#if not to the nicotine itself then to the feeling you get smoking them you’re sad/anxious

[suzdin]

The Apartment

(Lucien Flores x F!reader)

Summary: Porn with very little plot. Lucien is your sleazy pot dealing neighbor.

Warnings/Content: Drug use (weed and blow), nicotine use, alcohol use, groping/sexual harassment (not from Lucien), some mild jealousy, age gap between Lucien and another chick (20s), fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, pull out method, spitting of bodily fluids (idk the proper term for it).

Word Count: 4,900+

Dedicated to: @ohheypedrito who held a gun to my head until I wrote this (lol jk, or am I? 😰)

Other Tags: @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @natdeandar @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept idk who else to tag.

You hear the party long before you even make it to your apartment block, droning 90s alt rock cascading down the sides of the building.

The residence itself is aging and quaint, not exactly located in the nicest area of downtown, but also not the worst. At least, you’d like to think so.

You had inherited the apartment from your grandmother when she passed several years ago. Roughly four dozen or so residents, including yourself, shared the building with you.

Amongst said residents was Lucien Flores, who had also inherited his apartment, from his mamá Claudia, who now lived in the suburbs, last you cared to hear. You didn’t speak to Lucien often, or the other inhabitants for that matter, other than in passing in common areas.

It’s roughly 11PM when you arrive home from work that night, your legs weary and straining as you make your way up the creaky old stairs to the third floor.

Lucien lives at the opposite end of the hall on the same floor as you, but that doesn’t seem to make the music any quieter, or the cloying stink of weed any less prominent. As you navigate your way through thick plumes of smoke and fog, you’re sure you’re getting a contact high just walking to your apartment.

You sigh. It’s going to be another long night.

The hallway is crowded and you push your way through a myriad of faces you’ll likely never see again after all is said and done.

As you make your way through the gauntlet of tight and twisting bodies, you feel unknown hands belonging to a faceless entity groping and pawing at you as you pass; you snarl and slap them away. Your palms sting from the contact, incorpereal laughter bellowing in your wake.

You spot Lucien just as you’re reaching your apartment, propped up on his shoulder against the wall, ankles crossed casually, watching you. Silk watercolor shirt practically dripping down a broad torso, hair mussed and gnarled, a gold chain nestled in the hollow just beneath his throat where his shirt is undone to the third button, exposing smooth, olive skin.

He wasn’t the man who groped you, no, you’re sure of that. He was too far away for that to be possible.

A filterless cigarette is perched between two of his fingers, cherry glowing brighter as he takes a long drag, tendrils of smoke curling into the air and consolidating with the rest as his dark eyes study you.

You stare back, unblinking. And then he moves without warning, graceful and fluid as a lithe cat, pushing his way through the crowd and seeking out the man who had touched you only moments before. Unlike yourself, he could pinpoint the man’s face without hesitation.

Without so much as discarding his cigarette, Lucien’s free hand twists around the man’s collar, pulling his face close to his own. Teeth gnashing, face contorted in a sneer, Lucien spews what you can only imagine is pure venom from two plush, pink lips. You wish you were close enough to decipher the words, but the last thing you want to do is fight and claw your way through the crowd again. So you perch against your door and watch, doing your best to garner context clues as the man’s face goes pale and his eyes widen.

Their gazes suddenly dart to you in tandem, making you flinch. And then, seemingly cowing to Lucien, the man lifts his hands in defeat, drifting down the stairs and out of sight without so much as another word.

Lucien’s dark visage finds yours again, his head cocked forward, as he brings the cigarette to his lips a second time, cherry visible through the fog.

You dip your head in acknowledgment and gratitude before disappearing to the welcoming confines of your home.

——

Just after 2AM and the music is still raging, hard as ever.

You aren’t surprised. Lucien, your building’s resident pot dealer, seemed to know everyone. And everyone, him.

His parties were commonplace enough to be a regular hindrance to your sleep cycle. Not to mention the other residents. But the cops were rarely called… people in your neighborhood didn’t particularly care for law enforcement. Cops weren’t too fond of the neighborhood, either.

You lie in bed, wide awake as the bass thrums on without an end in sight, clad in only a pair of panties and a t-shirt. Your head hurts, and you have work tomorrow. You crossed the border of pissed long ago. Now you are fucking livid.

Lucien couldn’t keep getting away with this. You had to say something.

You slide out of bed, throwing on your house robe and slippers as you make your way back out to the corridor.

Most of the party had drifted inwards, into his apartment, but a few stragglers lingered here and there. Some were drinking, some smoking. Some were doing a little of both.

You could see into his home just slightly, getting a glimpse of the pink walls his mother had painted years ago, the ugly palm frond wallpaper lining the kitchen.

Your eyes zero in on Lucien right away. His shoulders, rounded and bunched around a thick and corded neck, colorful silk shirt swimming along his waistline.

His back is to you, a young woman — who you think can’t be older than 24 or 25 — is pinned between himself and the wall, one of his hands positioned next to her head, the other folded as he lifts a pile of white powder to her nose. She brings one of her hands up to pinch the other nostril closed as she snorts the substance into her body; Lucien’s lips curve into a wry smirk.

Your gaze shifts lower when you register movement, finding her opposite arm extended between the two of them, palm cupping and stroking his cock over his pants. Lucien doesn’t appear to be reciprocating her touch, which seems to have her more than a bit… frustrated, judging by the look on her face.

Cinching your robe tight, you approach the couple, clearing your throat loud enough to catch them both off guard.

The woman, whomever she is, draws her hand back instantly, eyeing you with disdain at the unwelcome interruption.

Lucien’s eyes flit to yours. Then, slowly, blatantly, the same dark irises travel down your form, methodical in how he checks you out. He isn’t even attempting to hide it in front of her.

You glance away, your skin heating.

With a scoff, the woman dips under Lucien’s arm, whispering something to him before she joins the rest of the party inside. He nods to her, disinterested, before turning back to you.

She’s beautiful and young. Lucien is twice her age and roguishly handsome, a truth you didn’t care to indulge often. You aren’t the least bit surprised by what you walked in on, as he always seemed to have a revolving door of women hanging around.

“Hey, baby. Want a bump?” he asks you.

“Fuck, no. I actually want to sleep tonight,” you tut, crossing your arms in indignation. “I have work tomorrow and I’m already exhausted. Do you think you could lower the music? Shut your door, maybe?”

His face falls and his lips pinch into a frown at your utter and outright rejection, although he understands your reasons and chooses not to argue, checking you out a second time. You feel your skin growing warm beneath the robe at the attention.

“For you. Anything,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes but dip your chin in gratitude anyway. “Thanks.”

He turns to shut his door behind him, drowning out a better chunk of the noise than you expected. As you turn to walk back to your apartment, you feel a warm, broad hand circling your elbow.

You stall, contorting your body to look back at him. “Lucien, what—“

“Hey. Are you okay?” he questions.

“No, I said I’m fucking tired and I have work tomorrow…” you reiterate, looking down at where his hand currently connects to your body.

His grip loosens and he lets his hand fall away from your elbow.

“No, I mean, from earlier. The man… who was pawing at you like some horny dog,” he explains, recounting the events that you would care to forget. “Are you okay?” he repeats, gaze softening, fluffy curls framing his face.

Your heart races at the sight of him, and you swallow down the rising lump in your throat.

No. No, you are not going to get involved with your drug dealing neighbor. Stop it.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I’m, uh, fine. Thanks… thank you.” You offer a faint smile, suddenly flustered.

He nods, plush lips parted in thought, brow furrowed as he studies you. Those eyes of his are goddamn entrancing.

“Here,” he says, placing his palm against the small of your back as he gingerly directs you back to your apartment, halting in front of your door.

He fishes a freshly rolled joint and lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt, holding both items up so you can see. The light overhead catches the chain around his neck, reflecting it, making it shimmer.

“Girl Scout Cookies,” he explains, his voice low and hypnotic as he gives the joint a heady whiff, “So you can sleep.”

“Or… you could just turn off the music and ask everyone to leave instead,” you suggest, plucking the joint and lighter from his fingers anyway.

“They’ll drift out little by little the rest of the evening,” he counters, watching you ignite the joint and take a hit, holding the smoke in your lungs. “Most of them have left already.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, snorting. Take a second hit. Pass it back to Lucien, whose callused fingers brush yours as he takes it.

“Your girlfriend didn’t seem too keen on leaving,” you point out.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Okay, girl you want to fuck,” you correct.

He takes a long, slow draw of the joint, exhaling the plume through rounded lips as he watches you. “Isn’t that, either.”

“Oh, so she was grabbing your dick for no reason, then?” you retort, arching a brow.

Lucien takes another hit, forming his lips into an ‘O’ as he blows the smoke gently in your direction. He scrunches his lips up in thought.

“Precisely. Wasn’t even that hard,” he explains.

You choke out a small laugh, leaning against the wall. “Jesus, Lucien.” You open your door to go back into your apartment, alone. “Thanks for the weed.”

“You brought her up, not me.” He grins.

“Goodnight…” you say firmly, trying not to let your vision linger on his lips. Or his puppy dog eyes. Or that goddamn gold chain. Fuck.

“Wait,” he murmurs, reaching for your arm again. Warm, thick fingers brushing your skin.

“What?”

He takes another pull from the joint, trapping the smoke in his lungs as he moves languidly into your space. Free hand cupping your cheek, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, he hovers over you, mouth nearly touching yours.

Your lips part instinctively, causing his smirk to widen even more as he exhales the cloud directly into your mouth, your lips briefly making contact. You take in a deep, heady breath, tasting the smoke, tasting the essence of him.

The small point of contact is enough ignition for both of you to act. It was the catalyst needed to convince yourself yes, yes you ARE going to let yourself get involved with him, reputation be damned.

His hand travels from your cheek to your hip, squeezing, smirk transforming into a grin as he guides you backwards through the mouth of your apartment.

And you let him. You’ve been nursing this unhealthy crush on your neighbor for long enough, you realize.

Your own hands find the collar of his shirt, and then his chain, wrapping the metal heated by his skin around your knuckles, dragging him into you. He smells like weed and clove cigarettes, like cheap red wine and musky cologne.

You aren’t sure who closes the door, but somehow, it closes with a bang behind you, and he spins your body, wedging you between himself and the hard surface, his hand unmoving from your hip as he bends to thrust his pelvis flush against yours, grinding his hard length against your center. Even through the robe, it’s unmistakable.

“Thought you said you weren’t very hard,” you tease.

“Wasn’t…” he replies with a wry smile, grinding into you, hand moving back up to your neck as his lips crash into yours.

He deposits the still smoldering joint in the small metal bowl by your door where you keep change for laundry, hands bracketing either side of your face, pressing himself firmly against you as his tongue slips into the hot cavern of your mouth, eliciting a small mewl of longing and desire from your lungs.

He tugs at the binds of your robe, the material falling open like the wings of a butterfly for him, revealing your bare legs, your soft cotton panties with the little cherries.

“Well, well…” he groans, palms locking onto your hips, thumbs moving in semicircles along your silken flesh as his fingers flirt with the elastic band of your underwear, snapping it against your hip bones.

He dips to grind his erection against you again, and this time, without the barrier of your robe dampening his motions, you feel his hard cock dragging over the sensitive nub of your clit, your hips bucking back with equal fervor.

He kisses along your jawbone, down to the sensitive apex of your jaw and column of your neck, mustache and beard gently scrubbing at your skin, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear.

“Only reason I was hard at all is because I was thinking about you,” he whispers, before taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a slight tug.

“Bullshit,” you scoff, breathless, and although you can’t see it, he grins, giving the elastic another harsh snap before his thumbs hook around the material, sliding them down your legs, cool air licking at your exposed folds.

“I don’t bullshit,” he grates, lowering to his knees in front of you, kneading your upper thighs in his hands as he takes in the vision that is you.

Slick dribbles down your inner thigh as he spreads you open and admires you, everything about you.

“Look at you, opening up like a pretty little flower for me,” he groans, leaning forward to swipe his angular nose through your soaked folds, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your arousal.

A small chirp escapes the back of your throat, fingers sinking into his dark curls for balance as his tongue flicks out to taste and tease you, lifting one of your legs to toss over his shoulder.

His tongue breaches your entrance, penetrating you deeply, your body juddering with every broad stroke of his tongue inside your walls.

“Fuck, Lucien…” you purr. He hums in approval, hands sliding up your backside to cup and massage your ass as he drinks of you.

You find yourself gyrating against him, your body chasing the sensation of his mouth, and not only does he let you, he furthers it along, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he pulls you into him repeatedly, groaning.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, protesting the loss of his mouth on you as he pulls away for a beat, the feeling only short lived when his lips circle and tenderly suction around your engorged clit, two of his fingers sinking into your fluttering hole.

The resulting squelch as he fucks into you with his fingers is lascivious and loud, your spine forming a perfect arc against the door.

His fingers curl inside of your tunnel, making contact with the soft, spongy flesh at the mouth of your womb, each thrust getting you closer and closer to seeing stars.

“God, oh my fucking god…” you moan.

Your walls begin to tighten, your hips shaking, fingers twisting against his scalp as you feel your pleasure mounting. And you swear you see his lips hook into a grin as he gets you there, the sight of it with his nose and curls, the way the silk and gold chain catch the light, only spurring your pleasure on. It’s all so much. So much and not enough.

“I, fuck, I’m gonna cum…” you sob as the sensations reach a head and the feeling consumes every fiber of your being, your vision going white as your head lolls against the door with a faint thud, hips rutting forward to chase his mouth.

He rides you through it, growling into your core almost as though he’s enjoying it as much as you are, the reverberations making you crave more.

He pulls away from you when your body calms down, mouth coated in a sheen of your slick, hair stamped down with sweat from where your palms had gripped onto him.

Catching his breath as he stands, his lips and tongue tangle with yours once more, letting you taste the evidence of your release before dragging you toward the bedroom.

You can feel the cannabis coursing through your system now, relaxing you, making you feel lighter than air. You smile to yourself, knowing your orgasm is going to be sweet and lingering.

“You would look beautiful by my side at every party,” he says, brown eyes twinkling back at you, head tilted.

“You have plenty of other women for that…” you reply, letting him guide you to the bed as he slips your shirt over your head, revealing your naked breasts to his hungry gaze.

“And none of them are you,” he tuts, “None of them are as beautiful as you… as this.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond as he pushes you down into the mattress and crawls over you, teeth dragging along your shoulder, your collarbone, upper body propped on an elbow while the opposite hand kneads one of your breasts. He plucks the nipple to a sharp peak between his fingers, making you arch and moan.

He sheds his shirt and pants nearly in tandem, your vision settling on him as he slithers out of his underwear, a girthy, uncut cock between his legs, twitching at the sight of you.

“Fuck…” you gasp, his eyes shining in amusement as he manipulates you onto your back, pushing your legs apart and taking up residence between your thighs.

“I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he groans and kisses you again, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

Fisting himself at the base of his cock, he teases it along your folds, gathering your slick, nudging your still swollen clit. Your breath is ragged and unsteady in your chest, every motion of his body leaving you wanton and desirous.

“Lucien, please,” you plead and he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Need it that bad?” he asks, bemused, dragging the head of his cock over your clit again, making you cant your hips, chasing the sensation.

“That must be a yes,” he purrs, his voice low and velvet.

He lines himself up at your entrance, giving a few short, preliminary thrusts with just the head, teasing and testing how ready you are to take him, before pushing himself further in, inch by inch.

After a few more precursory thrusts, he bottoms out with a long exhale and faint moan, lower lip taut and jutting outward, holding himself within your walls for several seconds, before pulling almost all the way out to slide back in again, slowly. Oh so slowly.

You grunt and arch your spine, your hips lifting to meet his, needing him to move faster…harder.

“Come onnnn,” you groan.

A smirk forms on his lips as he cages your head in with his upper arms, lips finding your throat, whispering against your pebbled skin.

“Always knew you’d be cock hungry, baby.”

He doesn’t allow you a chance to recant, pulling himself partially out and then slamming himself in again as hard as he can, teeth grazing your tender skin, gold chain smacking you in the face with the momentum of it.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care. Not that you mind much, either.

You whimper and paw at his shoulders, clinging to him, still needing, desiring more.

“Yeah? You liked that, didn’t you?” he whispers again, slamming into you hard a few more times for emphasis, making you keen, your bed smacking the wall harder each time.

“Need you to go faster, please,” you whine.

“Alright, baby. Since you’re asking so nicely…”

He leans back now, settling his weight against his calves as he lifts your legs to rest against his vast shoulders, tan skin shiny with perspiration. His dark curls are skewed and clinging to his face, dark brown eyes glistening with lust.

He looks so goddamn hot like that.

He doesn’t waste anymore time, fingertips digging into the meat of your calf muscles as he begins railing you with everything he has to give, the sounds of skin smacking skin filling the room, shaking the bed with impact.

He’s more than focused now, teeth exposed, brow furrowed, droplets of sweat pooling in the little divot of his collarbone. You wish he was closer so you could lave at the sweat collected there.

It isn’t long before you start to feel the familiar, telltale tightening in your lower abdomen again, your breath hitching in your chest, droplets of perspiration forming at your hairline.

“Yes! Yes! Don’t slow down! Don’tslowdooooown!” you cry, your hands reaching for his, where they grip your legs, fingers curling like talons around his digits.

Everything about you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, feels as if you’re floating.

A few more rough slams of his hips against yours and you’re seeing stars, head falling back against the pillow with a cry as your walls flutter around him, strangling his cock, sucking him deeper. He growls, his breath hissing through clenched teeth, and you know he’s almost there as well.

“Fuck, I’m gonna… fffuuuu—“ Lucien grunts, sucking in lungfuls of air as he pulls out of you at the last possible second, perched on his knees, pumping himself in his fist with your slick.

The squelchy wet noises of Lucien beating himself off fills your ears, and he emits a loud, guttural groan as he reaches completion, tendrils of seed spurting thick and hot across your stomach, some of it collecting in your navel.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you hardly have time to gather your thoughts and bearings before you feel his tongue gliding across your stomach, scooping himself onto his tongue.

His mouth hovers over yours as your lips part, Lucien spitting the cocktail of saliva and cum onto your waiting tongue, his own tongue meeting yours as he kisses you deeply, moans getting lost in your throats.

“Fuuuck,” you sigh when your lips eventually pull apart.

You both settle on your backs, shoulder to shoulder, still catching your breaths. You stare up at the ceiling, your head still light as air and swimmy.

The party continues on down the hall sans Lucien, but it’s quieter now, more subdued.

“I’m definitely going to sleep really well after that, but I may call in to work tomorrow anyway,” you giggle.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet,” he says, eyes shining with mischief as his hand trails down your body, fingers swirling through the remnants left on your stomach.

“But all those strangers in your apartment. Are you not worried?” you ask.

“I have someone watching it for me. It’s okay.”

His lips tease along your neck. “You’re like a goddamn drug, baby.”

You don’t even question it further, smirking as his fingers lift to your lips, painting them like gloss, laughing inwardly to yourself when you realize that the girl in the hallway doesn’t get to have him like this, like you do, as he dips his head to kiss you again.

—

fin. xx.

[kiirschtein-archive]

⋆ 「 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝. 」 ⋆

toji's tired and doesn't feel like hearing you run your mouth in the passenger's seat of his car. so you find other ways to occupy yourself.

pairing. — toji fushiguro x f!reader

word count. — 893

content. — nsfw (18+ only), established relationship, daddy kink, toji's a lil mean (duh), pet names (baby, babygirl, little girl), finger sucking, masturbation (f), brief mention of penetrative sex.

notes. — i have toji brainrot so bad rn y'all it's not even funny. so i had to write this while working tonight LMAO i just needed to get it out of my brain. hope you enjoy <3

It’s late, and the back roads are lit up only by the headlights as the two of you skirt around curves in his expensive car. You’d bet money that you’re going well over the designated speed limit, because Toji, despite being exhausted from a long day, is still fulfilling his habit of being on the brink of reckless driving. The air is cool where he has the driver’s side window down to let the smoke from his cigarette stream out, and he’s silent as you seemingly burst with energy next to him.

You’ve been rambling on for a few minutes now about something you’ve been particularly excited about as of late, chatting your tired boyfriend’s ear off without realizing it. The low hum of the radio hardly even gets to make itself known beneath your continuous jubilant speech.

“And I can’t believe that—”

“Baby,” Toji’s voice is raised just the slightest bit to overpower yours, cutting you off before you can go on. You watch as he inhales and exhales his final breath of smoke, flicking the cigarette butt outside and rolling up the window. “Can you do daddy a favor and shut your fuckin’ mouth for a minute?”

You can finally hear the radio now that silence sweeps over you and you’re able to absorb the nonchalant harshness of his words. It doesn’t affect you too badly, however. He’s always like this. 

But narrowing your eyes into a half-hearted glare, you declare coldly in his direction, “You’re mean.”

The both of you know that you aren’t exactly heartbroken, nor are you entirely serious with your angry pout and juvenile words, so Toji speaks just as apathetically as before, “Yeah, well cry me a river over it, little girl.” He reaches a calloused hand over to roughly squeeze at your knee. It hurts a little, and there’s no smile from him nor a laugh, but you’re fully aware that it’s his way of being somewhat sadistically playful, attempting to dismantle any potential hard feelings.

Toji loosens his grip but leaves his hand there, letting you feel its warmth against your chilled skin. His fingers are so large and picturesque in a rugged sort of way, thumb stroking absentmindedly as his gaze continues to pierce ahead at the road. It’s so quiet that you suddenly feel the urge to be a little impish; maybe there are other things you can do with your mouth besides talk.

Taking him by the wrist and forearm, you guide his hand up to slide two big fingers between your lips, soaking them in the saliva that freshly pools in your mouth. He tastes like salt and nicotine, all too familiar against the flat of your tongue, and it prompts you to start a gentle suck. Toji smirks and huffs at the feeling of your hot mouth around him, muscles flexing but resisting the impulse to fuck his fingers forward until the tips hit the back of your throat. Instead, he lets you occupy yourself with your ability to take full control.

This new sense of quiet is oddly like music to his ears, only interrupted by the occasional suckling noise and the tiny hums you make in between them. “That’s a good girl,” he drawls and praises with a wicked smile on his face, pressing his fingers down against your tongue for only a moment and stealing a glance over at you as he does so. Then he starts to laugh. "Shit, I shoulda had you doin' this ten minutes ago. Shuts you up nice and good, doesn't it?"

You remove his hand long enough to take a breath and reply, perhaps with a hint of defiance, “Yes, daddy.” It makes his cock twitch when you say it like that.

Toji chuckles again. "That was a rhetorical question, babygirl, but I like where your mind’s at." He never intended for you to stop sucking or being quiet, but he’s too delighted to be bothered by it in the least.

After another minute of working until your tongue is almost sore, the heat between your thighs has increased to an intolerable amount, leaving you yearning for more than just the solution to an oral fixation. You weasel a hand down to work through fabric until a fingertip can gather some slick and swirl it around your clit, causing your cunt to clench and throat to moan around Toji’s fingertips. His head turns to look as you do so, jaw slack, and the car swerves a bit after he loses his focus on driving.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna run me off the road.” He grits his teeth and pulls his fingers from your mouth, gently gripping you by the jaw as he takes a moment to correct the steering wheel. Once on another straight path, Toji looks back over at you stroking your clit and presses his thumb past your lips and onto your tongue. You look at him with furrowed brows and moan, drool now spilling down your chin. 

“Screw this,” he mutters, deciding he’s finally had enough. Within a second he’s pulling the car off the side of the road without warning, throwing it into park and undoing your seat belt with haste.

It doesn’t take long for him to have you sitting nice and pretty on his cock, and he’s not complaining about the noise this time.

[actuallysaiyan]

Help, My Heart's On Fire(Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smoking, some fluff word count: 0.5k pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: you need a smoke break after your first day of teaching at Jujutsu Tech, and Kento pulls through for you

You lean against the wall, your eyes a little dry and tired. It was your first day here, and you felt drained. The job itself was thrilling and exhilarating, but those first year students were taking a lot out of you. It was mentally draining in a way. You begin looking through your pockets for your pack of cigarettes, cursing yourself for having not brought them especially on your first day.

The door creaks open and out walks your new colleague, Nanami Kento. He’s beyond handsome. He’s stoic and serious, but when he spots you out here, a smile spreads on his face. He leans against the wall next to you and he procures a pack of Seven Star cigarettes. Your mouth starts to salivate as you watch him take one of them out of the box.

“Could I have one, please?” You ask, hoping you don’t sound like you’re begging.

Nanami smirks, “Sure.”

He takes another one out of the box and comes closer. Your cheeks heat up when he places it between your lips. Then you watch as he places his own between his lips, and he takes a fancy looking lighter out of his pocket. Then he beckons you even closer, and he lights up your two cigarettes with the one flame. This is all so intimate, and it’s just your first day.

You back up slowly, leaning against the wall once more. You take a long drag of the cigarette, enjoying the way the nicotine fills your lungs. It’s a nice feeling as you’ve been uptight and stressed about doing a good job. Kento studies you for a few moments; sucking on his own smoke for a bit of peace and quiet in this blissful afternoon.

“I can see why you were hired,” Kento finally says, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Oh? Is that so?” You wonder, tilting your head to the side.

“You’re very talented. I admire your cursed technique.”

Your heart skips a beat. Nobody ever really has said they admired you…or a part of you. You smile shyly, taking another drag. You exhale, leaving a plume of smoke surrounding your face for a few moments.

“Thank you, Nanami-san. I admire your cursed technique as well.”

He smiles shyly, “Call me Kento. We are colleagues now, after all.”

There’s a comfortable silence after you agree to calling him by his first name. The afternoon sun is hitting you both in such a comforting way. Then you turn to him and begin discussing teaching plans and how things are at Jujutsu High. He explains to you how things have been since he’s returned to teaching, which surprises you. Kento talks a bit about his stint as a salaryman and how it left him feeling tired and cold.

“Ah, that’s why you dress so elegantly.” You compliment him, making him blush.

“O-oh! Thank you, that’s kind of you to say.”

You turn towards him, taking the last drag of your smoke. You ash it out in the ashtray that’s nearby and you return to him. Gently, you trace your fingertips against his tie and then you gently pull him just a bit closer.

“Thank you for the cigarette,” your voice is low and seductive. “Next time, I’ll give you one of mine.” And then you lean in to kiss his cheek.

Kento is left with burning cheeks and a desire to get to know you more. He can’t wait for the next smoke break with you.

[gallierhouse]

do you think vampires can get addicted to smoking and if not do they just decide someday to stop? why did louis and armand stopped smoking later?

If they’re corpses it wouldn’t be physically possible. But smoking isn’t really about the nicotine. Sure, that’s cool, but the ritual is equally appealing. At some point taking the pack out and lighting the cigarette itself is calming, even without nicotine. It’s also a good way to sit and think, or a good excuse to get away from people for a while. You can do something with your hands while you let your mind run, you can get some alone time without being rude. The smoke feels nice, too. Not the first time, but at some point it starts feeling nice. It’s also a social thing. Offering someone a cigarette or asking for a light is an excuse to spend 5 minutes alone with someone. It’s a good way to step out and get some 1:1 time with someone. You already have something in common, you’re being in close proximity to each other, you’re leaning in to light their cigarette with your lighter or the tip of yours, etc. If you like talking to them and they like talking to you, all you have to do to keep spending time with this person without seeming forward is to offer them another. But the most important factor is that it was common back then. You pick up habits from the people around you. They probably stopped when cigarettes went out of style. That’s all. They’re coming back in, though, so who knows what the future holds?

[parkswritessometimes]

Drinks and Fights

Egotober Day 4: Drink

Egotober by: @tracobuttons

“Chase, are you sure you want another one?” Connor asks from behind the counter, fake concern lacing every word. “That will be your fourth whiskey tonight.”

   “I got money, you have- you have the liquor, I don’t see an issue,” Chase replies, fingers tracing the rim of the empty glass.

“The issue is that you’re getting drunk off your ass and I don’t feel like calling an ambulance tonight. ”   

“‘m not going to get alcohol poisoning, Connor. I know my limits. Whiskey, please.” Chase can tell that his words are starting to slur together. The beautiful, sweet, poison starting to take effect. His thoughts and emotions transforming into that familiar distant fuzzy feeling. The sounds of crying and laughter, yelling and whispers all merge into one. People around him break into formless shapes. 

“Alright man, I just worry about you,” Connor says as he shrugs and starts to pour another glass of his favorite whiskey. 

The poison was sweet on his lips and warm in his stomach. The mix of vanilla and grapefruit stayed on his tongue as he came up for air. Chase stared down at the drink, willing his own reflection would appear and not one of the monsters. Blank dull eyes stared back at him. God, is this what he had become? A hollowed out husk whose only use was to be filled with alcohol? 

This is what his life had become? Not-so-secret trips to bars and clubs. Hiding in his room while the world spins and moves on without him. Hearing Marvin and Jackie’s muffled laughter through the paper-thin walls and wishing he could join but being too hungover to even move. Skipping breakfast and lunch just so alcohol would hit harder and faster? Was his life slipping through his clenched fingers like grains of sand? Was he going to die in this bar?    

“You okay over there man?” Conner asked, ripping Chase out of his drunken spiral. 

“Yeah-Yeah, just need some…some air. Can you watch my drink for me?”

“Chase, I got a packed bar and I’m down a bartender. I can’t just drop everything to watch your drink.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Chase’s hands shake as he pulls the plastic card out from his wallet handing it over to Connor. “Close out my tab then. Think I need to go home.” 

“Do you want me to call someone for you?” Chase shakes his cotton-filled head no, causing the sweet drink to creep up his throat. 

“Just- I’ll just text my brother.” Chase stands up from the bar stool and makes his way to the door. He keeps his head down, eyes on the floor, and walks outside.

Fresh air hits him hard and fast. The chill of winter settling into his old bones. He grabbed his phone from his back pocket, the numbers on the screen all seeming to blur together. The numbers shake, once, twice, before he finally was met with his home screen. He can’t bring himself to fully look at the happy people staring back at him and pushes down on the green messaging app as fast as his drunk body would let him. He clicks the top message knowing it was the only person who would tolerate him in a state like this.

“At Conner’s Place. Can you pick me up?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t do anything stupid until then.” 

Chase’s hand brushes up against something as he pockets his phone. Something plastic with a hint of metal and a small cardboard box. He wraps his hands around the familiar objects and pulls them out. The smell of nicotine itself made Chase’s body crawl with anticipation. He flicks open the box and pulls the very last stick out. He brings the flame up to the end of the cigarette and inhales the relief. He presses his back against the side of the building, letting the cool bricks soothe his forming headache. 

Whispers of Stacy’s complaints bounce in his head as he continues to inhale the stick of toxin. “Were you smoking again? You know that smell gives me migraines.” “Are those bruises? Where did you get those?” “I can’t talk to you while you smell like this. Go take a shower then we can talk.”

A swift kick to his thigh jolts him back to the real world. A group of twenty-somethings surround him, their angry drunk eyes staring down at him. 

  "Didn't you hear me?" One of them slurs. 

“Fuck off.” Chase manages to grumble out to the group. 

“Hey, I just want a cigarette! No need to be so fucking rude.” 

“Don’t have anymore.” Chase pushes himself up, his head throbbing as the world spins around him. He forces his feet to walk through the group of kids. He feels a hand pull him back and shove him against the wall. The group laughs as Chase lets out a small grunt, the force sending hot bile to his throat.

“I was talkin’ to you! Don’t be fucking rude!” 

 “I don’t have anymore.” Chase can feel the vitriol, the anger, the hatred he had been smothering for years bubble up in his chest. The stranger's fist misses his face by just a few centimeters. He could feel the anger spread like fire from his chest to his arm, his fist. Every enemy, from doctors to cops, to lawyers, to fucking Anti, seemed to merge into the man in front of him.  

“Hey!” A familiar voice shouts out as a car door slams, snapping Chase out of his rage. “Get the fuck away from him or I’ll call the fucking cops!” 

The stranger looks back at Chaser, a drunken scowl on his face as he takes a step away from Chase. His hands in the air, faking any sort of innocence. 

Chase watches as a clearly exhausted Marvin seems to skip through time. Coming closer at clumps at a time. His power replacing any anger or confidence Chase’s attackers once had. Chase can’t tell if this was a drunken hallucination or if Marvin was just that angry but, Marvin’s body was surrounded by a beautiful green aura. 

“If I ever see any of your faces again,” Marvin warns as he slips his soft hand into Chase’s. “I’ll fucking destroy you.” Chase leans against his friend letting him drag him back to the car. The door slams behind him, rattling the entire vehicle. Chase leans up against the window and closes his eyes. Thank fuck for Marvin.

“Just…rest up okay, Chaser,” Marvin says starting up the car. “I’ll getcha home safe.” 

“Okay. Thanks, Marv.”

“Of course. Just…rest up.”

--------

Prequels are hard to write. Don't recommend.

This is (kinda?) prequel to this

Have a good day

-----

[xemdead]

Levi never noticed how much you smoked these days until Hange pointed it out.

Sure, it was well known that you enjoyed a cigarette- especially after a particularly tragic mission. The smell, taste, and action of giving your hands something to do, would keep you grounded and stop your mind from wandering too far inside itself. Everyone in the corps had their coping methods and Levi never judged them for it. But in your case, it was getting excessive, you’d get through multiple packs a day, spending your months salary almost entirely on smokes.

You knew this habit was unhealthy and addictive, and not just because of the nicotine itself. Because you were terrified of doing nothing. Queuing for food? Cigarette in hand. Sitting down after a training session? You pull out a carton. You constantly had to fill in these gaps during your day with something to keep you occupied. To keep you grounded.

Levi gets it. He understands the pain memories can cause, and the trick of staying so busy, that you’ll never have to dwell on them.

Every so often, Levi will visit your quarters after hours, just so neither of you will be alone. You chat and sometimes play card games. Often, you opt to just sit in silence nursing cups of flavourful tea, content with the other’s presence.

You never feel the need to pull out a cigarette when you’re around Levi, being near him keeps you present. Your mind only focusing on him.

[robotstrategy]

Recalled • Part 4 • 27 - Keegan

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 4 Masterlist • Next

TW: Animal Death + Slight Gore (Trust me, you won’t like this chapter.)

The trailer park is colourful, there’s the patchy grass that is mostly all dirt at this point holding up all the trailers. The dull stained trailers in all different colours, but what’s more colourful is the people that live there. Keegan sits on the electrical box next to the main road waiting for his older brother to come home.

“Just sitting out here in your wife-beater aren’t you, Keegan?”

Keegan cringes, looking over at his neighbour, he sneers, “Don’t call it that!”

“But that’s what you call it? Don’t you?”

Before Keegan can say anything it’s like the wrong words start spilling from his mouth. “Hell no!” He awkwardly gets up off the electrical box, his mind is fighting with itself again. It’s been a year with Roland controlling his mind, and still can’t tie him down to his command.

Keegan enters his family’s RV and the smell of nicotine enters his nostrils. His mom smokes while looking at a magazine, probably daydreaming of all the things she can’t afford. Keegan has never really connected with his mom, yet now he feels some sort of sympathy but also anger towards her.

“What do you want, Keegs?” His mom asks, her raspy voice echoing through the camper.

“Roland has been messing with me again,”

“Knew it was a mistake to get you a new brain part, I tried to tell your father, but he wouldn’t listen, we could’ve put that money to good use.”

“Please, all you’d spend it on cigarettes.” Keegan watches his mom sit there, a teardrop lands on the magazine. “I know I’m hopeless, you don’t have to rub it in.”

Keegan is about to say something until he hears motorcycles roaring in the distance. He runs out of the RV towards the street watching as five motorcycles stop in front of the trailer park. The leader takes off his helmet and fixes his hair, he turns his head to Keegan, frowning.

“Oi Tony! You’re stupid-ass brother is still sitting out here waiting for us like he’s a little kid.”

Another one of the bikers removes his helmet, he puts two fingers to his temple, glaring at Keegan. Tony puts his helmet between his arm and his chest, grabbing his motorcycle by one of its handles pulling it off the street. While walking towards Keegan he grabs onto the back of the tank top, dragging him up into the RV. One of the other bikers passive-aggressively waves at Keegan as they go out of his view.

Once in the RV, Keegan gets out of Tony’s grip. “What the hell was that for?”

“Stop being such a friggin baby! It was endearing when you’d wait for us when you were fourteen, but it’s been three years. Grow the hell up!”

“I'll join you guys when I get the money, you know that?”

“Hell no you won’t!”

“Am too.”

“You’re such a whiny bitch!”

Keegan’s mom rises from her chair, filling her lungs with air as much as she can. “If you two are going to fight, do it outside, Myrtle is tryna sleep off a hangover!” She yells, surprisingly her yell is loud enough to wake up the pitbull a few trailers down.

“Or maybe you should just stop at this point.” Their mom looks outside at the pitbull. “Jesus, that thing is still kicking?” 

“It’s only a five-year-old mom,” Tony mutters, “and its brain is only getting worse and worse.”

Someone swings open the RV’s door, and all three of them turn around to see Keegan and Tony’s dad.

“I see the ole yapper is at it again?” He asks.

“Yeah, Mom woke it up with her yelling,” Tony exclaims, Keegan glares at him.

“Ah, making a fuss in here aren’t you Wendy?”

“Would all of you quiet down? Myrtle is trying to sleep!” Wendy whisper-shouts.

“Right, right.”

There's a second of silence in the RV, Keegan can only guess it’s between waiting for the dog to stop barking and seeing if Myrtle will get up because of it.

“Keegan still hasn’t gotten used to that new brain part yet,” Wendy mutters.

“Well of course, that Roland boy was violent, it’ll take some time to control him.” 

“Yeah, but you guys got his frontal lobe replaced, that Roland kid will most likely control him in the end,” Tony replies.

“Are you concerned about me?” Keegan asks his brother.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re not my little brother, you’re some stupid jerk who’s taken over his mind!”

Keegan scowls, “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew what I went through, huh, would you like to know what it was like to be unwound? I don’t like being here as much as you do.”

Tony and Wendy look horrified, his father says nothing. Keegan watches as his brother looks miffed, he then falls to his knees and puts his hands to the floor, he’s crying.

“Get out of here you hear me?! You probably went through a lot, but you can’t take my brother down with you, got it?” Keegan wants to scream back, but at the same time, he wants to run from the RV, from the situation. 

What happens is that he looks like a lunatic as he rages and runs out of the RV over to the entrance of the trailer park, he crouches himself in the tall grass, planting his palms to the ground, and words start falling from his mouth again.

“Pfft, your family is worse than mine, at least my sister liked me.”

“S-shut up.” He mutters.

“And ya don’t even live in a house? Y’know used to hear that they’d give out three thousand dollars if you unwound your child.”

“Shut up!” He yells.

“Oh you know your family wants to unwind you, shame I wasn’t the toughness they were looking for. And that whole ban on unwinding, god, wish that came sooner, then I wouldn’t be stuck here with you.”

“Maybe you should’ve told the Akron Awol to hurry up!” His mouth stays closed this time, guess Roland won't say anything on that subject. 

“Is that who stopped this?” Roland asks as he speaks from his mouth.

“I thought you’d know already”

“I make you do things, not remember them, idiot.”  

“Fair,” He pauses, “You seemed quiet when I talked about him, why?”

“Can I remember things?” 

“...”

“No, I can’t,” Roland says in a friendly voice, “Stupid!”

Keegan sighs as he gets up from hiding. “This has got to stop Roland, you can’t keep taking control of me!” Roland doesn’t talk this time, instead, there’s a wave of doubt that washes over him. Keegan knows why, he’ll never really get rid of Roland, not ever, unless one day he’s got enough money for a Biobuilder transplant. Well, unless he can scare Roland into submission.

Keegan knows from a neighbour who has an unwind part that unwinds don’t like the look of antifreeze. Something about the artificial greenness of it sends unwind parts bonkers. Keegan heads to the metal box welded to the RV; it's mostly filled with emergency supplies like nonperishables, an extra tank of gas, a first aid kit, and whatever the sort. Though below that is a bottle of antifreeze, Keegan shoves things to the side, pulling out the bottle, almost immediately his hand that holds it begins to shake. He unscrews the cap and sticks a finger in it, coating his finger in antifreeze he wipes it across his leg. His knees begin quaking as if he’s been kicked in between them, he quickly caps the bottle back up before Roland can try to release it from his grasp.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Roland cries.

“Pussy! Weak bitch!” He yells back.

“Shut up!” Keegan looks back up to the RV, Myrtle must’ve finally woken up to yell at him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing Keegan really woke up, he turns his head to look behind him, the pitbull charged at him, barely being held back by the metal peg and leash buried in the ground. Keegan looks it in the eyes, they show nothing but pure rage, it’s barking so much that spit is frothing up in the corners of its mouth. And yet, for how much Keegan is scared and enraged by this dog, part of him is worried about it. Keegan grumbles, he’s not worried for the dog but Roland is, Keegan backs away from the dog, and after a solid minute, it stops barking and goes back to its trailer and sleeps.

“Why are you worried about it?” He asks aloud.

“Thing looks like it has rabies, it’s miserable out here.”

“Psh, so I’m I.”

“I don’t care about you.”

“You should, if something bad happens to me, it’ll happen to you too.”

“Thought I told you before, I don’t wanna be stuck here.”

Keegan stays silent for a moment. “There’s a pocket knife in my jacket pocket, hurt me, Roland, I know you won't.”

“Just ‘cause I hate your guts doesn’t mean I want them all over the floor,” His hand pulls the pocket knife out, “Though…”

Keegan stabs himself in the arm and pulls down, leaving a giant cut all the way down. He winces and goes frantically through the first aid in the metal box. He sprays it with isopropyl alcohol, then shoves gauze on it and wraps it with bandages like his life depends on it.

“Ya better be livin’ on a prayer, ‘cause I don’t that’s gonna do shit.”

“You shouldn’t have done it in the first place! For the longest time, I thought you were harmless!”

“Ha! I don’t think I can kill, but I’ll harm all I want!”

Keegan sits in what little grass there is in the trailer park and thinks about what Roland said. He can’t kill. He doesn’t think he can kill. What if Keegan could confirm something about him? What if he could get Roland to kill? That pitbull is looking tempting right now, it’s about time someone put it down. Keegan had once read a horror story about the murderer killing the victim’s guard dog by filling up their water bowl with antifreeze and watching the dog drink it down. Roland seems to be afraid of the antifreeze, Keegan doesn’t think it would take much to convince him to do the crime.

Keegan looks back down at the bottle of antifreeze on the ground, he picks it back up. “How about we get rid of this.”

“Seems like a useless waste.”

“C’mon, by getting rid of this we could get rid of so much more, like that pitbull.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know exactly what I’m saying.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will.”

“Like you have any authority over what we do.”

“I told you, you have to stop controlling me, I’m going to get my way.”

“It’s just a dog, Keegan!”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask.”

“What are you going to do to it!?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Keegan knows that the pitbull’s owner works a 9 to 5, and right now it’s 2:30, a perfectly good time slot. It’s easy to walk in between the trailers, RVs, and caravans without getting caught, nobody wants their doors to be facing towards the pitbull, all Keegan has to do is duck under the windows. He lets out nervous hums as he gets closer to the dog, who lays sound asleep.

“You must be excited.” He whispers.

Keegan tiptoes past the dog over to a white jug with an orange cap. Keegan notices that every time the owner gives the dog water he gives it out of this jug, the jug almost calms the dog down as even the dog barks at the owner. Keegan grabs the jug and starts filling it with the antifreeze, he looks on the outside of it as the level of the antifreeze starts rising. “No, no, no, no, no…” He whispers, it seems like Roland wants to talk again. As Keegan steps closer the pitbull starts waking up, but it sees the jug and stays calm. Keegan walks over to the water dish and starts pouring the antifreeze into the bowl, the pitbull stumbles over waiting for it to be all filled up. He stares at the dog a bit, noticing little things about it, it's got a bitten-off ear and snaggletooth. There’s a pink collar around its neck with the name “Shyla” on it. He can feel his body start to tremble as Shyla starts lapping up what she thinks is a drink, in some way to repress Roland, Keegan bends down next to Shyla and starts petting her head like he watched her owner do every day. Somehow Shyla doesn’t see the difference between some middle-aged greaser and a 17-year-old with liberty spikes, not that Keegan is complaining, he’d rather not be chased down by a rabid dog right now. Noticing that blood from his fresh cut is starting to leak through the bandages Keegan finally gets up and walks backwards away from Shyla, watching for any aggression. 

“Are, are you happy now?” Roland asks.

“Yeah, I proved something.”

“What? That you’re a monster, that you're insane?!”

“You said you thought you couldn’t kill, so I wanted to prove that you could.”

“No! You did this, you made me make you do this!”

“I thought you were the one that made me do things, idiot.” 

Roland doesn’t respond. “Let’s face it, you’re what makes me do everything, if I killed a dog, then it was you that did it. You’re a killer Roland.”

“No, I can’t, I’ve tried it before, it doesn’t work!”

“When?”

“I don’t know dammit!”

“Well, I guess animal’s lives don’t mean that much to you then.”

“No, no, they’re innocent, I’d only attack something if it attacked first.”

“Well, that dog would’ve hurt us one day.”

“But it didn't today, and if we stayed away from it, it wouldn’t have ever!” 

“And what if it attacked a little kid, how would you feel about it then?”

“Would you have cared if that dog hurt a kid?”

“... Of course, I would.”

“You do realize you use my part to think, I know your nasty thoughts, you wouldn’t care as long as it wasn’t you, you sicko!”

“So why didn’t you stop me from doing this in the first place?”

“Because, because somethings I just can’t control, okay? Certain parts of the brain don't interact with me.”

“You seem a little obsolete.”

“Keegan, I am your frontal lobe when I figure out how to, I’m gonna make sure you hold your breath ‘till you die!”

“I hear that realistically takes 8 minutes, you won’t get second thoughts?”

“I won't!”

Keegan hears the dog start to wheeze and pant and it lays against the ground, the antifreeze is kicking in. Keegan grins as he watches Shyla die from afar, though it seems like Roland is trying to have the last laugh, or the last cry in this case as Keegan’s eyes are forcibly shut. Keegan growls to himself, Roland doesn’t seem to be controlling everything as Keegan is able to force his eyes open again with his fingers. No matter how hard Roland tries and no matter how much he wells Keegan’s eyes with tears, Keegan makes sure that Roland sits through every last of Shyla’s breaths.

[galaxywarp]

your post about addiction hd me realize i might be addicted to nicotine and im. really worried because this has never happened to me before - context genetically for some reason my mom just doesnt… get addicted? like shes been on (prescription) drugs for so many things and can just come off of them with no weaning, no withdrawal symptoms. for the most part, im the same way (except for prescription drugs like depression meds. when i come off those cold turkey urgh). but like, weed and stuff? it doesnt impact me, i dont get addicted, can stop and restart like whenever i want. i used my friends vape whenever i saw her (which was like. months and months in between and only once every couple of hours), my brother kept giving me new ones whenever i’d see him (months/weeks in between visits and it only lasted a few weeks, with no withdrawal or issues) but ive been getting new ones just because i enjoy doing it (which is also why i smoke, because i enjoy doing it + pain management). but now ive been waking up with nausea and stuff and i think its related to the vape i have because nicotine starts leaving your system within 3 hours… how did you manage your symptoms? did you just have to deal with it until it sorted itself out?

First of all good on you for recognizing that you could have a problem starting. That can be really hard to admit and denial is strong when it comes to addiction. Our brains try to trick us into justifying what we’re using and come up with alternative reasons why we aren’t feeling good, which often leads to using even more

Secondly, for nicotine it’s fortunate that there’s a number of ways to wean yourself off. You could try nicotine patches and/or gum, or if that’s too much of a jump, you may also consider lowering the amount of nicotine in your vapes that you buy. The packaging should specify what percentage of nicotine is in them, and you can try getting ones with smaller and smaller amounts before making the plunge to come off of them entirely

Ultimately though when you do finally make the commitment to quitting, you’re gonna have to muscle through at least a little of a hard time. Especially with smoking/vaping, there’s an oral fixation that forms about the act of doing it in and of itself. For that reason a lot of people chew tons of gum or get suckers to handle the absence of something to keep your hands and mouth occupied

Also remember not to let relapses get to you too much! Hardly anyone is perfect at quitting the very first time. Relapse doesn’t erase your progress you’ve already made, and often it can be a good learning experience about what you need to do differently in the future to avoid it happening again

Best wishes to you, friend <3 hang in there. And reach out again if you need support, okay?

[mustardpacketpoetry]

this is my song of solomon

-

she tilts her head up to see me.

her chin rests easy on the smooth skin of my stomach,

fingers brushing careless circles

running down my ribs

smoothing over the ink ripples

her eyes are always a kind of bright ive never seen before

they glow like the sun does when you look up at it while you’re underwater

and all the blues and browns and greens come alive like the rivers and the streams and the ponds and the seas

when her eyes are on me.

she tilts her head to my left her right and her shimmering eyes ask in as many blinks as words in a louder voice than her own tongue could produce:

“what are you thinking about?”

what am i thinking about.

if my hands are covering my mouth it’s only to sober a smile and if my eyes seem incredulous and oh so wide it’s because my brain is running a minute a mile

what am i thinking about.

i’m thinking about how all my senses come onto me slower

when i’ve taken the steps to get higher

and as the smoke rising up through the room starts to filter and your darling wide eyes continue to glimmer it’s this flame of wonder that flickers

and i take inventory of what your tide has left me with

when it slipped away

all too soon

and in the same way it arrived

smellsoundtastetouchsight

smell.

marijuana floats in cartoonish wafts under my nose and i turn my head towards her trail. then there’s your shampoo, and the fog of your presence draws nearer and it’s not just your shampoo

it’s the coy, soft, and secure guarantee in your cologne that smells the way lips smile and say

“baby please”

but it’s under that

it’s the hard, clear, deliberate smell of your sweat that assures itself of its dedication

and last comes to me the scent of the nicotine candy fresh from your breath

as smoke curls out the sides of your upturned lips

i drink in your scent like a strawberry sweetwine.

sound.

my breathing is what i hear first. those shallow, young breaths. they sound like purity and purring.

the canary’s feathers are stuck in my teeth.

the glowing power plant hum of the television fizzles and pops into existence as my brain finally tunes in to an actual station and not just the ecstatic static leftover from a power surge.

her voice. hm. her voice.

i swear she doesn’t even talk to me her tongue pens love notes and presses them to my ear with a kiss

i know the words, they are Love’s words, and lovers from every place that there is love know what that means, and hears me as clearly as they hear the voice of their own personal beloved.

Love whispers in a low rumble that’s happy it is hoarse if i enjoined myself

as if i could enjoy anything more than her self

as if she had left that option on the table and not blown it out with a puff of breath like hair before your eyes.

she asks how im feeling

and i say this.

taste.

my breath is stale of her kisses and quick to pull in air for my ever expanding lungs and it calls to me the flavors of the afterglow

my tongue faintly recalls the sweet melon candy i didn’t have earlier - only a trick,

smoke sans mirror.

and the flavor native to her lips and her lips alone that i can’t ever recall and that never leaves my mind is notable only in its absence

i wonder if my throat is sore from the weed or from the sounds her fingers made from me, pulled from me, callous on string, playing me for a chord. beating my pulse to her tempo.

i remember her fingers from when they were in my mouth, i remember their salt and the wandering route they took when slowly they slid farther south

i remember tasting the air that first gasp inhaling the moment

exhaling her name

touch.

the physicality of it all

touch , what am i touching, jesus what aren’t i touching, what isn’t touching me

in this momentary unrefined and perfect clarity of sense

the feeling of her weight on the inside of my legs is soothing

the way her shoulders jostle into the softened and sensitive nerves mapped out under my thighs

i don’t need an ink pad to prove to me every person has a different fingerprint

i believe it easier than i’ve believed anything else and this is because:

if all i had to go off was the brush of her hand in a dark and crowded room for less than the lessor of a second–

–i’d know which was her hand on my wrist.

i’d know those fingerprints if they’d been pressed to concrete twenty years ago

i’d know those hands with their veins and the silver around her second smallest finger even if i had to feel them through a window pane or the shitty quality of my phone’s cracked screen

they’re rough from the work it takes to survive and the much harder work it takes to make art

her breath is a stormcloud of wild horses running up from the opal piercing my skin to wash over my chest

her hair is soft and her body warm and all of the expected amazing things but it’s also heavy in it’s expected way and that secures and grounds me, my obsidian anchor.

my hips ache from my knees bent underneath her but they’re not begging for release they’re begging for me to listen to the pain and know what it’s saying.

and i know what it’s saying.

sight.

god. would you just look at her. would you just- would you?

would i, god, would i.

[airisvapes]

How long does a 15000–20000 puff disposable vape last？

The acceptance of disposable vapes has not always been mainstream in the industry. However, disposable vapes have made considerable progress in the past few years. These improvements include increased e-liquid capacity, better build quality, rechargeable batteries and mesh coils, and a larger visual interaction screen for better flavor.

How long do disposable vapes last?

Generally speaking, most disposable vapes have a lifespan of 3 to 5 days. Throwing away disposable items multiple times a week has a significant environmental impact, and disposable device with larger capacities will last longer. However, it’s worth noting how long disposable vapes last, depending on how often you smoke. Every vape is unique, and it may take personal smoking habits and multiple tries to know how quickly you can use up your disposable vape. ​

How much do disposable vapes cost?

When discussing disposable vape longevity, we’ll also look at some typical price points for disposable vapes, which often depend on puff volume and the quality of the device itself. The average price of a single disposable vape is $7 to $30, and while this is lower than traditional disposable vapes, the cost of continually repurchasing and throwing away disposable vapes is higher in the long run.

How many puffs does a disposable vape have?

The puff volume of disposable vapes varies considerably. On the lower end are disposable devices rated for 5,000 puffs. Disposable vapes with the highest puff count can hold more than 20,000 puffs. Of course, there are options in between. ​

Which disposable vape has the most puffs?

We recommend the AirisAlpha20000 disposable vape for long-lasting disposable vapes. Three different power suction modes can provide different puff counts from 10,000–20,000. Different powers bring different experiences, whether you are a novice or an experienced player.

How long can a disposable vape with 15,000–20,000 puffs last?

How to get more smoke from a disposable vape?

If you want to get more out of your disposable vape, the immediate answer is to have a lighter, more shallow mouth-to-lung exposure. Additionally, allowing more time between puffs allows the disposable vape core to absorb more e-liquid and helps extend the life of the device. If you don’t understand the composition of large puff disposable vapes, you can visit AirisAlpha to see more

How many puffs should I take on a disposable vape?

This is a difficult question to answer because all vapers are different. You should do what you feel comfortable with. If you hit beyond a certain amount causes a sore or dry throat, it’s wise to slow down and rehydrate more frequently. If you feel like vaping more and you feel it’s acceptable, that’s a good sign that you’re vaping the right amount.

FAQS：

1.What makes a disposable vape similar to smoking a cigarette?

Disposable vapes that closely mimic the experience of smoking a cigarette by using nicotine salt formulations and tobacco-flavored e-liquids. These features provide a throat hit and flavor profile similar to traditional cigarettes.

2.Are all disposable vapes equally close to smoking a cigarette?

No, the similarity to smoking a cigarette can vary among different disposable vape brands and models. Some may closely resemble the sensation and flavor of smoking, while others may differ in nicotine delivery and taste.

3.Do disposable vapes with higher nicotine content feel more like smoking?

Disposable vapes with higher nicotine content, especially those using nicotine salts, tend to provide a stronger throat hit and faster nicotine delivery, which can make them feel more similar to smoking a cigarette for some users.

4.What role do draw activation and disposable nature play in replicating the smoking experience?

Draw activation, where the device is activated by inhaling, mimics the action of smoking a cigarette. Additionally, the disposable nature of these vapes eliminates the need for refilling or recharging, offering a convenient and familiar experience similar to smoking.

5.Can disposable vapes help smokers transition to vaping?

Yes, disposable vapes designed to replicate the smoking experience can be helpful for smokers looking to transition to vaping. These devices provide a familiar sensation and flavor, making the switch easier for some individuals.

[mrdetectivedouche]

Look. I recognize that drugs are unhealthy. But given the chance there are a handful of drugs that I would take if offered :/

[lorelune]

no need to be brutal

||  getou suguru x reader || T || hurt/comfort ||  wc: 4.6k || ao3  ||

There’s no need to be cruel to yourself. Suguru reminds you of this.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: hurt/comfort with suguru!! AU where everyone lives/nobody dies. no spoilers! just some happy, jujutsu tech moments. student is a student, prolly a third year but its unspecified. 

warnings: unhealthy coping with drugs and alcohol, reader's body size is referenced (wearing getou's clothes, being picked up, etc) 

The night had worn long and thin. You couldn’t remember if midnight had passed, but the moon rose high, waning and half-full. The air was crisp, chilled, and a cloud of steam hung around your cheeks and stinging nose with each breath.

Cold, and it had seeped down into your bones. Perhaps, it was the chill that made them feel so brittle.

Why did you feel so breakable?

You cursed under your breath, shaking your head.

Don’t think like that.

How could you not?

You chased away the thought, sniffling and refusing to feel it. Rather, you dug into the pocket of your winter jacket, and tugged free a plain, silver flask. Half-full of fire water, and it was the only reason you could stand the frigid weather that night.

It was unhealthy to numb your thoughts like this, but what did you have to lose?

The campus was quiet around you, ginkgo trees, old and timeless, were undisturbed. The wind laid, restful, and only sang high in the clouds. The whooshing in your ears was louder. Outside of your skull, it was quiet. The freshly fallen snow sucked the sound from the land. Snow silence, and perhaps, without the liquor in your empty stomach, you would’ve been more unnerved.

“Hey.”

Your head bobbed up to the voice.

At the sight of who it was, a twist of guilt wound itself in your stomach. Silhouetted by the yellow lights of the dorms, Suguru stood above you. He had height on you normally, but from your perch on the cold stone bench, he almost towered.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and dropped your head back to the pure power on the ground.

“What’re you doing out here?” Suguru asked, softly. “It’s cold.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell.” Your voice was clipped, even with the alcohol burning the back of your throat. You punched yourself internally, shaking your head and running a hand down your cheek. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Suguru replied simply, regarding you with a gentle tilt of his head. “Why don’t you come back inside? Yu and Nanami made that pumpkin bread that they’ve been wanting to. You should get some before Satoru eats it all.”

You swallowed, steeling yourself.

“I’m okay, but thank you.”

Suguru said nothing, and the cold quiet ate you both alive for a moment. Just two forms, minds, stuck in their own thoughts. You couldn’t think about him too hard or it stung.

Your stomach rolled and you just wanted him to leave—

“May I sit with you?” He asked, moving a step or two closer.

It would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps.

You could blame the firewater if you said something stupid. If you made a fool of yourself or said the wrong thing, or god fucking forbid hurt Suguru.

You sniffled, scooting over on the bench and brushing off the snow for him with your hand. You half-expected him to chastise you doing so with it bare, but he said nothing.

He sat down next to you, bundled in his jacket, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Want one?”

“... Are you enabling me?”

“... Yes, but you look like you could use one more than me,” He offered the stick to you, and you took it with a trembling hand.

Without thought, Suguru leaned forward, lighting your cigarette with a cupped hand before retrieving his own and repeating the process.

The liquor made the nicotine easier to bear. The smoke and steam mixed and mingled, between your lips and in the space between you and Suguru.

“You should come inside after this,” He repeated, perhaps inching a bit closer. “You have to be cold, right? I’ll steal Satoru’s heated blanket.”

“You’re bribing me.”

“Attempting to.”

You exhaled, shaking your head, “I’m drunk, and I want to be more drunk.”

“... Where’d you get booze?” Suguru asked, amusement in the lilt of his voice, with a tinge of bewilderment.

“Mei brought it for me when she came to visit last week,” You wrapped your arms around it. “You know she’d do anything for money. And, she, ya’ know— knows.”

Gets it, you mean. This awful, hollow, rotten feeling in your chest. You’d called Mei a while back, lost and desperate for a modicum of support and god, you refused to show your classmates a hint of weakness. No one you had regular contact with.

You sobbed to her over the phone, incoherent and babbling with the nightmare that had woken you.

She listened, asked if there was anyone at the school you could talk to, ‘sleep in their room, maybe? It’s more common than you think. All sorcerers have nightmares. It’d be more fucked up if you didn’t.’

And you wept to her again about how you couldn’t. You were the weakest and showing any gaps in your finely crafted armor was a means for breaking. You were brittle, remember? Half-to-shattering, most of the time.

Mei seemed to understand that too and offered to buy you a few bottles— ‘It’s awful, but it’s better than pills. Only drink on the nights you can’t sleep, and do not let Satoru have any and don’t let Yaga know.’

You cried to her more, a thanks. She took your money with a sad look on her face, though it wasn’t like she, Mei Mei, would refuse your crumpled cash. She didn’t, just forced you into a brief hug with a squeeze.

How kind, especially when it was all you could accept.

You were pulled from your thoughts with Suguru’s light laugh, “Mei’s your enabler? Should’ve known.”

You made a little noise out of the back of your throat and curled over yourself and your cigarette.

“You should go inside,” You parroted, gently, “It’s cold.”

“Come in with me then,” He suggested, easily. “We can watch a movie. A good one. We have popcorn too.”

It did sound... nice.

You let yourself imagine it, greedy for a moment. You, Suguru, Satoru and Ieiri, the second years too, all bundled in blankets and propped on pillows in the common room. Satoru had bought a nice TV for all of you, and you knew that one of them would have a good movie to watch. You could smell Yu and Kento’s baking, you had been for hours, something warm and spiced that you could so easily sink into—

The liquor made your lips looser.

“I-I don’t want to burden you.”

You wanted to cut your tongue out as soon as the words left you and you visibly cringed. Your cigarette was nearly burning your fingers, hitting filter, but you held it, lest your pick at your nail beds.

You thought Suguru may laugh, scoff or plain dismiss the comment. Ideally, he’d forget and offer you another cigarette.

Instead, he shuffled a bit closer on the bench.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Why would you be a burden?”

“I’m cold, drunk, and feel like shit,” You said, resisting the urge to lean into his heat. “I’m not e-exactly... fun to be around right now.”

“You don’t need to be fun,” He answered quietly, closing the distance between the two of you. He plucked the butt cigarette from your fingers and tossed it into the snow before grabbing your wrist. He kept his grip light, peering down.

Ever-gentle, like he was trying not to spook a frightened animal, he held your hand in his palm. His hand was larger, engulfing yours as he maneuvered yours, examining your fingers.

“I think you burned yourself— Shoko can fix you up.”

Burden, burden.

“It’s fine. I can’t feel it.” You tried to bring your hand back to yourself, to hide it in your chest, but Suguru’s grip only got tighter. Your heart stuttered.

Caught.

Suguru took a deep sigh, and the exhale was enough to get you to finally regard him directly.

His hair was down, spilling down his shoulders and tucked behind one pink-tipped ear. His eyes looked tired, though not defeated as they flickered up to meet yours.

You wanted to die a little.

“Come inside, warm up.” Suguru urged again, without breaking eye contact.

When you tried to turn your head away, he squeezed your wrist and tapped your cheek to meet his eyes once more. His gaze burned through you, brutal in the most disarming way. He had a way of doing that without trying and god, you wanted to smack him for it.

“What’s keeping you out here?” Suguru whispered. If he had spoken any quieter, the non-existent wind might’ve eaten the sound.

You wanted to break the stare, look at something other than his eyes, but you couldn’t. His irises were dark as pitch, sucking you in, and seemingly endlessly. Maybe it was the shit vodka in your gut, or the chill on your cheeks, but you lacked the facilities to pull away from him.

Not with him holding your wrist like that.

Not with him demanding in such a way.

So, you spat whatever came to mind. Fuck it.

“I told you,” Your lips curled, angry. Indignant, and guilt furled in your stomach with your tone. “I don’t want to fucking burden you all, Suguru. I feel like shit. I’m drunk. I’m not exactly in a great mood or thinking, ya’ know, great thoughts. I don’t want to fucking be in there.”

You nodded to the dorms and ripped your hand away. Surprisingly, Suguru let loose on his grip, and you separated yourself from him. Seething.

The inevitable shame in speaking in such a way, honestly and angrily, burned something in your lungs. You wanted to vomit.

Suguru inhaled, about to speak—

“W-wait,” You stuttered, backpedaling. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be shitty or harsh—”

“The only person you’re being shitty to is yourself,” Suguru interrupted with his reply, simply and truthfully. His tone remained leveled and unwavering. “Stop punishing yourself.”

“... ‘Punishing myself’?” Your words slurred, just barely.

Suguru hummed, leaning forward, and pressing his lips to your forehead. The warmth of it bled through you. Soft affections were so damning. He slipped his hand under your thin jacket and settled it on the meat just above your waist with a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know what’s with sorcerers. We’re all so terrible at acknowledging wounds,” Suguru laughed, gently. “Why are you keeping yourself out in the cold?

“‘M too drunk for this, Suguru,” You deflected. “And you’re too honest, ya’ know.”

He chuckled, rubbing his thumb against your side in small circles.

Though you couldn’t feel the chill in the air, the bite of it lost to your own, you could feel his touch. The heat of his fingertips, over just a layer of thin cloth, felt like open flame. The warmth of his breath near your cheeks was spiced, curling and if you were any less lucid, you would’ve sworn it was making you sweat.

“You’d rather I, what— tease you instead? In your state?” He gasped, jokingly, rubbing your side roughly enough for a giggle to pop from your lips. You muffled it into the downy neck of his jacket, sucking in the scent of his shampoo in some attempt to calm yourself.

“You’d that anyways!”

He hummed, his palm sliding up your back to rest at the base of your skull. The action had no haste, no expectations, but it coaxed you from hiding your flushed cheeks all the same.

“I wouldn’t,” He sighed, pressing his petal-soft lips to your cheeks. They dragged across the fullest swell of the flesh, leaving a line of heat that was impossible to disregard.

You grabbed his forearm, white-knuckling it immediately, and sank into it.

(Surrender to it, just for a moment.)

(Would... that be okay?)

“I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

You said the words so softly, you weren’t sure he’d heard them.

“How could you hurt us?”

“Plenty of ways—”

Suguru didn’t let you speak, didn’t let you spiral into hypotheticals. Rather, he had his lips on yours, cradling your cheeks, and stealing your breath and words right from your tongue.

He wasn’t brutal with it, only taking what you were giving, all of that sour guilt in your chest. He prodded your parted lips with his tongue, and you tentatively let him lick into your mouth.

It was filthy, but so needed.

The sensation of him overwhelmed all else.

The taste of Suguru’s mouth was a little bitter, like an herbal tea mixed with the honey lozenges he sucked on during the day. He had a stash of them in the pocket of his uniform pass, and you knew he popped one after each mission. In the moments he’d linger near after he would return, you could smell the method on him. It overtook your senses even from a distance.

You couldn’t think straight with him on you, though he wasn’t insistent. Wasn’t demanding. Just present and distracting and far more pleasant than the guilt and shame that spiraled and spat in your skull. What a lovely distraction.

“Suguru—” Your words muffled against his lips with a little moan. “Y-You’re distracting me.”

He pulled away with a sly grin, “That was the point.”

You frowned half-heartedly. Bastard. A kind one, bearing the cold and your bad attitude. Far too warm to not melt the chill in you at least a little.

“... Thank you.”

You shrunk into your jacket, hiding the best you can from Suguru’s knowingness.

...

You ended up back inside shortly, coaxed by Suguru’s warm, wide hands. He dragged you back to his dorm room.

“I thought we were going to hang out with everyone?” You raised an eyebrow as he opened his closet with a hum.

“We will. You’re just freezing.”

“I can’t feel it.”

“You’re drunk, sweetheart, remember?” He gave you a lopsided smile, teasing and poking a bit. You weren’t that drunk, just on the edge of being able to not tell if his words were in jest or not.

“Asshole.”

Suguru laughed, carrying a bundle of clothes with him from the closet, laying them on the bed, still folded. Then, he turned to you, regarded you fully since returning inside. His foxlike eyes went half-lidded, dark and swimming with something you couldn’t fully place. Adoration, at least a little bit, the kind that made your cheeks burn and your fingers twitch.

It was horribly disarming.

Suguru stepped even closer, reaching for the zipper of your jacket, halfway up your neck. Gingerly, he pulled it down and slipped it from your shoulders. It reeked of smoke and cheap liquor, but you couldn’t fully bring yourself to care.

Though, the smell clung to you as well— in your hair, between your fingers, over your lips.

“I want to shower.”

“That’s alright, pick out some clothes first,” Suguru gestured to his spread.

The assortment didn’t include his uniform pieces, those ridiculous pants and high-collars were tucked again in his closet. It was one of the rare nights everyone was able to relax and let their guards down. Hence the soft, appealing items he’d laid out. A worn crewneck or two, a soft pair of sweatpants that you knew would keep you toasty, a few more articles you didn’t bother to remember as you swiped what you wanted.

You mumbled a little ‘thank you’ and bundled the clothes in your arms, pressing them tight to your chest.

“Take your shower,” Suguru squeezed your shoulder. “Then we can go be with everyone else.”

You leaned into his hands, deflating with a sigh. Your stomach still tumbled with the hard liquor you’d drank, and the frayed nerves didn’t help the feeling. Suguru pressed a kiss to your forehead, shooing you off to your room and shower.

You mindlessly stripped and turned the water as hot as it would go. Scalding, even. Soaking under the spray, you washed. Cleansed. Your soap smelled like lavender and herbs as it lathered. It eased something in you, just enough that the heat and steam melted some of the tension from your shoulders.

After, you slipped into Suguru’s clothes. You adjusted the sweats and sweater the best you could, but they were clearly well worn, stretched and practically made for his body at that point. The collar of the shirt was wide and hung off your shoulders, and the pants were long enough to need to be cuffed to not drag on the floor. The roominess felt good, comforting along with the smell of him clung to you.

(Stale sweat, a bit of smoke, the subtle cologne and deodorant he used...)

You blushed at the thought of it all and buried your face in your hands. Heat rose in your cheeks, and perhaps it was a bit... gross to think of your dear friend’s scent in such a way.

(Were you ‘friends’? Something more. Probably. But sorcerers hated the typical, interpersonal labels. They were far-too lasting.)

You let yourself indulge and pulled the collar of the sweater up to your nose and took a deep inhale. Suguru had left a pair of slippers for you, his size and they had you shuffling to the common room of the dorm. Voices bounced off the walls, shouts and giggles that made the dim hallway seem a bit livelier.

Good, we all need it.

You were still drunk, and your steps weren’t in a perfectly straight line. The liquor had burrowed a craving in your gut for something filling and a glass of water (or three). The smell of grease and herbs hit you— they got pizza—

You nearly drooled at the cardboard boxes laid out on the kotatsu. The rest of your classmates were around the low table, tucked under its thick blanket to stave off the draft.

Suguru called your name with a wide smile, patting the empty spot next to him. You half-stumbled over and plopped down beside him. Gojo was already against in his side, and you took the other. Suguru spurred your on by tugging your tucked legs over his lap, resting a hand on your thigh and squeezing.

“Nice to have you finally join us,” Gojo looked at you over his shades. “How much did you smoke, half a pack? You looked pretty brooding.”

Your cheeks got hot and the swirl of storm that was hanging over your thrummed. Gojo’s words were a reminder that your feelings were practically on display (why didn’t you smoke farther away—?)

Shoko rolled her eyes, “Don’t be an ass. You’re mopey ninety percent of the time that Suguru and (Y/N) aren’t around—”

Gojo sputtered something, trying to act nonchalant, but the tension in his shoulder was telling enough. You stifled a laugh against the back of your hand. Suguru snorted, tugging you both closer by the waist.

And it felt so good.

The cold air lingered but was so easily chased away by good company. The bottle of shit liquor was tucked away, and you’d sell it to Shoko in the next day or two. Rid yourself of it because this was far better coping.

Yu and Gojo had a hilariously heated debate on the quality of the American film Space Jam; both of them insisted that the group watch it. (“It’s a cinematic masterpiece, none of you have any taste,” Gojo scoffed, eyes fiery and passionate over 2000s cinema. Yu giggled and cuddled into Nanami, clearly enjoying the noncommittal sparring.) Shoko was eating up every minute of it, happily playing devil’s advocate to either side. Nanami was, perhaps, grumbling and looking a little less sullen than normal. His cheeks were rosy, blushed and bright (you assumed from how sweetly Yu was perched next time him.)

Between you all was a spread of sweets and savory comfort foods that made your mouth water. Gojo had donated some of his syrupy delights, boxes of imported chocolates and luxury mochi; the haughty treats were perfectly juxtaposed by slices of greasy, delivery pizza. Suguru snagged a few pieces for you, piled up and plated as you settled.

He nudged you, “Eat. Or I’ll steal those slices from you. Shoko might if I don’t.”

“True,” She wore a lazy grin and sipped a can of dark soda.

You dug in, a little unabashedly.

The awful feelings of the night before had kept you from eating well that day. You’d snuck a sickly-sweet, canned protein shake from the half-broken vending machines from the dorm, but that had been before breakfast. You’d try to eat an onigiri for lunch but tossed out half of it. Your stomach didn’t feel entirely suited for food.

Though, with warmth around you and Suguru by your side, some of your appetite returned. You chomped through the grease and cheese and managed to get through two slices with a completely settled tummy. When Suguru slapped a third slice on your plate, you shoved it away with a petulant shake of your head.

“No more,” You murmured, pressing your cheek into his shoulder. “I don’t want to get sick.”

You spoke quietly enough that Gojo and Nanami’s nearby row drowned your voice out to anyone other than Suguru. Thank god, honestly. The tremble and weak cadence of your voice was something you didn’t need to be examined and prodded. You trusted Suguru to only tease lightly, if at all.

His arm squeezed around your waist, tugging you closer. His lips brushed your temple, “We don’t want that, no.”

Gently, he tugged you into his lap. Pulling back from the kotatsu, he seated you between his crossed legs. He positioned himself perfectly so that your rump rests between his thighs, his legs bracing yours. His palms pressed into your ribs, keeping your tight to his chest.

You sank into him.

“Ew, PDA, please die,” Gojo groaned and stuck out his tongue.

Suguru chuckled and squeezed you, “Maybe if your ego was smaller, you’d be able to get some ‘PDA’ too, and you’d stop being such a prude.”

Gojo’s pale cheeks went bright red, “You motherfucker— do you know how many cute people’s numbers I have? I’m a hot ticket item.”

“Sure,” Shoko rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you had any follow-through. I’m fairly certain you’re the only virgin at this table.”

Gojo’s jaw fell open and you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled to your lips. Seeing the strongest sorcerer incredulous was a treat. It was especially funny in your tipsy brain.

The conversation was lost to you after that. The sparring continued, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Your comedown was slow and winding, and it left you yawning and fighting sleep.

Occasionally, Suguru rubbed at your ribs and hips. Little reminders to keep you there, seated at the kotatsu with good company. You weren’t sure if the touch was meant to keep you awake, or if it was to help lull you into half-sleep against his sternum.

He was just too comfy. Broad shoulders and bulky enough to be solid and easy to feel safe next to. Suguru was built— he was the best at physical combat of any of the students by a fairly significant margin. All that muscle felt warm and comforting to be resting on, and the layer of fat and flesh kept him soft was nearly criminal.

“Are you still with me?” Suguru asked, softly, squeezing one of your thighs gently.

You hummed, keeping your eyes closed, “Barely.”

“Would you like to go to sleep? You can stay in my room.”

“P-Please.” You said without thinking, desperate for more of the comfort. For him.

Suguru chuckled, “You don’t need to beg, but it is cute.”

Your cheeks flushed, hot and hard. Without warning, Suguru stood, hefting you up in his arms. He kept you tucked to his chest with his arms hooked under your knees.

“God,” Yu swooned. “Suguru, you gotta be careful doing that in public. Woof.”

Nanami sputtered, and you couldn’t help the sleepy grin that curled your lips. Precious.

Suguru wandered back to his room, sliding the door open with his hips. He set you on the bed, gentle as could be. You sat on the edge, kicking your feet as Suguru dug through his sleep clothes.

“You don’t gotta stay with me, if you don’t wanna,” You chewed your lips. “I don’t wanna take you away from everyone else.”

Suguru turned back to your, raising an eyebrow. He grabbed his shirt just behind his neck and peeled it off in one easy motion, “Don’t think you can chase me off that easily.”

“But—”

“Sweetheart,” Suguru’s voice washed over your, syrupy and dripping with affections that you had to accept. How could you not? “I need you to know that I’m here because I want to be. I’ve... missed you a lot lately.”

Suguru sat on the edge of the bed. He slouched. He had been gone on missions lately, far-off ones. Special grade sorcerers were a rarity, and he was often away, facing threats that you couldn’t imagine handling at all, let alone with the deftness that he possessed. It had kept you two apart for some time, and the work of it made it harder to talk.

“I’ve missed you too,” Mentally, you admit that his absence had definitely made some of your feelings harder to bear.

Suguru turned to you. The pits of his eyes bled onyx, the depth and darkness of them unreadable. It encircled you, ensnaring you as it always had. And he fell down with you. Into the sheets with you. In love with you. He was so good at picking you up, even if you scampered away from him in your hardest moments. In the same way, you knew how to comfort him.

In that moment, you shifted up, wiggling out of your sweatpants and leaving yourself bare besides his shirt and your cotton panties.

“Sleep with me,” You tugged on his bicep. “Please?”

You barely caught the way his expression cracked. The little wobble in his lip, his snare, the weakness he’d been so conditioned to hide, long before he became a sorcerer.

“We don’t need to be strong,” You admitted in slurred words, but the feeling of them hit all the same. “Let’s rest together. Please?”

Suguru melted, the bastard, jolting to wrap himself around you and pull you down into the sheets.

“Let’s.” He rubs his cheeks on your forehead. You reached behind his head and tugged his bun, releasing it from its elastic. You combed through his silken hair with slow, sleepy fingers.

“‘M gonna fall asleep,” You slurred, pressing your nose to his collarbone.

“Good.” Suguru kissed over your face, finishing with a chaste press of his lips to yours. He murmured against them. “I’ll be right here in the morning.”

“.. You’re staying?”

“I can’t imagine leaving this bed, not with you in it, like this,” He squeezed your hips and kissed your cheeks once more. The touches didn’t bleed anything other than the desire to stay— whatever and however that meant.

You went lax into the sheets, squeezing him in turn, “Thank you.”

Your voice was small again, barely there and higher-pitched. Suguru relaxed against you, sinking with you into the sheets and closer to the ever-looming slumber.

“Of course— sleep now, though,” Suguru chuckled, rich and deep like the coffee you were sure he’d brew for you come morning.

“You too,” You let your eyes slip shut. You let drowsiness take you, the same way Suguru had taken you. The same way he held your heart with hands beginning to callous. The same way you kept his own, gentle and steady in the way you wanted to keep him well.

You were grateful, if nothing else.

[magebastard]

characters: agent rebecca wheatley, det. lane wheatley

warnings: smoking cw, blood and injury

rating: t

wc: 520

notes: honk honk

They’re sharing a cigarette.

Another impossible fight; won. Lane swipes at the blood still running under their nose.

Control and stoicism be damned, Rebecca’s breathing is labored. A staccato stream of fog and smoke shakes passed her lips. A ghostly shape in the blue night.

Lane plucks the smoke from her unsteady fingers.

“I might do it.” Their throat feels raw and rough from overuse. The nicotine doesn’t help.

“Turn, I mean. Be a vampire.” They shrug and wince at the bruising. “The team and I have been talking about it. I’m sure Nate already told you.” He had, of course. Almost frantic with worry in his polite, gentle phrasing. Rebecca hardly expected Lane would bring this up with her at all. That itself is more of a shock than the news.

If things were different, she’d argue. If it were her place, she’d insist that they reconsider.

You don’t know what this means. You don’t know what you’re asking for. You can’t know how you’ll suffer for this.

But Lane is as much her child as she’d been their mother. Which is to say, barely.

The thread between them now is so thin it appears only in just the right light. Rebecca has had to learn not to tug at it, lest it rip.

Things are not different. They are who they are. Rebecca reaches for the cigarette. She takes a pull.

“Okay,” she says. And oh, it’s heavy. It feels like condemnation—like goodbye.

Lane crosses their legs at the ankle. Long limbed for a short frame. Just like her. Rebecca finds herself mirroring the pose. If Lane notices, they say nothing.

“Would you have done anything differently if you could have?”

It’s not a fair question. They both know this. Rebecca bites down on the filter, stained by matching blood and matching lipstick shades. She thinks about it.

For better or worse, Lane has grown entirely in her periphery. There is more loss between them than anything else.

Rebecca does not know if she could survive what Lane has lived through. She does not know if they could survive what she has lived through.

Neither of them have the full picture. It would be nice to talk about it, someday. Rebecca supposes they’ll have plenty of time to do that after all.

“I wish I could have been there for you when you needed me,” is how she finally replies. It’s the wrong thing to say, but there is no right thing.

Lane doesn’t voice the obvious. You were supposed to be my mom. I always needed you.

“Okay,” they say instead. Rebecca passes the cigarette and gets to her feet.

“We’ll have to discuss the procedure in more detail.” I’ll help you however I can. “I’ll be in touch.” Please, please let me help you.

They don’t look up. Already settling back on the cold concrete, it’s clear they don’t intend to head inside anytime soon. Rebecca almost tuts. Their eye needs to be iced, their nose is still bleeding.

Lane gives a half-hearted wave. She’ll call that progress.

Still.

“Ice your face,” Rebecca calls when there’s enough distance between them. She tries not to bristle at the snort she hears in response.

[chiwhorei]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come. 

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget. 

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots. 

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing. 

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space. 

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.” 

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance. 

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

 You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest. 

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil. 

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.” 

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle. 

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins. 

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.” 

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet. 

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back. 

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~” 

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.” 

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice. 

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming. 

 Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding. 

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

 All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention. 

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines. 

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?” 

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do. 

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke. 

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough. 

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck. 

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil. 

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago. 

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color. 

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs. 

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into. 

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head--

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do. 

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back. 

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap.  Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome. 

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges. 

When was the last time you felt this alive? 

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map. 

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?” 

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls. 

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood. 

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.” 

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses. 

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?” 

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[bakubabes-tatakae]

Request:  Hey for the 2k event could I request prompt 2 and 6 from Choice 1 for yami sukehiro please? 😉

Of course you can nonny. I love my some Yami Sukehiro. 👌🤤👏

Watch It, Pretty Girl || {NSFW} Yami x Reader

Event Masterlist | Tip Jar 📬

Warnings: smut, language, oral sex, 18+ content, unprotected sex, nicotine use

Word Count: 1.3k

The strong arm of Yami Sukehiro slowly draped itself over your abdomen as he grunted. It was still early, but his body was starting to wake itself up. You squeezed yourself under his grip more, just happy that you were able to be in the same room as him. He had been gone on missions with the squad so much lately that you felt like you hardly ever saw him.

Yami’s grip on you tightened as the same feelings washed over him. He hated being away from you. He hated being away on missions and knowing that back at home all you were feeling was his absence. He hated knowing that you were missing him. And he always missed you too.

That’s why when he was home the two of you never left each other's sides. It was like you were glued at the hip.

You turned to your side and buried your face in the small portion of his muscular neck that was open. You felt his sleepy lips gently touch the top of your head and could tell that there was that loving smile that he only saved for you on his face.

“What are you doing love?” His morning voice had always been your favorite thing. You melted at just the sound of it.

“I’m just trying to get closer to you. I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve been able to be in the same bed together.”

Guilt panged him as he sighed. He had hoped that you wouldn’t say anything about the sigh that he had just let escape, but no such luck.

“Don’t sigh at me, Yami Sukehiro.” You lifted your head to look at him and noticed right away that his sigh was out of anger at himself for being gone so often. “I’m sorry.”

He lifted his arm from your side and pushed the hair from your face. “You don’t need to apologize, my love. If anyone needs to apologize it’s me.”

You hated when he did this to himself. He was always blaming himself for every little thing that went wrong. Whether it was something wrong with his squad members or something wrong with you, Yami always felt he could have stopped it somehow.

You placed your hand over his and kissed his cheek. “Just cuddle me you big oaf.”

A devious smirk spread over his face a second later. A smirk that you knew all too well. A smirk that you had seen a thousand times before. “Darling...” He judged your reaction before continuing his statement. “Cuddles will always end in sex with me. Don’t you know that by now?”

You chuckled at him and tried to pry yourself from his grip. “Well then I guess we can’t be doing that, now can we?” Your attempts were futile, the man was just too strong for you.

You had never seen Yami want your touch so badly. His strong hands gripped your arms and before you could say another word his figure hovered over you, pinning you down with force. “Don’t think you’re going to get away so easily.”

You squealed happily as you squirmed again. “Yami! We don’t do this now. It’s still early. Do you wanna wake the whole hideout up?”

As he tried to press his lips to yours you moved away from him. He was growing annoyed by the second, his own urges almost taking control of him. “Don’t tease, pretty girl! You’ve been so good for me, don’t ruin it now.”

“Oh really?” You stopped and tried to continue speaking, but his lips pressed to yours, the passion behind his kiss more than you had seen from him lately.

You allowed your tongues to dance together as your loins began to ache for the man that sat before you. Your desire for him making your heart skip a beat. “Yami...” you were barely able to speak as you felt his hand reach between your legs. He knew just how to keep you from moving from his grip.

His fingers rubbed circles around your clit as you nearly melted under his touch. You threw your head back into the pillows and he smirked. “You like that, doll?”

You could barely answer him. You tried to make words, but the pleasure running through your body kept you from that. The small sounds coming from you gave him the answers he was looking for.

Yami took his hands from your cunt and slid his body down in the bed, placing his hands on your inner thighs and pushing them apart. “Let me see that pretty pussy of yours, baby.”

As your legs pulled apart Yami licked his lips. “So fucking perfect.”

His face disappeared between your legs and more pleasure coursed through you as his tongue slowly began to slide in and out of your core. You placed your hand in his hair and tugged slightly, the more you tugged the quicker Yami moved.

Your walls slowly closed around his tongue and he could tell you were nearing your climax. “Let it all out for me baby, I wanna taste you.”

Just the tone of his voice had you coming undone under his tongue. You cried out his name as your vision turned white from the pure bliss.

Yami wasted no time, not allowing you to come down from your high. His boxers were down in a second and with one quick roll of his hips he buried his cock inside you.

Your next orgasm began to build almost instantly. You could barely hold back your cries, trying your hardest not to wake up everyone in the hideout. You placed your hand over your mouth in a last attempt, but Yami ripped your arm away and pinned it down over your head. He wanted to hear every little sound, every last moan that would leave your body.

Your cunt clenched onto his cock as you let yourself go once again, each of his thrusts keeping your orgasm going. “Oh god, doll. You’re nearly suffocating me.”

Yami had never had such a hard time holding himself back. He wanted to savor the moment, he never wanted it to end, but the tighter your cunt became around him, the harder that became.

With a strangled sound, Yami painted your walls white with his seed. “Fuck.” He nearly shouted into the now quiet room as he emptied himself.

Yami collapsed on top of you and you wrapped an arm around him, placing your hand in his hair, playing with it as he caught his breath. He reached onto the nightstand beside you and grabbed his cigarettes before sitting back up.

With the flick of his lighter, he lit the end of his cigarette. “How’s that for a good morning?”

You reached out your hand and he took a drag before handing it to you. He blew the smoke out and laughed. You placed the cigarette against your lips and spoke. “I’m gonna guess everyone in the house is up now, we might wanna wait a little bit before leaving the room.”

“You know,” you handed it back to him and watched as he placed it between his lips. The familiar look of Yami Sukehiro with a cigarette in his mouth made you feel at home. “You’re probably right.”

You both laughed and basked in the rare morning that you got together. Taking in every little thing, the way the room felt, the exhaustion from a morning roll in the sheets, the sound of footsteps filling the hallway outside the door. Everything was just how it should be, at least for now.

Taglist: @monic00l​ @strangeinternetwasteland​ @rowley-with-ackerman​ @caothicsimptown @ellechanwrites​ @bonnisimpparker​

[taramarkv]

maia  reficco,   22,   demiwoman,   she/they,   dc.      gotham's   got   itself   a   new   challenger,   TARA   MARKOV.   they   consider   themselves   an   anti   hero   and   go   under   the   name   of   terra.   they're   known   for   their   earth  manipulation  /  earth  abilities.   this   song,   BLEEDING   OUT   by   IMAGINE   DRAGONS,   always   seems   to   be   playing   when   they're   around.   goes   hand   in   hand   with   their   +   charismatic   and   -   vengeful   personality.   they   kind   of   remind   me   of   feeling   claustrophobic   in  the  safest  place  you  know,  the  comforting  rumble  of  the  earth  beneath  your  feet  ,  breathing  in  air  and  exhaling  dirt,  the  nervous  tremor  of  your  fingers  as  they  interlock  around  a  weapon,  and  knowing  that  you're  your  own  worst  enemy.

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 : the  original  titans  run  ,  the  teen  titans  (  2003  )  tv  show,  some  of  young  justice  :  outsiders   -   not  anything  post  new-52.

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 : pinterest.  playlist.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 / 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 :  coming  soon  to  a  google  docs  near  you!

check  out  some  characterization  notes  /  headcanons  beneath  the  cut.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 / 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 :

discussions  of  :  death  /  smoking  /  ptsd.

tara  has  already  died.  they  joined  the  titans  when  they  were  a  teen.  everything  went  down  with  deathstroke  and  they  were  eventually  buried  underground  by  the  titans.  this  sparks  her  eventual  resurrection.  they’re  under  the  ground  for  about  a  year  before  they  regains  consciousness.  one  more  passes  before  she  gets  the  strength  to  climb  up  from  beneath  the  ground.  they  hate  enclosed  spaces  -  tends  to  get  anxious  whenever  they  are  in  one  bc  she  had  to  claw  from  their  own  coffin.

tara  is  freakishly  deeply  intimately  connected  to  the  earth  ever  since  she  was  resurrected.  she  has  a  stronger  sense  of  what’s  going  on  on  the  earth  itself  :  she  can  sometimes  feel  it  beneath  her  skin  like  a  second  pulse. 

atlee  who?  there  is  no  other  terra.  tara  is  still  terra  -  not  terra  1  or  terra  2.  they  would  never  give  up  their  codename.  sorry.  

tara  chain  vapes.  true  product  of  her  environment,  really  and  truly.  has  three  vapes  -  one  for  the  house,  one  for  the  car  and  one  that  she  somehow  manages  to  keep  on  her  person  at  all  times.  nicotine  addict.  also  always  shaking??  

has  a  weird  accent  mix  -  it’s  a  mix  of  markovian  and  north  new  jersey:  close  to  new  york.  tends  to  chop  off  the  ends  of  words  that  end  in  ‘-ing’.  

she  chews  on  the  inside  of  her  cheek  when  she’s  anxious  so  basically  all  the  time,  they  pick  at  nail  polish  when  they  have  them  painted  (  usually  black  ),  she  can  stand  or  sit  preternaturally  still  because  she  was  dead  for  a  while. 

is  a  mercenary  currently.  can’t  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks  and  all  of  that.  has  a  somewhat  lavish  apartment  that  makes  u  wonder  how  she  got  it.  it’s  perpetually  drafty  though. 

dresses  like  ur  goth  gf  if  they’d  seen  the  annals  of  hell.  gives  off  more  than  slightly  unhinged  vibes  and  revels  in  it.  big  inspo  is  veronica  sawyer  from  heathers  after  everything  happened.

identifies  as  a  demiwoman,  uses  she/her  to  describe  themselves  but  will  also  respond  to  they/them.

has  anxiety  /  ptsd  /  is  a  slight  narcissist  /  depression  /  night  terrors. 

avoids  emotional  intimacy  and  treats  all  relationships  like  transactions.

if  u  give  her  something,  she’ll  pay  u  back  for  it.

is  somewhat  of  a  feral  gremlin. 

somewhat  wants  to  be  good  but  it  never  really  works  out  for  them.

will  sacrifice  you   for  a  corn  chip  if  it  saves  her  own  skin. 

can  be  somewhat  heroic  but  is  also  mentally  unstable  and  will  preserve  their  life  at  all  costs.  even  if  that  cost  is  u,  oops!  

will  occasionally  come  across  as  cruel  or  callous.