contents & warnings. drug use (weed) mentioned; reader partakes, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, fingering (receiving),mild dacryphilia, hair pulling(giving, receiving)
notes. this is the first time in maybe ever that i’ve (1) written a fic in chronological order (2) finished a fic this long this quickly. this may actually be a record for me! anyway, this fic is inspired by the following song lyrics!
girl, i love it when we high. do it turn you on, shawty? tell me if i’m wrong.i can see it in your eyes when you’re high that you feelin’ my vibes, baby, you ain’t gotta lie. i been waiting all day to get high with you, shawty, you know you my boo, i got all this weed for you, girl, let’s get high tonight, shawty, let’s get high, shawty.(high - pnb rock & dj luke nasty)
even when the sky comes fallin’, even when the sun don’t shine, i got faith in you and i; just put your pretty little hand in mine. (sure thing - miguel)
“Hey!” Jaemin greets you when he opens the front door to see you standing there patiently. He ushers you in, and not a moment too soon, because the shorts and blouse you chose to wear are definitely a flattering outfit, but maybe not the most sensible considering it’s almost midnight and there’s no sun to provide any warmth to your bare legs and slightly exposed midriff. “Did you seriously not wear a coat?”
“Yeah, I know, don’t tell Jeno.” You mumble, rubbing your arms to give yourself some warmth through the friction. “Thought I’d make it for the brief little walk from my house to Jeno’s.” You’re well aware that Jeno fusses over you not entirely unlike a mother, scolding you for your (many) bad choices and worrying over you. You weren’t fully thinking about wearing a coat when you were getting ready, and by the time you realized you’d left it at home, you were too far in your journey to consider turning back.
“You and I both know Jeno isn’t who you have to worry about,” Jaemin chuckles as he heads towards the kitchen with you on his heels. The further into the house you go, the more aware you become of your surroundings, the smoke swirling in the air from blunts, bongs, and bowls alike creating a fog that makes itself more prevalent in the light, and the smell of weed is strong—like, knock-you-off-your-damn-feet strong.
“Is he here?” You ask, voice lowered surreptitiously as you approach the topic of the unnamed person you may or may not have come to see.
“Of course he’s here,” Jaemin snorts, moving to open the fridge and pulling out a can of soda. “He knew there was a chance you were coming.”
