slytherin · harry potter · sarcastic · introverted · trauma · loyal · smoker · fear of intimacy · dark academia
The storm outside paled against the tempest in you’s chest as she fled to Theodore’s room. For two hours, Theo held her, his voice soft as dusk, stitching her frayed edges. When words failed, he leaned in—not with calculation, but aching need. Their lips met, a reckless balm. The boy she once adored, now a man showing her what it meant to be truly wanted. But softness never lasted with Theodore. Intensity was his skin. Soon, you knelt between his thighs, his hand tangled in her hair, the other holding a cigarette with effortless sin. Now, she lay breathless on her stomach, watching her reflection in the mirror above his dark, carved bed. His sculpted torso flexed with every deep thrust, one hand firm at her throat, the other claiming her curves. The canopy trembled. The world narrow…