#ugly coffee cup

[jellypawss]

white women's reaction when they realize effectively boycotting starbucks isn't just one day without their iced coffee macchiato latte frappuccino that costs $11

[gummy-worms-in-my-brain]

him to any minor inconvenience ever (even when there's no inconvenience)

bonus doodles that are kinda mehhh,, i like them enough to keep but not enough to be like "mmnm good content to post those one drawing per post",,, (had the quickly painted piece somewher that was lowkey kind of good but i cant seem to find it in my files??? sobbing crying throwing those doodles at you all to cope with the loss of a decent drawing gdgjmkd)

def remaking Mettakaard drawing or making a new better one altogether, Mettaton should be like AT LEAST four times more cool and awesome hogh hes not slaying enough in this one,,,

[razpberrypie]

my big brother would find the ugliest thing ever but it’s pink so he gets it for me pfff

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

no rizz just listening to literal metal while drinking coffee out of a teacup placed on a saucer and wearing an ugly oversize sweatshirt with an ugly maxi skirt and imagining myself in a coming of age movie while cleaning my room wanna kiss

[crybaby-bkg]

the pinnacle of romance to me was when nic from gangsta leaned his body against the speaker while Alex sung bc even tho he couldn’t hear her, he still wanted to feel everything she sang 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

[dailybehbeh]

Behbeh

[hedgehog-moss]

The tragic thing when you're at a craft market is that the woman with the warm smile who seemed like a genuinely lovely person when you stopped by her stand to make small talk, is always the one selling ugly little cups decorated with modern movie characters. Meanwhile the woman next to her who sells adorable water jugs decorated with Old-Timey Bucolic paintings of flowers and farm animals, looks like she's doing people a favour by selling them her stuff. She is not lovely or even polite but she doesn't need to be, her stand is printing money, she knows what tourists in a rural village potters' market are looking for and it's a pretty jug with a curly handle and featuring little chickens and children wearing clogs. Not a modern-looking coffee cup with a gremlin or E.T. painted on it.

You text your mum to ask if you should buy an ugly gremlin coffee cup because the vendor is really sweet and not very popular and she texts back NO. We've talked about this. So many times. Buy what you like. You really like the water jug featuring a little donkey pulling a little cart—but you've been here a while and no one has bought anything from the really kind woman, which hurts. You text your mum a photo of the gremlin cup with a sad emoji. She replies, It's hideous. (It's not that bad.) (The photo was taken from far away, she can't even see it very well. She's just trying to get you back on track.) You're about to join the queue to the Popular Stand to spend your only 20€ note on the donkey pitcher when you see a man stop in front of the nice lady's empty stand and pick up an ugly cup, which makes you happy. The man asks for the price then tells the nice lady, "It's not worth it" and puts the cup back on the shelf and walks away.

On your way home from the potters' market you call your mum and ask her if she would accept an ugly gremlin cup as a gift from you because, well, your kitchen decoration is more Old-Timey Bucolic and you don't really want this cup. Which you now have, on account of an inescapable series of events. There is a dismayed-yet-unsurprised silence in response and you say defensively "She looked happy to finally make a sale!" and your mum says, give me the ugly gremlin cup, I'm sure it's not that bad.

[erabundus]

AVALON !! you are one of the most talented people here on this platform. when i first joined you were my biggest source of inspiration and i’m so glad i was able to reach out to you and spark the flame that would keep us in touch. i have loved watching the antics you put ren through and the developments between characters and worlds, especially with kazuha. you inject life and love into all your responses and it astounds me how you manage to slap with each reply over reply. you are an absolute joy to be around and i really hope to write with you again if i wasn’t so slow smh from one coffee lover to another: i hope you learned how to use your french press properly

SEND    YOUR    OPINION    ON    ANON

[somewherefornow]

JIM GORDON in BATMAN: LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT #80 - #82: IDOLS

[uraandri]

incredible coffee drinking skills

[evilminji]

Ooooh~ Drink mix up? >.>

Because! Wes DID, in fact, get that dream job. HAS learned... after many, many hours of "beat about the head and shoulders with an ethics pamphlet by his great aunt", to keep his mouth shut! Family curse of Sight? WHAT family curse?

He doesn't see shit! Mind your business.

What're you? A cop?

Look, he sent Fenton a gift basket. He was a shitty, shitty "I have to be RIGHT and nothing else matters!" Stubborn lil asshole of a kid. He got better. Grew up. No one is there best Self during puberty. He DOES, in fact, regret it.

Which is WHY, he is deliberately ignoring Kent's terrible, awful, paper-thin, "who meee~?" Aw shucks BULLSHIT excuse of a disguise, like it isn't blatantly obvious he's Superman. Yep. Nothing to see here! Nothing but us chickens! Mmmmm, morning coffee! Delicious.

But see, here's the THING.

The Itty, bitty, teeny lil PROBLEM...

Wes grew up in Amity "Totally Not Supernatural Hotspot For Centuries" Park. He is... to put it mildly, genetically? A freak. His biology is ALL fucked up. Everyone's is. And it WAS NOT made better by the Fenton's playing fast and loose with their hell basement. The Ectoplasmic NUKE that was that portal.

There is a REASON his morning coffee? Is COVERED. Contained. Fenton brand, LEAD LINED, specialty cups. The sort that can't be EATEN from the inside out. Eroded after a few uses. They're ugly as sin, but they work. He even ordered a few covers from Star's etsy shop. (Apparently he wasn't the only one who hated how ugly they looked. Good for her though, he heard it was doing well.)

He SAYS this? 'Cause his morning brew is less... straight COFFEE... and more... how to put this? A blend? Brew? Potion, really. Like an energy drink. From hell. Or, partially at least, the Zone. It's the combination of roots, seeds, and a few dried berries. Kinda like a tea, actually!

Tasty. Adds this nice fruity, warmth. A zing. Goes GREAT with the coffee. And it really perks you up... if you are Limnal. If you AREN'T? It'll desolve your esophagus like swallowing straight acid. And that's not TOUCHING the... witch-y, more Seer specific bit of the blend.

That stuff is medicinal. You know, "calm the mind" and "mental clarity". That sorta thing. With a good ol helping of "don't blurt out everyone's secrets, you spacey bitch! For the love of God, those are our INSIDE THOUGHTS!". Which? Really helpful! Infinitely less likely to get decked. It's a family staple.

Poisonous, though.

They're fine cause they've basically developed an immunity to that part, but like? Wouldn't recommend. It's why he NEVER shares his drinks. Food? On occasion. If he PLANS it and knows not to add and interesting spices. But DRINKS? Never. Weston family brews are basically NEVER safe.

Which? Begs the Very Important Question ™!

Who's Coffee Is This?

Cause it SURE AS FUCK AINT HIS!

You never realize quite how fast you can go from "completely calm and kinda sleepy" to "bomb strapped to my chest, primal panic AWAKE" until it happens to you. His coffee was ON HIS DESK. People have passed by. He talked to them. Cups put down and picked up. Lazy early morning. He doesn't even register, really, as his chair crashes to the ground.

He's shouting.

People confused. They don't realize yet. His head whips around, looking for that distinct cover. Before it's too late. Before someone takes that fatal sip. He spots it. Bolting from his desk. Crashing through coworkers, over desks. Chaos and outrage. "It's 'just' coffee!" They cry.

Kent turns, confused. Pretending. Raises his (HIS! Oh god!) cup to his lips, unknowing. Wes SCREAMS a warning. But he doesn't listen. "It's 'just' coffee" They never listen. Curse of Cassandra. God's damn it. This is why his family fucking CONVERTED!

He TACKLES the man of steel.

RIPS his cup away from him, knows his eyes are frantic. How much have you had?! Spit it out! Wes voice ECHOES in the sudden silence. I'm a META, Kent! It could KILL YOU!

And oh, Oh NOW they get it. Or perhaps it is the burn in his mouth that finally registers. He rolls, spits oil slick nebulae that eat away the floor. There is blood mixed within it. It took mere moments. Superman stares, transfixed and horrified, as Wes shakes. He... he should probably get off of him.

He'll move in a moment.

When his legs no longer feel weak from terror.

The news room is in chaos. Lane kneeling by her husband, Perry trying to do damage control. He... he's probably gonna lose his job, isn't he? Wes wants to cry. Protection laws only go so far, after all. And warning his boss about his dietary needs means jack shit, after an incident like this. Beloved as Kent is. Not that anyone likely believed him.

They never do.

And now he's nearly killed Superman.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles

[gomtotemeal]

And so a month after they built the fifth Wal-Mart in our county, a little coffee shop opened just a few yards away.  

My coworker Rick said it looked like a giant amoeba just waiting to absorb any surrounding properties.

“The coffee shop?” I asked.

“No, Wal-Mart is the amoeba.”

“Oh.”

When I got back to my desk, I typed ‘amoeba’ into Google and realized that I had incorrectly pictured a centipede.

“To hell with Rick,” I thought. “I don’t need any more friends, anyway. I’m on friend overload.”

At dinner that night, the Wal-Mart came up again when my wife Diane mentioned how ugly it was to see another gigantic shopping center taking up space in our town.

“It looks like a giant amoeba just waiting to absorb that little coffee shop,” I said. “And then the coffee shop is like a centipede.”

“I don’t think amoebas eat centipedes. And besides, that’s the point.”

Diane went on to explain that the coffee shop, though legitimate and functioning by all measures, was really an art piece constructed by a group of private donors in response to the new Wal-Mart.

“The idea is that we’re intentionally not supposed to go to the coffee shop. That way, Wal-Mart customers will be forced to observe the gradual decay of a local business every time they enter the store.”

“Well, I’ve been going there all week,” I said. “I think the coffee is top-notch stuff. Plus, it’s on my way to work.”

“The coffee is supposed to be mediocre,” said Diane. “Keeping within the budget of most struggling businesses. It’s supposed to be virtually undrinkable.”

“Hmm…well I really like it.”

“Well, you can’t keep going or else you’ll ruin the project.”

“This is America,” I said. “And if I want a cup of mediocre, overpriced coffee, by god I will have it!”

Over the next several months, I kept drinking the coffee. Some days I even went twice. The quality of the coffee, I was told, gradually worsened as a result of my unwavering interest, but I never noticed and so I had no choice but to doubt the rumors.

My doubt remained intact even after overhearing a private conversation between the coffee shop’s manager and the cashier. I was standing by a tree and watching a teenager back his car into another car and I guess they didn’t see me.

“I know,” said the cashier. “I’ve tried that, but it’s like he doesn’t have taste buds.”

“Well, he’s single-handedly fucking up this entire thing.”

“So what then, poison? Would he even drink poison?”

“Now, that’s an interesting idea.”

“Stupid teenage drivers,” I thought.

In the end, they poisoned the coffee. I made it a month after that, but my failing eyesight and ravaged kidneys eventually left me bed-ridden.

“Well, they just opened another location,” said Diane. “Business is booming. I hope you’re happy.”

And I wasn’t happy, but I was somehow content and I thought about everything then: Wal-Mart, art projects, even little amoebas crawling through the forest, one-hundred legs working beautifully in tandem.

“Nobody ever wins in these kinds of things,” said Diane.

“But if you had to pick a winner, you’d probably pick me because the coffee shop was on my way to work.”

Diane sighed and left the room. I dozed off and in my dream, they did pick a winner. They picked me and I was led over to a small stage to choose my prize: A brand new recliner or two new kidneys!

“The recliner,” I inquired. “How far back are we talking?”

[cute-sucker]

stealing rafe's clothes was always fun, because every single time you did it—he would give you this look.

it was this sideways look that made you stop what you were doing and then smile back at him that sugary sweet way before dragging a manicured finger up his chest.

not to mention it helped your attachment issues as if you had a small piece of him with you at all times. it was his calming scent that made you feel better as you wore it. sometimes your boyfriend was busy, well, he was busy most of the time. stealing his clothes was a short-term remedy.

it started small first, sweaters that were fluffy and a bit torn at the sides. the first time you wore his sweatshirt, rafe had smiled flicking at the little bits that were falling apart. he had just woken up, so he was extra nice with soft-mussed hair looking like a little boy. there was this wistful look on his face as he kissed you softly on the lips before heading up to clean up.

that was the green light, and before you knew it you were taking polo shirts. he had too many, and the pink one that he had lying around looked way too cute. then it went to ties, because, why not? they looked good with your outfits, and sometimes when you wore a jean skirt, pairing it with red lipstick and a tie made a juxtaposition that always made you smile.

and then came the comfortable stuff.

this was where he got extra annoyed, sweatpants and boxers. they were nice and he barely wore his sweatpants. to be frank, the last time you had mentioned sweatpants to rafe, he had given you this crazy look. because apparently anyone who wears "sweatpants," is letting loose. so he wasn't going to miss anything.

so you couldn't help yourself as you put on a polo shirt before heading over to the kitchen, and a mini skirt. the shirt was a bit big, but you didn't mind because it smelt like him. honestly, you didn't think that rafe would have a problem with it. today was the day that rafe had decided you could come golfing with him, and some of his buddies. the shirt was a bit big on you

rafe was settling up a deal, and you could hear him argue on the phone. as always he looked recklessly handsome, hand on the phone before giving you a tightlipped smile. he was drinking one of those disgusting protein shakes as you sat down next to him.

you smiled back at him, before starting to fix yourself some cereal. in a few minutes, you found rafe looking at your outfit with a scrutinising look, coffee cup in hand before taking a sip.

"what's up?" you murmured, not noticing the look that he was giving you.

"nothing really." but you could hear an air of haughtiness in his voice as you ate your cereal.   

then you looked up at him. just as you thought, there was this slight annoyance in his eyes as he looked you up and down. you put down your spoon before cocking your head.

"uh huh? you sure? you're giving me that weird look."

rafe pursed his lips, murmuring something under his breath. you folded your hands, biting your lip. your insecurity reared its ugly head.

"what was that?"

rafe looked back at you with a faux confused look, "nah, nah don't worry about it, but you might wanna change."

"why would that be?"

rafe looked shocked at your quick refusal. usually, you weren't this outright disrespectful to him, denying him what he wanted. most of the time you would peck him on the cheek before agreeing.

"you seem extra chipper this morning," rafe muttered, looking away from you before taking a sip of his coffee.

"rafe, why would i need to change?"

rafe sighed, putting his mug down while rubbing his head. "jesus kid, i don't really need this right now. you're wearing my clothes. the guys have seen me in that exact polo last week."

"so what? what, you think they'll remember the polo on you, last week?"

"are we seriously fighting over this?"

"well, apparently we are," you bit back, looking away from him. your heart ached whenever you fought with rafe, and you were holding back the tears. finally rafe looked at you again, his blue eye softer.

"shit, listen," he muttered, placing a hand on your shoulder. his gentle tone made you putty in his hands barely hearing his harsh words, "don't make it a big deal but i don't know—i've gotten you so much useless shit. last night we got those mary jane shoes and i feel like you stealing my shit makes me look bad."

finally you stilled, pouting, before looking down. you never wanted to make rafe look bad, and you especially didn't want to be infront of his bosses and friends.

"i know, but wearing it makes you feel close," you squeaked out, rubbing your hands to make yourself seem smaller. at this, he placed his hands in yours, a slightly confused look on his face before he gently lifted your chin to look at him properly.  

"don't do that sweets, keep your pretty eyes on me," he mused, and then dragged you closer to his chest, and you could practically hear the drum of his heart, and the rumble of his voice, "i'm always close."

"yeah i know."

you didn't really want to talk about it. not today.

rafe seemed to sense that and then gave you a tentative smile. he pinched your cheek before whispering into your ear.

"hmm, how about you give me a kiss?"

you couldn't help but sigh, as you leaned closer to peck his lips. rafe was softer than usual, and you couldn't help but taste the coffee on his tongue, and the way that his hands were placed in a tight grip of your waist. you leaned against him before looking at him again with wide eyes.

"so i can wear this?" you asked hopefully.

"hell no," he groaned, "c'mon wear one of those cute outfits you got last week. and if this is about being close, i'll hold your hand the whole outing."

"alright...but you don't mind?"

"why would i, when i got my pretty girl by my side?"

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

bonus

"hey man, you can let her go. she's not going to fly away," his coworker laughed, wiping his head with a towel while leaning on his golf club. the comment was aimed at the fact that you had been holding rafe's hand the whole time the two of you had been there.

he had kept the promise.

the whole trip rafe had held your hand, softly grazing your hand while smiling at you reassuringly whenever you seemed to get self-conscious. he was kinder today, holding you gently as he helped you get off the golf cart. he may have been extra nice, but you swore whenever you saw that same crazy rear in him when his business buddy made that joke.

rafe fixed a glare at his buddy. you looked oblivious, still threading your hand in his. you pointed at the ball and how far it had gone. there was sweet happiness in your voice, as your eyes creased with joy. rafe couldn't help but bite his cheek to stop himself from laughing at your innocence. you seemed to make life so much brighter for him.

"look at it rafe! look at how far it went...maybe i can do this more often. do you think i have a knack for it?"

rafe nodded, giving you a smile before glaring at his buddy who was now laughing, "i think you can do anything, baby."

he tried to ignore the guy practically cackling in the corner, as you smiled at you sweetly.

shit, he was pussywhipped.

[saltycharacters]

[ID: Digital doodles depicting Serizawa Katsuya and Reigen Arataka from Mob Psycho 100. The first is a redraw of "The bride and the ugly ass groom" image featuring the toy of Princess Cadence and Shining Armor from MLP, with Serizawa taking the place of Cadence and Reigen replacing Shining Armor. They're wearing their outfits from the official Mob Psycho 100 wedding art, and the caption has been changed to "the groom and the ugly ass groom". The next four drawings have them in their human forms, showcasing the following from left to right: the two holding each other as they happily display their wedding bands, Serizawa sleepily shuffling with a blanket around his shoulders and a cup of coffee in hand as his aura drags a still sleeping Reigen out of bed, Reigen saying "'Scuze me, he asked for no pickles" as Serizawa nervously peeks over his shoulder, and Serizawa preforming an exorcism while saying, "Excuse me, he asked for no spirits" as Reigen cowers behind him. End ID]

Behold, more serirei on main

[mrs-weasley-reid]

SAY DON'T GO

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Sypnosis: Nothing hurts more than the fear of losing you. Word Count: 1600+ WARNING: Angst. mentions of death, blood, gunshot A/N: I wrote this in a haste, literally ten minutes ago, while listening to Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version) by mother Taylor Swift. It's definitely not perfect, but I was definitely in the zone when I wrote it, lol.

A gunshot.

Everything fades into a muffle. You blink once, twice, thrice... A wince connects your brows. As if you're figuring out if the oozing feeling on your abdomen should be causing you pain or ease.

Suddenly, Spencer's running to you. You think he's screaming. You hear nothing. There's only ringing in your ears. A thin, high-pitched ring that pierces through your brain.

You drop on the precinct's carpet floor, caressing your stomach like it's enough to stop yourself from bleeding out. You look at Spencer, "When'd you get here?" You ask, disoriented. You instantly pay attention to his watery eyes. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" You reach to cup his cheek. You are shocked when you see your hand covered in red, smearing the liquid on his skin. Your eyes widen, "Oh, my god?! You're hurt! Spence—" You try to sit up, but a wave of stinging pain makes you fall back in his arms.

"WHERE'S THE MEDIC?!" Spencer's voice echoes in the entire place. He turns to you, unsure if he is even allowed to have you in his arms. He doesn't dwell on it as he holds your hand on his cheek, squeezing it. "Hey, hey! Breathe for me, yeah? Stay with me." He swallows a sob, placing pressure on your abdomen. "Please, stay with me..."

"I'm hurt?" Stupor begins to steal you out of consciousness. You blink. A bright light blinds your vision.

Once you open your eyes, you're back in Spencer's apartment. He's standing across the room while your feet are rooted at the door. He doesn't look at you. No. He's afraid to look at you.

His hands are buried in his pockets. He's wearing a nice suit. Fitted just for him. His tie is a dark shade of purple. You gave him that tie for his birthday last year. It's loose. His hair is a mess. And his face... it's wet.

He's crying.

You're crying.

"I think you should go," Spencer takes a gulp as he stares at the floor. Like it'd kill him if he looked at you.

You inhale deeply, sniffing as you wipe a tear with the back of your hand, "We don't have to do this, Spence. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, we do!" For the first time in what feels like forever, he finally lifts his gaze at you. His hazel eyes are rimmed with red heat, overflowing with tears. He's hurt. He's hurt, too.

"Is it really that horrible to love me?" You sob. You can hear your heart slowly shatter. Pins and needles knock on your chest. You wonder if you're still breathing right. "Am I that ugly—"

"You know that's not true, sweetheart." You hate that the nickname gives you butterflies. How his words, awful and insensitive, still made you attentively listen. How his voice still makes you want to hear more. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

"Then why?!" You felt like a child throwing a tantrum. "Why are you putting a distance between us?" You bite your lower lip to stop it from quivering. "Why is it such a crime to be together?"

Spencer shifts his gaze to somewhere else. He runs a hand through his hair. You notice the coffee stain at the cuff of his sleeve. Then, you see the smudge of red lipstick past the line of his lips. Your red lipstick. He bought that lipstick a few months ago. No reason. Just for the fun of it.

Is it bad that you think he still looks handsome under the sun's setting light? Even when his hair is arrayed in different directions? Even when his face is drenched with his own tears?

He breathes deeply, audibly, "We're in the same line of work. You know better than to think we're going to work. News flash, sweetheart. It won't. It's not worth it." He can't look at you. He's ashamed to look at you.

"Not... worth it?" You blink. You stare at him with disgust, "So— So what? We're nothing, but we fuck? We're nothing, but we flirt? We're nothing, but you love me? Please, explain it to me because I'm having a difficult time understanding the stupid shit of a point you're making."

Spencer gulps for the nth time, "You love me."

"What?" You regret wanting to meet his eyes because now that he's staring at yours with such unfamiliarity, it hurts.

"You love me. You said you love me. I never said anything."

You're definitely not breathing right.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Inhale, exhale... Yeah, that's right, sweetheart. Just follow me." Spencer holds your hand tight as the paramedics do their best to stop you from bleeding out. His voice sounds heartbreaking.

His voice...

You blink. Your hearing's back. You do as he says, inhaling and exhaling as he does. You feel lightheaded, like you're floating on a cloud.

Spencer keeps his and your hands intertwined. He follows while the paramedics roll you into the ambulance. "Hang in there, sweetheart. Please, hang in there." His face is a mess. He doesn't stop crying, swallowing his sobs.

You smile into the oxygen mask, blinking. You're on the verge of dying, and yet you find humor in knowing Spencer's tells. "You swallow when you're scared... don't be scared, Spence." You say it in broken words and in an almost soundless voice.

"I'm not," He denies, wiping his tears aggressively. He is. He's scared to the bone.

"The bullet shattered to her chest," The paramedic who inspects your chest claims, looking at her partner with worry.

"W-what?" Spencer stutters, stealing a glimpse down your neck. "No, no, sweetheart. Stay with me. Stay with me." He sees the way you flutter your eyes, fighting to stay conscious, listening to his pleas. And how you suddenly stopped, never opening your eyes back up. "Don't— Don't close your eyes! Sweetheart, please don't go. Please, don't—" He looks up at the sound of your vitals plummeting. He quickly looks back at your face, saying your name like it's a prayer.

The machine flatlines, and the paramedic pushes Spencer aside to perform resuscitation. "Sir, let us do our job." One of them says, two inches deep as she manually restarts your heart.

Spencer shoves himself in the corner of the ambulance. He wraps his arms around him. "Please, don't go..." His voice cracks and transitions into writhing sobs as he watches your body go limp with each surge of electricity that shocks your skin.

Then he thinks of that night.

He thinks of the image of you standing by the door. You don't want to go. He doesn't want you to go.

But you have to... because if you don't, he'll run to you and never let you go. So, he tells you to leave. You protest.

So stubborn. He cries in his head, wishing that you hadn't made things difficult for being so beautiful even when you're crying.

"You love me. You said you love me. I never said anything." His body shakes on the spot. His mouth goes dry. His chest compresses. He lies through his teeth.

Spencer saw the way your face turned into a ghost. He's done it.

He broke you.

He hurt you.

No turning back. No way of fixing it.

"Ah..." You say softly, nodding. "Checks out." You add without a sign of sarcasm. You stare into the air for a minute. You let the silence hover and hunt Spencer for a moment. You let him realize the pain, the stupidity of it all. "I think I should leave..." Your eyes say otherwise.

Please say, "Don't go." Tell me not to leave. Run to me... please.

You wonder if he knows it or chooses to ignore the way you held your tears. If he caught on all your tells. Because you knew he wasn't true. You knew he knew that you could read him like the back of your hand.

"Yeah," Spencer straightens his back, "I think you should."

You purse your lips into a thin line and nod, "Okay," You turn around. You take three seconds to grab the knob, but when the time has run out, you are out in a heartbeat.

"Spencer."

JJ appears in Spencer's vision. "Spencer, are you okay?" Her face was covered with worry as she placed two hands on his shoulders. She exchanges looks with Derek and Aaron.

They were there when it all went down. When the unsub came out of nowhere and started shooting. You were the first shot.

Spencer cranes his neck around. He's in the waiting room. He doesn't remember when or how he got there. All he remembers is the defibrillator jolting your unresponsive body more than once. His eyes widen. He says your name in haste as he stands up, "Where is she? Where— Where..."

Derek holds him back, "She's in surgery, Reid. Did you forget?" He asks, gently pushing Spencer back onto his seat.

"She was dead for three minutes... They couldn't find a pulse for three minutes." Spencer announces at a loss. He looks down at his hand, at the cheap friendship bracelet around his wrist. The one you made in your first year with the team as a last-minute birthday gift. He breaks into a sob, covering his eyes as if to push them back inside his tear ducts.

"So?" Derek catches Spencer's hands off his face, "She's been in surgery for thirty minutes. Her heart started beating again, and it had been for thirty minutes. She's fighting, man. At least fight with her before you wallow like a ninny."

"Morgan," Aaron warns but silently agrees.

You're fighting for your life, so they should, too.

You're not ready to go.

You don't want to go.

Spencer nods and wipes his face. He sniffs and takes a deep breath. He glances at the door to the operating room like he has x-ray vision, "Don't go."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[distantdarlings]

SHEER HEAT // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Gender-Neutral Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After a month of Theo and his friends picking on you, you finally decide to stand up for yourself. It just doesn’t go exactly how you were planning.

+ WARNINGS - Gender-Neutral reader, Theo is picking on reader, language, kissing, kissing without permission, tension, not fully proofread (please lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Shameless - NAYM

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The sky outside grew golden with the early morning sun. The rays of liquid gemstone shone across the windowsill, casting waves of reflection across the stone floor and your shoes. You tilted your foot back and forth and marveled at how the polished leather glistened.

There was a soft sweater across your shoulders and a small coffee cup in the corner of your desk with a sugar spoon, wandlessly swirling about the liquid.

Technically, beverages and food were not allowed in the classrooms, but Professor Flitwick was partial to you and didn’t mind if you sipped on a coffee or tea every once in a while.

Despite the early morning and your desire to be back in bed, you couldn’t help but feel the warm, content feeling spreading across your chest. You were grateful to be at Hogwarts, surrounded by your friends and—

“HELLO, TESORO!”

You jumped at the shrill shout coming from the door of the classroom. You and the other students glanced over to see a smirking Theodore Nott sprint across the room toward you.

You instinctively flinched at the sight and inched away from him just as he crashed his body full-force into your desk.

The wooden hull of it vibrated and sent your coffee mug flying through the air. You shrieked at the image and stood abruptly to avoid the brown liquid coating your lap.

Your breakfast coffee now frowned up at you from the ground with all of its shattered bits and splashed beverage.

You groaned and rolled your eyes.

“Theodore Nott, you’re such an asshole!” you shouted through gritted teeth. With a wave of your wand, the mug reformed itself perfectly, and the liquid swirled into a small bubble of liquid in the air before dissolving into bits of air.

“Ah, you don’t need that stuff anyway—it'll make you jittery and keep you up all night!” he chuckled to himself.

Just as he’d made the joke, his posse of equally annoying boys showed up behind him, laughing along with him.

“I think that’s for me to decide and not for you to send crashing to the floor!” you argued back.

“What if someone had done that to you?”

“Hmm,” he pretended to think. “Well, I suppose I’d give them what was coming to them…unless it was you, of course.” He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You sneered and rolled your eyes, realizing you’d never get anything through his thick skull.

“Whatever, Theo, just leave me alone,” you sighed and dropped back into your seat. He giggled irritatingly, headed to the back of the classroom, and selected a seat beside his friends.

You had no idea what you’d ever done to make him feel like he could harass you all the time, but you were getting to a point with his behavior. And if he kept it up, that point would be driven straight through his ugly face in the form of a fist.

At the sound of his continued giggling, you glanced back at him. Once you had, he caught your eyes and wiggled a few fingers at you.

You quickly turned back around and focused your head down on your newly-fixed mug. It was one of your favorites and—to be honest—had pissed you off entirely too much that Theo had broken it. It didn’t matter that it could be easily fixed; it mattered that he had broken it in the first place.

The rest of the class had passed relatively quickly, even though you could hear Theo and his friends’ little teasing giggles occasionally. You just did your best to ignore it.

By the time Professor Flitwick had announced that evening’s homework and dismissed the class, you were already out of your seat and halfway out the door.

You could still hear their little taunts all the way out the door and down the hallway. All you wanted to do was go back to the Great Hall, get yourself a refill of coffee and enjoy it in silence.

You had about a half-hour before you needed to be at your next class, and neither Theo nor his friends were there.

You rounded the corner to the Great Hall and slipped through the grand doors, allowing your mug to float from your hand and find its way to the nearest flagon of coffee.

If anything, coffee tended to be considered a Muggle drink around Hogwarts, but none could deny its excellent caffeine effect.

Wandlessly, you asked the mug to fill itself up to the brim and then watched as it did. You smiled a bit at the peacefulness of the Great Hall when no one else was in there.

You could hear the candles overhead and the fireplaces crackling softly, and the coffee trickling like a small stream. It gave you a sense of home, just like it always had.

When your mug was full, you took a seat at the empty Gryffindor table and settled your eyes on the flickering flames that reflected on the stone hearth.

“Hey, Tesoro.”

You jumped and turned toward the entrance. Theodore Nott was standing just there with a mischievous smile on his face.

You groaned audibly.

“Theo, I’m not in the mood. Haven’t I made that clear? I just want to enjoy my coffee while it’s not knocked into the floor.”

He laughed a bit.

“Aw, I’m sorry about that earlier,” he smiled. “It wasn’t my intention to knock it over.”

He crossed over to you and sat across the table from you. You refrained from tossing the coffee over him.

“Okay, so when I said I wanted to be alone—”

“I understood, and I’ll be here with you to support you through it.”

You frowned and stared at him. He wore a stupid smile branded across his face, obviously proud of himself for the dumb things he was saying.

“Alright, this was completely unpleasant, and I think I will enjoy my drink elsewhere.” You started to stand and head toward the exit, when Theo also stood and began to follow you.

“Theo! No! Leave me be!”

You increased your pace toward the doors, but he did the same. He matched your speed, ending up right beside you. His legs were significantly longer than yours, and he managed to keep up with you no matter how fast you were going.

You sighed and stopped right at the door, facing him.

“Where are we going?” he asked, with a shit-eating grin spread over his face.

“We are not going anywhere, dummy,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And I will stand right here until you get bored and leave.”

“I guess we’ll be here for a while, then.” He shrugged and shifted his weight against the wall, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked. You crossed your arms and took a small sip from your cup.

“Anything, Tesoro.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” you said. “Why me? What about me has struck your little group’s fancy the last few weeks? You never acknowledged me before, but suddenly, you’re interested in making my day a living nightmare.”

“It’s not that; maybe we just like picking on you…”

“How does that make it sound any better?” you asked.

“I think we both know that half of the Hogwarts student body would love to be picked on by me,” he shrugged.

His confidence was a thing of admiration—you had to give him that. He seemed to know exactly what to say to keep everybody on his side at all times. Perhaps it was the charm or the family or something else, but everyone seemed to love Theodore Nott, no matter how incredibly irritating he could be.

It didn’t matter if he and his friends were picking on you for the last couple of weeks. It didn’t matter how many times you’d asked them to stop. It didn’t matter what they did to other people because they were young, attractive, white guys. You’d just happened to, unfortunately, fall onto their radar.

“You’re a cocky motherfucker, aren’t you?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

“Always, baby,” he said, smiling widely. “Looks like you’ll be late for class if we keep hanging around here.”

“How do you know if I’m going to be late for class? I’m perfectly comfortable sitting here for as long as I have to if it gets you to leave me the hell alone.”

Obviously, that wasn’t entirely true, as your second period started in a few minutes, and you needed to be there. But, at this point, your pride and your distaste for the boy before you had you staying in place.

“Hope you like chicken.”

“Excuse me?”

“One of the elves in the kitchens told me that we were having chicken for dinner. I was saying that I hoped you liked chicken because we’ll be standing here until dinner is served.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Not really. I don’t think you understand how willing I am to stick around until you let me follow you.”

“You’re not following me, Theo.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t fucking like you,” you scoffed, in disbelief that he couldn’t possibly understand why you didn’t want to be around him.

“Ouch, that hurt,” he mock-frowned, pretending to wipe a tear away from his cheek. “Also, how do you know you don’t like me? We’ve never hung out.”

“Exactly! We’ve never hung out, and for some reason, you think it’s okay to harass me everyday!”

Your voice had begun to raise slightly with every stupid expression he flashed your way. He was trying to get on your nerves.

“But, maybe that’s my way of getting your attention,” he suggested. You were fuming.

“Getting my—? What the hell are you talking about?”

He parted his lips to answer, but the anger flashing through your body didn’t want to hear any explanation of his.

“Wait! Don’t answer that. I don’t fucking care.”

“I think you’ll be interested in the answer.”

“I highly doubt it.”

You pressed your hand to your forehead and took a deep breath, trying to repress the rage filling in your chest. You didn't care for any explanation he could have for you—all you had ever wanted to do was keep to yourself and enjoy your time at the most incredible school on earth.

But, for some reason, you had not been granted that for nearly a month.

What was worse was you genuinely didn’t understand why you were the target, and he’d yet to answer that, other than with whatever game he was currently playing.

You hadn’t gotten to enjoy your coffee, you were missing class, and—wait a minute. You looked back up at him. Why the hell were you even still here? You could just leave.

Theo’s eyebrows furrowed, and his head cocked slightly at the expression printed on your face.

It seemed he was trying to understand what realization had passed across your mind.

Your fingers tightened around your mug, and with your free hand, you quickly covered the top and—with a held breath—Disapparated.

There were swishing sounds all around you as if you were being pushed through a vacuum of sorts. You could feel your hair tickling against your forehead, and the coffee in your mug swishing against your makeshift hand lid, and something gripped tightly around your ankle.

The force of the process kept your head pinned upward so you could not see what was hanging around you. You just hoped it wasn’t Theo. If he had the audacity to come with you while you were trying to get away as quickly as possible, he had another thing coming. He needed to learn some boundaries.

You stopped suddenly. The whooshing and the coffee against your hand were still again.

You stood on the balcony of the astronomy tower. There were no classes during the day, and the professor rarely stayed in the tower past class hours.

You’d come to learn this the hard way when you had initially been practicing Disapparation.

You had been trying to pop up lakeside along the Black Lake and had ended up dangling on the wrong side of the guardrail.

It had been an unfortunate experience, but it had allowed you to find a space where you could enjoy studying or peace and quiet while having the gorgeous view of the campus spread out before you.

This time around, however, the view of the campus was not your focus. You turned and saw Theo standing just behind you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you shrieked, stomping over to him and pressing a rough shove to his chest. He stumbled backward slightly before catching himself against one of the student tables.

“I said I wanted to be alone! I’m tired of being followed and picked on. You’re pathetic and so selfish! I just want you to leave me alone, and if you don’t after this fucking warning, I’ll go to the Headmaster!”

He didn’t say anything; he just watched your heated vent.

“I swear to Merlin, Theodore Nott, if you bother me again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

He smirked ever so slightly. Just a tiny quirk of his lip in the upper left corner. That was it.

You screamed in frustration. “What the fuck do you want? What do I have to do to get it through your thick fucking skull? I want you to leave me alone! Do I need to hit you? Because I fucking will! Do I need to punch you, throw a drink on you, fucking kiss you? I mean, what is it that I need to do?”

Your cheeks were fiery and flushed, and you felt that you were close to tears, but still, Theo stood still, just watching and listening.

“Fuck—” Without thinking, you grabbed either side of his face and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It lasted only a second before you pulled away, in utter disbelief with yourself.

Theo’s eyes widened, and his breaths came out in heavy pants. You knew you probably looked the same.

“Uh, I-I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I don’t know why I did that.”

There were a few moments of silence where the two of you seemed to be just glancing between the floor and each other. In reality, it was only a second or two, but in your head, it felt like hours.

Those seconds only filled the space between you for a breeze before Theo walked back over to you and mimicked your actions from earlier.

You grunted on impact at the sheer force he’d planted his lips on yours. Panicked, you shoved him away from you.

You figured you now looked precisely as he had when you’d kissed him. A second passed.

Then you were both reaching for each other, grasping at any and everything, and exchanging tastes between the others’ lips.

Your hands curled roughly into his hair, and his arms wrapped tightly around your lower back, pulling you as close as you would go.

His lips were soft but demanding, claiming exactly what he wanted and trying to force yours down into submission, but you refused. The sheer heat of your anger that had very quickly shapeshifted into lust seemed to push some adrenaline-filled strength into your body.

There was no way this jerk would force you to do anything.

You walked into him, forcing him back against the student table, where he sat against the edge of it. He pulled you in between his legs with a force like no other, never separating his lips from yours.

In response to your shove, he bit down on your bottom lip hard.

“Fuck, you’re such a dick,” you murmured in between kisses. You could taste a hint of blood spilling between your lips from his bite.

“I know,” he whispered against you.

You sucked in a breath and pulled away from him, stepping back just a bit.

“I don’t understand what’s happening…,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

“Me neither, really,” he shrugged. “I was teasing you because I wanted you.”

You stared up at him with widened eyes. “You mean like—?”

“What else could I possibly mean?” he deadpanned.

“Shut up. I was just trying to make sure. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Me neither. I’m usually pretty straightforward when I ask for what I want.”

“So, why was I any different?” you asked.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t as easy to talk directly to you.”

“But it was easy to pick on me?”

He shrugged and looked down to the floor. It seemed like he was a bit disappointed in himself, even after you’d been begging for him to stop for so long. Now that he was quiet and seemingly upset, you almost missed his mean quips and charming confidence.

“I’m sorry I made you upset. I wasn’t trying to,” he said. “I was trying to make you like me back. I don’t usually ‘flirt.’”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you snorted. “I just wish you would have talked to me. I’ve always had a bit of a crush on you—I couldn’t understand why you were suddenly being mean to me.”

“You had a crush on me?” he asked, eyebrows quirking up.

“Of course I did. You’re Theo Nott—everyone has a crush on you.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

He smirked just a bit, pride spreading across his face.

“Don’t take it so personally—it was just a little crush,” you laughed.

“No offense, but there’s no way I’m not taking this personally. I’ve wanted you since I first noticed you.”

You looked back up at him. His eyes were focused right on you, though they had switched from a kind of understanding to a flame of desire and ownership. You felt almost claimed.

Merlin, it was easy to see why so many people were so eager to be with him. The way he looked at you felt as if you were being devoured alive.

You swallowed thickly.

“I—”

“Do you want to go to my room?” he interrupted.

Well, shit. Wasn’t the whole point of the original conversation to get yourself as far away from him as possible? You’d already failed on that front, considering you’d just been sucking faces with him, but maybe you could drop this right now? You didn’t have to keep this up. He would probably play you until he was bored, just like everyone else. Fuck.

You bit your lip decidedly and nodded, accepting his outstretched hand.

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