#all of these will be unedited. my bad

[ghost-proofbaby]

22 for your blurb game please 💕

pastel, this one hurt, ngl. absolutely devastating. i love it.

#22: "ORANGE JUICE" BY NOAH KAHAN (STEVE HARRINGTON)

"you said my heart has changed, and my soul has changed, and my heart - my heart."

warnings: pure. angst. all hurt, no comfort. mentions of issues with alcohol/alcohol addiction.

wc: 2.8k+

It was a mistake from the moment he’d received the invitation. He knew he should have tossed it into the trash, should have gone about his day and never lingered on the small postcard that had been sent to him from his hometown. There was a single good thing to come from him answering the call. 

And yet, he did. 

Hawkins, Indiana was one of the few graveyards filled with ghosts that could make Steve Harrington bleed. People, places, memories – were they all always this sharp? It was the only thing on his mind as he drove through town, through the streets he grew up in and past the stores he no longer shops at, and felt it all coming back to him. His skin never grew tougher, despite his delusional thinking these past few months, and was thin as thawing February ice, cracking under the sight of you. You, stood in the living room of Robin’s downtown apartment. You, who hadn’t so much as glanced at him since he entered the room. 

You, who he had left behind. A bleeding wound that he’d stuffed with the gauze and ignored for a long eight months. The ghost with the sharpest knife. 

“Come and grab a drink,” Robin insists as she drags him through the front door, hardly letting him have the time to untie his shoes and shove them off with other familiar pairs of sneakers and boots, “We have so much to talk about, Dingus.”  

“I don’t…” 

The words die on his tongue. She’s not even listening, too eager to catch up with her best friend. 

I don’t drink anymore. 

He hadn’t drank since that last night, that last fight. Even the scent of whiskey made his stomach turn since he’d left. Vodka burned more than just his throat, and gin made his eyes water. He couldn’t drink. 

“Rob,” he tries as she drags him right past the couch, right past you, “Rob, I have to drive. I can’t-”

“You could stay the night,” she teasingly sings over her shoulder as she passes through the archway to her small kitchen, him right behind her. 

He could, but he won’t. He already saw the drink in your hand, and he already knows that the couch is your final resting place tonight. He won’t do that to you – he won’t hurt you, again. 

“I really can’t,” he sheepishly replies as she finally drops his hand. Her palms are colder, even more chilled than they had been after afternoons of slinging ice cream together at StarCourt. He doesn’t know if it’s because he had no heat to offer from his own palms, or if he’d just been a leech and absorbed all the warmth she’d offered in that small touch. “I promised my mom I’d visit with her and my dad while I’m in town. The Harringtons are already headache-inducing enough without a hangover.” 

It’s a sorry attempt at a joke, but Robin laughs anyway. The kind of laugh that cuts to his bone, that saws right through his thin skin and makes the first incision. He missed her – he misses her. She’s right here in front of him, and he’s never felt further away.

Robin navigates away from the bottles of chilled alcohol on the countertop either way, whether she’s realized to not push the topic or not, and heads straight to the fridge. 

“We might have some pop in here, if you really want. I’m pretty sure I bought some Coke on my last grocery run. Or- Oh!” she pauses, peeking her head back out from behind the fridge door, hiding something in her grasp as she grins radiantly, “How about some orange juice?” 

The carton is nearly crushed in her grasp, mostly empty as she holds it up. 

It immediately reminds him of all the summer clementines you’d shared with him before he’d burnt everything to the ground. Sticky and sweet, innocent and divine. Before the fight, before he’d packed away his entire life into his car and drove as far away from Indiana as he could. As far away from you as his half tank of gas could take him. 

The bile rises in his throat, but he nods anyway. 

He watches her navigate the unfamiliar kitchen; she knows it well, knows it like home. Every cupboard and every drawer, she clearly has them mesmerized, because this is her home. Hawkins is still Robin’s home, is still your home, even if Steve has sworn it off. 

“So,” Robin presses as she fills a crystal cup with orange juice, looking up eagerly at Steve.

It’s hard to be bitter when she looks at him like that. Like he’s done nothing wrong. “So?” 

“Tell me about it!” he jumps from her excitement, cringing as she hands over the glass, “Tell me all about the big city. Is it as cool and refreshing as you had dreamed it would be?” 

Steve looks anywhere but at his best friend. He looks over the chipping wallpaper in the hallway, flowery images faded from the years. He glances over the dated backsplash of the kitchen itself, noticing how the checker pattern clashes terribly with the steel appliances. His mother would have a fit if she stepped foot in this apartment – whoever had been the interior designer had had more than just questionable taste. The yellow-toned lights from overhead certainly wasn’t doing it any favors. 

“It’s-” More words doomed to die on his tongue. They’re ashen, stickier than any clementine. Bitter and biting, burning and cutting. There’s not a singular positive attribute about his new home he can think of mentioning, because it doesn’t really feel like home. And it’s funny, because he had said the same exact thing about Hawkins when he was leaving it behind. 

Looking back, this place felt more like home than any big and gouache city ever could. But it has nothing to do with back roads he once sped down, or lonely parks he once cried in. 

It has everything to do with the bright-eyed, soft-freckled girl in front of him. It has everything to do with the shadow that suddenly enters the entryway, quieter than ever as it leans against a splintering frame. 

“You made it.” 

Your voice is a whisper, so soft he swears he imagined it. But then his head turns, and you’re there. Not a figment of his imagination, not a dream he’ll wake up from in a cold sweat. You’re standing there, tangible as ever, arms crossed with a blank face. 

“I made it,” he echoes back, voice even lower than yours. 

Three little words, and not a single one resembles what he really wants to say. 

I love you.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean it. Any of it.

If I bruise my knees now, will I ever see your forgiveness? 

You’re a picture frame frozen in time, looking the exact same as you had the day he’d watched you fade from his rear-view mirror. Same stubborn-set lips, same disapproving eyes. 

But more importantly, same soft hair. Same sweet perfume. Same shaking hands, built to hold, not fight. They should have never been forced to form angry fists; but he’d never given you a choice. He’d forced your hand – he’d taken all your soft curves and loving edges, and turned them colder than stone. Colder than Robin’s hand.

That was his fault to carry to his own grave. 

“I’ll… leave the two of you alone,” Robin says, slowly passing over the glass of juice as she takes a few steps towards the doorway. There’s a fear in her eyes, as if this is the real reason why she had drug him to the kitchen so quickly – she hadn’t wanted to run the risk of this. All this tension, all this hurt. But it was inevitable, and Steve had already put on his Sunday best in preparation for it. 

He waits on you to make the first move. Whatever happens, whatever is said is all in your hands. Hands he hopes have let go of the fists you’d had to raise against him. Hands he hopes will hold him gently, even if nothing more than metaphorically rather than physically. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel those hands hold him again; not as a lover, not as something to be gripped onto. They would never thread through his hair again in the morning light, and they would never fist his t-shirt through tears in a somber dusk. 

You make your way across the kitchen, just as Robin had, before you settle against the counter. You lean against it, facing him fully, arms still tightly crossed as you stare. And he stares right back. But it’s a losing game; he knows his gaze will always be softer on you than even the blankest of looks that you will give him. There will always be love behind his, and there will never be kindness behind yours again. 

He deserves it. He left you. You begged him and begged him not to, and he still left. 

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” you quietly admit after some silence, fingers pressing down into your bicep as if withholding yourself, “She mentioned she’d sent an invite but…” 

“But you figured I would be too busy?” he offers when you trail off.

“Something like that.” 

Something like that. God, he hates it, he hates this. He hates that all he wants is to take you in his arms, to admit all his sins and pray for forgiveness at your altar. He hates that all he can think about is how your lips tasted the last time they’d pressed against his – salty from your tears – as you’d exhausted your artillery of ways to get him to stay. He hates how he still feels the weight of your body curving and meeting him halfway, wrapped up in you but not tightly enough to not still wake in the morning and just drive away. 

Your eyes look over him, slowly trailing up and down, but nothing like they once had. “You’ve… changed.” 

That was putting it nicely. You were here, haunting him, but he was the one that resembled a ghost. Nothing more than a transparent sheet of the boy he had been. 

Maybe the city had been what changed him. Maybe his new job at some stuck up law firm had made more than just internal changes. Maybe it was his abstinence from alcohol that had changed him, letting the wrinkles in his face fade and making the moles across his cheek and neck a little more noticeable. Maybe the lack of sunshine had turned his hair darker. Maybe that had also turned him paler. 

But that’s not what you meant. He knew you saw right through him – you saw straight to the rotten core he’d been hiding away for six months. Something old, something abused, something tired. Something yearning to come home to a place that was never his at all. You were talking about all the sleepless nights sponsoring the bags beneath his eyes, all the guilt that was eating him alive from the inside out. All the missteps that he had taken that led him to the lifelong regret and mistakes he can’t ever take back. He could bandage the wounds, he would hold his chest high, but it doesn’t hide the bloodstains of the self-inflicted carnage. 

“So have you,” he nods, looking you up and down, lying through his teeth. 

The only change present was the one he’d already seen before he left. The one that sucked the light from your eyes as you asked him to just stay. Not even in Hawkins, but with you. You would have followed him to the ends of the worlds, you told him as much, and he’d still said no.

Why the Hell did he ever say no?

Your eyes dart to the crystal glass in his hand, “Isn’t it a bit late for a mimosa?” 

“What?” he follows your gaze, and sees the way you’re almost glaring at the glass in his hand, “It’s not- I- this isn’t a mimosa.” 

Your nose scrunches, “What? You always said that mixing cheap wine and orange juice still counted, it was just the poor man’s mimos-”

“There’s no alcohol in the glass.” 

Your mouth hangs open ever so slightly, eyes squinting in disbelief. And then he sees it. God, he wishes he wouldn’t have witnessed it – the slow fall of your face, until you’re nothing more than a clean slate of marble again. 

But in the transition, he saw it. The realization that he had changed, that he had made some of the right changes, just a little too late. He was capable of being a better man, just not for you. 

“Why not?” your voice is tight, lips a hard line as you refuse to meet his daring gaze.

Look at me, he begs. Please look at me and let me explain myself. 

“I haven’t drank since-” Since that night. Since that fight. Since you begged me to give it up, to call you beautiful without the whiskey flooding my bloodstream. Since you asked me to stay, and I still went. 

Unlike Robin, you know the words he can’t say. 

“That’s-” you choke on your words, your composure cracking for the first time since you’d entered the kitchen. You take a moment to clear your throat, “That’s good. That’s… great, Steve.” 

He can hear your hurt, clear as day. He can hear every question ricocheting in your mind: why couldn’t you have done that for me? Why couldn’t you have given me an inch when I gave you all my miles? 

He’s glad you don’t vocalize any of them. He doesn’t have a single answer. You deserve one, but he can’t offer one. 

It’s not supposed to be this way. You and him shouldn’t be leaning on opposite counters, oceans apart in the middle of Robin’s kitchen. It should be your kitchen – one shared between you and him. He should be holding you, twirling you around in the quiet of the night by the light of an open fridge, the only sounds being you stifling your giggles over the padding of bare feet. 

The two of you should’ve made it. 

You’d given him all of your love, every last drop, and he’d turned cheek and ran. You’d never risked asking for more, always settling only for what he was willing to give. No labels, no talks of the future. Hiding you away in the dead of night as the two of you shared cheap wine on rooftops, burying you between his sheets as he’d steal away another piece of you that he didn’t intend to keep but carried all the same. Sticky kisses, but only when no one was looking. Whispered admissions of devotion, but only when no one was listening. 

You always gave him a slice of your clementine, peeled and pleading and begging silently for anything in return, and he’d given you nothing. Just a mouthful of bloody goodbyes and nights reeking of whiskey. 

“You look beautiful,” he spits out before he can think better of it. The pulp of the juice is on his tongue, and you look so broken for just a second that he swears he can turn back time. He can make it right. He can offer you more than a burial ground. 

Your sad smile says it all. 

He’d finally said it. He’d finally admitted just a fraction of the hold you had him in, and not a single drop of alcohol in his system. No need to see you naked, no need to pretend the words hadn’t been uttered once the high was over. He’d finally said it. 

“I’ll see you around, Steve.”

And it was too late.

You leave the kitchen without another word, and it takes everything in him to not chuck the glass of orange juice at the wall. 

He didn’t even like orange juice. The pulp would get between his teeth and drive him mad, it left an odd film on his tongue he couldn’t stand, and it was always too sour for him to find refreshing. It’s the same reasons he hated oranges growing up. Until you, until your clementines. And he thinks if you walked back in, if you asked him to, if you held out a palm with a slice of all you had to offer to him again, he’d find a way to swallow the taste again without complaint. 

You’re not going to walk back in, though. 

It’s too late. 

So Steve crosses the room the counter you once leaned against, grabs the closest bottle of cheap whiskey, and pours. Straight into his mouth, not even bothering with the orange juice. 

He never thought a ghost’s knife would taste of clementines as it stabbed through his gut, even through the burn of alcohol. His mistake. 

#ghost's tunes 2023 #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #we're back and worse than ever! #all of these will be unedited. my bad

[harryforvogue]

hades!harry & persephone reunite tomorrow at 12:30PM EST on tumblr & wattpad 🖤❤️

#i fear this is my favorite harry and pers piece i’ve ever written #also currently stands at 6k words which is not bad for something i started writing less than a day ago #hades harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #wahooooo #ooooo should i write about their wedding night????? #maybe a future blurb #this is unedited so all typos are unfortunately mine

[daddyplasmius]

hand on my stupid heart flashbacks

this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks. will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it. posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom. 800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)

-

When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.

He almost went back.

Almost.

He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.

He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.

-

Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.

Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー

The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.

While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.

Dad scrambled to shoot at him.

Danny fled.

His parents didn’t recognize him.

-

The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.

He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.

The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”

Everyone pointed at Sam.

Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.

This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.

The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.

Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.

Surely they would know him on sight.

“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.

Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”

-

Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.

He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?

They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.

It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.

Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.

VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.

Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.

#danny phantom #danny phantom au #danny phantom fanfiction #you know that gif of the wailing emoji dissolving? :Why:? #yeah that's what i do every time i remember i never finished HOMSH while i still had the style in my brain #feel free to steal this idea. please steal this idea. please write it i wanna see this idea so bad but im already writing another 100k+ fic #if y'all want me to post the full fic i can but. it is not finished & most likely never will be. sorry again #i won't lie. the haze i was in was a depressed one. i was. not in a good place At All when i wrote HOMSH #like the only part i remember actually writing was the panic attack scene & that's just barely #i reread the whole fic in the middle of the night months later while listening to Implode Alright by Built by Snow on repeat #yeah i cried. this one is funny but mostly it's just. mourning. grief. the works. it's a vent fic & also a. kind of. wishful fic #like. don't you just wish death wasn't so permanent. don't you wish you could tell them everything you wish you could #don't you wish you could just see them again #i'm actually writing this into a bigger ventier series currently called Let Grief Do Its Work #cuz i rewatched LUCIDS again recently & remembered what HOMSH was originally about. why i was writing it #i'm not calling it HOMSH cuz. HOMSHie is my baby. it's its own thing & i don't wanna ruin the vibes #reluctantly admitting i call an unfinished fanfic i don't remember writing... HOMSHie baby... in my head #yeah i have a cute nickname for my fic. what of it #it's 5am & i think i'll throw up if i think any more about posting unfinished unedited pieces of a fic so i'm going for it. cowabunga #go into the world. get your 2 notes you beautiful animal #*passes out*

[cautiously0ptimistic]

the first thing I did loading up my game was place Eli and Mags’ school on the high school lot and finish it up, we cookin with gas now~

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 screenshots #unedited shots #also this is daytime with sunblind and my reshade and i'm OBSESSED #i meant gshade lol my bad #not me in the background like well maybe i COULD do sim storytelling again #idk about all that but i've been having a ton of fun setting up my new save #gotta remind myself i'm going back to work in a couple of days and won't have all this free time to fiddlefuck around #lol

[kaizsche]

i heard you called for me?

(fic title is tentative as of the moment) it may not be a friday today, but here's a snippet inspired by a writing/dialogue prompt i stumbled upon for a kolena fic wip which i am very excited to write!!! @katherineholmes here's a fic snip for you, vis! thanks for listening to me ranting about this the other day. love ya lots! <3

She wakes up to Jeremy’s face hovering above her.

“Asshole.”

Jeremy chuckles, backing away from her bed. “Mom told me to wake you up—” He pauses at the sight of tears running down her face. “Hey, why’re you crying?”

“I…” Her throat feels dry all of a sudden. Like she has spent months without drinking water. “I don’t know.”

Jeremy looks at her through narrowed, concerned eyes and sighs. “Go and get dressed. Mom and Dad’s gonna be out later than expected.”

Following Jeremy outside, she spots the calendar marked with a star. “Right. It’s for that fundraiser party in Whitmore.”

Jenna’s a fluttering mess downstairs, darting back and forth from the smoky pan and beeping microwave. The Gilbert siblings’ banter comes to a stop by the doorway. 

The microwave explodes and the fire sprinklers pelts down overhead. 

“Could you help me, please?”

—

Jenna, Elena, and Jeremy rush inside the empty hallways, well-aware of the eyes following them. 

“I’m sorry you guys were late.” Jenna apologises, shielding her face away from the inquisitive stares of the teachers. 

Jeremy shrugs, finding it convenient he was able to skip Tanner’s class. “It’s fine—”

“Gilbert!” 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

Tanner’s face is twisted in annoyance. “Late again, Gilbert?”

“What does he mean by ‘again’, Jeremy?” Jenna says through gritted teeth, watching as the aforementioned History teacher trudges towards them.

The commotion drowns in her ears. Muffled and painful like someone placed cotton balls in her ears…

Bubble

Bubble

Bubble

No—to be precise, it felt like she was drow—

Her eyes picks up a familiar face amidst the crowd. 

Dressed in tattered clothes unfit for a casual Friday morning class. Auburn hair in disarray, like he had slept for a several hundred years and never bothered to brush his hair. 

But…

It’s his eyes. There’s something familiar to him. His face—It’s something she has seen before and something she hasn’t also seen yet.

He stared at her. Unwavering, glinting in something akin to chaos. 

Elena takes a leap. A single step forward is all it takes for the world to turn to dust.

It’s only them in this place now.

And somehow, it felt familiar. It didn’t bother her at all that Jeremy’s gone, even Jenna. 

"Have we met before?"

He cocks his head at her, observing… pondering.

"In your dreams." He tells her, hands tucked in the pockets of his black trousers.

"You don't have to be a dick about it." She looks at him. Really looks at him. Elena notices a shadow under his feet. It’s pitch black, pooling, licking at his shoes. 

It follows him as he approaches her, leaving a stain on the pristine white floor. "No, I'm serious.” He stops, a mere three feet before her. “Haven't you noticed your dreams are a bit different yet?"

He smirks and it sets her on edge.

“Run, Katerina!”

#kolena #kol mikaelson #elena gilbert #tvd #tvd fic #kaizschewips #fic snippet #wrote this instead of my pending final activities #inspired by a writing prompt i reblogged. again #thank u to all the writing blogs #yall have awakened the dormant writer in me #the kol gif is not mine lol #cause i was lazy to screenshot. again #SO SORRY FOR THE BAD QUALITY #unedited hell like pls #this is gonna be a dark kol #depends on how well i write him tho so

[seagulley]

#18 months #1 year #dogblr #dogs of tumblr #australian shepherd #my bros winter has caught up with me #usually i become useless as early as november so all in all not as bad this year #but anyway... #i have a bunch of photos that have been sitting unedited for a while that i can't get through #and i can longer take the camera out on our walks #so i guess here's these and bye

[lovecolibri]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

I have been very very salty while clearing out my inbox so I figured it was time to post something NOT salty or ranting. I got a few moments to sit and write before bed so I’m sharing this little unedited snippet I wrote within the last hour from my astronaut!Buck fic Countdowns, where I will be having fun with canon events and manipulating them to suit my needs. Buck whump anyone?

It’s as officers are leading Freddie away and men with “Bomb Squad” on their vests rush by that the dots connect in Buck’s fuzzy brain. There was a bomb and that’s why he was alone. His team didn’t abandon him, they couldn’t get to him. As soon as the thought crosses his mind he hears the frantic voices of Hen and Chim calling for him and he sobs again, overwhelmed with pain, and relief that he’s no longer alone, as he feels Hen’s hand grip his.

“Hey there, Buckaroo, are you still with me?” She croons gently, before turning over her shoulder and shouting for the medic team to hurry up. Buck can’t answer, he’s too busy trying to breath around the pain and tears as her gentle fingers, that remind him so much of his sister, stroke his hair.

“It’s okay, Buck. We’re here now. We’re gonna get you out of there.” Buck does his best to nod and squeeze her fingers in acknowledgement.

“Chim?” she shouts over Buck’s head but if there’s a response he doesn’t hear it. The standby medic team has surrounded him now and he feels the prink of the IV into his hand, but Hen never lets go and never stops murmuring soothing words over him while they work.

He drifts for a second or minutes, he can’t really tell, before he hears Bobby again and feels a familiar grip on his shoulder.

“Hey kid.” Buck lets out another embarrassing whimper.

“I know, I know. We’re working really hard to get you out, we just have to figure out how to move the rover and Freddie-“ Bobby cuts himself off with a sigh filled with so much grief for what transpired this evening. 

“This wasn’t the only bomb he set and the road from the main facility is blocked by debris so getting the equipment out here to move this thing is…” Buck doesn’t need him to finish that sentence, he can guess well enough. Bobby squeezes his shoulder one more time and moves away, and seconds later a few of the medics move away as well.

“Bobby and Chim are trying to get everyone to lift the rover enough to slide you out.” Hen tells him, but Buck doesn’t need to hear all the grunting and cursing either to know it’s not going to work. The rover is too heavy, and there aren’t enough of them. He’s going to die on this asphalt. But at least he’s not alone now.

“Hey, no talking like that, Buckaroo!” Hen says sharply, squeezing his hand even tighter. Some of his thoughts must have spilled out of his mouth along with the blood pooling under his cheek. “No one is dying out here today.” Buck does his best to gurgle out an agreement he doesn’t feel, before closing his eyes, listening to Chim shouting ideas to Bobby though he can’t parse through them.

“Nope!” he feels a less than gentle tap to his cheek and groans in response. “Eyes open, Buck, you know the drill.” He does, and even though he’s tired he tries, for Hen. She’s always been good to him, and is the smartest person he knows. He’s learned that listening to her is always the correct choice,

#911 #buddie #buddie fic #countdowns #it's finally happening yall! #i'm doing it i'm writing the fic #do not expect it ANY time soon #but i needed to put something of it out there to keep me accountable to actually work on it #also hen wiping blood off buck's face in the finale lives RENT FREE in my head so here we are #please come yell at me and tell me to work on this #also i am bad at formatting fic and this is all unedited stuff i just wrote so if it looks weird no it doesn't! #getting this in under the wire before midnight and going directly to sleep #enjoy?

[tails-boogie-board]

more knuckles and baby!tails! Short one this time but its after the other knuckles and baby tails __

"It's Metal!"

The voice was squeaky and for a second, Knuckles braced for another opponent. They were nasally and youn- and it was Tails and Knuckles was a bad friend. He vaguely remembered the fox being chattier when they were younger, but maybe it was because he was directly compared to Sonic.

But the kit hadn't said a single word and Knuckles hadn't even noticed, but then why- Metal.

Shit.

And Knuckles was sent across the map.

He hit snow and digging out of the resulting avalanche gave him enough time to scold himself and to push it in the past. Erupting out of the ice, Knuckles hit the ground running. The Ice Cap was difficult and perilous on the surface, but if he could get underground, all tunnels lead to the Alter.

There was no time for subtly, and Knuckles barreled into the rock. The mountain stone crumbled under him and snow poured into the tunnel. He took off at double speed, he'd repair the damage later.

It took time to get across the island and even running, he could only go so fast. The ground shook and Knuckles grit his teeth. Tremors only meant one thing on Angel Island and like Hell would Knuckles let Eggman have the Master Emerald.

The ground steadied under his feet, Sonic was as late as ever. It took another minute before he burst into the early morning light.

"SONIC!"

Knuckles gripped a tree at the sudden intense wind, the branches buckled under the strain but he held strong. Pushing forward, Knuckles burst into the clearing and froze.

#Sonic #Miles Tails Prower #knuckles the echidna #tails the fox #my fic #fanfic #my writing #cliffhanger!! sorry not sorry #im doing some wild things and not all is as it seems #yea this is a thing now #its mostly unedited blurbs like this #but its over 5k #i do have a tenative plot/timeline i think #ether way i just like knuckles #spoilers: ive decided sonic can go feral #baby tails #before anyone says it knuckles isnt worried bc he knows sonic is gonna show eventually #i havent had any inspo recently or any time or energy to write tbh #and also im a bad writer bc this is mostly unedited hence knuckles voice not being correctly knuckles-esq but i want some validation #tho tbh my writing is p different to these snippets

[spikybanana]

"where are you from?"

I look around bewilderedly

looking for the storm that brought me here

-

rent, asunder, in no storm, no fanfare

I crack silently. splitting apart

from a fault that might have started in my skull

or the sole of my feet

I've walked and walked on no ground

I'm flailing in air

-

roots had once trailed behind me

sprinkling soil into the air

until they too had worn down to nothing

here I am left

mute

I've lost my voice to the wind

-

where are you from?

I'm from nowhere at all.

#poem #poetry #my writing #bad poetry #spilled words #homesick but where is home #lost years #lost months #crude unedited things #sometimes I feel like here's a story #other times I've painted myself a blank page #unremarkable #and it's all your own work #brought to you by staring at the ceiling o clock #un-peer-reviewed stuff

[kellopot]

working on someone,,,

You long for home the same way Ace longs for you.

It’s not a well kept secret— Heartslabyul knows of it, because Ace has tried sneaking out leftovers from parties as discreetly as he can but there’s only so much he can do before someone catches him in the act. He blusters through his excuses uncharacteristically unsmooth and they let him go with a knowing, pity-filled look.

(Because what was an even worse kept secret was the fact you wanted to go home. You didn’t shove it in anyone’s faces but it’s plain to see when you look at something that was similar but not the same as your home and then smile as if you belonged somewhere else.)

The first years know of it too— but they all share the same feeling of dread, in a way. You’re a dear friend, not that Ace would say it outright, because that felt like something he should save for goodbyes and goodbyes made him feel queasy now. Deuce looks as wretched as Ace feels because he can’t keep a poker face on even if his life depended on it. And Jack looks as if he actually means it when he wishes you well but there is no genuineness in his posture. Epel, Sebek, Ortho— he wasn’t there when the news had been broken to them, that a way to get you home had been found. But he sees traces of it in the ways that they don’t show up to any classes at all and you show up, eyes red rimmed, so late that you’d missed almost everything.

So then, Ace starts wondering if you’ll leave immediately. If you’ll look forwards and not backwards and never see the way Ace traces your footsteps, wanting to go back to the times where you still weren’t that homesick and Ace didn’t feel crushing pressure squeezing his throat.

You don’t. You don’t actually leave immediately— thank the sevens for that— because it gives Ace the opportunity to invite you back home for a last minute attempt at convincing you to stay. Thinly veiled, his invite is delivered haltingly, tripping over his words so often that it couldn’t be excused at all.

“-so that’s why I- we want you there. My family. And me,” he finishes uneasily because he sorta doesn’t wanna fuck this up massively. “You’ve never really been anywhere else anyways, maybe you’re feeling so antsy cuz of that. Once you see how beautiful my folks’ place is, you’ll feel better.”

Ace wants to hit himself. Folks? Antsy? “You’ll feel better”? Ace knows exactly why you’re antsy but he can’t help but want to drag this out a little longer, to keep you here, as feeble as his attempts are, so he can finish memorizing the way you look, sound, smell.

“And there’s loads of stuff to do there-”

“Sure.”

“-sure?”, he dithers nervously, blinking at you. The curve of your mouth is the exact same as he remembered when you teased him for getting an upset stomach after eating one too many slices of cherry pie. “Oh. Okay. Cool.”

Ace wants to hit himself again.

“So when are we leaving?”

Soon. Soon is when they’re leaving. Because the way to another world was apparently not very permanent so you and Ace can only travel back to his place for a day before coming back for your farewell party. Farewell party, that felt so strange to Ace because he’s familiar with see you laters but not goodbye forever.

On the way there, you crack so many jokes, and Ace gets swept along so easily that he forgets momentarily, the crushing weight on his throat and the impending parting that looms over his head. On the train ride there— because Crowley had permitted the trip back but not the use of the mirror for transport— you start looking out at the scenery rolling past, stars in your eyes. You ooh-ed and aah-ed and asked Ace questions that he can answer confidently, with a smirk, because tourists always asked the same questions when visiting.

“This train ride is a tourist favorite,” he brags, “Something about prettiest scenery. It’s a lot better if you’re actually there instead of inside this train.”

“You seem to know a lot about what tourists like,” you shift to look at him, leaning your head on the window. Your breath fogs the glass and Ace has to resist flicking your forehead because that was not a comfortable angle to lean at. He should know.

“My town’s the one that gets the most visitors. We’re set in a good place— all surrounded by the nature and stuff but also a bunch of attractions got built around us. It’s easiest to stay there if you wanna visit all of them relatively quickly. Inn’s always full when the holidays arrive. Sometimes I entertain them but I got banned after telling a few half truths.”

You laugh at his last statement. “No wonder you’re so good at making stuff up and keeping people occupied. Always been an entertainer, huh?”

“I’m retired now!”, he winks conspiratorially.

“You won’t lie to me, will you?”

“Never,” he slips out breezily, and finds that he means it, “Can’t lie to you.”

You grin, Ace starts another joke, and it’s all swept under the rug.

He finds it all come unraveling when you actually arrive at his home. And sit there. In the kitchen he grew up in. Wearing your stupid, oversized borrowed sweater from Ace and holding a mug of warm cocoa that his mother made after fussing over the two of you for the longest time. To Ace, you look so much like you belong here that an ache had actually started forming in his chest.

“She’s nice,” you divulge after much fussing, and a teasing wiggle of your eyebrows. “Do you think she’ll show me your childhood photos if I ask?”

Yes. His mother would do that, especially to someone she’d taken a liking to like you.

“Don’t even bother,” he sniffs, hands empty and cocoa-less because his mother had tutted when he showed up unannounced with a guest and was now cleaning out the spare room. You take a long, loud sip in retaliation and Ace pouts until you offer your drink and he takes a gulp.

Fine then, he thinks, watching you roll your eyes as he swallows down chocolate and fondness, I’ll forgive you for looking like you belong here too much.

The next agenda, is to make you actually want to stay here. Which is a lot trickier than actually getting you here. He shows you the forest first, the nature you were ogling at, and tells you that it must have rained because it smells of candied water and there are numerous fallen pine cones around them. At your blank stare, he explains.

“These trees have a sort of candy taste and smell to them, sorta like lollipops. It’s got something to do with the way the leaves secrete water or something but every time it rains around here, you can actually drink the water and it’ll taste sweet.”

Your eyes look like they would bulge out of their head. “Are you serious?!”

“Yep,” he grins, “and the pine cones always fall off when it rains heavily. And it literally smells like a candy shop right now.”

“You have candy rain.”

“Yep,” he says again, popping the p, “but only for a really small patch. These trees are rare so tourists aren’t actually allowed to look at these.”

“You took me here illegally?!”

“I’ve got permission! Sort of. I’m a local,” he flashes a cheeky look at you and now you start hitting him with your fists, delight coating your voice even as you mock-punish him.

He laughs and laughs till his mother calls you both back and Ace has to give her his infamous puppy dog eyes so she won’t scold him for taking you out to see their very important, very sacred trees. She’s still cold hearted enough to send him off to his room to organize all the things she found in the old room she just cleaned out.

“No dinner until then,” she says firmly, foot down, then turns to you with the brightest, sunniest smile. “Can I get anything for you, dearie?”

“Oh, no- well- maybe Ace’s old childhood photos,” you look at him and Ace is mortified to see the mischievous glint in your eyes. No doubt you would tease him for them on the way back.

“Coming right up!”

“I’m your real son!”, he protests huffily, but his mother simply looks at him and he slinks back to his room, your gaze burning him from behind.

And it’s a good thing he does because his room is still as it looks when he left but now there’s a pile of old junk in the middle of it with a photo of Ace in middle school at the very top, freckles dotting his skin and big ears that he hadn’t quite grown into yet. He shoves that photo somewhere deep between his bookcase and desk so it never sees the light of day and picks up the next thing.

It’s a box. An old box. He opens it and is hit with nostalgia as the old key stares back, the string worn but sturdy. He remembers he was only ten- or nine- when he made it with his brother. It was a temporary program where the creation of keys were being taught and whoever signed up had the opportunity to make their own key. Of course, he was too young to do so without a parent or guardian so he’d begged day and night until his brother caved and took him.

“Making a key to your heart?”, the older Trappola teen teasingly remarks as Ace concentrates on drawing straight lines. His brother had to help with drawing it but it was primarily, Ace that had come up with the design. “You’ve gotta find a good person to give this to in the future or all this work will be for nothing.”

“What if I wanna keep it for myself?”, Ace looks at the design and can’t imagine wanting to give away the first thing he’s ever made.

“Trust me,” his brother chuckles as the design gets approved and they’re being guided to the workplace, “You’ll want to give this to someone.”

In the end, even though it was Ace’s design, his brother had to be the one to melt the metal then reshape it with heat. It was complicated enough that he’d struggled but Ace had helped with the final decorations, and chosen the sole gem fixed into the head.

He startles when the door opens, almost dropping the box, but it’s only you, with a more pronounced flush on your cheeks and laughter still winding down, probably from looking at pre-puberty Ace. “Came to see if you passed out. You’re never this quiet when being told what to do.”

“Hey! I can behave when I want to.”

“I highly doubt that,” you gesture to the box, “What’s that?”

For a beat, he freezes, pauses to look at the old key. The color hadn’t faded and it was still in good condition. On impulse, he thrusts it out to you.

“A- A gift,” he searches for the right words, “It’s a key- key to uhm, my heart?”, his voice lilts and he feels like bashing his head in when you simply stare at him blankly, the key still lying in his palm, “No, never mind, forget that. It’s just a key… chain. You can use it as a keychain. Just some ratty old thing I won back when I was a kid. Pretty limited though, only one in the world, and I was just lucky- yeah.”

You take it, finally, you take the key, brushing the lint away and inspecting it, holding it up to the light. A hint of a smirk finally makes its way onto your face. “Alright, alright, I’ll keep it since you’re giving me something so special. Who knew you had it in you, Ace.”

Relief bursts through his lungs, mingled with disappointment that he ignores. “I can be nice when I want to. That thing doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Sure, sure,” you slip the key over your head, securing it around your neck, “Gotta replace this string though, it might snap.”

“You’re- wearing it,” he’s dumbfounded and confused. You’re wearing his oversized sweater and the key he made and looking at him like he’s slow when you’re the slow one for not realizing Ace wants to scream right there and then.

“I’ll use it as a keychain when I get home,” you decide, “And it’s the key to your heart, isn’t it? I’ve gotta take good care of it,” you lift the key to the light again and there, in so very tiny words imprinted into the metal are “Key to Ace Trappola’s heart”. Ace knew he shouldn’t have trusted his brother to not mess with the key when he was the one who had to do all the work.

“You’re mad,” he finally forces out. “Insane. Crazy.”

“I suppose I’ve gotta be to hang out with you,” you take the insult with grace and start looking at all the other things deposited in his room, Ace only barely able to keep his head straight to entertain you. From how much he keeps glancing at the key nestled between your collarbones, you must know he’s looking. And yet, you don’t say a thing.

Maybe I really can keep them here, Ace thinks, throat tight as you settle into his space so naturally. Maybe I can convince them. Or slip some sleeping pills during dinner and miss the-

“You’re a good friend, Ace,” you tell him, and Ace knows he can’t do anything because you look at him so softly and trusting and Ace is only able to handle so much.

“Yeah,” he swallows, “Yeah, I’m a great friend. You are too but not as good as me.”

You throw a pillow at his head and Ace laughs, as if you weren’t going to take his heart along with you when you left.

You long for home, Ace knows, because you long for home exactly like how Ace longs for you to look at him the same way he looks at you.

#I choose violence today #sorry for whoever has to scroll past this flaming pile #blame it on ai bc I know they won’t read it if I put it under a read more /lhj #I hope you rot bestie #this is revenge for all the things sitting in my inbox #sleep with your eyes open #could totally apply to junoace since he wants to go home so bad #I’m insane and it’s bc of the ainsane bullying /lh #unedited as FUCK was writing in a daze dont mind the second rate scuffed writing ai 🥺 #pottering-about

[welcometogrouchland]

"aaaand he's right behind me, isn't he?" Is an overplayed joke but I think ppl are focusing too much on the joke out of context like. It's not the line itself that's the problem, I've seen this joke done well, the problem with this kind of overplayed quip is when assembly line blockbusters use it as a substitute for actual characterization and thought out jokes with set up and pay off.

Like I saw an article that described the Russo bros dialogue in their latest film as feeling like placeholders for funnier jokes meant to be added later, and that's very much what "and he's right behind me" is being used to represent in the recent wave of memes parodying it and movies that feature it- it's dialogue that could be funny in the right context but reads as annoying, insincere and overplayed because writers and directors employ it just as a way to

a) self parody in a way that creates distance between the film and the audience- which is distance from criticism, yes, but also distance that halts all investment and identification between the story and audience

and b) make their job easier at the cost of quality. Because "he's right behind me, isn't he?" Is a tried and true joke that doesn't tell us anything about the character saying it other than "they're meant to be funny and sarcastic and likeable" in the most generic sense of all those words

because a blandly likeable protagonist is easy to write, and they want things that are easy to write so they can put them on the assembly line. Which is frustrating but I do understand it's mostly a product of corporate monopoly and strangling studios. I'm sure most of these writers would like to make something better but just. Cannot be bothered to when the film is guaranteed money based on brand name clout alone AND they have to deal with execs who micromanage projects that fall under their 'brand'. Why write jokes that feel specific to the characters you've created, or engineer characters with comedy in mind? Thats too personal and gimmicky and high effort- slap a one-liner on them and now you've got the human equivalent of a palette cleanser when you flit between summer mega movies. Except every meal is a palette cleanser, and in the end, it tastes like nothing at all.

#ramblings of a lunatic #sorry i just. saw something that annoyed me #where they judged the quality of a thing (admittedly a thing i like so I'm very biased here!) by the fact that they personally felt #that it was the kind of show that would include a ''hes right behind me isn't he?'' joke #and it's like. i get what you're going for and other parts of your post are more coherent in your grievances #(you think it's generic) #but like. idk i just feel like turning specific lines that are overplayed but ultimately neutral on their own- #-into shorthand for ''generic and bad'' is like. gonna be unhelpful in the long run #idk feel free to add on to this with expansions or anything you think i got factually wrong if i did say something completely untrue #just like be civil yknow. like i have good faith for the ppl who follow me don't get me wrong I'm just. not in the mood rn for tomfoolery #this is highly unedited and i might wake up tomorrow and find it incomprehensible or just. poorly articulated #but for now you're getting my moaning and groaning as is. o natural babey #Anyway yes- mega blockbusters made on an assembly line are bad and they produce bad movies. #But it's less to do with a couple individual words that appear often and more abt the conditions surrounding their production. #it's why i keep calling them assembly line blockbusters #to the person who once compared the mcu to cinematic fast food...hows it feel to be so deeply correct #(fast food good sometimes and I have nostalgic favourites but by god it cannot be all i eat or I will get very sick)

[aeide-thea]

god i forgot abt this but seeing hands of the emperor fic on my dash just now reminded me of like. learning abt māori pepeha and how you pronounce whānau and having the sudden realization 'oh you just fully appropriated that for your book, didn't you'

#like. riffing on a culture isn't necessarily Bad— #that kj parker walled city book is like. riffing heavily on rome the whole time #(although like. i didn't have a Problem with that but it WAS a little like. what's yr point. are you going somewhere with this.) #(afaict no‚ he wasn't really going anywhere with it‚ he just thought it was tasty-crunchy.) #—but i do think if i were‚ you know‚ a white westerner writing Fantasy Pacific Islanders #i might at the very least include a note somewhere in my unedited million page book about stuff i was including #that a lot of people might not know was uh. Heavily Derived from an actual irl marginalized culture #anyway i don't know that i have a point here it really was just like. *deeply* jarring to me when i learned that #& jarring again to be reminded of it #so. making it all of yr problem too ig 👍 #bookblogging

[sturnellaneglecta]

we need a mass extinction event for YA books. a giant literary meteor to clear out the weak books that have proliferated due to social media's influence

#listen things were bad in 2010 but they were better than they are now #i just want to read some breezy YA fantasy adventure sometimes when my brains offline but #nowadays theyre all soooooo unreadably bad #like unedited wattpad fiction level bad

[pa-pa-plasma]

okay i might actually lose followers for this, but. uh. why is Iron Widow rated so high

#i'm about half way through & it just. isn't good #i really really wanted to like it. i did. but the writing is mediocre as best. the prose reads like an unedited fanfiction #it's not feminist. the characterization is just. all over the place. the author is CONSTANTLY telling when they should be showing #they spend paragraphs describing things that don't matter while leaving important things completely undescribed #this is 4 out of 5 stars?? dude........... #the thing is that i really want to enjoy it. i want to like this book. it's a neat concept & the author is cool #it's just so bad though. like from a writing standpoint it just is not good at all #i feel like i'm going insane. this is a book for people who don't read. that's what it feels like #it feels like something written by someone who hasn't read since middle school english class #i feel like i'm being too mean but also it's just true #not saying you can't like Iron Widow or books like it. people can enjoy a power fantasy. but that doesn't make the writing good #may write an actual review for this because my feelings on it keep growing & i'm not even half way through yet

[ickadori]

++ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈/𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

[summary] during a playful fight between you and yuji, sukuna decides to make an appearance and air out yuji’s dirty secrets.

[cws] fem reader. dubcon. lewd use of sukuna’s tummy mouth. exhibitionism -> you’re in public but no one is around. one mention of a misogynist comment from sukuna. yuji thinks about you a lot. unedited.

“Do you …hah, do you give up yet?” Yuji pants as he has you pinned underneath him, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair and landing on your forehead.

You’d cringe and shrink away if you weren’t so determined to win this mock fight (never mind that you were drenched in your own sweat, as well).

“Absolutely not.” You grit out, hips futilely bucking up to try and get him off you. He barely budges, even having the nerve to laugh as he watches you struggle. You can hear Nobara booing quite enthusiastically, while Megumi grumbles about being late for class and having to hear ‘Gojo’s annoying mouth’.

“Ya know you’re not gonna win, so just give up already and agree to hosting movie night in my dorm this time!”

“Never! No one wants to stare at pin-up posters all night, plus your tv is too small, and your bed always smells like Doritos, and—”

“Geez, just say you hate me, why don’t you.” He rolls his eyes, going to sit back on his haunches as he stays straddling your waist. You kiss at your teeth, trying once more to buck him up while simultaneously bringing your hands up and shoving at his stomach. “And my bed does not smell like Doritos! Does it?” He snaps his head over to look at Nobara and Megumi.

“The cool ranch ones.” Nobara says, and Megumi nods in agreement. “Aka, the nastiest flavor.” Yuji gasps dramatically.

“That’s the best flavor! How dare you…” As he bickers back and forth with Nobara, you focus a little cursed energy into your hands. “…says the girl who eats pickles with whipped cream like she’s pregnant or someth—!”

In the blink of an eye you’ve got Yuji on his back as you straddle his stomach, a triumphant grin on your face as you keep your hands on his shoulders to keep him pinned flat against the ground. “Aha!”

“That’s cheating!” Yuji frowns up at you.

“No, it isn’t! It’s called strategizing.”

“Cheating!”

“I’m going to class.” Megumi begins to walk off, hands stuffed in his pockets, and you shout after him.

“Movie night is in my dorm!”

“Hey!” Yuji interrupts.

“Bring good snacks only!” You finish, and then Nobara is the next to go, jogging to catch up with Megumi as she flashes the both of you an amused grin.

“Cheater.” Yuji grumbles once it’s just you two, and you snicker as you let go of his shoulders and sit up, not bothering to stand up just yet. “Using cursed energy against your friend… you should be ashamed.”

“You literally threw a spear at me yesterday and it almost killed me.”

“That’s different! We were training, and I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” His expression turned sheepish as he avoided your eyes, and you pursed your lips as you tapped his nose with the pad of your index finger. He wriggled it in response, and you softly laughed as you did it again.

“It’s fine, just know that you had it coming when I try to kill you in the future, mkay?” He blinks up at you.

“You’re creepy, you know that?”

“Says the boy with a third eyeball on his cheek.” This time you do cringe, watching as the red eye blinks open before settling on you.

“Wha—Sukuna!” Yuji snaps, hand moving to slap over the eye and cover it. “You should probably go now before he fully wakes up … you know how he is.” A pink hue bleeds into Yuji’s cheeks as he averts his eyes, and you feel your own face warm as you nod.

“Yeah,” you agree. Sukuna had always been insufferable from the moment you befriended Yuji, always piping up with mean, critiquing comments that bordered on being cruel. The comments had started with him bashing your fighting skills during your trainings with Yuji, quips of ‘you’re so slow - it’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet’, or ‘women on the battlefield is a bad fucking joke - hasn’t anyone ever taught you your place’, or ones that had left you teary-eyed and which you refuse to repeat.

Yeah, Sukuna was an asshole, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone, and you’d rather not have your day ruined before you even made it to your first class.

“I’ll see you tonight, Yuji.” You place your hands on his chest, about to use him to push yourself up to your feet, but a low, raspy voice has you stopping in your tracks.

“You’re sitting on my mouth.” Sukuna abruptly says, and you blink in confusion, your eyes flitting between Yuji’s and where you’re sitting.

“What?”

“Y-You should go now,” Yuji tries, but Sukuna is talking again and drowning him out.

“Your pussy, that hot thing between your legs, it’s on my mouth. See?” Something moves underneath you, and you flinch at the sound of fabric tearing before a yelp is leaving your mouth when something thick, damp and warm is pushing up between your legs and pressing against your clothed cunt. “You should be careful where you put that thing, y’know.”

He talks through the mouth on Yuji’s hand, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as Sukuna swipes his tongue against you again, his saliva wetting the fabric of your underwear.

“Sukuna, st—”

“Sit back and shut up.” Yuji falls silent in an instant, and a wave of panic washes over you when you see his eyes gloss over and his head fall back against the grass, black markings etching their way onto his face. A grin stretches across his face, and hands move to lock around your hips, fingers pushing into your flesh as he makes sure you can’t go anywhere. “That’s better.”

“Y-Yuji?” You sound breathless, and you gasp when his tongue worms its way past your panties to swipe in-between your folds. “Yuji!”

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, “the brat is still here. Watching and listening, he’s not gonna miss a thing, don’t you worry.” You don’t know if that’s worse or better—Yuji being aware of what’s happening, being able to see your face contort each time that tongue flicks at your clit, being able to hear the noises you try and fail to subdue.

“Stop,” your voice sounds weak to your own ears, and Sukuna guffaws, tongue forcing its way up into your cunt, the action eliciting a lewd squelch as he rubs against your walls.

“Stop.” He parrots back at you, hands tightening around your hips, and you duck your head down when his tongue leaves your hole to instead focus its attention back on your clit. “I don’t know what the brat gets all worked up about—yeah, you’ve got a sweet pussy and a nice pair of tits, but you’re a real fuckin’ tease. Rolling around with a boy in that flimsy little skirt and grinding your cunt up against him. Tch.”

“I wasn—Sukuna!” You jump when his teeth graze against your folds, the thought of him possibly biting you making a shiver of fear run up your spine.

“He wants to fuck you.” He couples the reveal with a harsh suck. “Fuck this cunt that I’m tonguing down - the pervert can’t go five minutes in a room with you without thinking about it.” Your ears burn as a fresh wave of slick rushes out of you, thighs trembling where they rest around his thick waist. “He’s too worried about scaring you off to do anything about it, though… but I don’t think he has anything to worry about, does he? Look at you.”

A whimper leaves your mouth, and you quickly sink your teeth into your bottom lip, not succeeding in blocking out the slurping, tacky sounds coming from between your legs. You want to stand up, get his mouth away from you so you can think straight, because your mind is all jumbled and fuzzy and screwy, and his words, his crude words that always made your skin hot and your stomach churn, is making it churn for another reason now.

“Won’t you give him a show, hm?” You barely register his words, and you yelp when his hand makes contact with your ass, fingers kneading at the doughy flesh as he repeats his earlier words. “Take your tits out.”

“No,” you warble, your hands weakly pushing at his wrists, a poor attempt to get him to stop moving your hips back and forth, forcing your cunt to side back and forth over his flattened tongue. “Sukuna, please.”

“Take ‘em out yourself, or I’ll do it for you and leave you to walk back to your dorm with nothing on.” You hesitate, eyes wet as you nervously lick at your lips, and when he makes a move for your shirt, you quickly begin to undo the buttons, fingers clumsy as they fumble repeatedly. “Good pet.”

Your blouse falls open as you undo the last button, revealing the pink bra you have on underneath, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you pull the cups of your bras down, fully exposing yourself Sukuna’s eyes .. and Yuji’s, too oh God.

The reminder that Yuji can see everything that’s happening sends a fleet of butterflies to your stomach, and you kick yourself mentally when you find yourself jutting out your chest just a bit. Does he like them, the thoughts zips through your mind, and you don’t have time to question where the hell it came from before hands are roughly squeezing at them, calloused fingers pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Are they as good as you imagined, kid? Cause you imagine them a lot.” Sukuna smirks, and then he’s snapping his eyes up to yours. “You wanna know what he thinks about doing to them?” His tongue lazily laps at your folds, occasionally parting them to venture down to your clenching hole and take a dip inside before repeating the process.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your answer.

“He thinks about putting his cock between them, pushing them together so it’s nice and tight and fucking them.” He demonstrates, hands pushing your breasts together, and you can’t help but watch his hands as they grope and fondle you. “Thinks about how they’d bounce when he’s got you riding his cock.” His hands leave your breasts to instead grip your hips, and you gasp when easily lifts you, just to drop you back down onto his tongue, the appendage sliding into your cunt and reaching deep.

“Sukuna!”

He continues to lift you up and down, forcing you to ride his tongue, and his eyes stay locked on your bouncing breasts, lips still fixed in that same smirk. “You gonna come?” You feel as if his words are directed at more than just you. He moves you faster, nails biting into your skin, and your face contorts into one of bliss as you hold onto his wrists as tight as you can, eyes fluttering shut as your pussy clamps down.

He pulls you down for the final time, mouth latched onto your cunt as you come, greedy gulps and sucks sounding as he swallows down your slick, his hands moving from your hips to your back. He roughly pulls you towards his face, and a whimper-y moan forces itself out of you as his lips wrap around a stiff nipple, teeth sinking in before he’s soothing the sting away with his tongue.

You sag against him, ragged breaths disturbing tufts of pink hair, and the aggressive sucking on your breast morphs into softer, gentler sucks, the nails that had been scratching at your back replaced with gentle caresses, and the tongue and mouth that had been abusing your now puffy and sore cunt is gone.

“Yuji.” You sigh, and he hums around you before his whole body goes stiff, tongue pausing its gentle swipe against your nipple, and hands slowly moving away from you. The heat against your chest is sweltering, and you push yourself up on shaky arms, tiredly blinking down at his red face.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know he would do that or say those things! I-I don’t even know why he said all those things, I don’t think about you like that, I swear!” He goes off into a tangent, eyes darting between your face and your breasts, and you sigh again before leaning back down to push your lips against his.

The kiss is chaste and quick, and when you pull back your face is as hot as his, and you become acutely aware of your state of dress, hands fumbling to fix your bra and redo your shirt as you avert your gaze.

“What was that for?”

“You… you wouldn’t stop talking.” You defend as you fix the last button, and then you’re struggling to your feet before Yuji finally frees himself from his stupor and helps you. He pulls away from you and takes a few steps back, the both of you staring at each other in silence for a bit, and your eyes widen when you see his shirt has been ripped away around the stomach, the skin there wet from you and his happy trail glistening with your juices.

“I-”

“You-”

“Sorry, you go.” You both interrupt each other again.

“He-”

“We-”

You heave out a breath as he groans, and when he goes to say something else to wave your hands back and forth, stopping him short. “Let’s never talk about this again.”

“Oh… okay! Yeah! Okay! Lips are sealed.” He motions to lock his lips and throw away the key, and you can’t help but smile just a bit.

“Okay.” You nod, hands twisting together, and there’s another uncomfortable silence before he speaks up again.

“I can, um, walk you to class?”

“Oka—oh, your shirt.” You gesture to his ruined uniform, and he looks down as his eyebrows raise.

“How’d that happen—oh, yeah.” He looks at you, and you roll your lips into your mouth. “I guess I should change then.” You nod. “I’ll see you tonight then, right? For movie night?” Could you really sit through a movie with him after what Sukuna just did, after what he told you? An ache starts as you recall what he had revealed to you, and your eyes meet Yuji’s as you nod again.

“Yeah. Tonight.”

#yuji x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujitsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut

[angelfic]

— THE WAY I LOVED YOU

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: in which theodore nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn rejecting him

warnings: swearing, kissing, dangerous stunts and theo being stupid (ryan gosling in the notebook style), unedited since i wrote this in the middle of the night on no sleep again lol. enemies to lovers if you squint a bit

author’s note: since everyone loves theo i’ll pretend this isn’t just for my own selfish needs <3 (especially the notebook reference) also surprise surprise mc is a gryffindor as always, you’d never know i was a slytherin my bad guys… as always let me know what u think! enjoy, angels 💌

The first time Theodore Nott asks you out, you spill a pot of ink directly into his lap.

It’s not like you meant to do it. But when there’s a Transfiguration worksheet to be getting on with, the Slytherin boy seated next to you by Professor McGonagall asking you out would surely take anyone by surprise.

The second you twist in your seat to look at him in shock, your arm slides the pot right off the desk and directly onto his grey trousers, instantly staining them with the black liquid before you have a chance to speak.

Your hands fly to your mouth to stifle your gasp and you look up at him, anticipating an angry glare in return. Instead, he looks mildly surprised at the ever-growing stain on his crotch, but mostly… amused?

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, darling,” he says, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a smile.

You begin stuttering out an apology and scrambling for your wand to wave away the stain before you can do something stupid like attempting to rub it off with your sleeve. Your cheeks instantly heat up at the humiliating image now plaguing your mind and you barely contain a sigh of relief when you realise the lesson has finished.

It’s a miracle your shoes haven’t left scuff marks on the ground in a cartoonish trail with the speed at which you leave the classroom. Godric knows why Theo Nott of all people wants to ask you out, but since it can’t possibly be for any good reason, you’d rather not think about it too much. This, however, isn’t helped by Hermione pestering you about why you look so flustered for the entire walk to the Charms classroom.

Twenty minutes later, her attention is finally diverted. On the other hand, it’s because she’s berating you for accidentally burning the end of her left eyebrow off with a charm gone wrong.

The second time Theo asks you out, there are thankfully no ink pots around.

“Hey,” he whispers from behind you, making you jump within an inch of your life despite his low volume. You swivel in your chair to glare at him, incredulous. Seeing that he’s startled you, Theo grins. “Sorry. What are you doing?”

“Baking a cake,” you deadpan, once your heart has started beating at a normal pace again. Holding up your Potions book, you feel the annoyance start to seep in when Theo continues looking at you, undeterred. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Apparently unfazed by your sarcasm, he drags out the chair next to you and spins it around to sit on it backwards. Settling his arms on top of the backrest, Theo rests his chin on them to look at you. “You never did answer my question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, eyes scanning the page in front of you but taking in nothing. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to study-”

“Are you going to make me ask you again?” he sighs. You panic a little at his bluntness and continue pretending to read, not knowing what else to do. Theo takes your silence as encouragement and shuffles his chair closer to your own. “Go out with me.”

The arrogance practically drips off his voice, and the pit of anxiety in your stomach immediately turns into irritation instead. “No,” you grit out, slamming your potions book shut to scowl at him. “And I don’t hear you asking anything.”

“Okay,” Theo says slowly, nodding as though he understands. It’s clear that he doesn’t though, because the next words out of his mouth have you stunned. “Please, oh please, will you do me the absolute greatest honour of going out with me?”

”Merlin,” you exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. Dropping your hands into your lap, you see no solution other than gathering your things to return to the common room. “You’re having me on…”

“I can assure you, I’m not,” Theo says quickly, stopping you from leaving by gently grabbing your elbow. You stop in your movements to catch him looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen, and you’ve never been more perplexed. “I’m completely serious right now. Go out with me?”

“Wh- I don’t even-” you sigh, cutting your senseless muttering off to cross your arms over your textbook. “Whatever happened to a simple ‘no’ sufficing, darling? Aren’t there a million other girls for you to go and pester? Godric knows you’ve got an entourage following you half the- What are you looking at?”

Amazingly, Theo’s expression has lost all trace of vulnerability and now displays a slightly faraway look, his signature lazy grin in full effect. “Sorry, I didn’t hear a word after you called me ‘darling’.”

Resisting the urge to hit him over the head with your textbook, you take a deep breath and grasp the potential weapon tighter in your hands before speaking. “As hard as it is for me to believe that girls actually fall for this rubbish, your history with them shows that they do. Don’t think for a second, I’m going to let you use me like they do.”

Theo considers your words for a few seconds, mulling them over as carefully as though he’s trying to solve a brain teaser. Eventually, he seems to come to a satisfying conclusion, because he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tilts his head. “So you need me to prove I’m serious about this… and then you’ll say yes?”

“Oh, for the love of-” Huffing, you turn on your heal without saying another word and storm out of the library. Theo doesn’t follow you, allowing you to clear your head and think about the incredibly odd interaction.

You’re climbing through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room when you realise you never actually refuted Theo and his theory to make you go out with him. Whether or not it was on purpose, you can’t quite decide.

Over the next few weeks, you start wishing you had stopped Theo before he could start trying to prove himself to you.

You can’t go a single day without the question of going out with him popping up. Much to your bewilderment, it isn’t always him asking. Sometimes it’s his friends, sometimes it’s students at the Gryffindor table who are sick of the multiple owls every morning flocking to your table with a note in their beaks. Sometimes it’s even your friends.

“I mean, really,” Hermione says at breakfast, huffy as always when reprimanding someone. “It’d be benefiting everyone if you just went out with him. Why don’t you, anyway?”

“He’s a Slytherin,” Ron butts in, talking to Hermione as though he’s explaining something to a child. He takes a gigantic bite of his toast before speaking, his next words coming out muffled. “Surely that’s reason enough.”

“No, that isn’t reason enough,” Hermione says sternly, furrowing her brows. “A good reason would have been all the girls he’s always with. Of course, that’s flown out the window recently. He’s also never given them as much attention now that I think about it.”

“He’s definitely not the worst of the group either,” Harry adds, leaning in as nosily as Ron. “Not like we’re talking about Malfoy…”

“Don’t you two have Quidditch tactics to be discussing?” you snap, exhausted by the subject already. The two boys hold up their hands in surrender, before shuffling down the bench. Whether that’s to be closer to the Quidditch team, or to get away from you before you start throwing hexes - you aren’t certain.

The fact you’re awake early in the morning on a Saturday isn’t helping your sour mood, and the Quidditch match being between Gryffindor and Slytherin only adds to this.

“We’d better go and get a good seat at the front, so we aren’t on our tiptoes for the whole game like last time,” Hermione says, already sliding off the bench. You give your cup of coffee one last longing look before you allow yourself to be dragged away.

You haven’t even made it onto the Quidditch pitch before you’re already wishing for that cup of coffee to give you strength, because you find none other than Theo standing outside the Great Hall in his green and silver Quidditch robes.

As soon as he spots you, Theo plasters on that charming smile of his and opens his mouth, no doubt to ask you if you could talk privately.

Hermione interjects before he gets the chance. “Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” She simply sighs when you look at her, betrayed. “He’d have convinced you anyway! I’ll save you a seat.”

You watch her leave, helplessly before turning to Theo and crossing your arms. “Yes?”

“I have a proposition for you,” he says simply, getting to the point. The proposition has, without a doubt, got something to do with you and him and a trip to Hogsmeade, but you gesture for him to continue nonetheless. You can’t deny it’s been entertaining watching Theo come up with new ways to ask you out these past few weeks. “I’ll throw the match and let your lot win if you go out with me.”

This startles a laugh out of you, something between a chortle and a gasp. “Oh, you cheeky bastard,” you exclaim, but you can’t help grinning. That was quite possibly the last thing you expected him to say. “First of all, I think my lot is perfectly capable of winning on their own. And secondly… as funny as it would be, I’d rather not have your death and Malfoy’s subsequent imprisonment in Azkaban be on my conscience.”

You only realise just how wide your smile is when it starts to fade under Theo’s unwavering gaze. His lips twitch up into a smile and you immediately frown as an automatic response. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re bantering with me,” Theo says, grinning as though he’s extremely pleased with himself. You realise with a jolt, that yes you were bantering. “One step closer to agreeing to go out with me.”

“That’s not happening,” you protest, but it sounds fairly weak, even to you. “Like I keep telling you, I’m not going to be one of those girls.”

Theo shrugs. “And I think you already know you’re not one of those girls. It’s fine, I can wait.”

The relaxed manner in which he says this has you flabbergasted to say the least. Truthfully, you aren’t completely sure why you haven’t just agreed at this point. No one in the whole school is used to witnessing such extravagant displays from Theodore Nott, so you’ve accepted the fact you’re an outlier in this particular subject area. You’re starting to think Hermione’s right, and it’s pure stubbornness that’s keeping you going.

“You’ll be waiting a long time then,” you say, giving Theo a bland smile.

“Nah,” is all he says, the smile still gracing his unperturbed face. “Keep an eye out for me in the Quidditch stands.”

Theo winks at you before walking away in the direction of the pitch and you linger in the castle for a good few minutes before snapping out of it and walking in the same direction.

You find Hermione quickly at the front of the Gryffindor stand and you’re about to ask how long until the game starts when Lee Jordan’s voice begins to boom from the commentator stand.

“Strong start for Gryffindor with Katie Bell taking the Quaffle and- nope, Vaisey’s taken it and passed it onto Urquhart, his fellow Chaser and the new Slytherin captain.” You’re thankful for Lee’s commentary as it’s easy to follow and you probably wouldn’t have a clue if it weren’t for him. Surprisingly, he keeps it professional enough for a while. “Ginny Weasley tries to take the Quaffle after a near hit there to Urquhart, thanks to new Gryffindor Beater Jimmy Peakes and that very solid Bludger over there. Unfortunately, he missed-”

“JORDAN.”

“Sorry, Professor McGonagall, I meant fortunately. Slytherin Chaser Mattheo Riddle now has the Quaffle and seems to be aiming to score and- oops! He’s missed, thanks to Gryffindor Keeper Ron Weasley. Good on you, Weasley,” Lee says, unable to be impartial as shown by McGonagall’s glare. “As for the Slytherin Keeper, Nott seems to be distracted by something in the Gryffindor stands. Or should I say someone.”

Laughter echoes in every stand, much to your utter humiliation and some people even start whooping and cheering in your direction. Theo’s antics are common knowledge at this point, but it doesn’t make the laughter any less embarrassing. You try and maintain a shred of dignity by standing still and glaring as hard as you can at Theo. Horrifyingly, he starts to fly in your direction.

Lee looks at McGonagall before speaking, but she merely shrugs helplessly, looking flustered herself. “Er, well it seems Slytherin are open for Gryffindor to score. No one seems to be taking advantage, however, as I think I can speak for everyone when I say we want to know what’s going on with Nott and Y/N.”

Glancing at the others, you realise Lee is right and all the players are hovering in place, making no move to continue the game. They look partly confused, but mostly nosy.

Theo stops just outside the Gryffindor stand, his attention focused wholly on you. You raise both eyebrows in question, waiting for him to speak. “Go out with me.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t quite hear what Nott is saying, but I think we can all guess he’s asking her out again,” Lee says, causing a few more cheers and even a couple groans. “Take the hint, mate.”

“Theo, get back to the game!” you hiss, wrapping your arms around you as if it’ll shield you from everyone’s eyes. “You’re embarrassing m- What the fuck are you doing!”

Theo swings a leg over the side of his broomstick so that he’s sitting completely facing you, legs dangling dangerously off one side. Lee sits up a little in his booth and McGonagall looks positively horrified. “For unknown reasons, Nott is balancing precariously in a position no Quidditch player wants to- Merlin, he’s hanging off his broomstick!”

Everyone in the crowd screams and shouts when Theo slips off his broomstick, but they quieten down and watch with fright when they see he’s still holding on with both hands. You think you’re going to faint.

“Theo,” you plead, with the same voice you’d use to coax a bloody kitten out of a tree. “Get back on your broomstick. Please.”

“Only if you go out with me,” Theo says, eyes determined despite breathing a little heavier. The broomstick is thin and despite his strength, it’d be hard for anyone to maintain a grip for long. “Say you’ll go out with me and I’ll get back on.”

“Just say it!” Hermione grabs you by the shoulder to shake you.

Professor McGonagall seems to have shaken out of her previous daze and begins scrambling around for her wand while Lee narrows his eyes to better assess the situation. “Godric, Y/N. Just say ‘yes’ and end everyone’s misery already.”

“But…” you trail off, hands shaking as you keep your eyes on Theo’s white knuckles still gripping the broom. “I don’t want to encourage this stupid behaviour.”

Theo rolls his eyes as though he can’t believe you’re still objecting. He shakes his head at you, though his chest is shaking with laughter. “Go out with me, and I swear I’ll never do anything stupid again. Fucking hell, I’ll quit Quidditch altogether if you want.”

You open your mouth to say something, you’re not sure what, but before you can get a word out, Seamus Finnigan pipes up from beside you. “Personally, I say let him fall off the bloody thing.”

Tutting, you turn to Theo just to find the idiot raising an eyebrow challengingly. His left hand begins to loosen on the broomstick, deliberately.

“Theo, don’t you dare.”

He drops his left hand completely and you scream, the noise drowned out by everyone else’s yells.

“OKAY!” you yelp, heart in throat as you watch Theo dangling from his broomstick with one hand, clearly struggling. “Okay, I’ll go out with you, you stubborn idiot!”

The Gryffindors that hear you, begin to cheer, setting off the other houses and once McGonagall sees Theo begin to pull himself up on his broomstick, she visibly relaxes, slumping in her seat as she clutches her chest. Lee soon gets the message. “Finally, after a good month of watching Nott pine pathetically, Y/N has agreed to go out with the poor bast- Er, beggar. Sorry, Professor. By the way Nott, you’ve got detention for a week.”

Now sitting normally on his broomstick, Theo grins at you like the cheeky bastard that he is, with elation clear as day on his face. You struggle to fight off your own grin and you can tell by his expression you’re not doing a very good job at it. “Pull something like that again and I’ll push you off your broomstick myself,” you warn him, though it lacks any real threat. You were more worried than angry, and it definitely shows. “Okay?”

“No more stupid behaviour,” Theo promises, sounding sincere as he nods, messy hair falling into his eyes. The wind blows it out of the way almost immediately and you find yourself wanting to do it with your fingers. “After this, though.”

You furrow your brows as Theo flies close enough to the Gryffindor stand to get off his broomstick and hop right into the crowd, landing next to you. Broomstick in hand, Theo doesn’t take his eyes off you when he holds it out to Hermione. “If you don’t mind, Granger.”

Clearly baffled, Hermione gingerly takes the broomstick from him and watches the two of you, as enraptured as the rest of the school.

You face Theo properly, looking up at his eyes to see them glittering with pride and achievement. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he hasn’t yet returned to the game.

Theo answers you by gripping your waist to pull you into a stupidly dramatic, dizzying, wonderful kiss. His lips are soft against your own and cold from the wind, but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way Theo is pressed against you.

You could go on forever, but the cheers and claps and hollering around you remind you that you’re surrounded by all your peers and, Godric, your teachers.

Pulling away, you clear your throat and attempt to gain back some of your dignity by keeping a serious face. Theo attempts nothing of the sort as he’s still wearing a silly grin. You try and avoid his eyes for the sake of your nerves and you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Erm, good luck then. I hope you win.”

This is the wrong thing to say surrounded by your fellow Gryffindors as a few of them boo at you.

Theo rolls his eyes at the dramatics, while you simply scowl, pointedly at Seamus who seems to have boo’ed the loudest. Hermione is beaming at you when she hands Theo back his broomstick, though she also gives a little frown directed at Seamus.

Getting back on his broomstick, Theo hovers near you outside the stand. You lower your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “I still hope you win.”

Theo shrugs, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him during a Quidditch game. “I’ve already won, darling.”

© angelfic 2023.

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott smut #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott