#cigarettes/fags (yes i know)

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Lonely Nights

Requested: Yes [Are you willing to write toxic Ghost? Like after sex he just kinda leaves you to play on his xbox?]

Warnings: Lack of aftercare, inattentive partner

A/N: Gahhhhh, I was very hesitant about this one. I do think Simon can be very…..not great to partners, even ones he’s close with. Especially the ones he’s close with. I think he has a hard time registering his partner’s feelings and remembering the courtesies of aftercare. I think he’s more used to one night stands that he kicks out after he’s done with them, not people who put their whole hearts in his hands. You know? So he kinda just…..accidentally treats a partner like that because it’s what he knows.

Ghost has never been the most….in touch with his emotions and those of the people around him. Even yours, as close as you two might be. It’s just not something he really manages to do well. He tries, God knows he tries, but he just fails, time and time again. And you’re left to pick up the pieces of yourself that he broke off with every accidental pain he caused. And you know he doesn’t mean to, that he just doesn’t know how to do this, be in a normal relationship, a loving one, but you’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

This would be one of those times. You were hurting everywhere after he had been too rough with you, practically on the verge of tears when he finally rolled off of your sore body, snatching his pack of cigarettes and his old beaten up lighter from the nightstand before making his way out into the living room like he usually did. You were stunned, for lack of a better word. Shocked that he had actually left you like this. You knew he wasn’t the best at these things, but how could he not notice the state you were in? Your emotions? Your pain? How could-how could he just leave you like this? How could he be so oblivious to something so plain to see?

Your legs shake as you crawl out of Ghost’s bed, almost slipping and falling onto your ass in your attempts to get up, hobbling out to the living room with a thin blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You wanted to call out to your lover, beg him to come back to bed with you, but your throat felt like one big bruise and when you opened your mouth to speak, you could only wheeze.

And then you saw him, lounging half naked on the couch, cigarette in hand as he watched rugby on the tv. You knew he noticed you coming in, he always did. But just like all the other times, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge your existence, just taking a long drag from his fag before puffing the smoke out through his nose, looking all the part of a lazy dragon who’d just fattened himself up on some knight who died screaming in agony.

Whimpering, you stepped closer, silently begging for his attention and affection when you sat beside him on the couch, croaking quietly to him as you touched his arm. A twitch was all you received in response, having to manually wrap his arm around your shoulders for any kind of comfort. He didn’t pull away, but neither did he lean in, stroke you, pull you closer. He was dead weight around you, devoid of the affection you so desperately needed in this instant. With a whimper, deprived and needy, you lean in closer, nuzzling your head against his chest like a lonely kitten, trying to get even an ounce of his attention.

“Not now, Love.” Was all you got, Ghost’s cold hand sliding under your chin and lifting your head up and away from him. “Go back to bed if you’re feeling tired.”

Heartbroken, you try to protest but just end up coughing, hand clutching your pained throat to try and stifle the growing ache. That at least earned you a little rub on your back from Ghost but it ended all too soon for you, not even a word of protest from him as you stood and shuffled back to your shared room, his eyes laser focused on the tv the whole time, while yours kept hopefully glancing back at him, only to end up disappointed once more as the door shut behind you with no interruptions except for the tv turning up just a bit louder right before you started crying, curling up on the bed and seeking what little warmth remained under the covers, face buried in Simon’s pillow and hoping beyond hope that he’d come in and scoop you up into his arms, apologize for leaving you so hurt and sad, promise to never do it again.

But it never came. And you spent the whole night alone in that big bed until Ghost finally came back in, just the slightest bit tipsy as he crawled onto his side of the bed, giving you nothing more than the lightest kiss to your head before he was dozing off for the night.

And that. That was what broke you, your heart shattering in your chest and cracking the fragile dam that you’d built up against your tears. Through shaking shoulders and quiet sobs, you felt resolve sink into your bones.

You couldn’t take this anymore.

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#381

“Wakey wakey.  Time to wake up….  Don’t try to move around too much.  As you are realizing, you are in a predicament.  You are lying in my basement, buck naked, tied up, gagged, collared, with a fuck pillow under your pelvis.  You ain’t going anywhere, anytime soon….

“We’ve never met, but we know each other.  We both do the same thing for work, but we are nothing alike.  This is what’s happening.  I am part of a nameless organization that takes faggots, trains them to be slaves, and sells them to buyers from around the world.  From what I’ve been told over the years, the faggots delivered to me want to drop off the grid and sold into slavery.  They turn themselves in to a collector, who then has them delivered to me.  I don’t know if that’s true as I don’t let any of the faggots talk other than to say, ‘Yes Sir!’ 

“Now for you, I was told your backstory.  It seems that you are a collector for a different kind of group.  I train fags who offer themselves up for the taking.  You seem to prefer the non-consensual abductions of twelve- to fifteen-year-old girls.  I don’t care that you prefer pussy over dicks, but I do draw the line with their age.

“As I said, I was told what you are.  That never happens.  Ever.  But it appears that you approached the ten-year-old niece of one of higher ups in the organization, and he recognized what and who you were.  That stupid move brought you here. 

“I have no idea who the higher up is nor do I care.  Hell, we don’t know any of the men that are in the other parts of my organization, let alone hear from them.  So I found it surprising to get a call from a higher up—who I haven’t heard from in a few years—that I am to train you personally.  You better fucking believe that I’m going to train the fuck out of you.

“I have been training faggots for nearly forty years.  This is my farm you are on.  Twelve hundred acres.  Twelve hundred acres with some of the most advanced surveillance and anti-escape deterrents.  I know of every person who steps foot on my property, and I know if a slave is ten feet away from where it is supposed to be.  The ankle cuffs, wrist cuffs, and collar have tracking devices in them.  The collar can deliver a shock to keep you in line at a moment’s notice.  And the ankle cuffs are set up that if you go beyond a certain perimeter, a numbing agent is injected causing your legs to go numb and become useless.  Escape is not possible.  In my twenty years at this location, I have only had one slave make it off property, but it was collected within three minutes of doing so.  That slave was brought back and tortured in front of all the other slaves as a deterrent.  And that was before all the tracking technology was put in.  So keep that in mind if you decide to do something stupid.

“Now,… for the past five minutes, I have been telling you the predicament you find yourself in.  I have been watching your reaction.  Being gagged, you can’t say anything, but your body language says it all.  You seem too calm and not surprised at the description of my organization.  No reaction really.  That tells me that you are familiar with an operation like this.  When I tell you that you were collected for stalking that niece, you don’t look shocked by that accusation.  That pretty much confirms what I was told,… not that it matters otherwise. 

“No, the only reaction I saw was when I tell you that I am going to do your training.  You looked panicked.  Your eyes went right to my bulge.  Oh yeah.  I noticed.  You are straight indeed.  I should say, ‘were straight.’  From this moment on, you will never go back to that life.  The only cunt in your future is the one I’m about to make out of this hole between your legs.

“You have a great ass, so flawlessly smooth.  On any other slave, this ass would be a huge selling feature.  But for you, it’s a source of pain.  I need to put out my cigarette somewhere.  Your asscheek is the best place to do it….  Scream motherfucker scream.  Your perfect ass is going to go through some changes, from being daily whipped to being used as an ashtray.  You are going to be scarred up for sure.

“For the next part, I need to take off my boots and get out of these overalls.  You are going to get acquainted with Otto.  That’s what some of the fag slaves and some of the trainers call my dick.  Otto, it means ‘eight’ in Italian.  I’m actually closer to nine inches, but nine in Italian is ‘Nove’ which doesn’t sound right.  It doesn’t roll over the tongue as nicely as Otto.  Hehe.

“Look up at me.  Look shithead!  Here’s Otto.  Look at the cock that is going to own your life.  Half hard, it’s bigger than yours.  Keep staring at my foreskin.  Otto needs to piss.  You will be trained on drinking piss.  That’s all the liquid you will be given.  And if you are wondering if that means that you will be trained on becoming a full toilet, let me say we stopped training our slaves on that a while back.  It was too time consuming, and the buyers weren’t interested in that feature.  But for you, the higher ups want you trained.  But that will have to wait.

“Are you…  you are…!  You’re crying!  About time!  Hold still.  Let me wash away those tears for you.  Piss is the best antidote to tears.  There’s no feeling in the world like starting to tear down a once proud man by simply pissing on his face.  It’s getting me hard.  Otto likes what he’s doing to you.  But he wants action.

“Normally, you would be sucking the last few drops out of my foreskin.  But I ain’t ungagging you yet.  Besides, Otto needs to turn a virgin ass into a gaping cunt. 

“Your hole is perfectly displayed, like it’s ready to be destroyed thanks to that fuck pillow and how wide your legs were spread and secured.  Oh look.  Your cock and balls are just hanging there,… exposed,…

“…Damn! Even with my bare feet, I can deliver one hell of a ball kick.  Ha! Ha!  Your screams mean everything to me.  You know, each and every one of my personal slaves are kicked in the balls every morning.  They need to be reminded of their place on a daily basis. 

“Now, you will be spared that daily torture.  And that’s not because I would never have you as my personal slave, and don’t worry I wouldn’t own such trash.  No, I’m going to castrate you, in one of the most painful ways.  I haven’t decided how yet.  I do know that I will leave your empty sack intact.  We have a urologist that will make changes to your dick so that you lose all ability to get hard and with a few snips to the nerves in the area, all physical sensation will be gone.  Essentially your dick will constantly just hang there and be utterly useless… other than to piss out of.  Every time you reach down there, you will only feel the shell of what you used to be.

“Awww you’ve done full on sob.  Here let me collect some of your tears.  Tears of cunts are the best lube. 

“Do you feel Otto at your hole?  Feel his weight in your crack?  He’s ready to go.  Can you feel his leak.  Lucky for you, you really got me leaking.  Feel that wetness?  That’s all you.  Virgin cunt meets wine bottle thick dick.

“Don’t fucking start resisting.  Your cherry is going to be popped.  Here goes. 

“Don’t fucking fight me.  It’s only going to be more painful for you.  You are making my dick even harder.

“LET ME IN!  I’m coming in.  Oh, you got my head.  You are really starting to piss me off.

“Urg!  There.  Normally I would let a cunt relax before I begin, but you don’t fucking deserve that.  Right to the… goddamned… root!  Fuck, you’re tight.  By the end of tonight, you will be a gaping mess. 

“Not only have I been lucky to have such a big dick, but I can cum multiple times a night.  My first load is always quick, but the second one goes on for hours.  Then I have a gang bang lined up for this cunt. 

“I’ll let someone else pop the cherry in your throat.  There’s no way I’m going to let Otto near your mouth, at least not while you still have a mouthful of teeth.  Oh yeah, those will be coming out as part of your transformation.

“Keep crying.  Oh man.  Oh fuck.  I’m getting close.  You ready to be bred?  You ready to make your transformation to cunt complete?  Here it cums.  Here it goddamned cums!  Ahh! Ahh! Fuuuuck!

“Holy shit!  That was… fuck. 

“Your cunt has one of my biggest loads in it.  That should help lubricate you up a bit for round two….  Don’t try to push me out.  Otto will come out when he wants to.  Right now, he just wants a minute to catch his breath.

“Cunt, you have nothing but hell ahead of you.  There will be no let up.  Today is about breaking you in.  Tomorrow will begin your life of pain.  We have a shitload planned for you.  I don’t know how long it will be for you to with us, but each day we will strip away what made you a man, a human. 

“You know, when we put a slave up for auction, we have transformed the fag into the best slave it could be.  We don’t do it for its wellbeing.  No, we want top dollar.  And we get top dollar.  That’s our reputation.

“But for you, I was given the instruction that your transformation should be so extreme that when you are put up for auction, without a reserve price, that you are so repulsively distorted that you are sold for the lowest amount we ever had for a slave.  That shouldn’t be a problem with all the branding, scarification, tattooing, deteething, and so on.  Your previous profession will be shared with your new owners so that they can keep up your hell. “Oh fuck.  All this talk of your pathetic life is getting me hard again.  I’m ready to begin round two.  This should last a few hours.”

[yaoibrained]

most neil moments of all time collection:

calling kevin a deadweight has been and immediately running way

"whatd you do, run here?" "walked. 😐"

you know, i get it

telling bee the rest of the team is mental... baby girl look in the mirror

getting a pair of nice new boots from andrew and immediately imagining what it would be like to kick his face in

upending a glass of water on the floor and then throwing it at aaron

paying a bus boy $100 to knock him out

being told to keep his phone on and immediately turning it off after hanging up

shoving andrews hand up his shirt in front of like half a dozen people

learning andrew is afraid of heights and being like well if it makes you feel better it's more likely you'll die in a car accident than a plane crash :)

in the middle of getting kidnapped and telling lola she looks like a strung out whore

"are you stupid?" "yeah."

when the girl asks for his number and he's like what for 😐.

i have a bit of an attitude problem.

you're going to eat those words and you're going to choke on them.

"you plan on wearing the same six outfits over and over again this year?" "eight. and yes. 😑"

picking up andrews old cigarette and taking a drag while making eye contact with him on the roof from the ground and doing his two finger salute. HUGE fag moment.

#sorry. #💬 #aftg

[octuscle]

Hi support

I’m 20 years old and realised I needed some new clothes in my casual preppy style as I’d put on a bit of weight recently, now being a size large rather than a small/medium when I came across as a shop called CHAVTF. I’d never been in it before but felt like I just had to see what was inside. Can you transform me please?

You take a deep breath and open the door. Phew, it smells a lot like smoke in the store. Behind the till is a young man holding a cigarette with one hand and playing with his cock and balls in his jogging bottoms with the other. You actually want to turn around and go straight back out onto the street.

"You're fucking late, mate! I was just about to close up." You stammer something about "I've put on some weight" and "And I need something suitable". The guy actually stomps his fag out on the dirty carpet, comes up to you, shakes your hand and says "Let's get going then! I'm Liam, by the way." "Michael, nice to meet you," you reply with a dry mouth.

You're walking aimlessly through the store when the guy approaches you with an armful of clothes. "Mate, this should fit. But hold back uh bit in da gym. If you work out your chest any more, you won't fit into m, Mikey". He lights a new cigarette. You ask what the owner of the store thinks about him smoking. And the customers. "Mikey, I own da store. N my customers all smoke. Day don't mind." You mumble to yourself that you don't smoke, for example, take your clothes and go into a changing room.

Holy shit, you really are a different person. The tracksuit really makes you look super slim and sporty. Liam joins you in the changing room. "Mate, you look like uh bourgeois! tuck your trouser legs into your socks, mate! n da only thing missing for da complete look is da right haircut n uh fag in your face." Yes, your hair is really too long. Liam comes with a cap and puts it on your head. "Perfect!" And holds out the pack of cigarettes. I don't know what the devil is doing to you, but instead of taking a cigarette, you kiss him with your tongue and inhale his smoke. Liam grabs your crotch. You have a hard-on. Your hand goes into his sweatpants. He has one too. Fuck, you need a fuck now, your chav ass needs to be shagged now. You drop your pants. And Liam pushes you down on the counter.

Yeah, Liam has a huge cock and fucks like a demigod. But fuck, you need a fag now. Good thing your mate understands you blind. Fucking and smoking. Actually, that's what happens most at CHAVTF.

#male tf #reality change #chronivac #smoking #chav tf

[qqueenofhades]

Your tags on the Dreamling/Good Omens cross over have me frothing at the mouth and I just need you to know that if you were to write that “Crowley stumbles into the New Inn” fic, I would be highly supportive of your life choices

The place isn't otherwise busy. It's edging into the lull period of late afternoon, when the day drinkers have shuffled out and the evening drinkers aren't quite off work, when there are only a few tourists taking snaps for the 'gram and the bartenders are out back for a cigarette break by the bins. Hob is sitting at his usual table, confronted with a pile of papers, a brewing catastrophe about the autumn schedule that for some reason he is expected to sort out, three passive-aggressive emails from Philippa about the prospect of him becoming Head of School next year (not on your fucking immortal life, mate) and other mundane academic crises, when the door flies open and a bloke at the end of his rope staggers in.

Thing is, Hob knows this particular bloke, at least by casual sight. He's been in from time to time, has a drink, stares at the wall, looks moody, and goes out again, either to a vintage Bentley filled with houseplants or just the streets of Poplar. Hob has made friendly conversation with him a time or two, knows that his name is Anthony Crowley and he lives in Soho, and he has a husband/boyfriend/life partner of some description who often drives him bonkers (join the club? Though the Stranger isn't even really that). But from the look on Anthony Crowley's face, as much as can be discerned from beneath his ever-present black sunglasses (not really a fashion item one otherwise needs in London), this is a five-alarm fire, and Hob gets up in some concern. "Hey. Mate. Everything -- ?"

Crowley stumbles past him without answering, which is probably only what Hob deserves. He reaches the bar, and since the bartenders are still on fag break and nobody else seems around to do it, Hob scuttles around the back. "Get you something?"

"Beer. Whiskey. Drink. I don't care." Anthony digs in his wallet and flings the first assortment of bills he can find at Hob, which is far more than it costs for a drink even in this terminally overpriced city. "Make it strong. Want to forget my own fucking name."

"Right. Got it." Hob only worked the bar when the New Inn was first opened and they were still hiring staff, but he hasn't forgotten. He selects a Scottish whiskey, neat, and pours it into the bottom of a tumbler, sliding it across the bar. Anthony throws it back without even seeming to breathe and shoves the glass in search of another, and Hob frowns. "Oy. Take it easy."

Crowley mutters something about that being the last thing he intends to do, thanks, and Hob's curiosity, the one thing that has often propelled him through the centuries, gets the better of him. "Not my place," he says cautiously. "But is everything, y'know? All right at home? Your, uh, partner, is he -- "

The effect of this utterance is not dissimilar to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Crowley rears back, looks for a moment like he's going to bolt, and is only prevented by Hob strategically shoving the refilled whisky glass into his hand. He tosses it down the hatch without turning a hair, wipes his mouth raggedly with the back of his hand, and with that, and no further prompting, launches into an absolutely nutty jeremiad. Something about Heaven and Hell, something about Aziraphale (that's his partner's name, yes) being a stubborn angelic idiot who's going to get himself killed, something about people named Gabriel (also an angel?) and Beelzebub (also a demon -- wait, demon?) running off together and he just thought -- he thought -- like a bloody fool he thought they could -- but no. Nooooooooo.

"Er," Hob says at the end, blinking hard. "Sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Course you don't." Crowley heaves a heavy sigh. "Even though you're not an ordinary human, I suppose it's just too...." He searches for a word, slurs a little on the end (maybe that whisky, of which he has just chugged the third glass, is having an effect on him after all), and enunciates with bitter, drunk precision. "Ineffable."

"Wait. What?"

"You're Robert Gadling." Crowley tips his head like an owl, trying to size Hob up in his progressively more lubricated state, and his dark glasses slide to the end of his nose, revealing lucent golden eyes beneath. "The special one. The immortal one. Right?"

Hob opens his mouth. Hob shuts his mouth. He realizes vaguely that it's quite possible Crowley has not, in fact, been talking in convoluted celestial metaphors the whole time. "How did you...?"

"I know your boyfriend," Crowley snaps. "Bit bloody full of himself too, isn't he? He and Az -- Azz-- Aziraphale probably sit around having secret societies for technology-hating, stuck-up, idiotic, holier-than-thou, utter total fucking prigs who can't use their words and constantly deny their feelings, eh?"

"My boyf -- " All at once, Hob feels as if a grand piano has been dropped on his head from a great height, like something out of an old cartoon. Yes, things with the Stranger are going well-if-you-squint, ever since their last meeting here: the idiot actually turned up, he apologized, he smiled, they had a long conversation, there were definite sparks. Considering the last, er, six hundred years or so of dismal precedent, that's a low bar, but still. "Afraid," Hob says at last, "he and I -- well, we aren't exactly like that, but -- "

Crowley keeps staring at him like he desperately wants Hob to sit him down and give him a clinic in how to get with the fussy, standoffish, excessively rules-bound immortal being he has been, evidently, also bloody pining after for Christ only knows how long. "Why not?"

"Ah." Good question. Hob isn't sure. "It's complicated."

"Complicated." Crowley stares moodily at the mirrored bar. "Sure. Yeah. Six thousand bloody years of complicated."

"Did you say six thousand -- ?"

"Yeah." Crowley holds out the glass again. "More."

Hob's mouth is still open. He's going to say something, but he doesn't know what. Six thousand years? God's wounds. He and the Stranger, at their piddly six hundred, are practically fucking married.

(He gets Anthony Crowley another drink, on the house. Can't help but feel that the poor bastard deserves it.)

#anonymous #ask #good omens s2 #good omens spoilers #neil gaiman cinematic universe #ineffable husbands #dreamling #dreamling ff #see this is what i mean #when i say i am easily enabled #alas

[glitterinmyveinss]

// say yes to heaven //

johnny knoxville x reader

authors note: Johnny goes by PJ, some things might be innacurate apologies in advance, mentions of homophobic slurs (i can say it)

❥༄ It's a warm july evening, the sunset sky looks like cotton candy, the kids are still out playing, and me and pj are on the steps of his trailer drinking some cold beers. i've known pj ever since me n my mom first moved to Tennesse at age 5. i ponder back on that moment, the memory still fresh in my mind.

❥༄ "y/n! get your boxes from the back of the uhaul girl!" my mother shouted. i sighed and made my way from the empty field to the back of the van we came in while my mother put her belongings inside our new home. a boy around my age with dark chocolate hair, warm brown eyes, and a horrendous haircut came up to me. "are you my new neighbors?" he asked enthusiastically. i nodded shyly. "cool! i'm pj by the way. my trailers right there." i glanced over to where he was pointing. i noticed a brown trailer with white stripes, white steps, and various beer cans and cigarette butts littering the patch of grass in front. i turned back to him and introduced myself back. "my names y/n. my parents divorced so we moved here." "mine are divorced too! wanna be friends?" we've been inseparable ever since.

❥༄ i set down my can with a sigh and put my hands in my hair. i've lived in the same trailer ever since, things never really got better for me and my mom. i started working at the local jcpennys working the beauty department but that's it, and Pjs been working with his dad at his auto repair shop ever since we were 13. pj turned to look at me, his brows furrowed and his eyes fixated on me. "what's troublin' you doll?" i picked my head up with a sad smile. i loved when he called me that. "whens it gonna get better peej?" i let out a dry chuckle. "i mean are we just gonna stay in this town our whole lives? living pay check to pay check?" he huffed and turned away from me. "i don't know y/n...why are you bringing this up?" "because i don't want that to be my life pj. maybe it was good for our parents but...don't you want different?" he took another sip from his can and a long drag from his cigarette and was quiet for a while. "of course i want different but it's not that simple y/n...plus the world needs workers like us and our parents anyway." i couldnt belive what he was saying. it was so out of character for him. he was never one to conform to society despite us growing up in the south where you'd get called a fag for just about anything. but people didn't care when it came to pj. he could be wearing a tutu and still look cool. that's why i didn't understand why he was giving up his future to stay in a town like this when the world had so much more to offer him, to offer us. "you know, i don't get you sometimes pj." i threw my can on the porch and sat up. "when are you gonna wake up y/n?" he shouted at me. i looked at him wint utter confusion painted on my face. he stared back at me with those piercing dark eyes. anytime i looked into them, it was like i was stuck in place, and like the rest of the world was no more, just me and pj. "w-what do you mean?" i spoke. he scoffed at me and continued, still shouting. "do you think it's that easy? that we can just leave this all behind and start a new life like that?" i huffed in frustration and crossed my arms, "that's not what i meant and you know it. i just meant that we both have dreams pj. what about your writing?" he turned away from me and shook his head, his eyes were even darker now due to his mood. i noticed there were imprints on his can due to his grip on it. "what about my writing y/n? you heard my dad." a while ago, pj shared with his dad his dreams of being a writer, and how he wanted to write for this magazine in LA, just to get his foot out the door. his dad didn't take it well at all and said he better get the wrench he asked for because writing won't pay the bills. i stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. pj got up to stomp his cigarette out. when he was done he locked eyes with me. he stared at me with such intensity, it made my knees buckle and my stomach flip. maybe it's a good thing he wore shades 99.9% of the time. i wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug him, let him know that anyone who doubted him didn't know what they were talking about. that me and him could make it on our own. but we were just friends. and he was even more stubborn drunk than he was sober. he turned to go inside then stopped. "you better get home y/n...it's getting dark." i felt the tears sting the corners of my eyes, like bees in the summer time. this wasn't the first time we fought like this, but it's the first time he didn't invite me in afterwards. usually he'd say something along the lines of sorry, or how he has some left over apple pie he needs help eating, really he would say any excuse. but this time, it was like he wanted nothing to do with me. "you're a coward philip and you know it." i shouted. "you have just as much potential as anyone else in this world to do something great, but you're scared!" he stayed with his back towards me, his fists clenched and his head low. "leave y/n."

❥༄ i stared at him until my vision became blurry with tears, which didn't take long. i've always been emotional. i ran away from him, in the direction of our old elementary. i always went there when things became too much to handle and i just needed somewhere to escape to. once i got there i sat on the old rusty swings that squeaked each time you swayed. i felt like shit. maybe i was too hard on pj. it's just that all i wanted was for me and him to have a good future. maybe the reason why i got so mad was because i imagined our futures would be us as lovers, not best friends. i wish i brought one of those beers before i left. i heard rustling coming from my left side and when i turned to look, i saw pj. i turned away and stared at the ground. it was quiet for a while while he sat on the swing beside me. "i'm sorry doll. i didn't mean to yell at you like that, you know how i get when i drink coors." i began to sob as i spoke, "no peej i'm sorry, i was too hard on you." i put my head in my hands and hid my face. pjs eyes scrunched up as he began laughing at me. "oh come on y/n, no need to bring out the water works. we're all good girl" he moved his hand and began rubbing my back. i sniffled and picked my head up, turning to him with a small smile that he returned.

❥༄ it was like that for a while. just me and pj swaying back and forth, till he spoke up. "you know i'm not a coward y/n..." i faced him and frantically began explaining myself. "i know pj i'm sorry it's j-" he cut me off. "the only reason why i'm not doing what i want is because... i wanna keep you close to me." i stayed staring at him. my eyes wider than usual, and my lips tucked between my teeth. "the magazine i wanna write for is based in LA. that means i would have to move there." i remained quiet. he turned to look at me. "come on y/n say some-" it was probably the alcohol more than me, but out of no where, i decided to kiss him. his lips were warm snd soft, i could still taste the cigarettes and coors on his breath. i felt euphoric and nauseous all at once. i pulled away awkwardly and faced him. "i'm sorry peej, i don't know-" he cupped the side of my face and pulled me in for a second kiss. after a minute we pulled away, but we were stuck staring at eachother, like one would disappear if the other dared to look away. "i'll go with you." i spoke, barely above a whisper. pj scrunched his face in confusion. "pardon?" i rolled my eyes at him. sometimes he was such an airhead. "i'll go with you to LA. just say the word and i'll go pj." he stared at me with a goofy crooked smile and picked me up from the swing. i squealed as he threw me over his shoulder. "let's start packing then. we'll get the first flight out as soon as we're done." even though i was upside down and felt dizzy, i couldn't be happier.

#johnny knoxville #philip john clap #johnny knoxville x reader #philip john clap x reader #jackass #jackass x reader #jackass headcanons #2000s aesthetic #fanfic #trailer park au #steve o #steve o x reader #chris pontius #chris pontius x reader #dave england #ehren danger #wee man #bam margera #preston lacy #dave england x reader

[givemequeen]

I want everyone to know that you’re mine: George Harrison x reader

request(s): - can you write a smut about George being like possessive and wanting the reader to be loud during sex bc “I want everyone to know that you’re mine” and if possible have it happen bc maybe the reader was getting hit on by the others and George wanted to reiterate who she was with? Thanks so much! - Can you write something smutty for George? - pls i need more george smut 🥺🥺🥺 im in love w him 🥺🥺🥺🥺 (aren’t well all) a/n: do any other authors get horny when writing smut or... pairing: George Harrison x reader summary: teasing George (just realised i put in the wrong summary! it is correct now tho, whoops!) warnings: sexy time! dirty sexy time! orgasm denial (female) oral (male receiving). unprotected sex (remember to wrap it before you tap it, lads). ass smacking. kinda harsh sex but not too harsh. jealous!george word count: 3651

George always got off the stage horny. He said it was a combination of a lot things but you knew the roar of the crowd and the fact you were there watching and waiting for him was what really got him going. He wanted you to see his success, just like you wanted to show how proud you were of him. He had, after all, worked so hard to get where he was. So, you never missed a show. 

Tonight was no different, George, despite being engrossed by his performance, couldn’t stop looking backstage to look at you. You had worn a short dress today and no underwear. You had whispered this delicate information to him just as he was getting on stage and when it was too late for him to do anything about it. But the look on his face was priceless, pure shock and desire. 

As soon as the last song was over, he bolted off stage, not even waiting for their final bow, and rushed towards you, nearly toppling you over. He picked you up, hands flying to your ass, and spun you around. 

“Fuck, I’m so hard, I’ve been waiting all night for this.” He growled in your ear, pushing his boner against you. “Let’s go baby, please.” You laughed and placed your hand on his chest, pushing him back. 

“We can’t leave, there’s the after party.” You winked before walking away to congratulate the other boys with a polite kiss on their cheeks. 

Once their instruments were safely set to the side the five of you headed outside to your cars. George followed close behind you, his hand low on the small of your back, finger feeling the fabric to remind himself you weren’t wearing any underwear. You got into two cars, You, George, and Paul on one and Ringo and John on the other. 

The cars sped away from the crowds of fans and headed to the hotel you were all staying at. The hotel had organised a party for the band in their presidential suite. It was going to be filled with roadies, journalists, music producers, and models, and you couldn’t wait to use this opportunity to tease George. 

You were sat between the two boys with one of your hands on George’s thigh, your slim fingers drawing circles in his inner thighs. 

“That’s driving me wild, I’m going to fuck you when we get to the room.” George muttered as he pressed his lips to your ear.

“So, did you like the show?” Paul asked, oblivious to what was going on. He had light a cigarette and was offering some to you and George. George accepted, placing it between his lips and lighting it. Something about him lighting a fag drove you wild and you couldn’t wait to fuck him once you go to the hotel but the game you were playing wasn’t going to end soon.

“Of course, you were amazing tonight.” you said, momentarily placing a hand on his knee and removing the one you had on George’s thigh.

George sat up and you smiled, knowing he had taken the bait. Paul smiled happily and thanked you.

“You look great tonight, love.” Paul smirked. “That dress... is it new?” You could hear George practically growl next to you.

“Yes!” 

“Looks stunning on you, love.” he met your eyes and smiled that charming smile of his. “You look stunning tonight.”

“Back off McCartney.” George said, placing a protective arm around you.

“C’mon Georgie, don’t be ridiculous.” you said, pushing off of him.

“Yeah, Georgie.” Paul teased as the car came to a stop, having finally reached the hotel.

George reached over to him but Paul jumped out of the car. Cameras immediately starting flashing, fans were yelling the boy’s names all around you. You kissed George’s cheek before getting out, pressing your ass into him as you moved over him. George grabbed your waist and pulled you to him, pressing his boner against you.

“Behave, I see what you are doing.” he said before letting you go.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” you smiled, grabbing his hand and walking into the hotel through the screaming crowds. 

Once in the suite you headed off to find your group of friends. They were an assortment of journalists and roadies who followed the band around. Naturally, you spent a lot of time with them which caused a friendship to flourish. In this group of friends was a specific roadie who George hated as George claimed he had flirted with you. Your boyfriend wouldn’t listen to reason since you repeatedly told him he was gay and was more interested in him than in you.

“Thats just an excuse to touch your boobs.” George had said, pouting.

“No because he surprisingly does not touch my boobs.” you had rolled your eyes and left it at that. 

But you could now feel George’s eyes on you across the room as you sipped on a drink, lounging on one of the velvet sofas, and talked to said roadie. George had been starting at you the entire time you were there but he had been caught in a conversation with some music producer.

John came over to join you, sitting by your side and placing his arm on the sofa behind you. He started mumbling about the concert and the party but he was so drunk you couldn’t understand him so you simply patted his shoulder and nodded. You could feel George watching you and suddenly an idea came onto mind.

You stood up and sat back down across John’s lap. He smiled up at you and hugged you, clearly ready to sleep. You ran your fingers through his hair and glanced up at where George had last been but he was gone. You glanced around, suddenly worried that you couldn’t find him.

“Love.” George said from behind you. You jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. You looked back and smiled, George was upside down!

“Georgie, you’re upside down!” you laughed.

“Are you drunk?” he asked, cocking his head sideways. His face was tense, clearly unhappy at the situation but you couldn’t care less, he had to live a little. “Get off his lap.”

“No, I’m just happy.” you threw your arms around his hips, dragging him towards you, and ignoring his second question. “And you?”

“Lets get out of here.” he whispered, leaning over and starting to pull you away from John, who just flopped backwards and promptly fell asleep.

“What? No! The night is young.” you whined before standing up and dragging George over to the dance floor. 

Dozens of people had congregated in the centre of the room and were dancing widely. Arms were thrown up and hips were swung to the rhythm of the music. You pulled George to the centre and placed your arms on his shoulders. His hand went to your hips, pulling you close.

“You look gorgeous tonight.” George said, his lips chasing yours. “What were you doing on John?”

But you ignored him and allowed yourself to feel the music, the thumping of the bass resonated deep within you. You threw your head back and immediately George’s mouth went to your neck. He kissed and sucked on the skin there, surely leaving marks.

“Georgie, careful.” you frowned, chastising him.

“Lets go, my love, I want you.” he pressed himself against you. “I need you.”

“I can feel that.” you giggled.

“Do you want me to fuck you right here? Huh? In the middle of the room and let everyone see how well you take my cock?” his voice was low, its vibrations travelled all the way down between your legs.

“Fuck, Georgie.” you palmed him through the jeans, looking around to make sure no one could see but everyone was too high or drunk to notice.

“Lets go.” he wrapped his longer slender fingers around your wrist and pulled you towards the exit. A couple people tried to stop him to talk to him but he was a man on a mission and practically shoved them aside. Once outside the suite, George picked you up and pressed you against the wall.

He began kissing you like a starving man, hands slipping under your dress to grab your ass. You moaned as he pressed himself against you and you rocked your hips against him, desperate for some friction. George pressed himself further against you, preventing you from moving.

“No, you don’t get to do that after how you have behaved all night.” he sunk his teeth onto your flesh and you yelped, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“I’ve been good, Geo, what do you mean?” you lied, kissing his face.

“You and I both know thats a lie.” he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him. “You’re gonna do as I say and if you’re good maybe I’ll cum in you.” George set you down and grabbed you, pulling you towards your room.

Once inside, he picked you back up and took you over to the bed, dropping you on it. You watched in anticipation as he slowly took his shirt off. You rubbed your thighs together, desperate for some friction.

“Stop that.” George snapped. “You don’t get to do that.” he shook his head and you.

Finally, his shirt came off. He threw it on the ground and unbuckled his belt. He dropped his trousers and took himself out of his pants. While staring right at you, George stroked himself. You bit your lower lip, eager to have him in you.

“Stand up.” he ordered, you did as he requested, your eyes sliding down to his erection. “Kneel.” you dropped to your knees and looked up at him.

“Now what?” you asked sweetly, trying your best not to look at it.

George stayed silent, he trailed his fingers through your hair and tugged it back so your mouth fell open. He grabbed himself and guided your mouth towards him. You stuck your tongue out, allowing his cock to rest on it, and closed your lips around him.

“Good girl.” he said, his other hand went to your chin, pushing it up so he could see better.

You closed your eyes and moved your head forward until his cock hit the back of your throat. You gagged slightly but remained there until tears formed in your eyes. You pulled back, gasped your air, and did it again. Slowly, you let your tongue explore him. It went over the ridges and veins of his cock, mapping out every inch of it.

One of your hands went to his hips for stability, the other going between your legs. You slipped two fingers inside of you and rocked your hips the same way you bobbed your head backwards and forwards. You moaned, the vibrations of your moan made him buck his hips forward.

He groaned and collected your hair into one hand. He pulled you back so only the tip of his cock was inside your mouth, and slowly pulled himself out. A single line of spit and pre-cum connected you and his dick. He grabbed his cock and placed it back into your mouth.

“Mouth open.” he slowly pushed his hips forward. You held your breath, fingers stopping inside of you, and felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as he made his way down your throat.

Then, at the same excruciatingly slow pace, slid himself back out. George did this a couple times before slamming into you with no warning. You choked on his cock but that didn’t stop him. He grabbed your jaw, hand so big his fingers nearly reaches your ears, and fucked your mouth. 

“Fuck...” he groaned. “This is what you get for being a slut.” his eyes were trained on yours. “Stop fucking touching yourself, you think I don’t notice?” reluctantly you removed your fingers from yourself. “Now take my cum.” he pushed his hips into your mouth one last time before finishing inside of you. As his cum shot out, he rolled his hips, and you licked his cock, making sure every last drop came out.

Then, he slid himself out. You stuck your tongue out and blinked up at him. “Good girl.” he slid his finger down your cheek and shoved them into your mouth, reaching the very back and making you gag. “Swallow.” you did as you were told. “Now get up.”

“Yes, daddy.” you stood up and George’s mouth was immediately on yours. He reached behind you and pulled down the zipper to your dress. The short sleeves of the dress fell from your shoulders. George pulled it over your head, leaving you completely bare. He pushed you onto the bed, grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs apart, and dragged you to him.

His fingers slid up your thighs at an excruciatingly slow pace, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most. He looked up at you through his lashes, there was pure hunger in his eyes.

“Please Geo.” you whined.

“What do you want, my love?” he asked getting closer to you. You bit your lower lip and nodded. His fingers slid into you and you moaned. “Louder.” his fingers curled inside you and you moaned louder. He began working his magic inside of you, moving his fingers with such precision and rhythm that made you thank your lucky stars that he was a musician.

Your mouth hung open as you let moan after moan spill out of you. His thumb went to your clit, gently massaging it. Your thigh were threatening to close but George had placed his hands over them, pressing them down. You moaned his name and told him you were close.

“Good girl.” he said as he pulled his fingers away from you.

“What the fuck?” You groaned, dizzy from the pleasure and alcohol. You watched as he sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap.

“Sit here.” You did as you were told and straddled his thigh.

“What now?” 

“Get yourself off.” he shrugged.

Heat rose up to your cheeks. Get yourself off? On his thigh? You swallowed and nodded. You rocked your hips, a small whine escaping your lips at the sensation. His thigh was hard, the muscle under rubbing against you in the best way possible.

“You don’t think I want to fuck you?” he growled, his hands went to your hips gripping you tightly and urging to move faster. “You don’t think I want to shove my cock in you and make you come?”

“I know you do.” you moaned. “Oh, George...”

“Then why do you behave so naughtily? Flirting with Paul and John right in front of me? It’s like you’re begging to be punished.” he tutted, shaking his head.

One hand went to your breast, squeezing it harshly. You moaned his name as he licked your nipple. You rocked your hips against him faster, determined to orgasm. 

“I wasn’t flirting.” you lied as you quickened your pace.

“Don’t fucking lie, slut.” George said grabbing your jaw. You looked at him and reached for his cock.

You jerked him off at the same pace you rocked against him. Each time you moaned his name his hips jerked. You moaned it louder and he kissed you, you moaned it even louder and he played with your breasts.

But George’s patience was wearing thin. He flipped you around, laying you on the bed and crawled over you. His mouth was on you, his kisses sloppy, and with no warning, he slammed into you. You gasped his name, unable to do much else, and squeezed your thighs around him and he relentlessly pounded into you.

“Louder, love. I want everyone to know that you’re mine. I want everyone to hear how well I fuck you.” he grabbed your hands and pinned them above you, exposing your neck.

His mouth attached itself to the soft skin there and began sucking. You went to complain but a sharp slam of his hips shut you up. Instead, you moaned and moaned. Each slam of his hips making you go louder. You yelled his name and his rhythm got sloppy.

George pulled out of you and turned you around with ease. He pulled your hips up, exposing your ass to him, and aligned himself, his dick pressed against you. He rubbed his tip against you slowly, almost as though taunting you. You pushed your hips back and he pulled away.

“Oh George, fuck me please, please.” you moaned. 

He smacked your ass and slowly slid in to you. He quickly returned to the ruthless pace he had set before. His hand slapping your ass as you gripped the sheets. His fingers went around your hips, meeting your clit, and began drawing circles. 

You were coming undone, the brutal slamming of his hips against yours filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin combined with the effortlessly skilled movement of his fingers against you was pleasantly overwhelming. He leaned over you, pressing his chest against your back and pulled your hair back. 

“Are you going to come?” he groaned. “Come for daddy, you’ve been good. I want to hear you.” 

You nodded and let yourself loose. The explosion of pleasure took over you, making your body go limp. George held you up as he continued fucking and fingering you. You unapologetically moaned his name over and over until your throat felt raw.

Just as you were coming down from your high George slammed his hips into you one last time and came inside you. His cum shooting into you felt delightfully familiar. You clenched around him and gripped the sheets so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if they ripped.

George collapsed on top of you, cock still inside you and weight crushing you. He gently kissed your shoulder, hand going around your body to squeeze your breast. His cock was still hard when he slipped it out. You rolled over and smiled at him but he was staring between your legs.

He licked his fingers and pushed his cum that had began leaking out of you and down your thighs back in. You winced at the wave of pleasure that crashed against you like aftershock. 

“This pussy is mine.” he said, reaching down to kiss it. 

Bonus:

George had returned from the bathroom and scooped your limp body in his arms. He had taken you into the bath and sat behind you, your back against his chest, wet bodies pressed together, as he gently cleaned you up. Then, he had tenderly dried you, taking extra care around your thighs, and taken you back into bed were you were now spooning.

“Was that good?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Very.” you mumbled.

“It wasn’t... too much?” 

You turned your head to look at him and smiled, placing a hand over his cheek.

“I liked it. I love it when you’re possessive. It was very hot.” you gently kissed his cheek. “I love you.” you murmured and spun your whole body around to face his.

“I love you too.” he said, pressing his head into your hair.

You reached your hand down his pants and hesitated. George nodded and reached to pull your own underwear down. You wrapped your hands around him and felt as he got hard. 

George laid back, his hands on your hips guiding you over him. He comfortably slid into you, like a key into a lock, and you both happily sighed. You fell against him, bare chest against bare chest, and slowly rocked your hips. George wrapped his arms around you and met your movements half way.

“I’m sorry love, I can’t last any longer.” he groaned.

“Cum in me, Geo. Fill me up.” you whispered, your words driving him wild. 

It was the most comfortable filling, his hips crashing against yours - once, twice, three times - as he came undone. Then, you remained like that, his cock buried deep in you and his mouth kissing your skin, until he softened. You pulled yourself away from him and he tucked himself back in.

He pulled you against him, his whole body wrapping around yours, and fell into a deep slumber.

BONUS BONUS:

The next morning you stumbled over to the wardrobe, George watching your naked behind body from the bed, and pulled on plaid trousers and a pink cardigan to match. He helped you as you got ready, kissing your cheek and neck or wherever he could reach.

You walked hand in hand towards the elevator and made your way down to the private room the hotel had given the band for their meals. Inside was John, Ringo, and Paul, all sat around a round table filled with food.

They all looked up as you entered and started laughing. Unsure, you cocked your head to the side and asked them what was so funny.

“Did you have a good night?” John said, wiggling his eyebrows, between fits of laughter.

Realisation dawned on you, they probably heard everything. You shut your eyes in embarrassment but George was having none of it. He pulled you to his side, arm going around your shoulders and led you to the table where breakfast was set.

“Piss off, you lot are just jealous.” he said, rolling his eyes and ignoring their howls of laughter.

#george harrison #george harrison smut #george harrison fluff #george harrison x reader #george harrison x reader smut #george harrison x reader fluff #the beatles #the beatles story #the beatles fanfic #the beatles smut #the beatles fluff #the beatles x reader #the beatles x reader smut #the beatles x reader fluff #george harrison story #george harrison x reader story #the beatles x reader story #george harrison fanfic #george harrison x reader fanfic #smut #fanfic smut #fanfic #givemequeen101

[chiechie97]

The Cigarette's you left at Mine

A Jily Microfic for @jilymicrofics

Prompt: Smoke

The smoke curled around her tongue, it's acrid taste a bitter reminder of the man who had left them in her flat.

"Lily?" Mary called from inside. "He's at the door again, should I—"

"Tell him, to fuck off."

James Potter had never been good at taking a hint. Or no for an answer.

She thought things were serious between them. She thought he knew how she felt.

But apperantly he didn't see things the same way. She'd taken one look at the letter from Clara Clearwater on his kitchen counter and seen enough.

'You looked good last night. I'll see you this weekend for the charity ball. I still love you.'

All written in a letter that had arrived that morning.

She'd balled up the letter and thrown it at his face, yelling at him for being a prick, for leading her on, for making her think there was something serious between them.

Lily took another harsh drag of the ciggarette, watching the smoke from it swirl between her fingers like a snake.

The door to the terrace slid open behind her, the warm air from inside sliding up her back.

"Is he gone?"

"No."

She whipped around, the cigarette falling from her hand as she turned to stare at James.

"I thought I told you to fuck off."

"And I thought you told me smoking was a filthy habbit."

He had bags under his eyes, his shirt was rumpled and untucked from his trousers. Since leaving Hogwarts he'd become considerably more put together, but at that moment he looked like shit.

She glared at him. Stomping out the the remains of the fag that had fallen onto the floor of her balcony.

"Lily, please just listen to me for one minute. Let me explain." He had his hands up deffensivley, like he was waiting for her to strike him with her words.

"You have one minute."

He sighed in relief. Hand jumping to his hair, which was more unruly than usual.

"Clara and I ran into eachother at a dinner party my parents threw, I didn't know she would be there I haven't spoken to her since graduation."

"And she just sends you a love letter out of the blue?" Lily questioned, arms crossed angrily over her chest.

"You know our parents were hopeful for a relationship when we were in school. I have a feeling her parents still haven't dropped that idea." He explained.

"And yours have?"

"Yes." He emphasized, taking a step closer to her. "Because they know how crazy I am about you."

She sucked in a breath, an unwanted flutter in her chest lit up at his declaration.

"Do you swear that nothing has happened between you and Clara?"

"I swear on my life."

Lily starred at him for a moment, assessing the sincere and desperate look he was giving her.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright I believe you."

She pulled his pack of cigarretes out of her back pocket, her hands shaking with a deep sense of relief. "Do you want a smoke?"

He grinned, accepeting his own cigarette before reaching out to light the one she had put between her lips. His hand brushing against her cheek.

"Smoking is a filthy habit." He said, parroting her own words back at him.

"So are you."

#jily fic #lily evans #james potter #jilymicrofics #jilytober #chiechie97 #chie writes #marauders fic

[cosmic-comet-19]

The Stars to his Moon: Part 5

"...make sure you get Sirius' set, not mine..." the voice of James drifted after him. "Don't know why my bishops keep running away..."

Remus rolled his eyes, having volunteered to fetch a wizard chess set for James and Frank back down in the common room. The truth was, he wanted a ciggy in peace - he knew James couldn't stand the smell of them, so he took moments for himself every so often up in the dorm.

Casually pushing open the door, he spied Sirius' wizard chess perched on top of a precariously-stacked pile of books.

"Accio cigarette," he muttered, and a small tin box flew towards him from under his bed. Taking out two, Remys tucked one in his robes and one expertly between his lips.

"Want a light?" came a drawl beside him. Remus jumped, the fag almost falling from his lips.

Behind his curtain, Sirius sat crossed legged on Remus' bed. With a raised eyebrow, the latter twitched his own curtains open a few inches more.

"If you'd be so kind," he replied, curious. The Black heir clicked his fingers and the end of Remus' fag caught alight instantly. Taking a long drag, he fixed his eyes on Sirius, who suddenly avoided his gaze. Something crackled under Sirius' knee, and Remus waited, before clearing his throat.

"You ok?"

Barking out a laugh before he could stop himself, Sirius pulled out a quivering red letter, clearly desperate to be opened.

"My mother," Sirius explained unnecessarily, boredom masking the uncertainty in his voice. But Remus heard it all the same. Wordlessly, he flicked his wand toward the door, closing it softly. He met pale grey eyes, unknowingly betraying boyish fear so unlike the brash and confident flirt Remus knew.

"No way around it," he said steadfastly, and Remus shook his head.

"Ignore them. They don't know you."

"Remus-"

"They don't, Sirius! They are the worst excuse for parents I've heard of - and trust me, I've heard a lot."

Sirius sighed, then motioned to the cigarette Remus was intermittently puffing on.

"That any good?"

A grin tugging on his lips, Remys handed it over wordlessly. Thoughts about having corrupted the posh boy would have to wait, he told himself sternly.

"D'you want to be alone?" Remus ventured, knowing immediately that he would hate for Sirius to say yes. He didn't think he would...

"No." Sirius puffed out a small ring of smoke, coughing slightly. His eyes were raw and genuine, younger than Remus have ever seen them. "No. Just. Stay."

Remus' heart leapt, but he knew that's not how Sirius meant it. Still, he thought.

Quickly, Sirius ripped open the scarlet envelope, and the Howler rose into the air.

"How dare you disgrace the Noble and Most Pure House of Black!? Joining the Gryffindor quidditch team! Duelling with your brother! Befriending half breeds and blood traitors! Mudbloods! You will answer for this in July, mark my words, Sirius!"

After the Howler had screeched its final vile word, it shredded itself into a thousand blood-red pieces. Silence descended, but the instant Remus saw Sirius' blank, scared expression, he took his longest drag yet and interrupted the silence:

"So, your family are vile."

Despite himself, Sirius laughed, the unexpected amusement jarring.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Remmie," he drawled, Howler forgotten. Remus rolled his eyes.

"I hate that," he grumbled, watching the dark-haired boy carefully. Mischievously, Sirius smirked.

"Do you, Remmie? I think you quite like it, actually."

Rolling his eyes, Remus took another drag.

"Bet you'd like that," he replied, without thinking. Taken aback for a split second, Sirius smirked back at him, raising an eyebrow. The sight was so funny that Remus groaned.

"It is honestly a mystery to me how all these girls fall for you," he told him sarcastically. Sirius narrowed his eyes.

"I'll show you-"

But before he could finish that thought, the door burst open. A mess of curls and glasses entered the room, and Sirius leapt up off the bed, feeling slightly guilty. What for? he thought. "James!"

Casually, Remus scrolled over to open the window to let the smoke out. As he glanced back to the infamous duo, he caught sight of something new in Sirius' eyes.

#james potter #marauders #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders era #sirius black #dead gay wizards #remus x sirius #grimmauld place

[heyidkyay]

1:02

'This song is about a girl [friend] that I had. She was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I loved her but she didn’t feel the same way. I don’t even think she knew I loved her. This song is about the times I had with her. As she and I became close friends, we had traditions. It was kinda like our thing, y'know? We’d somehow always coincidentally be out at exactly 1:02AM, so that was our thing. Now whenever I’m awake at 1:02AM, I think of her and I let her go.'

102 (Acoustic) - The 1975

She doesn't know.

Doesn’t know what it does to him when she thieves the cigarette right from out of his mouth. Doesn’t know how hard his heart pounds when she settles in closer, when her knee touches his own. Doesn’t see the way he watches her grin, eyes always catching. 

Doesn’t realise how far gone he is now. She doesn’t know.

“Guess what time it is then.” She says to him, smiling coyly while her eyes dance over the expression he wears. They’re at the common again, she’s sat close enough that her arm brushes his whenever she rants, and he can’t find it in him to pull away. It's a little masochistic.

He gifts her a glance, then pretends to look away because what she doesn’t know is that he can still see her just in the corner of his eye. The corner of his mind. “Ask a better question.”

“Awh, come on!” She complains around a hearty chuckle, nudging him with her elbow just as he takes another drag. He’d brought ten on his way over, only had about four left now. The thought had him wondering how far he could stretch them, how far he could keep her for. “It’s our thing, don’t ruin it by bein’ a prat.”

He snorts, blowing out smoke with it, then he rolls his eyes. “One, oh three.”

She narrows her eyes in turn, “You’re actually a proper dickhead.”

He grins, can feel the stretch of it even as tries to dampen it. She reaches out then, stealing the fag for herself. She looks maddening in that moment, in this light, and he hates himself for thinking it, and for the way he watches her lips wrap around his cigarette, cause he knows it’s the only that way theirs would ever meet. Around the butt of a shared smoke.

“Wanna know who I saw earlier anyway, when I was out with our Kirsty?” She continues on, always so oblivious to his state of mind.

“Go on then.” He replies, picking at a fray in his jeans to keep from wanting to touch. Though he can already guess who.

“Fucking Dean.” And yeah, there it is. He prods her for his cigarette back and she gives him it, already yapping away again, completely unaware of how his entire being has slumped at the name.

Dean Willis was a right cunt. A mug amongst mugs, in truth. He’d been in the year above them at school, threw a couple good parties in his time, and had played for the local rugby team. He’d moved down south to try and make it big, but he’d heard Dean was back home when talking with Ross the other day. He hadn’t said a thing to her about it, hoping that the prick was just stopping in to see his mum.

“.. and he had the nerve to just smile when he passed us by, said ‘alright’ and then carried on!" Matty tunes back in to hear her complain, smiling softly when he sees the way her nose has scrunched up unhappily and how she’s now gesturing this way and that. “You believe that? After what we had and what he did, he just swans back in with an alright! He’s a right cunt is what he is.”

Ha. He takes another drag before passing it back off to her.

“What you smiling about anyway?” She tuts, rolling her eyes at him before she finishes off the embering end.

“Nothing,” He answers, still smiling yes, he knows, but he can’t seem to help it. “Just like seeing you all riled up.”

She glares but concedes easily enough, the beginnings of a smile wilting her stern frown. She knocks their shoulders together, “He just pisses me off is all. That, and the fact that he’s back for good. Upped and left without a second thought to what it’d do to-”

He stopped listening after that. Back for good, she’d said. What the fuck did that mean for them then, for him? Back for good. He was stuck on it. 

By the time he made it in that night, it was gone three. He’d wandered about outside for a bit after dropping her off home, chuckling away to himself when he’d watched her shuffle up to her bedroom window, before finally slipping his way through his own front door.

His dad is away in Spain again, filming, but he knows his mum's around, he’d seen her earlier that morning, so he has to be quiet getting in. Though it isn't all that hard, not when he’s had years of practice. 

He makes his way through the kitchen, grabbing at whatever leftovers his mum had left when she’d gone out for dinner and then shuffles his way up the stairs. Lou’s room is right by the landing so he treads a little lighter there and closes his own bedroom door with a quiet click, glad for the ability to finally shuck off his jeans.

By the time he’s stuck the stereo on low and settled himself on the end of his bed to eat, he's all but ready to pass the fuck out. Knows he shouldn’t though, that he should have something more than a pack of fags for tea, but he hardly ever feels tired. And it’s the drowsy sort, the kind he knows will knock him out instead of coercing him under the covers only to plague him with another fit of insomnia.

He chews on a few bites, his stomach hungry for it but the thought of sleep turning it all to mush in his mouth. He gets up to throw it down onto his desk, figures he’ll deal with it tomorrow or when it gets all grim and his mum complains about a smell. 

But before he can turn around again, he spots the shirt hanging off the back of the chair there. The same one she’d stolen and sported the last time she’d been round. When she’d fallen asleep on his bed whilst watching a film and he’d been left to keeping quiet in the dark in hopes not to wake her.

He stills for a long second, then almost unconsciously sees his hand reaching out to grasp it. Her perfume flutters at the movement, filling his head, and so he doesn’t really feel his feet start to move, or the way he falls to sit down on the edge of his bed. Contemplating what to do with it, to do with himself. 

An itch gnaws at him, the voice in the back of his head telling him to phone her because it simply wants to hear her voice. But he knows she’ll be asleep, it’s closer to four than three now. 

He clutches at the shirt and thinks back to tonight, how she’d complained for ages and he’d just listened, to the promise of her buying the first round this Friday when they all went out, to her shoes and how they’re fucking worn to bits but also her only favourites.

Sleep crowds the edges of his mind but all he’s got are words now filling up his head, so he keeps the shirt close, even as he gets up to grab his guitar and then settle back on the bed. Lets it sit in his lap whilst he plucks at strings. Thoughts of her filling his room.

“You, you, you..”

#song inspired #the 1975 #matty healy #the 1975 band #Matty Healy x #102 #fic #one shot #matty 1975 #matty x you #reader #pining #a little angsty #y/n #1975 #the 1975 song

[whumpzone]

Hi I don’t want this to seem pressuring or rude, especially bc the update was so recent, but I love your writing and I’m super into the vampire au and I’m wondering if we’ll see Viks reaction in the (potential) next update?

i hope you like this! it got long!

(masterpost)

CW vampire whumpee, thoughts of death, dissociation, dehumanisation

-

Vik pulled open a cupboard door, snatching a cereal bar for no good reason. He was kind of hungry, but he mostly enjoyed stealing something out of Linden’s house every time he popped by. The thing upstairs shouldn’t ruin their small rituals. Vik could just about ignore the way he was leeching the fun out of the place, replacing it with this awful, overbearing awkwardness.  He grunted and took a bite.

“You are so predictable,” Linden scoffed. “I knew you’d take one of those.”

Vik just opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, treating Linden to a sight of his half-chewed food. Linden burst out laughing and whipped the teatowel at him. It was a good shot, snapping against his arm and making him choke in surprise.

“Ow!”

“Thieves get the whip.”

Vik didn’t want his mood to sour, he wanted to ignore it, but fuck it was hard. “Give that thing the whip.”

Linden’s smile faded and the sight of it made Vik’s chest hurt. He was already dealing with so much, and yes it was his own bizarre and stupid choice, but Vik knew he shouldn’t add to it.

“Sorry, mate.”

“No,” Linden sighed. “No, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to be okay with it, I get it. It’s weird.”

“It is weird.”

“Can you trust that I’m doing the right thing?”

Vik thought about this. Linden always appreciated his honesty. “I can’t. But I can trust that you know what the right thing to do is. Does that make sense?”

Linden’s smile returned, but it wasn’t quite the same. “Yeah, you always make sense.”

Two more bites and the snack was gone. Vik held the wrapper in his palm and crushed it up slowly, pretending it was solid steel and only his strength could break it down. One of the stupid, boyish habits he should have left behind in his teenage years but never quite did.

“I dunno what to cook for tea tonight…” Linden murmured as Vik turned to throw the wrapper away.

His talking turned to static, however, as Vik had his attention grabbed by something else. A hastily written note, like something out of an old indie horror game, was lying at the top of the bin. It wasn’t Linden’s handwriting, it was far too messy, and that left only one suspect. Not a person. The thing didn’t make it into that label.

Vik’s eyes narrowed.

What did you need to say sorry for?

Glancing back, throwing in a nod and a hum, hoping he had timed them right enough to look convincing, Vik saw that Linden wasn’t looking at him. He had a new shopping list on the counter before him, but he was staring out of the window, watching the world go by. He was probably happy to have to curtains open for once. God, why would he do this to himself?

Vik seized Linden’s moment of inattentiveness to swipe the piece of paper, pocketing it in one swift movement. From the same pocket, he pulled out a fag.

Linden glanced over, the movement alerting his peripheral vision, and Vik held the cigarette up. “Mind if I?”

“Yeah, sure,” Linden waved him off complacently, of course he did, he trusted Vik.

He had to abuse that trust, but this was important. Linden would understand.

“Have jacket potatoes, I would. So easy. I’ll be back in a bit.”

. . .

Pet knew. He had known long before he caught the scent of Vik walking up to the house. He’d known all night, and he hadn’t slept a second because of it, instead choosing to spend his last night on earth with the stars.

He would try to take it well. He wanted to aim for dignity, but such fantasies weren’t allowed.

The door opened slowly, like it had before. Pet could only watch as Vik locked it behind him. Of course he had a spare key, he was family. As Vik turned to face him once more, a tiny whimper escaped his lips.

No, no, he thought. I don’t think I can do this.

Vik started moving towards him. Pet couldn’t tell if he had a weapon, but he had enough silver to reduce him to screaming flesh. He scrambled back, all thoughts of being still and good thoroughly chased away, replaced by terror and rising panic and the clumsy, ugly desire to live.

Vik took another step. Pet had expected a blind rage and sudden pain and death following not long after, but this slowness reflected a depth of self-restraint, of planning, of a desire to do this properly. There would be no enraged punch that knocked him unconscious. There would be no misaimed kick that cracked his head in just the right place to kill him fast.

Vik’s eyes were locked with his. Should Pet look down like a dog, with a face full of humility and submission? Or was it better to hold the eye contact and prove to him that he wouldn’t dare put him under hypnosis? In the end it felt as if the choice was made for him, as his back hit the wall and he realised he was frozen in fear. He kept staring with wide, frantic, orange eyes.

One of his hands was balled up, and as Vik lifted it, Pet realised it wasn’t destined to punch him, not yet. It was holding something. Vik smoothed the note out and read it over.

“What made you write this, then?”

. . .

The vampire gasped, and Vik knew he was on the right path. Oh yeah. Something had definitely happened and he had needed to double-down on the I’m so harmless and damaged act.

His body was pulsing with anger. He could feel it under his skin, guiding his hands to wring the neck of the creature that was only a metre from him. It would be so easy. He could make sure all his silver rings were lined up and then pound and pound and pound until he was a mess. Until Linden had no choice but to throw him out. Vik would do that too. Linden wouldn’t have to worry about anything. He’d be glad for Vik’s help.

A tiny spark of caution suddenly ran through him. He was dealing with a vampire, after all. No matter what, he was faster, stronger, and more deadly.

An even tinier spark of frustration followed. If Vik did beat the shit out of him, it would mean the vampire was letting him. And what did that mean?

Did it mean he really was domesticated? Tamed? Tortured into submission?

Was that a good thing?

Vik’s lip curled into a scowl. He was standing over a vampire, and the vampire was cowering. Vik was the one in control. What the fuck else mattered?

“You wrote my brother a little sorry note. And I suppose you thought that was all you needed to do. I’m sure you feel pretty smug right now.”

The vampire shook his head, all of his features twisting up like he was going to cry. His eyes were shining. Vik almost laughed. Oh shit, he really was gonna cry.

There was an almighty bang behind him. It would have made a lesser man jump, but not Vik, not when he had a business to see to.

“Vik! Vik you fucking maniac!” Linden shouted. His voice was loaded with pure anger, and on Linden it sounded all wrong.

Vik didn’t break eye contact. It would be too easy for the vampire to get the jump on him if he got distracted.

“Open the door!” Linden continued. “Vik! He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t do anything!”

His tone was already dropping from anger to bargaining. He sounded scared.

Vik knew he couldn’t stay for long, and he felt like taking a risk. He leant even closer to the vampire. His blood would smell so fresh to him, separated by only a thin layer of skin, flesh, whatever. All negligible in the eyes of a hungry vampire. The cereal bar wrapper that Vik had discarded earlier.

“I warned you, right? I’d say I was pretty fair.”

The vampire just nodded, finally looking down and screwing his eyes shut. Braced.

“Vik!”

Before Linden had even finished shouting his name, the first punch had cracked straight across the vampire’s jaw, and god it felt good. It felt like sugar and caffeine and sweet release.

The punch caught and dragged, and Vik realised it was because his silver rings were doing their job even better than he’d anticipated- he’d obviously never punched a vampire in the face before- and each one had started to melt the skin. It was like dragging his knuckles across a fresh wax model. When he retracted his hand, Vik was staring back at an even more monstrous face than before.

The vampire’s left cheek and jaw, where the punch had landed, were badly burnt with rivets exactly where the rings had hit him. Patches of his lips were missing, leaving him with a permanent snarl. The vampire breathed heavily, spitting out some pieces of burnt flesh.

He still wasn’t fighting back. He hadn’t even raised his hands to shield his face.

He just watched, tears running silently down his cheeks, as Vik raised his fist again.

Tame.

Vik faltered.

The vampire started to move.

But he was lowering his head, not lunging for him. Vik’s throat went wholly ignored as the creature bent forward, chest against thigh, and pressed a kiss to Vik’s boot.

Vik’s stomach turned.

The next punch landed easily, knocking the vampire clean down, his curled hands and skinny shoulder bruising against the wooden bedroom floor.

“Get the fuck off me,” he spat, real nausea fuelling the bile in his words. He staggered back, a little too unsteadily for his liking. The vampire hadn’t put him under his control, sure, but he’d still done something to him. He delivered a few swift kicks, going for his ribs until the last one, where he simply lifted the boot that the vampire had just put his lips on and brought it down hard on one of his hands. Vik smiled as the vampire moaned, pushing his face into the floor, like it would swallow him up and let him escape.

It had only been a minute at most since Vik had last heard Linden shouting. He wasn’t going to break the door down, was he? That would be extremely stupid.

“Vi-“

“I’m coming out, calm down,” he shouted, summoning every ounce of nonchalance he could. None of this mattered to him, the whimpering vampire below didn’t matter to him, the only thing that might be worth a damn was that Linden was upset with him. Vik could let himself attend to that.

He thought about taking one of his thickest rings and pressing it into the back of the vampire’s neck, seeing how far it would sink into the flesh, burning a path through the living creature. His stomach rolled again. Perhaps not. He wanted to beat him, rough him up a bit, not torture him.

He kicked the vampire one last time, right in the face where his burns were, and then held his breath as he turned and opened the door.

He found Linden right outside, and ugh, fuck, the fucking look that Vik was greeted with was enough to sow the seeds of guilt, and that made his anger puff its chest up even further.

Linden grabbed his shoulder to shove him out of the way, staring into the bedroom, then back to Vik.

“Go downstairs,” he said, low and flat and emotionless.

Vik grunted and stormed away. When Linden did appear a few minutes later, Vik knew to hold his tongue and let him speak first.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Linden barked as soon as he was downstairs, just far enough that if Vik decided to turn back and finish the job, Linden would at least have time to react.

“Can’t you?” he replied, not missing a second. “It was really out of the realm of your imagination? You dumb, Linden?”

“You’ll be thrilled to know that he’ll be fine in a day or two. I thought you’d killed him. I thought you’d actually just murdered someone. I mean, beating the shit out of them is hardly better, but-“

“Of course he’s- of course he’s fucking alive!” Vik yelled. “He’s a vampire! Fucking hell!”

“He hardly fought back, did he? He would have let you kill him.”

Vik ignored this. “I did that for good reason, you seriously have no idea how much danger you’re in having that thing in the house.”

“God, you really do think I’m dumb. I know, Vikram, and it’s okay, he’s-“

“No, because it’s not okay, something happened and I found the note- he did something! He did something to have to write all that shit!” Vik was surprising himself with how unstable his voice was. He was going to tear himself to ribbons with emotion if he wasn’t careful. But he- his brother- “He did something to you!”

“He didn’t, it- where are the injuries, then? I’m fine!”

“Stop fucking lying to me, Linden, I know we see this differently and I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I can’t support this, but you’re really gonna lie to me? To protect a worthless piece of shit vampire?”

“You lied! You lied to me,” Linden snapped, jabbing a finger into his own chest to emphasise his point. “You didn’t even ask me about the note, you just, what, fished it out of the actual rubbish and snuck away? You went right under my nose in my own house and-“

“Linden, Linden, do you hear yourself? You have a vampire upstairs!”

“Would you just take some deep breaths? Fuck!” Linden was shouting, now, they were both shouting and it was never going to accomplish anything.

How did the vampire see his brother? As master of the house? Vik could listen to the master of the house. He took some deep breaths. Linden did the same, and the two didn’t break eye contact. Vik wasn’t sure how his own face looked. Hurt? Furious? Beastly?

Linden looked like he was a hiker that had just come across a bear. His hands were slightly raised, ready to placate.

“Okay, okay, I’ve calmed down.”

“Okay.”

“Please just tell me what happened.” Vik felt wrung out. Why had any of this needed to happen? Why had Linden taken the stupid thing in, he thought hopelessly. Everything was going wrong. He absolutely hated arguing with Linden.

“I’m not going to let you hurt him anymore.”

“I won’t!” Vik heard himself raising his voice, and paused. Deep stupid useless breaths. “Sorry, I won’t, alright? God.”

“You’re acting like that was a ridiculous accusation to make, when you just-“

“Okay, I get it, I get it, I get it. Please tell me, please Linden, I need to know that you’re okay, I’m doing this for you.”

Linden stared at him from under his heavy brow. It would be so easy for Vik to lean into his own annoyance, but he didn’t want to. He tried to let himself feel the unbearable pain of humility.

Yes, Linden was right. He had just gone and beaten the little pet that Linden was looking after. He shouldn’t have done that- not because the vampire didn’t deserve it, but because Linden hadn’t asked him to.

“I moved my arm in front of his face, just to pick something up, but it scared him. He thought I was gonna hit him. He did this… kind of, like, a bite in the air, but it was like his mouth just closed as a reflex because he was surprised. So he didn’t actually bite me, or hurt me. And yeah, it scared the shit out of me, Vik. I panicked. And then he didn’t move, and I realised if he’d wanted to bite me, he would have. So I asked him if he could write on some paper, and he just used it to apologise, and then he ran upstairs.”

Linden broke eye contact. “Thanks for letting me talk.”

“Yeah, ‘course mate…” Vik said as he mulled everything over. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was only yesterday. I knew you’d lose your shit.”

“Yeah, but that’s not- I still can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

“But Vik, you found out and you did lose your shit. I’m trying to look after him here. I would have told you, okay, of course I would’ve, just in a way that was a bit calmer.”

“So you’re really not hurt?”

“I promise. I swear down.”

“Good.”

“Christ, Vik.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I kept interrupting you.”

Linden ran a hand down his face and exhaled. Vik stepped forward and tilted his shoulder, a tiny fraction of movement. Linden saw it, like he always did, and he understood, wrapping an arm around Vik in a tight hug.

Vik’s arms tightened across Linden’s back, using his strength to push the air out of him in a huff. It only lasted a second or two, but it was all they needed to get the point across.

“I’ll go home. I know you need to go back upstairs.”

“I really need to name him…” Linden muttered, with another almighty sigh.

. . .

Pet lay on the floor where Vik had left him. He was alive.

He took a few breaths. He didn’t want to think. He was numb- alive, and numb. Humans called his current state of breathing, eating, sleeping, a type of undeath. It didn’t seem quite accurate, but he knew he shouldn’t be questioning humans.

Still. Alive he was.

Why had Vik shown him mercy?

Even before his Master intervened, Pet’s finely tuned senses had picked up on all the infinite ways Vik had hesitated.

He hadn’t expected kissing his feet to stop the onslaught, and it didn’t- if anything, it made it worse-but Pet hoped it had proved his obedience. He was alive! He would happily be Vik’s punching bag. Vik could beat him senseless, keep him in his place, Pet would welcome it with Master’s permission.

His hand was twitching in pain where Vik had crushed it. He was strong, for a human, and Pet was an incredibly weak vampire. It made for a pretty good beating. The injuries would fade fast, but it didn’t make the hurt any less severe.

It had been deserved, so the pain didn’t feel like proper pain. The handlers used to remind him that being pinned down, bitten, drained of blood- that was legitimate. What Pet felt was justice, or something. It was hard to remember, not because he had forgotten, but because his mind shoved the memories behind a door and locked it.

He was thinking too much.

If he was truly destined to live a bit longer, Pet decided he had time to drift away. His mind was already tugging at the loose rope that moored him to his body, scratching at it with clumsy fingers, holding back until Pet closed his eyes and lent a hand. He knew how to untie the knot. He had done it so many times before, and as he finally went away, he let the rope slip from his palm without a second thought.

-

here's a little sketch of how Col looks at the end of this chapter:

taglist:

@whumpsday @whumpycries @hollowgast1 @pigeonwhumps @cupcakes-and-pain @extemporary-whump @unicornscotty @d-cs @secretwhumplair @octopus-reactivated @wolfeyedwitch

#me when i get to write loads of dialogue :))))))))) #i love dialogue... this AU just gets more and more indulgent. hehe #cols hair is longer! #he hasnt had it cut yet #vampire col au #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #linden and colton #asks #anon #its LATE but it was worth it i wanted to finish it sooooo bad. to get it posted!! #and what. i'll be a bit tired at my stupid job. so WHAT

[phantomgrimalkin]

@wolfstarmicrofic Prompt: Evil

"I wish you wouldn't smoke those evil things," Hope said with a sigh as her son grabbed his coat to go out into the garden for a cigarette. Again.

"I know, mam," he said with a small chuckle, kissing her cheek.

Sirius frowned and paused, waving Remus to go ahead without him, "I thought you were a muggle, why do you have a problem with cigarettes?"

Hope gave him an incredulous look and snorted, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well my parents hate it since it's some muggle thing and beneath me," he rolled his eyes, "But you're a muggle - I don't get why you have an issue."

"Is this some wizarding thing - that because my son has a much longer life expectancy than me, I shouldn't care when he takes steps to shorten it?" she asked snippily, her lips pursed, "Or are you so sure of your superiority that you think inhaling poison five times a day is harmless?"

"Shorten it? Poison?" Sirius repeated, a sinking feeling in his gut, "They just... they're just something that helps you chill out..."

Hope gave him a sharp, appraising look for a moment before her face softened and she gave a soft, sad chuckle. She touched his cheek gently, "You've never bothered reading the pack, have you, luv?"

Sirius fidgeted, "I've never looked at it - Rem's the one who goes into muggle stores for us."

"He probably forgot you don't know. Everyone in our world knows how dangerous smoking is," she said gently.

"I think he did tell us... and we thought he was joking," he thought back to his first cigarette. Moony had laughed and said 'Careful, those things can kill you' when Sirius nearly hacked a lung out before he got the hang of it. What else had he said that Sirius had just brushed off?

He pulled his leather jacket on and made his way outside. Remus was leaning on the fence, gazing out over the road, cigarette half gone.

"Hey, Pads," he said easily, "Want one?"

"Can I see the box, actually?"

"Hm? Sure, knock yourself out," he replied, flicking it in his hand so it would be easier for Sirius to take. 

Sure enough, in bold writing- "TOBACCO SERIOUSLY DAMAGES HEALTH". He just stared at it for a long moment.

"What's up, Padfoot?" Remus asked with a frown. Sirius just held the box up, pointing to that warning. Remus huffed out a laugh and gave him a puzzled look, "Um, yeah? They're cigarettes. Everyone knows that. Why do you think they're called a slow suicide?"

"Suicide?" Sirius croaked.

Remus froze, his eyes widened, and he dropped the cigarette in his hand, "Oh, fuck, you didn't know, did you?" he ran a hand through his hair, "It's like seat belts again - I didn't think. Shit, sorry, Pads, I wasn't trying to trick you into anything bad I thought you knew."

"But YOU knew," he pointed out heavily, "You knew this whole time and you just kept smoking them - do you not fucking care?"

"Not like my life is worth prolonging," Remus snorted, "Even if I survive this war - the world's not going to be sad to have one less werewolf."

"And what about me?" Sirius snarled, "You really think I won't care? What, you think I want to bury my best friend?"

"James is your best friend," he pointed out with an eyeroll.

"You're still my-" the words got away from him, he hadn't figured out to communicate what Remus was to him, why he felt different, special. "My Moony."

"Yeah and I was your Moony when you sent Snape to the willow," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow, "You didn't seem to care what happened to me then."

Sirius pressed his lips into a thin line, not willing to fall for the distraction. No, he took it seriously. Before that damn night, Remus had smoked maybe a few times a month - once or twice to take the edge off before the full, then to go with the alcohol of their boys' nights. After that night, it had snowballed into a daily practice.

"I know I fucked up that day," he said quietly, "I don't want to lose you, Moony," he glared, "and I'm not going to lose you to those damn fags."

Remus laughed then, "Gonna force me to quit, are you?"

"Yes," he replied, crossing his arms and fixing his jaw.

"Huh," Remus said, tilting his head to one side and giving him a slow smile, "You know - I'd actually like to see you try."

(A/N - I looked into it and tobacco products in the UK have had to have health warnings since 1971, this specific warning may be anachronistic, though)

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #Wolfstarmicrofic #remus lupin #sirius black #protective sirius #cigarettes #Remus's mum is the best I accept no other headcanons #this is why i cant get behind smoking!wolfstar headcanons #Sirius would not let remus hurt himself like that

[gracegrove]

TW era typical language/homophobic slurs, themes, cisheternormative assumptions and overtones, drinking and substance use, the minimization of mental health, the adult entertainment industry, sexual assault by a patron

He had been so close. Logged over 1900 miles and refilled his tank five times only to get here. Only to get this far. To be far enough away from that shithole town in Indiana but not nearly close enough to his final destination. Still an entire desert between him and it.

Sitting in this dingy bar drinking away the last of his month's paycheck, Billy tipped the beer bottle upside down and watched the last two drops fall to the bartop. Sighing in annoyance he set it down, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet.

"Whiskey, neat. And another for my friend here." A man ordered from the bartender, sliding onto the stool next to Billy. His suit was cheap, but his cologne was expensive. Invading Billy's senses and making him cough.

"You're a real looker kid, ya ever been told that?" the man complimented, raising his glass to his lips. Billy eyed the fake Rolex glinting from the man's sleeve, before sliding from his own seat. Leaving the fresh cold beer untouched. "Look buddy, I don't what this is, but I'm not interested."

Cracking the spine on his wallet Billy spread his billfold, ready to settle up and leave. It was empty save for a nickel and a few odd pennies. The man tossed up his hands in offense, "You think I'm into that fag shit? Nah man, that's not what this is!" Digging into his sports coat, the man produced a glossy flyer and slapped it down in front of Billy.

CHIPPENDALES – SHOWS NIGHTLY –

"Chip and Dale's?" Billy sneered, peering at the ad. "Like the fuckin chipmunks?" He dug the cigarette carton from his jacket, squeezing a stick to the top and pulling it out with his teeth. The man barked out a laugh, "You're a riot! No man. No! It's Chippendale's! Ain't you ever heard of 'em!?"

Billy stared at him unamused, hand fidgeting with his lighter. The man shrugged. "Listen, what if I told you that you could make a thousand bucks in a single night?" Billy snorted, lighting his cigarette and leaning against the bar. "-'d call bullshit." The man's eyes widened in excitement. "Absolutely not kid! With the way that you look?! You're a stud! Women must be all over you all the time!"

Billy took a long pull, the man's droning compliments washing him in words he'd heard countless times before. Wrapping him in the chill veil of comfort he'd navigated so much of his life in already. "I mean... you're practically an Adonis!" The man praised, Billy's focus shifting back to reality. "You could even make more... easily."

"With this Chip and Dale's thing?" Billy asked. "Chippendales" the man corrected. "Yes. That's the ticket, and you kid are the moneymaker." He finished his drink. "You just show up every night, take your clothes off for a bunch of horny women, and the money rolls in. You'll be rolling in it in no time!" His confidence was obnoxious. "The pussy is a nice bonus too." He winked, he was a pig.

He slapped a $10 on the bar.

"Come to dress rehearsals Tuesday at 8." He leered at Billy. "Or don't..." his smile wavering under the younger's gaze. "This is no skin off my back. But you'd be blowing a helluva opportunity." He pulled a business card from his wallet and placed it on top of the flyer. "Tuesday. Eight sharp." He repeated tapping them with a thick digit before leaving.

Billy huffed when the man left, finally picking the gifted beer up and taking a long drink. "Fuckwit," Billy swore.

He was there at 7:45, the camaro rumbling into the lot. Heavy beats of pop music bouncing into the parking lot from a propped open side door. Billy slumped a moment in the driver's seat, hand paused on the ignition. He could leave right now. No one would ever know he was here and he could continue scrounging for cash. Picking up odd jobs. Waiting tables and pouring cups upon cups of burnt coffee. Cleaning soot-laden ashtrays while people lost out millions on the casino floor. Throwing out unused food at the end of the night from the all-you-can-eat buffet. Checking IDs and scuffling around with self-righteous men who thought the world owed them everything as soon as they flashed a one-hundred-dollar bill.

He killed the engine and got out, his worn gym bag from Hawkins High slung over a shoulder. No one here would give a shit who the HHS Tigers were or that he was one of the best power forwards Hawkins had had in recent history. No one would give a rat's ass. And that's how he liked it.

"No! No, Rico! It's step, step, ball, change! Then hips!" The woman shouted. "Let the rhythm flow through you!" She was petite with short-cropped hair, dressed in dance attire at the head of a group of a dozen men. "Watch me.... aaaagain." She groaned in emphasis before hitting the stereo with a flat palm.

The music swelled, the thick tempo complimenting the movements she was demonstrating to her pupils. "Remember..." she called over the music, "bend with your knees! I want to see floo-id-i-tee! Now again! 5-6-7-8!" The men picked up the count, recreating her movements, adding their own flare. "Yes! Good! Rico, better, better! Sam, look forward!" She critiqued, hands clapping in time.

Billy dropped his bag to an open space of floor, waiting on the sidelines. "Excuse me! These are closed rehearsals." The woman called, coming over to Billy. "I was told to be here..." Billy replied. "By who?" She inquired with a raised eyebrow. Billy pulled the man's business card from his shorts pocket and handed it to her. She scoffed, "Fuckin Sal... Figures. Alright, kid. Consider this an audition. Pass/fail. You follow my directions or..." She made a slicing motion across her thin neck. "Yes, ma'am" Billy nodded, following as she pointed out a spot for him between a tall Black man, and a Latino man closer to Billy's height.

"We've got two routines to get through today boys so don't lag!" She wound back the tape, "From the top!" Billy was scrambling, not having hustled this hard since last being on the basketball court. He was certain at any minute he'd hear that woman's harsh voice yell at him to walk. But all the way to the break the only critiques he received were, "Lighter on your steps kid!" and "Watch your timing!" and "Don't look at your feet!... Christ's sake!"

Sitting on the floor with the other men he pulled up the hem of his tanktop and mopped at his brow. "Hey... you're pretty good." One of the guys said, sitting next to him taking a long pull from a plastic water bottle. He offered Billy a drink. "I'm Clark." "Billy," he said after a long slug, "Thanks." Clark took another drink. "I think Miss Mel likes you," he said with a kind smile. "Miss Mel?" Clark pointed to the dance instructor, as she looked through a set of cassettes.

Billy laughed, "I don't think that woman likes anyone." They both laughed, sharing the remainder of the water. Clark had been a dancer with the company for a little over 3 years. He said overall the pay was the best part of the gig. There were also opportunities for travel. And this being Vegas, every show was like its own little party before, during, and after. "I think you'll like it here bro, we got it pretty good." Clark reasoned.

"Everybody listen up!" Miss Mel shouted, "Costume measurements for Saturday's ensemble are this evening at 5pm! Show up or lose out! Now back to work!" Billy quirked a brow, "Costumes? I thought this was stripping." Clark chuckled, "It's a lot classier than that. I'll show you around after rehearsals. But each routine is choreographed and themed. Sophisticated and tasteful. Our clientele go nuts for it." "Uh huh..." Billy nodded noncomittally.

The rehearsal concluded, Billy signing on as an 'at will' hire. Miss Mel dug around in the dressing room closets to find some foundational costume sets for Billy. Which included G strings, a stiff white collar and black bowtie, and a pair of white cuffs.

"There are only three rules you need to follow working here. Come to rehearsals on time, don't come to work drunk or high, and the more skin wins. Got it?" She prompted, handing Billy a set of papers. He nodded, "Yeah. What're these?" He asked. "Our people." She stated succinctly, "Get yourself an even tan, bulk up a bit more." She pointed to a phone number on the sheet, "Ask for Fritz, he'll do you right. See you, tomorrow kid."

Four months later on Billy's first opening night with the company he was in the ensemble as a Wildman in complement to the main Tarzan. A tiger-printed loincloth draped across his hips only to serve as a tear-away at the end of the act with a leafy G string beneath. He had attended all the rehearsals. Had gotten to know pretty much all of his fellow dancers, but the sheer size of the crowd shocked him and made his gut tangle in knots. Women screeching and pawing at him. Countless hands thrust from the crowd where he hadn't even anticipated them. Dollar bills waved in his face, being pinned to his chest, being shoved down the one article of clothing he had left. It was overwhelming and stifling all at once.

At the end of his first night, he sat on the bench in the dressing room completely zoned out. Music and cheering from the party continued on the other side of the stage dropping to a dull thud in his ears as he stared into space. A sudden slap on his bare back pulled him out of it. "Woooooh! Bill did you see all those bitches!" Al whistled, leaning on the dressing table to flick a hand through his hair. The other dancers were coming in, Freddie with two patrons, one under each arm. "Ladies ladies ladies, what say we start this night off properly with a little treat?" He opened his locker and pulled a small vial from his jacket. Billy knew where this was going. Nights ended like this constantly in the dressing room, with smeared lines of white powder needing to be cleaned off his workspace the following morning. That along with discarded liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms.

Pulling the bills from his waistband and other crevices where they had been shoved in the fray, Billy hastily shoved his tips in his bag and pulled on a pair of sweats. "Hey! Don't you wanna join us?!" A woman called, wandering up. Billy shook his head, grabbing the t-shirt from his locker. "Oh c'mon!" she persisted, pressing herself up against him. "I could really help loosen you up after such a... long... performance..." Her hand darted below Billy's waistband before he could say another word. Gripping him tightly and groping him. Billy gritted his teeth, putting a hand on her shoulder and gently attempting to push her away. "I can't," He declined politely, "Got other plans tonight honey." The woman looked hurt, the tone of her voice shifting from playful to cold as she removed herself from his pants. "Well... I doubt your plans will ever fuck you the way I could." One of Billy's coworkers cackled, "I'll fuck you every which way to north baby! Get your ass over here!" Other dancers in the room joined in the laughter. "Whassa matter Billy she too much woman for ya?" "Oh forget it Carl you know he never stays..!" "Nooooo! Who, Billy?!"

Not even putting the shirt on Billy gathered his things and left, hustling out the back hallway to the fire exit closest to the south lot. He shouldered someone hard in his hurry. "Hey, Billy you ok man?" It was Clark, coming back from a smoke break, his brows were creased in concern. Billy looked at him momentarily and thought about what might happen if he actually said what his mind was screaming at him. "Yeah. Fine." Clark's eyes didn't look like they believed that. "Ok, Billy. But if you ever need anything I'm always around and there's more than a handful of 24-hour diners in this town with coffee that ain't half shit." He cracked a smile. Billy nodded, "thanks I'm just tired," and he continued to the door.

Once outside he scrambled into his shirt, pulling a cigarette out and locking it between his lips while he patted his pockets for his lighter. "Sonnuva," he had left it on his locker shelf. He did not want to go back in and retrieve it. The whole dressing room would be an orgy now. "Shit." Billy sighed, checking his bag just in case and going through a pat down one more time before taking the smoke from his mouth.

"Need a light?" The voice approaching was familiar. Warm and honied. As the lighter flickered to Billy's outstretched hand, a pair of caramel-brown eyes came into view.

"Harrington?" Billy asked incredulously, raising the cigarette to his lips. "The hell're you doing here?" Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Steve looked at him. "Was in town for a company conference and I saw your face on a billboard", he stated dumbly, "And..." "And you wanted to come see the circus animal is that it?" Billy snarled, stepping back, sucking harshly through the filter. Steve drew up his hands, "No man, not at all!"

"I wanted to see you..." Steve stumbled out, each word falling quieter than the last. "You just left that summer... We were worried about you."

"We?" Billy sniffed, smoke curling around his nostrils. "Yeah," Steve encouraged, "Me, Max, your Mom, ... your Dad was really upset." Billy scoffed, a bitter noise getting caught in his throat. He hoped Steve wouldn't read too much into it. "Can... can we get some food or something and talk?" Steve asked, scratching the back of his head.

Billy took the last drag from his cigarette, throwing it away. "No," he stated coldly, "go home." Walking away, Billy stopped, Steve putting a palm flat against his chest. "Move your hand or lose it," Billy bit, voice quivering. Steve remained, taking a step into Billy's space. "Talk to me. Please." He begged, the tone bordering an octave above desperation.

Billy was exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to shove Steve to the ground like that night at the Byers. He was still probably just as miserable with his feet. Easily toppled. But he had no energy. Billy's eyes stung with frustration, as he hurriedly wiped at them.

Steve's features twisted with concern. "Hey... um. Shit." He cursed guiltily pocketing his hands. "I'm not any good at this." He squared his shoulders, bracing himself. "Billy I... I never said it in Hawkins." Billy stared at the brunette, emotion swirling in his eyes. "Billy... I." Steve stammered, "I wanted to ask you to stay, but I just couldn't. I was such a fucking coward. I'm sorry Billy."

Steve stumbled backward, feet slipping as two fists wrapped in his blazer. Lips crashing against his. Billy dragged him close, praying that this connection even momentary could salvage what could have been.

The pair scrapped about, Steve pinning Billy up against a Volvo in the low light of the parking lot. The heated desperation exchanged with each kiss left them breathless. The combined pressure of their bodies rocking the chassis as Steve leaned up, tugging at the plush swell of Billy's cupid's bow. "Please. Stay with me," he pleaded through frenzied kisses. Billy nodded dumbly, "Yes, forever."

#billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove au #billy x steve #chippendales harringrove

[octuscle]

thank you my friend for showing me all the things I can be. But one transformation just felt more right than the others. Please can you turn me back to a British chav working in ChavTF. This time I want it to be permanent and I want to become as chavy as possible. Just a dumb horny chav, who loves trainers, tracksuits, smoking, drinking and blowjobs

Alcohol gives you really stupid ideas, doesn't it? Even if the alcohol is an expensive 2020 Silvaner from a great vineyard on the Main in Franconia… Dude, you're a masterpiece! And you want to change that?

You're playing with your cell phone… There's the ChavTF online store. Hot tracksuit on special offer. The devil knows when you'd put it on… But you order it. They recommend a pair of socks, a pair of sneakers, a bracelet and a necklace. You think the necklace is stupid… But the rest looks cool. Everything goes into the shopping cart. Pay. And order. Everything should be here the day after tomorrow.

When you get home on Friday evening, the parcel is on your doorstep. Some friendly neighbor has accepted the package. The box has been used before. A bong was obviously packed in it before. It also smells like weed, but also like the plastic of cheap synthetic fibers. The tracksuit is no longer in its original packaging. It also smells a bit like sweat. And it looks like there are dried precum stains in the pants. You get a boner. And your precum forms another stain in your pants. The socks and sneakers look great with the tracksuit.

There are lots of notes in the box next to the bill. A voucher for a hairdresser. And a flyer looking for new employees for the online shop. Hehehe, the job certainly wouldn't make enough money for your Mayfair apartment. But somehow you feel like redeeming the voucher for the hairdresser. Shorter hair goes better with the tracksuit. Okay, the cab ride to the Eastend is probably almost as expensive as if you'd gone to your hairdresser. But that doesn't matter to you now.

You fit into the hairdressing salon about as well as the king fits into the subway. None of the customers are over 25 years old. No one feels as muscular in their tracksuit as you do. And everyone is either smoking a cigarette or a joint. And most of them have a can of beer. The hairdresser sees you and shouts "You're next. Would you like uh beer, mate?" You just say yes. And then the barber runs the long hair clippers through your hair. "Mate, should I shave off da beard? it makes you look like an old main?" You actually feel much younger. The beer is why and tastes like piss. But it feels good. Your forehead is wrinkle-free and smooth again. You look more like a young bouncer than an investment banker. "Nah, mate, da beard stays on. But do you have uh fag for me?" Damn, what's happened to your language.

You tip the barber a pound. You can hardly get enough of your reflection in the mirror. You need sex now. Quickly. It's still light and the cruising area in Victoria Park isn't far away. You don't have to stand by the tree for long before you disappear into the bushes with an old geezer. Phew, not really your level. But it feels right to get down on your knees and suck the unshaven, cheesy cock of this unkempt guy. And it also feels right when you pocket the ten pound note after the blowjob.

You take the subway home. Fuck, you're so horny, you could get fucked by every other guy here. But you need a pint of beer at least as badly. And it's not unlikely that you'll find something to fuck in the pub.

Fuck, you could clean up your mess and air it out. And you don't have anything clean to wear either. Shit, you had something planned for today… While you're pissing and smoking in your dirty little bathroom, you remember. You wanted to apply for the job. Warehouse worker at that cool clothes store in the East End. You spray some Axe under your armpits, put on your new tracksuit and take the bus to the East End.

You're already a little excited. After all, it's the first job you've done since you dropped out of your plumbing apprenticeship. And it's eight pounds an hour. A hell of a lot of money. But the guy in the store is cool. He thinks that all you need to be able to do for the job is organize weed for the other employees, give him the occasional blow job and tape up packages. Hehehe, hopefully you'll learn how to do the parcels, the rest you'll manage. And you can prove it right away. Starting with a blowjob.

Best job ever. In fact, you're more of a warehouse hustler than a warehouse worker. But there are good tips. And the dope you got is damn good. And hopefully no one will notice that you took the necklace with you. Your mother yells for you to come into the house, dinner is ready. You shout back that you only have a few more things to do. Hehehe, you can't stand dinner with your mother and her new stud without being stoned.

Pics found @my-gear-smoking-favourites, @lyon69007-blog and @scallysmoker2

#male tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #age reduction #chav tf

[felixantares]

Snippet Sunday

This is by far one of the most ridiculous ideas I’ve ever had, but it was brought up again earlier today and I have no plans of finishing this one shot, so I’m dumping what I have and calling it a day lmao the premise was post-war drarry, draco gets a muggle job but the only place he can find that will hire him is this ridiculous cat cafe and harry is on a terrible date with a girl who wants to go in and see the cats. harry and draco meet again after 3 years and crack ensues

*

The bell above the door jingled and the sound of obnoxious laughter faded as the last of the morning rush cleared out, leaving Draco alone behind the counter for the first time since eight that morning. He tidied up the visiting area, clearing empty cups and picking up discarded toys — was it really so hard to clean up after themselves — all the while dodging the cats that ran up meowing for attention, as if they didn’t spend all day being pet already.

Clean up done, his eyes drifted over to the clock on the wall and he nearly screamed when it only read half past eleven. The day would never end.

He poked his head into the kitchen where Beth was leaning against a freshly cleaned stainless steel counter, scrolling through her phone as the ovens whirled away, filling the air with the smell of sickly-sweet pastry.

“Can you watch the counter?” he asked. “I’m going out for a fag before I snap and stab the next person who laughs at the new uniform.”

She shrugged without looking up, which he took as an enthusiastic yes, so he grabbed his coat and hurried out the back door. He ripped the offending uniform from his head as soon as he was clear of the café.

Their manager had decided that the uniform needed an ‘upgrade’ (which Draco had learned usually meant making things worse) so now in addition to the pink and white lace apron, the uniform also included a pair of fuzzy white cat ears on a headband. He’d protested both heavily, but their manager was an unusually sadistic woman who clearly enjoyed his suffering and had only laughed at him.

“They’re supposed to be ridiculous. You sell sparkly cupcakes and pillows shaped like cats to people who only come in looking to pet the cats. These are cute and will bring in more customers!” she had said.

Yeah, more customers looking to snap photos and laugh at the grown man wearing cat ears, he thought.

The cold bit at his fingers as he fumbled for his lighter and he cursed as it fell out of his hands. He should’ve followed his mother’s example and moved somewhere warm, instead of refusing to leave London — only cowards ran, and he was done being a coward.

It was a stupid sentiment, in retrospect, but he’d said those words to his mother when she’d brought up the idea and now his pride refused to let him back down.

Pride that the fuzzy ears were quickly eroding.

The lighter was broken, he discovered. It refused to make so much as a spark, and he really did scream then, grinding the useless hunk of plastic under the heel of his boot. Five years without magic had seemed like a small price to pay for his crimes at the time, but when he couldn’t even light a fucking cigarette without fear of violating parole, he really questioned the fairness of it.

He stomped back inside, shoving the stupid ears back on his head. Beth didn’t bother looking up as she headed past him back into the sanctuary of the kitchen. He envied her job far from the public eye but his last attempt at baking told him he was far better off out front.

From behind him, a raspy mrow made him jump. Sitting on the counter was a massive orange and white cat.

He glared at it. “Marmaduke, you know you’re not supposed to be on the counter.”

The cat stared back at him, unmoving.

He sighed and resigned himself to the company. Any attempts to move the orange beast would be met with claws, as he’d learned his first week there. A year later and the infernal thing still hadn’t been adopted and was meaner than ever.

A glance at the clock told him it was only quarter to twelve. He slumped over the counter next to Marmaduke, face pressed to the cool wood as he contemplated just turning in his apron and walking out. A patch of something sticky glued to his skin to the counter and he grimaced but couldn’t muster the energy to move. He’d quit tomorrow, he told himself.

The bell above the door jingled and with great effort he peeled himself off the counter.

He couldn’t force any enthusiasm to his voice as he gave the café’s scripted greeting, “Hi, welcome to Feline Sweet where our treats are as sweet as the kittens. What can I get for you today?”

He kept his eyes on the till; the idea of eye contact was exhausting. The only things he was vaguely aware of were faded denim jeans, dark skin, and tattoo covered hands, but that was enough to make his heart rate pick up — definitely not their normal clientele but definitely his type. There was someone else just beside the mystery guy, in black tights and a pale pink dress that seemed much more in line with their regular crowd.

There was an extended pause and he thought maybe they needed a minute to study the menu.

“Malfoy?” the tattooed man choked out.

This wasn’t happening. He knew that voice; he’d heard it almost every day for 7 years — but he forced his eyes up anyway.

That’s not fair, was his first thought. Potter had gone and gotten hot. Long curls pulled back in a messy bun, day old stubble that somehow looked intentional rather than sloppy, and Draco thought he could see dark lines of ink curling up from under his shirt collar.

They were staring at each other and Draco realised what he must look like — dark circles under his eyes, coffee stains on his shirt sleeves, and ridiculous fuzzy ears — the bloody cat ears. Heat spread across his face. Harry fucking Potter was standing in front of him looking like he’d walked off the pages of GQ, and he was wearing cat ears and a pink apron.

It was probably a good thing he didn’t have his wand, he thought. He’d have apparated himself to the bottom of the channel and let himself drown.

#harry james potter #draco malfoy #cat cafe #snippet sundays #drarry #felix writes #unfinished one shots

[marinerainbow]

Well, thanks to @wicked1will0sparkles, I must give the context for Poppy's misdemeanor arson charge XD

And no, Wheezy was miraculously not involved! This was when Poppy was still new to Downtown.

~

The rabbit clutched onto her jacket tightly, chasing the small comfort it provided her as she walked down the streets of... Her new home. Though it felt more like a wasteland, with all the intimidating looking toons, the trash and broken glass littering the streets, and the occasional yelling or gunshot that would ring out and force her to pin her ears down to try to muffle the noise for her sensitive ears.

Poppy felt tears prick in her eyes as everything started to become so overwhelming to her. Or rather, everything was about to reach a boiling point after the week. Ever since Henry...

Choking back a sob, she rubbed her eyes dry again, having to try so hard not to cry right now. Why did he do this? Why did he take everything and deserted her? Did she do something wrong? Did she not love him enough? Did he need more money? Just-

Her thoughts were interrupted when she bumped into somebody. She didn't knock them down fortunately, but how did she not see them? When the toon looked down at her, a rat looking toon with an awful smell about him, the already frightened rabbit felt her heart leap to her throat, "I-I'm s-s-sorry sir. I d-d-didn't s-see-"

"Why 'ya shakin', doll? I ain't done nothin' to you." The rat shrugged before pulling a cigarette from between his teeth. That must have been the source of the smell, "'Ya look like you've seen a ghost."

She didn't know what to say then. Or rather, her brain was racing trying to figure out which answer she should give him. Apologize again? Say she didn't see a ghost? Stay silent? It was painfully obvious that she was a fish out of water to... Well, anybody who saw her now.

While she was anxiously staring uo at him, the rat toon sighed. There was something behind his dark eyes that she couldn't quite place at the moment, "A newbie, huh? Don't worry. Y'll get the hang 'a things soon enough."

Finally, prompted by his statement, Poppy was able to speak, "N-Newbie?"

"'Yer a washed up toon, right? Can't be a bad guy. Rabbits are 'nevah the baddies. Or 'didja get lost on 'yer way home?"

Oh. He was asking if she lived here, "... Th-The first thing... I-I live here..."

"Ah." The taller toon nodded plainly before taking a drag from his cigarette, "So your cryin' is only because of the scary Downtown area, or did somethin' happen?"

The exaggerated tone wasn't lost on Poppy. But at that moment, her thoughts went back to her ex, and she looked away from the rat, trying to hide her sad eyes and quivering lip, even though he had already seen them. Somehow... She didn't know why, but she found herself nodding, "Yes... T-To both..."

She didn't expect any sympathy. If her own parents didn't offer comfort, why would a stranger on the street want to make her feel better? God, why was she wasting this man's time? He probably had better things to do. She should just go-

"Damn. Must've been pretty bad to get 'ya so worked up."

Blinking, Poppy tilted her head back up to look at the taller toon. His words weren't the most emotionally moving, but... She could see a look of pity in his eyes. Was this stranger... Or was that just her hopeful thinking? Before she could reply though, he shrugged and muttered, "What the hell..." Before reaching into his pocket. Digging around for something.

She was quiet and watched him curiously. Though she grew slightly confused when he pulled out a lighter and a partially crushed cigarette pack. She tilted her head ever so slightly as he pulled out a fag and offered it to her, "'Ere. This'll put 'ya at ease. Can't stand to see people cry."

The rabbit's eyes widened, and she was just about to reject the kind offer. But then, before the words could form on her tongue, she stopped herself and thought about it. At the studio, she lost count of how many humans she saw smoking. She had seen plenty of toons with a cigarette or two, sometimes even multiple like that blue weasel she saw the other day. She had even caught her own mother with a smoke on occasion...

Sure, they smelled awful, but that didn't necessarily mean anything, right? Like... Like soap tasted bad, but it was good to use?? It didn't really make sense, in all honesty. But with a frazzled mind and heart, she needed all the help she could get. If this nice stranger told her this would help, maybe it would.

"Th-Thank you." She replied quietly, hesitantly taking the fag and inspecting it for a brief moment, before sticking it into her mouth and holding it with her lips. It already felt strange to her, and a part of her wanted to give it back, but the rat leaned in to light it up for her before she could ponder it. So now, she had to go through with it. She sucked in as big of a breath as she could...

"HACK-" The fresh cigarette flew out of her mouth as she bowled over and started coughing and wheezing. She didn't even notice the other toon jumping to the side. Her lungs felt like they were on fire! Her nose felt clogged, the taste was overpowering, and somehow it got into her eyes!? Why the heck would anybody smoke if this was how it felt???

"Jesus christ, lady!" The rat toon exclaimed. His eyes were wide, and he placed a hand on her back as she hacked painfully, "'It's fine, c'mon now."

It felt like forever until Poppy was able to stop coughing. Her throat was dry, her chest and abdomen were aching, and tears ran down her cheeks for a very different reason now. But she managed to stand back up straight now, holding onto the rats' free arm to stabilize herself. She wiped her eyes as he patted her on the back, "There 'ya go. 'Yer ok, yeah?"

She let out a small wheeze as she opened her mouth to respond, until an even stronger stench permeated her senses. Once she looked up and saw what was happening, Poppy practically jumped out of her skin and shrieked, "FIRE!?"

Somehow, someway, by the ironic and cruel ways that toons were designed, the still lit cig had landed onto a trashcan that was behind the rat. And right now, there was a fire that was growing bigger at a ridiculous pace.

"What- SHIT!" The toons eyes popped out of his skull when he saw what was happening. With no hesitation, the rat just gathered his things, only briefly glancing at Poppy to yell, "Don't just stand there!" Before he booked it towards the other direction. Leaving Poppy shocked and horrorfied at what she had accidentally done.

"W-Wait! Somebody!?" She looked out to the street desperately, but no one even glanced towards her direction now. Other toons either kept on walking, or they ran off as soon as they saw the fire. Having no idea what else to do, Poppy just ripped her jacket off of her shoulders and started trying to put out the fire herself.

...

"Though the fire didn't go out." Poppy explained as she tugged on the cloth of her sleeve, looking embarrassed as if she was just retelling a cringy story from her high school years, "I guess it was one of those toon fires that can only be put out by water... And there was a police car passing by that saw everything... I only spent a few days in the jail cells though, before everything was sorted out. I got pretty lucky, haha... Ever since then, I've sworn off cigarettes."

Looking back at her friends, she saw all five weasels staring at her in various forms of disbelief. Even Smartass' grip on her law records loosened enough where it looked like they would fall from his hands and onto the coffee table. Her brows furrowed in confusion and slight concern as she glanced between them all, "What?"

~

I'm out of steam, so I'm just gonna end this here. One things for certain, Wheezy won't ever let Poppy touch his cigarettes XD

#WFRR #who framed roger rabbit #Disney #Disney Villains #Toon Patrol #my own writing #my own OC's #Poppy #tw smoking #tw fire #Terry Ratt T.