#high reader

Jason Todd x Reader | Fluff, Humor, Soft ChaosWord count: ~900 Warnings: mild intoxication (reader is tipsy/high), swearing, extreme clinginess, soft Jason Summary: You’re drunk. Possibly high. Jason is babysitting. You think the ceiling lights are constellations. He’s questioning his life choices—and also maybe a little in love with you.

So reader is best friends with Aaron and Aaron being Aaron accidentally gives reader a weed brownie and reader ate a lot of them so now the plastics are just dragging around an high reader

The Box of Brownies

|| poly!plastics x high!nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; swearing, reader & aaron use weed underage, high reader & aaron, brief mentions of throw up but no one actually does, short drabble, fluffy

|| Summary; when the plastics come to find reader at Aaron's, they find the two high out of their minds.

Requests open!

Started; November 9th

Finished; November 9th

~~~

To say you and Aaron were best friends would be an understatement. The two of you practically hung out all the time. If someone was ever looking for one of you, they'd just have to ask the other who would almost every time know where they were.

You’re halfway back to your room when you hear it—

that sound.

A low, ragged ohhhh that makes you freeze mid‑step, socks squeaking slightly on the TARDIS floor.

Your high‑hazed brain kicks in slowly:

…is that… the Doctor?

You tiptoe down the curved corridor, oversized shirt brushing your thighs. The faint weed smell still clings to you, sweet and earthy. You’d been outside on the TARDIS steps ten minutes ago, looking at stars and trying to talk her into just one hit.

“Time Lords don’t get lung damage, Doc! C’mon. It’s relaxing!”

She’d laughed, cheeks pink, hands waving wildly. “I relax loads! I’m very relaxed!” (She is never relaxed.)

But the noise again—broken, desperate—pulls you closer. A door ahead is cracked open, golden lamplight spilling out.

You lean in, heartbeat in your ears.

…and immediately clap a hand over your mouth.

Inside, River’s curls bounce with each thrust of her hips, the shimmer of a black strap harness catching the light. She’s got the Doctor—your Doctor, with that blonde hair falling in her face and her rainbow shirt rumpled—bent over a padded bench. Coat tossed aside, trousers halfway down, her thighs shaking as she claws at the bench, gasping out little half‑choked noises.

“River—” 13’s voice breaks on the name, high and trembling.

“Oh, you sound divine,” River purrs, hips rolling deeper, slower, drawing out another whimper. “That’s it, love, take it. You always take me so well.”

Your knees almost buckle. You shouldn’t be watching. You shouldn’t. But you’re rooted to the spot, heat pooling low in your belly.

Then River’s head lifts. Those dangerous eyes find you instantly through the cracked door.

And her smile blooms wicked.

She doesn’t stop. She tightens her grip on the Doctor’s hip, leans down close to her ear, and loud enough for you to hear murmurs,

“If they could see you now, my darling… the brilliant Doctor, gasping like this while I ruin you.”

The Doctor sobs out a breath, face hidden in the crook of her arm. “R‑River—don’t—”

River tuts, slow and deliberate in her thrusts, and locks eyes with you again.

“They’ve been wandering this ship in those little shorts… do you know how badly we’ve both wanted to feel them between us? Imagine it, Doctor—imagine them right here, tasting you while I—” She punctuates with a sharp thrust that makes 13 yelp.

You feel your entire body go molten, one hand braced on the doorframe to keep upright. Your mind is a mess of holy shit holy shit holy shit.

River’s grin widens. She keeps her eyes on you as she murmurs to her wife, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Letting them see how pretty you look when you come apart?”

The Doctor makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh, legs trembling. “Y‑yes— ohhh, stars—”

And you can’t look away.

Not when River’s rhythm quickens, her voice dropping to a growl.

Not when 13’s moans turn frantic, when she shakes apart in River’s hands, gasping, boneless.

You’re still pressed against the wall when River slows, soothing, brushing hair from 13’s flushed face.

“You’re perfect, my love,” she whispers to her.

And then, just before she closes the door fully, River glances back at you. The smile she gives you is lethal. A promise.

---

Later, you’re sitting cross‑legged on your bed, staring at your ceiling, brain spinning so fast it’s almost funny. Your cheeks hurt from grinning. Your whole body is warm.

The door opens with a soft creak.

River slides in, curls damp now, still glowing with that post‑sin radiance. She leans on the doorframe, arms crossed, lips curved.

“You stayed longer than I thought you would,” she says, amused.

You choke. “I— I didn’t mean— I was just—”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She crosses the room, crouching in front of you. Her fingers rest lightly on your bare knee. Her voice drops low, conspiratorial. “You know we’ve been trying to flirt with you for weeks, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches. “I thought… I mean, you’re married—”

“Mm.” River hums, eyes glinting. “Married, yes. Closed? Not even slightly.” Her thumb strokes over your knee, sending sparks straight through you. “And after tonight? Oh, darling… she’s going to think about you every time she touches herself.”

Your mouth goes dry. “She… knows I saw?”

River’s grin turns wolfish. “Not yet.” She winks. “But I’ll tell her.”

Your jaw drops. “River!”

“She deserves to know how lovely you looked standing there,” River says, standing smoothly, brushing her curls back. “Besides… it’ll give her something to think about. Something to look forward to.”

You stare up at her, flustered and aching, as she heads back toward the door. She pauses in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

“Wear those little shorts again tomorrow,” she says with a smirk. “And maybe bring that blunt of yours. We’ll convince her yet.”

tw: drinking, smoking, suggestive themes

“When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Then find someone who’s life is givin’ them vodka and have a party!” Emma said as she had picked you up from school.

"Party, party, party, vodka-omg, we should throw a party Emma!" You screamed, making the girl jump on her seat, a horn could be heard on the background, she just got her head out of the window and yelled something like "FUCK OFF", before continuing driving.

"Yeah, you're fucking right! Let's call Hina" She grinned, looking at the road ahead.

Soon, the preparations started, and all of ToMan was invited.

You bought countless of bottles of alcohol, vodka, jin, campari, fernet (an argentinian drink) and some juice, lemon and orange, coke and gallons of water for the hungover.

You decided to contact a friend of yours as a dj, setting up the table for him to put his stuff on.

You then took the precious things out of your living room, such as glass containers, fancy paintings and expensive carpets.

The night finally came, and the room was filled with people you knew and loved.

From beer pong to smoking weed outside, the night was going crazy.

You stuck with the girls most of the time, but soon Nahoya and Souta pulled you outside, to lit up a joint with them and chat.

“Beer is proof that God loves us.” ― Nahoya stated, while taking a long sip of his blonde beer.

"You don't belive in god"

"Shup up Souta"

The joint was passed to you, and after taking a long puff and mantaining it on your mouth for 3 seconds, you exhaled, passing it to Souta.

Angry tried to copy you, but a fit of coughs came after, making Smiley and you laugh.

"S-shut up" he stuttered, it was his first time after all.

"Take it easy bro" Smiley grinned. "Be careful, it's starting to burn"

Nahoya soon took off, with an excuse of getting more to drink, but he never came back.

You sat with Souta and began a conversation, one-sided mostly, because all that came from his mouth were "yes" "uhu" "will you look at that" "i see".

The weed was making effect on you, suddely seeing double and-wait, was Souta always this attractive?

With the mixture of the cannabis and the alcohol, you began to feel more confident, scooting closer to the boy while you rubbed his arm with your finger tips, your light blue nails brushing against his skin. Ironic, just like his cute hair. He didn't seem uncomfortable, just flustered.

"Heyyy~ so, can you accomany me to the bathroom?" you asked, dragging your words.

He nodded his head and followed your shaky figure to the restroom of your house.

He had to put your arm around his shoulders to prevent you from falling, the curve of his musculed yet thin shoulders making your core twitch.

Your breast was pressed slightly on the side of his torso.

When you reached your destination, you took his hand and guided him inside, making him confused.

"(Y/n), i can wait outside" he stated while blushing, but you shook your head and giggled.

When you were both secured inside, you pushed him to the wall, making his stumble over your legs and almost fall.

He stared back at you with wide eyes.

"W-what are you doing" he asked nervously, his eyes avoiding your ogling.

Your hands went suddely under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense under your cold fingers.

You kissed his temple softly.

"Is this ok?"

He froze, but then nodded his head slowly, his eyes finally catching yours.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 800

Warnings: Talking dirty, high reader, mentions of blow jobs.

A/N: This is kinda based on me getting my wisdom teeth removed. For @melissaj616 challenge. My prompt was high after getting wisdom teeth removed. Congratulations on your milestone!

Masterlist

“My face feels funny.”

“Y/N stop poking your face,” Dean pushed your hand away from your face. You shook your head wildly letting gauze fall from your mouth. Looking down at it your eyes widened in fear, “Is that…mouth?” Your poked your cheeks again.

Dean stayed silent, helping you put another piece of gauze in your mouth. He was able to get you into the Impala without any further trouble, almost. On the way to the Impala you saw birds in the parking lot and tried to jump out of the wheelchair only to land on your face. Aside from that incident he got you in the Impala.

The rumble of the car put you in a partially dazed sleep. The low volume of classic rock music played while Dean tapped his fingers along to the beat. As the opening vocals played through the speakers you shot up.

The TARDIS hums low and steady beneath your feet, and you swear she’s vibing with you—or maybe that’s just the aftereffects of the edible you split with River three hours ago. You’re still riding the warm wave of it, limbs loose and mind floating just a few seconds behind everything else. You wander the halls barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, following the familiar buzz of the console room and the promise of The Doctor doing something utterly baffling with levers and switches that probably shouldn’t be touched in any universe.

You push the door open with a lazy smile, expecting to see your favorite grump muttering to himself, hair all wild and coat flaring with every movement.

You are not expecting to walk in on River Song on her knees, lips around his—

Oh.

OH.

Your body locks up for a second. Your brain, already moving in slow stoner time, takes way too long to catch up. You blink. Once. Twice. Doctor's head jerks up with a sound that's half horror, half strangled groan. His cheeks are flushed, hair even messier than usual, tie loosened and shirt collar popped open like he just ran through a thunderstorm and a fever dream at the same time.

“Ah,” River says, voice syrupy and smug, still very much in position. She doesn’t miss a beat. "Look who’s finally wandered in."

You freeze. “I—I didn’t mean to—uh—this is—”

"Adorable, isn’t it?" River purrs, pulling back with a soft, wet sound that makes your legs weak. She turns her head to you without fully letting go of the Doctor’s lap, tongue teasing the corner of her lip like she's making a meal out of your embarrassment. "Our darling little companion, getting an eyeful."

The Doctor groans, hands half-raised like he wants to hide and also disappear entirely. “River—could you not—”

"Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” she interrupts, brushing her thumb across the Doctor’s jaw with maddening affection. “They’ve been watching us for months. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You’re still by the door, heat crawling up your neck. "I—I wasn’t watching—I mean, maybe sometimes. A little. Occasionally. Accidentally. It’s not like you’re not hot, both of you, but like—damn, this is a lot to walk in on, okay?!"

River laughs, musical and wicked. “Oh, they’re high again, aren’t they?” she says to the Doctor like you’re a particularly cute pet caught chewing on the sofa.

The Doctor gives you a long-suffering look, half-glare, half something much softer. You’re not sure what to do with the way it makes your stomach flip.

“I told you we should’ve locked the door,” he mutters.

“And miss this reaction?” River smirks. "No, no. This is exactly what I wanted. They've been so patient, so sweet... letting us dance around them. Don’t you think it’s time we made things a little more... inclusive?"

Your mouth opens. Closes. The TARDIS hums knowingly behind you, like she’s waiting for your answer too.

You swallow. "Are... are y’all plotting on me?"

“Absolutely,” River says without hesitation.

The Doctor runs a hand through his hair, still flushed, but now his lips are tugging into that rare, crooked smirk you love so much. “It was her idea,” he says, deadpan. “Mostly.”

River leans back against his thigh, head tilted. “Don’t act like you didn’t suggest the shared bedroom idea.”

“Purely for spatial efficiency!” he huffs, looking anywhere but at you or River.

You laugh—high, nervous, thrilled. “Y’all are insane.”

“Genius,” the Doctor corrects.

“Archaeologist,” River chimes in.

“And you,” she adds, eyes dragging up your body with slow delight, “are clearly into it.”

Jen canceled in the most Jen way possible—something about her uncle’s guinea pig escaping and biting her foot while she was chasing it barefoot in a drainage pipe?

“Anywayyyy,” her voicemail chirps, “I got someone better. Trust me. Their name’s [REDACTED] and they’re chill but, like, scarily responsible. You're gonna love them. They’re on their way. Okay bye!”

So here you are.

Literally a minute early. Standing on the Belchers’ welcome mat, knocking gently with your Hello Kitty tote slung over one shoulder—stuffed with snacks, backup charger, mini first aid kit, allergy meds, reusable juice pouches, and exactly one Ziploc of weed gummies (for later, duh).

You're dressed cute, like… stupid cute. Mod '60s black mini dress, swirly tights in maroon and burnt orange, those red hot pants peeking every time you shift your weight. Chunky platforms. Gold bangles clinking when you check your phone. Long skinny locs the color of dried roses. Piercings sparkling in the porch light. That heavy black lipliner and blood-red lipstick combo that says, I have been perceived by the void and I did not flinch.

And when Bob opens the door?

He flinches.

Well—not flinch, but like. Recoils. In a dazed, flustered, oh no she’s hot and I wasn’t ready kind of way.

Linda’s right behind him, hand on his back, peeking over his shoulder, and her eyes go wide.

“Oooohhhh,” she gasps, instantly nudging Bob out of the way to get a better look. “You’re Jen’s friend?!”

“Acquaintance,” you correct gently, with a half-smile. “She said you needed a sitter?”

“YEAH, we did!” Linda is already obsessed. She's got her hands on her hips, scanning your whole look like she’s mentally pinning it to her ‘Style Inspiration’ board. “You are CUTE. Oh my God, Bob, look at their little—ooh, look at your little tights! You got little swirls on 'em!”

Bob is very much already looking. Trying very hard not to stare, but failing miserably every time you cross your legs or tilt your head or exist in the general vicinity of him.

“You smell like…” he starts, and then seems to short-circuit.

“Don’t worry,” you smirk. “I don’t smoke around kids. I’m just—seasoned.”

Linda laughs, loud and delighted. “SEASONED?! Bob, I love them already!”

The kids? Yeah. They’re obsessed the moment you pull two packs of capri-suns and a tiny fruit tray out of your bag like Mary Poppins if she was a weed-smoking alt older sister with a nose ring.

Gene asks if you’ll play keyboard. Louise challenges you to a battle of wits. Tina follows you around like a baby duck because “your vibe is very… confident but mysterious. You could totally write zombie horse fanfic with me.”

You clean up dinner without being asked. Help Gene tune his keyboard by ear. Have Tina asleep by 9:00 with a heating pad and a book about werewolf sociology. Somehow get Louise to brush her teeth and change her socks without bribery or bloodshed.

And when Bob and Linda get back?

The lights are low. The house is quiet. You’re curled up on the couch with a blanket over your legs and a YouTube doc about Victorian post-mortem photography playing softly while you snack on crackers from your bag.

Bob’s jaw slackens. Linda squeezes his arm.

You glance back at them and smile sleepily. “Kids are out. Gene’s keyboard’s charging. Tina said you guys owe her a romance manga, FYI. And Louise tried to convince me she’s allowed to eat frozen shrimp raw. Pretty sure that’s a lie.”

Bob croaks, “She’s done it before.”

You nod, sagely. “Figures.”

Linda walks over, sinking into the couch next to you like you’ve been friends for years. “You are a DREAM, sugar.”

You laugh. “Just don’t let Jen take the credit. She barely remembers my last name.”

Bob stands awkwardly nearby, fiddling with his keys, definitely staring at the hem of your dress when he thinks you won’t notice. Spoiler: you notice.

Before you go, they ask—super casual, barely trying to mask the desperation—if you’d be willing to babysit again next weekend.

“We were thinking of going out again, but we might… y’know… cancel last minute,” Linda says, real breezy.

“Wouldn’t wanna waste your time, though,” Bob adds. “So maybe you just… stay and hang out with us? After the kids go to sleep?”

His voice cracks a little. Linda elbows him with a smirk.

You arch a brow, slow and amused.

“Are you guys trying to flirt with me?”

Bob looks like someone smacked him with a frying pan. Linda giggles and shrugs.

“…Maybe.”

You lean back, looking them both over with a lazy grin.

Clearly, you’d drifted away with your thoughts again, so Bucky cupped your chin with his human hand and tilted your head back to look at him, refocusing your waning attention. He leaned in close to you, his warm breath smelling of mint, as though he had been getting ready for bed before he’d caught you.

His pink lips brushed against yours as he spoke, more softly this time. “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Stop.” he emphasized every word as clearly as he could, more like a statement than a question, but your mind now could only focus on the touch of his lips on yours. The pressure wasn’t nearly enough.

Your eyes fluttered and you shook your head, swallowing thickly as your mouth went dry.

“Words, doll.” He murmured, his hand leaving your jaw to join the other at the small of your back before they each drifted to your hips, giving a light squeeze. It was the only thing tethering you to focus. “Use your words.” He reiterated, not removing his hands though his thumbs moved in small circles along your hips.