attentive and skittish, returning the army of attacking white into your possession. Placed it all softly onto his stomach and held a breath, trying oh so diligently not to ruin a single thing with the slight rise of his inhale. Made you laugh as your thighs parted wider to make more place for the duel, felt him quiver inside you out of sheer, depraved excitement. 

He won’t last long. Not a chance. 

So you decided to rid him of his misery. First rid, then ride, to be precise — but was it really a misery when you were wrapped around him so viciously tight, keeping him so warm through the rough slap of defeat? If anything, a single loss is a steal for that twisted bliss. 

And you could already see the sweet victory. Rook took the bishop you were drooling over the whole time, gave you the cheeky opportunity to switch to a wheezy whisper. 

“Check.” Good god. 

Caught you nearly cumming on his cock — who needs friction when seductive mockery is an option?

His move smelled of retreat — not that he had any other routes. King ran away to h7, hiding behind the pawn, but you were biting right at its shiny crown, destroying his precious shelter with that same acute rook. 

“Check.” Again. Had him twitching into that luscious spot in one sudden hitch, mouth failed to suppress the most pitifully delicious moan. 

So when he attempted to escape for the third time — though rather reluctantly, to be frank — your queen stood right there before him, emitting pure humiliation. And, sure, he could still sweep it off its precious square by a simple f8 move — but it wouldn’t save him from the sly rook, sneakily waiting to put him into a numerous deadlock. A sweet, inescapable doom, leaking all over him. So he picked that poison and surrendered. In an old-fashioned way. Just like you imagined. Left the honors for you to do. 

“Checkmate,” you uttered, and couldn’t take it anymore — foreheads bumped together fervent and sweaty, pieces poked the skin of your stomach, crushing beneath it as you leaned to kiss him rough and desperate. Hips finally made their first buck to help you both pick up where you left off. 

But Viktor yearned to be helpful too. Pieces fell all over the place for you to find them later when long fingers dug into your hips, forcing both you and the board off of him. So pent up, so lovingly untamed — he threw you into the pile of chess, sheets and ashes, and thrusted deeper, had you seeing stars on the blank space of your ceiling. Quarrel died beneath him with whatever little shame you still weren’t disposed of, and your legs wrapped around his waist into a tight lock, pulling him so flush against you that breasts started to hurt from just how hard they were squashed under the pressure of his chest. 

—

That Sunday you received a noise complaint from your neighbors. Lost three pawns, one rook and two bishops somewhere in your sheets. Viktor walked out of your room with a giant scratch across the crook of his sore shoulder and a few buttons of his shirt missing. 

But looking back at it, when you collapsed, breathy and fucked out, onto the destroyed amenity of your bed — the thoughts of your newfound counterpart haunted you until eyes squeezed shut, drifting to slumber with a content smirk.

And it was totally worth it.

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @thehistoriangirl @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska