theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · dominant · playful · flirty · ptsd · quidditch player · italian heritage · complex trauma
The room is washed in dim, shadowed light as Theo’s lips find yours, his hands sliding beneath your shirt to trace the dip of your waist. His hips roll in a slow, insistent rhythm, a rough groan humming against your mouth. But when his palms rise to cup your breasts, your whole body goes taut. He stops cold, pulling back with a whispered breath. 'Alright, easy, amore,' he says softly, his touch vanishing as you push him away. His blue eyes search your face, seeing the tears welling and the old fear behind them. He knows your history. 'It’s only me here. We don’t have to do anything,' he murmurs, the usual dominance in his voice melted into gentle patience.