Throw Away - Dealer!Chris x Stoner!Reader
In which...Chris and angel get back at each other
"Deep down...I believe you know...You're a monster too..."
The lyrics blared loud in Chris' ears, the bass shaking the seats of the car as he sped down the highway. His knuckles were starting to lose color from his harsh grip on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the passing bright lights in front of him.
"Go and fuck that nigga get it over with"
You and Chris hadn't seen each other in almost two months, and you found yourself almost growing desperate for his attention. Disregarding the fact that you were hooking up, he was still your dealer. Each message you sent asking for a re-up left you waiting for days, his responses dull and boring.
He even charged you for a 8th.
He insisted that you did nothing wrong, that he was just busy with other stuff, but you weren't dumb. You knew that if you weren't getting his attention someone else was.
You stopped reaching out, choosing instead to entertain a guy who had been talking to himself in your inbox for weeks. He took you out to dinner, something Chris never did. He bought you flowers, told you how beautiful you were, and paid for the bill, before taking you back to his place. The sex was alright, but at least he treated you better than Chris did.
"Does sexing on the late night mean that much to you? My love don't mean that much to you, Fucking these hoes meant too damn much to you"
He was sick. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but his throat was tight, almost as if it was threatening to close, threatening to keep the oxygen from his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, almost matching the beat of the song blaring from his speakers.
You weren't dating. He had made that very clear to you. No feelings, no strings attached, nothing complicated. He wasn't sleeping with anyone else, and neither were you. That's all it was. It was better that way. He liked it that way. He could do whatever he wanted with no complaints or arguments from anyone. He never had to worry about how he affected other people. That's why he chose his line of work. People got what they wanted from him, and they left him alone.
And yet, the idea of someone else touching you made him sick.
It didn't matter that you weren't his girlfriend. You were still his. You didn't anyone else. You got everything you needed from him.
"I just hope when you fucking on that nigga, when you finished, He can say that he love you"
Of course, as soon as he found out you were seeing someone, Chris made it his mission to find out everything about him. He worked as a supervisor for some tech company, lived in a huge house, and drove a white Mercedes Benz. His hair was always cut short, his face always clean shaved, his clothes always freshly pressed. He had a smile that made Chris want to knock the pearly white teeth out of his mouth. And, to make matters worse, he was tall. So tall that he had to bend down just to have a proper conversation with you.
Chris never hated anyone more.
"Now do you feel better 'bout yourself? Do you feel better by yourself? Did you feel better when I left?"
He was so angry. Angry at you for letting someone else touch you. Angry at himself for caring.
He knew no one could make you feel as good as he did. Wouldn't whisper how beautiful you looked with drool dripping down your chin. Wouldn't be able to hit that spongy spot that only his fingers could reach. Wouldn't know to curl them just right.
He kept joints in pink rolling papers in his nightstand for you. He spent almost every weekend with you. He washed the clothes you left strewn about on his floor, just so you'd have spares in his closet. He'd buy you little gifts that reminded him of you. stuffed animals, necklaces, anything he could think of.
He was tormented with the thought of you as he sped down the highway, desperately holding onto the steering wheel for some sort of comfort. He thought of the times he'd driven down the same highway, at this same time, only with you as his passenger. His hand gripping your thigh, watching as you sang along to the playlist you'd made just for nights spent with him.
"Got my dick sucked and I was thinking about you, I was fucking on a slut, and I was thinking about you"
His tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip that was now trapped in between his teeth, almost drawing blood. The sour taste of lip gloss lingered on his lips, the smell of cheap perfume burned into his nose. He didn't even remember her name, he barely remember looked like. His brain was too fuzzy, his vision blurry. All he knew was that she was nothing like you.
She was like a mosquito buzzing in his ear, practically throwing herself at Chris. She twirled her hair in between her fingers while she chewed her fruity gum, trying to be sexy, but only coming off a drunken idiot. He could barely even focus on what he was saying, her scratchy voice like nails on the chalkboard. At least she was hot. Eventually, he took her upstairs into an empty bedroom, away from the loud ruckus of the party.
She could barely take him in her mouth without gagging, and she was more focused on looking pretty than doing her job. She rode him with uneven, ragged movements, and Chris, high off his ass, found himself almost falling asleep, the only thing keeping him away were the loud, exaggerated moans leaving her mouth.
Finally flipping her over, on her hands and knees, his mind wandered to thoughts of you. How much better you were. How perfect your back arched for him, the sounds you made as your ass bounced against his pelvis, how beautiful your moans were. His eyes closed, his imagination getting him through the night.
He softly moaned your name in between curses as he finished, releasing the pearly white liquid all over the girl's back. Not saying a word, he swiftly put his clothes back on and left the party.
"When you laying with that nigga, hope you thinking about me? 'Cause I'm thinking about you"
He pulled into his parking space, stumbling out of his car and up the stairs, mumbling and groaning as he entered his apartment. He grabbed a Pepsi out of the fridge and sank onto the couch, the feeling of the cool soda moving down his throat clearing his head. He ran his hands over his face, the image of you still burned in his mind.
He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, searching for your contact. A little voice in the back of his head screamed at him, telling him to leave you alone. But he ignored it, only focused on the trill of the phone ringing. He didn't know what he would say if you even picked up, and a small part of him hoped you wouldn't. But he waited, and waited, and waited, until you finally answered.
"Don't give up on me today, Hold on to me like a true love"
a/n: only took a future song to get me out of my writers block <3 im a slut for angst so pls dont be too mad at me
inbox always open for asks, requests, or just to talk !
