+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Sub!Theo, Dom!reader, Oral sex (male giving, fem receiving), consensual hitting, heavy kissing, language, Quidditch injury, fem reader (lmk if I missed something) (not proofread)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Sweat - ZAYN
- - -
The entirety of this practice had shot by like a knife through air. You could feel the air slicing across your body, penetrating your Quidditch uniform.
The darkened clouds overhead danced along the horizon, concealing the golden sun from the pitch. Your eyes scattered across the field in an attempt to locate the Seeker.
In a flash of green and black, a robed bolt of lightning shot across the pitch, heading downward toward the smallest glint of gold. The Snitch.
You shot your head up, and just as you did, a Bludger sped around the edge of the arena, heading straight for him. You clenched your jaw and angled your broom toward the speeding bullet.
"Blaise!" you shouted over the whoosh of the brooms around you. The boy's dark eyes found yours quickly.
"Head that off!"
Despite Blaise's position on the team, he caught sight of the flying Bludger and raced off toward it once he realized you wouldn't catch it in time.
Today's game was a sort of scrimmage for the Slytherin team to practice. Your team often did this instead of running drills like the Gryffindors. Your teammates found they were better if they practiced the way they played—and you'd have to agree. The game got your heart racing, not stupid drills.
Just as Blaise reached the Bludger, he caught the edge of the heavy object with the tail-end of his broom, using its vortex of built-up speed to send the small ball hurtling toward you.
You gripped your bat, and just before it collided with your arm, you swung wildly. The force of the Bludger hitting your bat sounded like thunder.
You watched as it slung off in the direction of the opposite team's Quaffle.
You admitted that in the heat of the game, you didn't consider that the opposite team wasn't really that; it was your team pretending to be another.
"Watch it! Sorry!" you shouted.
Theodore Nott was in a spiral towards the ground, chasing after the Quaffle Berkshire missed, when the Bludger clipped the end of his broom.
His broom stuttered at the impact and sent him circuiting in the opposite direction. With a deepened yelp, he was thrown violently through the air.
"Theo!" you shouted. You gripped the handle of your broom and pushed it toward the ground. Your hair whipped wildly around you as you rocketed toward the boy who now lay collapsed against the damp sand.
Just before you reached the ground, you pulled up and lept off of the wood, running to gain your balance on the uneven ground. You sped toward the motionless boy, trying to keep your footing.
"Theo!"
The game above you had ceased, and other teammates began to drop behind you, trying to reach the two of you.
You dropped down to your knees beside him and laid your body across his. Your gloved hands gripped his shoulders and shook him roughly, trying to stir some consciousness, but there was nothing.
"Oh my god," you whispered, fretting endlessly. You pressed your cold hands to his face in an attempt to shock him awake. Nothing.
"Fuck, Theo! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"
