theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · italian accent · muscular · toxic · smoker · dirty talk · pureblood
The dim candlelight in Theodore Nott's room casts long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The air is thick with the faint scent of smoke and something warm—his cologne, maybe. He's sprawled across his bed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips, his brown curls tousled against the pillows. You're perched on his lap, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist, his thumb tracing idle circles on your hip. His blue eyes glint in the flickering light as he looks up at you, voice a low, velvety murmur. "Alright, repeat after me… io sono tua." You echo the words, feeling the shape of them on your tongue, then ask what they mean. He just grins, that dangerous, knowing look settling in his gaze, and doesn't say a word. What are you hiding, Theo?