just relax and smoke weed

Steal Me With A Kiss (Sam Winchester x Reader)

Summary: You get high with Sam

Word count: 1,133

Your fingertips carefully rolled the joint as your mind drifted into the endless abyss of nothingness. There wasn’t anything to think about. It was Sunday and a hunt free day, so you just wanted to relax…You didn’t usually smoke weed, maybe once a month, to cheer yourself up and smile for a change. Being a hunter wasn’t easy and being in love with one was even harder. Sam Winchester was far more than a friend to you. He made your heart skip a beat as the people say and made your palms sweat. Ever since you first met the Winchesters seven years ago on a cold winter’s day in Kansas while hunting a vampire’s nest, your eyes went on Sam. He was kind, smart, selfless and so damn good looking. You never really had the guts to tell him how you felt so you accepted the fact that nothing will happen between the two of you and tried to move on. Better to have him as your friend and family than not have him in your life at all. That was harder than you thought but you somehow managed it. You had to. 
As you were about to light up your joint someone knocked once and entered your room. 

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Levi's Advice

Armin, be the same smart ass motherfucker as always. Combine your smart ass with Hanji’s dumbass. It’ll either be a shitshow, or it’ll work out. Make it work out.

Mikasa, channel your inner Momkasa. Protect this brat with the ferocity and passion of a thousand Eren Jaegers.

Eren, chill the fuck out. Smoke some weed, take an herbal bath, just relax you fuckin’ weirdo.

simon imagine: smoker

REQUESTED:  “Simon and y/n imagine where you’re dating and you used to be a smoker and you smoke occasionally and Simon really doesn’t like it.. so one time he asks you why you do it and how it makes you feel and asks you to stop..”

The brick wall was cold and rough as I slid my back down it. I sat cross legged on the floor, the pavement slightly wet underneath me, the rainwater soaking through the thin stretchy fabric of my dress. My head pounded, the loud bass from the club still fresh in my ears. Alcohol ran through my veins, interacting with my blood and I took a deep breath, feeling so stressed out and anxious from my surroundings. There’s only one thing that makes me feel better when I’m at this level of discomfort. 

I rummaged through the piles of old receipts and empty chewing gum wrappers laying astray in my bag until I found them. There they were, laying at the bottom, looking the picture of desire. I pulled out the box. My insides jumped at the excitement: it had been months since I had even had a drag of a cigarette, and I had missed it intensely. It wasn’t that I was addicted - no, not even nearly - it was just that I enjoyed the relief. It was exciting and enjoyable every time I tried it. I always carried a packet with me. It was a comfort thing: I had bought this particular box at the start of last year; that shows how rare of an occasion me smoking truly is.

I pulled out a single cigarette and placed it in my mouth, lighting it as I did so. There it was - that familiar sense of relief. It was almost as if with every exhale all of the stress I’d been carrying left my body, joining the smoke and dancing into the distance with the rest of London’s air. I wore a satisfied smile as I took another hit.

“Y/n? What are you doing?”

Well, there goes the relief. As I looked up I caught eyes with Simon. His expression was hard to read in the darkness, his face just about visible under the neon lights of the club above us. I couldn’t help but feel thankful that I couldn’t see his expression, as I was sure it would be one of mass disappointment.

“Y/n I thought you didn’t smoke anymore?”


“I don’t..much.”

I heard him sigh in frustration and I internally cursed. The one time I smoke, after about four months, and he catches me. Fucking great. 

“So you lied?”

A wave of guilt washed over me. Simon had been clear right from the start about how much he hated smoking, and initially I had respected that. But I missed it, and I hated the idea of his views interfering with my habits. If I wanted to smoke, I should be allowed to. I contemplated saying this to Simon, however he was tipsy and angry, and I decided to keep my mouth shut. 

“Simon, I didn’t lie to you,” I replied calmly, rolling my eyes behind the darkness. “I don’t smoke anymore, I mean that. This is the first one I’ve had in months.”

“So then why do you carry them in your bag?” He bit back, his tone undetectable. 

“For comfort? I don’t know, Simon.”

“So you’re dependent on them then.”

“I just told you I’m not! I haven’t had one in four fucking months Simon!”

“Yeah, and you also just told me you carry them in your bag for comfort, which implies you’re dependent on them to feel comforted.”

Damn it - drunk Simon makes good points. I let out a defeated sigh, the cigarette still sitting awkwardly inbetween my fingers as Simon sat down next to me, cursing quietly at the wet ground. I rested my head on his shoulder.

“I don’t want us to fall out over this Simon. I hate when we fight.”

“I don’t want us to either, Y/n. I just wanna understand it. Why do you do it?”

“I don’t! It’s not like I do it every day, not even every week!” I snapped, growing quickly frustrated at his constant questioning. He placed his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him.

“I know, I’m not accusing you of that Y/n I believe you. I just wanna know why, when you do smoke, you choose to do it. I wanna know how it makes you feel.”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain..It’s just relaxing. Why does anyone drink, or smoke weed or comfort eat? It’s just a method of coping.”

“And what are you coping with tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I snuggled further into him. “I just felt…anxious. There’s a lot of people in there, Simon, the constant greeting people, hugging, taking pictures - it gets exhausting.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” He sighed, chuckling slightly and I rolled my eyes.

“I know but you’re used to it. That’s all a part of your job. I’m not, and it’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“I know, and I get that. But can’t you find another habit to help you cope with stress? Take up a yoga class, let me fuck you more, start swimming. You know, less destructive things.”

“Shut up Simon,” I giggled, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Why do you hate it so much?”

I felt him tense. “You want the honest answer?”

“Always, Simon.”

“Because I hate the idea of you doing anything that could take even a day off of your life, Y/n. I just want you to be as healthy as is humanly possible. I want your life to be as long as possible man, we’ve got things to achieve.”

My chest warmed and I shut my eyes. Things to achieve. The boy makes an incredibly convincing argument. 

“Ahh fine,” I groaned, turning to look at him. “I’ll stop. For you.”

His face lit up, eyes shining a brighter blue and suddenly everything was incredibly worth it. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

“I love you Y/n, thank you.”

“Yeah I love you too Simon,” I smiled, my arms crossing over his neck. “You demanding motherfucker.”