𝑺𝒎𝒐𝒌𝒆 & 𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒕 - 4/20 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 | 𝑪.𝑺
― 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃
▶︎ ၊၊||၊ SANDMAN , A$AP ROCKY
dealer!chris/brat tamer!chris x f!reader
WARNINGS : mentions of drugs obv, consensual, oral (m recieving), making you ride, smoke encouragement, degrading, power play?, usage of slut & going "dumb"
―Chris watches you from where he’s spread out on the couch, legs wide, head tilted back against the cushions like he owns the room—because he does. It’s his place, his weed, his rules.
And right now, it’s his mouth that’s got you obsessed.
You’re sitting between his legs, head foggy from the hit he passed you minutes ago—your first. He lit it for you, held it steady between his fingers, whispered instructions with a smug little grin as he watched you cough and blink up at him, wide-eyed and watery.
“Good girl,” he’d murmured, thumbing under your chin after that first inhale. “You look real pretty when you listen.”
Now your thighs are pressed tight together from where you sit on the floor, back resting against the inside of his knee. Your eyes are heavy, and every inch of your skin feels like it’s buzzing, but it’s his voice—low and cocky and just a little teasing—that has you squirming.
“You liked that, huh?” he murmurs, drawing the blunt back to his lips and taking a lazy drag, letting the smoke curl past his lips and into the air. “You’re already lookin’ at me like I hung the fuckin’ moon.”
“I’m not,” you mumble, but it’s weak, almost pathetic, because your eyes are locked on his mouth—the way his lips wrap around the blunt, the slick of spit catching the light, the soft groan he lets out when he exhales.
Chris catches the look. Smirks. “Yeah, you are.”
He leans forward, holding the blunt out to you again, but instead of passing it straight to your fingers, he waits. “C’mere,” he says. “Mouth open.”
You hesitate for half a second, and that’s all he needs. His free hand comes to your cheek, thumb brushing your bottom lip, and he taps it until you part them.
“There you go,” he praises, pushing the end to your lips. “Breathe in slow, baby. Don’t waste it.”
You do. And when you choke again, he laughs softly and pulls you forward by the chin until your face is in his lap, cheek pressing into the muscle of his thigh.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his tone darker now, “look at you. Barely smoked and already pliant. You wanna suck something else, don’t you?”
You nod without thinking. It’s not just the high—it’s him. It’s the way he smells, the way he sounds, the way he fucking looks at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
Chris groans, low and rough, shifting to undo his belt. “God, I knew you’d be like this. Knew once I got you high you’d be all needy for my cock.”
You whimper, mouth already open as he pulls his boxers down, cock heavy and flushed and leaking right in front of you.
“You gonna show me how desperate that mouth is, baby?” he asks, dragging the head of his cock along your lips. “Since you’re so obsessed with watchin’ me smoke—lemme see how good you are at takin’ something else.”
You don’t even answer. You just moan and sink down, tongue dragging along the underside of him like you’ve been craving this since the moment he walked in the room. And fuck, maybe you have.
Chris’s hand fists in your hair immediately. “That’s it. Just like that. Mouth’s better than I dreamed, shit—”
You hollow your cheeks, drool pooling as you take him deeper, high and desperate and fucking obsessed with how he tastes, how he sounds above you.
His hips jerk when you gag around the tip, but he doesn’t pull away.
He just groans and holds you there.
“Good little stoner slut,” he breathes, tugging your hair so your eyes meet his. “Already addicted, huh? Bet you’re gonna be beggin’ to smoke my shit every day just so I’ll let you do this again.”
You whine around him, spit dripping from your chin, your thighs rubbing together uselessly as you bob your head faster, sloppier, taking every filthy praise he gives you like it’s your fix.
Your throat burns, lungs foggy, but you don’t care—not with Chris still twitching against your tongue, still fisting your hair messily he’s trying to ground himself. You’re a wreck on your knees, lips swollen, chin soaked with spit and cum, eyes glassy and high.
And he looks down at you like you’re art.
“Fuck,” he mutters, chest heaving as he slowly pulls his cock from your mouth, strings of spit clinging to your lips. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
You try to respond, but it comes out a soft whimper, your jaw slack and aching, mascara smudged and vision hazy.
Chris brushes a thumb across your cheek, tender but rough, and then slaps your face—not hard, just enough to make your eyes snap up to meet his.
You scramble to your feet, legs trembling as you move toward the mattress, and Chris watches you the whole time—silent, predatory, like he’s deciding exactly how he wants to ruin you next.
“Take your clothes off. Slow.”
You do, fingers fumbling, clumsy from the weed and the way your body’s still reeling from getting throat-fucked like you were made for it.
Chris lights another blunt while you strip, eyes never leaving your body.
By the time you’re bare and breathless on the bed, he’s walking toward you—still naked, still hard, cock glistening with your spit and twitching again just from looking at you.
You obey instantly. And he grins.
“See?” he murmurs, climbing onto the bed, hand resting against your jaw. “Didn’t even have to ask twice. Already trained, baby. My perfect little toy.”
He slides two fingers into your mouth—deep—and you gag, eyes fluttering shut as he fucks your mouth slow and steady.
“Could do this all day,” he groans. “Fuck your mouth, your throat, your cunt—doesn’t matter. You were made for this. For me.”
You moan around his fingers, hips lifting off the bed, desperate for any kind of friction.
He pulls back with a wet pop, his fingers coated, and drags them down your body—smearing spit over your tits, your stomach, until they reach your thighs.
“You dripping already?” he teases, sliding his fingers between your legs and groaning when he feels how soaked you are. “Jesus. You’re soaked just from sucking my cock, aren’t you?”
You nod frantically, writhing under his touch.
He pulls you to straddle his lap, and you gasp when his cock presses right up against your cunt—hot and heavy and so close to where you need him.
You try to grind down, but he grabs your hips, holding you still.
“Nuh-uh,” he growls. “Not until I say.”
You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, and he chuckles, low and dark.
“That mouth still hungry, baby?”
You nod, already leaning down, but he grabs your jaw and kisses you first—messy and deep, tongue sliding against yours as he tastes himself on your lips.
Then he pulls back and guides you down again, his cock sliding past your lips once more.
“Just like that. Get yourself nice and wet on it again. Wanna feel your mouth all over me before I fuck you.”
You suck him slow this time, deep and sensual, moaning around him like it gets you off—and honestly, it does. Every time he groans, every twitch of his hips, every filthy word he throws down at you—it’s addicting.
When he finally pulls you off again, you’re dizzy, shaking, begging without words.
“You want it that bad?” he smirks, lining himself up with your entrance as he guides your hips down.
“Wanna sit on my cock and show me just how cock-drunk you can get?”
You nod, almost crying, and he sinks you down in one brutal thrust.
“Fuck—there you go,” he growls, watching your tits bounce as he slams you down onto him over and over.
“Take it. Just like that. God, you’re so fuckin’ good when you're high. So slow and messy, so needy.”
You’re gone. Absolutely lost in it. High, full, fucked out. Every drag of his cock hits your sweet spot. Every slap of skin echoes around the room. You can barely breathe.
You nod—no words left in you, just a whimper, glassy-eyed and already trembling. He doesn’t wait. He grips your hips and guides you down in one brutal, perfect thrust that punches a moan from your lungs.
“Fuck—there you go,” he groans, head falling back, jaw tight as your walls clamp down around him. “Takin’ me so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight like this.”
His hands flex around your hips before he starts to move—hard, fast, relentless. His hips snap up into you with sharp precision, fucking into you like he owns your body, like he’s trying to mold your insides to the shape of his cock. And you take it. You fucking take it.
“Ride me,” he growls, slamming up into you again, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every punishing thrust. “Bounce those tits for me. Show me how messy that little mouth gets when you’re cock-drunk and high.”
You sob, can’t even hold yourself up. Your hands scramble against his chest, nails digging into muscle, but it only makes him fuck you harder. Sweat beads at your temples, your body jolting with every upward thrust.
“Take it. Just like that.” His breath is ragged, voice wrecked and hungry. “God, you’re so fuckin’ good when you're high. So slow and messy, so needy. Can’t even think, can you?”
You’re gone—eyes rolling, mouth hanging open, moaning with every slap of skin against skin. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs. Every drag of his cock hits that sweet, aching spot so deep inside you that your legs threaten to give out.
“Can feel you clenching, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you harder now, brutal and fast. “Gonna come already? You’re that fucked out, huh?”
You cry out, voice cracking, and he laughs—dark, breathless, proud.
“Yeah. You love it. Love sittin’ on this cock, stuffed full while I ruin you.”
He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t ease up—not even when your legs start to shake, not even when your nails rake down his chest, leaving red lines in their wake. He’s deep. So deep you can’t breathe. So deep you swear you can feel him in your fucking throat.
“C’mere,” he growls, one arm wrapping around your back, dragging your chest to his as he fucks up into you even harder—somehow deeper. His other hand reaches to the nightstand without looking, fingers curling around the blunt he rolled earlier. He brings it to his lips, sparks the lighter, and inhales deep.
The scent of weed and sweat and sex fills the air, thick and intoxicating. His lips wrap around the blunt like it’s your pussy, slow and greedy. Then he pulls it back, eyes lidded and dark, and slips the blunt between your parted lips.
“Take a hit, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough and low in your ear. “Wanna feel you get even dumber on my cock.”
You inhale—deep. The smoke hits hard, sharp and thick in your lungs, making your head spin even more than it already was. You cough, choke on it a little, and he fucking groans, cock twitching inside you.
“Fucking hell,” he growls, eyes glued to your lips as you suck the smoke from the blunt and exhale, soft and shaky. “You’ve got no idea what that does to me. Watching you get high on my cock like this? Mouth all wet, eyes half-lidded. You’re perfect.”
He takes the blunt from your fingers and hits it again before holding your chin, blowing the smoke straight into your mouth, his lips barely brushing yours. It’s messy, hot, intoxicating—and you moan into it, clenching hard around him.
“Shit—do that again,” he hisses, voice wrecked. “Clench like that again and I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”
You whimper, high and needy, rocking your hips down against him even though your body’s gone all soft and floaty. Everything feels heavy and hot—your skin, your breath, his cock still pounding into you like it owns you.
“Look at you,” he pants, brushing your sweaty hair back, staring up at you like he’s obsessed. “So gone. All fucked out and high and still beggin’ for more. You love it, don’t you?”
You nod, dazed, drooling a little now as you take another hit he passes you. Your lips wrap around the blunt slow, sensual, like you’re imagining it’s him. And he notices—of course he does.
“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching again. “You’ve got such a fuckin’ mouth on you. Can’t wait to fuck that pretty throat next.”
He pins you down, flips you onto your back without ever slipping out, and ruts into you like he’s trying to brand your soul.
“Gonna make you come high as fuck, ruined and brainless, drooling all over yourself,” he snarls. “Then I’m shoving my cock in that mouth and watching you choke around it.”
You nod, crying, desperate and feral for it. His thrusts turn savage, relentless, everything inside you tightening up again, pressure coiling sharp and hot in your belly.
“Come for me,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder as his hips slam into you. “Now, baby. Fucking soak me.”
And you do. Screaming. Clawing. Coming so hard your vision whites out.
And you do. It hits like a tidal wave—your back arches, fingers clawing at his skin, mouth wide in a scream you can't even hold back. Your vision blurs, brain blanks, every nerve in your body lighting up as you clench down on him, pulsing around his cock like you’re never gonna stop.
He groans deep in his chest, hips driving up into you with sharp, punishing thrusts that only stretch it out longer. “Fuck yes—just like that. So fuckin’ good when you come for me.”
Your body’s still twitching, still shaking, but Chris doesn’t let up. Doesn’t even slow down.
“You think we’re done?” he mutters against your skin, voice ragged, sweat dripping from his jaw as he pulls back and slams into you again. “Nah, baby. That was just the first one.”
You whimper, a broken, breathless sound—but he just grins.
“I’m gonna keep fuckin’ you ‘til you forget what it feels like not to be full of me,” he growls. “Gonna use this pussy all night—have you coming over and over until you can’t talk, can’t think, can’t move.”
He grabs your hips, keeps you locked in place while he grinds deep inside you, slow and brutal. His voice drops to a low, dirty whisper right in your ear.
“You’re mine tonight, my girl."
this may be a day late, just ignore that um ! technically 4/21 special but wtv
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