#Cigarette Smuggling

[afrotumble]

Cigarette smuggling thrived after South Africa banned its sale | Africanews

[ohimsummer]

teen! satoru doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong.

his books go smashing into the floor, papers and notes and homework scattering all over the place. before satoru can even make a move to bend down and grab them, he’s shoved backwards into one of his attackers—a blonde boy about three inches short of his own height. the other kid, the stockier one with brown hair, stomps on satoru’s binder as he approaches, breaking it under his feet .

“aw, man!”, he mocks satoru and makes a gesture like he’s wiping tears from his eyes. “looks like i broke it. my bad.” and then raises his foot to completely flatten the notebook under his shoe. “whoops.”

satoru makes another effortto grab his belongings, but the blonde at his back grabs the neck of his shirt, yanking him off balance until satoru is tripping and scrambling to stay upright.

“stop!”, he tries to command, but his anger is overshadowed by fear and anxiety.

“stop!”, both bullies mimic him in high-pitched voices before laughing at satoru's utter helplessness. the heavyset bully sneers at him. “imagine if your little friends saw how pathetic you looked right now. they would never speak to you again.”

and with his muddled mind, even though satoru is on the verge of tears, he can connect the dots. these guys are obviously jealous of his new friendships. for what, though, he has no clue, but it still frustrates satoru, nonetheless. some of the first companions he’s had since elementary and, what, these guys jealous because he’s not stuck being an easy punching bag anymore or something?

“hey!”, the mean-spirited brunet grabs a fistful of white hair and satoru cries out, face twisted in pain. “what, does it hurt? you gonna cry, loser?”

he doesn’t want to, but satoru can feel the tears about to fall. between the discomfort, the treatment, the incoming migraine from the stress, and, admittedly, the reality of their earlier words, it's almost impossible not to let a few slip. you guys probably would think he looked completely pathetic right now.

satoru squints his eyes open just in time to see the brown-haired bully in front of him raise a fist. instinctively, he goes to shield his face from the incoming assault, but his other captive isn’t having it, grabbing him by the arms to wreste them behind his back. all satoru can do is wrench his eyes shut and tense, waiting to feel the pain of the hit coming his way. but it never comes.

there’s a loud grunt and a sound of scuffling, but satoru doesn’t open his eyes unit he hears familiar voices: it's you and suguru.

the scene before him is something he’s never seen before outside of movies. suguru has the bigger bully pinned to the floor, with one hand twisted tight in the collar of his shirt and the other landing another brutish punch to the bully's now-bloodied face.

the hairs on satoru’s neck begin to rise, but it's not out of fear. he hears a familiar electric crackle, and the arms holding him back are a lot less secure around him.

“wh–what the fuck..!”, the blonde boy stutters behind him. “you–you can’t have that!”

shoko waves the pink stun-gun a little closer to the second bully. “so? what are you gonna do, tell on me?” she toys with a button and blue bolts of lightning hiss. “should i make sure you don’t make it to the principal’s office?”

the boy’s grip loosens even more, and you yank your nerdy best friend away, shoving the bully’s head into the wall behind him as hard as you can. he groans in pain, clutching the back of his skull and barely turns to glare at you before shoko pokes the weapon at him again. he flinches and stumbles backwards…right into suguru’s bloodied fists.

satoru pauses by the door. he’s never ever been in this corner of the school before, never had a reason to. he glances at the words above the doorframe: detention.

peeping in through the window, he spots his friends—you, suguru, and shoko—and also those brutal bullies who attacked him a week ago. they sit far on the opposite side of the room, putting as much distance between them and you three as possible. suguru’s hands are wrapped in gauze, but it's nothing compared to the bandages decorating the other two boys in the room.

as if sensing his presence, you glance up at the door, and your bored frown turns to a wide grin on your lips. shoko and suguru follow your gaze, and return the wave satoru gives them. he mouths a few words at your group—study hall—which you three nod at before he disappears back to where he came.

he’s not allowed in the detention room, and he could definitely be at home playing digimon or doing something else enjoyable. but he has to organize his re-written notes in a new binder, anyway. might as well wait for his best friends to get out of ‘jail’ while he does it.

[bibleofficial]

this is so fucking funny to me ? u don’t know the alternative to a disposable product ? like we just have to buy a reusable like cucks ?

[daydreamerdrew]

The Adventures of Captain America (1991) #2

[kazifatagar]

GOF Foils RM100,000 Cigarette Smuggling Attempt

The Southeast Brigade of the General Operations Force (GOF) foiled a cigarette smuggling attempt worth over RM100,000 in Kampung Manjor, Laloh, Kuala Krai. Commander Datuk Nik Ros Azhan Nik Ab Hamid said the 8th Battalion team made the seizure during Op Taring Alpha. GOF Foils RM100,000 Cigarette Smuggling Attempt Authorities found 46,000 white cigarettes and 10,000 kretek cigarettes intended…

[atsvensson]

Omfattande cigarettsmuggling avslöjad i Karlshamn

Omfattande cigarettsmuggling avslöjad i Karlshamn. Klockan 11:00 på förmiddagen den 22 september rullade en litauisk lastbil av färjan i Stillerydshamnen, Karlshamn. En tulltjänsteman beslutade att kontrollera lasten. Bland godset på väg till etablerade företag i Sverige stod åtta stora pallar inlindade i vit plast. Pallarna innehöll totalt 3,2 miljoner smuggelcigaretter. Den 4 december 2024…

[divinekangaroo]

Opened up my old notes file for PB rewatch and found my calculations for how many $ worth of cigarettes Tommy smokes in a day

[amara-scott]

Bed Chem 🌸

I listenend to far too much Sabrina Carpenter and had to write something that's just filled with far too much tension. Enjoy (or suffer with me).

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x female! Slytherin Reader

Summary: A game of truth or dare turns your already terribly tense situation with Mattheo even more terribly loaded with electricity. How very unfortunate...

The Slytherin common room was alive with chatter and the occasional pop of a Firewhiskey bottle. Someone had smuggled in drinks, and half the house was sprawled across the emerald-green couches and leather armchairs, their conversations a mixture of gossip and drunken confessions.

I perched on the arm of a sofa, drink in hand, legs crossed as I half-listened to Pansy complain about Draco’s latest drama. But it was hard to focus—not when I could feel his eyes on me.

Mattheo Riddle.

Across the room, leaning against the fireplace, his dark curls fell into his eyes as he brought a cigarette to his lips. His gaze was fixed on me, unwavering, heavy, like he was daring me to look away first.

I didn’t. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Instead, I took a slow sip from my glass, expression carefully unreadable. But inside, my pulse hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

Mattheo smirked. Of course, he knew. He always did.

"Alright," Enzo announced suddenly, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips. "It’s time for a game."

A collective groan rose from the group, but no one actually protested. A night like this always ended in some kind of reckless entertainment.

"What kind of game?" Daphne asked, raising a skeptical brow.

Enzo’s grin widened. "Truth or Dare."

I rolled my eyes, but a thrill sparked in my chest. This could be dangerous.

"Predictable," Theo muttered, but he didn’t object as Enzo conjured an empty bottle and placed it in the center of the table.

"Alright, rules are simple," Enzo continued. "If you choose truth, you have to answer honestly. If you choose dare, you have to do it. No backing out."

The game started off lighthearted—Draco was dared to serenade the room (badly), Pansy had to take a shot off Daphne’s stomach, Blaise admitted to having a secret stash of Honeydukes chocolates under his bed.

But then, of course, it was my turn.

I felt it before it happened. The shift in energy. Enzo’s smirk turning almost wicked.

"Truth or dare, Y/N?" he asked, eyes glinting.

I hesitated. I knew better than to pick truth. No matter what I chose, Enzo would find a way to make it insufferable.

But I also knew Mattheo was watching. And I wasn’t about to let him see me falter.

"Dare," I said smoothly, tilting my chin up.

A chorus of oooohs filled the room. Enzo’s smirk deepened. He glanced at Mattheo, then back at me, and that’s when I knew—he was going to ruin me.

"I dare you," Enzo dragged it out, "to sit on Mattheo’s lap for the next three rounds."

My breath caught. Laughter erupted around the room, and I heard at least one dramatic gasp from Pansy.

I should’ve expected it.

Mattheo, the bastard, just chuckled, exhaling a slow drag of smoke before flicking his cigarette into the fire. He spread his legs slightly and draped an arm over the back of the couch, looking entirely too comfortable.

"Well?" he drawled. "You heard him, princess."

I clenched my jaw. Backing out wasn’t an option.

So I did what any self-respecting Slytherin would do. I played the game.

With as much grace as I could muster, I stood and made my way over to him, ignoring the way my skin burned under his gaze. I turned my back to him and sat on his lap, settling down with a confidence I didn’t feel.

The room whistled and cheered, but I barely heard it over the pounding of my own heartbeat.

Mattheo’s hands rested lazily on my thighs, fingers tracing circles through the fabric of my skirt. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my ear.

"You’re blushing," he murmured, just low enough for only me to hear.

"Shut up," I whispered back, refusing to look at him.

But Mattheo wanted me to look at him.

One of his hands slid to my waist, his grip just firm enough to make me inhale sharply. "What’s wrong, princess?" he teased, voice dripping with amusement. "You seemed so confident a second ago."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "You seem awfully smug for someone who’s supposed to be suffering through this."

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Oh, believe me, I’m suffering, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dark, dangerous. His fingers flexed against my waist. "Just not in the way you think."

My breath hitched, and the tension in the room was suffocating. Across the room, I could feel Enzo’s eyes glinting, his smirk knowing.

"Alright, let’s keep going," Enzo said, spinning the bottle again. "Wouldn’t want Y/N to get too comfortable over there."

Laughter rippled through the group, but I barely heard it.

Mattheo’s fingers moved subtly, lazily dragging along the hem of my skirt, a featherlight touch that was maddening. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Stop that," I hissed.

Mattheo’s lips twitched. "Stop what?"

I glared at him. "You know exactly what."

He hummed, his fingers tracing a little higher. "Oh, you mean this?" His thumb finding its way under the hem of my shirt, and I stiffened.

"Yes, that," I bit out.

His grin was slow, smug, devastating. "I don’t think I will."

Before I could snap at him, the bottle landed on Pansy.

"Truth or dare?" Theo asked, his smirk wide.

Pansy sighed, twirling a strand of her hair. "Dare, obviously."

Theo’s grin deepened. "I dare you to kiss the person in this room we’d least expect you to kiss."

Pansy blinked, scanning the room dramatically.

Then, in a move no one saw coming, she grabbed Draco by the collar and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

The room erupted in laughter as Draco sputtered, wiping his mouth. "What the fuck, Parkinson?"

Pansy smirked like she’d won something. "Relax, darling. It’s not my fault Theo’s a menace."

I might’ve laughed if not for the fact that Mattheo’s hand had slid dangerously far up my skin, his grip possessive.

I turned my head, narrowing my eyes. "Riddle."

He raised a brow, looking innocent. "Yes?"

My voice was sharp, but quiet. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Mattheo’s smirk turned sinful. "Oh, princess." His fingers ghosted up my ribs, slow and deliberate. "I think we both know that’s not what you really want."

Heat surged up my neck, furious and relentless. "I hate you," I whispered, but it sounded weak.

Mattheo leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "Liar."

The bottle spun again, landing on Mattheo.

"Truth or dare, Riddle?" Enzo asked, his grin wicked.

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. "Dare."

Enzo’s eyes gleamed. "I dare you to kiss Y/N."

Silence fell over the room like a guillotine.

I froze, pulse pounding in my ears.

Mattheo’s smirk widened, and I didn’t miss the dangerous flicker in his eyes.

"You don’t have to," Pansy said softly, watching me.

But I wasn’t about to let Mattheo think he had the upper hand.

I faced him fully, straddling him now, ignoring the way his hands found their way and tightened around my waist.

"Fine," I said, voice steady, daring. "Let’s get this over with."

Something dark flashed in Mattheo’s eyes before he leaned in. His nose brushed against mine, and I swallowed hard.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. Meaning it.

I should. I could.

But I didn’t.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

His lips crashed onto mine. Sealing the fate I didn't want to admit was coming for me either way.

[visenyaism]

Aegon Unworthy Administration Dashboard Simulator

⚔️ whiteswordtowerrr

the gold cloaks found my aegmon rpf guys it might be a while before my next update

💫 maidens-grace Follow

RIP OP this is why RPF is not only problematic (sinful against the Maiden AND the Smith) but will also literally deservedly get your skull put on a spike

⚔️ whiteswordtowerrr

I lived bitch. king aegon made me read it out loud to his brother because he thought it was funny but then he let me go. new chapter dropping in 20 minutes

#the dragonknight got all purple and furious but he did just have to stand there and take it. Just like in this next chapt- #the king did hook up with my sister afterwards though. what can you do

🍒lanadelreyene Follow

listennnnn im not saying he’s perfect im just saying liberating women from religious oppression and literal imprisonment in the maidenvault and letting his girl cousin do the economy and elevating women of all social standings to positions of prominence isnt NOTHING.

🫀tree-hearted

“king aegon is a feminist” “criston cole had hoes” you people will say anything on this website.

🛡️knighttime Follow

just saw that Daemon Waters kid like the king’s four year old bastard do a perfect standing backflip in the training yard. Kind of compelling. Kind of kingly. I don’t know…

#can prince daeron do a flip?????

🐉 rhaenyra-did-nothing-wrong Follow

It’s SO disgusting how the king would hire a H*ghtower hand only 50 years after that wretched family MURDERED HIS GRANDMOTHER AFTER USURPING HER THRONE. #UNWORTHYGATE

🪙 laenycashmoney150

Me and that nasty old man. To be honest

🌈 crystalcrowned Follow

I block everyone who is horny on main about the king on principle because fornication is a sin but op is talking about ALYN OAKENFIST?????? Girl.

🙌 fleabottomtop

Sneaking in through the secret tunnels in the red keep to smuggle queen naerys a vibrator and a blunt this shit is getting out of hand

💐 summersepta Follow

she would not like that. try again.

🙌 fleabottomtop

sneaking in through the secret tunnels in the the red keep to smuggle queen naerys a prayer book and a cigarette

🦇whentch

🐲 rogue-princess Follow

if i speak....🙈🤐

🐦‍⬛ raventreeballer-deactivated89169

FYI @ brackennation literally seduced the king to use her influence to ban pro-Blackwood posts on here. block and report this treacherous whore ASAP

🐎 brackennation-deactivated47170

I know it’s you missy. KYS jealous cunt

🎻bardalicious Follow

king aegon’s collection of teenage mistresses posting through it on the dash again

🔥 fireandwaters Follow

Sooooo sick of seeing delusional reachers reclaiming dragons**d as if that’s not a literal crownlands-specific slur used against the Valyrian-Westerosi community in King’s Landing and Dragonstone. I don’t care how many ae’s your grandma has in her name you are a HIGHTOWER you are a TARLY you are a REDWYNE you are seven forgive me for even saying this a BEESBURY. Categorically NOT a seed. It’s basically valyrian racefaking at this point

⛓️‍ gaymanpalehair Follow

Say it louder for the Great Bastards in the back!!!!!! theyre literally noble

🔥fireandwaters Follow

No I can say it?? I’m from KL I’m in the community why would it matter if I’m acknowledged

🌼 ever-sweet Follow

Seven hells my great-grandsire literally rode caraxes and I can’t acknowledge my own heritage? Dragonseed literally applies to ANY👏ONE👏of👏TAR👏GARYEN👏DES👏CENT.

🪵 kingswoody

At the rate the king is going everyone in the realm will be able to reclaim dragonseed in 20 years come on now

🐦‍⬛raventreeballer Follow

are we not going to acknowledge the toxic power imbalance of the king having had TWO Bracken mistresses and ONE Blackwood mistress????

🐚besterling Follow

THAT’S the toxic power imbalance you want to talk about??? That one??? Nothing else???

🔮hightowered Follow

okay I thought the valyrian racefaking discourse on here was dumb as shit but tell me WHY i just saw my bastard cousin serena change her name to “serenei” on all her socials and then start telling people she was from lys and can’t speak common.

#Good thing we’re dragonseeds otherwise this would be insane

🐟rainbowtrout Follow

non-riverlanders in 20 years when the Bracken-Blackwood beef becomes everybody’s problem because it’s a Targaryen civil war

🍎 fossoshethey

Quick where's that one meme about the valyrian god of prophecy playing dodgelance with random tumblr users

🎭mummersfarce Follow okay I’ll bite. did king aegon the unworthy fourth of his name do something problematic.

✨ fleabottombottom Follow

well as a dragonseed of dance-era descent i gotta say i am not appreciating how hard it is to buy purple shampoo in flea bottom recently what with the rate at which blonde bitches are being created in this kingdom fucking skyrocketing

🎭mummersfarce Follow

fucked up. blocking him now ✊

[riddlemelater]

As Above, So Below - M.R

Masterlist | Nav

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

summary: It was supposed to be simple—just sex, no strings, no expectations. Mattheo didn’t do attachments, and you weren’t looking to fix him. But the lines are starting to blur, and neither of you are willing to admit it.

wordcount: 4.2k

warnings: fem!reader, smidge of alcohol use, suggestive content, slight emotional manipulation, toxic fwb relationship, slowburn angst.

If you haven't already, you can find part one here

a/n: Thank you for all the love on part one! I've toyed with this for a few days and decided to make it a three-part series. The final chapter will be up soon <3

As always, all likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ✯

“Nott!” You grinned, arms spreading wide in mock surprise as he approached. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you actually gracing us with your presence for once?”

Your brow arched teasingly as he mirrored your grin, a bottle of firewhisky clutched in one hand— no doubt smuggled in by the seventh-years, who, according to rumour, had taken to selling booze and cigarettes to the rest of the castle.

Pansy was perched on the armrest beside Draco, one hand wrapped around a drink and the other tangled possessively in the hair at the nape of his neck, her not-so-subtle way of marking territory. Enzo had disappeared the moment he arrived, a blur of brown hair and flirty compliments. And Blaise was already occupied with a Ravenclaw girl, probably discussing something no one else understood.

With Enzo and Blaise gone, and Pansy otherwise occupied with Draco, you were alone— and you really didn't want to be, not tonight. You kept your gaze away from the couch where Pansy and Draco were entwined, but you couldn’t stop the sting that followed. It wasn't like you were jealous; you were truly happy for Pansy, even if it only lasted another week till they were off-again.

But since Mattheo had pulled away, discarded you like a toy he'd grown bored of, you couldn't stop noticing the empty space he used to fill, like something had shifted when you weren’t paying attention.

It didn't make sense. It was supposed to be easy, casual. Yet, it had been a week since you'd last seen him, and it felt like the days dragged on and the silence grew denser. Worst of all, you were beginning to notice the emptiness where his presence used to be. Like it wasn't the absence of company that bothered you, but the absence of him.

The weight of it had started to creep up on you, and you weren't ready to accept it. But just as you began to stew, your eyes landed on Theo heading your way. Looking every bit out of place as he weaved between sweaty bodies toward you. It was a relief, almost, like Salazar himself had taken pity on your predicament. Talking to people who didn't look through you, who didn't leave you questioning everything after showing a rare moment of softness in the hidden corners of the castle.

“Believe it or not, even I get bored of solitude sometimes,” Theo quipped, coming to a halt beside you and surveying the chaos descending on the Slytherin Common Room.

“Careful Nott, that almost sounded sociable.”

Theo huffed a laugh under his breath, nudging your shoulder with his and leaning down as if he was telling you a secret. “Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold.” He winked playfully, then lifted his eyes and cast them around the room, as if he was already regretting showing up.

You smirked, taking a sip from your drink. “Of course, of course. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you actually enjoy human interaction.” Your eyes rolled amusedly, and you couldn't help but giggle at his serious expression.

It was strange how easy it was to laugh with someone, how easy it could be. Stranger still that you hadn’t done much of it lately— not since Mattheo had stopped looking at you entirely.

“Exactly.” Theo’s lips curled at the edge, and there was a softness to it, a rarity for a boy who was so often emotionally reserved. “Though I’ve been known to make exceptions. From time to time.”

Before you could muster a reply, you felt it— a flicker of something, the weight of a stare. You didn’t want to look up. You already knew what you’d find, those familiar brown eyes locked on you. Waiting, watching like a predator. And that old, familiar ache pulled at you again— the one you'd tried to bury deep down, tried to snuff out altogether.

And yet, one look your way and you'd crumble, feeling him pull you back in, like always.

Across the room, half-shrouded in shadow, Mattheo was watching you. He leaned back against the wall, a drink in hand, and surrounded by a handful of loud, familiar faces, but his attention was locked on you, like the rest of the party didn’t exist.

Jaw tight, eyes dark and unreadable— which was curious, considering since your last encounter, he’d been avoiding you like the plague.

Not a glance in the corridors. Not a single sarcastic remark during breakfast. Not even a hidden brush of his fingers against yours in passing— normally his subtle, deliberate way to remind you he was still there.

But now? His stare burned through the haze of sweat and alcohol— bore right into your own gaze, and it was fierce enough to make you look away first.

“Do you want to go sit? Away from this.” Theo gestured awkwardly toward Pansy and Draco, locked in a steamy make-out session everyone could do without seeing. Though he hadn’t seemed to notice Mattheo staring, at least.

“Please.” You nodded sharply, grimacing at the sight, “Before I’m sick, preferably.”

Theo snorted in agreement. “Get a room, Malfoy, for Salazar’s sake!” he muttered, already heading toward a mercifully empty couch across the room.

You didn’t notice the way Mattheo’s eyes lingered on you, even after you’d turned away. Nor the way his knuckles tensed and turned white around his glass. If you had, maybe you’d have understood why he hadn’t touched you since that night.

The couch was tucked away in one of the far corners. Far enough away from the crowd that Theo noticeably relaxed, sinking down next to you with a contented sigh. Your free hand ran across the dark green leather contemplatively, tracing over the seams with your fingertips— an absent motion, more about distraction than interest.

If Theo noticed you'd pulled away, he didn't mention it. Just sat there beside you quietly, and watched the room with that unreadable, slow-blinking gaze of his.

“If I had to endure five more minutes of that,” you muttered finally, nodding towards Pansy and Draco, “I’d have hexed them both into the middle of next week.”

A lopsided grin tugged at his lips, and wordlessly, Theo offered you the bottle of firewhiskey, "To your self-restraint. Truly remarkable."

You took a swig and passed the bottle back, wincing as the burn hit your throat. “To yours. I thought you only emerged from your dorm once on a blue moon.”

He chuckled, lifting the bottle in a mock toast— like in that muggle film Gatsby. “I was feeling generous,” he said, settling back with a lazy smile. “Figured I'd grace you lot with my company. Just this once.”

You bit back a grin. “Let me guess— Enzo begged, you caved, the rest is history?"

“Worse.” He sighed, overly dramatic. “Apparently, being the quiet one isn’t allowed anymore. I’ve been labelled as antisocial by Blaise,” he raised his hands, fingers curling into exaggerated air quotes.

“Ah. Damage control, I see.” You snorted into your drink.

Theo hummed, amused, and leant back fully into the couch, his legs stretching out as though he planned to stay and keep you company for a while longer. Not that you minded— Theo was actually quite pleasant to talk to. Plus, he didn’t have his tongue shoved down anyone’s throat, which already put him leagues ahead of Pansy, for the moment anyway.

You followed suit, settling into the comfortable silence, head tilting back against the couch lazily— just in time to catch movement in the corner of your eye.

Mattheo.

He'd moved from where you'd first spotted him, closer, but only just. A cigarette hanging from his mouth, jaw tightly wound. But it was his gaze you noticed, locked onto you— as though he hadn't blinked since you'd looked away.

Your breath hitched before you could stop yourself from reacting. For a moment, everything around you melted, blurring together until all that remained was the weight of Mattheo’s cold glare.

He wasn't smiling. His signature smirk was gone too, replaced with a tension in his jaw that made your stomach wrench. Though he wasn't doing anything, really— except watching.

Until he wasn't.

Because a moment later, someone else stepped into your line of sight— some girl, you didn't know her name, all legs and fluttering lashes, wrapping her hand around his bicep like it belonged there.

And Mattheo didn't stop her. Didn't say a word, didn't shrug her off like you’d expected. Like you’d secretly hoped.

He just let her lean in close, lips brushing against his ear, then he smirked. A slow, deliberate curl at the corner of his mouth like she'd said something worth hearing. Even worse— like he knew you were watching.

And you watched, for a moment too long, as she fawned over him and his arm snuck around her waist, pulling her closer with the same arms that had been wrapped around you just a few days ago.

Your jaw tightened faintly, and you averted your eyes like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t just felt something cold, and strangely like jealousy, settle in your chest.

She was pretty, gorgeous even. Tall legs, flawless skin, dark, pin-straight hair that shimmered when the light hit it. You couldn't deny that she was beautiful. But it wasn't about her looks, or even her at all. It was about the way Mattheo let her get that close— how his arm curled around her waist with the same easy, practised touch you'd grown attached to.

It wasn't supposed to matter, whatever it was between you had never come with promises, yet, as you turned away your chest tightened. The bitter taste of something you refused to name caught at the back of your throat.

It didn’t mean anything. It never had. You told yourself that firmly. It was just strange, seeing him with someone else. That’s all— a lie.

You hadn’t realised you’d gone quiet until Theo had glanced over, his brows lifting subtly — like he knew something was wrong, but he couldn't place it.

Instead, he simply nudged the firewhiskey back into your hand, the edge of another lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Careful,” he said lightly, “with a face like that, they’ll think I’m boring you to tears. Blaise won’t be happy with me.”

You knew what he was doing—knew he understood something had caused you to stiffen beside him—and it felt like he knew that something took the shape of his curly-haired best friend, even if he didn’t say so.

Nevertheless, it was an out and you were more than grateful he’d offered it without questions.

So you nodded, gave yourself a shake, and took another swig from the bottle. Forced your eyes anywhere but that side of the room—because you had no real reason to be looking. Not anymore. Right?

You weren’t exactly sure when the party started to wind down. Maybe it was somewhere between finishing off Theo’s bottle of firewhiskey and the quiet moment you stopped pretending you weren’t looking. When your resolve wore thin and curiosity, or something dangerously close to it, got the better of you.

Mattheo was long gone by then. So was she. And you loathed the fact that you even noticed his absence in the first place.

You hated yourself for wondering where he’d taken her. Hated even more the vividness of your imagination— picturing the smug tilt of his head when he grinned, the way he’d press her onto the nearest surface like he so often did with you.

You wondered if he had brought her to your place, the forgotten classroom with the creaky hinges and the couch he’d transfigured from two battered desks. If she were beneath him now, tangled and exchanging the same heat and desire you'd once shared. If her moans caught in the same space where yours used to echo.

You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to think of her at all. But Mattheo Riddle had found a way to burrow under your skin, like the ghost of a bruise you kept pressing just to feel the sting.

Eventually, Theo had coaxed you from the couch with a wry smile and a tug of your wrist. “You’re going to sulk a hole through the cushions.” He’d said, and you had no choice but to let him spin you around and lead you toward the crowd.

Which worked for a while. Theo's easy company was a welcome distraction, but your mind kept wandering back to the far side of the room, to Mattheo watching you like you were the only person he could see. And when Theo spun you around in some ridiculous attempt at dancing, he was still grinning, unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

It was nice, you supposed. Nice to pretend that everything was normal, nice to forget the curly-haired boy who was so far out of reach, caught up in someone else's arms.

But then Enzo had come barrelling in, one arm slung around Theo and the other around you. He reeked of firewhiskey and the faintest hint of women's perfume, “We’re carrying this on in the dorm,” he’d announced, “you’re both coming, right?”

Enzo's head flickered between you both, a drunken smile resting on his lips and evident in his eyes. But to Enzo’s dismay, you’d only stepped back and shook your head. Made some poor excuse about being tired and wanting your own bed, not because you couldn’t stand the idea of walking into their dorm and seeing Mattheo’s empty bed— or worse, not empty at all.

No. Definitely not because of that.

Mustering up a reassuring smile, you waved the two boys off, watching them disappear up the stairs to the boys' dormitories— Theo practically holding Enzo up by his shoulders. Then you turned and made your way to your own dorm. Alone.

The stairs to the girls' dormitories were unexpectedly quiet, the only sound a faint thrum of fading music drifting up from the common room—remnants of the party still echoing, a few stragglers lingering below, reluctant to call it a night. Most of the house had clearly taken the festivities elsewhere—likely the Room of Requirement—or slipped away with someone for the rest of the evening.

Even Pansy, unsurprisingly. You tried not to look as you entered your shared dorm, but her bed was front and centre and hard to miss— curtains drawn tight, the faint shape of two bodies curled together casting shadows behind the fabric like something smug and deliberate.

At least they’d had the decency to perform a silencing charm this time. Small mercies.

You climbed into bed, pulling the covers over you like it might block out the noise in your head. Told yourself it didn't matter where Mattheo had gone, or who he'd gone with. But even as you closed your eyes, you felt the dull ache of it all, that hollow feeling that only seemed to grow the more you denied it. Still, you insisted you didn’t care.

Said it to yourself again.

And again.

Until your eyes finally fluttered shut and you slipped into a dead, restless sleep.

✯ ✯ ✯

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual end of day chaos— clinking silverware, floating candles gently crackling, the low hum of conversation rising and falling like a tide. You kept your gaze fixed on the table as you slid onto the bench beside Pansy, forcing your face into something neutral and greeted her quietly.

Mattheo was already there. Across the table and a few seats down. Subconsciously, you had checked before you took your seat, debating on skipping dinner altogether if you were forced to sit too close.

He didn’t spare a glance toward you. Just carried on talking to Blaise and Enzo like you didn’t exist. And the worst part? You couldn’t blame him for it, because he’d told you, time and time again, that it meant nothing.

You picked at your dinner with little appetite, aware of every movement he made— every tilt of his goblet, every time he raked a hand through his curls. You tried to convince yourself you weren’t watching, but you felt it the second his eyes finally flickered in your direction.

“Eat,” Pansy’s voice broke through the haze, her manicured fingers nudging your plate closer while she glared at you pointedly. “You look like you’ve been raised by dementors.”

You gave a weak laugh, stabbed at some roast potatoes on your plate, and made a point of meeting her eyes as you chewed. “Thanks, that's exactly the look I was going for."

Pansy only rolled her eyes, but there was no bite to it. Just concern— carefully disguised under a thick layer of disdain, like everything with Pansy. She leaned in, glancing quickly to make sure no one was watching, then speared a piece of roast chicken with her fork and murmured quietly in your ear.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, “but if you think no one has noticed something’s going on with you two, then you're thicker than Goyle.”

You stiffened, chewing slower as the weight of her words sunk in. You opened your mouth to brush it off, but nothing came out. Instead, your thoughts skittered nervously, grasping at any excuse, any lie you could tell. But there was nothing you could say, not even to yourself.

Pansy didn’t push. Just bumped her knee against yours underneath the table, a small sign that she was there for you. That she noticed. And for the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosened just enough to let you breathe.

Across the table, Mattheo laughed at something Blaise had said. Your fork paused halfway to your mouth at the sound. That laugh— careless, familiar, slicing you open in front of everyone.

You didn’t look at him, but you felt him. No matter how much you denied it.

The way the air shifted when he moved in his seat, or how his voice sank into your skin like smoke. His presence seemed impossible to ignore, even when you were trying to pretend to be wholly unbothered by it.

"You know," Pansy said contemplatively, pointing her fork at you lazily, "You could give Draco a run for his money with how much you're brooding." She raised an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost bored tone, but her eyes flickered with that unmistakable sharpness Pansy exuded. "Look, all I’m saying is— if you’re going to spiral, at least let it be over someone who deserves you.”

You weren’t sure what stung more—her assumption, or the fact that you couldn’t disagree. Your fingers wrapped around your goblet, its cool surface doing little to soothe the heat crawling under your skin. The tension in the air seemed to tighten, matching the pressure in your chest. Like you couldn’t escape the heaviness in your head, that weight of knowing Mattheo was there, and that he didn’t look at you. That he didn’t care to.

The sound of his laughter reached your ears again. You didn’t dare turn to look. You couldn’t.

But your eyes flickered toward the corner of the table where his tousled curls gleamed under the candlelight anyway. The way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned back, the way his hand moved lazily over his goblet, everything about him was so effortless, like nothing mattered.

And still, you tried to ignore the way your heart twisted.

✯ ✯ ✯

It continued on like this for a few weeks— Mattheo carried on finding new girls to warm his bed while you threw yourself into your studies.

December loomed, and the professors were handing out assignments like sweets at Honeydukes, prepping everyone for the winter examination diet. In a way, it made things easier. Burying yourself in a quiet corner of the library gave you the perfect excuse to avoid Mattheo altogether.

The one place Mattheo Riddle would never set foot in— willingly— was the library.

With your friends just as snowed under with Herbology reports and Transfiguration research papers, it was the perfect time to slip under the radar.

Early mornings in the library had become comforting, a part of your daily ritual. You started leaving the common room before most Slytherins had even opened their eyes, disappearing amongst the towering shelves and the scent of fresh parchment, surrounded only by neurotic seventh-year Ravenclaw’s studying for their N.E.W.T.S, and the scratch of quills on parchment.

The castle felt different at that hour. Quieter. No chattering of students, or laughter echoing off the stone walls— just the distant creak of windows in the winter breeze, and the flicker of fire light cracking and burning softly.

You preferred it that way. No questions or worried glances, no reason to pretend you were picking up the pieces of something that was never there to begin with. Just solitude, which was rare to come by at the best of times.

Your footsteps were soft against the elegant Slytherin carpets, padding down the girls' stairs tiredly— a small stack of textbooks under one arm, and your bag hanging off your shoulder. The common room was still half-cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the soft green haze curling in through the windows that looked out into the depths of the Black Lake.

You didn’t expect anyone to be awake. Let alone him.

But there he was, slipping through the entrance like sin wrapped in silk, the heavy stone walls sealing back together behind him as quickly as they had parted. His shirt was untucked at the bottom, tie loose, hair messier than usual. Like someone had dragged their hands through it. The thought made something coil tight in your stomach, twisting uncomfortably.

You were frozen at the foot of the stairs, fingers gripping onto your textbooks like they could shield you from him. You didn’t even want to know what your face looked like.

He cleared his throat, blinking up at you from the doorway like he hadn’t expected to see you either. His eyes sweeping over you in that lazy, unreadable way of his, but something about the way his jaw clenched made it hard to believe he felt nothing.

“Library?” he asked, voice hoarse from disuse. Or maybe from something else, that little voice in your head chimed in, unhelpfully.

You nodded, skimming right past the question tugging at your mind, like how he always seemed to know where to find you.

“Before all the good seats are gone.” Your voice came out steadier than you were expecting, a sick sense of pride swelling in your chest. Like you were beating him at his own game.

He nodded, as though he understood exactly what you meant— but still, he didn't move.

You should’ve left then. You told yourself to. But it seemed Mattheo had dug his claws in deeper than you’d realised, and your body ignored the urge to slip past him without another word.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, hands shoved into his pockets, his usual air of nonchalance about him.

And then, as if deciding something internally, he stepped closer. One step. Then another. And another. Until finally, he was close enough that you could smell him— smoke and amber like always.

You didn’t say a word when he reached you. Still perched on the final step, you were nearly level with him— but he still felt taller, somehow—and you watched him through tired eyes.

His hand came up slowly, as if reaching for something delicate— his fingers brushing along your jaw. But his touch didn’t feel familiar, not like it was tinged with the usual lust or haste. It was gentle. Soft.

Then his lips found yours—slow, unannounced, but so deliberate it stole the breath from your lungs. His hand cupped your cheek like he might break you, that simple touch causing your knees to weaken.

It felt as though he needed something only you could give. Like he knew you’d give him it, even when you shouldn’t.

This means nothing. You knew that. And yet, you kissed him back. You always did.

When he finally pulled away, your breaths were shallow and uneven, but he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you for a second too long, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Something that reminded you of that defenceless look in his eyes in his post-fuck haze.

Something that just felt real.

Then he stepped back— eyes flickering to the floor then back to you. As if he was about to say something, anything, that would make it all okay.

But he didn’t. He just exhaled, nodded once more and disappeared up the stairs, like he hadn’t been the one who came to you at all.

You stared at the spot where he’d just stood, frozen once more. The faint taste of him still fresh on your parted lips, the lingering smell of amber and cigarette smoke that curled around you.

And just like always, he left you with nothing but silence.

©️riddlemelater 2025.

[syntheticsymp]

Niktotine.

Babe you are so right. Never in my life has a single word ignited an idea so quick.

In my HCs, I think Nikto had been smoking since he was young (a teen in Russia thinking he's so cool) and was probably encouraged by his father. He likes the cheap cigarettes that hurt his lungs to smoke. And I like to believe that he swears up and down he isn't addicted, when he definitely is.

Tw: smoking, implied kidnapping, Nikto being Nikto. Unedited and mainly brain worms

-

Nikto had long since perfected the art of torture, he knew how stress presented itself in his victims. Sweating, twitching, a bouncing leg. Normal people weren't good at hiding those tells.

And neither were you.

When he finally arrived home from KorTac, he could practically taste your panic in the air. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything particularly upsetting today. You had been living with him long enough to get used to his behavior.

It didn’t take him long to track you down. Sitting on the couch, head in your hands.

What could possibly be stressing you out? Nikto had taken you away from all your problems. Had the freedom to go into town been too much for you?

The voices were questioning him, nitpicking his decisions, as always. He huffed as he attempted to block them out. They weren’t his priority. He had just gotten home, he had other things to focus on.

Nikto sat down next to you, not bothering to give you the space you needed. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, the hollow dip in your skin mimicking his own, deformed face.

He didn't want to ask, and to be honest, he really didn't care. But you were his pet, his питомица. He had a duty to you.

“Something is wrong.”

It wasn't a question.

You nodded slowly, turning to face him and hesitantly meeting his blue gaze. Your voice was pained when you responded. “Yes.”

You didn't offer more than that. And if you wanted to stay quiet, fine. Nikto wouldn't push. He hated it when people did that to him. If you wanted to tell him, you would. As long as you didn't lie or try to leave him, he wouldn't force you to speak.

So, instead, he acted. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap.

You kicked out. “Hey!”

His glare quickly silenced you. It didn't matter if you were in a bad mood, you weren't to fight him. He was attempting to be kind, giving you physical contact despite how he hated it. It was best if you didn't push your luck.

When he finally had you fully in his lap, he shoved a gloved hand in his pocket. You were tense, lips pressed into a hard line as you fought to keep quiet.

Eventually, he pulled out a small box of Parliment cigarettes and his smuggled lighter. Technically, the doctors said he shouldn't be allowed near either. The lighter was a danger in his hands and nicotine scraped his lungs.

But smoking worked better than his meds most days. Starting his day with his pretty thing handing him two orange pills and a cigarette in bed was just the right combination to keep the voices at bay. Just enough that they'd be content.

Who cared if the nicotine would rot his teeth when half of them had been pulled out by Mr. Z anyway. And if that man couldn't kill him, cancer didn't have a chance, either.

He handed you the lighter as he placed the cigarette between his cracked lips, balancing it between what remained of them. You took the lighter, just like always. It was a ritual for you to hold the flames to him. It was better than him doing it himself.

The white paper quickly caught fire and a thin trail of smoke wound its way to the ceiling, infecting the house that was supposedly a home. Parliaments left a scratchy taste in the back of his throat, a dull sort of ache he found just as addictive as the nicotine itself.

He blew smoke out of his scars as you started to melt into him. Resting your head against his chest, seeking comfort now that your stress had dissipated and morphed into weariness. You were seeking Nikto out, finally starting to give in to his broken version of love. That, or perhaps the smoke simply wore down your senses.

And, with ever watchful eyes, he noticed. It was hard not to.

The faint scent of cheap cigarettes followed Nikto like a ghost. You had grown used to the smell overtime, and even started to look for it whenever you were nervous, even if it wasn't intentional. You'd grow almost calm around him after he returned from smoking outside. And if he did inside, you would appear in the room in a matter of moments.

Even now, you were curled up against his chest, chin tilted upward so you could breathe in the nicotine as he exhaled.

A curious habit he had given you. Perhaps it was time to give you a taste of the real thing?

Nikto shifted you on his lap, forcing you to look up at him. You blinked a few times, still sleepy from whatever had caused you to stress earlier.

He held the cigarette out to you, tapping it against your lower lip, signaling for you to open.

Your eyes went wide. “Uhm, no thank you. I’m alright.”

“It helps us,” he reasoned, one of the first times he had attempted to do so. “It will help you.”

“What if I get addicted?” you asked, voice small.

Oh, питомица. You already are.

“We won't let you.”

He saw the flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You knew he wasn’t a liar. He had said before that there was no point in it. His word was good, the only thing left you could trust.

You carefully took the cigarette in your mouth, holding it between your lips just as delicately as you had done to his cock the night before. You didn’t breathe in, simply resting it there as if that would trick him.

Nikto rolled his eyes and pinched your nose.

You sputtered, forced to breathe in. Your eyes quickly teared up.

He pulled the cigarette away just as quickly as he gave it to you. Your cheeks were puffy with smoke, so he poked one. A thin stream of smoke fell from your lips and contaminated the air, mixing with his own smoke.

“Better?”

You slumped against him, offering a tired nod.

The voices in his head offered positive feedback for once. He had helped you. He may not be capable of emotion, but he at least had his питомица. He could have you without hurting or killing you. It was only a matter of time until he did, but for now, you loved him enough to rest against his chest. And he’d make sure you still loved him even if he hurt you. He couldn't have you leaving him, now could he?

He let out a proud huff, flicking what remained of his cigarette to the coffee table. Normally, he’d put it out on his pants leg or you, but he supposed he could hold off.

He used the squishy flesh where his thumb fingernail used to be tilted your chin up.

He mushed his lips against yours, tasting the nicotine on your tongue. You responded with the same desperation, moving just as sloppily as him. You were too tired to squirm, instead leaning into him just like he wanted you to.

You were becoming just as addicted to him as he was to you. And oh, didn't Nikto love watching your fall.

[etherealily]

ᴊᴀɪʟʙɪʀᴅ // ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ

Theodore Nott + fem!dealer!reader. Spliffs + Cuss words.

This was from my poll. Other fics of mine. If you have the time.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're his dealer. Needless to say, he's intrigued.

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"You have a problem, mate."

Theo knows that, he doesn't need Lorenzo to tell him, but honestly, he could not give any less fucks. Cigarettes are amazing. They calm him (something everyone around him needs), they make him happy (something he needs), and plus, they make him look cool. That's just something the world needs.

In short, he needs smoking.

Unfortunately for his Death Eater reputation, though, he has more of a proclivity for Muggle cigarettes, and that's really not something he can openly state, ask for, or find.

That's where you come in. His little jailbird.

A mudblood (though you don't like being called that, for some odd reason. Theo thinks that's weird. No shame being what you are, no matter how pathetic), from quite the interesting neighbourhood in your little Muggle town in your little Muggle city. All in all, you've got access to what he needs.

And boy, do you get it for him.

It's quite funny, in all honesty. You get the rest of the mudbloods things back that remind them of home, you refuse to bring back things that are illegal in Muggle Law, but you have a special soft spot for him, so you bring back cigs.

Maybe it's not a soft spot, because it does cost him a pretty penny. Well, galleon.

He's not complaining, though. He is curious, he'll have to admit that. He's been going to class with a potential outlaw? Beautiful. Finally, something fun to think about in this school.

Theo really doesn't know much about you besides the fact that you're a mudblood and you didn't have the money to pay for Hogwarts, so some higher-ups here at Hogwarts who cared enough had pulled some strings, blah-blah-blah, and you're basically in worse debt than you probably had been, back in London, only this time, magical.

Though he thinks your kind are impure, he does wonder what it's like to grow up in a turbulent neighbourhood without magic, and then one day, get some fancy letter that says you are magic. He's pretty sure your rowdy little mates would have taken the piss out of you.

You don't seem that impressed by Hogwarts, though. In fact, come to think of it, you haven't seemed impressed since the start, and even Theo had thought the Quidditch field was impressive, back in First Year. Either way, you seem quite at ease here for an illegal-shite-smuggling-Muggleborn.

It's actually quite lovely, this arrangement. Every Sunday, you're both meeting a little ways away from the Greenhouse, and you're slipping two packets into his hand just as he's slipping twenty galleons into yours.

However, this week's been different. You'd slipped him a note during Transfiguration that you couldn't supply him this week.

Bull. He's almost 100% sure you're just wanting to go off with your Mudblood mates so you can reminisce and probably smoke a cig or two. The cigs that you don't sell to him. Probably the fancy ones. The better ones. So, yes, naturally, like the addicted, withdrawal-undergoing-chainsmoker he is, he follows you.

And he's right. Whatever that is, the smell tells him it's not just what you usually sell him. It smells terrible, but you seem to like it, so he's sure he will, too.

You've been holding out on him, and that's not the deal.

And he's about to tell you as such, but he's proven debilitatingly right about why you couldn't sell to him this week, if the clicking of your stupid little Mudblood gang's footsteps is any indication.

All of them, lucky for Theo, have unanimously agreed that you should be the only one selling. Because you have the sneakiness that comes with growing up in a rough neighbourhood and he's just sure that you're the only one who'd actually keep his secret. Not tell people he couldn't live without something Muggle-made.

"We're lucky wizards haven't perfected summat better than spliffs, or we'd all be floating on wizard-blunts by now.", you declare.

"D'you ever think the Chosen One, stay with me now, d'you ever think he had chav mates back in Surrey? That he ran around robbing Tescos with?", someone asks.

Raucous laughter.

He has no bloody idea what any of that's supposed to mean. It's worse than Greek and Latin to him. It's intergalactic speak in a Cockney accent.

Though, he has heard you use the term "spliff", before, and you might be smoking one of those. Granted, he doesn't know what a spliff actually is, but if it was summat you and your mates liked smoking, he needs a hit of that.

That was the bloody arrangement, it was!

"Get me the best Muggle cigs, and don't tell - or sell to - anyone else."

Simple, easy to follow.

An idiot could follow it, actually.

There's a reason Gryffindors aren't the smart house, he supposes.

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Theodore's biggest flaw is probably his patience. And possessiveness. Yeah, that's... that's a big one.

He doesn't like the fact that you're selling better cigs to others.

Alright, fair, you probably weren't demanding any money from your mates, but still.

This is stupid, he's aware, but he doesn't like the thought of you giving anyone else any form of cigs. That was yours and Theo's thing.

Money or not, "spliff", or not.

God, was he pathetic. Needing a girl to supply only him with cigarettes. Eurgh. He's disgusting himself, right now.

Enzo's told him, time and time again, that if there ever comes a week that you're not supplying him with cigarettes — Enzo doesn't and won't ever know that they're Muggle — to take it as a sign that he should try quitting.

And that's what he's doing right now, as well. Theo's ready to Reducto himself in the mouth.

"One week without those things and you're in the worst mood yet. Grumbling, sulking, moping. This is why I'm sayin', unless you wanna be a liability, you should quit. Cold turkey."

"I'm not moping. And it's not 'cause I don't have the cigs."

"Then what is it?"

"She's been holding out on me!"

"Is that really such a shock, mate? This is a mudblood Gryffindor we're talkin' about."

Theo scoffs. These non-smokers. They'll never get it.

"The deal was, don't give anyone else the best, only me."

"God.", snorts Enzo, grunting as he stands and stretches before pointing at him in amusement. "You almost sound jealous.", he declares, slapping Theo on the shoulder and scurrying off up the stairs in a fit of guffaws before he could be hexed.

"I expect to get what I pay so much for!", yells Theo, before running his hands over his face. Not his best moment.

And, not to mention, he'd also smelled your regular cigs on some bloke passing by him during Potions class. Meaning two things. One, you'd been not only holding out on him on better cigs, but two, you're also selling his usual cigs to someone else.

"Um, Mr. Nott?" The tiniest voice ever, belonging to the tiniest face ever, with a tiny hand that held a tinier piece of paper.

His head whips around. Oh, a First Year.

"Yeah?"

"I was told to give you this."

He takes the note and squints down at it.

"Ten. Bring money."

Brilliant. "Gryffindor girl?", he asks, and the child nods in the affirmative. "Alright, great. Uh, one second.", he mumbles, reaching into his pockets and fumbling around before producing a Chocolate Frog. "Here, thank you."

He's pretty sure this is a muggleborn child, but still. All he needs to do is not touch its hand when he gives the box to him, and he's fine, not contaminated. You've probably (and hopefully) never realised this is the same reason he's glad the cigarettes come in packets already, before giving them to him.

Rechecking that his wallet's full of the money he owes you (and some extra), he shoots up, practically zooming out. It's been a week or two since he's actually seen you. And your cigs. Usually, you'll smoke one or two with him right after the sale, and honestly?

That's the best part of this whole deal.

Someone who gets it. Someone who he's inexplicably drawn to, in every way, and the only person he probably shouldn't be drawn to.

A mudblood, Gryffindor criminal.

Oh, his life's poetry. And a joke. His life's a limerick, actually.

"Nott."

"Jailbird.", he nods in greeting, settling down nicely by you in the moonlight. "How's it going?"

"Fine. How's by you?"

"Won't lie, was about ready to off myself. My mate pinched my cigs in a bid to get me sober, so I was suffering."

You laugh, softly, and he swears that just gave him a stronger hit than ten cigs could. "Yeah? How'd that work out for him?"

Grinning, he flashes his wallet at you, matter-of-factly. "Brought last week's amount, too. You better have extra to make up for it."

"Sorry mate, I actually don't. But, I do have your regular supply of Marlb—"

"Whoa, what do you mean you don't?"

You furrow your brows, a cock to your head. "I just don't."

Yeah, 'cause you're selling to others, like some sort of... sales whore.

"No? How convenient."

"'M sorry?"

"You forget I've been comin' to the greenhouse long before I started buyin' from you, so I was out on a walk last Sunday, and guess what I saw."

You sigh in realisation, shaking your head. "Listen, Nott—"

"What? So you'll give away the good cigs to your best mates, but give the trash to me, at an unreasonable price?"

You're close to tears of laughter. This is what you loved about selling to purebloods, no matter what it is. Muggle trinkets like cameras, a ballpoint-bloody-pen, whatever, or even illegal things like Theodore Nott's cigarettes — they're always itching for better. They want the newest, they want the best, and they want them now. "Those weren't cigarettes, Nott."

"Yeah? So you just smoke quills, now, do you?"

Ooh. Business idea.

"No, Nott, they were spliffs."

"Yeah, I know, a cooler type of Muggle cigs!"

"Uh..." He wasn't technically wrong. "Spliffs aren't, uh... they aren't exactly cigarettes, Nott."

"What?"

"They're pre-rolleds. They're blunts, they, uh... have weed in them."

"Weed as in... Gilly?"

"Weed as in cannabis."

He frowns, picking at the grass next to him. "Yeah, weed, of course."

So sue him, he doesn't pay attention in herbology, and it's evident.

"'S a drug, Nott. Gets you high. Out of your senses."

Oh. Oh. "And what, you were all doin' drugs on school premises?!"

"Oh, please, like I don't know about your Slytherin gang and your obsession with the Sage of the Diviners! No wonder Trelawney loves you! You act like you're there for her and not that shite."

He scoffs. "How does it matter? I'll buy it from you. All you've got."

"I don't deal drugs, Nott.", you say, standing up with a little huff before patting the dust off your clothes. "And since you don't want your normal cigarettes now, I'll bid you good night."

"Twenty galleons for each box.", he mutters, offhandedly. He knows he'll win this. He's seen you. Your soft spot for him, for the most inexplicable reasons ever. He's sure even you have no explanation for it.

But whatever. Fact of the matter is, he's just doubled his usual amount.

"Forget it, Nott. Go to sleep!", you call, as you continue your way back to the Tower.

"Twenty for each individual spliff."

He's ashamed to admit how aware he is of your presence, so much so that to him, it's like the wind has stopped howling, the stars have stopped flickering, and the world has stopped all activity, all because you've stopped walking away at that offer.

"What?"

He turns, and he's met with a bemused sort of glare, your arms are crossed, and you look two seconds away from tossing him into the Lake for the Squid to deal with. "Say that again. Slowly. With the knowledge that one pack has seven pre-rolleds in it."

"Money's no object, jailbird. You know that.", he drawls, now rolling over onto his back. "I'll go higher. How much ever you need — which you do — but with one condition."

"You have a condition for me? The one who's providing you with the stuff you need so you don't go into withdrawal?"

"You need to smoke them with me."

You snort. "Yeah, that'll happen."

He rises up, clapping his hands together to dust them off, as he saunters back to you, who's leaning on one of the greenhouse walls in absolute contempt and disbelief. Beautiful. Just how he likes you. Just how you looked the first time he'd asked if you could help him out with some Muggle cigs. "Why not?"

"I don't sell weed, Nott, alright? Cigs are barely legal, but thankfully we're both eighteen, but weed is not. So, stop."

"Alright, how's this? I pay for one. We smoke it tonight. Never askin' for them, later."

"Why?"

"Never had one before. Figure you're experienced, and if I die, you'll shove some activated charcoal down my throat, eh?"

You lick your lips, squinting up at the moon. "You serious, Nott?"

"Yeah. Just tryin'. What's the harm in that?"

Rubbing absentmindedly at your neck, you mull it over for a very long while, looking around and into the greenhouse, possibly for Filch's stupid little cat or Sprout herself. "Fine. One. But you do exactly what I tell you to."

Beautiful. "Yeah, you got it."

┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅

"Is this heaven?", he slurs, because it seems like either the stars or his breathing are moving at a snail's pace, and it's definitely making his eyes move even slower to yours.

You have to fight a giggle, and it's clear from your quivering lips and your twinkling eyes, and the way you roll them as you gaze up at the stars as if they would give you the strength to suppress it.

"No, seriously, because I feel like...", he struggles, and that's never bloody happened before.

"I know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Wind kisses his hair, and yours, as well. Yours takes it better than his.

Looking back at the stars in intoxicated stupor, he stretches his arms out above him, hiding some of them from his eyes, and then revealing them again. It's stupid, he used to do this when he was seven, and evidently "spliffs" made him revert. "Why are you not taking any drags?"

"You need someone to help you if you green out, don't you?"

"Yeah, but, aren't you tempted?"

You scrunch up your nose, shaking your head. "Nah."

"Why's that?"

"Can't control much in my life, anyway. I like the calm that weed gives us, but not the loss of control over my faculties."

"What, so you think I want to lose control?"

You shrug. He scoffs. "I hate that face you're makin', by the way. You can tell me what you really think. Worst case scenario, I get miffed and kill you."

Chuckling, you sigh. "I dunno, I feel like it's the opposite for you, it makes you feel more in control. Probably why you started smoking, anyway."

"I started smoking, because I liked the smell and having summat for my hands to do."

You nod. "Yeah, you know best."

He sits up at that, elbows over his knees. "Fuck off, no. Sit up. Go on, then. Tell me why I really started smoking cigs, according to your expert opinion."

"Well, y'know, uh, that- uh, that thing, there.", you mumble, gesturing at his sleeve, his wrist, where the disgusting Dark Mark lay etched into him. Well, disgusting for you. You were about 98% sure he checked it out in the mirror every morning and posed with it.

"Tread lightly."

"Subconsciously, I think, uh.. y'know when you hold a cig like so?", you explain, holding an imaginary cigarette to demonstrate, "I just think since it covers up your Mark, you smoke."

He hates this. It makes unnecessary amounts of sense.

After a few moments of quiet, you back down. "Sorry. You can get back at me. Tell me your worst assumption about me."

The corners of his lips curl down as he shakes his head, watching you sit up by him. "I got nothing."

"Oh, come on."

"I— well, I don't know. Doesn't matter what I assume. Because this isn't about me, is it, jailbird?", he murmurs, smirking for a moment before ruffling up your hair. "Summat in your hair by the way."

After watching you struggle to get the feather out, he rolls his eyes, picking it out for you. You laugh. He frowns, the corners of his lips turning up. "What?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to touch me."

"You know about that?"

"It's quite obvious with the way your pinkies go up when you take the packs of cigs, all refined and princess-like, just to not come into contact with me.", you mutter, stretching.

"It's not personal, it's—"

"It's very personal."

"Well, fine, let's just count this as a, uh... spliff induced lapse of judgement. Yeah?"

You hold your hands up in mock surrender. "Just go ahead. Not like I'd want to touch you, anyway."

"Ah, so there it is. You won't sell me more spliffs because it's a pride thing, then?"

"No, idiot, I won't because you're a pureblood and I'm Muggleborn! Guess who's more likely to be arrested for drugs on school grounds."

Oh. Well, that made sense.

"Whatever."

"And besides, you're not worried you'll get contaminated if you're around my 'mudblood air' this long?", you hiss, snatching the spliff away and taking a drag, as if that hadn't been exactly what he wanted you to do all along.

He's not sure how long this spliff will take to work, but he's hoping he can unravel your very essence by plying you with it.

Perhaps he's just bored.

┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅┅

"I dunno why, but I'm just oddly intrigued by you, jailbird. I don't know much about Muggles — thankfully — but it can't have been easy, I suppose, getting some owl drop a letter onto your head in your dingy little neighbourhood. How'd it even find you?"

He's rambling, he knows, but he just... he can't figure out what it is that he wants to find out from you.

"That's what you're intrigued by? The logistics of it all?"

"No, no, I mean, you come here, to Hogwarts, you're not even remotely impressed. It's a magic bloody castle."

"So? You lot are more likely to be impressed by us back down in the trenches of Surrey. And I've never actually been to jail."

"Yeah, but you've had close shaves, yeah?", he asks, inconspicuously lighting another spliff. What? He needs you pliant so you can sate his curiosities.

"Well, yeah. But that's only when I was, maybe, thirteen. Third year."

"Didn't you nearly get suspended in Fifth Year because the Muggle Ministry—"

"Alright, alright, let's talk about your crimes, then, Mr. Death Eater!", you snicker, pushing at his shoulder. He shakes his head.

"Dunno what you want me to say."

"Probably that your Dark Mark's pounding at your veins and putting you through undeniable agony that feels like a vat of lava, because you just let a Muggleborn touch you."

He raises a brow at your disturbing description. "Charming."

You grin triumphantly, shrugging.

"But as I said, we'll count it as a spliff-induced lapse in judgement."

"Fine."

"This, too, yeah?"

It happens before you can see it coming.

It feels like a swirl of stars, a blanket of the deepest merlot, and it's intoxicating. Even more so than the strongest spliff in the world.

It takes you a while to pry him off your lips. But you do.

"Nott, hey, weed makes you do this, just relax, take a couple breaths."

"Does it make you sell my cigs to others?", he grits out.

"Sorry?"

"I smelled your nicotine on some prick in my Potions class."

"That is by far the creepiest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Answer the question, mudblood."

Your jaw clenches, and though he doesn't feel remorse, he does sort of feel guilty. There really was no reason to use that word, although he still wasn't sure why it bothered you so much. Alright, so it's a slur. Big deal.

"If you're talking about Felix, I didn't sell to him, I snogged him."

He's not sure what answer could have been worse.

"And, what, that's your little boyfriend, then?", he spits, rolling his eyes as he holds your jaw even tighter, if that was even possible.

"No, he's not."

"That's why you won't kiss me? 'Cause you're trying to stay loyal to a bloke who isn't even your bloody boyfriend? Come off it."

"Hey.", you scoff, shoving at his chest. "Fuck off, yeah? You hate every single thing about me, it's taken being absolutely blitzed for you to even look me in the muggle-born-eyes, and you're acting like you can dictate what I bloody do?"

"I pay you!"

"For cigs, not to follow your orders like a fuckin' dog!"

"I just had to taste second-hand halfblood, so, I'm not sure who's going along with who in this dynamic."

"God, fuck off with this blood purist shite!", you yell, inducing a tiny smile.

Alright, he's just had a revelation. This is what he wants to find out from you. Your limits. Your boundaries. What it takes to tarnish your self-respect to shreds.

Not for a mission. Not because you're a mudblood. Just 'cause.

And he's pretty sure that the next moment — when you're about to say something stupid and he shuts you up with the hardest kiss probably known to mankind — that he's one step closer.

That's good, though. He might need a jailbird to teach him a couple things for when the Dark Lord regains power.

Though he's not quite sure about letting you live, though. You've got too much on him.

But he does like you on him.

Decisions, decisions.

----

This was queued, so I may not respond immediately. I appreciate you, though!

[cursedwretch]

Another Drop

young!Silco x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 1706 Words; Rating 18+ MDNI AO3

It’s early days in the Zaunite’s smuggling empire, and you’ve tagged along for a deal.

Deeply, deeply inspired by the young!silco concepts.

Contains: Public Sex, dom!silco, smoking, rough sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, gun play (if you squint?? The FMC is never threatened with it).

Another drop.

Silco and I sat in the alley, waiting for Vander to finish the sale inside, which was pretty fucking novel, if I’m honest. I rarely joined runs, and Vander playing the businessman was even rarer. Unfortunate for us all, the fucker we were selling to happened to hate Silco—Shocker, I know—though clearly not enough to avoid our business entirely. I was reminded of why as I watched the man before me fish a cigarette out of his pocket. The little pill.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I narrowed my eyes at him. He froze, hand cupping the air as he cocked his brow.

I shot a leading glance to the crate he was seated on. He knew full well what manner of shit was stuffed within. One wrong ember…

“Life’s short,” he shrugged, fixing me with a wicked grin as the lighter sparked to life.

I scoffed, shaking my head as I watched him take a languorous drag. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed as he exhaled, fighting the tug at the corners of his mouth. Show off.

He held it up, level with his eyes, perched carefully between his fingers, “it was worth the effort.”

Right. He’s insisted on that foolish fucking run for a crate of these the week prior. I let out another exasperated laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

His answering snicker was low and treacherous, “unfortunate for us, seeing as I’m the brains of this little operation.”

“We’re doomed,” I held my hand aloft, “give me a hit.”

“You don’t smoke.”

I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, rolling my eyes, “life’s short, isn’t it?”

I heard the crunch of boots on gravel as he hopped down from the crate, a saunter in his step. As always. I keep my eyes forward, smirking towards the alley entrance as he approached.

“Close your eyes.”

My breath hitched; that I didn’t expect. Still, I wasn’t one for giving him what we wanted. Not easily, at least.

I glared his way instead, “we’re working.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” his eyes sparked as he closed the remaining distance, dashing the ashes with a dramatic flick.

I stared back, eyes narrowed.

“Let me give you what you want,” his eyes landed on my mouth as he drawled.

Fine. I’ll bite.

My world went dark, save for the remnants of that Zaun green that made its way into every crack and crevice of our city, stamped to the back of my eyelids. A constant reminder of where, and who, we were. Another crunch of gravel alerted me to his movement, followed by the warmth of his body, inches from my own.

“Head back,” he murmurs, “just a little.”

I hesitated. His laugh was rumbling, amused. My fingers gripped at the crate beneath me as I felt his fingers on my chin, tilting my back. I let him guide me.

The warmth of the cigarette hovered over my cheek, setting my nerves alight, followed by his lips ghosting over mine. His fingers pull at my lower lip, an instant little tug. Them smoke, warm and acrid and intoxicating, streamed from his lips into my mouth. I took in all the air he was willing to offer, greedy fingers threatening to make their way into his hair. My lungs burned as he retreated, just barely.

My eyes fluttered open, and I swallowed back the urge to cough.

“Good?” His mouth quirked up, eyes dark, roaming down my body.

Divine. But he didn’t need to know that.

I nodded.

“More?”

My own eyes betrayed me—fixed on that little scar on his upper lip. Another nod.

“Good girl,” he purred, shifting closer. His eyes burned into mine as dropped the cigarette to the ground, stamping it out. “Too bad.”

My legs parted automatically, making a space he eagerly filled. “Silco,” I warned, my words cut off in a gasp as his fingers tangled in my hair with a sharp tug.

His lips brushed from my ear to my jaw as he murmured, “Corvin’s a haggler. That wordy little shit will keep Vander busy for time enough.”

He punctuated his sentence with another tug, muffling my sharp cry with his lips. My hands found the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer as he rolled his hips against me.

He was all tongue and teeth as he pressed me against the crate, mouth trailing down my neck. Fingers dipped beneath my collar, shifting the material to expose more skin.

He smelled of cedar, smoke, and sin.

Another treacherous whine escaped my lips and he let out one of his trademarked wicked, rumbling laughs. He held my hips against him, pressing against the divots with enough force to bruise. I try to buck out of his grip, desperate for more.

His hand found its way to the front of my pants, sliding beneath the waistband with practiced ease. I let out a ragged gasp as he found my core.

“Silco,” I gasp.

He smirk, “shh, I’m working.”

“Fucker,” I said between gasps.

He laughed, “yes, you know I think you’re right.”

He brought his fingers up, glistening with my slick, to pop them into his mouth. I pant as I watch.

“Open,” he instructed, pressed my lips apart and slid those very same fingers inside, they’re firm against my tongue.

He purred, “you always taste so good.”

With another sharp tug I was pulled of the crate entirely, feet hitting the ground. My legs unsteady as he turned me around, bending me over the crates until I felt wood kiss my cheek.

“You want more?” He teased, pressing himself against me. My back arched automatically, grinding my ass against the unmistakable hardness pressed against me.

“Please, Sil,” I whispered. “‘S not enough time.”

One hand tugged my pants down my thigh, his other hand at the small of my back, holding me in place. His cock, hard and teasing, slid between my folds.

I let out a cry as he buried himself inside me – the stretch making my head spin. I relished it.

“Sweetheart,” he shushed me, fingers sliding over my mouth as he pulled me up.

He wasn’t soft. No, he fucked me viscously. Bottomed out with each thrust, pressed against me until the wood bit the skin of my hips. Each snap sending indecent sounds ricocheting through the alley. Fire began to pool low in my core.

He mouthed at my ear, whispering while he fucked into me, “always so good for me.”

I whine, back arching against him.

He started to ramble, as he always did when he was close. Voice rough, gravely, “gods. When we get back, fuck, I’m going to take my time with you. Fuck you until you forget everything but my name—“

There’s a noise at the end of the alley, a crunch of gravel that freezed my blood over. Followed with the click of a gun. I whip my head in its direction, blinking past the haze.

A man stood frozen at the mouth of the alley, equal parts afraid and intrigued. Some poor idiot who stumbled down the wrong alley.

I pant against Silco’s hand, his other held the gun aloft—towards the stranger.

No one moves for a moment. Silco is the first to break, thrusting into me. He lets me fall forward, and my eyes snap closed with a needy moan.

“Hear that?” He sneered at the stranger, voice a low growl, “she’s occupied. Find another alley.”

I turn my head, wood scratching against the skin of my cheek. “Piss off,” I grit out at the stranger, eyes sliding closed one more.

And he must have listened—I hear the clatter of the gun against the crate, feel Silco double forward, chest pressed to my back. His teeth sink int my shoulder with growl, hips snapping against mine at a renewed pace.

His breath peppered my skin as he husked, “such a perfect little cunt.”

My legs shook, “Silco I’m—I need to—“

“Not yet,” he hissed, though his fingers found their way to my clit.

I blinked back tears as I whined, “I can’t—“

“Wait,” he barked, voice growing huskier.

I clawed at the crate, the wood collecting beneath my nails.

“Do you know? How. Fucking. Hard. It is?” he grit out, each word punctuated with a hard thrust, “to pretend I’m not thinking of your perfect fucking cunt every moment we work together.”

I moaned, babbling incessantly—his name, pleas, apologies, anything. Whatever would let him stop fucking torturing me.

“You were made for me,” he panted, grinding his fingers against me, “you understand?”

“Yes,” I cried out, “only you. Silco, please—“

“Good girl,” he gasped, thrusts growing uneven and breath growing ragged, “come for me, darling.”

I fell apart at his command, vision going blurry at the edges, each grind of his hips sending me further past the edge. Gods. Fuck. He let out a low groan, hips stuttering as he growled my name. He rocked against me until my legs ceased their quaking and my moans quieted. Until the world around us started to resume. Back to reality. He pressed a kiss to my cheek as he slid out, murmuring, “divine.”

I panted, propping myself up to turn around. I needed to face him, as the cold chill of the undercity air suddenly sinked into my skin.

He knew. He received me with open arms, pulled me into a deep kiss, and fingers finally, finally found their way into his soft hair. Long hair freshly fallen free from its usual bindings, dusting against his neck. He smiled against my mouth as he pulled back, blue eyes warm and full of light.

“Sap,” I laughed, batting at his chest.

He pressed a soft kiss to my neck with a quiet hum.

The door to the building cracked open, revealing Vander who quickly cycles from surprise, confusion, to an all too knowing smirk.

One last word to Corvin and we were on our way. Silco looped a lazy arm around my shoulder, a freshly-lit cigarette perched between his fingers as we walked. Vander kept quiet until we had a few blocks distance, looking down at his partner to tease, “On the merchandise? Animals.”

[iandarling]

Big on the “Mickey is actually very fucking smart, but the teachers at school never noticed”

8 year old Mickey in maths class getting berated by a teacher who dislikes him because of his name alone

“How did you solve this question, Mikhailo? You wrote the correct answer, but I can’t see your thought process? Did you cheat with a calculator?” Her tone suggests she is unconvinced he did it on his own.

Mickey didn’t cheat. He just saw the numbers and knew the answer. He had no “problem-solving process”, his brain just told him the correct answer. That’s just how numbers work for him

Of course, the teachers her didn’t belive him and accused him of cheating. She even wrote a note to his parents about their son cheating on the tests.

Terry laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. “A con man is a clever man.” he said, a smokey cigarette hanging from his lip.

Uncle Rick, however, noticed his smarts with numbers, and made him work with the drugs business; weighing out coke, and counting the bills.

His brain was useful for something; and with his fast legs and tiny hands, he was excellent at delivering goods unnoticed. No one would suspect him.

Mickey was 10 by the time he decided to skip maths class, and focused instead on smuggling, and dealing drugs.

School wasn’t worth the hassle anyways.

The teachers didn’t care, most didn’t even notice he was missing, but at least dad was proud of him his work

[lordprettyflackotara]

party monster || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)

Fred Weasley was never one to turn down an invitation to a party. Especially not one from Mattheo Riddle, to a Slytherin party.

Fred had felt like he had seen it all. He had watched the Hufflepuffs get giggly over champagne, Gryffindors try muggle grass for the first time, and Ravenclaws make tame mixed drinks that sent their minds into oblivion.

Slytherin’s on the other hand, went as hard as Fred liked. Of course muggle grass and alcohol was provided. The usual sex addicts were on the prowl for someone new to warm their bed. But what Fred enjoyed about the Slytherins the most, was their lack of fear to try muggle substances.

The most recent substance the most fearless had been trying was cocaine.

George refused to attend Slytherin parties, frowning upon the houses entirety. Truthfully Fred used to be the same way, until Mattheo offered him his first joint. The dark lords son had introduced him to an entire new world of highs, ones that Fred couldn’t find anywhere else.

For the past year the core Slytherins had been trying different pills, ones Theodore had been smuggling from a muggle born Hufflepuff who was naive enough to think they were being used for medical purposes. Fred had been to enough of these parties to where no one questioned his presence. If anything, he was often greeted and offered a cigarette at the very least.

It was highly unusual for other houses to venture into the Slytherins events, old superstitions still highly believed in. Fred would’ve been the same way, if it weren’t for Mattheo. It was an unlikely friendship, one no one could understand. Not George, Not Draco, no one. The ginger scanned the room, excited to find his friend. Word on the street about cocaine being smuggled into Hogwarts was spreading like wildfire. Fred knew he had to be one of the first ones to try it.

Strolling up confidently to the couch Mattheo always sat, the ginger waved. One of Penelope Clearwaters friends sat in Mattheo’s lap, her blue uniform making her stick out like a sore thumb. Mattheo grinned at the sight of Fred, gently pushing the girl away from sucking more hickies onto his neck. “Why don’t you go take a few shots with Pansy and i’ll meet you over there in a second?” He suggested. The girl glanced at Fred, taking the hint and starting her journey of finding Pansy.

Theodore Nott sat on the other side of the couch, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. “My favorite Gryffindor, welcome to another rager,” Mattheo chuckled, gesturing to the party that was occurring around them. Fred took a seat beside the brunette, greeting Theodore as well. “So Riddle, what do you have for me? You know I love to try whatever new hits the market,” Fred asked. Mattheo reached into his pocket, holding up a small plastic baggy of white powder.

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Previously he was under the impression that all muggle party substances were in the form of small pills. “That looks like it’s going to taste like shit,” Fred pointed out. A genuine chuckle escaped Mattheo’s lips as he grabbed a small metal tray. “Thats because it does, you don’t swallow it, you snort it,” He explained. Fred watched curiously as he poured the powder onto the tray. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand.

Mattheo used the tip to slice it into three tiny lines, the small amount only furthering his curiosity. “How many milligrams is that per line?” Fred asked, trying to get a better grasp on the drug in front of him. Once Mattheo made sure the lines looked even, he set his wand aside. “Doesnt work like that. Nott, wanna lead by example?” He asked, gesturing the tray to him.

Theodore didn’t seem to hesitate at all, his nose hovering over one of the lines and inhaling it without a second thought. His lack of hesitance made Fred more confident. “Alright alright let me see what all of this hype is about,” The ginger interjected. Fred was determined to ‘one up’ Theo, the potions master always a bit too cocky for his liking. (Even if he thoroughly enjoyed spending hangovers with him.)

Fred mimicked Theo’s actions, holding one side of his nose as he inhaled the first line. Flames seem to spread through his nostril, the ginger deciding to ignore it and to snort the other line as well. Sharp pain washed over Fred’s senses, the feeling of the powder sliding down the back of his throat making him cough. “Look at that! Atta boy,” Mattheo said encouragingly, patting Fred on the back. As the brunette took a cigarette out of the box Theo gestured to him, he gestured to the party.

“Let’s get out there, shall we?”

Fred had never felt more talkative in his life. From Pansy, to Blaise, to Slytherins he didn’t know, he could not stop talking. Sober, Fred was a very social person. But he knew when to let the conversation fizzle out. But as of right now? That concept didn’t exist. He felt utterly invincible, as if the world itself existed around him for his pleasure and his only. His throat had gone numb, unable to feel the shots he downed repeatedly.

As he was talking to Blaise about his latest prank, his eyes briefly flickered to you. You were mesmerizing, a girl he had never seen before. Fred ensured to keep track of girls in his year, knowing which ones were taken and what not. But you looked to be the same age as him and he had never seen you a day in his life. You stood by the alcohol table, pouring raw tequila down your throat. Without excusing himself Fred left, abandoning his conversation with a way too drunk Blaise.

Fred knew he had to meet you, something about you calling to him. Even as you downed the liquor your hips swayed to the music, your curves intriguing Fred even more. The ginger didn’t feel one ounce of nervousness, the coke having imbedded in his mind. “Hey there, mind if I have a swig?” Fred asked. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, before handing him the bottle. “Thanks,” He said, taking a drink. Fred’s throat was completely numb, the firey liquid not affecting him at all.

He handed the bottle back to you, giving you a sly grin. Your lips were painted a dark red, your beautiful eyes accompanied by flattering dark makeup. The kind Fred could only imagine a Slytherin could pull off. “You have something right here,” You replied, pointing to your upper lip. In a sudden movement you stepped forward, wiping the very top of Fred’s lip. You held up your thumb, the faintest sprinkle of white powder coating the pad of your thumb.

“Thanks, been a wild night. When new muggle stuff comes in it’s always exciting to try it,” Fred said, unscathed by your action. If anything he was into it, thrilled that you were so touchy. “It always is, isn’t it?” You say, taking another swig of the bottle. Fred couldn’t help but grin, thrilled that a girl as hot as you understood his enthusiasm. It was difficult finding another student so adventurous, yet here you stood.

A girl behind you waved at Fred, a friend of Pansy’s. Fred waved back, making a mental note to talk to her later. “So, a lion playing with snakes?” You ask, creating conversation. He hadn’t realized he had just been standing there, his eyes flickering in every direction. Soaking in the party, the music, you, the lights, Pansy’s friend-

“I’m a good friend of Riddle’s, great isn’t he?” Fred said. He gestured to the brunette who was currently dancing on top of a table, his tie loose and hanging around his shoulders. A cigarette hung on his lips, his hips occupied by grinding on the Hufflepuff in front of him. You nodded in agreement, shrugging. After tonight Fred made another mental note to ask Mattheo about you. You were awfully quiet for a Slytherin.

“A real charmer, that’s for sure,” You replied, your words laced with sarcasm. Your eyes flickered to Fred, shooting him a playful smile. “As are you. I see where he learns it from,” You continue, biting your lower lip. Flattery was the gingers weakness, a cocky smile creeping across his lips. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? My dorms gonna be empty. Roommates crashing with one of the boys,” You ask, pointing to the dungeons. Fred knew about the girls rooms being in the dungeons all too well, his visits down there frequent.

“Sure, lead the way little witch,” Fred purred. You grabbed his large hand, your skin cold to the touch. You led him through the hot swaying bodies, your hand gripping his his. As you both approached the staircase to go down further Fred looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Mattheo. The brunettes eyebrows were furrowed as he watched him, mouthing a clear question: ‘you good?’

Fred smiled and nodded, shooting him a thumbs up as he followed you down the dungeons. If there was anything Fred knew about Slytherins, without stereotyping them too much, was that they cared about appearances. They kept precise upkeep about their looks, (maybe not including Mattheo), that it teetered towards an unhealthy amount. In Fred’s opinion anyway. He didn’t have to deal with strict parents with pureblood ideologies, so he didn’t feel like he had room to judge.

As you led him further down the staircase he noticed several mirrors in between portraits, for students to use while heading up to the common room. Fred’s focus mainly was on himself, noticing how large his pupils were. You both reached towards the end of the staircase, Fred’s eyes still focused on the mirror. For a split second he squinted, noticing he didn’t see you. His hand was being held in mid air, your fingers not entangled around his palm like he saw before him.

Questioning was on the tip of his tongue, your abrupt words cutting him off. “My dorm is further down and I need you, now,” You say urgently, palming at Fred’s shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, unsure. “Did you see that? You weren’t in the reflection,” Fred asked, completely ignoring your statement. You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the girls bathroom on the right side of the hall. “You’re paranoid, do you want to fuck or not?” You asked.

Fred shook his head, trying to rationalize with himself. He had a hot witch standing in front of him and he was about to fuck up a one night stand because of some muggle drug. “Absolutely,” Fred agreed, allowing you to lead him into the bathroom. Admittedly this was one place Fred hadn’t been, his knowledge of the room little to none. He was surprised that a velvet green couch sat almost in the center of the room. Would that have been his style choice? Absolutely not. Do witches tend to take their time in the restrooms gossiping? Fred believed so.

Your lips were on him before he could process it, his back hitting the couch. You tasted like raw alcohol, his tastebuds flooded with the sensation as you got on top of him. Fred was typically dominant, but he never minded a Slytherin topping him. You were so confident, tugging your shirt over your heard before reattaching your lips to his. Your touch made Fred want to immediately submit, his cock growing harder by the minute as you straddled him.

“Hard already? Naughty naughty gryffindor,” You teased, biting his bottom lip. Fred groaned, his hands flying to your waist. He guided you to grind against him, his cock growing achingly hard. You kissed down the side of his face to his neck, sucking at his sweet spot. Fred squeezed your thighs, whimpering as your lips littered his skin with marks. You kissed down his clothed chest, all the way down to his aching cock.

You teasingly kissed his hard on, maintaining eye contact as you did so. The ginger bucked his hips towards, throwing his head back as you unbuckled his belt. “If you want me to suck your cock you’re going to have to beg Freddie,” You say, unbuttoning his jeans. Spews of pleas left his lips faster than he would like to admit, “Fuck, please, touch me, please.”

A brief concern of how you knew his name crossed his mind, the worry fading as you shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs. Fred was decently known, maybe you had known him for an infamous prank or-

His spinning thoughts came to a screeching halt as you took him into your mouth. Fred couldn’t control his noises, you taking control of him and his pleasure one of the hottest things he had ever seen. As you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, Fred chopped up his previous mental ramble to paranoia. Most likely he was coming down from his high, his body adjusting his mind back to normal.

Fred didn’t even know your name, but the moans he was making made it sound like he did. He was pure putty at your hands, willingly and merciless at your disposal. His tip brushed against the back of your throat, expectancy of the sound of gagging ensuing. Except it didn’t. Fred looked down at you in awe, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t have a gag reflex? What kind of magic was this?

He roughly grabbed the back of your head, pushing you down further onto his cock. You took his length with ease, saliva pooling to the base of his shaft. “Merlin, you’re a goddess right? Sent to me from above?” Fred panted, his mind trying to wrap around you. You pulled off of his cock, his hands not affecting your movement. He thought he had applied a decent amount of pressure, even if it was involuntary. What were you? Were you some kind of-

“Maybe, maybe you’re just my personal pet. My babies get the best treatment you know,” You purred. The ginger had no idea what you were rambling about, but what he did know, was that he wanted you to fuck him. “Ride me, fuck, please ride me,” He whined. Most girls would’ve asked for foreplay, head, or something along those lines. But you didn’t ask for either, instead lifting up your skirt and shoving your panties to the side. You guided his tip up and down your drenched folds, the feeling of your warm slick enough to make Fred groan.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so sensitive, his body on cloud nine just from your simple touch. You sank down onto his cock with ease, your walls clenching around him. Fred threw his head back, unable to formulate coherent words as you began to ride him. You seemed unfazed by his size, riding him like you had been doing so for years. Fred was not only unable to speak, but completely and utterly speechless.

You didn’t seem real, his unrealistic expectations for a hookup playing out in front of him. You leaned forward, one hand placed on his throat while the other tugged at his hair. “You like that huh? Feel good Freddie?” You asked. Fred groaned an agreement, his cock brushing against your g spot with every roll of your hips. Most witches would tire out by now, opting to switch positions. Yet you didn’t, your body not seeming to tire as you squeezed at the sides of his throat.

“So good, Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” Fred moaned as you licked up the side of his neck. He felt his orgasm approaching, the ginger flustered by the feeling. Was it the coke that was going to make him bust quick? Or was it how well you were riding him? His eyes wondered over your shoulder, landing on a large full length mirror. The presence of the mirror wasn’t surprising, but what was, was your absence. You weren’t present in the reflection, Fred’s head beginning to spin.

“Uh, you’re not in the m-mirror, I-” Fred stuttered, his high approaching faster than he wanted it to. He wanted to go all night with you, but why weren’t you showing up in the mirror? You sat up, your breast bouncing as you continued to ride him.

“You’re being paranoid Freddie, now why don’t you go ahead and cum for me?”

Fred’s hips stuttered as he came inside of your cunt, his head rolling back onto the couch. His ears were ringing, any sounds of you or the party dulling out into nothingness. He began seeing stars, his vision fading out completely. His senses had seemed to given up, Fred’s body unable to sustain itself, passing out.

\/

Fred had woken up a lot of strange places after a party. Most times he woke up beside a witch whose name he didn’t know. Other times he would wake up in random places, one time including the whomping willow. (To this day, no one has any idea how he survived OR got a good nights sleep.) Where Fred had never been woken up before, was in the male Slytherin dorms. Nor, had he ever been violently shaken awake by someone. Faintly he could hear a familiar voice calling out to him, but the words were incoherent.

“Fred! Wake the fuck up!”

He jolted awake, his heart pounding out of his chest as he sat up. Scattered,he looked around, unaware of where he was. His eyes landed on Mattheo and Draco, both of which seemed extremely concerned. “W-what..?” Fred stumbled out. His head was pounding with a rager headache, his body felt drained and spent. “Pansy found you uh-” Draco began, before shooting Mattheo a look that he should speak instead. Mattheo sighed, handing Fred a glass of water.

“She found you in the girls bathroom passed out with your pants pulled down and you uh, came all over yourself,” Mattheo informed him. Fred could feel himself turning red, clutching the water in his hand. His eyes widened in disbelief, becoming dizzy again as he rested his hand on his forehead to keep himself propped up.

“Do you have any idea how you ended up like that dude?” Mattheo asked, keeping his voice even. Bags hung under his eyes, his knee bouncing anxiously. It was rare Fred ever saw Mattheo sober, but he could definitely tell he was. You raced through the gingers mind, embarrassment flooding over him. You weren’t real? None of it was real?

A knock on the door alerted the trio, the Slytherins eyes landing on the new comer. “Well shit I see the party monsters awake,” Theodore said, waltzing in. His confidence made Fred uneasy, his stomach churning. “Do you happen to remember what happened last night?” He asked him, his voice breaking. Theo nodded, taking a seat. “Why don’t you drink some water and i’ll tell you all about it?”

Theo didn’t know Fred well by any means. Sometimes he questioned what Mattheo saw in the ginger, the prankster a bit too full of himself. It was a coincidence he saw him by the alcohol table, talking to himself. At first Theo assumed he was yelling to someone, or even on a muggle phone a lot of Gryffinors used. Cautiously Theo rounded the table, raising his eyebrows as Fred offered the bottle of tequila he had been cuddling to the air in front of him.

The brunette couldn’t believe his eyes, watching dumbfounded as Astoria Greengrass gave him a wave. Briefly his eyes flickered upwards at the Slytherin, before returning to the void in front of him. With a confused expression Theo decided it was none of his business, returning back to Mattheo with new drinks in hand. He figured he was just high, anyways. Unknowingly Mattheo had recommended Fred to Astoria, who was looking for a quick hook up to help her get over her ex.

A dumbfounded Astoria had beat Theo to Mattheo, her lips moving a mile a minute. She was weirded out by Fred’s behavior, the ginger confirmed to be talking to the air. Mattheo’s eyes flickered upwards, watching as Fred was heading towards the stairs. His hand was held out in front of him, a goofy smile spread across his lips. He made eye contact with Mattheo, who managed to communicate through all the noise and ask if he was good.

Fred seemed more than good, excitedly nodding and heading down to the dungeons. It wasn’t until the next morning Pansy came running, trying to get the boys to help her carry Fred before anyone saw him.

As the group sat in Mattheo’s room you watched from the shadows, invisible to everyone around you. You had died from a cocaine overdose in 1970, the curse of your afterlife being that no one could see you. The only time anyone did, was when they had done the drug themselves. You didn’t quite understand the logistics of it, other ghost able to see you, but no being with a beating heart could.

You had been shocked Fred had seen you at the alcohol table, after being used to being unseen for so long. As cocky and mischievous as you knew Fred to be from watching, you liked him. So much so that you knew scaring the ever loving fuck out of him was going to be the only way he would never touch the horrid stuff again. Party monsters like Fred, often times danced on the line between life and death. Their bodies, from what you could understand, would be into overdrive. That crossover allowed him to see you.

You thoroughly enjoyed fucking Fred, even if the ginger now regretted it. And as much as you wished you could see him again, you knew he deserved a better chance at life. “Bloody hell, i’m never touching that stuff again,” Fred groaned, cupping his pounding head. You smiled at his confession, walking up to Draco’s side. You stood beside him, the blonde unaware of your presence. Your mission was complete, Fred would be on a better path now. You smiled to yourself, watching as the ginger lifted his head.

His eyes widened, centered on you.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?!”

He can see you?

a/n: can yall tell im into plot twist rn? lol. might do a part two if yall want it >:)

[cheeseatlantic]

tf141 hcs!! silly/fluff

- gaz secretly likes coffee more than tea, doesnt tell anyone especially ghost because he’d get murdered for being british and not liking tea…

- price is the one babysitting his three little ducks whenever they get drunk

- soap and gaz definitely went through ghosts phone once, found nothing… man has all his default apps and spotify, thats it

- gaz definitely criticizes everyone based off what they wear, our sassy king!!

- soap is PETTY… one time price made him do extra laps because he didn’t follow orders and he hid price’s bucket hat, peepaw nearly had a heart attack.

- ghost like NEVER washes his mask and its literally so rancid

- price secretly enjoys wine, but drinks whiskey to look more ‘masculine’

- soap definitely tried to cuddle ghost once on a mission and claimed it was ‘tactical cuddling’ (it was august and in the middle of a sunny field)

- price and ghost definitely exchange facebook dad memes

- gaz and price occasionally swap hats for fun

- one time soap got drunk and drew price a ‘family photo’ of the members of the task force, price has it framed on his desk

- soap teaches gaz scottish slang and gaelic curse words

- price has a 28473828383 step beard routine (i know this because im his razor)

- ghost is a sleep token listener!!

- soap and gaz exchange pop culture drama like “omg!! did u hear selena gomez got engaged?” “yeah.. i hate the ring…”

- ghost is genuinely so quiet despite being massive, appears out of no where and scares the shit out of everyone unintentionally

- gaz probably shit talks graves to whoever will listen, probably even the dead bodies of graves’ shadows

- ghost doesnt keep contact names for anyone

- soap has weird contact names for everyone, gaz is saved as “gassy gaz”

- price can probably sing!!

- ghost crashed into gaz one time with his car, he was lighting a cigarette up and wasn’t looking, reversed and hit gaz.

- when he noticed he waited for gaz to get up and out of the way, nodded at him and then drove off

- soap smuggles cats into base, gaz assists

- ghost probably thinks gaz and soap are idiots (lovingly, ofc)

yuh! the tf141 say to sleep early, enjoy life cause u only live once and that they are extremely proud of u… (i am too, if not more proud than them) xoxo!!