Just thought of something along the lines of:
"Plug!Reader & PotHead!Choso"
• reader! is older not by much but still notable
• he could be decompressing after finals week orrr just needing a break from being overworked (whatever sparks your creativity) who better to provide than the WEED(WO)MAN?! ;)
Hi raven....I'm not sure if you wanted this to be sfw or nsfw but I went ahead and went with the pervert route #sorry #pervertatheart
It is important to know I have never smoked weed in my life. I did, however, have the tiniest nibble of a 15 mg edible and somehow got high off of that SO I am going solely based off that experience :,) I apologize in advance
cw: drug use, brief grinding, making out, cumming in pants, sex(but not really) under the influence.
After a long two weeks, finals have come to their end. An end nobody thought they would’ve seen.
Winter break is now easing in, and students are starting to move out the dorms for the next foreseeable weeks.
Choso, of course, stays in his apartment. He really has no family to go home to, Yuji is going to come down and spend a week or two with him during break so there was no point in taking the long train back.
He finds himself at your door, like usual when he’s feeling the need to decompress. He feels slightly awkward standing there even after the countless times he’s been over.
You open the door dressed in an old, baggy sleeved shirt. You’re pulling up a pair of baggy sleep pants, flashing him your panties and thighs before they're covered. He swallows, keeping his eyes on your face.
“Hey,” you smile, standing to your full height,”come in.”
Your place is so unapologetically you. Decorated in all the little things you like. It’s nice, though he didn’t really know how to describe the style. Like a mix between maximalist and boho.
You’re a senior this year, just a year older than him. Which unfortunately meant you were graduating this year. He didn’t know if you were gonna ditch this place as soon as you were free, you seemed pretty happy here. He wasn’t worried about loosing the weed, no, he was worried about loosing you.
You plop down on the couch, sipping on a mug of steaming tea. He sits next to you, leaning back on the furniture. His head rests tipped back on the headrest.
“How did your finals go?” You ask, and he thinks just talking to you will help ease his nerves.
“Pretty good,” he sighs, tilting his head to look at you,”at least I think so.”
“Jesus dude you look awful,” you say suddenly, nose scrunching up at his face,”the bags under your eyes are worse than usual.”
“I haven’t slept,” he says.
“Good thing you came here then, huh?” You stand to your feet suddenly, disappearing down the hallway. When you come back you have a lighter in your hand and a singular, rolled blunt.
“You rolled that fast,” he raises a brow at you.
“I rolled it earlier,” you smile, leaning down to hand him the blunt before sitting back down next to him.
The craziest part about you being a plug? You don’t smoke. And apparently you only have once or twice. You mentioned not too long ago that you were gonna stop selling, something to do with thinking it wasn’t for you anymore.
“Thank you,” he hums, taking the lighter from you,”I wasn’t really expecting you to pick up, y’know? Last time I saw you you said you were gonna quit.”
“I will, eventually,” you shrug.
“What’s keeping you?” He asks.
“I don’t know, I have a pretty good job right now,” you sigh, leaning back,”I only started this to make some extra money, but now I don’t really need to. I guess I’m really just doing this for you.”
He glosses over the last part of your words way too quick, inhaling a large amount of smoke into his lungs before blowing it out. He feels his tension easing away already.
“Wait,” he pauses, squinting forward,”you’re doing this for me?”
“Well yeah,” for once you actually look flustered,”I can’t leave you hanging until I actually leave this place.”
“That’s…” he licks his lips, looking down at the blunt briefly,”thoughtful of you. I don't want to hold you back from anything though."
"You're good," you hum, watching him take another drag of the blunt,"it's not a big deal."
He's a little out of it by the time you get up to make dinner, a second blunt fitted between his lips. You turned on your show an hour earlier to pass the time. He doesn't mind, he's seen plenty of episodes with you. In fact, he's become really immersed in the plot.
His head lolls to the side to watch you for a minute. He's not sure what you're making but it smells good, better than it usually does thanks to the weed. You look so pretty when you're focused, not even bothering to talk or look up at him while you're cooking.
He hums tiredly, which does catch your attention. Your head lifts, eyes landing on him for a moment before you plate the food and walk back over.
"Here," you say, setting a bowl of soup down in front of him.
You two eat in silence, eyes fixed on the show. The sun was already long gone and the moon was starting to shine through your windows. He can feel your eyes on him every now and then.
He helps you do the dishes, or at least tries to. You kick him out of the kitchen for being too clumsy, telling him to go lay back down or he's going to get himself hurt. He complies with a soft chuckle, moving back to the couch so you could finish up.
He doesn't know when he passed out, he just knew it was sometime after you finished cleaning. When his red, glossy eyes open again its to you standing in front of him, the Tv behind you no longer hurting his eyes.
The only thing that lit you up was the weak stove light and the moon shining through your windows. He blinks, slow, taking his time to look you up and down to figure out what you were doing.
He's passed out at your place plenty of times, but you never minded. You usually threw a blanket over him, let him shower in the morning and offered to share some of your breakfast.
"I'm not letting you sleep with all that on your face," you beckon to his smudgy eye makeup,"you're going to get styes."
He eyes the bottle of makeup remover in your hand, and in your other, a couple of cotton rounds. He sighs, pushing himself so he could sit up. He stretches out his arms and gets ready to get up.
"No, I got it," you ease him back down with a occupied hand,"you can keep sleeping."
He blinks as he sits back on the couch, watching you place the bottle on the coffee table behind you before crawling onto his lap. His arms raise up in surprise, and he almost, almost thinks the action sobered him up. But he's still tired, and still very much high.
Your warmth settles on top of him, and he feels himself begin to burn. You two were close, this isnt the first time he's found you on his lap, but for some reason it feels different this time.
He watches you grab the bottle, dab the liquid on the cotton round before leaning in to wipe his eye clean. You're careful not the press down too hard, and he likes that. Its a different feeling than how he wipes it off himself.
You pay close attention to detail, getting under his bottom lashes, the inner corners of his eye, you make sure there isnt a trace on his skin. When you're done wiping one eye, you lean back to grab the bottle again.
The shift makes him jolt, your thighs squeezing his legs so you don't fall back, and your pelvis grinds against his by accident. At least he thinks its on accident.
"Sorry," you apologize when you situate yourself again.
He blinks at you, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. His mind was running circles, his body felt like it was on fire. Theres a subtle ache where your pelvis meets his and his heart is pounding.
He takes a deep breath inhaling the scent of weed that clings to the air and something sweeter. He smells you. For a mintue he thinks, have you always smelled this good? Did he just not notice? Maybe the weed and his lack of sleep was starting to really take a toll on him.
You lean forward, hips shifting. A tingly sensation crawls up his spine, and he has to phsycially stop himself from reacting. The ache only grows worse.
At the worst possible timing too, surely you could feel him, but he didn't want to think about that. He thinks you're too focused on cleaning his other eye that you don't notice. Either that or you're ignoring it.
You move again, and this time his hands shoot up to grab your waist. You pause, he watches your eyes flick down to where his hands sat, then you look back up at him.
"I really thought it was your make up that was making your eye bags look worse," you say with a hint of playfulness,"looks like I was wrong. You really need to sleep, man."
The steady hum of your heater kicking in fills most of the silence now. He tries to ignore the needy throb of his cock but he can't when you're still on top of him. You finish wiping his eye, then you get ready to get up.
"Wait," he pulls you back down, surprising both him and you. You blink at him, letting your weight settle on him again.
"What's wrong?" you tilt your head, setting the dirty cotton rounds on the couch.
"Nothing just---just stay," he wets his lips, closing his eyes to try and get control on himself,"please."
You comply, relaxing yourself as you sit there. He can feel you staring at him, your eyes practically seeing right through him. His eyes open a little when he hears you sigh, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.
"You little perv," you say, not unkindly,"you're hard right now, huh?"
He looks away for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. "Yes."
You chuckle again and its sweet and warm. There's no mocking, no degrading. You don't even seem weirded out. Instead you ruffle his hair and stay put.
"I'll give you some grace, since you're under the influence right now," you say, folding your arms over your chest,"I'll stay put, but we're not going to do anything, okay? I don't want to take advantage of you."
"You won't," he breathes, glossy eyes finding yours,"I promise, I--I want this, I want this so bad."
"You have no idea," he cuts you off,"I just wasn't----wasn't brave enough before. I want you, I need you so bad."
He can see you internally fighting with yourself. Your eyes searching his face, likely for any second thoughts or uncertainty. Then you sigh, shaking your head with a soft smile.
Before you say anything you lean in and place a chaste kiss to the tattoo across his nose. Your fingers find his jaw, your thumb presses against his chin. Your lips move towards his and for a moment he's expecting a kiss.
Instead you open your mouth, lips brushing over his, almost like your hesitating, then you pull back. He almost whines, feeling slightly let down. Deprived of something he wants badly.
"It'll be easier if you pull your jeans down a little, yeah?" you hum. He nods, reaching down to unbutton his jeans. You help him tug them down a bit, at least until his boxers are visible along with his hard length.
You reach for the bottom of his shirt, looking up at him for consent. He nods, you lift his shirt up to get a better look, keeping yourself sat on his thighs.
"Oh," you say,"you're big."
Goosebumps ripple through his body when he feels your fingers glide over his happy trail. He's dying with anticipation, his mind swirling from the weed.
"You don't even have to put it in or anything," he mutters, hands finding your waist again,"we can just kiss and I'll be fine, I promise."
"You're gonna cum just from kissing?" it's a genuine question, he can tell by the look on your face.
"Yes," he admits, not shyly.
"I've never met a guy like you," you chuckle, situating yourself back on his lap. He feels your hips press down on him, your clothed cunt coming in contact with his covered cock.
This time when you lean in, you actually kiss him. A simple, steady press of your lips against his, but its warm and soft and everything he's ever wanted. No tongue yet, but it makes him buckle in all the same ways.
He can taste the minty flavor of your toothpaste on your lips, his hands travel up to feel the rest of your covered body. You hum into the kiss, giving him one last peck before you open your mouth.
He opens his along with you, letting you test the waters and slip your tongue in. The soft shift of your hips has him spilling pre, even if he could barely feel you move. Your warmth, your weight, and just the mere feeling of you on top of him was enough.
You cup his face with soft hands, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. He moans softly, feeling himself throb and ache underneath you. He almost wants to buck his hips, almost. But he keeps them firmly on the couch, letting you take the lead.
You had him wrapped around your finger, even if you didn't know it. And he wasn't about to make a fool of himself. Not when he's already high and running off of an hour or two of sleep.
He rubs circles on your hip with his thumb, his other hand settling at the nape of your neck, feeling the shore of your hair. You hum, pushing yourself deeper into him, until your chest is almost touching his.
He already feels like he's about to cum, just from your tongue sliding against his. But you kiss almost like you were made to do it, and even if you weren't good at it you'd still have him acting the same way.
His breathing picks up, pleasure shoots through his body like ripples in a pond. Wave after wave, he feels it all. His body shakes as he begins to feel himself get pushed over the edge, your lips on his driving him damn near up the wall. You're not even grinding on him and he's about to cum.
He pushes into you, making your head move back a little. It's desperate and hungry, and he squeezes your hip as his orgasm begins to flood over him.
And it's different than a normal one. The weed in his system heightening every sense in his body. He feels everything. He bites a moan into the kiss, muffling himself against your lips. Warmth floods his boxers, soiling the fabric.
You kiss him through his orgasm, only pulling away once his body seems to calm down. He whines at the loss of your lips, head falling back on the couch as he catches his breath. You place one more soft kiss to the corner of his lips.
"You really did cum just from kissing," you breathe, sounding slightly amazed,"I didn't really think you could. That's kinda impressive, Cho." He sighs shakily, wrapping his arms around you to get you to stay.
"Don't get up," he mutters, burying his face into your neck.
"Choso," you laugh softly, placing a hand on his chest,"you know you can just come with me to my room?"
"Are you sure?" he asks, unsure.
"You basically just came on me," you brush a few stray hairs out of his face,"It would be weird if I let you do that but didn't let you share the bed with me. The couch is uncomfortable anyways."
"Okay," he sighs happily, letting go of you so you can get up. You make a face at the sticky strings of cum that cling to your pants.
"Let's clean up first, yeah?"
