The joint's down to a roach in the ashtray, but the high's settled deep. Limbs liquid, skin buzzing, every touch amplified like static under velvet. Choso's propped against the headboard, long legs stretched out, black sweats shoved down just enough. His chest rises and falls slow, that dark mark across his nose flushed warmer than usual, eyes half-lidded and glassy as they trace every inch of you.
You're already straddling him, his thick length buried inside you to the hilt. Not rushing. Just slow, grinding rocks of your hips that make him sigh long, shaky, almost-whiny sounds that hit different when he's stoned like this. High Choso isn't the quiet, stoic type who just takes it. The weed strips away layers. Makes him softer, needier, more vulnerable, voice cracking on every breath like he can't hold back the little whimpers that spill out when you clench around him.
“F-fuck baby,” he murmurs, voice rough but so tender it aches. His big hands are everywhere—sliding up your back, palms flat and warm like he's trying to memorize the shape of your spine. He pulls you closer, chest to chest, until there's no space left. Arms wrapped around you fully, hugging you tight against him like he'll disappear if he lets go. “Feel s'good. Don't stop movin' like that.”
You roll your hips again, deeper and slower. He whines low into your neck, lips brushing skin. It's intimate in a way sober sex with him never quite reaches; no performance, no control freak edges. Just raw want, hazy and endless. His mouth finds your collarbone, then lower. Soft, open kisses that leave a wet trail behind turning to sucking as he latches onto one breast. Tongue swirling lazy circles around your nipple letting it pebble before he pulls it into his mouth, sucking gentle but insistent, like he's starving for the taste of you.
You arch into it, fingers threading through his messy black hair, holding him there. “Choso…”
He hums around you, the vibration shooting straight to your core, then switches to the other side, same needy pull. His hands never stop roaming: one splayed wide across your lower back, guiding your rhythm without forcing it, the other cupping your ass, thumb stroking the crease where thigh meets hip. Every few seconds he squeezes, pulls you down harder onto him, but it's not dominant in that sharp way. It's possessive, affectionate, like he needs to feel every inch of you pressed to him.
“Can't-shiiit-can't get enough,” he breathes against your skin, voice cracking again on the last word. Another soft whimper escaping when you grind your clit against his pubes just right. “Love when you're on top like this. Love watchin' you take it. fuck, you're so warm inside.”
The song's still playing low from the speaker. He kisses up your throat now, sucking marks that bloom purple under the lights, murmuring nonsense between them: “Gonna make you come so hard, wanna feel you squeeze me again, please baby”
Pleading without shame, his hips buck up in tiny helpless thrusts because the overstimulation's already creeping in but he doesn't want it to end. His mouth stays on your breasts, alternating between them, sucking harder now as his breathing turns ragged. One hand slides between you, thumb finding your puffy clit—rubbing slow, messy circles that match your grinding.
You feel it build. Liquid heat pooling, every sensation brighter, fuzzier. His arms tighten around you again, hugging so close you can feel his heartbeat hammering against yours. “Come wi' me,” he whispers, voice trembling. “Wanna feel you… wanna fill you up while you-”
He cuts off with a broken moan when you clench hard around him. His hips stutter up once, twice, then he's spilling deep inside you. Hot pulses that make you gasp. The sensation tips you over; orgasm rolling through slow and intense, body locking up in his arms as you flutter around him, milking every last drop.
He doesn't let go. Just holds you tighter, face buried between your breasts now, kissing and sucking softly through the aftershocks. Little whiny sighs against your skin, like he's still coming down. “Stay… jus' like this,” he mumbles. “Don't move yet.”
You don't. You reach for the fresh joint instead, light it one-handed, take a pull, then lean down to shotgun the smoke into his parted lips. He inhales deep, exhales shaky against your chest.
His mouth finds your nipple again. A gentle suck, almost reverent. Hands stroking your back in slow circles.
“Round two?” you whisper, already rocking tiny movements that make him whimper.
He nods frantically against you, voice soft and wrecked. “Yeah… wanna stay inside you all night. Wanna keep touchin' you… kissin' you everywhere.”
He pulls you down for a lazy, deep kiss, arms never leaving you, mouth already drifting back to your breasts like he can't stop. Like your a drug and he's hopelessly, completely addicted.
some more thoughts about vi and high sex because… well she’s just hot your honor. 18+ below, and cw for marijuana use (duh).
stoner!vi who teaches you how to roll a blunt one night after you’d confided in her that you’d never done it before. she sets up a blunt-rolling station on her coffee table, complete with a pack of blue dutches - the superior blunt wrap, according to her - and a half ounce of her best weed. the sickly sweet, flowery scent of the bud tickles at your nose as vi shows you how to place it into her grinder, shutting it and twisting the metal disks until the weed is ground down to smaller bits.
stoner!vi whose tongue pokes out of her lips in concentration, her brow furrowed as she carefully demonstrates splitting a cigarillo right down the middle. she punctures the tobacco with her thumb nail, then works the tear down until the cigarillo’s opened up. you mimic her actions, and she reassures you when you struggle to tear the tobacco in a straight line.
“you’ve got this, angel,” she says with an encouraging smile, eyes glimmering when she looks at you.
stoner!vi whose fingers are methodical, spreading ground up weed into the blunt wrap with a precision that genuinely impresses you. when she starts to fold over the edge to close the blunt, she brings it to her lips, licking along the seam of the wrap and working it closed. those piercing eyes stay focused on you as she works, and you have to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the heat at your center.
stoner!vi who lights your finished blunt for you, holding the lighter to the end of the blunt as you inhale. the cherry glows bright orange and when you exhale a cloud of smoke, vi hums in approval.
“knew you could do it, babe,” she says, and your cheeks go warm. you pass the blunt to her, which she takes with a nod of gratitude.
stoner!vi who gets high enough to suggest shotgunning - a classic pothead-trying-to-get-into-your-pants move. she’s almost surprised when you agree to it… but then again, she’s seen the way you look at her sometimes.
stoner!vi who caresses your jaw with one hand, holding the blunt in her other hand as she brings her lips to yours. it’s an almost-kiss that makes both of you hot with arousal, and as your lips part for you to inhale the smoke from vi’s mouth, you let out a pleased moan.
vi hears it, because of course she does.
stoner!vi who covers you in kisses and bite marks, faint bruises decorating your neck and chest. she takes her time undressing you, hands rough and calloused from a lifetime of fighting. her touch is still soft, though, somehow. she’s gentle when she wants to be.
stoner!vi who pushes you down into the mattress, climbing over you and lowering her clenching cunt to your mouth. you moan against her warm, wet folds. tonguing at her like a woman starved. her lips unleash an endless stream of praises - yes, good girl, that’s it, eat me like that. every filthy word that leaves her mouth only makes you wetter, your eyes rolling back and fluttering closed as vi rides your face.
stoner!vi who squirts when she comes, overwhelmed by the pleasure of fucking herself on your mouth. she’s high and overly sensitive, so when you roll your tongue over her twitching clit, she goes rigid and gasps like a porn star.
stoner!vi who spends the rest of the evening palming your tits and stuffing you full with her fingers, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re nothing but a panting, whining mess for her.
when you’re done, she holds up another blunt, eyes still hazy from the weed and the sex. “wanna go for another?”
you and manon always smoked together before bed, it was a routine, it was apart of the relationship. a time to connect and spend quality time with each other after not seeing each other all day from your different and busy daily schedules. you two rarely skip out on a night time session, really never unless you were both too worn out and wanted to immediately call it a night.
even when you two are having a little disagreement or argument. that doesn’t stop anything! sure, there’s a little tension and a loud silence but the session is still happening.
“yo..” manon called out, standing in the dorm frame, leaning her weight on it slightly, “i just rolled up. you coming?” manon watched you, your slumped shoulders from frustration, and your eyes held a bit of attitude in your gaze.
“yea. i’m coming.” your answer was short and sharp, but you got up, meeting manon by the door, looking up in her eyes, before walking to the your designated smoke spot.
manon sat next to you, with a little space between you both, not wanting to intrude. she grabbed the blunt and lighter from the table, putting the blunt to your mouth and sparking the lighter.
manon always let you hit the blunt first, it was tradition at this point.
you passed the blunt to manon after a few hits, the two of you still sitting in silence, still enjoying the presence of each other, even if you didn’t want to admit it at the moment.
it wouldn’t be long before one of you folded and gave in (9/10 it would always be manon), apologizing, kissing and making up before the blunt is over.
Warnings - slight power imbalance (just mentions of them being your boss), Smoking weed and Nicotine, Dennis being a homo
A/n - This is a Pt. 2 to "Can I get one?" I lowkey HATE how i ended this but i didnt know where to go with it... anyways please give me more requests guys im begging
After a long week in the pitt, you needed a break. Of course, that break came with two days off and smoking with Dennis. It had been a few days since the whole debacle on the roof with Robby and Abbot. Things were a little different at first, more nervous to interact with them. But eventually everything went back to normal. You had told dennis about it shortly after (immediately after, practically shaking with excitement) and it's safe to say he was really jealous.
As you and Dennis packed your bags, letting the night shift take your places, you talk about what to do next. "I got an eighth if you wanna come over tonight, we can finish watching Red White and Royal Blue." Before Dennis can answer, you hear Abbot's voice from behind you. He worked a double yet again but he had tonight and tomorrow night off, same as you. "This an open invitation?" You turn to see him and robby standing behind you, backpacks slung over their own shoulders.
"Uhh..." You look over to Dennis, only giving you wide eyes and a shrug, "Yeah, sure. We were gonna walk to my place, pack a bowl, watch a movie." Robby's brow furrows, looking between you two. "Walk? Don't you live two miles away?" You chuckle at that. He always seemed worried for you both, whether it was at work or in your personal life. Him and Abbot both know where you live because they had delivered medicine (abbot) and soup (Robby's grandmother's recipe) to you a couple months ago while you were sick. "Yeah, but I don't have a car and Dennis' only ride is Trin."
He shakes his head, looking at Abbot and muttering something in his ear. Next thing you know, Dennis is practically being dragged to Abbot's truck. You turn back to Robby, "Sooo I guess Dr. Abbot's giving us a ride." He takes a step closer and nods his head towards where the two men exited. "He's giving Dennis a ride, but his back seat has a bunch of trash, he never cleans his car." He takes his backpack off his shoulder, opening it and pulling out a helmet, "You are riding with me."
As you walk to employee parking, coming up to Robby's motorcycle, you freeze. "You'll be fine, just put on the helmet and hold on tight, alright?" Robby swings one leg over the bike, looking over to you. You always thought motorcycles were cool, one of your favorite being the Yamaha R3, but you've never actually rode one. You swing your own leg over the back of the bike, stumbling a little as you do. As soon as you sit down, he starts the engine, mumbling "Hold on." You hesitate to gently put way hands on the sides of his waist. He grabs your wrists and pulls you closer, making you hug your arms around him. "If you don't wanna fall off, you gotta hold tight."
The ride to your house was quick and short lived. He rode fast and as he said before, it was only two miles. When you arrive, Abbot and Dennis are already there, still sitting in the older man's truck. Dennis seems flustered, but he usually is when talking to them so it's nothing out of the ordinary. Robby gets off his bike and extends a hand to you, steadying you as you hop off as well.
They wait for you to unlock your door and watch as you and Dennis both take off your shoes and hang your jackets on hooks. Such a simple act, yet so domestic; Showing you guys had done this many times before. Robby does the same, although Abbot only takes off one shoe, then follows you to the kitchen. You grab two bags of chips from the cabinet, Dennis opening the fridge before turning to the two men. "Oh uh what would you guys want to drink? There's soda: Coke, sprite and Dr pepper." He pauses, looking away and back to the fridge, pulling out two colorful cans, setting one next to you on the counter. "But we usually have these." Robby looks at the cans, reading the label. 40% Rum, mango flavored.
"I could go for one of those." Abbot nods in agreement before Dennis pulls out another two cans. You throw your arms up, chips in hand, "To my room!" Part of you was nervous, having your bosses in your house and inviting them into your private space, but another part of you wanted it. Wanted to see what they'd look like sitting on your bed. You open the door to dim LED lights, a glowing purple. Dennis sits on your bed, queuing up the movie and taking off his scrubs while you dig around in your desk drawer, telling Abbot and Robby 'Make yourselves comfortable!'
Abbot sits on the bed beside dennis, carefully sliding off his prosthetic and beginning to massage just above his knee. Robby walks over to your desk, watching as you pull out a grinder, glass bowl and small sealed bag. "'Not a lot', huh? Seems like you two do this pretty often." You flush at the comment, recalling the lie you had told them on the roof. In your defense, you would have never guessed they'd join in. You shrug, a shy smile covering your face, "Okay so maybe we do this almost every day off."
You turn to invite Robby to sit on the bed as well. Of course, he sits on the other side of Dennis, squishing him between the two older men. There's not much room for you, but thats never been a problem. You and Dennis were comfortable with each other and saw no cons to cuddling. You sit in front of them, legs tangling with Dennis'. You open the bag, taking out a nugget and start to pick out the stems before putting the rest in the grinder. As you prepare, you try to make casual conversation to make this seem at least a little more normal to you.
"So, Abbot, I heard you had a runner today." The older men share a laugh before he answers. "Yep. Saw the needle and bolted. Although he didn't get far since his shoulder was dislocated." He laughs again before looking you in the eyes, telling you "and please, call me Jack. We aren't at work." You blush at the sentiment. It was just his name, but it felt more than that. Getting closer, more open. As you pack the bowl and grab your lighter, you look between Jack and Robby. "So we have a rule, all new people get honorary first hit. But i guess you guys can play rock/paper/scissors for it."
Jack moves at the speed of light, immediately looking to robby and playing the 'disabled' card. Robby rolls his eyes but smiles "Alright, just take your hit." You give the bowl and lighter to Jack, watching as he takes a small hit and exhales. You don't think you've ever seen someone look so fucking attractive. He skips right over Dennis, passing it to Robby as he coughs. He does the same, taking a bit of a longer hit and turning away to blow it out. He grimaces before trying to pass it to you, "Oh, thats strong." You chuckle before directing the bowl to Dennis. He may not be new, but he's still a guest, so you let him go first.
The older men watch as he takes a longer hit than both of them, exhaling without a cough and passing it to you. You follow before passing it back to Jack, fingers brushing over yours and starting the rotation over. Suddenly you stand up, taking off your scrubs, leaving you in a black long sleeve shirt before going to pick up a pair of sweatpants, telling the other men to keep going while you went to change.
As the bathroom door shut, Jack takes another hit, passing it to Dennis this time. It's mostly quiet before robby perks up. "So, Kid, we heard you get touchy when you're high." Dennis coughs a bit as he exhales, eyes widening. "They told you that?!" Robby laughs, taking the bowl and giving it a good pull. "It's nothin' to worry about. Besides," he nods towards the bathroom door, "they said they're worse." Dennis chuckles, nodding. He doesn't know what you've told them, but it was obviously something, seeing as how the older men looked amused. "Yea, they definitely get... comfortable. Always very handsy."
Robby doesn't have the chance to reply before you walk out, taking the bowl and getting the last big hit. As you lay back down on the bed, your head rests in dennis' lap, his legs caging your sides. "Whatcha talkin' about?" Dennis scoffs, looking down at you. "How needy you get when you're high." You lightly hit him on the thigh, a playful pout taking over your face. "Thats not something they need to hear about! I can control myself when I want to!" The four of you laugh before getting comfortable and starting the movie. You only have about thirty minutes left of it, seeing as you and Dennis were interrupted last time by Trinity barging in with hospital gossip.
You sigh as the movie comes to an end, turning to dennis and asking "You want a cig?" He nods, watching you get up and pull a half full pack out of your desk drawer, making your way back to the bed. Jack looks to Robby as you put one to your mouth and light it, giving him a slight smirk before looking between you and Dennis. "You wanna show us how you two trade smoke?" Normally, if asked that, you would've panicked and started stammering over an excuse. However, Robby was right about the weed being strong and Dennis was right about how needy you get.
You smile, looking to dennis snd telling him its okay as he takes a drag, pulling the cigarette away and softly grabbing your face, pressing his lips right against yours as he exhales. Maybe you should have mentioned you and Dennis are a little more than comfortable with each other. As you pull back, you see both older men raise their eyebrows, sharing amused grins. "That was a little more than trading smoke." You blush at Jack's comment. You really didn't think this through one bit.
Dennis lets out a shy laugh, taking another pull before offering it to Jack. As he lets his fingers pinch the cigarette, he looks Dennis in the eyes, asking "You gonna let me do that?" Dennis' eyes widen, flicking to you for help. You sheepish shrug, offering him a reassuring smile. Dennis had seen you do it with other people, but he noticed you're the only one he actually kisses while doing it, always keeping a distance with everyone else. You watch Jack take a hit before gently putting his hand on the back of Dennis' head.
What neither of you expected was him making contact. Even when you had done it, jack kept a distance. Dennis' eyes widen as Jack presses his lips to the younger man's. Eventually easing into it and inhaling the smoke Jack breathes out. Jack pulls away with a smile, watching the smaller man squirm nervously. Robby pipes up before anyone else, "Y'know I'm feeling a little left out." As dennis takes the cigarette from Jack's hand, he leans up to Robby, this time initiating the contact and exhaling into his mouth.
It's quiet before you huff out a breath, playfully telling them "Well I didn't get all that when I did it." Robby sees this as an invitation, taking the cigarette from dennis' hand and taking a long drag. He cradles your jaw before pressing his lips to yours and breathing out. As you pull away, you exhale, "fuck..." Robby chuckles and hands the cigarette to you.
After finishing the cigarette, you lie back down, once agin settling your head on Dennis' lap. As you listen to the three men talk and feel gentle fingers softly massaging your head, you slowly drift off. You don't wake up when your bosses leave. And you didn't hear them asking Dennis to do this again sometime.
-realistically ik he doesn't smoke but i feel like his go to method would definitely be a bong. he'd either have one of those rick and morty bongs #forthememe or he'd have a reallllyyyy nice bong that's super easy to clean and was clearly handcrafted for him
-for the sake of this headcannon im gonna say his tolerance is prob up there with sukuna. he smokes as a stress reliever and baby we all know he be STRESSED
-don't dare put a backwood in this man's face. that's breakup grounds for him, he don't play that
-always choosing fruit flavored papers because he loves the way it tastes on your lips when he kisses you. alternatively, he also likes picking outrageous strands like something called "cheetah piss" just so it pisses you off
-literally has any smoking device you can think of. need a quick gb? gotcha covered. had a bad day and need a blunt rolled asap? you got it. going to see a crazy movie and wanting more for your experience? why not a quick dab from his $400 dab rig?
-"baby have you seen my digimon lighter???"
- you have to get on his ass sometimes when yall smoke together or in a group setting bc if he gets reallllly into the convo he always ends up babysitting the blunt. this has also started a lot of petty arguments
-king of munchies.
-grilled cheese after a quick bowl? it'll be burnt, but ready. want ramen at 3 am? uber eats already on the way. quick run to the convenience store? he's already putting his coat on.
-always tries to make corny jokes whenever he's fried bc he knows you love them even if they irritate the shit out of you.
-ended up pavoloving himself by getting horny everytime he smokes with you. but can you really blame the man? having high sex with you was the closest to euphoria he's ever felt and he's not stopping anytime soon
toji
-dawg LMAOOOOOOO
-this nigga smokes backwoods. and not the fruity shit either, the originals. he hates anything flavored with a passion and will look at you like you're dumb if you present him with anything but. you've even asked him why, and his response?:
-"i'm a grown ass man i don't need no damn russian cream on my lips"
-usually only likes to smoke on his off days (which are few and far between). those times are when you can usually find him smoking on the couch with a beer clutched in his left hand.
- speaking of, he smokes the nastiest gbs too. cap all grimy, water hasn't been changed in like 2 months, bottle damn near got a ecosystem in it. it's a small plastic coke bottle that looks too tiny in his brawny hands.
-you've begged him to change it bc clearly that's not hygienic but he claims it "helps build character" and he's "too busy to keep up with that shit" he's too lazy to change it
- with toji being in such a dangerous yet affluent profession, with money comes an endless supply. so you never have to ask for toji to "re-up" on anything.
-you banned him from making eye contact whenever he's rolling. the way he looks at you as he licks his lips and glides the tip of his tongue across the tobacco gets you going. you call him a freak and all he does is smirks, bc he ABSOLUTELY knows what he's doing
-you dropped the blunt once by accident while you two were smoking together and you swear your life flashed before your eyes
- mixture of weed and his cologne >>>>>>>
-high sex with him is the best esp if he's stressed. usually your sex is more like rough love making, but whenever he's done hitting the blunt after a hard day, he gives you that look and you know you're about to be bent over the sofa in a tight headlock in .2 seconds
nanami
-i don't think nanami would smoke either BUT IF HE DID i feel like he'd have a simple lil one-hitter. black with white marble, a big bowl, and a cute little silver metal scraper you got him for his kief.
-his tolerance is pretty low. he smokes often enough to have one built but not enough to where he has to smoke more than 1 joint to feel smth yknow?
-he saves fruit rolls as a special treat, his favorite flavor being mango. you always have one rolled ready for him
-only buys from dispensaries or the most bougiest eccentric seller you know that grows their stuff natural in the countryside. nanami is a stickler for these things so he tries his best to source them as organically as he can. god forbid something happened to you, him, or anyone else he loved and cared about. he's a safe smoker and he takes pride in that.
-owns a joint holder ring because he refuses to get his hands burned if he can control it. he would prefer his burns to be from cooking and not from the "devils lettuce"
-has a dab pen hidden in his desk at work if he needs smth to take the edge off on those special days aka everyday when he works w gojo
-loves baking new treats for you and having you and your friends be taste testers for his edibles :3
-is the best caretaker for you if you ever got too high. is always nice and gentle with you so it always makes you feel safe and in a controlled environment.
-has narcan on deck and ALWAYS tests yours and everyone's stuff because he'll be damned if someone got laced under his watch
suguru
-BABBBYYYYYY
-i feel like out of everything he'd enjoy smoking papers the most. he likes blunts but they're not his go-to. will smoke about anything but a dab pen or backwoods, both are too harsh for his lungs.
- he pre-rolls joints for the WEEEKKK. literally has designated joints for days and length, but it mostly depends on how the day was for both of yall. he likes to be prepared and it gives him something to look forward to during his stressful weeks.
-has a lighter on a leash because gojo loves stealing his. even had to go as far as engraving his initials into his favorite digimon lighter that gojo stole
-has a growing lighter collection because of you. he was never really into it like that until you got him a special clicker, a beautiful white dragon with a blue flame.
-likes putting herbs in his rolls to help him relax/breathe better. prefers mullein, peppermint, or lavender.
-loves chain smoking with you. he says it's more "cost effective" but you believe it's just because he wants to kiss you.
-like toji he's also banned from making any kind of eye contact with you when he rolls. his intensity has definitely gotten you in trouble more than once. he definitely gets a little frisky.
-makes fun of nanami for smoking a dab pen because "why hit that when you can just do a real dab" he hit a blinker once and got scared
- on special occasions you both do shrooms together but only when you both are in a good, healthy mindset. you usually save these special moments for anniversaries or birthdays :D
-only smokes indica because sativa makes him too anxious
choso
-king of taking a fat dab in the morning
- nah i'm jk lol i don't think he'd be able to handle that unless he was a Faithful stoner. i'm talking abt clocked in day and out
-had a really bad high once when he smoked for the first time and swore he'd never smoke again. he smoked a joint with you 2 days later.
-his tolerance is pretty low but the more he smokes with you and his friends the stronger his tolerance gets. it gets to a point where he just has a joint tucked away behind his ear for whenever the opportunity presents itself.
-i feel like he's not really much of a talker when he smokes, so whenever you do it together you spend it either drawing and listening to music, or cuddling and just watching one of the latest shows you've been meaning to catch up on.
-can't eat edibles or psychedelics because he hates being high for too long. you split an edible with him one time not knowing the dose (mostly bc you forgot) and you both were high as hell for 3 days straight 😭 after that he swore off of them
-loves playing horror games with you whenever you're in the mood to. a good blunt and outlast 2? a perfect date! you don't understand how he does it but he claims it's "exhilarating" (you don't like getting paranoid especially when you're high but he always lets you cuddle into his chest whenever you get scared. you definitely don't mind him peppering your neck and cheeks with kisses, relaxing into his hold)
-always compliments you whenever it's just you two smoking. "baby you look so good, can i kiss you?"
-"you're such a pretty girl. i can't believe how lucky i am..."
-"you're so ethereal..."
sukuna
-i feel like sukuna gives me dealer vibes. smokes weed every once in a while but mostly likes to smoke cigars.
-never know what the fuck you're dealing with when it comes to weed and sukuna. got some new shit from his dealer once and it was literally called alaskan thunderfuck. (no you didn't smoke it).
-type of man to smoke just to smoke because his tolerance is hiiiiighhhhhh . you saw him eat an entire 3000 mg edible before and all he felt was a buzz. you started taking him more seriously when he said his tolerance was high after that.
-half of the time when you smoke w him you always tap-out so it usually just ends with you stuck on the couch and him just vibing finishing the rest. he's called you a pussy multiple times because of it but you've learned to choose your own battles, and being able to out smoke sukuna is not one of them.
-but back on track for the drug dealer part, this man is literally the devil
-cuts his weed with illegal shit half of the time because he's not a good person!!!!!!
-does not gaf abt no one but you and the bag
-he usually lets you ride around with him when he does his drop offs because he loves making you his eye candy (but god forbid someone tries to flirt with you. it's OVER)
- sukuna one time didn’t have sandwich bags so he gave people their weed in a napkin. when he doesn't have a napkin he just gives them crumbles of bud and let them deal with the rest.
-has no time management what so ever. the type of plug to say "omw" at 2pm and says it again at 10 pm finally pulling up, only to short you a gram of what you bought anyway. sukuna lowkey sucks LOL
It started out like any other quiet Saturday morning.
Simon was up early, the house still half-dark, kettle whistling while he cleaned up the kitchen. You were still asleep—curled up and dead to the world after another long week at your new job. He didn’t mind. You worked hard. And honestly, he liked having a reason to hover around the house, tidy up, play domestic for a bit.
Then he made the mistake.
The laundry basket sat by the washing machine—overflowing, begging for attention. He sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and started sorting.
Darks.
Whites.
Work clothes—yours.
He paused, lifting one of your shirts. It was stiff. Sticky, even. And the smell… Christ.
He held it up, expression twisting. “What the hell…”
It was the kind of scent that made his eyes water—a mix of earth, resin, and something unmistakably illegal. He sniffed it once, grimaced, and muttered, “Bloody hell, love. You could get high just breathin’ near this.”
Still, he wasn’t about to be defeated by laundry. He was a soldier, after all. He’d handled worse.
He dumped everything in the washer, poured in half a bottle of detergent for good measure, and set the cycle. Job done. Easy.
At least, he thought so.
You woke up to cursing.
The kind of colorful, creative cursing that could only mean one thing—Simon was angry, and not at someone else. At himself.
You padded into the laundry room, rubbing your eyes. “Si? What’s wrong?”
He was standing over the open washing machine, shoulders tense, jaw tight. “Your bloody work clothes, that’s what’s wrong.”
You blinked. “You tried to wash them?”
“Tried,” he said flatly, holding up a pair of his favorite black joggers—now covered in faint greenish smears and little flecks of something that looked suspiciously like… weed.
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” he deadpanned. “Looks like a bloody grow operation in there. Smells like one too.”
He tossed the joggers onto the counter with a thud. The air was thick with that heavy, skunky sweetness that no amount of detergent could mask. Even the dryer sheets were fighting for their lives.
You peeked into the machine and winced. “Yeah, uh… my work clothes kinda… stick to stuff.”
“Kinda?” he echoed, staring at the mess. “It’s like glue, love. I think the drum’s coated.”
He leaned back, hands on his hips, glaring at the washer as if it had personally betrayed him. You could see the effort it took for him not to lose it entirely.
You couldn’t hold the laughter back anymore. “You’re adorable when you try to be domestic.”
He cut you a look—deadpan, unimpressed—but there was a twitch of a smile under it. “Remind me never to help again.”
You stepped closer, resting your chin on his arm. “Hey, at least it smells like work, not like something sketchy. You should be proud of me. Gainful employment.”
“Proud,” he muttered, “and high as a kite just from laundry fumes.”
You laughed again, pressing a kiss to his arm. “I’ll fix it. Promise.”
He sighed, looking down at you with mock defeat. “You’d better. My kit smells like I’ve been hotboxin’ in a greenhouse.”
You grinned. “Guess that’s one way to relax after a mission.”
He snorted, finally cracking a grin of his own. “You’re lucky I love you.”
You leaned up on your toes and kissed him. “I know.”
Later, you caught him out back, airing his ruined clothes on the line, muttering under his breath about “bloody sticky plants” and “never again.”
But the next morning, when you went to work, you noticed something.
Your hoodie—the one that always smelled faintly of the crop room—was gone.
You found it later, draped over Simon’s chair in the bedroom.
And it hit you: he might complain, but deep down, he didn’t really mind the smell at all.
Heyyy I’m here to request something kinda specific (the monster in ur inbox ate this once I think so let’s pray) so how ab Bucky x Stoner!reader BUT with a twist, so as someone with severe ADHD its some times hard to get my medicine due to shortages constantly and partake in the ✨za✨ to calm down. so yeah like imagine reader like tweaking and having a million things to do but only being able to procrastinate and focus on the wrong things and then smoking with Bucky in the house for the first time and him seeing a completely different person that’s super mellow and chill compared to her off of her meds
I rly hope this made sense 😭
You’re vibrating.
Not metaphorically—literally. One knee bouncing, fingers tapping against your phone screen while your brain ricochets between unfinished emails, a half-folded pile of laundry, the sudden and urgent need to reorganize the spice cabinet, and the crushing guilt of doing none of it.
Your meds ran out three days ago.
Again.
Again.
The pharmacy’s on backorder. Again.
You’ve called. You’ve waited on hold. You’ve cried once in the bathroom and then forgotten why you were there in the first place.
So now you’re pacing your apartment like a trapped thought, talking too fast, starting sentences you don’t finish.
Bucky watches from the doorway.
He doesn’t interrupt. He never does.
He leans against the frame, metal arm catching the low lamplight, eyes tracking you with that quiet, soldier-still focus. Bucky Barnes has seen panic attacks, dissociation, spirals that turn violent—but this? This restless buzzing inside your skin is new.
“You okay, doll?” he asks gently.
You laugh, sharp and breathless. “Define okay.”
You’re rambling again—about deadlines, about how your brain won’t shut up, about how you’ve been staring at the same email for forty minutes and somehow ended up googling whether penguins have knees.
Bucky hums. A soft sound. Processing.
He watches as you stop mid-sentence, grab your hoodie, then forget why you picked it up in the first place.
That’s when you hesitate.
“Uh,” you say, suddenly shy. “So… this is kind of embarrassing.”
He straightens. “You don’t gotta—”
“I smoke,” you blurt. “Sometimes. When I can’t get my meds. It helps. I just— I’ve never done it with you here.”
There’s a pause.
You brace yourself for judgment. For concern. For a lecture wrapped in gentleness.
Instead, Bucky just nods.
“Okay,” he says simply. “You want company, or you want space?”
Your shoulders sag with relief. “Company. Please.”
You expect awkwardness. Maybe tension. But Bucky follows you to the couch, sits beside you—not crowding, just present. He watches closely, asking quiet questions, letting you set the pace.
The first inhale burns. The second settles.
And then—
Everything slows.
Your knee stops bouncing. Your thoughts stop colliding and instead drift, lazy and soft, like clouds finally spreading out. The noise in your head lowers from a roar to a hum.
You sink back into the couch with a long sigh. “Ohhh. There she is.”
Bucky blinks.
You blink back at him, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth curved in the sleepiest little smile. Your voice drops an octave, mellow and warm.
“Hi,” you say, like you’ve just woken up from the best nap of your life.
He stares.
This version of you is… different. Still you, but softer around the edges. No frantic movements. No apologies spilling out of your mouth. You lean into him without overthinking it, curl against his side like it’s instinct.
Bucky’s heart stutters.
“You feel better?” he asks quietly.
“Mhm,” you murmur. “Brain’s not screaming anymore. Just… vibing.”
He huffs a small laugh. “You’re… real calm.”
You grin lazily. “Yeah. I’m usually like this inside. Just— trapped.”
That does something to him.
You reach for his hand—metal and all—thumb tracing over the cool plates like you’re grounding him now. Your thoughts wander slower, kinder.
“Sorry you only ever see me in goblin mode,” you mumble.
Bucky shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. Both versions are you.”
He hesitates, then admits softly, “I like this one too, though. You’re… peaceful.”
You tilt your head, studying him with unfiltered affection. “You make me feel safe enough to be like this.”
His throat tightens.
You yawn, forehead dropping to his shoulder, fingers still loosely laced with his. No overthinking. No spiraling. Just existing.
Bucky wraps an arm around you carefully, like you might spook—but you melt into him instead, humming contentedly.
He realizes then that this isn’t about the weed. Or the meds. Or productivity.
It’s about how hard you fight your own mind every day.
And how, right now, you finally get to rest.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head, voice low and steady. “We’ll figure the meds out. Together. Until then—whatever helps you breathe, yeah?”
