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

rhysazriel · 6 months ago

Text

Smoke & Light: Part 1 [Plug!Az]

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. (3.4k)

WARNINGS: descriptions and dealings of recreational drugs (weed), little bit of swearing, slight sexual themes and lots of shameless flirting. THIS IS A MODERN AU!!

A/N: the first part is here and I’m so excited!! Im still unsure how many parts this is going to be, but there’s a lot I want to happen in this series so probably (I’m guessing!!) six or seven, but we’ll see!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

Series Masterlist | Main 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 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 it to you, 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 choices.

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 the 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 door 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 quite 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 climbed 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.”

Add yourself to the tag list here :) | Series Masterlist

If you enjoyed it, please give it a like and reblog and let me know what you thought!! Thank you for reading <3

Smoke & Light ONLY Tags

@smalljasper289 / @sttvrdustt

Azriel Tags

@serxndipity-ipity-blog / @erencvlt / @azswife / @lili-of-the-wildfire / @dreaming-unafraid / @dr4g0ngirl / @coconut-dreamz

#azriel oneshot #azriel series #azriel angst #azriel smut #azriel imagine #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #acotar #acotar imagine #acotar smut #smoke & light #plug!az

739 notes · View notes

evieskiesss · 7 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

772 notes · View notes

paranoiddreams · 2 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.

242 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!

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

901 notes · View notes

phinilez · 2 years ago

Photo

#afghankush #yield #smoking #weed facts #how to grow weed indoorskw%#kushmouth #strawberry kush #best marijuana #hemp recipes

34 notes · View notes

angelisverba · 2 years ago

Text

kryptonite

in which y/n smokes weed (sometimes) and she thinks her dealer is super cute, and harry always gives her a little extra because she’s sweet

word count: 8.2k

pairing: plug!h and y/n

warning: if you are uncomfortable with the use of drugs, please do not continue reading!! i DO NOT want to see any messages in my inbox that talk of ‘glamourizing’ this drug. if you don’t like it-> don’t read it. mentions of bullying, peer pressure,

author’s notes: the second and final part to this fic will be posted next week, feb. 02 at 8am pst.

* * * * * * *

Harry hated parties.

Admittedly, they were a third of his source of income, but unless it wasn’t a gathering exclusively composed of his close circle, he didn’t want anything to do with it. They were too loud and sticky, messy and smelly. Red solo-cups littered at every available corner, half filled with Coca-cola, vodka, and the occasional sad, cigarette butt. Scantily clad girls and ‘discreet’ boys that didn’t know how to read body language that clearly screamed ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED!’. It just all got his nerves because half the time he knew they were only using him to get reduced prices on the marijuana he spent ample time on growing.

He tried, as a general rule, to limit his reluctant, brooding attendance to parties he knew would only consist of Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and the handful of other friends that just wanted to have a good time and a nice snuggle on a cramped couch that rumbled with intoxicated laughter. He liked being in a crowd he knew, it was much more intimate, less pressure-filled. He didn’t have to maintain that ‘polite’ air that was socially required in an atmosphere of people he didn’t know. No niceties or complimentary. When it was just him and his friends, all of that ‘quiet’ and ‘please, thank you’ shit wasn’t necessary. He could jump straight to his affectionate, giggly, sprawling-all-over-everyone’s-lap self, and no one would question it because they know it’s what he preferred.

But, at a big house party like the one where he was at, where everyone knew him as The One Guy Who Sells The Good Shit, Harry had to pretend to be polite and quiet and small, and adopt an overall stiff persona that made him prickly and cold. This wasn’t him. He didn’t like this, and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his very convincing friend Mitch, who noticed that business was slow and assured him that he was bound to 1) ‘sell a shit-ton’ and 2) gather a handful of new clients once they realized that what he had to dispense was pretty good quality for a subjectively cheap price.

Mitch had been right, of course.

The small black backpack of goodies that Harry had brought to this inconspicuous function had been empty in less than two hours, and he’d repeated his number enough times that it started to feel forgein on his tongue. Once or twice, a few girls had flashed him what could be called ‘bedroom eyes’, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his rocks off. When he came with a purpose to sell, any need, want, or hope for sex flew out of the window because then he ran the risk of girls thinking their ‘connection’ entitled them to some sort of discount on weed, and he didn’t particularly fancy ruining his post-coitous bliss with the awkward exchange of rejection that followed their questions.

Plus, it made him feel used.

A good three hours have passed, and he’s about to tell Mitch he’s ready to leave when his line of sight is snagged on the diamond image- no, a beautifully deceiving mirage, because there’s no way this girl is real. Not when she looks like a ditzy sprite, a walking mermaid, a glimmering fairy, a heart-wrenching siren, and any other bewitching, ethereal creatures that stole men’s souls upon the first breath they took in their presence. She looked like one of his psychedelic hallucinations that whispered sweet things to him and played with the ends of his hair when he’s in the lull of shrooms, brought to life. Grounded, real, and three-dimensional, not just in the airy, green-leafed recesses of his muddled mind.

This pretty little enchantment that caught his eye had floated into the room on two clumsy, shoddy-sneaker covered feet that extended from bambi-like legs with knees that were almost comically knocking against one another. She walked slanted, her shoulder pressed against her friend’s, whom Harry might have been able to recognize as Sarah if he spared his gaze, but that was impossible. So, he thought to himself, this is how magnets work? Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to dislocate his line of sight from the socket it had carved itself into. Her cheeks, rounded with laughter and smiles, were dusted with the telling, glimmering sheen created by alcohol, and her eyes were bright, shiny, and starry from the handful of lamps that lit the living room. The slope of her waist, semi-shrouded deliciously from the billowy fabric of her powder blue summer dress (he couldn’t fucking believe she was wearing a dress when it was windy outside. Did she not care for her health?) and it made him think of the marvelous illusions created from marble. He was fond of going to museums and staring- for hours, at times- at statues of women draped in silk that were replicated with such precision, it was almost as if the wind was right there, rippling against the tantalizing figure of the unidentified female, so much so that an man was inspired to share his tortured vision. In solid form, nonetheless.

It made him wonder what the artist could see in real life. What they envisioned the model to be like underneath the heavenly fibers that twisted and turned restlessly with running air, preventing a clear grasp on the body underneath. Spurred to the point of such desolation, left with a hunger to resurrect what their mind’s eye consumed in physical format to live on forever and torment anyone else who looked.

He understood then. Understood that hunger and want for more.

She spun prettily like one of those ceramic ballerinas in a golden music box owned by children of important people, and that damn dress was both too loose and too free, moving around her with a protective fluidity from hungry, lovelorn wolves like him. He can’t hear her clearly because he’s too far away, but the snippets of her laugh that his ears manage to funnel down to his eardrums sound like a fairy’s tinkle.

She is a dream. Head thrown back before she replies with such enthusiasm and a strange half-lucidity that it has him leaning in to try and hear the drunken words that escape her soundless lips. He’s stuck in a moment of frozen time with her and only her. There’s a pinch behind his sternum when her head moves in his direction, and a strong titanic-worthy sink when she stops before even reaching his gaze. The words of some pop song from the early 2000’s skim cheesily through the background of his brain like a lonesome draft. Where have you been all my life?

Tunnel vision, he believes it might be called.

Next to him, Mitch bumps his shoulder, shattering his dangerously sharp focus with mumbled words that Harry doesn’t quite register with complete comprehension because they sound warped, as if they were spoken through a thick layer of glass or from underwater.

“What?” He blinks, his eyes stuck on her but his head rotated enough to the side that his friend knows he’s listening. He’s afraid that if he stops looking, or even blinks, she'll evaporate into thin air and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she really was a mythical being conjured from his second-hand high.

Mitch clears his throat and hides a knowing twitch of his mouth beneath the rim of his drink, “I said her name is y/n.”

Harry, distracted and oblivious, is unaware that Mitch caught on to the focus of his attention, asks, “Who?”

This time, he can’t help but huff a chuckle, “This girl, H. Her name is y/n. She just started working with Sarah. Sarah says she keeps to herself, but there’s been a bit of… bullying, so she invited her out for a good time.”

“Bullying?” A faucet of anger opens in his major arteries and replaces his blood with a river of internalized rage. Bullying? Bullying her? His head whips around with enough speed to crack the vertebrae in his neck, and his thick brows furrowed with a fierce expression that would scare anyone that looked at him then (Mitch being exempt because he knew there would be no harm coming from that look). “What do y’mean bullying?” He spits the word out like it tastes foul.

Mitch takes another sip from the red solo cup, taking time to compose his face before continuing casually, “yeah. Y/n’s new, sweet, and quiet. Sarah says the others at work think that she’s their personal coffee runner or something. She tries to help her when she can, but she's not always around ‘cause of meetings or whatever.”

Harry sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, twisting again to observe y/n with mooney eyes, bitterness still simmering within him at the treatment she receives at her workplace. Especially when the smile he was so fortunate to witness made him taste caramel and honey and peach nectar and all of the sweet treats that traversed through his esophagus when the munchies hit. It warmed him to finally have a lovely name to attach to a lovely name.

Y/n. It settled nicely in his inner monologue, and he wanted to speak it. Test it on his tongue to see if it molded his lips as nicely as he imagined it would. It fit her, he thought. Y/n. Weirdly, Harry itched to throw it casually in a conversation with her. An exclamation. A wheezed whisper in the middle of a breathless laugh. In a greeting. In a goodbye. To grab her attention. To console. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her but he wanted, badly, for this party to transform into one of the more comfortable ones he had with his friends. For her to sit next to him on the couch his arm around the space behind her as she leaned into him unconsciously as the conversation continued. To grab her bicep in a nervous giggle when he stumbled after one too many. To share a bowl of chips with her (lime was his favorite, but he would eat barbecue flavored ones- his least favorite- if they were hers).

“Whose-”a burp, “motorcycle is blocking the driveway?!”

A clearly drunk male slurred from the front of the house, an arm raised as he swayed in a half-assed attempt to grab everyone’s attention, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the carpet and Harry winced, half from being startled and half from the suddenly stiffness that came with several pairs of eyes landing his way.

“Sorry, mate. That would be me.” He raised a finger in the air and bent at the waist to deposit his unfinished drink on a low black coffee table by his knees. He shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth and turning to Mitch with his shoulders lifting with the beginnings of a hug, “‘was just gonna leave, anyway.”

“Early night, H?” Mitch mumbled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek while embracing his friend, the ghost of a laugh lingering in his nasal passage. Harry’s cheeks turned a light pink and his nostrils flared in his attempt to hide his smile.

“Yup.” Harry returned the kiss, his nose digging onto the scruff of Mitch’s cheek, tickling him. Stepping back from their show of affection, he patted his palms against his thigh to make sure he had his phone and keys, and tugged the strap of the small backpack on his shoulder to verify it’s presence.

Mitch resumed his leaning position against the door frame, hand in his pocket, “alright. Text me when you get home.”

“‘Course.” Sparing one last glance in the charming sprite’s direction as he said his final goodbye, he was devastated to find that she had, in fact, disappeared, just as he’d feared.

He almost stayed to find her and watch over y/n like some sort of guardian angel, but he didn’t have the guts to go up to her. He hadn’t even finished one drink, so liquid courage wasn’t there to help him, not when he had to ride his motorcycle home. He almost asked Mitch to keep an eye on her for him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah was with her, and therefore he’s already watching her.

And from the comforting, yet teasing, twinkle in his friend’s eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. He knew that he was well on his way to cracking his head open over his heels.

Their friendship had always been one of little words.

******

Harry’s been delivering weed for a while now.

What started as a side hustle to obtain much needed income when times were tough developed into an interesting near full-time job with amazing results and benefits (he got to smoke weed for free now, since he grew it himself, but there was always that whole ‘don’t get high off your own supply’ rule, so he did limit himself). He had thought that he would have trouble attaining customers, but word spread like wildfire amongst his close circle of friends, which all happened to be free spirited individuals that harnessed the powers of nature, and then their friends, trusted friends, and so on and so forth.

It got to a point where he needed a separate phone for dealing alone because the ‘rush hour’ would meddle with his personal texts, leading to frequent ‘wrong person’ texts, and he traded his crappy car for a decent motorcycle so he could get to drop-off locations quicker. The added ‘badass’ effect also stroked his ego, so it was a wonderful bonus.

But the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of something like, let’s say… an episode of Hannibal with a warm bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap always came in the same frustrating amounts.

Like now.

The Netflix screen pauses on Mads Mikkelsen’s face, spouting some bullshit about a tea cup, when his phone dings with a new notification. The sound is a specifically selected ‘ding!’ that is different from his personal phone so it’s easier to differentiate the purpose of the incoming message, and a rumbling groan vibrates from the back of his throat. Throwing his head back against his beat up, brown leather couch, Harry slams his hand around him until his ringed fingers click against the sleek device, and it automatically lights up as he brings it up to his face.

Unknown Number: Hi! Mitch gave me this number and said I’d be able to buy some pre-rolls?

Fucking Mitch. He often passes the number off to his buddies at the record store he works at. The dude started typing again, and the grey bubble with three dots wiggles at the bottom corner of the new text chat. Harry waited.

Unknown Number: If it’s too late for you, I understand.

It was, in fact, too late for him. But, money was money. He technically wasn’t doing anything important, so he would go and deliver to this-

Unknown Number: My name is y/n, by the way :D

Not a dude.

Fuck.

Not a dude.

The popcorn went flying off his chest and spilled all over the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Fuck. Y/n? Y/n with a smiley face. The girl from the party? His heart came to a stuttering stop, screeching like tired on asphalt breaking at a high speed as he came to the realization. The girl has haunted him like a stubborn will ‘o wisp for the past week was texting him. Albeit, it is for a service, but it was still something. The marijuana aspect of his situation didn’t bother him. He sold and consumed, it would be hypocritical of him if it did. Besides, she was an adult. She could do what she liked.

His jaw is on the floor, his eyes popping out of his head and he can’t believe what’s happening to him at that moment. He’d kiss Mitch on the mouth next time he saw him. It’s not until he sees the grey bubbles appear and disappear quickly again that he remembers the normal, usual response to this kind of situation is to type back. With trembling fingers, he pressed on keys, tapped on the backspace button, and repeated those motions several times because he had no idea what he was supposed to say- no, what was right to say to her. He had a standard response when it came to people who wanted to buy from him, but sending her prewritten message in his notes app that consisted of a short, perfunctory greeting followed by a menu-structured list of what he had available that day and their prices. There was no way in hell he’d send that to her.

Harry: Hello! It’s not too late for me to deliver. What can I help you with?

Unknown Number: Mitch mentioned that you offered a 2 for $35 deal?

Unknown Number: Is that still available?

Harry did offer a two-joint for thirty five bucks deal. Pre-rolled joints in cherry rolling paper about as long as his middle finger to the halfway point of his palm, semi-thickly packed with a hybrid blend of the two Mary-Jane plants (Sativa and Indica, none of that Maui Wowie, Blue Dream, or other strains; he liked to keep it simple) he had in a specially insulated box in the garage attached to the house he rented. It was his most popular sell; decent amount, excellent high, excellent trip. But… two? Was she smoking with someone else? Or was she saving one for a later time? He didn’t think she was the type to smoke two at once, but then again he didn’t know her, so her reasons were unclear to him.

However, if he arrived at her location and she was with someone (a male, specifically) his night would be ruined, because then that would mean that any marginal chance that he had with her was out of the question. And he couldn’t ask her right away because they hadn’t even properly met yet, and that would be weird and rude. That didn’t help his overthinking tendencies, and in a matter of seconds, Harry was sitting at the edge of his couch, popcorn crunching underneath his butt as a frown settled on his handsome features. Jaw set, lips puckered in contemplation with a pinch between his drawn eyebrows that casted shadows over his emerald eyes. He looked menacing, and his smattering collection of tattoos didn’t help either.

Or his motorcycle.

Or the intimidating stigma that came with his title of ‘plug’.

Stubborn as he was, this look of ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ would stay with him for the rest of the night, all because he couldn’t restrain himself from coming to incorrect conclusions. He didn’t know if y/n had a boyfriend, if she was with a friend, or if she would even be interest in him, but the sour thoughts that she did have a boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in a ‘lowlife’ drug dealer loomed over him like a murky, stormy, thundering clouds.

He sent his response and changed her contact name.

Harry: I do!

Harry: Did you want to see the rest of the menu or are you set?

He knew he was being short with her. His messages were missing their customary smiley faces, the extra exclamation marks, the occasional x’s and o’s. He didn’t even type with capitalized letters, but in order to refrain from diving even further into this hole of hope, he decided that the change in his style of grammar would help him become emotionally distant. He just couldn’t bring himself to add them while he was in a stubborn, self-induced slump. While he looked angry, glittery butterflies beat their cellophane wings inside his ribcage and shook magical glitter onto his intestines, making them warm and queasy.

Y/n: I think that’ll be all for tonight

The causal mention of ‘for tonight’ gives him hope. That implied there would be other nights, and even though he’s currently grumpy because relationships are fucking complicated, he wanted to see her again and again.

Harry: Send your address, please.

She sends her location.

Harry: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

Since he’s already half dressed in black jeans and a white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt from his earlier afternoon deliveries, he only has to part the crystal bead curtain in the doorframe of his living room to grab the leather jacket hanging from a bright yellow coat rack besides his door, and the backpack that he left in a slump besides his shoes (already packed with goods). He doesn’t think twice about the popcorn that’s scattered all over his floor and couch or that the Netflix “are you still there?” screen blinks black when he picks up his keys from the hook next to his door.

The garage opened when he pressed the button inside the kitchen hall, and he stepped out through the side door leading to the space where he kept his motorcycle. The owners before him had left a shit-load of junk that had taken up most of the space, and with their permission, he sold and threw most of it away. For the most part, it was empty. A bench, some boxes, and the white-refrigerator like rectangular box underneath the worktable along with his ride were the only things in there.

Grumbling and pouting like a petulant child, Harry clipped on his black helmet, flipped the visor down with two slender fingers, and dropped the backpack into the compartment attached to the backseat. A button on his keys closed the garage door behind him as he kicked aside the stand and swerved with a screech onto the road, the night air wrapping around bare throat as he cut through at a higher velocity than was surely legal on a residential street, but he didn’t see it as a crime when the heart was involved. He could picture himself explaining to the officer that pulled hi over in a hypothetical situation, that he was on his way to deliver drugs to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and the officer nodding solemnly at his noble cause.

Totally realistic.

Cars honked when he cut them off abruptly, and he gathered stares from the handful of people that were still wandering along the streets, spilling out at random intervals from bars. He had to cut through bits of the city to get to where she lived, and the three red lights that stalled his perusal were lucky that they were government property or else he would have damaged them in a severe fit of impatient rage. He tapped the tips of his shit-colored vans against the road and clenched his ringed fingers around the handlebars, engine roaring with pending release. He should have grabbed leather gloves, he thinks, if not to impress her, then at least to keep his fingers warm because it was an especially chilly night.

Harry’s pulling up to a brick building in exactly fifteen minutes. There’s fire escape ladders trickling down the side, and cement stairs leading up to a brown oak door with a thin window pane slightly left ajar while a burning yellow light seeps in a long bar across the steps like a satin ribbon. Several windows are bright with light from the inside, and the spare streetlamps that cast a spotlight on the sidewalk make the street unsettling, like someone is hiding in the shadows extending from tree trunks. Harry doesn’t like it one bit, and he hopes y/n isn’t walking these streets by herself at night.

He’s simultaneously taking his helmet off and reaching for his phone in his back pocket when he hears her small peep coming from the door.

“Hi!”

And then, she’s all he can see, hear, think. She’s just as absorbing and hypnotizing as the first time he saw her, even though she’s standing in what is clearly pajamas. A long, sage knitted sweater that ends at the tips of her fingers and just above her knees, making her look like a leafy blob. Black sweatpants that are just as loose and baggy shadow the faint silhouette of her legs. Y/n is fiddling with her fingers, picking whatever color nail polish paints her nails (Harry can’t see because he’s too far away) and it makes him want to soothe her hands with his own. She’s tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and she probably doesn’t even realize that her eyebrows are furrowed and the bunch on her brow-bone casts comic-like shadows across her pretty little face.

Stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say other than ‘hello’ but he thinks that’s lame, he clears his throat and says, “how’d you know I was here?”

“Your… uhm- your motorcycle,” she points with a finger to the machinery beneath his bum. He’s leaning against it, not wanting to intimidate her by crowding her space in a dark-ish place but he doesn’t realize it actually makes him look very intimidating and ‘bad-boy’ looking. Especially with the leather jacket, “was kinda loud.”

“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgement, because at that last corner he had purposefully revved the engine more than necessary. To impress her or to sate his devilish tendencies, was unclear. The space between his collarbones feels like it’s inflating and deflating with every rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t know where his ‘game’ is. He feels lame, at a loss for how to act around an angel when he was nowhere near her level. Hell, did this count as corruption of her innocence? He was selling her drugs for fuck’s sake.

At this realization, a heavy, sticky, nasty weight slathers itself all over his back and it can only be described as guilt. Should he be selling her weed? Should he even be morally conscious at this point? He sells weed to teenagers when he’s sure they aren’t narcs, but this wasn’t some zit-faced twerp.

This was y/n.

A few seconds of silence pass and she’s just staring at him, her lips rolling like there are words she's holding in and Harry staring at her with a closed-off expression, thick chocolate eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration because he’s memorizing every curve of her face to look back on when she wasn’t with him anymore. It’s after her first intake of breath with her mouth open that he snaps out of it and twists hurriedly to yank out the pink baggie with shiny red cherries printed on them. His current special, though he saved the decorated packaging for his closer group of friends because he knew it made them happy and he loved seeing that smile on their faces, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (and secretly he hopes it might put a dent on his irrational guilt).

“Here are y’cherry joints,” he holds it out, pinched between two fingers and his lips are a hard line as his heart beats out of his chest because- oh, god} she’s stepping closer and she smells really good and-

“‘Kay, uhm…” She takes the bag from him and mentally, Harry curses because she chooses to cup the underside of the bag and that wipes all chances of their fingers accidentally touching. She won’t meet his eyes, she’s shifty on her feet, and he doesn’t know how to tell her not to be nervous without sounding like a creep, “I’ve n-never done this before, and Mitch didn’t say if you took cash or Venmo so I brought my phone and wallet because I wasn’t sure which one you preferred.”

His heart goes through the life cycle of a dandelion. It blooms, yellow with happiness and new life breathed into his seedling soul by the sound of her voice, and transforms into the wispy tufts that fly away, ditzy and twirling from her sweet breath. All the while she holds him in her hand, smiling.

But all of these feelings are hidden away under his mask of self-preservation, writhing and squirming like worms. He gives away nothing, his eyes looking a little dead even though the in-between space where his head meets with the nape of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he remains stiff and lazily posed against his motorcycle because he’s sure if he didn’t have that support his knees would knock together and sound like the cue ball hitting a winning shot in an empty pool hall.

Carding his hand through his unruly curls, he realizes that he should’ve styles his hair before leaving the house or foregone the helmet entirely, not caring about dying because first official impressions should be killer, and the extra harsh cut in his British drawl when he rasps, “cash is fine,” has to do with his own annoyance.

Y/n is flustered, evidence of that clearly sprawled all over her cheeks and base of her throat which he can see even in the darkness. She lifts the front end of her sweater with a paw-hand and Harry’s insides explode. Her phone and folded dollar bills are squeezed between the band of her bottoms and bare skin of her stomach. For just a second, the beautiful second in which she plucks the money from her body, he catches sight of a white, lacy bra-band that looks glorious while backdropped by the plane of her abdomen. He discovers the meaning of life and death, and wishes for a bit of both because this is torture.

The back of his mouth is drier than the sahara desert. Two tender fingers give him Holy ten and five dollar bills, and her angelic voice sings, “thank you,” when he takes it from her like a beggar.

Harry is an asshole because he can’t even respond with words only a hum of ‘mhm’ before swinging his leg over his ride and muttering a half-hearted, choked, ‘see you’ before roaring away.

****

He tries to invalidate his rapidly growing crush. Truly. He wants to brush it off his shoulder like dust because it’s annoying and distracting to constantly think about her, but nothing works.

In retrospect, he was even psychologically rude about it, trying- and failing- to find negative qualities about her or flaws in her appearance, but his fawning heart wouldn’t allow such disrespect to the receiver of it’s pesky little affections. The worst he could come up with was that her eyes looked as if some snot-nosed, uncoordinated, messy little kid had shaken an entire bottle of glitter onto a piece of copy paper and called it a day. And that her voice was soothing enough to coax that same child into comfortable, cow-jumping-over-moons dreams.

He wishes he were that hypothetical child rocked to sleep by her lulling voice because by the way things were going, he’s having a pretty hard time getting a wink of sleep because every time his phone vibrates he snaps straight up like his spine is locked and obsessively searched his phone for her name. And he’s tried putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ but it only makes it worse because what if he texts her and he doesn’t see it because he’s sleeping?

All of the customers that came after her, during his period of constant surveillance over his ‘trap phone’ received the best delivery times and the snarkiest attitude he’s ever had to offer. The morning sun isn’t as bright as it used to be and the moon is dimmer than usual because nothing can compare to her. He misses her terribly and it’s stupid because he doesn’t even know her and she probably thinks he’s a jerk because he acts like such a dick.

Mitch thinks it's funny that he’s so twisted about a girl. ‘A’ girl because even though he was high when he spilled his secret to his friend, he doesn’t think he could stand a potential breach of his privacy in the case that Sarah found out.

“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” Harry said.

“Do something about it,” Mitch said.

And well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can reach out to her to ask her if she wants to buy more weed. That would seem greedy and insensitive on his part; a money hungry dealer. He’s already in a limbo of moral dilemmas that shouldn’t exist in the first place and he doesn’t want to complicate it by any form of shady communication.

His dilemma, however, was solved by whatever divine being that dared to bear witness to his nonsensical pleas to the ether. It seemed as though she favored the night and dark for her ‘picking up’, because the delightful ding! came at the thirty minute mark of his tossing and turning.

With the sheets rumpled around his waist and his templed damp with faint beads of perspiration, Harry straightened in the same way he has for the past month, only the tedious exhaustion of it not being her was begging to gnaw at him. Was this what it felt like to be paranoid? Snapping alert at every single indication of a phone because you think it’s the IRS- or the girl who infects your mind, in his case- calling to demand a service?

Preparing for disappointment again, Harry picked up the phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden change in light.

Y/n: Hello, Harry! This is y/n. You delivered to me last month? Are you available for delivery at the moment?

There is a muted thud as his phone slips out of his shocked hands and lands on the rumpled duvet. A thundering set of drums replaces his beating heart and his jaw remains slack because it has lost the ability to close. The perspiration on his hairline transfers to the cave of his hands. For weeks he’s been in a constant state of glum, waiting for her next text, and now that he has it the only thing going through his mind is oh my god, oh my god.

Still, through his haze he manages to reply with,

Harry: Hi!

Harry: Yes, I remember, and yes, I’m available

What he really wanted to say, and what he should have sent was, how could anyone forget you? You haunt me day and night. But that was a little obsessive, and probably would have scared her off before they even got anywhere.

Harry: Would you like to see what I have available?

Y/n: Please :D !

The pre-written list of items he has available changed this week. He’s added some chocolate edibles, brownies, and gummy bears that he picked up for a cheaper, wholesale price at the dispensary he frequents, and it makes him wonder if she’ll dare to buy them. He had one a few days ago at Mitch’s place with Sarah and has a smashing time. He couldn’t stop petting their cat, Texas, because the feel of her brown fur between his fingers was heavenly.

Grey bubbles appear and disappear several times along with his intake of oxygen before a long text appears, listing everything she wants from his makeshift ‘menu’ and… it’s a lot. The last time he received an order like this it was for a frat party that one of Mitch’s coworker’s friend’s brother referred him to, and it took him an entire week of rolling and baking to get his inventory back up. His kitchen smelled like weed-butter for a solid month.

Harry: Give me a moment to make sure I can sell you everything. Pretty large order…

The chipped black paint on his nails became a dark blur as his fingers typed, deleted, and typed uncertain words over and over again before finally settling on a sentence that was… neutral and didn’t send the wrong meaning. Usually, with his customers he was a mixture of blunt and friendly, but y/n wasn’t just a customer, and it made everything ten times harder.

Y/n: I’ll take whatever you have, please! Take your time, I don’t mean to stress you out

If she said please one more time, Harry was sure that he would become a liquid, coagulated version of himself among the mess of his blankets.

Jerking his ankles free of the fabric snake that snared him to a useless bed, he clambered off, knuckling at his tired eyes and shivering as the cool, still air of his room wrapped itself around the warmth of his body. Reaching into his closet for the first things he finds, a dark green hoodie and grey sweatpants, Harry yawns and dramatically stretched with his arms way above his head, hoping that the movement would push out the feeling of loneliness that was beginning to take purchase between his ribs, right underneath his heart.

Another late night, another delivery. He wished there was someone in his bed to call him back. Please don’t go, they’d say, the bed is cold without you in it. A warm hand trailing like a ghost against his thigh as he walked away, and a sleepy smile or groan of displeasure as his goodbye. He might not stay in the bed, but he would be happy- no, elated, to know that he would be coming back to someone.

The grow light of his makeshift greenhouse tinted his skin purple as he rummaged through all of his pre-rolled and pre-packaged items, his phone at his side as he checked off everything she has asked for.

9 of the Cherry Deals

6 of the citrus-infused pre-rolls

4 lavender-infused

10 brownies

And 2 8ths

In total, it came out to 28 joints.

Which is… well, a lot for just one person, or two, or three (unless you’re Snoop Dog or something). Packing everything up into four separate paper bags, and then a larger white bag so that she isn't filling with all of the smaller ones, he types out another cold text.

Harry: Okay I have everything.

Harry: Send the address, please.

She sends the address, and Harry follows the same routine as the last time, nearly eating shit as he flew out into his garage. Excitement bubbles in his guts at the same increment and volume of his motorcycle’s initial purr. Flipping open the back compartment he usually stores things in, he realizes that there is no way it’s all going to fit inside, so he turns on his heels to grab a backpack from inside and then he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes. The smooth, grey floor is cold against the arches of his bare feet, and his brows furrow at his own insolence. Had he been so wrapped up in… everything that he didn’t put on shoes?

Rolling his eyes at his own actions- and feeling a little embarrassed that he’d let it happen- Harry returned to his home and snatched up the first pair of fashionable compatible shoes within his reach (green converse the same shade of his sweater) and the backpack to place the white bag in ( a little redundant, but he didn’t think holding it while he rode would be a good idea). Rushing back to the garage, he hoped that he wouldn’t come up empty with words like he had the time before.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

***

He was right about it being a party.

At least three minutes before he was flipping down his kickstand, the thundering bass of some rap song (he thinks he can hear ASAP Rocky, but he’s not too sure) shakes the streets and the trees. It’s a house party in a building that was too big to fit into the word ‘house’, but yet too small to fit in ‘mansion’. Toilet paper and trash litters the front yard while couples make out and loners smoke cigarettes, or maybe joints, out on the generous porch. Sports cars and beat up rides pack the driveway and most of the street in front of the house, so it makes it really difficult to station his motorcycle in an area where he has a clear view of who’s coming in and out of the house, and therefore, really hard to spot y/n.

That is until-

“Hi, Harry!”

She’s sitting down on the curb with her arms around her legs and her chin on top of her legs, looking… scared. Her eyes were blown open like a newborn doe, and the sprawl of her limbs as she unravels from her sitting position to a wobbly stand mimics the shaky, knocking knees of a filly that is learning how to walk for the first time. Her voice is even headier than it was the last time he heard it, like windchimes in the spring chill.

Harry’s eyes roam over her with no attempt to conceal his blatant appreciation for the fuzzy sweater falling down to her mid-thigh. They seem to have become a pattern with her. This time, it’s a baby blue crew neck and a pair of jeans, and y/n’s has tried to tie her hair up into a bun at the back of her hair but spiky pieces stick out the back and tendrils swap her ears, making her look like a soft, smudge-y dream.

“Hello,” he says softly, not needing to clear his throat this time. He steps forward a bit, so he can hear her better (or at least that’s what he tells himself), “s’good to see you again.” Harry’s words are louder and more amicable than the last time he greeted her, and his lips part in a crooked friendly smile which she returned with the same tentativeness. There’s something off about her this time around. She’s pulling at her sleeves and shifting her feet, glancing over her shoulder as soon as she’s standing straight and her eyes won’t stand still on Harry’s figure for more than a few, burning seconds.

“It’s good to see you, too! I hope I’m not waking you up every time I text, though,” an exhaled laugh left her lips, and she dropped her gaze down to her shoes. Y/n rocked on her feet, once and then twice. “I think I’ve… I’ve made a habit of texting you late at night.”

And he blushes, “I- uhm… I was having a hard time sleeping, so you didn’t wake me. It’s fine.”

If only she knew that he was having a hard time sleeping because his subconscious was a bothered brat over not seeing her again. Pleading words of requests to ask her never to stop texting him were dancing on the tip of his tongue, banging against his barricaded lips and begging to come out. However, he didn’t think such daring words were fitting with their barely budding relationship. They were pitiful and needy, like a puppy, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to present that image.

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, checked over her shoulder again and then looked him in the eyes and said, “are you okay?”

“M’fine, yeah. Just got a lot of you on my mind at the moment,” he says. It makes y/n furrow her brows and tilt her head at him like a little cat, only then that he realize what he has said, “Things! Got a lot of things on my mind. Sorry,” he clears his throat, looks away while hanging his helmet on the handle of his ride. “Haven’t been sleepin’ much.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks,” y/n pouts. Pouts at him. And he just blinks. Doesn’t smile or laugh.

“S’alrigh’. Y’got quite a large order this time. Havin’ a party?” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to slap his palm against his forehead. He probably sounded stupid, given there was clearly a raging party going on in the house behind her. Of course she was having a party, what he should’ve said what ‘what are y’celebrating?’ or ‘are you here alone?’. Like the ‘do you have a date?’ kind of alone.

“You got it right? Thank you. And… something like that, I guess. I’m a bit nervous, honestly, because I’ve never…” She shrugs, looking away from him and back to the house.

“Never been to a party like this?” He’s confused. Surely he can’t mean that she’s never smoked before? Right? Because if that were the case, then what did she do with the weed he gave her last time? And what was she doing at a party were they were on this much drugs.

“No! No, no, I’ve never… smoked before.” She’s adamant in shaking her head. Her hands too, splayed wide like jazz hands.

“Y’never smoked before? What about last time?” Harry hates how it sounds as though he’s accusing her, but he can’t seem to control the way his words are coming out of his mouth, not around her, and it’s making him look like a dick. What he wants to do is smile and tease her, to find some way to ask her if she would like to share a joint with him without sounding too sleazy.

Shaking her head, “those were for my roommate and his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart pitter-patters in his chest, his mouth in a straight line, and although there’s an abundance of emotions elbowing against the other in his chest, he shows none of them.

“Yeah,” awkwardly, she shifts her weight from heel to heel, arms crossed before reaching into her pocket and bringing out a folded wad of cash. “$540, right?”

“That’s right, but…” C’mon man, he scolds himself, pull it fucking together. This is a concerning situation. Surely she can’t be buying this much this time and not plan on participating. “Are you gonna be a’right?”

Worrying her lips between her teeth, she lets out a deep breath before answering. Smiling and nodding as she answers as if she wants to convince herself, “I think so. How hard can it be?”

“Pretty hard if it’s y’first time, sweetheart,” Harry forces himself to smile a little, but instead it looks as though he’s grimacing. “Will y’friends walk y’through it?”

Y/n looks back at the house again, and shuffles her feet. She’s got a sad little look in her eye, droopy and shy. Great. He was making her uncomfortable. “They’re n-not really my friends,” she says, “but I guess so.”

What? “What?” The word is sharp in his mouth. What the fuck was she doing, then? Hanging with people that she didn’t look all that enthused to be with, buying their weed, standing out here all alone?

“They’re not-”

A male comes out of the house, red solo cup in hand, and he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He’s waving a hand in the air, trying to flag y/n down Harry assumes, and he’s offended for her. Harry’s brows furrow and his hands curl into fists behind his back. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? What the fuck is he drinking and why is he being so disrespectful interrupting their conversation this way? All for some weed?

Now on the last step, the guy shouts, “Y/n, what’s taking so long?”

The poor girl jumps, startled, and her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’ll be in soon!” Y/n shoves the money at him, frazzled, and takes the paper bag from his hands. “Here's $560, Harry. The rest is a tip. You can count it if you’d like!”

“It’s alright, here you-” she’s already bounding away from him, but he doesn’t want her to go, and somehow, he finds the will to call her back. He just wanted her to look at him once more, because she wasn’t even inside yet, but he missed her gaze. “Y/n!”

She stops, and he gets exactly what he wants. Her attention. “Yes?”

Harry swings a leg over his motorcycle and gets ready to leave before he does anything stupid like… like trying to hold her hand or something. Who knows, he lost his ability to act his age around her. “Have a water bottle at your side,” he’s mumbling almost, “and don’t take too much in on your first try. Exhale and don’t freak out when y’start coughing. Or embarrassed. It’ll be okay. And… and do y’best to relax.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

And y/n smiles at him.

It’s small, and it’s meek the way a feral kitten approaches a human with food. Scared, and rightfully so, because Harry wants to scoop her up and take her home.

“Of course. Have a safe night.”

She nods and walks away with another piece of his heart in her hands.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles fanfic

3K notes · View notes