#how to grow weed Marijuana | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shawtylex09 · 3 months ago

Text

⋆˙⟡Late night hangout. Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Stoner!Reader.⟡⋆˙

Warnings; mentions of weed use, cursing and smut (including non-established relationship and virginity loss.) Minors DNI.

All characters in the fic are third years, and at least 18 years old. <3

Masterlist

Enjoy .~•*

🌸❤️‍🔥

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

Izuku’d been laying in bed for who knows how long, his mind refusing to shut off as he tried to rest. It seemed to be no use. He guessed it was anxiety, it made a lot of sense for him.

He sighed and rolled over on his side, hugging his pillow to his chest as a frown settled on his face. He just wanted to go to sleep, or at the very least- have a clear mind.

Izuku closed his eyes gently and was finally beginning to settle a little, when his phone suddenly went off.

He jumped and sat right up, before letting out a breath and grabbing his phone.

“Y/n..?” He mumbled, staring at your contact name, effectively set as ‘Bug.’

Izuku picked up the call, holding his phone to his ear “hey Y/n! What’s goin on?” He asked, curiosity covering up his fatigue and growing anxiety from laying in bed silently.

You took a deep drag from the weed cart you had, letting the smoke out with a lazy smile “Hey Zuku, ‘m kinda high as hell right now” you laughed breathily, coughing a bit afterward.

Izuku sighed and rolled his eyes, smiling “of course you are.” He knew about your little ‘habit.’ He also knew you weren’t the only one in the class who smoked or did marijuana in some form.

You let out a long sigh and closed your eyes, feeling your body spinning “Zu…I wanna cuddle” you whined, your high brain demanding the serotonin from Izuku’s gentle touches and soft caresses.

Izuku blinked and looked at the time. It was 2:24 on a school night, and you wanted to have him over? He blushed at the thought and shook off any impure thoughts.

“You want me to come over..now??” He asked incredulously, to which you nodded (despite the fact he couldn’t see you) and whined “please..? My balcony is already unlocked, so you can just..hop on it..right Bunny?”

He blushed and practically melted at that nickname. Izuku couldn’t deny the little bit of heat that dropped into his stomach at the prospect of hanging out with you after curfew.

He let out a long sigh, before smiling a little

“I’ll be there in five.”

.~•*

Just like Izuku had promised, he leapt onto your balcony roughly 5 minutes later, sliding open your glass door and shutting it behind him. “Hey” he greeted with a small smile.

You looked at him, your eyes half lidded and bright red, with a dopey grin on your face “there’s my favorite person”. You mumbled softly.

You were laid on your bed wearing a baggy tee and some loose sweats, the neck of your shirt dipping down and exposing some of your cleavage.

Izuku blushed as you opened your arms to him “cmere Bunny” he was actually so weak for that little term of endearment.

He dumbly walked over, sitting on your bed, before you yanked him down to cuddle with you.

Izuku was stiff for a moment, before he relaxed and smiled softly.

You shifted to lay on top of his form, resting your cheek on his chest as he played with your hair.

“Mm…feels.nice” you mumbled, to which Izuku nodded “it does. Did you know, cuddling is actually really good for your brain? It helps to reduce stress and boost positive emotions in the body.”

18+ beyond this point!.~•*

While he rattled off some random fact, you couldn’t help but focus on the bulge your thigh was pressed against. In your tired and high haze, you were trying to figure out what it was. Did he have his phone in his pocket or something?

Without giving it a second thought, you reached down and grabbed what was pressed into your thigh.

Izuku gasped and tensed, his face flushing red as a feminine whine left his lips “a-ah- Bug? What are you doing..?” He asked, clearly embarrassed about your hand positioning and the sound that left him.

You glanced up at his face before it clicked what you were touching. You grinned and shrugged “dunno, I wanted to know what was pushing into my leg” you said as you slowly dragged your hand up and down the clothed bulge.

Izuku’s eyes closed and rolled back at the touch, another little sound leaving his lips, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper “Y-y/n- oh god-”

He covered his mouth with his hand, shaking sligjtly at how good your hand felt.

His brows furrowed and he cracked an eye open to see you gazing at him with half lidded eyes “Izuku..” you whispered, in awe of his sweet little sounds.

Izuku felt his breaths pick up at your whispered iteration of his name. Her placed a hand over his mouth loosely and whined “Y/n…”

You blushed brightly and applied a little more pressure, but still kept your pace slow and gentle.

Izuku’s head fell back against the pillows as a soft hum of pleasure reverberated from his throat “god..that- that feels good”. He whispered shakily, his voice hoarse and his tone shy.

You smiled softly and sat up off of him. You placed your knees on each side of his hips, pressing your clothed core to his clothed cock.

Izuku’s eyes widened as you adjusted your positions, straddling his hips. “Wait- Y-Y/n- are you sure? Y-you’re high and I don’t- gyah!”

You cut him off with a roll of your hips “so sensitive” you mumbled to yourself. You placed your hands on the bed on either side of Izukus face.

He writhed under you, his brows knitted together as pleasure shot up his spine. Izuku’s voice bent in ways you’d never imagined, his tone whiny and so soft, so embarrassed as he let out a few small whimpers and mewls of pleasure.

You smiled a little as he gripped the sheets, peeling one of his hands away from the black sheets of your bed, and placing it on your hip.

Izuku looked up at you hesitantly, a shy expression in those round doe eyes. “Y/n..are you sure? Is this okay?” The sweet boy was always so worried about others, it made your heart melt in your chest.

You have a nod and leaned down, “‘m sure” you murmured gently.

Izuku just nodded at your words and closed his eyes fighting back a whimper as you gave another deliberate roll of your hips.

A groan left you, it just felt so good. Izuku’s cock was rubbing against you perfectly, it was hard under your weight, and sent shockwaves of white hot pleasure up your stomach and to your brain.

After a bit more of the slow grinding, you shifted off of his lap. You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed more.

Izuku looked down at you and tensed as you grabbed his shorts. You tugged them down, and he froze. You paused your movements and cracked a smile, before laughing.

There, wrapped around his lower body, were a pair of All Might themed boxers.

Izuku’s face dropped into a mortified one, and her covered his face “oh my god- I-I’m so sorry- I had no idea I was wearing these I didn’-“

You shook your head and smiled affectionately “Bunny, it’s okay, really” you waved him off “it’s not a big deal.”

Izuku peeked out from his fingers, feeling humiliated before he let out a sigh “you’re not..weirded out or anything..?”

You shook your head and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his manhood through the fabric of his boxers. You smiled up at him “of course not” you murmured softly “I couldn’t be angry or weirded out with a face that cute”

Your tongue slipped out to gently run across the head of his throbbing cock, feeling the warm precum that dampened his boxers.

Izuku tensed and gasped, blushing and letting his eyes fall half lidded “oh..Y/n..” he mumbled, placing a hand on the back of your head and gently feeling your hair between his calloused digits.

You smirked a bit as you gently tugged down his boxers next. You pulled away to slowly push down your sweats and underwear, exposing your lower half to Izuku’s shy gaze.

He blushed brightly and looked away, his body trembling with excitement, he was really about to do this- and with you of all people.

You smiled as you got back into his lap, cupping one of his cheeks while the other aligned his length at your entrance “Look at me, Izuku” you murmured gently.

He could barely hold your gaze, his body on fire and his doe eyes half lidded as he gazed at you “Y-Y/n..I-I’ve never done this before..” he said shakily. He was nervous about your reaction, but you simply smiled.

You gently tucked his hair behind his ear, “Zuku..I’m not worried about that..I’m gonna take care of you….alright?”

He gave you a nervous look, but seeing the conviction on your expression made him relax. Izuku let out a shaky breath and nodded “yeah..okay..I’ll trust you..”

You hummed approvingly “are you ready, love?” You asked, gingerly running your thumb over his cheek.

Izuku glanced down to his cock, quickly looking away at seeing how close you were to taking his virginity. His face exploded in a red blush, but he nodded “p-please..I’m ready” he said softly.

You smiled and nodded. Excitement and nervousness bubbled inside of you, before you let out a slow breath and carefully lowered yourself onto his aching cock.

His eyes widened and he let out a loud whine, “oh- oh Bug!” Izuku’s face was scrunched up with pleasure, his stomach tight and his fists balling up the sheets under him.

A drawn out moan slipped past your lips, and your eyes rolled back. You could feel every angry vein on Izuku’s length pressing against your insides, your walls tightly constricting around Izuku’s cock.

Izuku was a trembling mess, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth and his muscles taught like tight rubber bands.

You looked at his face and grinned, before rocking your hips. A moan tore itself from you, feeling Izuku’s thick and hard dick slip easily in and out of you.

Izuku writhed beneath you, gasping and panting, babbling mindlessly as you slowly rode his cock, your hips gently rolling and rocking in his lap “that’s it Izuku” you praised, carding your fingers through Izuku’s curly locks of hair.

He let out high pitched whines and whimpers, desperately clutching onto the sheets “Y-Y/n- oh god please don’t stop- ah!” A ragged moan tore from his lips, and he arched his back off of the bed.

“Good boy” you panted out, heavier moans and deep groans leaving you “fuck you feel so good” you muttered against the skin of Izuku’s neck, the added sensation sending stars into his vision.

He shakily reached up to cup your face in his scarred hands “please- please call me that again- please Y/n”

You raised a brow and felt arousal snap through your body. The knot in your stomach tightened and you groaned. You sat up a little more, sending his cock deeper into your aching core “fuck..you’re such a good boy baby” you moaned out.

Izuku gasped and closed his eyes tightly “Y-Y/n- I-I’m about-“ he let out a long and choked moan, the hot coil of pleasure in his stomach finally snapping.

You blushed, feeling hot ropes of cum shoot out of his cock and inside of you. You panted and swallowed, feeling it fill you full. Shakily, you lifted yourself off of his lap and shuddered at the feeling of being hollow, before laying beside him

“Christ..that’s so much..” you mumbled, to which Izuku blushed and looked away “yeah..” he panted bresthlessly “h-hyperspermia..”

You nodded and smiled, feeling sleepy affection wash over you.

“Stay the night..?” You asked sleepily, cuddling up to his side, to which Izuku flipped on his side to hold you face to face.

“Of course..” he mumbled back tiredly.

You yawned and let out a heavy sigh “goodnight Bunny..”

Izuku closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “Goodnight Buggy..”

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

First ever smut I’ve written on tumblr beforeeee..

Low-key stole the hyperspermia idea from @cvnt4him because I EAT their work bruh.

Anyways I’ve had strep or some throat thing going on for the past few days so I’m tired asf lol

407 notes · View notes

docsofcannabis · 3 months ago

Text

Get a Medical Marijuana Card in California

Explore the perks of having a Medical Marijuana Card in California. Gain legal access to dispensaries, enjoy tax savings, and receive personalized treatment plans from experienced professionals. With a California MMJ card, patients can manage symptoms effectively while complying with state regulations. Our Website https://docsofcannabis.com/

#how to grow weed Marijuana

0 notes

evieskiesss · 10 months ago

Note

TOM GETTING HIGH (weed) WITH READER .

so like they are smoking at home and they get all clingy and kissy and they make out and it ends with them doing it 🤭🤭

HIGH LOVING- TOM KAULITZ

smut

A/N: i’m soooo rusty lollll. i tried :(

“pass me the lighter, liebe,” tom’s voice cracked through the low music in the room. i reached over to the side of our bed, lazily reaching for my purse on the ground, fetching my lighter before returning to my same spot on the bed.

the mattress was dipped in by tom’s weight, i watched closely as i watched his fingers push in the small bundles of weed, rolling it tightly to prevent anything from slipping out. his tongue peeked out his mouth, swiping across the ends of the backwood, letting it moisten up before sealing it shut. tom flicked the lighter open, passing the blunt through the fire a rapid 4 times before setting it between his lips.

“what strain did you buy again?” i asked softly, not exactly remembering what his dealer had slipped him. “indica,” he mumbled, holding the tall flame to the tip, letting it catch afire. i groaned, “i don’t like indica!”

the tip became an angry orange as his cheeks hallowed out, lips parting to draw a ghost before quickly disappearing into his lips. “this ones different, baby,” his voice was gruff as he held in the smoke, “come try it.”. i rolled my eyes a little, annoyed at how he bought a strain he knew i didn’t like. i crawled over to him, taking the blunt from his fingers & placing it between my lips.

my cheeks hallowed out, the taste of the burnt plant clouding my mouth before i inhaled. the sensation of my lungs being invaded was short lived, killed by my immediate coughing. “s-shit,” i coughed out, handing the blunt back to tom. he laughed, patting my back as i shook my head, “it’s strong!”

“very,” he mumbled taking another hit, “but you’ll love it.”

“i doubt it.”

“i love it..” i sighed softly, giggling as i laid back on the bed. by this point, the room was foggy, filled with the intoxicating smoke of our blunt which was now nearly finished. “i told you,” tom responded slowly, the high having taken a quick toll on us. i closed my eyes, sucking in a sharp breath of air, my head felt light. i felt my body begin to sway, the mattress suddenly becoming lighter, i felt like i was on an ocean, floating along the waves of the pacific.

tom turned to me, his lips curling up in a smirk at my dazed out state, the small smile on my lips being a dead giveaway on how much i was enjoying it. his eyes raked down my figure, taking in the sight of me. my thin panties clung onto my hips while my top had ridden up, exposing my tummy, allowing my belly piercing to glisten against the little light in the room. he caught his lower lip between his teeth, his hand coming to touch my exposed belly, rubbing it softly.

his body leaned down, his lips coming in contact with the skin on my belly, his mouth leaving soft kisses along it. “you’re beautiful,” tom whispered quietly, his tokens of love making their way up my body & neck before reaching my face. “komm,” he whispered, fingers taking a hold of my chin before pressing his lips against mine. i sighed softly into the kiss, reciprocating his affection.

his fingers sneaked their way up my leg, caressing my thigh softly as his lips moved against mine. my lips parted, giving his tongue an entrance to slip into, leading us to dive deeper into a passionate frenzy. tom sighed softly against my lips, his eyes fluttering shut in satisfaction. his hands kneaded at my thighs like dough, his grip becoming tighter as the seconds flew by.

we broke the kiss momentarily, catching our breaths as our chests heaved, our lips slowly swelling at our pressured kissing. tom’s kissed grew sloppy against my jawline, his leisurely pace growing on me as i savored the feeling of his tongue on my skin. it was by this time that i knew he was high. whenever the marijuana kicked in, there was tom, all over me. i never knew what it was about weed that made him so clingy, yet he never fails to make me feel so loved.

it was always the same thing. the kissing, the grabbing and fondling, the teasing licking and nipping, tugging and hugging, whining and crying about how he just needs to feel me, touch me, tease me, love me. i never complained though. i smiled, pushing at his chest when he began rubbing his lip piercing against my neck, teasing the sensitive skin. “stop!” i giggled softly, he let out a low whine, his hand gripping onto my waist, keeping me flush against him, preventing me from any way of escaping his loving embrace.

his lips began kissing again, his tongue parting from his lips every now and then to give my neck a teasing lick. i bit my lip, holding back my soft smirk as he grew closer to my sweet spot and he knew it. he pressure of his lips became firmer, eliciting small moans from me once he reached jackpot. i let out a small gasp as his teeth nipped me before quickly soothing it with his warm tongue. my fingers tugged on the waistband of his sweats, holding back small whimpers.

his face departed from my neck, pulling back just enough to catch my lips with his. “you want it?” he asked me lowly, rubbing my hip. i nodded breathlessly, wanting to put out the fire that burned so agonizingly between my legs. tom’s hand reached down to his sweatpants, his hand dipping in just enough to pull his cock out, pumping himself a couple times, eliciting small moans from himself.

tom rolled to be on top of me, settling himself between my legs. his finger looped around my damp panties, pushing them to the side as he aligned his mushroom tip to my wet cunt. my leg flung itself around his hip, holding him close as he began to push through, sliding into me with a slight pop. we groaned in unison. tom’s head hung low, buried into the crook of my neck as his cock pushed deeper into me, my gummy walls swallowing him whole. we both let out a small sigh once he was fully in, my head spun around in pleasure and dizziness, god i loved this.

there was something so lazy yet intimate about sex while being high because although we didn’t need to put that much energy or effort into it, it always turned out great. pulling his hips back, he snapped them back in, my mouth drew open as tom grinded his hips softly up into mine, his cock leaving a small burn on my hole as it adjusted to his thick base. he pulled back nearly all the way out before sliding back in lazily, groaning huskily into my ear as his sensitive cock grew accustomed to my tight walls. his lips attacked my neck as he thrusted slightly faster, “f-fuck,” he growled.

i gasped as his tip hit a soft spot inside of me, my nails digging into his back as a form of showing him how good it felt. tom chuckled softly, taking my gasp as a sign for more. his thrusts became harder, pulling back to ram his hips deeper into mine, surely leaving bruises against the bone. my legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in closer, needing to feel him deeper. the sounds of his balls slapping against my ass filled the room, slightly drowned out by the low music that never stopped playing.

tom grew more erratic, his panting became heavier and kisses sloppier. in a sudden movement, he pulled out. it was so quick, i didn’t have time to whine before he laid back against the bed frame, his fingers pulling at my waist to make me sit on top of him, “c’mere baby,” he panted, taking a hold of his cock to align it with my sopping entrance.

his fingers wrapped around my hip, keeping me still before i slammed my hips down, immediately throwing my head back as his cock filled me up much more in this position. my hands shakily found his shoulders, needing some form of stability as the pleasure mixed with my high, my head spun so much. i began moving myself up and down on his length, his cock causing a light pain in my walls at how much he stretched me out yet i ignored it, distracted by the bliss of his mushroom tip abusing my spot. toms head flew back, resting on the bedframe as his eyes rolled in pleasure. his neck was warm & sweaty, adam’s apple bobbing as he groaned.

i cried out in pleasure, tom’s chest caving in as he let out a gruff moan. “just like that, baby, oh fuckk..” his hand gripped my ass, giving it a quick slap, “faster,” he panted. i whined softly, i dug my nails into his shoulder, mustering up the little bit of energy i had left. finally, i set my pace again, this time faster. i slammed my hips down, thighs burning at the ache while tom threw his head back once more. his hand gripped my hip, one of them trailing to fondle my breast. his lips attached around the bud, suckling on it. he kept his grip tight as he used his strength to help me continue bouncing. i whimpered softly, the pleasure of his cock and his lips on my breast nearly sending me over the edge.

“f-fuck, feels so fucking g-good,” i moaned with my eyes screwed shut. “yea? you like it when you ride my cock?” tom taunted me, his fingers pinching at my nipple. i nodded feverishly, my mouth wide open as my head flew back. tom caught me by surprise by thrusting his hips up, meeting mine halfway to add to our pleasure. my hands flew to the top of the bed frame, fingers clenching onto it with a tight grip, keeping myself from giving into the unbelievable sensation of his cock abusing my walls. soon enough, my walls began clenching once more, my thighs shaking along with it. tom knew it all too well, it was a sign of my orgasm quickly approaching.

i cried out, “f-fuck!”. tears of pleasure pricked my eyes as he fucked me faster, “you wanna cum, baby? you wanna cum on my cock?” tom looked at me with satisfied eyes, seeing my fucked out face, tears rolling down my flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “yes! fuck!”

“do it, baby, do it,” were the last words i heard before my vision went white. my thighs trembled as i orgasmed hard, my voice raw as i let out a silent scream. i collapsed, legs giving out as the powerful shocks of my orgasm ran through my body.

tom gave me two last hard thrusts before holding my hips down. “oh gott!” he growled, fingernails digging into my skin as his hot cum spewed inside of me, his cock twitching. we moaned in unison,he pressed my hips down harder, rolling them in an attempt to milk himself even further, the feel of his cock inside of my sensitive cunt becoming too much to bear.

our breaths became shallow, panting heavily as our sticky bodies collapsed against each other. i winced softly as he never let go of my waist, his hips curling up into mine, nearly overstimulating himself as he rung his orgasm out dry.

“fuck..” i whispered, my face coming out the crook of his neck. a small weak smile appeared on my face at the silly sight of his disheveled state. his eyes were half-lidded, baby hairs stuck on his forehead with claw marks all on himself with his lips all bitten & swollen.

“i should buy that shit more often..” he muttered sleepily.

#bill kaulitz x reader #evieskiesss #tokio hotel x reader #tom kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz smut #smut

969 notes · View notes

tarotsoul · 20 hours ago

Text

Smoke & Light — Part One

SUMMARY: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty.

WARNINGS: heavy mentions and usage of drugs and driving under the influence (weed), azriel is a drug dealer, kissing, swearing, teasing, masturbation -- don't fuck your plug guys

WORD COUNT: 9.9k

Series Masterlist

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance.

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his teenage and adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave you his number, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home.

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given a choice.

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location.

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration.

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past.

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested.

You: old tower in 20 is fine.

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that.

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain.

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night.

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away.

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving.

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger seat opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut.

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for.

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears.

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey.

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked.

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly.

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life.

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?”

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for.

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish—but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him.

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight.

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did.

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said.

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand.

Neither of you white understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about.

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided.

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either.

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?”

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.”

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.”

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that.

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people.

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either.

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash.

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.”

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface.

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips.

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.”

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected.

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you.

“Let me know when you’re out.”

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.”

He watched you climb out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met.

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.”

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection.

“Fuck.”

“Why don’t we give the brownies idea a try?”

Azriel’s head felt like it may explode. For the past two hours, he’d been stuck in a discussion between his brothers regarding new ideas for new products to sell. And while Az and Rhys had no ideas to suggest (all agreeing cocaine, molly and ket were not up for discussion), Cassian was still hellbent on making weed brownies—despite knowing not a damn thing about baking.

“Cass,” Rhys sighed, pinching sharply at the bridge of his nose. Azriel was going to lose his shit, he couldn’t go through this again—for a fifth fucking time. “We literally spoke about this last week! None of us know how to bake!”

Cassian paid no mind to Rhysand’s clear frustrations with him and scoffed as he threw his head back on the couch. “It can’t be that fucking hard.”

“Then by all means, buy your own shit and burn it while you try and figure it out.”

Azriel blinked, looking between the pair. He’d barely said a word, too worried he may get a bit too heated. Cassian got like this sometimes—most of the time—and more often than not, Az got the idea he only did it to get a reaction out of Rhys, who had very little patience when it came to him.

Someone had to play mediator and devil’s advocate in every situation, and somehow, even since they were teens, that role always landed on Azriel’s shoulders.

Deciding enough was enough, he leant forward and peered between them both. “As much as edibles would help out sales, Rhys is right,” Cassian snickered at him, “It’s not a good idea right now. Not when we have no clue what we’re doing, and especially not when we’re having problems with our supplier right now.”

It was silent in the room for a moment, for the first time in an hour. And after a few minutes passed and no one spoke, Rhys stood from the couch with a sigh. “I’ve gotta get going to the parlour. All my sketches are there and I’ve got a long day and a huge back piece to tattoo tomorrow.”

He clapped a hand against both Az and Cassian’s shoulders before bidding them a goodbye and leaving. Cassian remained sulking on the couch, thick and toned arms crossed on his chest with an unsatisfied scowl on his face. Azriel took purchase on the coffee table in front of him, lips pursed to suppress his amusement.

Cassian often got like this if he was told no or something didn’t go his way. When they were younger, Azriel used to roll his eyes and tell him to get over it. But now, in their mid-twenties and Cassian sharing a striking resemblance to that hunky character from that one Disney movie, Azriel found his sulking the best form of entertainment.

“Are you not working tonight?” Az broke the silence with a lighthearted question. As much as he found his brothers face amusing, he didn’t really have the energy to deal with it all fucking night. He had shit to do, people to see. And he didn’t particularly want to bring Cassian along to his drop off’s—not when Cass scared the shit out of most people.

“Club’s closed, waiting for Nes to finish. Staying at hers tonight,” he mumbled.

Relief was quick to flow through Azriel’s blood as he let out a breath. His phone chimed from his back pocket as he said, “Tell her I say hi,” and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of Cassian’s mouth.

Az and Nesta had a decent friendship, he was closer to her than he was Feyre, but maybe that was because Nesta didn’t tiptoe around Az like most other people did. Maybe that was why he liked you so much. You didn’t shy under his gaze, and you didn’t treat him differently after noticing his scarred hands.

Yes, he saw you watching, inspecting with hurt and curious eyes. But you didn’t say anything so neither did he. And when you purposely brushed your skin against his when you took that bag of bud, he knew you’d done it out of silent reassurance.

And yet, he hadn’t heard from you since you met three days ago. Not that he expected you to message so soon, not after you said the 3.5 would last around two weeks, but he still felt that deep disappointment whenever he checked his phone and your name wasn’t the one to have messaged him.

He needed to get a grip on himself, really. But you were different. So different from anyone he’d ever met or known before. You didn’t play up to any facade, you didn’t hesitate to tease him back. You were honest, painfully so when you admitted you were clueless, but that only made him find you even more endearing.

“What about you?” Cassian’s voice drilled into his ears, abruptly pulling Azriel away from the memory of you. He quickly typed back a reply to a client that he could drop off within the hour and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

“What about me?” Az asked.

“Any plans?”

Azriel shrugged, elbows leaning on his spread thighs and the oak coffee table creaked beneath his firm weight. “I’ve got a few deals to do, but that’s about it.”

Cass nodded, finally unfolding his arms and letting them drop to his sides. “Well, you know where I’ll be if you wanna come by, Nes would be happy to see you.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I saw her two days ago.”

His brother gave him a look, one that suggested ‘yeah, I know, but you’re like her best friend and she loves you to literal death’, and that was that.

Cass left soon after, picking Nesta up from work and leaving Azriel home alone for what seemed like the thousandth night in a row. He didn’t mind it, not really. He enjoyed his own company and when Cass stayed at Nesta’s and Rhys stayed at Feyre’s, it meant Az could play around with new melodies and not be scolded for playing guitar at 4 a.m. and waking everybody up.

Having the apartment to himself was a win-win for everyone involved.

Only tonight, he didn’t want to sit and play with new sounds and rhythms. Not when his mind was completely distracted by you. By your smile, your eyes, by that sensual voice of yours that he hadn’t stopped replaying in his memory for the past three days.

It wouldn’t hurt to send just one text, right? Just the one, just to check in on how you were finding the bud. As if you hadn't smoked it before they met.

He shouldn’t. This wasn’t what he did—he didn’t chase after girls, he never had, and he most certainly did not get hooked—especially not on someone he’d known for three days.

And yet, despite that, Azriel found himself on your messages, hovering his fingers over the keyboard and typing out a quick text and sending it before he could even think about it.

Azriel: how’s the bud?

But it wasn’t his lack of thinking before sending the message that had his jaw slack, no. It was the fact that as soon as the message travelled from the box to the messaging thread, you had already opened it. Like you were already on the chat. Perhaps debating your own text to him.

Those grey bubbles appeared at the bottom of the screen and Azriel made quick work to click out of the conversation. His heart should not have been stammering in his chest the way it was, he should not have felt so anxious about what you may think if he read your text as quickly as you read his.

You: very good. And you were right. 7 joints!

And then, another.

You: I may need a top up sooner than i thought, if that’s ok?

Azriel: what happened to it lasting you 2 weeks?? Nah, that’s fine. Did you wanna meet up tonight?

You: would that be ok?

Azriel: yes. Old tower in 20?

You: life saver <3 see u then!

He tried his damned hardest not to stare at the little heart you sent him, tried his best not to picture you thinking about texting him to meet up again. But all he tried, it didn’t work and a smirk began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

His Ford Mustang parked outside the Old Tower fifteen minutes later, the engine still humming softly and his eyes flitted between the rearview mirror and his view in front of him, trying to gauge which way you’d come from.

He didn’t expect for you to come out of the shadows in a third direction, one in the wake of the passengers side, and he didn’t realise until the door opened and you slid your body inside his car, shutting the door behind you.

“Hi,” you turned to him with a beaming smile—eyes gently blazed with a moody pink hue.

Azriel drank you in. Your hair was down today in what he presumed was your natural waves, face bare of makeup save for the sheen of pinky lip gloss that coated your mouth. You wore an oversized cropped olive cardigan; the large buttons done up just enough to offer a slither of a peek of the white bralette you wore beneath, and a pair of straight-legged black cargos.

Gods, you looked even better than he remembered, but Azriel wasn’t naive to your staring either. Your eyes caught notice of his thick, muscled arms. They weren’t hidden beneath a jacket this time. No. They bulged from the black t-shirt he wore, and his brown skin was etched in intricate swirls and shapes and designs in black ink.

You gulped, visibly so. Tattoos had always been an immediate attraction for you—not that Brandon ever had any—but the sight of Azriels and the one that hid beneath the sleeve of his top and curled up and around his neck… Gods, your throat felt extremely dry.

And Azriel noticed everything.

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke much?”

Your eyes finally snapped to his hazel ones and warmth coated your cheeks and chest. You cleared your throat, blinking a few times to regain some sense of composure. “I don’t,” you retorted. “Girls night. And it was my turn to host.”

Azriel tried not to think too deeply into the idea of you having a night at home with your girlfriends, stoned and warm and cosy and all inhibitions thrown out the window. He wondered if those were the types of things you did with your friends. He’d been with a few before that did.

He looked away as soon as he felt that familiar tightening in his jeans. “So, you want another 3.5?” He cleared his throat, lifting the compartment between your seats.

You hummed, eyes following his movements. Your gaze lingered on his biceps for a moment, trailing down to the veins that protruded from his smooth skin. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. Oftentimes than not, you found yourself horny and riled up when under the influence, but never like this. Never so strongly at the sight of two veiny, tattooed arms.

“Um, yeah… please.” You finally spoke. “I promise it’ll last me longer than three days this time.”

Azriel prayed to the fucking mother above that it didn’t. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he retrieved a 3.5 baggie and handed it to you, closing the compartment again and the second he opened his mouth to speak, you were already grabbing a marred hand and shoving two twenty’s into it before forcing his fist closed.

Perhaps it was the buzz of the joint you smoked on your way, or perhaps it was the pure arousal you felt at the sight of him and the feel of his hand in yours that gave you a surge of confidence. Whatever it was, it had you saying, “Pretty clients might get a discount from you, but incredibly attractive, tattooed plugs get full pay from me.”

Azriel was stunned for a moment, by both your boldness and the shameless compliment. His mouth blubbered open, a retort just as flirty as yours on the tip of his tongue when the sound of his ringtone blaring through the car’s bluetooth speaker cut him off.

He disconnected the call a bit too quickly, an amused smile teetering on the curves of your already twisted lips. Azriel paid no mind to his own actions, instead turning back to you with a fire in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

His lips parted in another attempt to speak when that gods-dammed phone interrupted him for a second time and you could no longer hold your laughter. Azriel decided there and then that the next time he saw you, he’d make sure he heard that sweetness again.

You didn’t give him time to cut the call off again. Instead, you reached for the door handle and offered a grateful smile. “I’ll text you when I’m out.”

His senses were too on overdrive. Too torn between wanting to stop you, even if to spend a few more moments in your presence, and the deafening sound of his fucking phone. But you’d exited the car and closed the door behind you before he could do anything about it. The cash was still stuffed in his warm hands and the incoming call continued to make his ears bleed.

“What?” Azriel seethed the second he answered the call. It was silent for a moment, the caller caught off guard by Az’s tone but that only pissed him off further.

“It’s Brandon,” the line paused for a moment again. “You about?”

Azriel felt his blood boil. “If I don’t fucking answer the first time, that usually means no.”

He disconnected the call without another word, marred hands now gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hated the way he was reacting over you—over being interrupted from your presence. But he couldn't help it. Couldn’t get the thought out of his head of how sweet your lips probably tasted with that gloss. And without it.

Azriel’s chest heaved slightly, that all too familiar sense of arousal tightening in his pants. He couldn’t stand this, couldn't understand how a tiny slip of your bralette could have his mind and body reacting like this. How a subtle smirk and a sultry gaze could have him ready to blow a load in his pants.

Christ, he needed to sort himself out. Absent-mindedly, Azriel snuck a hand between his thighs, large scarred hand palming at his length through the fabrics. His breathing turned quicker, his movements growing needier. If he didn’t sort himself out soon he’d been in agony.

With one hand on the wheel, he forced himself to drive—only for a moment or two until his Mustang was parked idly between two buildings and switched off the engine to not draw too much attention to himself.

He was above this—above getting himself off semi-publicly. But he couldn’t fucking help it. He didn’t care how shameful and icky he might’ve felt afterwards, not when he was so desperate.

As soon as the car was covered in shadows of darkness, he unclasped his seatbelt and unpopped the buttons of his jeans. He didn’t bother to pull them down, only releasing the zip and reaching into his boxers to tug his length free.

The second he felt his skin on him, he shuddered. His slender fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, offering himself a teasing squeeze as he slowly moved. Azriel didn’t need lube or lotion—not when pearly beads of semi-translucent arousal leaked from his pink, ruddy tip. He smoothed it down his length, mewling at the contact he rewarded himself.

And all he could think about was you.

Your eyes, your lips, your voice.

He let his mind wander to sinful images of what may lay hidden beneath your clothes—beneath that little white bralette. Azriel quickened his pace as his eyes fluttered closed, the back of his head hitting the headrest. He throbbed in his hand, a gruff moan tearing from his throat.

Azriel could picture you clearly in his head; on your knees in the footwell, your dainty hands around his cock as your lips kissed and sucked him. His hand in your hair, bobbing you on his length, watching your eyes water from the size of him as he hit the back of your throat.

His breathing grew ragged, filthy images of your choking on his cock filling his brain, clouding his sensing and coaxing a release out of him. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever come so quickly before in his life, but the idea of you looking up at him with sultry eyes through thick lashes had him spurting warm ribbons of cum into his hand as he cupped his head to minimise the mess. A desperate attempt to replicate what he imagined the warmth of your mouth would feel like.

As his breathing began to even out, the post-nut clarity hit him like a ton of fucking bricks. Shame boiled in his blood, a tint of pink embarrassment painted on his cheeks as if the shadows judged him, too. The idea of seeing you again while knowing what he’d done to the thought of you… it made his insides churn slightly.

But more than that, it made his cock leap again in anticipation of soon being in your presence once more.

“Az, what do you say? Up for a double date?”

Feyre couldn’t hide her smile, unable to keep her emotions in check when it came to her attempts to set Azriel up. But the instant disappearance of his smile wasn’t missed on her. Nor was the way his shoulders tensed slightly.

He sighed. “Fey, as much as I appreciate your concern for my love life, I don’t need to be set up.”

She pouted at him. Despite that always being his answer, she still held a shred of hope every time she suggested it. Even if he never changed his mind, she was willing to continuously try, even if he did find it annoying. Even if she didn’t tell him until the very last minute.

“Who’s the lucky girl then, Az?” Nesta piped up with a wide grin from her seat in the couch, tucked closely into Cassian’s side who paid no mind to the conversation at hand.

He rolled his eyes at her. “There is no girl.”

“Guy, then.” Nesta scoffed, waving a hand.

Azriel didn’t want to entertain this conversation, especially not because it had somehow brought his mind back to you. Something he’d been so desperately trying to avoid.

Though, he supposed it was inevitable. He would be seeing you again at some point and then he’d be stuck right back where he started. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he was doing this to himself— why he didn’t allow himself to pursue you if that was what he truly wanted.

His phone chimed from his pocket.

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that Azriel didn’t hear from you for two weeks. It gave him ample time to attempt to get his hormones in check, but it didn’t stop his blood from warming everytime he received a notification. Each time, he was left with slight disappointment to find it was just another client.

Until today. Until now. Where your name was in fact the one on his lockscreen and all of that forgetting and willing to get you out of his mind faltered.

You: Hey, are you free later?

Azriel: I'm free all night.

When you didn’t respond, Azriel assumed you were looking for a more direct answer. So he sent another text.

Azriel: old tower in an hour good for you?

You: see you then.

He couldn’t help the frown that furrowed in his brows at your reply. Given, your only communication was mainly through text, and perhaps he was looking too much into it, but you didn't seem yourself. And that thought shouldn’t have irked him as much as it did.

He barely bid anyone a goodbye, throwing a mumbled ‘see you later’ as he grabbed his shit and left.

His first stop was to Sean, a lean Asian guy that had been buying off Azriel for two years now. He was decent enough, never tried to haggle or complain about the prices. They shared a mutual respect and minimal words were shared when Az handed him a Q and Sean gave 140 in one swift motion.

And just like that, Azirel moved onto the next.

And then another.

And another.

Until he was waiting at the Old Tower and watching your silhouette approach the Mustang. You entered the car just like you always had done, though you didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, you kept your line of view ahead. Your hair obstructed the side of your face, effectively shielding you from his prying eyes.

“Sorry I’m a little late.”

Azriel absolutely did not like the quake in your voice as you spoke, nor did he like the way you seemed to cower into your body and clothes. Clothes that didn’t seem to match your usual vibe—instead, the mismatched black sweatpants and bright pink puffer jacket gave off the impression you threw on whatever was around you.

Somehow, Azriel still thought you made it look good. On you, the outfit looked both planned and effortless. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the case.

“You good?” he asked through the piercing silence.

You hummed, twisting the bulky silver ring on your thumb. “Yeah, just tired.” You tried your hardest to offer a convincing smile as you turned to him, but Azriel noticed the way it didn’t meet your eyes—the eyes that appeared slightly bloodshot, though he had a suspicion it wasn’t from smoking.

Not wanting to press on the matter, Az opened the compartment and pulled out a baggie of your usual amount and kept it pinched between two scarred fingers. You reached for it, the cash in your other hand but he kept his grip tight.

Azriel raised a brow. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

You could see the concern flood his hazel eyes, and the sight pulled on your aching heartstrings. How could someone who was a virtual stranger care more for you than the ones who were much closer in your life?

You didn’t trust your words, so you nodded and he finally released his hold on the bag. “Alright,” Az sighed. “It’s a different strain than my usual stuff, so go a little lighter with it. It’s pretty strong.”

You were incredibly thankful for the warning, though you couldn’t help feeling a little offended. Did he really think you were so naive and new to this world that you couldn’t handle a new strain at your usual strength (which, admittedly, was very weak) without greening out?

But as quickly as that feeling rose, it faded. He was a dealer, afterall, and he couldn’t afford to lose business all because someone thought they knew better and had a bad trip.

“Thank you,” you muttered out, already reaching for the handle when his ruggedly soft voice stopped you.

“You wanna smoke before you go? I can drop you back after.”

You whipped your head to him, blinking through slightly blurred vision. With a brow raised and widened eyes, your lips parted. “Together?”

A smile stretched across his full lips, one so full of charisma and keen interest that it awakened something deep in the pit of your stomach. Something you distinctly remember feeling the last time you saw him.

“Why not?”

You swallowed as your hand slowly fell from the handle and made its way back in your lap. Your smile morphed into a smirk that matched his and the air shifted into something unreadable. Something palpable but not quite real.

“Really? Do you normally smoke with your clients?”

Azriel’s wicked grin widened. “I do with the cute ones.”

You choked on a laugh, rolling your head back until it hit the headrest and Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard anything so fucking beautiful in his life. That laugh would haunt him in his dreams to a blissful paradise.

“First, I’m pretty. Now I’m cute… what’s next?”

Damn the rules he set himself. Damn the restrictions he forced when it came to someone who piqued his interest. It was about time Azriel took what he wanted for once. Even if that meant he started with no longer feeling guilty for flirting with you.

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Azriel started up the engine and shifted the gearstick. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

He tilted his head to the dashboard compartment and you pulled it open. The small warm white light lit the cove, a golden hue casting on a small yellow tin. Throwing a glance to Azriel, he nodded and you pulled it out, closing the compartment and popping open his travel tin.

It was packed with perfectly rolled joints and blunts. The smell was strong—potent—but you didn’t mind. Not as much as you had before. You picked one random of the bunch and pinched it between two fingers. It was rolled tightly and packed full, a very small twist of paper at the end and you hummed, impressed.

Of course he could roll perfectly. And you had a feeling just two pulls of one of those would keep you warm and fuzzy for the remainder of the night.

“There’s a lighter in the cup holder.” Azriel spoke as he pulled out of the space and began to drive further out of the lights of the city.

You pinched the lighter. Just a simple black one, no funky pattern or engraved initials like most others had. No, Azriel’s was one that came in a pack of five and the other four were somewhere in the car or back at his apartment.

“We can smoke in here?” you asked softly, that crack in your voice easing.

Az hummed, taking a right turn. “If you’re comfortable to.”

You waited a moment, eyeing the joint and then him. “You drive when you smoke?”

He seemed to notice your somewhat apprehension when he nodded again. He turned to you briefly before flicking his eyes back on the road again. “I drive better when I’m stoned. But if you’d prefer, we can park up somewhere.”

You shook your head, warmth caressing every inch of your body. You didn’t know what it was, but something had overcome you. An overwhelming sense of pure yearning. You could admit when you first met Az that he was attractive, incredibly so. But now? Watching him, speaking with him, smoking with him… oh God’s… you had a fucking crush on your plug.

“You wanna start it or should I?” Azriel’s voice broke you from your epiphany and you blinked quickly, willing the rising heat to just fuck off and give you a moments reprive.

“Oh,” you squeaked. “You can, it’s your weed.”

He didn’t look away from the road, not for a second. With a hand on the wheel and the other shifting gears, he edged his head closer to yours and angled his face just slightly with his lips parted. You were stunned for a moment, realising what he was asking you to do, and you swallowed back that bubbling arousal as you placed the unlit joint to his lips and sparked up a flame, igniting the end.

Az hummed in thanks as he took a long, deep drag. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was a fucking sight. Cheeks ever so slightly hollowed and eyes barely squinted as the smoke filled his lungs.

A scarred hand left the gearstick to reach for the joint, his thumb reaching for the bottom while his forefinger grazed the top and he pulled it away with another fresh intake of breath, settling the drug further.

You were soaked, you were sure of it. Your previous problems from today were a distant memory as you finally watched him exhale and bring the joint to his lips again for another long pull.

The sound of the windows opening broke you from your trance and only then did you realise you hadn’t yet put on your seatbelt. You tore your gaze away to clip yourself in and when you turned back, Azriel was offering you the joint.

With your free hand, you accepted it, the other stuffing the cash in his cup holder with the lighter. You inspected the joint, tried not to let your heart race. You’d only ever smoked with your friends and Brandon. Never with a dealer. Never with someone like Azriel.

You slotted your pursed lips over the same area Az did, and inhaled as deeply as you could. The burn at the back of your throat was stronger than when you smoked your own joints, and as it filled your lungs you pulled it away and held back a cough that gagged to release from your throat.

With a shaky exhale, you swallowed around the dryness of your mouth before bringing it back to your lips for another drag. When you pulled it away, the burn wasn’t as bad and you passed it back to Azriel who took another turn on the roads.

“Where are we going?” You pondered, a certain rasp to your voice from the strength of the joint.

Azriel took two short pulls and angled the burning end out the window, flicking off the excess ash before offering it to you again.

“Wherever you want,” he replied. “But first, we should probably get some food for when the munchies kick in.”

You laughed as you exhaled another breath and handed the joint back to him, waving a hand to signal you were tapping out and did not intend on smoking anymore. Five pulls of that shit was more than enough for you. You could not handle the idea of greening out in his car with him.

Azriel stifled a laugh and finished off the rest of the joint by the time he pulled into a drive-thru. He placed his order first, turning to you with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You blinked a few times, your brain requiring a few moments to catch up with what was happening.

“I’ll have the same as you.”

He stifled a laugh as he spoke into the machine, doubling up on his order and driving through to the next window. Azriel paid no mind to you when you attempted to offer him your money—barely even looked at you as he tapped his card against the reader and then reached for the cash in the cup holder, shoving it back in your empty palms.

“You can keep that, too.”

You knew it wasn’t up for discussion, so you begrudgingly took your cash back and stuffed it into your jacket pocket again. Az stopped in the parking lot, the two of you eating through hushed yet uncontrollable giggles at the people that passed by.

It was the first time you’d heard his laugh so unrestricted and it spread another shot of warmth through your body. It continued like that for another undisturbed hour, where after the food, Az sparked up another joint and began the drive to your apartment. You’d told him Old Tower was fine, but he wasn’t okay with that.

“Too many freaks around at this time of night. I’ll drop you to your door. Put your address in the GPS.”

And it wasn’t until the drive back to your apartment that you were reminded of your previous troubles. The ones that caused your teary eyes and sombre mood. The buzz off the night felt like it had dwindled away the second you thought of your situation, and you were left slumped in your seat again, fiddling with your fingers.

Azriel noticed your change in mood almost immediately as he glanced over to you before flicking his eyes back to the road. He took another drag of the joint.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You pondered his offer for a few moments, weighing out whether or not you should. In the end, what difference would it make? If you divulge your issues or not, it wouldn’t fix them. But perhaps talking about it might help.

“My sister got married yesterday and no one told me.”

Azriel blinked rapidly, almost spluttering on the breath he exhaled. “What?”

“Yeah.”

He waited patiently, eager for some sort of explanation as to how and why something like that was kept from you. But he didn’t know the relationship with your family, he couldn’t presume anything. For all he knew, you had troubles just like his.

“My family and I didn’t have the best relationship growing up. I was born from a toxic relationship so I was cast aside as a kid, I guess. I thought we were past that, though. I thought things were better.”

That familiar ache sat heavy in Azriel’s chest. He knew all too well the hurt that came from being shunned by your own family. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Especially not somebody like you.

“I’m sorry.” His words held such compassion and sympathy. No pity, just pure understanding.

You blinked back the tears, not wanting to show just how much it had all affected you. But it was no use. A single drop slipped down your cheek and as quickly as it fell, you wiped it away.

You were agitated now, extremely so. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend, Az.”

“Why would they do that?”

There was a pause. And then, “because her now husband was my first everything.”

You waited for the statement to settle into the thick night air. Your first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. First love. Azriel could understand even more now just how much it hurt you. And the fact they kept it a secret? Even your family knew what they did was wrong.

“I’m so sorry, that’s truly fucked. But you know, families suck sometimes. I only speak to my mom.”

“Oh?” You hadn’t realised you were even on your street until he parked right outside your apartment and flicked on his hazards.

Azriel flicked the but of the smoke out the window and held out his hands, showcasing the marred flesh and patchy skin. “My half brothers did this to me when I was eight. They didn’t like that our mom had me with another man before she had them. They said that my bastard blood tainted the family, so they wanted to taint me.”

Azriel had absolutely no fucking idea why he was divulging such an intimate and traumatic part of himself. But he made no attempt to hide or sugarcoat any of the truth. Especially not when he looked up from his hands and caught sight of your face.

Salty tears silvered the linings of your eyes at the truth of what had happened to him. Bile crept up your throat and hatred for his family formed. Eight years old. You felt sick.

“Az… I’m so sorry. That’s… I can’t even…”

But Azriel waved it off with a gentle smile. “It’s awful, sure. But I’m fine. I wouldn’t have met Cass and Rhys if that didn’t happen. They may be my found family, but they’re my brothers. Blood doesn't mean shit to me.”

A single tear slipped down your warm cheek, staining the skin in its wake. Azriel reached out to wipe it away, his touch gentle and soft and yet all-consuming. Your gaze met in a flickering glance of hazy eyes and fluttering lashes.

And then next thing you knew, your lips were on his.

Azriel was quick to kiss you back; moulding his plump lips around yours as his large palms cupped the sides of your face. He was sweet on your mouth, a hint of salt from his fries and he swiped his tongue across the seam of your lips, you almost imploded.

Azriel was no better. The second he got a taste, he was a starved man. Your tongues met in needy strokes and Az had never tasted anything like you before. Sweet like the watermelon lip gloss you wore, and a tang of smoke that haunted your mouth.

He was hooked, desperately fucking hooked. Your own hands reached up to hold his wrists in hopes of keeping his touch on you. Azriel kissed you deeper, licking across your teeth before settling even deeper in your mouth.

It was needy and messy and every unspoken word of desire was poured into that kiss, your touch. He could stay like that forever, kissing you, tasting you. Azriel could feel himself stretching in his pants, and from the almost inaudible whimper that strained from the back of your throat, he was certain you were just as needy between your own thighs.

The thought spurred him on, as it did you. Your hands trailed down his forearms to his biceps, feeling at the muscle that tensed beneath your touch, until your arms were wrapping around his neck and he was pulling you closer over the centre console.

Azriel kept a palm caressing your jaw while the other snaked to the side of your neck, his long fingers weaving through the hair at your nape and blunt fingernails scratching at your scalp.

In your drug and lust filled haze, Azriel was shifting in his seat. You let one arm leave his body to reach for your seatbelt, planning to unbuckle it and crawl into his lap for a deeper, richer taste of him.

But the second the safety belt was released, the blaring sound of an incoming call through the car's speaker jolted you both apart. It was then, and only then, that the gravity of the situation finally sunk in.

His eyes were glazed over with something you’d never seen on him before, his lips even plumper and smeared with your gloss. You didn’t look much better. Only your eyes were wider than his and your hair had been a lot more dishevelled.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the insistent ringing of his phone jarring your eardrums. For the fourth time tonight, warmth settled over you again but in the form of embarrassment. He confided in you about a trauma so deep, and you’d kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised breathlessly.

Too caught up in your own fear and anxiety of what you’d done, you missed the way Azriel’s brows furrowed. His confusion quickly turned into panic when the thought settled in that perhaps you had regretted it. That even though you kissed him, perhaps you felt he had pressured you.

And that made him sick to his stomach.

Before Azriel could utter a single word, your hand was on the door handle and you were pushing it open. “I’m sorry, I should go.”

You climbed out of the car as you uttered another apology, and slammed the door shut without so much as offering him another glance. The incoming call died to voicemail but Az couldn’t take his eyes off your empty seat, couldn’t get the taste of you off his tongue, the feel of your lips off his.

Frustration grew at himself. Azriel turned forward in his seat, nostrils flared and teeth grit. He’d fucked it. He’d gone and fucked it entirely. His open palm smacked against the wheel before gripping it tightly, taking a moment to compose himself.

He looked over at your seat again.

Despite the lack of your physical presence, you were still there. In scent and touch and taste.

Azriel was fucking done for.

A/N: guys you have no idea how EXCITED I am to finally be reposting this series. I love plug!az with every fibre of my being and I cannot wait to share it again and finally finish it!!! This is the original first and second part merged together and I’ll be scheduling the next part for some time next week!!

#azriel smut #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel imagine #azriel oneshot #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #plug!az #acotar fluff #acotar angst #acotar imagine #acotar oneshot #acotar smut

383 notes · View notes

writesvani · 1 month ago

Text

coming down | teaser

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): underage use of marijuana and cigars, underage drinking, use of illegal substances, anorexia and obsessive dieting, calorie deficit, mentions of self-destructive behavior, angst, emotional manipulation and trauma, toxic friendship dynamics, self-esteem issues and body image, unresolved romantic tension, past betrayal and unrequited love, sexual harassment (implied in some interactions), foul language and explicit content, derogatory language, including use of "puss" and other insults, toxic romantic relationships and behavior, references to manipulation and control in relationships, most characters are morally gray, flawed, and engage in problematic behavior, complex, imperfect characters who make questionable decisions, characters often act in ways that challenge traditional moral boundaries and ethics.

THESE CHARACTERS ARE NOT MEANT TO BE PERFECT AND IDOLIZED.

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST

— next chapter

wc: 2,4k // date: 4th of March 2025

TEASER — Wicked Games; proceed with caution...

AN: OKAY OKAY OKAY WOW HERE SHE IS. i don’t know what the hell I’m writing - i mean i do but i don’t if that makes sense - this, this fanfic is literally gonna be my baby. it’s inspired by a lot of people i know, it’s partly inspired by my life as well - not gonna tell you which bits of it tho haha. but i’m so excited. honestly this isn’t even chapter one - i’m thinking more of it as a teaser for what’s about to come and when i tell you a lot is coming you better believe it. but this is going to be a part of me - something raw and something real and i know this won’t be an easy read - as you can see by the triggers but i truly, really hope you guys will like it as much as I enjoy writing it. because i’m obsessed. i just got sucked in by y/n and gojo’s dynamic of hatred and toxicity, they’re on my mind 24/7.

i love them.

i hate them.

i wanna be them and i’d hate it if i ended up becoming them at the same time.

love, vani 🩷

"No, I’m not going."

"Yes, you totally are."

"No, I’m not, Yumi. I’m dead serious."

"Y/n, for the love of Christ, I love you, but if you don’t stop bitching about it right now, there will be consequences. Now, get your ass up and get ready," Yumi huffed, arms crossed.

You narrowed your eyes before rolling them—more dramatically than you intended. Not your most mature moment, but being forced to go to that party, in that house, didn’t exactly put you in a good mood.

"Look, Yu, I don’t care about that stupid party your—what’s his name again?—boyfriend is throwing for us. Truthfully, I’d rather be buried alive in that creepy graveyard we smoke pot in. Alone. No pot. You get my point."

"His name is Nanami," she deadpanned. "And he’s throwing us a party for our birthday, which we share. It’s not like I have the option to skip it, you know. Besides, we always celebrate our birthday together."

Yumi’s voice softened as she tilted her head, giving you that look—the one she knew you couldn’t resist. "Please, please, please. Let’s just go, smoke some weed, listen to those weird-ass tunes you play when you get too baked, wait for midnight, blow out the candles, and leave. Bonus points if Nanami fucks me tonight."

She smirked before adding, "Plus, Gojo’s gonna be there, and everyone knows about your little crush on him."

You scowled. As if that could make this stupid party any better.

But again… she wasn’t wrong.

Somehow, in the middle of a crowded classroom filled with acne-scarred faces and nervous energy, you and Yumi ended up sitting together. two total strangers. two tangled-up disasters shoved into plastic chairs, thrown together by sheer chance or some kind of cosmic joke.

She was tall and slim, chain-smoking weird American cigars in the school’s piss-scented bathroom stalls during five-minute breaks.

You liked her immediately.

She liked cigs.

You liked pot.

She liked Arctic Monkeys or any other type of music that ended up overplayed by overdramatic tumblr girls at midnight.

You listened to Trilogy like it was gospel.

She didn’t give a shit about school. Skipped class constantly to drink cheap coffee at some run-down café that reeked of nargila and regret.

You somehow pulled good grades—yet skipped with her anyway, so she wouldn’t feel lonely.

And then, the kicker.

You shared the same birthday.

Same day. Same year. Two hours apart. What were the odds? Some kind of cruel cosmic irony, maybe. A glitch in the universe where it spat out two unhinged messes at the same time, doomed to find each other.

You weren’t sure.

All you knew was that Yumi was fucked up.

She didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Just smoked.

Cigs and all.

Pot and all.

You, on the other hand, slept too much. Ate just enough—tracking every bite to make sure it fit inside your carefully calculated calorie deficit, of course.

And yeah, you were fucked up too.

But at least you weren’t alone.

You were fucked up together, and somehow, that made perfect sense.

And now, after years of being two walking disasters—two mistakes of nature (and probably your parents' biggest regrets)—you are finally in college.

What you didn’t expect was Yumi getting a boyfriend. And sticking to him. Yumi didn’t do relationships. they were too much, she once told you.

Too heavy.

You understood. Why let anyone waste their time trying to fix something that wasn’t fixable? Why let anyone peel back the layers when there was nothing to find? no deep-seated trauma, no unspeakable tragedy, no emotional constipation. just plain, old you—coasting through life on gold marlboro touch and iceberg salad.

You assumed Yumi felt the same. you used to get each other.

But now? Yumi had a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend—some weirdly handsome senior that got every girl on campus tripping over themselves. A guy who, for some unknown reason, had decided to settle down with the second-year that half the school had definitely jacked off to.

And you?

You were still there, of course.

“You know what? Fine,” you finally huffed, shoving your hands in your pockets. “We’re going. But—” you held up a finger, “The shit he’s getting better be good or i’m out. And—” another finger, “Btw, how is The Weeknd ‘weird girl’ music? The best music to get high is literally from an artist who made it while high. like, really?”

Yumi just raised an eyebrow, already knowing she’d won.

“And—” your third and final finger shot up—“One condition. No Gojo. Np looking at him, no talking about him, and god forbid, talking to him, okay?”

Yumi grinned like the little devil she was. She knew she had you.

And she loved it.

You’re going. and somehow, somehow, you already know Yumi’s going to break the Gojo rule. And you already hate yourself for saying yes.

Gojo, Gojo, Gojo. That foxy, smirking little minx you’ve somehow tucked away in a small, stupid pocket of your heart. Nanami's best friend.

Stupid hot and wicked smart.

One look from Gojo Satoru and half the campus is already on their knees, mouths open, waiting for the tip to slide in. one touch, and you’re pretty sure girls would be cumming fully clothed.

Truthfully? You get it.

Gojo has that whole walking sexual fantasy turned nonchalant icy prince thing going for him. you would’ve hitched your skirt up and let him fuck you senseless too—if he asked.

Would’ve.

But Gojo Satoru did something no other man had ever dared to do.

He bruised your ego.

You’d never admit it, of course. Not out loud. Not even to yourself. But the way his offhanded you’re not my type had clutched at your chest, had sunk deep into the tenderest, most pathetic part of you—yeah. It stung.

Who the hell was he to say you weren’t his type?

Yes, fine, he was hot. really, really hot.

But so were you.

You’ve got that thing going for you—the great student, everyone loves me act, while secretly (well, not so secretly, except to your oblivious teachers) getting high and fucking emotionally unavailable men on the weekends.

Your favorite trope, honestly.

You’ve got those pretty—as guys love to say—puppy eyes and that lethal eyelashes combo that makes people practically eat from the palm of your hand.

So why the hell would he say you weren’t his type?

For fuck’s sake, Gojo Satoru fucks anything with two legs and a vagina.

And the cherry on top? He didn't even say it to your face. No, he just let those humiliating little words slip at some party you weren’t even at.

Thank god for that. You’re pretty sure you would’ve died right then and there if you had to hear those ridiculous words fall from his pretty pink lips in real time.

But of course, Yumi—your second-in-command, your ever-dutiful bringer of bad news—had called you immediately.

Campus sex god gojo satoru, not finding you attractive enough?

The scandal.

To make things even worse, you’re pretty sure everyone knows you’d totally give it to Gojo Satoru.

You may have drunkenly admitted it—once, before the whole “not his type” fiasco—to some random girl in a club bathroom who smelled way too much like puke and way too little like vanilla.

And of course, of fucking course, the gossip spread through campus like wildfire before you could even try to kill it.

So yeah. going to your own birthday party?

Humiliating.

Annoying.

Absolutely a horrible idea.

But still… there’s this slow burn inside of you, this creeping anticipation.

The kind that tells you tonight might just be interesting.

And a little drama never hurt anyone, right?

…Right?

—

Nanami's house is not what you expected.

You don’t even know what you expected, but definitely not this.

Yumi did mention he doesn’t live on campus—he’s one of those guys, apparently. Still lives with his parents or something.

Lame. Booo. Throwing tomatoes.

Because seriously—what twenty-something man still lives with his parents?

But you definitely didn’t expect nanami’s house to be this posh.

Or this proper.

Or this… fucking expensive.

Because, what the actual fuck—nanami is rich.

Like, could-buy-you-off-the-dark-web rich.

Probably in exchange for the mahogany table you’re currently pouring tequila shots on.

Or maybe just for that obnoxiously huge, icy couch stretching across the living room.

or, hell, even for his kitchen alone.

What. The. Fuck.

But then—on that same absurdly expensive couch—something else catches your eye.

Legs sprawled out in the kind of lazy man-spread that screams confidence, scrolling through his phone like he owns the place, is a man.

Dark.

Tall.

And very, very hot.

Something dark and thrilling rushes through you at the thought of dragging him into Nanami’s parents’ bedroom and riding him until he can’t take it anymore.

But before you can act on it—

“Geto Suguru.”

Yumi’s voice is in your ear, a warning.

“He has a girlfriend, so don’t even try.”

Her fingers tug at your elbow. You retaliate immediately, poking her ribs in response.

He looks up.

His shadowy eyes roam over you—slow, deliberate.

A half-smile, half-smirk tugs at his lips.

Ha.

There he is.

Good boy.

He wants it.

He wants you.

"Well, I don’t see her here, do I?"

Your voice is a whisper, teasing, as you throw a smirk at Yumi before stepping forward—gracefully, leg before leg, closing the space between you and him.

He’s still sitting.

You don’t even have to look at his face to know he’s already watching you.

Slowly, your eyes travel downward.

The soft material of his white polo stretches taut over the sculpted lines of his stomach, the fabric clinging in all the right places. Your gaze lingers, just a second too long, before moving up—finally settling on his lips.

For a moment, there’s silence.

Then, just as the tension starts to settle, he shifts—fumbling with the left pocket of his jeans.

You blink.

…Okay.

Not so hot anymore.

What the hell is he doing?

But then—

but then—

he pulls something out.

A white tissue—crumpled, worn.

You almost scoff, about to ask if this is some weird, half-assed magic trick—until you see it.

Tiny specks of green peek through the folds.

Your breath catches.

Weed.

A lot of weed.

Holy fucking shit.

You swear your mouth waters.

It’s tucked inside that questionably old tissue—and you pray, dear God, that he didn’t blow his nose in it.

Then, in that slow, deep voice—smooth like velvet, laced with a promise—he finally speaks.

"Five grams. Homemade."

He speaks for the first time, and in that moment, you're absolutely sure you're about to get high off his pot—and then, well, he's going to be the one getting high off you.

"Heard you smoke. Thought you’d want to."

Geto’s voice is low, his words soft, but the way his arm brushes your hip bone—effortlessly, casually—sends a spark through your veins.

Some might say it’s a coincidence.

But you know better.

Nothing, nothing, is ever a coincidence when it comes to men like him.

And now, now, you want it even more.

Before you can say anything, someone else interrupts.

“Yo, Suguru, I’ve been watching you all night, man. Why the fuck you sitting in the living room like some NPC loser?”

You scoff, catching the teasing tone of the voice.

"Satoru, you’re stepping on my last nerve again. Let me chill for a bit. I wanna mentally prepare before rolling with all you incompetent losers," Geto responds, his voice still calm, but there's a hidden edge to it that makes you think he doesn't mind the banter.

"There, there, boy. I just missed my best friend so much I had to see why you left the billiard room, you know? Just love spending time with you, bestie."

"You know, licking my ass won’t make me give you some of this before I try it myself. Plus, I’ve got company, as you can see." Geto’s voice drips with annoyance, cutting through the otherwise tense air in Nanami’s living room.

You don’t need to turn around to know exactly who’s standing behind you. His presence is undeniable, his scent suffocating in the best way, and that energy—God, that energy—that pulses in any room he steps into.

And then, of course, there’s the voice. That annoyingly attractive, rough drawl that always gets under your skin.

“I can see that, but I still don’t approve of you ditching your homies for some cheap pussy,” Gojo says, the mockery clear in his voice.

And that’s when you finally, finally, decide to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

What the fuck?

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Sure, being told you weren’t his type stung—but this? Calling you cheap? Who the hell does this guy think he is? What gives him the audacity to insult you to your face—well, more like to your back, but still, it stings all the same.

A chuckle rumbles through the room. You don’t stop yourself in time. You hear your own voice, but it doesn’t feel like yours anymore.

How dare he. After everything—after all the hurt he’s caused you.

Again. And again.

You tell yourself it doesn’t bother you, yet the words slip out before you even realize what’s happening.

As if you could have stopped them. As if you could have ever stopped anything with him.

After all, Gojo Satoru always had a knack for pushing your buttons exactly the way he wanted.

“Cheap, but could make your dick hard by one high school kiss in your mom’s closet. Could make you whimper out my name in your favorite teacher’s classroom. Could make you cum down your uniform just by biting your lip. We’re a little past being cheap, don’t you think Sato?”

Because before all of this—before the "not his type" catastrophe, and your drunken confessions—there was you.

And there was Gojo.

Best friends since birth. A bond that was never supposed to break. But then came senior year—the year everything changed.

You made a mistake. The terrible, stupid, earth-shattering mistake of letting things blur into something more. You slept together. Multiple times. You told yourself it was just a phase. Just a mistake. But deep down, you both knew it was more than that.

But no. There was an even worse mistake than all of this.

Falling in love.

And then, the biggest tragedy of all: letting each other down.

You weren’t supposed to end up here. But somehow, here you are. Caught in the wreckage of a love that never really had a chance.

191 notes · View notes

yamazki · 1 month ago

Text

FRESH OUT OF LOVE ? — chris sturniolo

part 2 here!

★ warnings: YEARNING, cursing, angst, use of marijuana, use of alcohol, mentions of cheating, ( i give up )

note: honestly wrote this cause i'm a certified yearner, so expect nothing!

You lean against a kitchen counter at another influencer’s house, contemplating whether to get a refill or not. You’re feeling a bit tipsy, but you know it’ll wear off in ten minutes if you don’t get another punch. Before you can decide, a familiar voice cuts through the low hum of the party.

“Oh my god, look who finally decided to show up!”

You barely have time to react before Tara wraps you in a quick but firm hug. She smells like vanilla and weed, her signature scent, and when she pulls back, she studies you with a smirk. “You good?”

You hesitate. It’s not a simple question, and you both know it. “Yeah. Just needed a drink.” You gesture vaguely to the half-empty cup in your hand.

Tara hums knowingly, leaning against the counter beside you. “Mm. I feel that. But I think what you really need is outside.”

You raise a brow. “Outside?”

She tilts her head towards the backyard. “Larray and Quen are out there. I know you’ve been in your hermit era, but you should come say hi. It’s chill, just a little smoke, a little catching up.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t planned to stay long. Just enough to show face, maybe let yourself pretend for a second that things were normal. But the thought of stepping outside, of letting the night pull you into something mindless and warm, is tempting.

Tara nudges your arm. “Come on. You look like you could use it.”

And she’s right. You don’t say anything, just let out a small sigh before pushing off the counter. “Alright. Just for a little.”

Tara grins, linking her arm with yours as she leads you through the crowd, towards the sliding glass door.

You push past the screen door into the chilly November breeze, immediately noticing the bright moon, followed by the smell of pot. You see a circle of people hanging out by a parked black Tesla, and you smile. Ready to finally let loose.

Until you see a familiar head away from the group.

A tousled sea of chestnut waves, each strand illuminated by the moonlight. Exactly what you dream of every night.

Chris.

He’s alone, leaning on the roof of the car. You can only see so much of his side profile. He takes a hit, gazing thoughtfully into the sky, seemingly relaxed and undisturbed. You notice that he’s growing his beard, and you frown a bit, knowing he doesn’t shave when he’s sad.

Then, someone—you don’t bother to check who—slurs your name.

You’re still fixated on Chris, and you see his demeanor shift imperceptibly; his eyes flicker downward and calmly freeze. You can’t look away, locked in a silent exchange of uncertainty.

Seconds pass.

Has he heard? Will he look around?

Then time unpauses. His head turns to your direction, meeting your gaze with furrowed brows. His face shows a mixture of surprise and confusion, while his blue eyes reflect the faintest hint of moonlight. You can’t read him, but he looks so beautiful.

You remain frozen, caught in the moment. And it just feels like it’s just you two there. Your mind feels foggy, and you notice you stopped breathing. You don’t know for how long, but you quietly inhale and exhale, releasing the tension.

You turn your head to Larray and Quen, clearly already out of it, and they shout your name excitedly, inviting you to join them.

You smile and greet them as you approach.

Larray begins, “Heyyy, I missed you! I haven’t seen you in weeks, girl.” He frowns as he opens his arms for a hug.

“Yeah… we missed you a lot.” Quen acts sad and gives a side-eye, but quickly, her demeanor changes. “But aye, we got da ‘za, hahahaha, smoke up, babe.”

You laugh. “Nah. I’m good. Just wanted to show myself before I leave. Been a day.” You shrug.

Larray and Quen try to convince you to stay, but you couldn’t—not if he’s here.

“C’mon, the hoes are leavin’, and we DoorDashing Taco Bell tonight for the munchies. It’s gonna be chill.”

You can’t help but look at him. His head is down, but a second later, he looks up at you.

And you look away immediately.

“Okay. Sure,” you mutter.

The joint is passed to you, and you hesitate before taking it, bringing it to your lips. The familiar burn fills your lungs, and you exhale slowly, letting the haze settle over your mind. The laughter, the voices, the music from inside—it all fades into background noise.

Except for him.

You can feel his presence like a weight against your chest. He hasn’t moved from his spot, but you know he’s watching.

Quen nudges you. “So, how you been?” She asks it casually, but there’s something beneath it. Something careful.

You glance at her, then at Tara, who’s watching you just as closely. They know. Of course, they know.

“I’m good,” you say, too quickly. The weed hasn’t hit enough to make you honest yet. “Been busy.”

Tara scoffs. “Busy avoiding us.”

Larray hums in agreement, taking another hit. “We get it, though. That whole thing was…” He waves a hand, searching for the word.

Quen finds it for him. “Messy.”

You swallow, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is. You should’ve grabbed another drink.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you say, voice quieter now.

Tara nudges your knee with hers. “We get it. But, like… you know he didn’t actually cheat, right?”

Your heart stutters.

You don’t respond.

Larray exhales a slow puff of smoke. “I mean, yeah, it looked bad, but…” He shrugs. “He didn’t do anything.”

You clench your jaw. “He almost did.”

Tara sighs. “Almost isn’t the same as doing it. You guys were in a shitty situation, all couples go through it. That wannabe–singer just took advantage of it—of him.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. He still stayed in that room and he—”

Your words die in your throat because Chris is standing now.

Moving.

Walking toward you.

You freeze, eyes locking onto his as he stops a few feet away. The conversation around you dissolves. It’s just him. Just you.

“Can we talk?” His voice is quiet, rough.

And then it hits you—his scent. A mix of expensive cologne, clean laundry, and something distinctly him. It’s familiar, painfully so. It’s the scent that used to linger on your clothes after long nights together, the one that clung to your pillows after he left. You used to bury your face in his hoodie just to breathe it in.

Your heart flutters, just like it always used to. And you hate it.

You exhale, staring at him, searching for something—anything—that will make this easier. But all you see is him, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

Like you always have been. And you hate that it still makes your heart ache.

You should say no. You should turn around, go back to Larray and Quen, pretend none of this is happening. But you don’t.

Instead, you nod. Barely.

Chris notices anyway.

He takes a step back, waiting for you to follow. And despite every voice in your head screaming at you to stop, to not give him this, your feet move on their own.

You follow him, past the Tesla, past the glow of the backyard lights, until you’re standing in the dim shadows near the fence. Far enough that no one can hear.

For a second, neither of you speak. The only sounds are the muffled bass of the party inside and the occasional burst of laughter from the group near the car.

Chris shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He looks at you like he doesn’t know where to start.

You cross your arms, bracing yourself. “What do you want, Chris?”

He exhales sharply, like he expected you to sound angry but still hoped you wouldn’t be.

“I just… I just need you to know,” he says, voice low, hesitant. “I didn’t do it. I swear to God, I—”

Your stomach twists. “Chris.”

“I know what it looked like.” He steps closer, his voice almost desperate now. “But I didn’t touch her. I didn’t kiss her. I wouldn’t—”

“But you almost did.” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris flinches, his brows knitting together. “I—” He stops, swallows hard. “I was drunk. I was stupid. And I fucked up, but not like that. Not in the way you think.”

You shake your head, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” His voice is firm now. “Because I can’t stand the thought of you believing that I wanted anyone else. That I ever could.”

His words make your chest tighten. You feel like you can’t breathe. Because this is exactly what you didn’t want—to hear him say things that make you want to believe him.

You close your eyes, inhaling slowly. His scent is still there, surrounding you, pulling you back into a place you swore you wouldn’t go.

When you open them again, you don’t try to keep the hurt from your voice.

“You know what I went through with…” You hesitate, but Chris already knows. His jaw clenches.

“You know. So you know how much this just brings me back, okay?” Your voice cracks, and you hate it, but you keep going. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to even think—for a second—that you could do the same thing to me?”

Chris exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair. His whole body is tense, and when he looks at you, his eyes are burning.

“I’m not him,” he says, his voice hard and unyielding. “I’m not some stupid artist that fucks around and cheats like it’s in his contract.”

His words hang heavy in the air. You don’t say anything, just look at him, waiting.

Then, his anger cracks. His expression shifts into something else—something raw and tired.

“I miss you,” he says, quieter now. “I hate not talking to you.”

You inhale sharply, pressing your lips together, but he keeps going.

“Everywhere I go, I just—I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I keep thinking I’ll turn around and you’ll be there. Like you always were.”

His voice is rough, a little unsteady. He looks down, exhaling through his nose before meeting your gaze again.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” he admits. “With missing you.”

The words settle between you, thick in the cold air.

#chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo x you

256 notes · View notes

paranoiddreams · 5 months ago

Text

Beware ೀ (HC)

‹𝟹 Stoner!Sukuna x GN!reader

‹𝟹 Warnings!! - THIS IS PURELY FANTASY!!, non-con, drugging, marijuana use, pls do not read if any of these topics trigger you!!, unprotected sex, pervy dirty nasty thoughts😔, mentions of masterbation (m), mentions of creampies :3, Sukuna is messed up, I tried to make it as gender neutral as possible but if it comes off more fem I’m srry, porn a little plot?, just filth as usual *sigh*, a random Ethel Cain ref (Gibson Girl) bc I can’t help myself, lmk if I missed anything<3

‹𝟹 A/n!! - once again, was writing this while listening to this song while writing this lolz. I was gonna name Animals the title of the song, but decided not to, and then wrote this and thought the title fit :3 Forgive the writing if it’s not up to par, I’m so sleep deprived rn😀 But neways, I hope you all enjoy this and share my love for stoner!sukuna😌 I’m seriously considering making a oneshot continuing this🧍🏻‍♀️

Stoner!Sukuna who’s your best friend, despite being a delinquent in a rock band, and you an innocent, stereotypical, goody two-shoes.

Stoner!Sukuna who towers over you with his muscular frame, and plays any song you want on his guitar. If he doesn’t know it, he’ll learn it.

Stoner!Sukuna who always smells like weed and cologne, and almost never wears any color other than black and grey.

Stoner!Sukuna who invites you over to his crappy apartment all the time, and even has a pink fluffy blanket on his bed for you.

Stoner!Sukuna who smokes a blunt while you both watch movies together, often watching a rom-com you chose despite his usual disdain for them.

Stoner!Sukuna who offers you a hit every time you come over, even though he knows you’ll just say no with that cute, innocent smile of yours. And you always do.

Stoner!Sukuna who has to stop smoking indica around you because the strain makes it even harder to push down his impure, feral thoughts about you.

Stoner!Sukuna who pulls you closer to him when the movie has really got you sucked in, grinning at how cute you look when you’re invested in something.

Stoner!Sukuna who can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full of his cum multiple times, making you cum in cock each time, whenever you cuddle into his side and throw a leg over his.

Stoner!Sukuna who decides after getting high alone one night and jerking off thinking about you that it is definitely time you get high for the first time. And he should be the one to show you :)

Stoner!Sukuna who bakes your favorite brownies with M&M’s, but adds a secret ingredient without telling you, watching with a smile as you eat a whole one without much thought.

Stoner!Sukuna who pulls you into his arms as soon as you’re both done eating, offering to let you pick a movie, as always.

Stoner!Sukuna who notices how clingy and needy you’re getting after 30 minutes of the movie you put on, already feeling his cock getting hard in his shorts as soon as your face nuzzles into his chest.

Stoner!Sukuna who shushes you gently when you start whining about feeling a little weird, his hands running down your back to feel your skin warming up under your clothes.

Stoner!Sukuna whose hands wander a little farther than usual, knowing you’re too high by now to even register it.

Stoner!Sukuna whose hard cock is pressed against your stomach as you lie on top of him, making it hard for him not to tear your clothes off and breed you then and there.

Stoner!Sukuna who places his hands on your hips, slowly grinding himself up into your clothed sex, closing his eyes with a low moan.

Stoner!Sukuna who feels your growing arousal through your clothes, and says: “Baby, if it feels good, then it can’t be bad,” when you ask him what he’s doing.

Stoner!Sukuna who whispers lewd words into your ear as he pulls your pants off, knowing that’s he’s got you in his clutches.

288 notes · View notes

nyaagolor · 7 months ago

Text

Ranking the Ushiromiyas based on whether or not I think they're a narc

Kinzo: -1/10. Hitting a blunt is what killed him

Krauss: 4/10. While I do think he initially would be against any kind of marijuana usage by virtue of being a conservative dude in the 80s, I'm almost positive I could convince him that growing it in the mansion's boiler room is a solid investment

Natsuhi: 0/10. As far as she's aware weed is basically the same thing as cocaine and will kill you, if you brought it near her I think she might actually pass out. However, out of everyone here I think she would benefit the most from an edible

Jessica: 9/10. If this series was set in the current day she would be hiding a vape pen from her parents and teaching Kanon how to hit in the rose garden. She gets a point taken off because she doesn't know that holding it in doesn't do anything

Eva: 6/10. Hates smoking overall, so you can't actually smoke near her without getting yelled at. Though she wouldn't snitch on you, technically, that's only because she fully intends on using it for blackmail later

Hideyoshi: 7/10. He did some sketchy business deals during the war, I'm pretty sure he's got a don't ask don't tell policy (not including Eva, she knows everything). Knocked down three points for the indirect blackmail.

George: 3/10. He's definitely a narc, but that's only because he was trying to rebel sometime in HS and went to a rotation but got laughed at for rolling the saddest, most pathetic looking joint of all time. He has a vendetta now

Rudolf: 6/10. Would probably smoke if it were modern day and isn't one to snitch but his weed etiquette is so bad that I need to knock him down a peg on principle

Kyrie: 7/10. She's the dealer. Points knocked off because she keeps cutting it with cheap shit because she knows her buyers (including her husband) are kinda dumb

Battler: 8/10. Would never snitch but loses a few points because he's bad at it. See below:

Rosa: ???/10. Feels like she'd snitch but also gives me the impression of someone who's tried cocaine before so I think her thoughts on the subject are pretty mood dependent. I don't trust her though.

Maria: 10/10. She didn't snitch on Beatrice and we all know what was in that pipe

#umineko #kinzo ushiromiya #krauss ushiromiya #natsuhi ushiromiya #eva ushiromiya #hideyoshi ushiromiya #george ushiromiya #jessica ushiromiya #rudolf ushiromiya #kyrie ushiromiya #battler ushiromiya #rosa ushiromiya #maria ushiromiya #umineko spoilers #kinda?#mod vex #textpost #headcanons

160 notes · View notes

bumblebeeswrite · 3 months ago

Text

Stick N' Poke | Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: After a night of smoking and bedroom escapades, you ask Eddie about his tattoos.

CW: fluff to the max, drug use, reader gets a tattoo (not in the most sanitary way), implied reader already has tattoos, includes the process of getting tattoo and the pain. Let me know if there's anything I missed!

Thanks for stopping by! This is my first blurb in years. It's also roughly unedited, so let me know if there's anything crazy lol. Hope you enjoy!

If you spent any more time here, you might as well have forwarded your mail. You now had a permanent drawer of clothes in his dresser, filled with the essentials. You had extra shampoo and an arsenal of curly hair products in the shower, plus an addition of a third tooth brush into the bathroom- a clear indication of your ever-growing presence. It wasn't just about the toiletries and clothes, though. It was about the comfortable rhythm you'd fallen into, the way your things were slowly but surely weaving themselves into the fabric of his space, and, by extension, his life.

Sure, you’d had boyfriends before, endured the awkward firsts and the inevitable fades, but this was something different. It wasn't just the shared space, though that certainly played a part. It was the effortless flow of your conversations, the comfortable silences, the way you just clicked. There was something about your dynamic that was addicting, and neither of you would have it any other way.

“Shhh!” You giggled when he did, your hand flying to his arm as Eddie, perched by the window, frantically waved a cloud of marijuana smoke into the night air. “You’re gonna wake your uncle up!” He grinned, taking another long drag from the joint before exhaling a plume of smoke directly into your face. "No, you are," he retorted, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink from a combination of the weed and laughter.

"Do I have something on my face?" You asked, turning from the window to meet his gaze. Your brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern in your eyes. "No, no. Nothing like that, sunflower," he reassured you, his voice soft and warm. A slow smile spread across his face as he continued, "Was just lookin' at how beautiful you are."

The humor of the situation, the sheer absurdity of your whispered warnings while simultaneously trying to hotbox his room, was almost overwhelming. You covered your mouth to stifle a fresh wave of giggles, your eyes crinkling at the corners. Eddie passed you the joint, and you finished it off, carefully snubbing it out in the overflowing ashtray on his bedside table. "I really need to get you some candles before Wayne really starts getting annoyed," you murmured, eyeing the lingering haze.

But Eddie didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on you, a soft smile playing on his lips. Your curls, usually so carefully styled, were delightfully messy from their earlier escapades in bed, framing your face in a halo of unruly tendrils. You were kneeling on the floor, clad only in one of his worn-out Judas Priest t-shirts, the faded band logo stretched across your chest. Your eyes, slightly red-rimmed from the smoke, sparkled with laughter and something else, something warmer, something that made Eddie's heart ache in a way he couldn't quite explain. In that moment, surrounded by the lingering scent of weed and the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, he thought you couldn't have looked more beautiful.

A fresh wave of laughter bubbled up from your chest, and you leaned forward, burying your face in Eddie's shoulder to muffle the sound. The contact sent a pleasant shiver through him.

"Shut up, Edward," You mumbled against his shirt, words laced with affection.

Eddie feigned a quiet gasp of offense, a playful glint in his eyes. He looked down at you, his hand gently cupping the back of your head, drawing you closer. He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair. A contented sigh escaped his lips as he held you close, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a warm blanket

As you shifted in his arms, your eyes drifted down to his forearm. There was the cluster of bats, their delicate wings spread in permanent flight across his skin. It was your favorite of his tattoos, a small detail that always caught your attention. Your thumb traced the outline of one of the bats, a silent appreciation in the gentle touch. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the inked skin.

"I like these," You murmured, your breath warm against his arm.

Eddie chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. He knew exactly which one you meant. "Thanks, sweetheart," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "Did 'em myself."

You looked up at him, your brow furrowed in curiosity. "You did them?" you asked, voice laced with surprise.

Eddie nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. Wayne wouldn't let me get a real one before I was eighteen, so I learned how to do stick-and-pokes. The old-fashioned way."

"The prison way?" You quipped, barely suppressing another fit of laughter. The image of a younger Eddie meticulously tattooing himself in some makeshift prison setting was both amusing and oddly endearing.

Eddie tightened his grip on you, pulling you closer until you both fell back against the side of the bed. The sudden movement stole your breath, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide.

You both lay there for a long moment, wrapped in comfortable silence, the only sound the gentle rhythm of your breathing. Finally, you spoke again, voice soft and thoughtful.

“Do you think you could do one on me?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Eddie had always been a doodler, his sketches and doodles appearing on everything from scraps of paper to the surface of his desk, and even, occasionally, on your skin. The idea of having a piece of his art permanently etched onto you, a tangible reminder of him, sent a flutter of excitement through your chest.

Eddie paused, his gaze searching yours, trying to gauge your sincerity. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low and serious. "You know that shit don't come off."

You nodded quickly, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Yeah," You breathed, "that would be really cool, actually."

Eddie reluctantly released you, pushing himself up from the bed and heading over to his desk. He began rifling through scattered papers, his fingers sifting through the various sketches and doodles that littered the surface. He picked up a few, scrutinizing them with a critical eye, as if searching for the perfect design, the one worthy of a permanent place on your skin. The concentration on his face was intense, a clear indication of how seriously he was taking your request.

Finally, he pulled out a crumpled sheet of old homework, a large, vibrant sunflower sketched across the corner. A wide grin spread across his face as he carefully handed the paper to you. "A sunflower for my sunflower?" he asked, his voice soft and laced with affection.

He'd called you sunflower almost from the moment you met. When you had finally asked him why, he'd simply shrugged, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "You smell like a flower," he'd murmured, "and you feel like the sun." It was a simple explanation, yet it resonated with you in a way you couldn't quite articulate. It was him, perfectly capturing the essence of you in just a few words. So, a sunflower… it was perfect.

You nodded enthusiastically, eyes shining as you clutched the paper to your chest. "It's perfect, Eds! I love it!" You exclaimed, your voice filled with genuine appreciation.

A warm, loving smile spread across Eddie's face as he ducked under his bed, rummaging through a box hidden beneath. "Where do you want it?" he asked, poking his head out for a moment, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Right above my elbow," you replied, already rolling up the short sleeve of your right arm, exposing the smooth skin just above your elbow joint. You watched him, a mixture of excitement and anticipation bubbling inside you.

You watched as Eddie emerged from under the bed, a black marker clutched in his hand. He sat beside you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully began to transfer his sunflower design onto the back of your arm. He worked slowly and deliberately, occasionally licking his finger to smudge away a line or two, redoing the parts he wasn't quite satisfied with. From the same box beneath his bed, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of black tattoo ink and a long, thin needle. "Might hurt, princess," he murmured, his voice quiet and a touch hesitant, as if you'd never experienced the prick of a needle before.

"Let me know if it's too much," he added, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. He quickly dabbed a bit of Vaseline onto your skin, preparing the area before carefully pouring some of the black ink into a small bottle cap. The ritual was familiar, yet the anticipation was different this time, charged with a deeper meaning.

Eddie dipped the tip of the needle into the bottle cap, the black ink clinging to the fine point. He took a breath, his gaze focused on the spot on your arm, before gently lowering the needle to your skin. He watched intently as the needle pierced the surface, disappearing momentarily before emerging again, leaving a tiny dot of ink in its wake. A sharp sting accompanied each poke, a familiar sensation, yet this time, it felt different. The warmth that bloomed in your chest, the heady rush of the high swirling in your mind, somehow overshadowed the physical discomfort. It stung, yes, but it was a manageable pain, a small price to pay for the permanent piece of him you were about to carry with you.

Eddie continued, his focus unwavering as he meticulously worked his way around the sunflower design. Each tiny prick of the needle was accompanied by a small, almost imperceptible flinch from you, but you remained steadfast, your gaze fixed on Eddie's face. He was so absorbed in the task, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed into a thin line. You could see the slight tremor in his hand as he worked, a testament to the delicate nature of the task and the importance he placed on it.

The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the needle against your skin filled the otherwise silent room, punctuated only by the occasional intake of breath. The scent of the tattoo ink, mingled with the lingering aroma of weed and the faint sweetness of Eddie's cologne, created a unique and oddly comforting atmosphere. As the sunflower began to take shape, petal by petal, you felt a sense of anticipation building within. This wasn't just a tattoo; it was a symbol of your connection, a permanent reminder of this moment, of him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eddie pulled back, his hand hovering over her arm for a moment as he surveyed his work. He wiped away the excess ink, revealing the completed sunflower, its vibrant petals etched in black against your skin. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

You met his gaze, a soft smile gracing her lips. "It's perfect," you whispered, your voice filled with awe. "Thank you, Eddie."

He returned the smile, a look of relief and pride evident in his eyes. "You like it?" he asked, his voice still a little rough from concentration.

"I love it," you replied, tracing the outline of a petal with your fingertip. "It's beautiful."

“And I love you, sunflower.”

“That’s a relief. Because my neck is gonna be killing me for a month.”

He leaned in, gently pressing a kiss to the newly inked sunflower. "Now you'll always have a little piece of me with you," he murmured, his voice warm against your skin.

“I love you, Edward.”

#edward munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things #joseph quinn #joe quinn #Spotify

76 notes · View notes

lovelettersfromluna · 1 year ago

Text

Wither

Summary: “you made flowers grow in my lungs and although they are beautiful I can’t fucking breath”

an: this one hurt, had sad music on LOOP the entire time.

Warnings: MDNI!!, 18+, SMUT, angst, Ellie doesn’t know how to communicate, reader is oblivious, mentions of marijuana, making out, dry humping, Ellie yells at reader, this one is a lil short sorry, lmk if I missed anything!!

You can read part 1 here!, and part 2 here!

Ellie was never the biggest fan of parties.

It’s pretty ironic that you and her ended up in a friend group that thrived off of shit like that. You guys were always out doing something stupid, or crashing a party to bum some weed off of someone.

But no matter how much she disliked parties, she wouldn’t ever pass one up with you.

Being with you outweighed any and all cons that came with parties.

She remembers it vividly. It was late, and the party had gone from a house full of buzzing college students to just a few people with some soft music playing in the background. Some were outside on the front porch, or in the backyard, leaving the living room to you and Ellie.

You were laying on the couch, your head resting on the arm of the chair while Ellie was sitting, your legs splayed over her lap, hands massaging your calf gently as she babysat the blunt perched between her lips for far too long.

You whined softly, looking over at her with glazed over eyes, your hand lazily reaching for the blunt between her lips.

“C’mon…you’re gonna smoke it all…” you huffed out, sitting up and scooting closer to your friend, promptly tugging the stick from between her mouth. She smirked, watching you as you took a drag from the blunt before you blew the smoke into the air, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you moved to rest your head against Ellie’s shoulder.

“These parties suck…just wanna be home with you…” she knew you were pouting just by the way the words fell off of your lips, all whiny and slurred. She gave your thigh a squeeze, the weed in her system making her feel much bolder had she’d been sober.

“I told you we should’ve stayed home…you don’t listen” she sighed softly as she recalled the way you were practically begging her to come with you to the party, knowing you would’ve been whining to her to take you home, just like you were now.

You huffed softly in annoyance, turning your head so that your face was pressed against the crook of her neck, your warm breath fanning across her skin and making her shiver, her mind far too hazy, body far too sensitive.

“Wanna go upstairs?” You asked her softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Ellie’s body froze up a bit at that, your words sounding far too much like something else, something that she’d dreamt about since she was old enough to even know about that kind of shit.

It sounds like you’re asking her to go upstairs, and fuck you.

And she knows that’s not what you meant. She knows that you just have this…way of speaking. It’s soft, and sultry, and you always pair it with that fucking giggle that literally makes her palms sweat and her stomach ache with butterflies so intense, she feels she might throw up, and it charms every fucking person you meet the second they lay eyes on you, and hear that sweet, dulcet tone fall from your pretty lips.

Ellie wished on every star that night that you actually meant it, and you weren’t just asking her if she wanted to crash at the house since you two were too high to go home, and it was too cold outside.

She couldn’t speak, of course she couldn’t speak, not when you asked her like that, so sweetly it makes her feel like her heart will burst right then and there.

So she simply nodded, giving your waist a gentle tap to single that she was right there with you. You squealed, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you quickly got up off her lap, and began dragging her up the stairs to an empty room for the two of you.

See? Every memory she had of you was like this, her following behind you, so eager and docile to follow your every move, your every command. If you asked Ellie to jump of a fucking bridge, she’d do it in a heart beat, no questions asked.

Where you went, Ellie followed.

She let out a dreamy sigh as she let you drag her to the bedroom, watching as you pushed between different people, slipped into dark hallways, all so you could find a room for the two of you before time ran out.

Ellie recalls the little noise of triumph that you let out when you found an empty room, quickly tugging her in and locking the door behind the both of you before you were passing by her to get into the bed.

She watched you, green eyes almost looking black with how blown out her pupils were. You always told Ellie that she reminded you of a cat when her eyes got like that, like those pretty brown cats with the emerald eyes? She never understood it, thinking that if anything she could be compared to a skinny, scraggly cat with fleas or something.

But nonetheless, she watched you. Watched as you crawled onto the bed after kicking off your sneakers, your movements almost animated with how perfect they were, free of any flaws. She watched the way your denim jeans stretched over your ass, your t-shirt hanging down around your hips, giving her a glimpse of your tits from behind, making her swallow thickly.

Ellie would never admit it, because she didn’t want anyone to think she was a pervert, but the amount of times she ogled at you had gotten out of hand.

You let out a soft huff when you turned around, your back falling against the bed as you stared up at the ceiling.

“I’m….Jesus Christ I am so fucking high, El…” you sighed out softly, a soft, dreamy giggle leaving your lips as your hand came up to rest over your eyes.

Ellie stood there like a statue, unable to even breath properly as she watched your t shirt pool at your waist, your soft skin peeking out above the waistband of your loose jeans.

God, she always loved that part of you.

It looked so soft, so inviting, eager to be touched, massaged, kissed…

Her lips yearned for your skin on her.

You hummed softly, moving your hand from your eyes and propping yourself up on your elbows. You watched Ellie with raised eyebrows, a soft giggle leaving your lips.

“You comin? Or are you gonna stand there all night and make me cuddle myself…” you pouted out, clearly teasing the girl.

Her cheeks burned red at your words, and it was enough to break her out of her trance of staring down at your body. She chuckled softly, her tattooed hand coming to rub the back of her neck awkwardly before she nodded, slowly walking over to the bed and kicking off her own shoes.

“Sorry…weeds got me fucked up…” she mumbled out softly, which earned a giggle from you.

“Mm…mhm…whatever, c’mere” you hummed softly, gripping her arm and tugging her up to you.

She remembers the way you spread your legs for her, tugging her between them to settle there, your warm body so inviting. She was scared to crush you, or to make you uncomfortable, but you seemingly didn’t give her a choice when you pulled her down to pressed her body against yours.

Your hands went up to lace in her hair, massaging her scalp, twirling the strands between your fingers. She could feel the way your chest rose and fell with each slow, deep breath.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be as comfortable around anyone like I am with you…” your words were a bit muffled since her ear was pressed against your chest, but she could still make everything out, your words still making her heart flutter.

Ellie hated that you were able to do that. You could tell her the most minuscule thing, and it would make her swoon.

But those things had a tendency to get far too deep whenever you were high.

She didn’t answer, instead letting out a small hum of agreement, which made you giggle.

“M’serious…you’re like….my person” you explained, voice so soft and quiet.

You always spoke to Ellie like she was the only person in the world, like you and here were the last people on earth.

She let out a gentle sigh before she lifted her head from your chest, coming face to face with you. She loved when you were like this, you looked so fucking…soft, like you were the very thing that dreams were made of.

“You’re so pretty, El…” It was clear that Ellie wasn’t the talker of the two of you. She watched you as you brought your fingers up to brush Ellie’s hair from her face, gently combing through her fringe with the most gentle touch.

You bit back a smile, as if a sudden idea had popped into your head. It was something mischievous, something you knew you shouldn’t have been thinking of, Ellie knew that look like that back of her fucking hand.

Your fingers went down to trace her lips, the outline of them, the top, the bottom, your eyes glimmering with something that Ellie couldn’t quite make out. It was so dark in the room, the shitty bedside lamp making her angry that she couldn’t see you better.

“Would you kiss me if I asked you to?” Your words were above a whisper, eyes flickering a bit as you stared at her. She could practically see the stars twinkling in your pretty eyes, and you weren’t even nervous. You showed no signs of second guessing yourself or the question you asked her, so confident in what Ellie would respond with.

Ellie on the other hand? Felt her heart stop the second she heard you.

She’d laid in her bed so many times before, dreaming of what it would feel like to have your lips pressed on hers. Every time she kissed another girl, she imagined that it was you. It was shitty on her end, she knew that, but what was she supposed to do? She’d been in love with you since she was a fucking kid.

There was no way she couldn’t compare those girls to you.

And she knew this was a fleeting moment, because you were both high, and it was probably her one chance at feeling what your lips are like, even if it is just a stupid moment between two best friends.

She doesn’t hesitate in pushing her body further up yours, pressing her lips to yours.

Ellie can feel sparks. She can feel the world stop. The way your lips smile against hers, the way you’re fingers tangle up in her hair, it all feels like everything in the world stops, like there’s nothing, and no one that could ever ruin the moment.

It makes ellie feel like she’s the only girl in the world, and it only further proves to her that if she can’t have you, she’d rather die alone.

She can’t help herself from deepening the kiss, pushing her tongue into your mouth. You started to moan, and whine against her, and Ellie was sure she’d never heard anything so fucking perfect. She’s sure that when she dies, she’ll hear the exact same thing.

Her knee was wedged between her legs, and her core was pressed against your thigh. She started grinding down into you, and it earns the sweetest fucking moan from you, and it made Ellie’s head fucking spin.

She could feel her core weeping onto the fabric of her underwear, and if she weren’t so high she’d be nervous that it was seeping out onto her jeans. But she can’t bring herself to care, not when your hips are jerking up and meeting her movements.

“Ellie..” you moaned out softly, and it made Ellie groan into your mouth.

“Fuck…you sound so good…” she sighed against your lips.

You were just as eager as she was.

Her hands came down to your waist, slipping under your shirt and massaging your soft skin while her tongue worked on yours.

She could taste you, all of you. The sound of your tongues lapping together made her want to do more, go further, make you feel better.

But she could feel your tongue slow down, and the sound of your giggle brought her back to earth.

“Slow down, cowgirl…don’t start something you can’t finish…” you sighed out breathlessly as you broke the kiss, resting your forehead against hers as your hands continued toying with her hair.

This made Ellie frown, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she stared down at.

“What? But I…” she tried, unknowing of what she’d even say to try and get her lips back on yours.

“I know baby…but you’re…”

Ellie remembers the way your words died off, how far off your eyes looked, the sad little smile playing on your lips.

“If we’re doing this…I want it to be because you actually want me…not cause you’re high” you explained, brushing her fringe from her face as you gave her a half smile.

And Ellie almost keeled over and died right then and there.

Because ever since you two had gotten old enough, you had laid in bed and explained to Ellie time and time again, how you despised the people who got high and looked to you for sex.

And while that was far from what she was doing, it looked pretty bad on Ellie’s end, anyways.

“No! No God, I swear that’s not what I’m doing. I would never-“ Ellie was quickly cut off by you pressing your lips to hers, and it was pathetic, but the moan she let out when you did was pitiful, like she’d melted as soon as you gave in to her.

“I know that’s not what you’re doing…you could never hurt me that way….” You assured her.

She watched as you settled back into the pillows beneath you, a soft, dreamy smile splayed out on your lips as you stared up at, watching her as if she were the most precious thing to you.

“Just…want it to be special when we do it…that’s all” your words were above a whisperer, and it was one of the rare times that Ellie saw you like that. So shy, so quiet, as if you were keeping the greatest secret between you and her.

That was the second thing you’d promised to Ellie. First, it was the promise that you’d marry her, then it was that you’d promised to give yourself to her.

Ellie could practically feel the most stupid, goofiest smile spread across her lips when you said that, because unlike the first time this happened, she’s able to look into your eyes, and you weren’t falling asleep seconds after admitting it to her.

You giggled softly, giving her a nudge, forcing her to lay down next to you.

“Wipe that smirk off your face…c’mon…I’m tired” you hummed softly as you tugged the covers over both of your bodies and scooted closer to Ellie. You pushed her arms apart before promptly wrapping them around your body, and hooked your thigh across her hip, keeping you as close as possible.

You let out a soft sigh as you pressed your nose to Ellie’s neck before giving her skin a gentle kiss.

“Love you so much, El…always will…” you hummed softly against her.

And as always, you made Ellie’s heart swell. She waits until she hears your breathing even out, and she knows your asleep before she pressed a gentle kiss to your head.

Because despite the promises you’ve made, and the things you’ve said, Ellie has been in love with you for a long time, and she knows that you don’t know…

“I love you too…more than you’ll ever know..” She sighed softly before she closed her eyes, trying her best to get some sleep.

It was on that night, that Ellie knew you were it for her…

Ellie let out a sigh as she leaned over the open window of her apartment, looking out at the city, watching the people below.

She had a little white stick perched between her lips, cupping one of her hands around it as she lit the end of it before taking a deep drag and blowing it out.

Ellie didn’t always smoke, it was a habit she’d picked up recently.

Her lungs were fucked anyways, no point in trying to save them now.

She coughed, her lungs rattling. It was such an ugly sound, and it made Ellie frown every single time it came out of her body. She had bags under her eyes, her lips were chapped and she looked all around like she’d been through hell within the last year.

You. You were her hell.

And it made it so much worse, because as much as Ellie’s body and soul yearned for you, wanting nothing more than to just talk to you, to just be with you…

She couldn’t.

Because Ellie was avoiding you.

She felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She sighed, reaching behind her and grabbing it. A low groan left her lips when her eyes settled on the name at the bottom of her screen.

It was you.

Hey El, are you okay? Haven’t heard from you in a while

Miss you :’)

The texts make a shiver run down Ellie’s spine, because she can practically hear your voice when she reads them. It’s laced with that soft, pouty little voice that you do whenever you miss her, whenever you’ve gone too long without hearing from her.

It’s the same tone that’s written in every single one of your texts that she’d ignored since she received your wedding invitation.

There was a string of them in your messages with Ellie, all from your end. They start out innocent, making it clear that you were absolutely clueless to the amount of pain and suffering that Ellie had been through from the moment she got the letter in the mail.

And as Ellie continued ignoring you, the texts became more frequent, turning into you asking her if she got the letter, and if she wanted to come with you to try on wedding dresses, to you begging her to respond to you.

It killed Ellie every single time a text from you came through.

She ignored it all. Texts, calls, she was sure you’d even reached out to her father to try and get to her, which she made sure to tell Joel to not tell you about her condition under any circumstances.

Ellie groaned, shoving her phone into her back pocket as she took another drag of her cigarette, letting the thick smoke fill up her sore lungs, burning her up from the inside.

Maybe she picked it up because the pain from the smoke distracted her from the pain that the flowers brought. The cigarettes made sense to her, it was a little stick filled with chemicals and bad shit that she really shouldn’t have been smoking.

The disease however, didn’t make any sense to her.

Ellie hated things that she couldn’t understand.

She let out a sigh, taking one more long drag before she put the cigarette out in her ashtray, no point in babysitting the thing for any longer.

The only real escape from all this nonsense that Ellie had, was sleep. With sleep, came an avoidance of the world, and what it was that was going on with her life.

With sleep, came dreams, and with dreams….

Came you.

Ellie dreams were the only place where she could have you. It was the only place that she could live in a world where you wanted her back, where she didn’t have to live with sore lungs and a trash bin filled with wilted flowers.

Ellie’s dreams were the only thing she looked forward these days.

She was going to go to bed, so she could enter a world where none of this had happened.

A world where you, were hers.

Soon enough, Ellie was in bed, wrapped up in her warm sheets, staring up at her ceiling as she waited for her eyes to grow heavy.

But her phone buzzing stopped that from even starting to happen.

She groaned, turning over and grabbing her phone, expecting it to be something stupid like a spam text.

But it wasn’t. It was you.

Again.

And the text that she read over made Ellie’s eyes widen in her skull.

Can I come over? I feel like you’re mad at me or something

The words ‘can I come over’ in your terms meant that you were most definitely coming over whether Ellie said it was okay or not, so she began to panic.

She quickly opened the message and began to text you back.

You can’t come over. I have a cold

Not mad at you

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for another message from you to come in.

Oh no!!

Should’ve said something. I could’ve taken care of you :(

Always so fucking selfless.

Your texts make Ellie’s heart tug, and she can practically feel another coughing fit coming on, a plethora of petals threatening to spill out and remind her of what she can’t have.

Another text comes in

Are you home? Can I call you?

Ellie knows she can’t run away from this one, not when she’s already responded, and she’s already knee deep into a conversation with you.

So she doesn’t respond, instead she presses your contact, and then presses the call button. She presses the phone to hear ear as she waits for you to answer.

And it doesn’t even ring two times before you’re answering. Ellie can almost see the way you eagerly press the green answer button on your phone, pressing the phone to your cheek.

“Hey…” Ellie rasps out, her voice hoarse from all the coughing she’d done. She barely recognizes the sound of her own voice.

“Ellie…” you sigh out her name, like it was the most reliving thing to hear the girls voice in so long.

The sound of her name rolling of your tongue makes Ellie smile like a stupid teenager talking to their crush for the first time.

“Hey bug…” Ellie sighed out softly, which earns the sweetest giggle from your end, the sound like music to Ellie’s years.

“Where have you been El…” you don’t waste time in getting to the nitty gritty, your voice dropping a bit, and Ellie knows you’re pouting wherever you are.

And maybe that’s what makes Ellie’s heart wither, because you sound so fucking devastated with the sudden disappearance of her, like you’re the one that’s been suffering, and not her. It makes Ellie feel like she’s ripped everything away everything that you’ve ever known and ever loved.

It sounds like you’re the one who’s suffering from an unrequited love.

“I um…been busy…sorry” it’s a sorry excuse that mumbles past her lips, and Ellie swears she can hear a gentle sniffle from your end of the phone.

“You haven’t even…you haven’t said anything about the wedding…are you even-“ you sob, and Ellie knows your fucking crying.

If it was on any other day, she would’ve cried with you. Her chin would’ve started wobbling, and her eyes would’ve welled up with tears and she would’ve sobbed over the phone with you, breaking down and telling you everything that she’s been through, that she loves you and she’s suffering without you.

But it isn’t just any other day…

And there’s something about you mentioning the wedding, that sets Ellie off.

“Im not coming to your wedding” she deadpans, the brunette filled with an overwhelming sense of anger at the mention of the ceremony.

“What, I….you’re not?” You whimper out softly.

But the sound doesn’t bring Ellie back to earth. If anything, it prompts her to go further.

“Other people have lives, okay? We can’t just all live in a fantasy world of weddings like you. I have shit to do, and I would’ve hoped that my lack of communication would’ve given you a clue, but clearly you’re too fucking dense to catch onto anything” she spits out.

Her words are hateful, and they fall from her tongue like venom dripping through the phone lines, burning you from the other end.

You simply whimper in response, your sniffles becoming more frequent, and Ellie knows she’s done it.

She’s made you fucking cry.

“Lose my fucking number, alright?” She spits out before she hangs up the phone, not leaving you any opportunity to respond, to fight back and question where the outburst came from.

Ellie knows where it came from. The sadness and sorrow that she’s held in her heart for so long was beginning to turn into anger, it was burning her, turning her into someone she never wanted to become, not with you.

She let it take over her, swallowing her up and spitting her out to become someone that was filled with hate, resentment towards you and your stupid fucking finance that wasn’t her.

She hated you for something you couldn’t control.

When she tosses her phone to the side, she begins coughing. It’s similar to the coughing fit she had the night she received your invitation, however it’s different. It’s dry, and it burns and it makes her eyes water, the tears she felt prickling at the back of her throat when she was screaming at you finally coming out.

And as she hunches over in her bed, gasping for air, fighting against the wicked cough that had plagued her for so many days and so many nights, the petals begin to come up.

When she finally comes to, and she looks down at the mess of petals on her bed, between her legs, she sees something she hasn’t seen throughout the entire duration of her illness.

The petals that came up, were different.

They were withered, wilted.

Ellie’s flowers, were beginning to die.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie x you

948 notes · View notes