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rinhaler · 6 months

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I want plug! Sukuna to ask me if i want a treat while unbuttoning his pants.

++ 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝: 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐆𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐋𝐋𝐋

doubling up these requests bc they are both scrumptious hehe :P also treating this as an alternate reality where Yuuji doesn't know the reader cheated with Sukuna, enjoy!!

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dubcon, oui'd smoking, oral (m receiving), degradation, throat fucking, throat bulge, choking, breath play, dacryphilia, slight praise, daddy kink, pussy spanks!

words: 2k

It’s not unusual for you to turn up unannounced at your boyfriend’s house. Why would it be weird? You like to surprise him, on occasion. Being here when he finishes work always puts the brightest smile on his face.

So, no, it isn’t weird that you’re here without him knowing.

It’s perfectly fine.

It’s normal.

Though after Sukuna opens the door, your heart starts doing cartwheels. He can tell how nervous you are, the way your body moves through heavy breaths, that you’re trying to conceal remarkably well, gives you away completely.

He leans on the door frame and smirks wickedly.

“What are you doing here?” he grunts, kicking the door open and allowing you to enter the apartment he shares with his brother. “Yuuji isn’t here,” he speaks, casually, walking back towards his bedroom before stopping abruptly. He turns to face you, that maniacal smirk of his growing wider. “Oh, don’t tell me, did you come all of this way to see me, princess?”

You hate yourself. But you hate Sukuna more. You can’t believe you’ve allowed yourself to do this. To come here, so meekly and pathetically and allow him to have this level of power and control over you.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He whistles, cheeks filling with air as his eyes widen in disbelief. He hadn’t expected you to be so blunt, so honest.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” you sigh, turning to leave. “Don’t tell Yuuji I came, please.”

“Stop.” Sukuna tells you, he curls his finger and walks away from you.

You’re like a lap dog wherever he’s concerned. You’ve tried avoiding him, you’ve tried only spending the night with Yuuji if he comes to your place. But things are changing. You can’t stand it. You’re getting snippier with your boyfriend and you can feel yourself comparing the two of them whenever you have sex. Yuuji is good in bed. And he’s generous, but Sukuna… that one night with Sukuna… it’s looping in your mind like a record.

You enter his room to see an ashtray with a fat blunt already lit. The smoke twirls and dances upward, and you know already know where this is going.

“Relax, will you?” he speaks as he gets comfortable on his bed. It’s like fucking déjà-vu, watching him pick up his Xbox controller and load up GTA while you look down at the blunt apprehensively. “Makin’ me fucking stressed, why are you like that?”

“Shut up.” you bite back, picking up the ashtray, joint in hand as you sit on the edge of the bed. He pays you no mind as you devour it, every last morsel you can get before setting it back down. He watches you out of the corner of his eye when you stand up to take off your coat and kick off your shoes. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

He scoffs, smiling.

“About?”

“You’re such a cunt.” you practically spit at him as the venom drips from your tongue. You’re a little taken aback, however, that he doesn’t react at all. He does, though. You just aren’t perceptive enough to have realised the way he stopped playing his game briefly and his jaw bubbled with anger. He’s a good actor, though.

He’s sure got you fooled.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either.” he admits. You freeze before sitting back down on the bed and stare at him. He doesn’t pause his game again, but he looks at you, too. There’s something in your eyes, he detects. Is it concern? Worry? Lust? “Why did you come here?”

“I don’t know.” you respond, instantly. It’s the truth, after all. You don’t know, you’re not sure you’ll ever know. Cheating on Yuuji once is bad enough, but did you really come here to do it again? It’s making you feel a little sympathy for your ex, and that is a dangerous thought. “I just… you’re in here, constantly.” you admit, pointing to your temple.

“You’re high already.” he laughs. “We can’t do it again. Yuuji might forgive one slip up, but two?”

“I know we can’t.” you sigh, lying backwards on the mattress and look up at the ceiling. You look at the TV when it turns silent, noticing the screen has gone back. And then you look back at Sukuna, noticing him lighting another blunt. “I’m not high, by the way.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, taking a hearty drag before flicking the ash away. “Your eyes are red as fuck, and you’re drooling.”

You keep your eyes and mouth closed for a moment, wiping the alleged drool from your mouth. You do all you can to gather your thoughts, though there’s nothing coherent going on up there. Sukuna’s blunts are too fucking strong for you. And you’re an idiot, really, because you remember what happened last time you got too high with him.

But maybe, deep down, this is what you want.

“Are ya pent up?” he snickers before smoking again, “I fuck better than Yuuji, yeah? Want me to make you squirt again?”

“You’re disgusting.” you snipe, shutting him down instantly.

“You are, too, ‘cause you like it.” he continues. Your jaw hangs low again as he rests his blunt between his lips and lifts his shirt over his head, exposing his perfectly toned body to you again. “Look like you wanna eat me, princess.”

“Shut up…” you huff, turning your head away again so you aren’t ogling his muscles. They’re on your mind, though. Like a parasite wriggling its way into your braincells.

Your focus is brought back to him again, however, when you see his hands move towards his jeans. The blunt is still latched between his lips as he unfastens his belt. The clinking of the metal on his belt is like a knife through you, a painful reminder of what you’re doing here and what you’re letting him get away with.

“Don’t look so scared,” he tells you, unbuttoning the top of his jeans. “D’ya want a treat?” the sound of his zipper coming down is deafening.

You’re frozen in place, completely paralysed as you think about what he’s saying. He just said you can’t do this. He just said that Yuuji won’t forgive you for making the same mistake twice. Your heart is racing as he puts the blunt back in the ashtray and stands to his feet. He grabs your ankles, dragging you off of the bed and you land with a thump.

“Your pussy is nice, princess, but your mouth was a perfect little cocksleeve for me. Get on the bed.” he orders, and you obey. You let him manhandle you until your head is hanging off the edge, your eyes widen in horror as the long, girthy monster in his pants is revealed to you again. “Open wide.”

He wastes no time once your mouth is open, stuffing his cock down your throat until it bulges. The sight is almost enough to make him cum. You hate how much you love being treated like this, like you’re nothing. Nothing but a whore. Sukuna’s whore, in fact.

“Oh fuck.” he hisses, throwing his head back. “Been dyin’ to cum down your little throat, fuck.” he tells you, his heavy palm squeezes down on your neck as he fucks in and out of your wet cavern. He pulls out, giving you a moment to breathe. “Tell daddy you like sucking cock.” he demands, smacking his tip off your swollen bottom lip.

“I like— I l-like sucking daddy’s c-cock.” you struggle to speak through cracked breaths. And you can barely think another thought before he slots his cock back between your lips again.

You wince as he suffocates you with his length, oozing pre coats your tongue with each thrust. And, fuck, you can’t deny how wet you are.

He looks down when you begin slapping his thigh so you can breathe. And he pulls out, briefly, before plunging in again.

“You’re the fucking cunt.” he tells you. “Look at you, sucking your boyfriend’s brother off like a porn star. Think I’m a cunt? What does that make you?”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realise he’s toying with your very life over a throw away comment. Of course he’s a cunt, and you are too! You didn’t mean to offend him this much. But maybe this is a game, too, maybe he’s joking around.

He pulls out again, leaving you gasping as your eyes water and you suck in every breath of air you can take in case he decides to rob you of it again. His hand remains on your throat, though there’s essentially no pressure to it.

“Look pretty when you cry.” he snarls. “Thought I was gonna kill you for a sec, didn’t ya?”

You choke out a sob and nod, and he coos. He smooths his free hand over your cheek, stroking it delicately with his thumb before withdrawing it. You try to object as he lets it wander, though, his hand breaches your leggings and slips beneath your panties to feel your soaked folds.

“Thought you were gonna die ‘n you got this wet? Jesus, princess.” he laughs, spanking your pussy lightly a few times. He briefly removes his hand from your throat and guides his cock back between your lips, fucking into your mouth again at a ruthless pace. He removes his fingers from your underwear and licks them clean, moaning as he continues humping into your mouth.

The taste is better than weed, he thinks. Your sweet juices are heaven sent and he can’t get enough. He’s been rough with you, he knows, he does feel a little guilty, but not enough to stop. He’ll treat you, though. He’s close, and when he’s finished he’ll make you cum on his tongue as many times as you want. Or he wants.

He’ll even eat it from the back.

Fuck, he’s pussy drunk without even experiencing it yet.

Your mouth is incredible, and you’re taking him so well. But he knows how perfect your cunt is, how pretty you moan when you feel good. He wants it all. Needs it, in fact.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cummin', baby!” he grunts, moaning boisterously without a care in the world. It’s like you’re his, he doesn’t care if Yuuji comes home and hears. It’s none of his little brother’s business what he does with his property.

He frees you from the grasp of his hand around your throat and slowly pulls out of your mouth. You look exhausted, and you are. It doesn’t go unnoticed despite you trying to put on an act for Sukuna. He doesn’t care, not really. He’ll let you rest but he’s nowhere near done with you. He helps you sit upright, pulling you into his arms as he cradles you on the bed.

“I won’t hurt you, you know.” he tells you, pulling your t-shirt over your head and tugging at your bottoms. “I’ll spank you and slap you and whatever else while we’re fucking.”

“O-Okay…” you respond, unsure of what he’s getting at.

“I wouldn’t kill you, I mean.” he continues, clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t be violent with ya, Yuuji’d kill me if I was.”

“Oh! That…”

“Doesn’t mean you can call me a cunt, though.” he warns you before kissing your neck and groping at your tits. Your head falls back and you run your fingers through his hair. “Better say sorry if you want daddy to eat you out.”

“F-uuuck, okay, ‘m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a cunt.”

“Good girl.” he whispers against your ear. “Get on all fours, sweetheart. Face down ass up.”

You do as you’re told, wiggling your ass a little to encourage him to hurry. He doesn’t, though. He wants to make the most of this moment with you. He doesn’t know if it’ll happen again, or if it does, he’ll never know when. His hands grip into the flesh of your ass, spreading it until your pussy lips part.

He admires your soft, dewy flesh like it’s a painting in an art gallery.

It might be the last time he ever sees it, after all.

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heich0e · 6 months

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au in which touya ends up having to watch natsuo put his hands all over you because you took something offered to you at a sketchy warehouse party that has you panting and whimpering and burning up and his own hot hands can't provide you any comfort but his little brother's cool-quirked touch can

#touya can't take you to the hospital because you took the pill willingly and he doesn't want you to get in trouble #and he feels so guilty because HE'S the one who brought you to the stupid party anyway #your apartment is too far away and your roommates already think touya's bad news so he doesn't want to give them another reason to hate him #so he drags you back to his house to try and help you ride out the high #and you're kneeling on the floor just inside the door to the todoroki home half-dressed because you keep trying to peel off your clothes #with touya pleading with you in a frantic whisper to just stand up and make the short walk to his bedroom without waking up his siblings #and a bleary eyed natsuo (still up and studying for a test he has the next day) finds you and his brother in the doorway #and natsuo doesn't understand why you're clinging to touya and behaving so strangely #but he does know that you sound pretty when you whimper like that #and that the way that the dim light in the corridor catches in the sheen of sweat on your exposed throat makes his chest feel tight #tw drug use

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ohno-the-sun · 2 months

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Comic depiction of the dream I had months ago that I forgot to post

Sleuth jester Eclipse and ghost in the machine Fool

Also uuhhh second part under the cut tw for drug use ppfpfptf

#my art #sb eclipse #tw drug use #gitm fool #to be fair they weren’t my weed brownies #really shouldn t eat food that isn’t urs smh smh

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neocentral · 7 months

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drugdealer bf!eunseok or seunghan, they've been wanting you to try what they sell & after refusing many times you finally say yes but he knowingly gives you a stronger dosage than he said he would

moved to: @riizeblr

note: it’s a little different than what you asked for but i like it so

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: noncon, drug use, dealer!eunseok x innocent!reader

your innocence was cute at first. endearing and refreshing. the pure and trusting look in your glimmering eyes, sweet, ever-present smile, and subconscious reactions to his every touch, unaware of how badly your body craved him.

eunseok liked to tease, lightly pinching the tops of your thighs when you wore short dresses and a quick tap on the swell of your ass when you walked by, grinning at you when you straightened your back, chest jumping and thighs tensing. eunseok loved that. he loved pushing the pure, pretty, innocent girls like you until they spread their thighs, hazy and dilated pupils glancing up at him, bodies bare and shy before he mounted them. but it seemed you would never crack. after so many months you had done nothing about his little games. you still pushed his hands away, smile growing, a light complaint falling from your lips.

like usual, your reaction was the same, flinching away from his pinched fingers that wrapped around your hair, yanking quickly. you whined and eunseok chuckled, watching you examine your current sticker sheet, fiddling with the corner of a scented strawberry. "that's a cute one," he said as the tip of his tongue flicked thin rolling paper.

"you think she'll like it?" you asked, thumb securing the sticker to the package of sweets.

eunseok hummed, "she loved the last one." he grinned when you smiled, setting it aside and reaching for another.

"does it taste like real candy?" you wondered, meeting his gaze.

eunseok's ears perked up at that. you had never shown interest in his products, always wrinkling your nose at the strange scents and furrowing your brows at the powders that all seemed to look the same. you took to decorating them, plastering stickers and doodles all over the dull baggies all while tucked beneath your boyfriend's arm or sat between his warm thighs. they're pretty this way, you'd said. eunseok found that he didn't mind the compliments about your work thrown your way and a teasing wink or comment directed at him as he closed the door.

"try one."

you paused, licking your bottom lip. unsure, you took the unopened package of infused strawberry-flavored gummies. he smiled as you placed one on your wet, pink tongue. you chewed slowly, slight confusion at the faint and strange unfamiliar taste beneath the sugary fruit.

"try another," eunseok murmured, reaching into the crinkling wrapper as he fell to his knees, inches away from you. you opened your mouth obidiently, taking the bright red, chewy candy from his hold. you chewed the second one without question, trust swimming in your eyes.

he gripped your chin, inching closer to you until his plush lips met yours. your lips were sticky, clinging to his own as he kissed you softly. you leaned into him, dropping your weight onto his chest as your gentle lips became even more lighter. he did the opposite, pushing his mouth against yours, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you onto his lap and even closer to him, feeling your curves sink into him and your thinly-covered core against his cock that had already begun to swell.

"feels weird," you mumbled as he sucked on the sensitive skin of your neck, hips grinding against your heated pussy. "don't like this."

eunseok hummed, "it'll go away soon. you'll like it."

you lightly shook your head, mouth falling open to speak but the words died on your tongue. a hum was all you could muster as he pushed your panties aside, long pointer finger pushing between your wet folds, expertly finding your swollen bud. he groaned against your throat, feeling the subconscious pulses of your cunt the more he touched you. you moaned weakly, making his cock jump in anticipation.

eunseok grinned at the sound, circling your clenching hole with his middle finger. "this is gonna hurt a little," he whispered, slender digit entering you slowly. your brows furrowed a slight jerk of your head that he knew was meant to be a shake but he proceeded anyway, sliding his finger against your velvety walls. you’d like it soon enough, just like the rest.

#tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw drug use #I got too into the dealers innocent gf thing #starring… eunseok !#screenplay…#[RIIZE] play…#eunseok x reader #eunseok smut #riize x reader #riize smut #riize hard hours #dark riize #dark eunseok #riize imagines #riize #eunseok

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doma3681 · 8 months

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Cry of Fear

#cry of fear fanart #cry of fear #simon henriksson #book simon #sophie cry of fear #dr purnell cry of fear #tw sh #tw drug use #tw sui ideation #tw gun #TRIGGER WARNING EVERYTHING #could’ve turned out better

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shivroy · 21 days

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waystar royco employee stress relief

#gghghghkdfbjhlbjgvdfjkghhggggggggggggggggggg #succession #greg hirsch #gregory hirsch #cousin greg #drug use #smoking #if i need to put the mature community label on this lmk #evil version is going with other stuff on ao3 at some undisclosed time but i dont know when that will be dont even WORRY about it #tw drug use #drug usage #tw

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spdrvyn · 2 months

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Perhaps a request for Miggy x scientist reader? Reader is a a former Alchemex scientist who used to work with Miguel. They have been working in spider HQ ever since the beginning of spider society. Both of them have been too busy to realize the bottled up feelings and emotions that is about to burst….

breaking beakers

miguel and a reader that's been by his side since day 1. since the treachery of alchemax, you've been loyal to miguel and his cause for protection of the multiverse. read bit by bit how your relationship with miguel develops, even if it's only something as simple as helping him administer rapture.

angst. drug usage (rapture). panic attack. absolutely love this request! i've never written a story where the reader was already a part of miguel's past so this is new and exciting for me. thank you, anon! i put my own twist, i hope you still enjoy reading ♡

dividers by @cafekitsune

breaking breakers

When you got paired up with your workplace's assigned asshole, you were more than concerned for your career than ever.

Miguel wasn't easy from the start. Arguments were one after the other, followed by complete silence in the lab due to the inability of either of you to take accountability. You had never really heard him talk or engage in conversation properly unless it was to scold or correct you for making, according to him, a quintillion mistakes.

It stretched you thin, you were close to asking the higher-ups to give you another partner, but you knew that they would ignore your protests so you put up with it. Besides, talking smack with your friends outside of work helped. Though, you knew that they were getting a little tired from it as well.

After a particularly harsh argument with him, you couldn't retaliate with anything witty to say. You sulked in your own corner of the laboratory for a while, until Miguel silently placed a small, steaming hot cup of coffee on your desk.

That moment had triggered the beginning of your actual relationship. Sometimes, the room would still be strung tight with tension, but it was better than awkwardly hanging around each other and waiting for yet another fight to start. It slowly turned into Miguel giving you rides home, Miguel buying more than just coffee for you, and Miguel staying at your place after he dropped you off.

Then he quit.

Or did he get fired? Liberated, in corporate terms. You didn't know the full story, you got a new lab partner one day, Miguel was gone, there was no coffee on your desk anymore. There was no comfortable silence.

It was difficult to get a hold on him with the moments that followed, you knew well that he had a tendency to brood, but never for this long. He didn't leave you on read, your messages weren't even going through. You searched his name up on social media and found nothing, a thousand other Miguels but not your Miguel. You reached out to his brother after a lot of thinking, but he couldn't come up with an answer either because his family didn't know where he went either.

Perhaps it shouldn't have upset you as much as it should have, Alchemax viewed their employees as expendable toys. You didn't mean to get attached to him, but you had breached that line very long ago ever since the first shouting match. He was your friend now, no corporation was going to get between at least trying to talk again.

When you had gotten a message from an unknown number, there were only two possible answers. A telemarketer or Miguel. Likely possibilities, a fifty percent chance for either. You thanked God that it was the latter.

The power that was held in that conversation had changed the trajectory of your life forever. Miguel helped arrange a time for you to meet, the second you caught sight of him, it erupted a feeling in you that you just couldn't bring yourself to describe.

He still looked like him, but otherwise different. His face looked more sunken in, eyebags, lines you hadn't seen on his face before. He was definitely taller, his physique was more built as well. What caught your attention the most though was his eyes, crimson red and deliberately drained of light.

Miguel, what happened to you?

It was a long, overly extensive talk. You shouldn't have broken down over it, the events that lead up to his timely demise at his job. It wasn't your place to cry over his misfortunes, but he looked like he didn't have it left in him to cry so you took that place for him. Alchemax was your breeding ground for innovation and evolution of human society, a little shady around the edges, but you knew that you'd still be helping people in the end. After this, your hopes in that place had been quashed. Clearly if they were heartless enough to treat one of their top geneticists like this, they wouldn't be any better towards the safety and care of the populus.

So you quit your job immediately. Miguel invited you to Spider Society and you gladly agreed, you were in no position to really decline. Besides, it was a good way to get you back on your feet again. You had become acquainted with the people that passed by in what used to be headquarters back then, Miguel trusted them with his life it seemed (despite him not being able to admit that himself though).

You'd find yourself in HQ more than in your own apartment at that point, you enjoyed being there. You had closer friends, Spider-People were better company than mad scientists anyway. You helped Miguel make this new, exciting thing from foundation to the top. It helped you become more social, it made you more comfortable opening up to people again.

You just didn't know that it was doing quite the opposite with Miguel.

You had blamed yourself for not noticing sooner, for not picking up the details that he wasn't doing as fine as he thought he was. When you found the doors to his office locked, you already felt your heart begin to race. You called out to Lyla and she was more than willing to answer back, "He's going through something, he hasn't really been taking his Rapture doses recently and-"

"Let me handle it," you said, firmly. "I can help him. I can fix it."

Lyla looked at you, just looked. She didn't feel, she wasn't supposed to feel exactly. She could act like it, her programming allowed her that at least. She made perfectly calculated decisions and perfectly calculated reactions to them, when she noticed a problem, she was supposed to fix it.

You weren't as accustomed to Lyla as other people, but you were aware of that as well. In spite of that, she still managed to be the light in conversations most of the time. Literally, when it was the dead of night, just you and Miguel strewing and caking together more reports, she'd find ways to make it more entertaining.

That means if Lyla looked at you like she did, with so much uncertainty and inner conflict. It was like her code turned to beat like a human heart, you could hear it in the swift moment of silent she'd left you in. The hiss and whir to Miguel's office doors reeled you back in, Lyla sighed. She shouldn't sigh, she never sighed.

"Do the right thing," she wished you off. God, I hope so, you thought to yourself.

It was dark, obviously. You were used to it, ever since Miguel told you about how sensitive his senses can get, you didn't really mind at all. There was still light that peeked from the corners, a small monitor here and there, maybe a secret window you just didn't know about. It was cozy sometimes even to evade the blinding sunlight and stay in the darkness with Miguel. But that's not at all what it felt like when you entered. It did not embrace you, it suffocated you.

There was no accompanied noise either, no beeping from a monitor, no whirring of a machine, and no idle chatter with him and Lyla like there would always be. It was the purest form of silence, the sound of your breathing and the small pats of your shoes against the cold, metal ground was all you could hear.

Miguel's platform was placed high up, there was absolutely no way that you could get to him without using a web shooter. Unless you could somehow convince him to lower his platform, which you really didn't want to do in the case you might accidentally say something stupid.

"Miguel?" You yelled, stupidly. Though, it would be more stupid to try and propel yourself up to the height of his platform. One option results in humiliation until the end of your life while the other option could result in the end of your life. You weren't really looking forward to experiencing the latter.

You thought you heard him mumble something, but before you could call out his name again, he answered back. "Get out."

The absence of cruelty in his tone was prominent to you already. He didn't have the heart to speak so coldly to you in the first place. No, he sounded scared, fearful, whether it was of you or himself, you were yet to find out the reason why. The priority right now was to talk to him, properly.

"Are you sure about that? I have a, uh, really important work file that I need you to review! The multiverse is at stake here, Miguel. Come on!"

Silence. For a few seconds. Before you heard the unmistakable click and whir of his platform, it makes its slow descent down towards you. Miguel begun to enter your vision, he had a chair pulled up and he was hunched over on his desk. Rare, you knew he liked to work when standing (oddly enough).

"You're a bad liar," he grumbled, not even facing you as he said it. You sighed as you stepped onto the platform, placing your hands on your hips.

"I wasn't lying, but your doors were locked and Lyla told me that there was something going on here." Miguel mumbled something else under his breath that you couldn't catch, he simply goes back to what to whatever he's doing. Which you really couldn't allow, but you couldn't push yourself into this. With him, there was always some sort of process.

You took the moment to observe your surroundings, it was unbearably messy in here. A feat that he'd somehow been able to achieve despite being way past the age of papers, there was clutter everywhere. From beakers, liquids of mysterious origin pooled around from here to there, and even... Blood?!

Your attention had snapped back to Miguel and that's when you had started to notice, how his shoulders rose and fell faster than usual, his hands ruffled in his hair, the rapid successions of his breath.

"Miguel," Shock the process. Shock waiting. He clearly wasn't okay, you knew that to the fullest now. In three short strides, you were already by his side. "What's going on?"

He shook his head. Okay, you didn't want to press him too hard into talking, but this wasn't something that you could leave alone. Hesitantly, you placed a hand on one of his shoulders. He flinched, so did you, but right now, you needed to be the strongest person in the room so you kept your hand there.

You tilted your head to the side, just so you could see his face, but he avoided your gaze. What entered your sights however was a discarded needle gun, yet to be picked up, and a few claw marks on the table.

So this was the Rapture that Lyla was talking about. You hadn't a single clue what it was when she mentioned it, you pretended because you thought that she'd lock you out if you hadn't. Even then, there isn't much you could deduce aside from the fact that it was a drug Miguel had to take. You heard very little about the Rapture studies back in Alchemax, it was very classified, and you wish you would have pried more.

"Do you need help with that?" You asked, trying to keep your voice as level as possible. Your thumb drew small circles into the muscle of his shoulder, his hands fell from his hair to his sides. He slumped back against his chair with a big sigh, and he nodded.

Shakily, you picked up the gun. There was no seat for you to take, so you decided on sitting on the table. When you leaned down, the nanofabric of Miguel's suit had dissipated, revealing the fullness of his arm to you. You attempted to steady your hands over the exposed skin, Miguel doesn't even wince as the little needles pierce through.

It will probably take a little while for the vial to empty out. You stewed in the silence with Miguel for a while, you'd usually use this as an opportunity to make conversation, but judging from his current state, he probably isn't one for talking.

You released the breath that you were holding in when it was finished, you set the device for the side. Your hand remained on Miguel's shoulder the whole time and it tightened as you asked, "Is there–"

"No. No, I'm sorry. I'm just-" Miguel took a deep breath. "I'm- not ready to talk about it right now. It's a lot, sorry for bothering you."

He still wouldn't look you in the eye, you looked down to his hands and saw him tugging and pinching at the fabric of his suit. He'd calmed down a little now at least, but still. You couldn't help but feel like you've failed somehow, you tried to put on what's supposed to resemble a smile to him. "Okay, that's fine."

When he dismissed you and let you (told you) to leave him alone, you promised yourself that you'd wait. You'd wait for him to be ready.

But maybe he never will.

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x y/n #hurt/comfort #tw drug use #tw panic attack

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moistrodent · 3 months

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I love how Hazbin Hotel brushed over Angel Dust’s drug use, because in the eyes of the show drug use isn’t something very traumatic, leads to much more vulnerable to human and sex trafficking, SA, and abusive relationships. Drug use is very complicated but in Hazbin Hotel Angel Dust’s drug problem is mentioned like…four times and one of those three times was a fucking joke. Drug use is often very misrepresented in media, also being an addict doesn’t make you a bad person, drug use shouldn't be criminalised (it makes it much harder to seek help), and rehab shouldn’t expensive as fuck. And also Angel Dust’s name? Weird as shit. That’s like naming your OC crack. It’s treating Angel Dust like he’s only his addiction wich is really horrible representation for obvious reasons. Vivziepop does not know how to represent serious topics, she either uses it for fetish bait or an actual literal joke. Also his name? Doesn’t make any sense. The effects of PCP were discovered over ten years after Angel Dust canonically died. It’s so clear Vivzepop didn’t do any research on the topic she’s trying to represent, it takes five seconds to google this shit.

#tw drugs #tw drug use #tw sa #tw sa mention #tw abuse #tw human trafficking #tw sex trafficking #anti hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #anti vivziepop #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #txt post #tw swearing #tw fetishization

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binart · 10 months

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ha ha ha anyway i'm going to go see my doctor soon EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE

#tw drug use #bina's doodles #life comic #what do you even call this #DEEPLY PERSONAL ILLUSTRATION SEQUENCE #BEHOLD!!! I AM UNWELL #for now.............................#for real though i'll be ok #i got a little taste of a Zest for Life and now i'd like to. pursue that.#yeehaw life will b ok what fantastic news #long post

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archie-sunshine · 4 months

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Ratchet smoking old pretty please 🙏 that Old man probably smokes a blunt a day to keep insanity at bay from dealing with.. Everyone on the Lost Light, tbh

I think Drift rolls the cybertronian equivalent of a girl blunt for him with like lavender and shit but like. its mica and crystals or something.

I think ratty is very mellow while high.

#tw drug use #tw drugs #transformers #my art #archie answers #my requests #mtmte #drift #ratchet #dratchet

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idiot-mushroom · 28 days

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they’re baked af

og pic:

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rinhaler · 4 months

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In The World My Demons Cultivate

“Why do you miss me?” he breathes again, your voice hitches at the thought of explaining yourself so intimately. So desperately. You won’t be able to stop him from judging you or mocking you for being so weak, and still, you do as he asks.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ghost!toji fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: angst Notes: cried so much writing this oof Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, no smut, dead character (obviously), mental heatlh struggles, suicide ideation, grief/loss, drug abuse, pet names. Words: 3k

Does it ever stop?

“No, not really,” he answers.

You look up, seeing a familiar face, a familiar scar. One that you haven’t seen for a long, long time. It makes you laugh. You’re giggling like a little girl as you look at him. And he’s looking at you, too. A missing memory that you’ve blotted out every single day for as long as you can remember.

How old were you?

How old are you?

It doesn’t matter, you suppose. In the grand scheme of things nothing really matters to you or anyone else. You don’t matter and no one else does, either. You’re just another set of lungs tarring them with filth at the end of the day.

You quit, you did.

You really tried to quit.

But it’s the only thing that makes you stop thinking about your miserable fucking life for a few hours until you pass out and have to live it all over again. Everyday is the same. How do people live like this every single day until they die?

How do people pretend they aren’t suffering when they are?

They are.

You are.

“Can you read my mind, Toji?” you laugh.

He nods. And he notes how your eyes instantly flutter closed when he places a hand on your bare shoulder. It’s been too long since you’ve been touched.

Held.

Loved.

He knows you better than you know yourself. He’s always been like that. You’ve never been able to keep a secret because he’ll get it out of you one way or another. You’ll crack under the pressure of a stare so intense it could turn mere rock to diamonds, the power of glorious green eyes over your fragile mind.

That or you’ll tell him of your own volition.

Does he really possess the power to read your mind? Is that why you love him, so unequivocally? Through all of your faults, he’s here. Through all of his, you love him, still.

You smile.

“I wish I was dead.” you grin, but his face is stoic.

“You said that out loud.” he hisses. You mewl, and it’s gentle, as he runs his fingers through messy, unwashed hair. You’re like a cat, eyes closed and purring for him as you rest your head on his thigh. “Don’t joke about dyin’, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think he’d come, no matter how hard you wished for it. You hadn’t thought he’d show up just for you. And yet, here he is, with his back pressed against your headboard and a deep rumble in his lungs with every heavy intake of exhausted breath.

Like it’s hard.

Hard to breathe or hard to be with you, you don’t know. You don’t want to know, either. He’s here, that’s all that matters now. Things feel good again, normal.

“When did you get here?” you wonder, your voice is barely above a whisper as you speak. Eyes still closed so delicately; he can see the way your eyes are trying to explore your bedroom despite them being shut. He likes that about you, that your mind can never switch off.

But he hates it, too.

He’s not alone in that.

“I’ve been here the whole time, baby.”

Did you forget? Have you misremembered because you’re so fucking stoned? It’s possible, but unlikely. And still, you don’t question it. The warmth of his hand on the crown of your head, the pudgy but sturdy flesh of his thighs beneath your cheek are enough.

You don’t need answers, not now.

The blue light from your laptop flickers and blinds you as the same trailer that Netflix has been repeating for hours now continues to loop and loop. It should be driving you mad, but it isn’t. It’s inaudible to you, especially now.

A heartbeat fills your ears and ricochets between the four walls of your bedroom. The vociferous beating might deafen you if you don’t clear your mind of it, if you don’t speak you might succumb to the burden of it.

“I’ve missed you.” you whimper.

His hand freezes, tongue drying in his mouth before turning into sand he’ll surely choke on. He swallows, and it’s loud. A cartoonish gulp as he hears the sorrow in your words, a meek cry for help that you wouldn’t dare admit to. You couldn’t do that to him, not really, not right now.

“I know.” he sighs.

“I’m so…” you start, your voice fading away as you contemplate keeping your words to yourself. He isn’t the type to care, is he? He hasn’t missed you, anyway. Or at least he didn’t say it, which, to you, surmounts to the same conclusion.

You aren’t missed, not by him.

Neither of you speak, but his fingers resume soothing your scalp. He won’t say he’s missed you. He won’t tell you anything you want to hear; he isn’t like that.

Could it be that he can’t, rather than won’t? It’s trite, burrowing your head between each word and letter he’s spoken and hasn’t spoken. Searching for some double meaning in the words he chooses instead of just some meaning.

Any meaning.

What does it mean to find purpose or reason at a time like this?

It won’t help and it won’t change things. You’ve long accepted that things don’t change for the better. They change, things certainly change. But not for the better. Or maybe they do, for other people.

Not you.

Never you.

“You’re so loud.” he mutters, prompting you to roll over to face him. He looks down at you, it isn’t patronising. It’s generic, which might be worse. There’s no feeling with him, in him, from him. At least if he was patronising you he’d feel something for you.

He’s felt nothing for so long.

You wonder if he ever felt something for you.

“I didn’t say anything.” you tell him.

He does nothing except poke his index finger into your exposed temple, and for some reason, it urges you to smile for him. It’s been so long since you smiled because you wanted to, not because you were forced out of sheer obligation.

That’s why you don’t mind, or rather, prefer being home with nothing but Netflix trailers playing on continuous loop for hours and hours on end while you get so high you scare yourself stupid until you pass out.

It’s a disgusting habit that you can’t rid yourself of.

It’s your only comfort. Your only solace from how downright devastating and pathetic your wretched life truly is.

Nobody expects anything of you when you’re home alone.

“You think too loud,” he starts, the force of his pointed finger becomes deeper but soon leaves completely. Your skin feels colder, right after. Like losing an extra layer of clothing despite being in a warm enough room, you miss the feeling regardless. “You gotta stop.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes again.

“I can’t help it, there’s too much to think about.” you breathe.

The thought of him disappearing into the night never to be seen again, it horrifies you, and it’s at the forefront of your mind. He’s been gone for so long now, you’re sure. He lied, though you aren’t surprised in the least. He’s always been a liar that still possess the ability to have you hanging on his every word.

If you talk, you’re scared he’ll leave. Though he can hear your thoughts, or so he claims.

Again, he’s a liar. If that were true he would have left by now. If he knew how pathetic and desperate your reeling mind sounded he’d have run off and done exactly what you’re worried about him doing.

“You’re so hurt up here, baby,” he tells you, words hushed and secretive as he strokes his thumb across your forehead like you’re precious. Like you’re brittle enough to turn to dust if he applies too much strain. “Aren’t you?”

A sob leaves your throat, and you want the world to swallow you up right then. Tears begin to pour from watery eyes and soak into the material of his trousers before you even think about answering. You do, though. Because you want to, not because he’s making you. You nod, an uncomfortable beat of sniffling silence goes by before you utter a word.

“I wasn’t j-joking.” you start, “I don’t want to be here.” your voice cracks as you speak, the notion of your words and the burden on them weigh down on you enough to make you dizzy and sickly.

He shushes you, not because he wants you to stop talking, but he wants you to stop working yourself up into a nauseated stupor.

“Why?”

“Because I miss you, Toji.” you sit upright, your temperature feels like it drops below freezing when you part from him fully. He pulls you backwards, into his arms before you’re both lying side by side. His chin rests atop your head while you play with your hair, too choked up to say another word.

He doesn’t say it back, again.

But maybe him holding you like this is his way of saying it.

“I don’t know what you mean.” he tells you. His voice is quiet as he speaks into your hair, but you hear him clear enough. You want to argue, but you can’t. The room spins and it feels like you’re floating. Everything mirrors over what feels like hours. Furniture isn’t where you remember it being and you don’t feel like you’re in the right body anymore.

Is he here with you?

You feel a squeeze.

You don’t know what’s happening, anymore.

Those hours that passed were barely a minute. His face is nuzzled into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and his breath is mystifying against your skin. Every huff is like ice and you feel the way your skin clusters and rises in uneven bumps as it tries to preserve any remaining warmth lingering through your body.

“You can tell me, without telling me.” he explains, though you don’t really follow. His arms tighten around you again before releasing you slightly, slowly, enough for you to wriggle around in his hold if you choose to. You don’t. You’re completely still, digesting his words. “I’ll hear you, no matter what.”

“I don’t know what to say, Toji… I, I really don’t.”

Not because he told you to, no. You’d do it anyway. You do it every single day when given the opportunity to dwell. All he can do is hold you as buckle under the lofty ideals and pressurizing weight of your spoiled existence.

I miss how I felt with you. I miss how life felt worth living each day because there was so much to do with you. Nothing felt impossible, everything is impossible, now. Even small things that are simple for others, aren’t for me. Things felt new and exciting, I’m too tired of everything now. Food seemed more appetizing with you, everything tastes worse now.

Things are meant to get better, easier. People say that but I feel the same as I always have. It fluctuates, there are ebbs and flows but ultimately I’m always going to be sad. My skin feels worse and my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. I don’t want to be in it, I don’t want to be attached to the skin and bones that are meant to be mine. They aren’t. They were never meant to be mine. I’m wasting the oxygen in my lungs, I’m rotting.

Everyday is the same.

I only rot and wither.

I’m lonely and unsatisfied. Nothing makes me happy because I don’t have you. No lover will compare. No meal will stave away the starving pangs I feel in my stomach. No drink will be cold enough to quench my thirst in the beastly summers and none will be hot enough to warm my bones in the bitter winter.

I’m wholly unsatisfied.

People do great things. Not me. I don’t doubt people would miss me if I died, but I don’t really care. It’s selfish, but I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I miss you, I miss you more than I’d ever be missed. I mourn your life, a life that isn’t mine, more than I will ever mourn my own. Every breath I take feels like a theft. I’m stealing the air and lung capacity of someone greater than myself, someone worthy.

I’m worthless.

I speak sentences no one cares about, not like you do. No one will ever care about me like you do, and you don’t even miss me. I wouldn’t, either, I suppose. Any words I say, poetry I write, canvas I paint, is worthless. I am a burden in people’s eyes, my creations aren’t worth viewing, my point of view isn’t worth seeing, I’m worthless.

I am worthless, Toji.

Do you think I am? Maybe if things were different, maybe if I didn’t miss you so much, I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t feel burdened by a life lost and squandered that I will never be able to know the way I so desperately crave. It’s my fault, I know. I love you and I want you back but I’ve lost you forever.

What I have now, my miserable little life, is what I will have forever. A true burden, a hinderance, a stain. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t. How am I expected to live a life I’m so depressed by for the sake of others. So I don’t make my family or friends sad. It’s selfish, I’m selfish, I’m finding it hard to care as each day passes.

I’d rather be with you, now.

Things don’t get better, I won’t get better.

I know my thoughts are loud, my thoughts are exhausting and it’s hard to hear or think clearly like this. But if I’m with you, it’ll stop.

I don’t want to miss you anymore.

I don’t want to be lonely anymore.

No one loves me the way I need to be loved; but I don’t know how to ask for it.

You sit bolt upright, breathless before running to the bathroom. You’re panting and your mouth feels warm and icky from the taste of swallowed tears. Though your face still shines under the bathroom light from them. You don’t have a glass, you bend over and drink water directly from the tap as you try and regain your composure.

He’s staring at you from his spot on the bed as you gasp and devour each droplet you can. It coats your tongue and bulges through your throat as you take heartier gulps than you had any business taking.

But soon enough, you’re back in his arms as you try and calm yourself down. You’re always tired, but now, after that, you’re exhausted. You wonder if he really did hear you or if he lied to you. It doesn’t matter you suppose. There’s nothing you can do to make him miss you too. There’s nothing you can do to force him back to you.

He’s gone.

For good.

“Why are you still here?” he asks you. Your eyes open, only a little, wondering if you heard him right. “If you were serious, if you weren’t joking, why?”

“… I’m scared,” you admit. “I wasn’t joking… but I am scared. And I know… I know people love me, I know people care about me. It doesn’t feel like enough, it never has and I don’t think it ever will. But… it’s something.”

“Why are you scared?” he continues.

“I— I don’t think things will get better.” you confess. “But what if… they do?”

You don’t see the way he smiles when he hears you speak. When he hears that resilience in your words. You’re hurting, you’re struggling. And still you’re here. You’re trying, your fighting. You’re hoping.

Things might not get better. But what if they do?

One day you might remember why your favourite foods are your favourite foods again. The TV shows and films you love might feel warm and familiar again. There could be someone, anyone, waiting to find you so you can share these things with them, too.

Things could change.

People might listen to your thoughts and care about them. The words you write might matter to someone. The paintings you create might be worlds people fantasize living in as they hang on their walls.

Someone might love you the way you need to be loved, without you knowing how to ask for that brand of love.

Toji misses you, he mourns you, too. But you understand, now. He doesn’t want to hold you back anymore. He doesn’t want you to keep suffering because of him. Because you miss him.

So, you’ll always miss him, there won’t be a day you won’t think about him.

But if there’s a chance, however small, that things might change, he wants you to take it.

“Goodnight, baby.” he hums. “… Princess? I’m proud. I'm proud of you.”

It warms your body to hear him say it. It’s a little embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s words, maybe it’s lip service, but you made someone proud. And you sleep peacefully with that knowledge.

Daybreaks through the window, bright and invasive enough to break you from your sleep. You fell asleep above the covers, you aren’t being held anymore. There’s no noise in your apartment, there’s no signs of life besides your own beating heart.

Maybe it was like that the whole time.

#toji x reader #toji x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x fem!reader #female reader #dead character #tw mental illness #tw suicide ideation #tw grief #tw loss #tw death #tw drug use

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starshapedspider · 5 months

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don’t know how to spoiler but cw for gay weed and bongs👍

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick and morty art #birdperson #birdrick #squanchy #comic #my art #doodle #this comic idea has been stuck in my head #birdrick art #LMAOO #tw drugs #tw drug use #tw weed #suggestive??#suggestive #flesh curtains #flesh curtains rick

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lesinquietes · 2 months

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DJ!Reader, spinning hot dance beats at the club, surveying the sea of people bobbing to her jams, and catching the eye of Dealer!Dabi 😎 this shit gets real dark real fast

⚠️ mdni. abuse of power. abusive behaviour. dark au. drugging. drug use. forced prostitution. manipulation. misogyny. noncon. objectification. rimming (m. receiving), yandere.

—

🔥 By the time Let Me Love U starts playing, you spot him — hood up, scarred and tatted skin on his hands, dealing acid tabs and coke to the partiers. You aren’t new to the club scene, nor are you stupid to the fact that this genre of music attracts illicit substances. You fuck with weed and maybe some mushrooms now and then, but nothing harder than that. DMT is out; acid, too. And coke is a hard no. If you ever took any of that in your youth, those days are long gone. Perhaps you’re a rare breed. Most other DJs take whatever they can get their hands on, especially the shit that keeps your mood up. So when Dabi offers you a little yellow pill for free, so you can try his new merch, you’re not shocked that he pegged you for the type. His pretty cerulean eyes widen when you decline his offer, and he makes a comment about your set being better when he’s high. Before he saunters off to compel another customer, he glances you up and down, making sure to smirk when he’s finished. He wants to degrade you. His fragile ego propels him to minimize you so that rejection sensitivity doesn’t choke him out. By the time Let Me Love U stops playing, you’ve realized he’s going to be a fucking problem.

🔥 He returns to your gig the following weekend, at a completely different club. As soon as he enters, you lock eyes. Teen Scene bumps in the background. There aren’t many people on the dance floor yet. You try to ignore his presence, but he’s intent on addressing you. He switches up his approach this time. He calls you doll. He says you’re real cute under the lights. Blue hues bring out your irises, and red beams make your lips pop. He thinks any man would be lucky to dance with you. You ask him what he’s dealing tonight m. He tells you it’s none of your goddamn business if you’re going to waste his time.

🔥 You don’t see him for a few weekends. For a while, you think you’ve finally lost him. Perhaps he got arrested in a bust. Then, he reappears. You’re scratching ten in a lounge atmosphere. He enters the space in his usual garb, and miraculously, clears the door staff. He must have bribed them with some of his product. He spends time with a few clientele, exchanging goods for coin, before approaching you again. He asks you what you e been up to these past few weeks, that he had the cops on his ass so he couldn’t come check on you. His words send a shiver through your torso. Check on you. Why would he feel the urge to do that? You barely know each other. You tell him that you wish he had stayed away — you mean it — and his facial expression hardens. There’s a minuscule crease in his forehead for a moment; then, the skin returns to normal. He calls you a cunt and wanders off to sell the rest of his stash.

🔥 He disappears for a long time after that. You make the mistake of letting your guard down. You’re at a lively club, dressed up because you’re hosting a private event for a friend. You know a few people, though admittedly, not many. You stick to DJing until you’ve had enough to drink. Then, you’ll be comfortable enough to mingle. You get distracted by a friend and leave your drink at the bar for a few seconds. When you get back, you carry it to your equipment and keep bringing the beats. Skin is setting a steamy, romantic mood. You watch the audience sway with their partners, or bop with their entourage. You don’t know when you start to feel groggy. Fortunately, someone is there to stabilize you. He smells of burnt wood and some kind of aftershave. No one notices him escorting you out of the venue. They only observe your disappearance when the track ends, and nothing else comes on. It’s okay, though. You text everyone who would be worried about you that you made it home safe… at least, someone does.

🔥 You wake up to a sticky sensation between your thighs. At first, you think you’ve wet yourself. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s semen. Your eyes widen and you whimper in utter horror. What the fuck happened last night? You don’t remember a thing. The last thing you recall is talking to your friend before grabbing your drink at the bar. Your heart sinks. Someone drugged your drink; that has to be what happened. They brought you home and fucked you, but they didn’t stay because they knew what they did was wrong. As Sleepwalker ghosts into your alert ears, from the radio he left on, only one possible culprit comes to mind. Dabi. And your fear is confirmed when you check your phone. There’s messages from a number you don’t have saved. During the process, he sent you images of you in vulnerable positions. One is a picture of his cock stretching your poor pussy wide open. Your daze face is in clear view. His threat is clear: don’t tell anyone. So, you don’t. You just use all your savings to buy plan B, break your lease to move all the way across town, stop DJing, and change your phone number. Oh, and you don’t leave the house for a while. Isolation is your best friend.

🔥 You’re a fool. You make the mistake of thinking, for a second time, that you’re safe. You’re not; you can never be when he’s around. Lurking in the shadows, obsessed with torturing you for god knows why, he’s relentless with his assault on you. You attempt to get back into DJing, after scoping out a few clubs and trying to see if Dabi frequents them. You didn’t see evidence that he does. You register under a different alias and change your appearance a bit, still rightfully cautious. The first weekend, nothing happens. The second weekend goes by without a hitch. The third weekend is when you run into problems. You’re vibing out to Cookie Chips when he finds you. It’s pure reflex when your hand rises and your drink splashes all over his face. You want to laugh at the surprise that washes over him. There’s nothing to giggle about when he threatens to pull the footage and press assault charges against you. He knows the owner of this place — a crusty motherfucker who goes by Giran — and he’s happy to use his powers to fuck you over… unless you leave with him right now. You understand that you have no choice when he pulls out his burner phone and flicks through all his contacts. Giran flashes across the screen. You have to go with him.

🔥 Dabi thinks of you as his prize. He’s been selling substances for years, ever since he dropped out of college to spite his father, but he’s never seen something he’s wanted more. He liked your tracks. He liked your style. He just wishes you could’ve made things easier for yourself. Why go through the hassle of denying him? You know he always gets what he wants, don’t you? He’s not like the average drug dealer, just like you’re not like the average DJ. He’s going to have so much fun with you. He doesn’t waste any time once he takes you home. He tears off your clothes, despite your clawing and other forms of protest. He slams you down on the floor and ravages you right there. His soft grunts and pants are all the music you hear while he gets off inside you. He growls that you’re his, and that your career as a DJ is over. You belong to him. He’ll do as he pleases with you, and if you know what’s good for you and your loved ones, you’ll let him. He promises not to go too hard on you — if you’re good. And you make a pledge to yourself, in that moment, to be good. You can’t take this treatment, this terror, this violation anymore. Your mind feels like it’s splitting in two. You close your eyes and let the madness take over. The hope that one day, you may get through this, is hanging just barely out of your reach; and yet, you continue to grasp for it.

🔥 Dabi has to put in more work to break you. He ties you up in one of the toilet stalls at Giran’s club and lets some of his customers fuck you when they’re horny as fuck off stimulants — with a condom, of course. And certainly not the grimy ones. You’re meant to be his girl at the end of the day, and he wants to make sure he can still enjoy going raw in that pussy. Tomura is a great example. Small cock. Eager to cum. Busts a load in less than two minutes. Big spender, that guy. $250 a pop because you’re not a cheap slut; he doesn’t do cheap sluts. Eventually, he pierces your labia, clit, and nipples to give himself extra pleasure as he’s railing you. He’s starting to think you like it, too, judging by how much you seem to be squeezing him these days. Maybe it’s because you want him to stop selling you to strangers. Well, you’re on the right track to convincing him you’re better than an expensive whore.

🔥 You finally prove your worth when you do everything he asks you to do. The sky’s the limit. You’ll do any one of his requests. He demanded that you suck his cock, clean his balls, and lick around his hole to get him in the mood. You dove into your tasks effortlessly, only stopping at his ask. You’re perfect enough for him to keep all to himself. He knew he could tame the fiery spirit of yours. There’s a brain dead expression on your face, now. He doesn’t hate it. In fact, it suits you. He dresses you like the bimbo you’ve become, see through shirts and short skirts that ride up when you move. What does he care if your goods are on display for others? He’s always by your side; nothing will happen to his precious little trophy with him around.

#minors dni #tw drug use #tw noncon #drug dealer dabi #yandere dabi #fem reader #yandere dabi x reader #yandere touya x reader

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