#was gonna add a section where reader curses out scott tibbs for being a fucking asshole friend but it didn’t really fit

[pinkkittysaw]

I DON’T SMOKE

pairing: adam stanheight x gn! reader

content: angst, grief & smoking | sfw but minors & ageless blogs DNI

a/n: inspired by the song “i don’t smoke” by mitski. i also threw in a part of adam’s tape in the mix cause i thought it fit pretty well

dividers by @/cafekitsune

“i don’t smoke except for when i’m missing you. to remember your mouth, how it tasted true”

You never used to smoke. To be honest, you hated everything about it. The taste, the way it suffocated your lungs, and its lingering scent on your clothes.

You always bugged Adam about quitting, huffing whenever he’d pull out a cigarette. “The stench is too much to bear,” you’d say as you covered the lower half of your face with your hand, trying your best not to let the smoke permeate. “It’s not that bad,” he’d always reply, smirking.

He’d always be sure to kiss you either during or after smoking one, enjoying the pouty face you’d make after tasting the smoke lingering in his mouth.

You never used to smoke. Until he disappeared one night seeming to vanish into thin air, the police doing little to fuck all in trying to find him. He’s just “Another nobody that the government doesn’t have to care about anymore,” as one of them so eloquently worded in an overheard conversation.

As days turned into weeks, then months, it began to feel as if he never existed. A distant memory lost to time.

In a fit of grief one sleepless night, you reach for the opened pack of cigarettes he left behind. The shittiest brand, of course; it's not like he could afford anything better.  

Putting one to your lips, you light it on the gas stove. As you inhale, you’re thrown into a coughing fit. The smoke burns your lungs, and the stale nicotine is repulsive on your tongue, but you endure it; cause for a moment, it’s like he’s there with you again. His lips on yours, breathing you in. 

His clothes stopped smelling like him after a while, and pictures can only do so much to ease the ache. This is the only real connection you have left with him. The same poison filling your lungs.

“now, i see you as a strange mix of someone angry and yet apathetic. but mostly just pathetic.”

He wasn’t perfect, by any means. Some days, it felt like you bickered more than anything else, but what you wouldn’t give to be able to argue one more time.

“if you need to be mean be mean to me i can take it and put it inside of me”

“if your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room you can lean on my arm as you break my heart”

“just don’t leave me alone wondering where you are”

What you wouldn’t give to walk out on your shared balcony and see him sitting there, cigarette in hand, with a melancholy look on his face, not yet ready to muster up an apology. You’d sit beside him in silence, laying your head on his shoulder as he’d wordlessly interlock his fingers with yours, blowing the smoke into the night sky as the city bustled below.

The only thing that greets you now is the open air and the eerie silence. You plop down in your old spot on the balcony, lighting up a cigarette, staring blankly into the night sky.