Ukai X Reader - Blog Posts

just learned that nicotine constricts blood vessels, which can cause erectile dysfunction and now I can’t stop thinking about using that fact to finally convince ukai to stop smoking.

for all of your pleas about his health, the dangers of secondhand smoke, and how you want to spend a long life with him, nothing has ever stuck. he’s tried multiple times to quit, knowing how much you hate his smoking and knowing how bad it is for his health, but has never been able to give up the habit.

until one day you send him an article titled, The Connection Between Smoking and Impotence, and provide no further context. the flurry of messages he quickly starts to send in response go unanswered.

but when you get home from work, the apartment is a mess. all of the drawers in the kitchen are open. there’s a pile of jackets on the couch that have been pulled out of the closet. there are noticeably empty spots on the coffee table and kitchen table where two ashtrays used to be.

and the man himself looks just as frazzled. he has a trash bag in one hand and is digging through the bedside table with the other. his hair is a mess from where he’s clearly been running a hand through it all day. you can see a nicotine patch on one arm and how he’s angrily chewing on a piece of nicotine gum.

“keishin?” you ask, trying to keep the relief from your voice and the smile off of your face.

he glances up at you but quickly goes back to his search, coming up successful when he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the drawer and shoves it into the trash bag that he’s holding.

“gotta quit smoking if I wanna keep my dick hard for you,” he grumbles but offers nothing else.

maybe you should be upset that it’s only when his cock is threatened that he shows this much urgency about quitting smoking, but if this is what it takes to make sure that the two of you get to spend a long and happy life together then you’ll gladly take it.

STRAWBERRY AND CIGARETTES

strawberry chapstick, cigarette smoke.

cw. reader wears strawberry chapstick, inexperienced!reader, a little bit of peer pressure, don't smoke kids no matter how sexy men are, not proofread

"smoking is bad for you."

your colleague looks up as he removes a pack from his right pocket, shifting it into his left hand as he takes out a lighter from the inside of his other pocket. you're frowning in disappointment, your arm leaning on the counter next to you as you stare.

"didn't know i had a babysitter on my hands—" he mumbles as he fishes a cigarette out, shoving the pack into the inside pocket of his blazer, "did they pay you extra for that?"

"very funny," you smile as your eyes shift between the lighter and the cigarette he holds, "just make sure to invite me to your funeral when you die of lung cancer."

"if i'm dying at an early age it definitely won't be from lung cancer." he laughs dryly, his fingers fiddle with the lighter; the cap is already hinged up, and you watch as his thumb scrapes the gear across the other, sending flames lighting on and off again, and he glances up at you, "wanna try one?"

you blink. it was all light teasing up to this point, but this actually makes you nervous, apprehensive even. it's dark outside, and it's only the two of you in this building; that fact makes you startlingly aware of every action, every rustle of his clothes, every clang of the machines around you.

"c'mon, babysitter," he chides, the teasing lilt at the edge of his voice sending shivers up your spine, "give it a spin."

"this counts as peer pressure, you know."

"i think we're a little bit more than just 'peers', but whatever makes you feel better."

you feel the heat on the back of your neck, tensing as you debate the action of smoking a highly addictive cancer stick that you've been warned your entire life not to touch. you know he won't actually care or berate you if you don't end up taking it, but you think that he might be just as addicting as the cigarette. he lights the end, and you can smell the burnt tobacco already—it smells rich and masculine, much like him.

"here, i'll go first so you don't have to." he helps himself, his lips wrapping around the paper. you don't think you've ever seen anything as attractive as the man in front of you inhaling, the muscle in his neck tensing for just a second before he exhales, blowing the smoke out of his lungs into the air that surrounds you.

well, shit.

your fingertips graze against his as he hands the cigarette over to you, your fingers tingling from his touch, your heart beating out of your chest as you bring it to your mouth. you inhale sharply, the nicotine making its way down your lungs before you end up coughing, a dry hack escaping your puffy lips as you cover your mouth. he has the decency to turn away while a hint of a smile plays on his lips, leaving you swallowing to gather the saliva down your esophagus; it helps, but your windpipe still feels bare and dirty, and you shake your head, laughing.

"get this thing out of my hands," you smile, embarrassed as you give the stupid thing back to him, "i dunno how you do it."

"it's probably better that you don't enjoy it," he affirms, before his eyes catch the edges of the top of the cigarette. there are wet streaks that line where your mouth was— they're wet, but not wet enough to be saliva, and he tilts his head, his tongue peeking out to his teeth, "you're not wearing gloss by any chance?"

"chapstick." you flush slightly, pressing your lips together, "strawberry-scented."

he hums, breathing out a puff of smoke playfully into your face—you wrinkle your nose, waving your hand to blow the smoke away but it stings your eyes anyways, and he laughs, taking another hit.

"wanna try something else?" his mouth says the words but he doesn't look at you, his eyes staring ahead to the moon that shines above you, the buildings whose lights slowly begin to flicker off as the day comes to an end.

"you don't think you've influenced me enough?"

"it's called shotgun smoking," his eyes flit towards yours, completely ignoring your question, "i breathe the smoke to you— just for fun of course."

"...of course." you echo his words blankly, your heart thundering in your chest as he shifts closer, his body domineering over yours. your hands grip the railing of the deck you stand on, watching as he maneuvers his hand right next to yours, turning his body so that he's right in front of you, you can't help but laugh, "isn't this just forced secondhand smoking?"

his lips quirk up into a smirk. "whatever helps you feel better."

with that, he lifts the cigarette, inhaling another puff of smoke. the butt of the cigarette faces you, and you think it might be the sun as it glows a fiery, angry orange, the bits of paper crisping up to black as they float down onto your clothes. he leans in closer, his lips only inches away from yours, and he softly exhales.

oh.

the scent of him is addicting, his arms trapping you against the edge as you breathe in the smoke, you don't cough this time, but you honestly think you might've disliked it if it weren't for him muddling all of your senses. the gray smoke overwhelms your nerves, it's dizzyingly bad how good it feels spasming in your chest, settling into your stomach. his hands lay flush against your own, heat emanating from every part of his body, and you're fleetingly aware of how close he is to you.

fuck it.

your hands grasp the collar of his shirt, and he lets out a muffled gasp of surprise as your lips connect with his. his lips are hot—it's actually warm— moving fluidly against yours. they're chapped, his bottom lip more than his top lip, but you don't really mind, not with the way his hand cups your neck and his head tilts to the side, his jaw flexing as he kisses you deeper.

his lips feel like liquid fire on yours, wreaking havoc where they spread, burning up your will to not consume him. you've always known he was a dangerous man, but this feels so much better than you could've imagined; he's greedy and needy as he kisses you, and you smile when his right hand drops the cigarette to reach for your waist instead, the burning smoke long forgotten when you're right there.

you separate your lips from his, a dazed grin on your face, as he moves his head with yours, breathing heavily under hushed tones. "wasn't that more enjoyable than a cigarette?" your thumb reaches up to his mouth, smearing the little bit of your chapstick to the rest of his lips. he can smell the sickeningly saccharine scent of strawberry invade his brain. it smells like you.

"can we do that again?" his voice is lower and huskier, staring unabashedly at your lips. they're so smooth compared to his, pillowy and soft, the taste of your chapstick lingers on his tongue—fuck, he can barely think straight.

you smile, crossing your arms. "no cigarettes for two weeks."

he doesn't need to be told twice. 

— aki hayakawa, shizuo heiwajima, geto suguru, keishin ukai, shikamaru nara, hirotaka nifuji, sniper mask, gray fullbuster, loid forger, simon 'ghost' riley, plus your other faves!

a/n: yeah i know half of these are ooc but i just wanted to include my fave smokers in one thing ugh i would destroy my lungs (among other things) for them

also genderbent shoko is definitely on this list

keishin finally (finally) gets you into bed with him—well, onto couch with him, in his little one-room apartment in the back of sakanoshita mart—and he thinks all his prayers have finally been answered. thinks he's found some sort of cosmic apology for every misfortune he's ever suffered in how soft your lips are against his and how sweet you taste.

he knows he doesn't deserve this; that he hasn't done anything in his unremarkable life to merit how good you feel underneath his hands, or how dizzying those little noises you're making when he touches you are. but, against all odds, you're really here, you really want him, and he's determined not to fuck this up.

"keishin."

every time you say his name he feels like he's hearing it for the first time. like he's being blessed by it. it takes him a moment to process the way you've called for his attention as he suckles a little bruise against your throat, using every modicum of will he has left in him to pull away and meet your gaze.

you look so good underneath him on his ugly, ancient couch that it makes him ache. your lips glossy and swollen, your eyes heavy-lidded and yearning. you reach up and touch his cheek, and he can't tell if your hand is cool or his face is burning.

"do you have a condom?"

and all at once keishin comes crashing—violently, disastrously, crushingly—back to earth.

he blinks at you, wide-eyed, in the wake of your question. you seem to understand his answer even though he can't bring himself to say it.

"are there any in the shop?" you ask him, optimistic and gentle, with an encouraging smile.

keishin perks up—visibly brightening at your moment of genius—but as quickly as the hope uplifts him, he's deflating again. he pinches his bottom lip between his teeth.

"we're out right now," he murmurs sheepishly, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

he only keeps a couple of boxes of condoms behind the counter at a time, since so few people ever come in asking for them. last week takinoue had showed up half-hammered two hours after closing, and banged on the shop door until keishin grumpily answered it. his drunk friend went on to explain that he'd gone out drinking with his colleague from work and she'd invited him home with her, but he desperately needed condoms. keishin chucked the last box at his stupid face, and yusuke swore up and down their next night out drinking would be his treat before skittering off into the night again with a grin from ear to ear.

he was going to kill yusuke with his bare hands the next time he saw him.

"keishin, it's okay," you say with a light laugh at the positively crestfallen look on his face. "we don't have to—"

"no!" keishin interrupts you before you can say the words he just cant bear to hear. not right now. not from you.

even if you promise him that this could happen again another time—that you don't have to go all the way tonight, that there will be other opportunities—he has no way of knowing if that's true. no way of guaranteeing it.

he's got a taste for you now. he knows what you sound like. he knows how you feel.

and he refuses to let this opportunity pass him by.

keishin pulls himself upright so quickly from where he'd been hovering overtop of you on his lumpy sofa that he almost gives himself whiplash. he stumbles up to his feet, brushing his bleached hair back from his eyes—he's not sure where or when he'd lost his hairband, but the strands are hanging freely now and falling into his gaze. he grabs his jacket from the floor where he'd hastily shucked it when the two of you stumbled through the door in the throes of passion.

"I'm just gonna run to shimada mart!" he says to you as he stuffs his arms ungracefully into the sleeves of his jacket, his words so frantic they're almost bleeding together. "it's only about 10 minutes away, if you just wait right here—"

"keishin."

"shouldn't be longer than 25 minutes! 20, even! i might even be able to get macchan to drive me back if—"

"keishin, wait."

your laughter makes him stop dead in his tracks, halfway to the door. he's only got one slide on his foot, the other still sock-clad, and in his haste he realizes he'd grabbed his television remote instead of his cellphone to shove into his coat pocket.

you've caught him by the sleeve of his jacket, holding the material pinched between your thumb and forefinger as you stare up at him from the sofa with the sweetest smile on your face. he's frozen as he peers down at you, his lips parted, his dick still half-hard in his jeans.

"don't go," you say to him, tugging him back towards you by your grip on his cuff. he moves easily, gravitating back into your orbit in spite of how gentle the actual pull had been.

"b-but,"—keishin casts a forlorn glance back in the direction of his apartment door—"what about the condoms?"

his voice cracks a little on the question and he has genuinely never wished so ardently for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

you release his sleeve in favour of twining your fingers with his now that he's near to you again, your soft hand slipping easily into his own. that same dull ache in the pit of his core (and between his legs) throbs again as you blink up at him.

"i've been trying to tell you," you begin, a bit exasperated but not without its own fondness. you hesitate a little, looking away shyly before adding, "we don't... need one."

keishin thinks he might die.

really, genuinely die.

he wonders if maybe this is what the old man felt like when he almost keeled over from that heart attack last year, because keishin's pulse is pounding so violently in his head he feels like his vision is going a bit spotty around the edges—like when you stand up too fast after a night of drinking.

he's brought back to the moment as your hand squeezes his own—a gentle, questioning gesture.

your lashes flutter as you blink up at him, your head tilting slightly to the side. you smile a little at the dumbfounded look on his face.

"...if that's okay with you?"

(keishin pays for takinoue's drinks for the next six months, but never explains why.)