The distinct smell of weed was sure to engulf your entire apartment by now. Empty beer cans and trash from the takeout you'd ordered were lying across the coffee table, waiting to be picked up and thrown away once you sobered up. You'd suggested this as a way of letting off steam, de-stressing after a particularly nasty argument went down between Ben and Butcher.

You didn't even know how much you'd smoked, what time it was, or which way was right or left. You were baked, and Ben could tell. You were laid out across the couch, legs through over his lap as he sat next to you, finishing off the last blunt for the night. His green eyes flicked over your face, and he shook his head as a smug little smirk pulled at his lips.

“You still with me, pretty thing?” Ben teased, free hand running up and down your bare thighs. The sight of you high as a kite was much more endearing than he ever thought possible.