smoke it if you got it

blue blooded bad boy• Shawn Mendes

A/N: just a smutty blurb about a bad biker boy Shawn. Think I might have blown a pupil writing this, I also think I wanna write a smut piece about it so message me if y'all want more!!

Inspired by this heart stopping picture (fuck sake Shawn you’re actually hurting me):

Masterlist: Hey come and check out some of my other mildly average writing!


He’s laughing at something.

Got a cigarette perched in his pretty mouth and he’s standing in front of his bike – sleek black, custom fitted, one of those cheap ones that runs on fumes and a whole lot of faith.

The smoke pours out of his pink, plump lips and he’s shielded from view for a second, then the cloud evaporates and he’s grinning, brown eyes hot, heavy and intrigued like he’s Sherlock fucking Holmes.

Her eyes are glazing over the blue blooded bad boy. He’s all smoldering gaze and belts and buckles and tobacco and nicotine, late detentions and truancy letters and misunderstood teenage angst.

He’s a 3 minute electric guitar solo and she’s the limp strum of the wrongly tuned, pre owned acoustic version.

That’s not what he thinks of her, however (not that he’d let anyone know, and not that she wanted him to, anyway)

To him she’s a fucking masterpiece. A blessing, an angel perhaps - wait, no, sometimes. Sometimes an angel.

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Choose Your Mistakes #32

Part thirty-two of the interactive fanfiction, Choose Your Mistakes. Please check the FAQ and the Setting Info if you have questions, and be sure to make your choice below.

You chose to press the DOWN button. 

Originally posted by floatingonwater

You didn’t hesitate, slamming the down button with you and Mare both inside the elevator.
The doors shuddered closed, Dark noticing a moment too late, banging furiously on the closed metal. The elevator descended smoothly, leaving the roars and howls far above it.
You waited for something terrible to happen.
You stared at Mare. Mare stared at you.

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Anevka’s Smoke Knight

I was thinking about this because

  • The only Smoke Knight we see in Sturmhalten is Veilchen, who doesn’t seem terribly attached to anyone and takes orders from both Tarvek and Anevka.
  • Seffie’s Smoke Knight was worried about her, personally, and wanted to get back to her.
  • Which, along with how long Violetta seems to have been following Tarvek around, suggests Smoke Knights are assigned young and if you’ve still got your original they’ve probably known you forever.
  • Smoke Knights are also all wasped.
  • And Anevka was destroyed by Aaronev with the help of Geisterdamen who can command revenants.
  • …no matter what happened to her personal Smoke Knight it was probably really bad.
Ravenclaw Headcanon

Ravenclaws are very happy that their dormitory is in a tower. Most of the windows can be climbed out of and they pull themselves onto the roof. They don’t do it like the Gryffindors do, for bravery, but for solitude. There is an unspoken rule that if a Ravenclaw sees another Ravenclaw on the roof, they don’t talk. On the roof or afterwards. It’s a safe space. Sometimes it’s where Ravenclaws be the teenagers they are and smoke, while sometimes it’s a peaceful place to just read. If a Ravenclaw is sitting on the roof crying, any other Ravenclaw, friend or not, will go and sit on the roof with them until they calm down. And another unspoken rule is that if someone sat on the roof and cried more than twice in a week, they have to talk to someone about it, a friend, a professor, or Madam Pomfrey. This is what once led a third year Ravenclaw to march a first year Gryffindor, who had somehow made his way on the roof of Ravenclaw Tower, to Professor McGonagall. He thought he was in trouble, but became very confused when he was simply asked how he felt.

how to get a girlfriend (easy)

what you’ll need:

  • one (1) box of captain crunch
  • a copy of fallout: new vegas (pc or console, both work)
  • lactos-free milk or soy milk (never regular milk)
  • one (1) can of sprite
  • confidence!!!!!

steps:

  • find a girl you like
  • make sure she’s into girls by giving her the can of sprite (by then i hope i’ve made it well-known in the gay community that sprite is for gay ppl only)
  • mention you play fallout: new vegas. of she gets excited, you’ve already got yourself a date. if she doesn’t know what that is, invite her over to your house to play
  • yeah then do that. eat captain crunch while playing. kiss her on the mouth. ask her to be your gf.
  • you get married and have three kids, a dog, and a cat. you live in a nineteenth-century home in the middle of kansas. you work the farm while your wife has her canning business. 
  • sometimes you see a figure in your field of wheat and turnips: humanoid, shifting, like it’s made of smoke. every time you approach it, it vanishes. you chalk it up to your mind playing tricks on you.

okay but how long do you think kev practiced that “you like the water? well i can introduce you to some fiya” line before actually saying it to chiron

It was a September foggy morning when we met. I caught your eyes and something inside me in that very moment just knew you were trouble. Maybe because you held that cigarette in a certain way, or maybe was the way you used to pronounce my name, always in a low tone, like you were tasting every single syllable in your lips. It made me shiver and it made me uncomfortable, and something along the lines of getting out of my comfort zone for a while made you just irresistible.

You told me you weren’t nice to people because when you are you get hurt and fucked over, I told you I had the same problem. And then a month later, I broke down my shell for you and was nice, I showed you I actually cared. I guess that was my mistake, because you were no different from the rest. I guess you were so scared of being fucked over you decided to screw me over instead.

And there was this day when I woke up and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I stood there in front of you, shaking as I gathered up all of my courage and asked, “Do you hate me?”

You gave me that stupid, skeptical look. “Of course not.”

You looked into my eyes with those beautiful amber pools, the ones no one had ever bothered to notice except me.

“You’re always so kind to me.” Those words shot through my heart like an arrow. Tears started to spill down my somber cheeks.

“Then why are you always so cruel to me?” I whispered. Then it hit me. Like a truck, right through my heart. And in that moment my brain knew, what my heart just wasn’t ready to realize.
I loved you. I saw the future, the brightness and the fireworks.

You kinda liked me. You saw the milky skin, the soft hair and the red lips.

The edge of your lips tasted like desire catching fire.

And mine, like a mix of true love and a sweet romance.
You never wrote me poems. And I am still writing about you.
We were never in love. We would fuck in you car or on your bed where others girls had been or in the shower or while I was crying.

We saw each other naked so often I have the image painted on the back of my eyelids. You ripped my underwear off. You always liked me more when I was vulnerable. I woke you up with kisses, you woke me up with hickies.

And for a long time, I thought they were the same thing.

I asked you once while we both got drunk why it was that I could write novels about you until the words got tired of being anagrams of your name — but at the same time you would never reciprocate. You took a sip of your drink, blew a smoke ring and broke it with your finger.

“Dunno,” you said. We would fuck again later. And that to me, was the closest I was of being loved, adored, liked, worshiped even. But it was not even close to that.

It was carnal, pathetic and almost disgusting. Those are the only adjectives I can give to our so called relationship.

“Is it a crime to be halfway in love with someone?” I used to ask in those drunk moments, the tears I would never let you see, always stinging.

“Can I still feel something for you, after we told each other everything. After you betrayed and lied and never listened to me?” You would meet my eyes, looking confused as if you never promised anything, and it was true, you never did.

“You don’t have to feel anything. Maybe it’s better if you don’t.”
I did messed up all the lines from the Great Gatsby. I fell for all the wrong reasons. You had a green light smile with a gun prodding the center of my back, and I was so lost in your senseless acts that I, for a long time, thought it could be close to love.

And my love for you was like a penny. It wasn’t much, but it’s all I had, and you threw it on the ground like it was nothing.
I craved that side of you that you didn’t show to anyone else.
You only craved the parts of me that was exposed to everyone else.

I said I loved you.
You said that the difference between sex and love is that sex relieves tension and love causes it.

To sum up, I saw someone worth falling for, you saw a body and a potential fuck.

I once found you sitting on my floor staring at a picture from when I was young.

“God,” you said, “I really fucked you up.” And then finally, my last words, “I hope it hits you like a truck every time you hear my name that you never fucked me up. But how badly you fucked us up.”

And like that, you broke the heart. I never even knew I had. I remember talking with my best friend once I left you. She asked if I really were in love with you.

I had never realized that, after all you’d put me through, no one had ever even asked me that.

Within milliseconds everything came rushing back to my mind. I thought of all the 3 am conversations and secret shared glances in the hallway. I thought of how I opened my heart to you and let you in like I hadn’t done in a really long time. I thought of how you ripped it straight out of my chest and tore it to pieces. I thought of the 3 am tears shed into my pillow and the texts left unopened. I thought of how you broke my heart, and how you were the first person to ever do that.

I closed my eyes as four of the most important words I had ever spoken were about to come out of my mouth.

“No, no I wasn’t.”

I decide then that love is a terrible, terrible thing. Loving someone as fiercely…must be like wearing your heart outside of your body with no skin, no bones, no nothing to protect it.

And loving you? That was impossible. You were worth a fuck, not a lifetime story.
—  By unknown