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Today my head said "Theo+titty fucking" and it won't get out.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

- 🍀

the room spins as both you and theo stumble into his dorm, a bottle of wine swaying in your hand. in a blur of motion, theo yanks your top off and gropes your tits, grunting like a hungry animal.

“hmm.. prettiest girl alive.” he slurs, mouth latching onto your nipples. you giggle at the touch, looking down at theo moaning around your breasts, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you close while his other hand squeezes your tits.

you raise the bottle of wine above you and tilt it, letting the wine flood over your chest. “drink up, pretty boy.”

with his eyes half-closed and his hands even rougher than before, he slurps up every drop of liquid spilling from your boobs, licking and sucking messily. “oh, fuck.” he groans between heavy breaths and gulps.

theo, unable to control himself much longer, pushes you back onto his bed, eliciting a drunk giggle from you. with a smirk, he undoes his belt eagerly, fingers fumbling in haste. his cock springs free the second he lowers his pants, precum glistening at the tip.

slytherins moodboards for my Theodore Nott x OC psychological thriller with unreliable narrators fanfic im currently writing!!

Theodore Nott

Mattheo Riddle

Draco Malfoy

Pansy Parkinson

Blaise Zabini

#harry potter #slytherin boys #theo nott #theodore nott #slytherin #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #lorenzo zurzolo #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #mattheo riddle

filmgirl422

made some lighteeerrss :P

lov3notts

heyyy!! i just wanted to ask if you could do theodore x reader where theo is like really really jealous because of harry flirting with reader, even when they should be "casual" and one day he kinda snaps and conjures fight with harry..

tea 🤏🏻🤏🏻 we love a jealous theo

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You've been doing this dance with Theodore for three months now.

Three months of stolen kisses in empty corridors. Three months of his hands on your waist, pulling you into alcoves between classes. Three months of late nights in the common room where conversations turn into something more, something heated, something that leaves you breathless and wanting.

Three months of nothing.

No labels. No definitions. No clarity about what you are to each other.

"It's casual," he'd said that first time you'd tried to have the conversation, his dark eyes unreadable. "We're just having fun, yeah? No need to complicate it."

But it doesn't feel casual. Not when he looks at you like that across the Great Hall. Not when his fingers trace patterns on your skin in the darkness. Not when he whispers your name like a prayer against your neck.

You want more. You want to be his girlfriend, want him to be your boyfriend, want everyone to know that there's something real between you. But every time you try to bring it up, he deflects. Changes the subject. Kisses you until you forget why you were talking in the first place.

So you've learned to take what you can get. The stolen moments. The secret smiles. The way his hand finds yours under the table when no one's looking.

It's not enough. But it's something.

At least, it was something. You thought it was enough until a Astronomy class on a cold Tuesday morning changes everything.

Professor Sinistra stands at the front of the classroom, her star-chart robes shimmering in the candlelight. "Your next project will span the remainder of the term," she announces. "You'll be studying a specific constellation in depth—its mythology, its astronomical properties, and its magical significance."

You're only half-listening, too aware of Theo sitting three rows behind you. You can feel his gaze on the back of your neck like a physical touch.

"I've already assigned your partnerships," Sinistra continues, and your attention snaps back to her. "These pairings are final, so please don't ask to switch."

Your stomach drops. Assigned partnerships.

One by one students get paired.

“Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini”

“Draco Malfoy and Katie Bell”

"Theodore Nott and Lavender Brown."

The quill in your hand stills. You turn slowly in your seat, just enough to see Theo's reaction. He looks unbothered, already glancing over at Lavender, who's practically glowing with excitement.

Lavender Brown. Who's been trying to get Theo's attention since fourth year. Who laughs too loud at his jokes and finds excuses to touch his arm. Who's made it abundantly clear she's interested.

Your throat tightens. You force yourself to breathe through it.

"And our next pair—" Sinistra consults her list. "Harry Potter and...”

"Y/N L/N."

Of course.

You force yourself to look over at Harry, who gives you a small, slightly awkward smile. He's nice enough. You've worked together before. It's fine. It's fine.

Except when you glance back at Theo, his expression has shifted. Something dark flickers across his face before he schools it back to neutrality.

The rest of the class passes in a blur. Sinistra explains the project requirements, but you barely hear her over the rushing in your ears. Your chest feels tight, like someone's wrapped a band around your ribs and is slowly pulling it tighter. When she finally dismisses you, you're out of your seat immediately.

You catch up with Theo in the corridor, grabbing his arm. "We need to talk."

He turns, and for a moment, something vulnerable flashes in his eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by that carefully neutral expression you've come to hate.

"What's up?"

"Switch partners with me."

His eyebrows rise. "What?"

"For the project. Switch with Harry. You work with him, I'll work with Lavender."

"Why would we do that?"

Is he serious? "Because Lavender has been trying to get with you for years, Theo. Everyone knows it."

He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. "So? We're just doing a project."

"She's going to flirt with you the entire time."

"And?" He's looking at you with those dark eyes, and you can't tell if he's genuinely confused or deliberately being obtuse. "I don't see what the problem is."

The problem. The problem is that you're not his girlfriend, so you have no right to be jealous. The problem is that he's made it clear this thing between you doesn't mean anything serious. The problem is that your heart is breaking, and he doesn't even notice.

Your eyes burn. You blink rapidly, refusing to let him see. "Fine," you say, your voice cold despite the way it wants to crack. "Whatever. Have fun with Lavender."

You turn and walk away before he can see the tears threatening to spill. You make it around the corner before the first one falls, hot and angry against your cheek. You swipe it away viciously.

You will not cry over Theodore Nott.

You won't.

The library is quiet the next day, just you and Harry bent over your Astronomy textbooks. He's been explaining the mythology behind Cassiopeia for the past ten minutes, and you've been nodding along, but you haven't absorbed a single word.

Your mind keeps replaying yesterday. Theo's casual dismissal. The way he didn't even care that Lavender would be all over him. The way he looked at you like you were being unreasonable for even asking.

"—and that's why she was chained to her throne in the sky. Are you okay?"

You blink, realizing Harry has stopped talking and is looking at you with concern.

"Sorry," you say, shaking your head. "I'm fine. Just... tired."

"You sure?" He shifts closer, and his knee bumps yours under the table. "You seem upset."

The genuine worry in his voice makes your chest ache in a different way. Harry is nice. He's attentive and kind and he actually seems to care about how you're feeling.

Unlike some people.

"I'm okay," you lie. "Really. Cassiopeia sounds great for the project."

Harry smiles, and it's genuine and warm and a little shy. "Cool. Um, I'm really glad we're partners, actually." He ducks his head, a flush creeping up his neck. "I've wanted to get to know you better for a while now."

Oh.

The way he's looking at you—nervous and hopeful and sweet—makes it abundantly clear what he means.

Harry likes you.

You should probably discourage this. Should probably make it clear you're not interested, that your heart belongs to someone else even if that someone refuses to claim it.

But then you think about Theo. About his casual dismissal. About how he won't even acknowledge that what you have is real.

About how much it hurts.

"I'm glad too," you hear yourself say, and Harry's smile widens.

The guilt hits you immediately. You're using him. You know you are. Using his genuine feelings to make yourself feel wanted, to make Theo jealous, to protect your own bruised heart.

But maybe that's what you need right now. Maybe you need someone who isn't afraid to show they care.

Even if it makes you feel sick with yourself.

The next Astronomy class, you arrive early and deliberately sit next to Harry. You're laughing at something he said—you can't even remember what—when Theo walks in.

He stops mid-stride when he sees you. For a moment, something raw crosses his face. Then it's gone, replaced by that infuriating mask of indifference.

You force yourself to keep smiling at Harry. To keep your hand on his arm. To pretend you don't feel Theo's stare burning into the back of your neck.

Your chest feels tight again. Wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

But you don't move.

"Why aren't you sitting with me?"

The question comes after class, Theo's voice low and tight as he corners you in the corridor. There's something in his eyes you can't quite read—something that looks almost like hurt.

You look at him coolly, even though your heart is racing. "I'm sitting with my partner."

"Your partner." The word sounds bitter in his mouth.

"For the project. You know, the one you didn't want to switch?"

His jaw clenches. "That's what this is about?"

"I don't know what you mean." The lie tastes like ash. "I'm just taking the project seriously."

You step around him, and his hand catches your wrist. Not hard, but enough to stop you.

"Wait—"

"I have to go," you say, pulling free. Your throat is tight again, tears threatening. "Harry's waiting."

You walk away before he can say anything else. Before you can see whatever expression is on his face. Before you can break down and tell him the truth—that every moment away from him feels like drowning, that you hate this game you're playing, that you just want him to care.

In the bathroom, you lock yourself in a stall and let the tears fall silently. Your chest heaves with the effort of keeping quiet, of not sobbing out loud where someone might hear.

This is what you wanted, isn't it? To make him jealous? To make him feel even a fraction of what you've been feeling?

So why does it hurt so much?

Over the next week, you perfect the art of avoidance, and it's killing you.

Every time Theo asks if you want to hang out after dinner, you say you're busy with the project. Every time he tries to catch you in the common room, you're heading to the library. Every time he sends you a note in Potions, you don't respond.

And every time, you feel like you're tearing yourself apart.

You lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling of your dormitory, replaying every interaction. The hurt in his eyes when you brush him off. The way his hand had lingered on your wrist. The tightness in his voice when he'd asked why you weren't sitting with him.

Maybe he does care. Maybe this is affecting him too.

But then you remember: ‘It's casual. We're just having fun.‘

And the hope dies.

Harry, meanwhile, is always there. He walks you to class. Saves you a seat at lunch. Brings you coffee when you're studying late.

"You don't have to do all this" you tell him one evening in the library. Your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears.

"I want to" he says, and there's such sincerity in his green eyes that the guilt threatens to choke you.

You're using him. You know you are. Using his attention, his kindness, his genuine feelings—using all of it as a shield against your own pain.

It makes you feel like the worst person in the world.

That night, you cry yourself to sleep.

In Astronomy class, you watch as Lavender leans close to Theo, her hand on his shoulder as she points at something in their notes. She's laughing, tossing her hair, and Theo—

Theo lets her.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't create distance. He smiles at something she says, and your stomach twists so violently you think you might be sick.

Your hands are shaking. You clench them into fists under the table, nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt.

This is what you wanted. You wanted him to feel what you felt. You wanted him to be jealous.

But watching him smile at her, watching him let her touch him—

It's unbearable.

"Hey," Harry says softly beside you. "You okay?"

You realize you've been staring. You tear your gaze away, blinking rapidly against the burning in your eyes.

"Fine," you manage. "I'm fine."

But you're not fine. You're so far from fine you can't even see it anymore.

Harry is quiet for a moment. Then, so quietly you almost miss it: "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He's fidgeting with his quill, not looking at you. His ears are red. "I was wondering if maybe—I mean, if you're not busy—" He takes a breath. "Would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me? This weekend?"

Your heart stops.

"Like..." You trail off, not sure how to finish the question.

"Like a date," Harry says, finally meeting your eyes. He looks terrified and hopeful all at once. "If you want. No pressure. I just—I really like you, and I thought maybe—"

Behind you, there's a sudden crash.

You whip around to see Theo's ink bottle overturned, black liquid spreading across his parchment and dripping onto the floor. His hands are shaking—actually shaking—as he tries to hold the bottle. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping.

Lavender is fussing over the mess, but Theo isn't looking at her. He's looking at you, and the expression on his face—

Raw. Desperate.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare back at him.

Then Harry touches your arm gently. "So... what do you think?"

You tear your gaze away from Theo. Look at Harry's hopeful face. Think about all the times Theo has dismissed you, pushed you away, refused to give you what you need.

Think about how much it hurts.

"Yes," you hear yourself say. "I'd love to."

Harry's face lights up. "Really? That's—that's great!"

You force yourself to smile. To ignore the sound of Theo's chair scraping back. To ignore the way your chest feels like it's caving in.

You don't look at Theo again for the rest of class.

But you can feel him staring.

That evening, you're heading back to the common room when a hand catches your wrist.

"Can we talk?"

Theo. Of course.

You don't turn around. Can't. If you look at him, you'll break. "I'm actually pretty tired—"

"Please." His voice cracks on the word, and it sends a knife through your chest. "Just... come to my room? We can hang out. Like we used to."

You know what ‘hang out’ means. It means his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours and forgetting everything except the way he makes you feel. It means falling back into the pattern, into the casual undefined thing that's been slowly destroying you.

It would be so easy to say yes. To let him pull you close. To pretend everything is fine.

But it's not fine. Nothing is fine.

"I can't," you say quietly, still not looking at him. Your eyes are burning again. "I'm busy."

"With Potter." It's not a question. His grip on your wrist tightens slightly—not painful, but desperate. "That's all he is, right? Your project partner?"

You finally turn to face him, and the look in his eyes nearly breaks you. He looks wrecked. Vulnerable in a way you've never seen him.

But it's not enough. It's never enough.

"What does it matter to you, Theo?" Your voice is shaking now, tears threatening. "We're just casual, remember? Just having fun. No need to complicate it."

You throw his own words back at him, and you watch them land like blows. He flinches.

"That's not—"

"I have to go," you say, pulling your hand free. A tear escapes, rolling down your cheek. You swipe at it angrily. "Harry's waiting."

You walk away, and this time, you do let yourself look back.

Theo is standing in the middle of the corridor, looking lost and broken and so unlike himself that it makes your chest ache.

But you keep walking.

You're walking back from the library two days later, your eyes tired and puffy from staying up late thinking about your last conversation with Theo, when you hear it.

Raised voices. The sound of a scuffle. You round the corner and freeze.

Theo has Harry pinned against the wall, his fist drawn back. Harry's nose is already bleeding, his glasses out of place.

"Theo!" you scream.

He doesn't stop. His fist connects with Harry's jaw with a sickening crack, and Harry crumples. Theo follows him down, and it takes two seventh-years to pull him off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" one of them shouts, struggling to hold Theo back.

Theo's chest is heaving, his knuckles bloody. His eyes are wild, unfocused—and then they land on you.

The look on his face—rage and desperation and something that looks like anguish—makes you take a step back.

"Get Potter to the hospital wing," you say to the seventh-years, your voice shaking. You can't look at Harry's crumpled form. Can't think about the fact that this is your fault. "Now."

They half-carry Harry away, and you're left alone with Theo in the corridor.

"You," you say, your voice deadly quiet. "Come with me. Now."

You drag him to an empty classroom, slamming the door behind you. Your hands are shaking. Your whole body is shaking.

"What is your problem?" you demand, whirling on him. "You could have seriously hurt him!"

"Good." Theo's voice is rough, dangerous. There's blood on his knuckles, and he doesn't seem to care. "He deserves it."

"For what? For being my partner? For being nice to me?"

"For touching you!" The words explode out of him. "For making you laugh. For—for asking you to Hogsmeade like he has any right—"

"He has every right!" You're shouting now too, tears streaming down your face. "Because you know what, Theo? He actually wants me. He's not afraid to show it. He's not keeping me a secret or pretending this doesn't mean anything!"

"That's not—"

"You said this was casual!" Your voice breaks completely. "You're the one who wanted no labels, no commitment, nothing. So why the hell do you care if I go to Hogsmeade with Harry? Why do you care if he flirts with me? You don't get to have it both ways!"

"Because I lied!"

The words ring out in the sudden silence.

Theo's chest is heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"I lied. It was never casual. Not for me. Not once."

Your heart stops. The tears are still falling, but you can't move. Can't breathe.

"What?"

"I lied," he repeats, and now he won't look at you. His voice is raw, broken. "I thought—I thought if I kept it casual, if I didn't put a name to it, then I couldn't..." He breaks off, switching to Italian under his breath. "Cazzo. I couldn't lose you."

"Theo—"

"And then Potter." His voice roughens, and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed. "Harry fucking Potter with his perfect smile and his Hogsmeade invitation, and you said yes, and I—" He stops, swallows hard. "I couldn't breathe. All I could see was you with him. Laughing with him. Choosing him."

You're frozen, unable to process what you're hearing. Three months of pain and confusion and heartbreak, and now—

"You want to know why I care?" He takes a step toward you, and you can see he's trembling. "Because you're mine. You've been mine since the first time you looked at me like I was something worth having. And I've been yours this whole time, and I was too scared to admit it."

"You hurt me," you whisper, your voice breaking. Fresh tears spill over. "You made me feel like I wasn't enough. Like I was asking for too much. Like I was crazy for wanting more."

"I know." He takes another step, and you can see the desperation in every line of his body. "I know, and I'm sorry. Amore, I'm so sorry. You were always enough. You were everything. I was just—" His voice cracks. "fuck, I was just too much of a coward to say it."

"How do I know you mean it?" Your whole body is shaking now, sobs threatening to tear out of your chest. "How do I know this isn't just because you're jealous? That you won't go back to 'casual' the moment I forgive you?"

"Because I'm telling you now." Another step closer. He's right in front of you now, close enough to touch. "I'm telling you that I want you. Only you. Not casual, not undefined. I want all of it. Labels, commitment, everything I was too scared to give you before."

"Theo—"

"Per favore" The Italian falls from his lips like a prayer, and his hands come up like he wants to reach for you but doesn't dare. "Please. I can't lose you. I won't—I can't survive it."

You can see him trembling, this boy who's always so controlled, so carefully composed, falling apart in front of you. There are tears on his face now too.

"I love you," he says, and the words sound like they've been torn from somewhere deep inside him. "Ti amo. I should have said it weeks ago. Months ago. I love you."

Your breath catches. You've imagined him saying those words so many times, but hearing them now—

It's everything you wanted.

And it's not enough.

"You're an idiot," you breathe, your voice thick with tears.

"I know." He takes it like absolution.

"And an asshole."

"I know."

"And you—" Your voice breaks. "You broke my heart, Theo. You made me feel worthless. You made me cry myself to sleep. You made me hate myself for wanting you."

"I know." His voice is wrecked. "I know, and I—cazzo, I would take it all back if I could. Every moment I made you doubt yourself. Every time I pushed you away. I would take it all back."

"But you can't." The words come out as a sob. "You can't take it back."

"I know." He's crying openly now. "But I can—I can try to make it right. I can be what you deserve. I can—please , just give me a chance. Let me prove it to you."

He reaches for you, his hands coming up to cup your face, and you can see the moment he's going to kiss you. The moment he thinks this is over, that you're going to forgive him, that everything is going to be okay.

You step back.

His hands fall to his sides, and the look on his face—devastation, confusion, desperation—nearly breaks you all over again.

"I can't," you whisper. "I can't do this right now."

"What?" His voice is small, broken. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—" You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold yourself together. "I mean I've spent three months feeling like I wasn't enough for you. Four months wondering what was wrong with me. Three months breaking myself trying to be okay with casual when I wanted so much more."

"I know, and I'm—"

"And now you're sorry." Your voice is bitter. "Now that you think you might lose me, now you want to make it real. But where were you when I was crying in my dormitory? Where were you when I was tearing myself apart trying to understand why you wouldn't just choose me?"

"I was scared—"

"So was I!" The words come out as a shout. "I was terrified! But I was willing to risk it. I was willing to put myself out there and ask for what I wanted. And you—you just kept pushing me away."

"Please—" He reaches for you again, and you step back again.

"No." Your voice is firm despite the tears. "No, you don't get to touch me right now. You don't get to kiss me and make this okay. You don't get to fix three months of pain with one confession.

"Then what do I do?" He sounds desperate, broken. "Dimmi, Tell me what to do. I'll do anything."

"I don't know." You're crying so hard you can barely see him. "I don't know, Theo. I just—I need time. I need to think."

"Time." He says it like the word is foreign. "How much time?"

"I don't know!" You're shouting again. "I don't know, okay? I don't know if I can trust you. I don't know if this is real or if you're just scared of losing. I don't know anything anymore!"

"It's real." His voice is fierce. "I swear to you, it's real. I love you. I— I love you so much it terrifies me."

"Then you should have said so." Your voice breaks. "You should have said so before I had to break myself trying to make you jealous. Before I had to use Harry. Before you put him in the hospital wing."

He flinches like you've struck him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." You wipe at your face, but the tears keep coming. "I know you are. But sorry isn't enough right now."

"Then what is?" He's begging now, openly begging. "What do you need from me? I'll do anything. Anything."

"I need—" You stop, trying to find the words through the tears. "I need you to let me go. Right now. I need you to let me walk out of here and figure out what I want."

"And if—" His voice breaks. "If you decide you don't want me?"

The question hangs in the air between you. You can see the fear in his eyes, the desperation, the love he's finally admitting to.

And you can't answer him.

"I don't know," you whisper finally. "I don't know, Theo."

You turn toward the door, and his voice stops you.

"I'll wait." It's barely audible. "However long it takes. I'll wait for you."

You don't turn around. Can't. If you look at him—broken and desperate and finally, finally giving you everything you wanted—you'll cave. You'll forgive him before you're ready. You'll let him kiss you and touch you and make promises you're not sure he can keep.

"Don't," you say quietly. "Don't wait for me. I can't—I can't promise you anything right now."

"I don't care." His voice is fierce again. "I'll wait anyway. Forever, if that's what it takes."

A sob tears out of your chest. You wrench open the door and run.

You run through the corridors, tears blurring your vision, your chest heaving with sobs you can't contain anymore. You run until you reach your dormitory, until you can throw yourself onto your bed and bury your face in your pillow and finally let yourself break completely.

He loves you.

Theodore Nott loves you.

And you don't know if it's enough.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

wandy578

Fact-Checked

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw!reader Summary: Theodore Nott thought he was playing a harmless game of a dare, until the quiet Ravenclaw he targeted turned out to be the only fascinating thing in the castle. word count: 2.5k

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Slytherin table at breakfast was usually an exercise in enduring Draco Malfoy’s theatrical complaints. Today was no exception.

Theodore Nott sat at the end of the bench, a cup of black coffee held loosely in his hand, his eyes tracking the morning owls as they flooded the Great Hall. Beside him, Blaise was meticulously buttering a piece of toast, while Draco was mid-rant about the incompetence of the Ministry’s owl-post service.

Theo wasn't listening. He rarely did. The politics, the posturing, the endless obsession with who was who—it was entirely, profoundly boring. They never spoke about any other topic, ever.

"Look at her," Blaise murmured suddenly, nudging Theo’s elbow with a smirk. He pointed his knife toward the Ravenclaw table. "The quiet one. Third from the end. She’s been staring at that bottle of maple syrup for three minutes like it’s a cursed artifact."

Theo shifted his gaze. You were sitting alone, a book propped open against a goblet, staring intently at the small pitcher of syrup in your hand. You looked completely detached from the chaotic chatter around you, existing entirely in your own head.

"Ten Galleons says you can't get her to go to the library with you by the end of the week, Nott," Draco chimed in, his attention easily diverted by the prospect of a wager. "She doesn't talk to anyone outside her little Gryffindor shadow-group with the Weasley girl and Loony Lovegood. Even then, she barely opens her mouth. Quite pathetic, really. "

Theo swirled his coffee, his sharp, analytical mind assessing the girl across the hall. She looked harmless. Quiet. The type of Ravenclaw who probably memorized herbology charts for fun. He was bored, and the prospect of taking Draco’s gold while proving a point was mildly entertaining. He could get himself a nice butterbeer this weekend if he won, and food always tasted better with someone else's money.

"Ten Galleons?" Theo murmured, a dry, cynical smile touching his soft lips. "Make it twenty, Malfoy. I’ll have her carrying my books by Friday."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The opportunity presented itself that very afternoon.

The library was quiet, bathed in the muted, golden light of late autumn. Theo spotted you tucked away in the West Wing alcove, surrounded by a small fortress of ancient texts. You were holding an ink bottle, turning it over in your hands with a concentrated frown.

Theo stepped into the alcove, his leather shoes clicking softly against the stone. He pulled out the chair directly opposite you without asking.

You flinched, your wide eyes snapping up to meet his. For a second, you looked like you were going to gather your things and bolt.

"Relax," Theo said, his voice low, smooth, and deliberately unbothered. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that."

A faint blush crept up your neck, but you quickly looked down at your book, your shoulders tensing. "Nott," you mumbled, glancing up slowly. "The library is full. Surely there's a table closer to your friends."

"My friends are tedious," he replied smoothly, watching the defensive wall you were trying to build. "And you looked like you were having a very intense staring contest with that inkwell. I was curious."

You pressed your lips together, tapping your quill against the parchment. "It's nothing. I was just... thinking."

"About?"

You hesitated, looking at him skeptically, as if waiting for the punchline. But Theo just sat there, his chin resting in his palm, his grey eyes steady and entirely focused on you. There was no mockery in his posture—just a calm, quiet patience.

"It's stupid," you muttered.

"Try me," he murmured. "I have a high tolerance for stupid. I live with Malfoy."

A tiny, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and just like that, the floodgates opened. The shy, hesitant girl vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense spark in your eyes.

"It's just that people take ink for granted," you said, your words suddenly tumbling out like wildfire. "But iron gall ink—the kind we use for writing—is actually a chemical reaction. It's made from tannic acid extracted from oak galls, which are caused by parasitic wasps, mixed with iron sulfate. If the ratio is even slightly off, the acid will literally eat through the parchment over a century or two. So technically, half the restricted section is slowly destroying itself from the inside out because some medieval scribe didn't balance their chemistry."

You stopped abruptly, your breath catching. Your face flushed a deep, brilliant crimson as you realized how long you’d just ranted to a complete stranger. "Sorry. I... that was weird. You didn't ask for a history lesson."

Theo didn't move. He didn't blink.

He just stared at you, his analytical mind completely derailed. He had expected a shy, stuttering girl who would blush at a generic pureblood compliment. Instead, you had just delivered a terrifyingly specific, brilliant lecture about wasps and self-destroying books.

It was fascinating.

A slow, genuine smirk spread across his face. The cynical facade he always wore felt a little looser, a little lighter.

"Affascinante..." he murmured under his breath, the Italian word slipping out before he could stop it.

"What?" you asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"Nothing," Theo said, leaning forward, his grey eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, genuine intensity that had absolutely nothing to do with Draco’s twenty Galleons. "Tell me more about the wasps."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

By April, the courtyard had become a shared habit.

The stone benches were warm from the spring sun, and the scent of damp earth and blooming aconite hung heavy in the air. You sat with your legs swung over the edge of the stone wall, looking down at a small patch of clover between the flagstones.

Theo was right next to you. His black school cloak was discarded on the bench, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was leaning back on his hands, his head tilted back to catch the sun, looking entirely at peace—a rarity for a Slytherin in the middle of a bustling Hogwarts afternoon.

"Look at that one," you whispered, pointing down at the grass. "The four-leaf one over there."

Theo opened one grey eye, glancing down lazily. "Are you going to tell me it’s a mutation?"

"It is," you said, a bright, easy smile breaking across your face as you spun around to face him. "It’s a rare genetic variation of the white clover. The odds of finding one are about one in ten thousand. But the funny part is that in the Middle Ages, people believed that if you carried a four-leaf clover, it would grant you the ability to see fairies and spirits that were normally invisible. So, essentially, medieval wizards used to walk around fields for hours just hoping to get a glimpse of a Bowtruckle."

Theodore let out a low, genuine laugh—the kind of laugh he never used in the Great Hall. It was quiet, entirely unprompted, and it made your chest feel warm.

"So what you're saying," He murmured, sitting up and turning his head to look at you, his sharp features softening into a teasing smirk, "is that you’ve been sitting here staring at the dirt for twenty minutes because you're looking for a shortcut to passing Care of Magical Creatures?"

"I don't need a shortcut, Nott, my grades are perfect," you shot back, nudging his shoulder with your own. "I'm just appreciating the history."

"You are ridiculous," he said softly. He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His touch lingered on your cheek for just a second too long, his thumb lightly grazing your cheekbone. "Ridiculous, and incredibly beautiful."

The compliment was delivered so casually, so effortlessly in his dry, smooth voice, that it took you a second to process it. Your breath caught, your face immediately burning a furious, bright pink. You looked down at your hands, trying to hide the massive smile tugging at your lips.

"You're just saying that to distract me from the fact that you haven't started your Transfiguration essay," you muttered, your voice small.

Theo chuckled, leaning a bit closer so his shoulder was pressed against yours. "Maybe. But it doesn't make it any less true."

On the other side of the courtyard, under the shadow of the stone archway, the rest of the world still existed.

Draco Malfoy was leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he watched the two of you laugh. Beside him, Pansy was whispering something to Daphne, her expression a mix of amusement and sharp calculation. Blaise Zabini just smirked, twirling his wand between his fingers, his eyes locked onto the way Theo’s hand was still resting on the stone wall, just an inch away from yours.

To the Slytherins, it looked like a masterpiece of a game. Theo Nott, the aloof pureblood, completely charming the quiet, brilliant Ravenclaw exactly as planned.

But from where Theo was sitting, he couldn't see his friends at all. He didn't hear Draco's scoff or Pansy's whispers. He was entirely occupied by the way the sunlight hit your eyes, and the fact that for the first time all year, he wasn't bored at all.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The heavy oak doors of the library usually felt like a shield, but tonight, they felt like a cage.

You sat in the absolute furthest alcove of the West Wing, hidden behind a mountain of ancient Arithmancy texts. Your knees were pulled tightly to your chest. The silence of the castle was supposed to be comforting, but right now, it only amplified the echo of Draco Malfoy’s drawing voice from an hour ago.

“A dare’s a dare, Nott. But you’ve been dragging it out for months. Are you finally done playing with the quiet Ravenclaw, or do you actually like hearing about the structural engineering of Roman aqueducts over breakfast?”

And then Zabini’s low, amused chuckle.

You pressed your forehead against your knees, blinking back hot, burning tears. You felt entirely stripped bare. Humiliated. It all made sense now. Theodore Nott—aloof, devastatingly sharp, a cynical pureblood from the Sacred Twenty-Eight—hadn't spent the last four months sitting at your library table because he found you interesting. He’d done it because of a joke.

You were just a hyper-fixated, shy Ravenclaw who didn't know when to shut up. When you got comfortable, you didn't just talk; you erupted into a wildfire of random, useless information. You had genuinely believed Theo liked it. You had thought the quiet, intense way he stared at you while you rambled about the historical trade routes of nutmeg was because he cared.

Instead, you were just a punchline in the Slytherin common room. A stupid nerd.

A sharp, distinct click of leather shoes on stone broke the silence.

You didn't look up. You didn't need to. The scent of cedarwood, expensive ink, and the faint, crisp chill of the dungeons always preceded him.

"I figured you'd be here," Theo said. His voice was its usual self—low, dry, and terrifyingly calm. But there was a slight edge to it tonight. A tightness.

"Go away, Theo," you muttered into your knees, your voice thick.

"No." The leg of a wooden chair scraped against the floor as he sat down directly opposite you. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "You dropped your Herbology essay in the corridor. And you've been missing for an hour. Talk to me."

"I don't think you need any more material for your friends," you said, finally lifting your head. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your jaw clenched to stop the trembling. "Did you win? Whatever the bet was, did you collect your Galleons? You can stop coming here now."

Theo stiffened. The lazy, arrogant posture he usually held instantly vanished. His grey eyes, usually so unbothered and analytical, narrowed in a flash of genuine panic.

"You heard Malfoy," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"I'm an annoying, nerdy Ravenclaw," you spat, the words spilling out like venom, though your voice cracked. "I know. I get it. I’m frustrating and shy, and I ruin perfectly normal conversations because I can't stop spewing out facts like a broken textbook. Did you know that human tears contain an endorphin called leucine-enkephalin? It acts as a natural painkiller. So technically, my body is trying to chemically fix the absolute joke you made out of me. Isn't that a fun fact, Nott? Go run and tell Blaise."

Theo didn't laugh. He didn't even drop a sarcastic counter-defense.

Instead, he let out a sharp, ragged breath and slammed his hand flat against the table. The noise cracked through the quiet alcove.

"Che cazzo state dicendo..." he muttered under his breath, a low, furious murmur of Italian rolling off his tongue as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked up at you, and for the first time since you’d known him, his cool, aristocratic facade was completely shattered. He looked desperate.

"Listen to me," Theo said, his voice dropping into something fierce and completely devoid of his usual mockery. "Yes. It started as a stupid, mindless dare because Blaise is a textbook idiot and I was bored. That was October. It is now May."

He leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"I forgot about that miserable bet three minutes into our first conversation," he said, each word deliberate and heavy. "Do you honestly think I’ve spent the last seven months listening to you explain the global history of maple syrup, or the exact architectural flaws of the Astronomy Tower, for a handful of coins? I don't give a damn about the money, and I give even less of a damn about what Malfoy thinks."

You blinked, a single tear slipping down your cheek. "Then why—"

"Because everyone else in this castle is entirely, profoundly boring," Theo interrupted, a ghost of his dry, cynical smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained entirely serious. "They talk about Quidditch, blood status, and gossip. You? You have an entire kingdom of useless, brilliant things inside your head. You look at the world and actually see it. I didn't sit here every day because I had to. I sat here because I'm completely ruined for any other girl who doesn't look at a bottle of ink and tell me the literal chemistry of how it was made."

He reached across the table, his long, pale fingers hovering just an inch away from your hand, giving you the choice.

"You are a nerd," Theo murmured softly, the lighthearted, teasing spark finally returning to his eyes, though his tone was fiercely genuine. "But you're my favorite part of the day. Don't you dare stop talking."

The tension in your chest slowly deflated, replaced by a strange, warm flutter. You looked at his hand, then up at his face, finding nothing but absolute sincerity in his sharp features.

"The ink chemistry fact was actually quite interesting," you whispered, wiping your cheek with the back of your sleeve.

Theo let out a low, relieved laugh, his hand closing gently over yours. "I'm sure it is, love. Tell me more facts, I can't wait to hear them."

countdracc

How'd you guys meet again?

summary: THEO X OBLIVIOUS! HI! basically just how the two of you met, i'm character building, let me live.

warnings: a little bit of angst/crying and some sad thoughts words: 1.1k first "part" of this here

theo x oblivious! reader

Theodore Nott had always known what was expected of him. Stay strong-willed, be cunning, listen more than you speak, become a Death Eater, and, most importantly, find an obedient pureblood girl to marry so the bloodline stays undiluted.

He hated them—expectations, his family. His last name and the fear that came along with it like they complemented each other.

The only thing his family hadn't planned out for him was his death, but he was sure that if he stepped out of line one too many times, he would be next on his family's list of 'To-dos.'

Though, even he could admit that stepping away from his responsibilities was not in the question. He couldn't disappoint his mother, which was a tough pill to swallow for an 11-year-old.

So, when his father had reminded him of his responsibilities on Platform 9 ¾ by slyly nodding to you and your family, murmuring that Theo should 'Go talk to her,' he knew what he had to do, no matter the bad taste lingering at the back of his throat.

Expectations, expectations, expectations.

When he stared at you hard enough, Theo realized he had seen you before at various galas, always smiling, always prim and proper. His father rarely talked with yours, which usually meant you were higher up the food chain than he was.

You were just a means to an end, another ladder to climb.

And, if he was being entirely too honest, a young Theo Nott would have said he hated you. Hated you because you were what his father's dreams were made of—pretty, pureblood, and more powerful than him. Hated you because you were overly happy for someone who had the same expectations he had weighing him down, you were loud, talkative, only listened when necessary, smart, and actually wanted to be his friend.

You sat next to him in the classes you shared, somehow found a spot in the Great Hall next to him and his small friend group, eventually bringing your own into the mix, talking to all of them like they were your own, like you meshed well with them.

Theo didn't mesh. He either accepted or rejected, and he wanted to reject you.

You had infiltrated everything and not once did your smile falter.

If you weren't so pretty and kind, he probably would have been more ill-tempered, but Theo would never admit that.

Theo's silent jealousy anger continued like that for the majority of his first year, almost boiling over a few times, but you always flashed him a grin and soft eyes which simmered it down.

And he had almost gone through being 11 without succumbing to your charms.

When it was a restless night of no sleep, the only thing that soothed his unease was a warm cup of tea. Tonight was one of those, his mind racing with thoughts of how in the hell was he supposed to go back to his house for the summer. The house that was too big and hadn't felt warm since his mother died.

Reluctantly, he headed up to the kitchens, making sure to close his dorm door softly as to not wake Draco or Mattheo.

At first he didn't see you, didn't see the tears or the shaky breaths going in through your nose and out through your mouth.

Theo just grabbed his tea bag and a little bit of sugar before sitting at a rickety wooden table shoved into the corner of the room. Elves bustled around, paying him no mind. One, though, he thought her name started with an 'L,' walked up to a figure, highlighted with different shades of gold from flickering flames. Shakily, the small elf extended a cookie toward you, a silent offering.

He flinched when he noticed it was you who was sitting by the fire, shuttering shoulders and all. You were crying.

He whispered your name, just quiet enough so it wouldn't scare you and just loud enough so he knew you'd hear it. The elf scurried away.

Your head swiveled around, and your face, puffy from crying and furiously wiping at tears, made his chest feel like it had been cracked open.

The two of you just stared at each other.

"…Are you okay?" Theo murmured, tea already forgotten and going cold.

You quickly blinked away the new set of tears pooling. "Oh… yes!" You smiled. He noticed it didn't reach your eyes like it always had done before. "I'm fine, I promise. Couldn't sleep. What, uh, what are you doing in here?"

He stood, shuffling over to where you were sat on the floor. The heat of the fire burned the front of his face. "Couldn't sleep too."

You stayed silent for a beat too long, and curiosity forced Theo to look over at you.

Your bottom lip was wobbling, head drawn down as you stared at the floor between your bent knees. Your cry was silent, like you had mastered the art of silently sobbing, just as he had.

For the first time, you looked real. Not untouchable, not the girl his father had pushed him to talk to. Just painfully you.

"You're not okay," he remarked.

That got a laugh out of you—albeit it was thin and loose like a piece of paper, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "I'm afraid not."

"What happened?"

You explained to him with tired, bloodshot eyes that your grandmother had passed suddenly, and you only just received a letter from your parents, who hardly let you down easy.

Theo put an arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his side. You wrapped your arms around his midsection. He knew grief all too well.

For the rest of that night you were just two kids who were too mature for their age.

After Theo saw the inner parts of you, the grief and longing behind happy smiles, he couldn't leave you alone. He didn't have any more reasons to hate you when you were just like him.

Theo wasn't sure when the lines blurred. When he toed the thin line between friendship and love, then between love and obsession. He wasn't even sure that there was something to pinpoint—maybe when that Ravenclaw had asked you out in your fourth year and he could only white-knuckle the arms of his chair as you gushed about it, or maybe it was during one of the many times the two of you had sat in the courtyard, him attempting to read a book while you chattered his ear off. Maybe it was in your first year when you told him just how sad you really were.

Or maybe it just was.

Something that he ignored until it grew into what it is today. Hopelessly pining after you, who, for some reason, had made him off limits somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind.

when he first met you vs when he first met who you really are, are two different things imo... sorry for the delay people

mysticallace

Something, no everything about him makes me want to… I don’t know… he has such puppy eyes, and that’s a bonus in my books.

worstangelalive

lunch

prythiansprincess

DEAR BELLA | chapter eleven.

“I once believed love would be black and white, but it's golden like daylight.”

word count: 4,875.

summary: a year of silence finally begins to unravel as buried truths, old heartbreak, and impossible hope collide all at once. while theo is forced to confront everything he thought he lost, the lines between love, grief, and destiny begin to blur in ways neither of you can ignore anymore.

author’s note: this chapter was one of my favorites to write. deep down, i'm a hopeless romantic with a phd in yearnalism. I hope you enjoyed and trust that the yearning doesn't end here. I have three more chapters up my sleeve ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

♫ daylight - taylor swift. nav. chapters. more theo.

illbegottenfaith

the one where theo's high on cough syrup (a Cough Syrup by Young the Giant inspired fic)

Theo gets high on his pining for you cough syrup.

Sister fic: the one where you're not feeling like yourself (coming soon!)

a/n: I am NOT. a doctor. I think it goes without saying do NOT overdose on medication :) also im soooo excited for the sister fic UGHH they're going to complement each other so well im so excited!!!! anyways enjoyyy and thank u for reading <33

tropes/warnings: sick!Theo, slight hurt/comfort, mild descriptions of a bad case of the flu, comedy (I try to be funny pls be nice 😔😔)

word count: 3k

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167 @lillytrannn

Common symptoms of suburbia-itis include, but are not limited to, headaches, boredom, aversion to homogeneity, and a funny feeling in the back of your throat. Refer to your local physician for more information.

Theo woke up feeling horrible.

Not that this was a new development of late - he had spent the past couple of days walking around with a raw, scratchy throat and a hacking cough that did nothing to help it. Madam Pomfrey diagnosed him with hay fever, but as the only person privy to the thoughts that kept drifting towards a certain Head Girl, Theo felt he knew better.

Theo's cough wasn't the only irritating thing choking him this week, though. On this particular morning, he woke to an insistent tapping on his face.

"You got to take your - hello. Hello.” Blaise tried pulling one of Theo's eyes open. Theo rolled over, pulling the covers over his head, grumbling underneath his breath. Blaise gave the covers a solid yank.

“Good morning, sunshine. Time to take your cough syrup.”

prythiansprincess

DEAR BELLA | chapter nine.

“cause they say it’s a virtue to not let good love go to waste.”

word count: 3,661.

summary: as old feelings become impossible to ignore, you and theo are finally forced to confront the painful misunderstanding that changed everything between you. what began as a harmless night quickly unravels into a truth neither of you were prepared to face.

author’s note:🧍‍♀️me standing here knowing you all very much want to throw tomatoes at me for leaving this chapter on a cliffhanger. it's worth it though, I promise. now that the truth is out, what do we think will happen next?

♫ begged - olivia rodrigo. nav. chapters. more theo.

affectioncas

SESAME SYRUP | theodore nott

word count: 2,733

summary: (includes smut) theodore will drop anything for you. always. no matter what. at the expense of anything. even a one year relationship. he plans on proving just that to you.

authors note: long time no see!!! it's currently 2am and i'm severely jet-lagged, so i wrote this instead of sleeping lol. i kind of hate this but whatever i'm feeling delusional bc i'm running on 3 hours of sleep. anyway enjoy!

🌷 masterlist

“Are you even listening?”

Theodore snaps his eyes back towards the woman in front of him, clearing his throat as he tries to make himself look more alert. He straightens out the collar of his shirt instinctively. “Sorry, sorry. Yes, I am. You were talking about… Astronomy, right?”

Pansy glares at him from across the table, taking an angry sip of her wine before putting the glass back down. “No, I was talking about this stupid essay I have to write for Muggle Studies. I was an idiot for signing up for that elective.”

“Can’t you just, like, study? For once?” Theodore replies harsher than he intended, but it’s honestly getting harder and harder for him to pretend that he actually cares about this conversation.

“You know what, just forget it.” Pansy sighs, and he almost feels bad because of the look on her face, like she just got kicked in the gut. The two of them continue to eat in silence. The atmosphere is supposed to be nice; Theodore had picked this place out weeks ago for their anniversary dinner, warm candlelight enveloping the room and the soft drape of curtains paired together to give the illusion of privacy and intimacy. It’s perfect. Too bad him and Pansy aren’t.

“You can talk to the professor, maybe.” Theodore tries again, twirling his fork absentmindedly around his nearly empty plate. “Ask for an extension.”

Pansy mumbles something under her breath, and she doesn’t look happy. Theodore knows he should feel remorseful, but instead he just feels that familiar twinge of annoyance he gets whenever he’s around her for more than 30 minutes. “What? Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

Pansy glares at him, but before she can respond, Theodore’s phone rings.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, fumbling for his phone in his pocket. Theodore’s planning on just seeing who’s calling and returning their call later, but when your name flashes across the screen, he can feel his heart do somersaults.

Theodore glances up at Pansy, then back to his phone, then to Pansy again. He knows he has seconds to make this decision. It’s his anniversary dinner. His girlfriend of a year now is sitting in front of him, mad for honestly good reasons, eyeing him expectantly, waiting for him to put the phone down. But he can’t.

“I have to take this,” Theodore mumbles, standing up quickly as if he can run away from Pansy’s glare that can cut through steel.

“That better not be who I think it is, Theodore.” Pansy’s tone stops him dead in his tracks, and when he turns to look at her before walking away, her expression almost makes him go back. Of course it’s who she thinks it is. Of course it’s you. There’s no one else he would drop everything for. Pansy knows that.

Theodore says nothing. He simply nods before walking out.

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing Theodore says to you after he picks up the phone. He knows you wouldn’t have called him for no reason because you were aware of his dinner plans. He runs his free hand through his hair, pacing outside the restaurant, his eyes glued to the pavement below him.

“No.” Your voice is panicky, and Theodore can feel his mind spinning.

“What’s wrong, amore? Tell me.”

“I-I was just- I snuck into the kitchen to make some cookies for us and I burned myself. Merlin it hurts so bad, my skin is bubbling and-” The sound of your hiccup interrupts your tangent, and Theodore’s heart burns in his chest just by the thought of you hurt and alone. “And I can’t go to the infirmary because then they’ll know I was sneaking around, and-“

“I’m coming right now,” he replies right away, with no questions asked. “Go back to your dorm. I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

“Theo, what-” He doesn’t let you finish your sentence. Theodore hangs up quickly before stalking back inside the restaurant. His mind isn’t even on Pansy as he grabs his coat from his chair, shrugging it on.

“I have to go,” Theodore says coldly, barely sparing Pansy a look as he throws down his card onto the table. “Pay with this.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Pansy pays no mind to his gesture, standing up to match his stance with her hands clenched into fists at her side.

“I don’t have time for this, Pansy. Don’t make a scene.” Theodore sighs, exasperated, as if she’s doing him a disservice by being angry.

Pansy’s face falls, and if Theodore didn’t know her any better, he would think she’s going to kill him right then and there. “You will always choose her, won’t you?” Pansy whispers, her voice more vulnerable than Theodore had heard in months.

Theodore reaches a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly, his gaze fixed on his discarded napkin on the table. His eyes trail from the glasses of wine, the unfinished food, the candles and flowers on the table, and he almost winces. It’s not what he wants. It’s never really been what he’s wanted.

“Yeah.” Theodore speaks with a tone of finality, and as he observes Pansy’s reaction, he can see that it’s over in the way her expression becomes guarded and her eyes turn glassy.

He gives her time to respond, to talk, to say anything. But she doesn’t. Pansy sits down again and begins to eat without a word. Theodore pays her no mind as he walks out again.

He knows he should feel bad, and he does, but not in the way most would think. He feels like an idiot for wasting a year with someone he didn’t really care about that much. At least, not in the way he cares about you. Not even close.

“Show it to me.”

“No,” you huff, tears in your eyes as you hide your left arm behind your back. “It looks disgusting.” Your voice quivers as you watch Theodore rummage through your bathroom cabinets, looking for a First-Aid kit.

“Weren’t you the one who called me? You asked for my help.” Theodore finally finds it, guiding you to sit on the edge of your bed. He settles in between your legs, kneeling so that he can be level with you. “Now show me.”

Your eyebrows furrow, because you know he’s right, but it doesn’t make him any less annoying. You say nothing as you slowly show him the burn wound on your inner forearm, having to look away because the sight of it is too disgusting for you.

“You’ll be okay, principessa. It’s not as bad as it looks.” Theodore says it so convincingly and so reassuringly that you almost believe him.

You watch Theodore as he opens the kit, looking for any sort of antibiotic ointment. “If it hurts, squeeze my shoulder, okay?” You nod in understanding, and you find yourself turning your gaze towards the ceiling again.

“I’m scared.”

“I know, beautiful. I’ll make it better soon. Just talk to me to get your mind off this.”

You whimper as he starts to rub the ointment on your skin, your fingers curling into the sheets in pain. “I-Isn’t Pansy mad?” The question slips out; anything to distract yourself.

Theodore is quiet for a moment. He didn’t expect that question from you. “It doesn’t matter.” He keeps his answer vague, but you see right through him.

“And what exactly does that mean? I’m sure she’s furious. I… I felt so guilty for calling, but I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t you dare feel guilty,” Theodore says fiercely. “I’d drop anything for you. You know that.”

His words make your head drop, your gaze landing on him yet again. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the problem.”

Theodore stops his motions, his dark gaze moving up to meet yours. “Don’t act so innocent,” he murmurs, his free hand grazing your cheek with his fingertips. His touch lights your body on fire. “You knew exactly who I was with and what I was doing. Yet you called, because you knew I would come.”

You blush furiously, partly from his touch but mostly at the way he completely saw through you. “You don’t need to worry, piccolina. I’m just as jealous of a person as you are, if not more.”

“Can you shut up?” You hiss, glaring at him as he starts to wrap your burn with a bandage, his smug smile sending a familiar bolt of warmth into your lower stomach. “Just answer my question.”

“What, if she’s mad? Of course she is. She always is. But it doesn’t matter anymore.” Theodore finishes with your wound, lifting your arm to press a gentle kiss to the bandage. You swear he’s trying to seduce you with the way he looks up at you through hooded eyes and touches you so reverently. Or maybe that’s your wishful thinking.

You will your voice to stay steady. “Why exactly would that not matter?” The sight of Theodore in between your legs, his tousled hair paired with his messy dress shirt and slacks, makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze, your thighs subconsciously rubbing together. Unfortunately for you, nothing you do ever goes unnoticed by Theodore. Nothing.

“Let’s just say… Pansy is none of my concern anymore.” Your heart leaps to your throat, and you hate how pathetically excited you sound when you say, “you’re not together anymore?”

Theodore’s head shakes side to side as he laughs, his warm hands sliding up your cool, bare, legs. “No, tesoro. We’re not.” His molten voice melts through you, your panties sticking to you as he looks at you like he wants to consume you whole. He licks his lips as his eyes drop down to your skirt, painfully obviously trying to get a good look at what’s under.

“What does that make you feel, amorina?” He whispers, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs without taking his eyes off you. “Turned on, I’m sure. I can see how wet you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you repeat, your fingers threading through Theodore’s soft locks of hair to try and tug his head away from you, but your efforts are futile. Not like you’re trying that hard anyway.

“Fine.” You gasp as his head dips under your skirt, his calloused hands reaching for your knees to pull them apart forcefully as he licks a long stripe up the gusset of your panties. “I’ll shut up then,” Theodore murmurs against your skin, his teeth pulling your underwear down to expose your sensitive cunt.

You tug on Theodore’s hair, your hips desperately lifting off the bed under you as he starts to devour your pussy. It all happened so fast you can barely even form words as the pleasure washes over you in waves. Every languid lick, flick, and thrust of his tongue makes you whine out unabashedly, your head lolling backwards as you lose all train of thought.

“Theo, fuck!” One particularly harsh suck of his lips on your clit has your thighs clamping around his head, his hands moving to grip your waist tightly as he works you towards your orgasm. “I-I’m close,” you manage to slur out, biting your lip as he tongue-fucks you. You can feel the coil in your stomach twisting impossibly tight, before it all disappears.

You jerk your head down, your eyes widening as you look down at him, his lips puffy, his cheeks red, his eyes blazing. “No,” you whisper, your hands finding his shoulders, crawling up his neck and trailing down his chest, desperate for any kind of touch that he isn’t giving you anymore. “W-why’d you stop?”

You sound so incredibly broken you’d be cringing if you weren’t so fucking close. “I don’t think you deserve to cum yet, amore.” Theodore murmurs, bringing his face closer to yours. “What- oh, baby, you’re crying? Already?”

“Theo,” you whisper as his hands cup your cheeks, tears rimming your eyes. You feel absolutely fucking crazy, the heat between your legs aching until the point of pain, your muscles tense beyond belief. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m pretty sure I can,” Theodore whispers back almost mockingly, kissing your forehead with such softness you almost get whiplash from the juxtaposition of his actions.

“Listen,” he mumbles, his nose brushing against yours as he looks into your soul with his dark eyes that make you feel like you’re freefalling. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” You can feel yourself nodding, even though you didn’t make a conscious effort to. “I know you are. And that’s why you’ll take what you get without being greedy, hm?”

You whimper under his gaze, his breath fanning tantalizing over your lips, and you want nothing more than to taste him for the first time, to feel his passion through intimacy, to melt under his touch so completely that only he can put you back together. You can do nothing but nod again, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you to stop yourself from doing something rash.

“I’m proud of you,” Theodore whispers, and your heart almost explodes in your chest. You gasp softly as his fingers trail up your inner thigh, toying with your folds before he slips one finger in.

“Fuck,” you whine loudly, dragging it out as his lips land on your neck, finding your sensitive spots that make your legs twitch and your toes curl. “Theo,” you moan almost drunkenly as he pumps his finger, slowly, in and out of you, curling it against your walls to make you see stars.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he whispers, almost awestruck as he drinks in every single one of your reactions. “I love you so much, piccolina. So so much.” His pace increases with every passing second, his free hand reaching under your shirt to tease your nipples. If your eyes open, you’d be able to see his desperate gaze, watching you so ardently with a look that could make you fall apart.

His words along with another one of his fingers is enough for you to convulse around him, your mouth falling open as you scream his name, your body shaking so hard you can barely feel your muscles as they clench tightly.

“I love you, Theo, I love you.” You repeat it over and over, like a mantra, as you cum, and he groans every time your pussy flutters around his fingers or your ‘I love you’ is particularly whiny.

Your back falls onto the mattress behind you, and you jolt as Theodore slowly slides his fingers out of you. “You’re dripping,” he murmurs, entranced as he lowers himself again to stare at your pussy, his eyes wide with desire and hunger. “Bambina, please. Please let me eat it again. Please.”

“Theo, I just came- oh!” You’re interrupted by his tongue, your hips shaking with pleasure. “N-no, I can’t. Not now.”

Theodore crawls up onto your bed and over you, his face hovering over yours. You’re taken aback by how disheveled he looks; his curls fall messily, and his eyes look almost feral. You’re almost disgusted with yourself at how much you love this new side of him, this side of him that will beg and plead with you to let him pleasure you.

“Baby, please. I’ll do anything. I need you, amore, fuck. Just let me taste that sweet little cunt again, baby. So tight and perfect. I need it. I need it.” His face falls into the crook of your neck, burrowing in so deeply and inhaling your scent as his hips rock helplessly into the mattress under him. Fuck, you can’t say no.

“Just give me five minutes,” you whisper, pushing the hair out of your face as you let your eyes close. You can practically feel the rush of relief that consumes Theodore as he falls onto the bed next to you with a huge sigh.

“Thank you, bella. Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” You mumble, turning onto your side to be able to throw your leg over him, tucking your head into his side. “I should burn myself more often.”

“Don’t be silly,” Theodore whispers as his own arm wraps around your figure, holding you close to his chest. “You don’t have to burn yourself to get my attention, amore mio. All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll be there. Always.”

starg1r71nter7ude

jealousy jealousy

bellvirine

bruised and kissed

✶ Summary ✶ : Everyone knows Niccolò Govender is the definition of trouble. He’s reckless, stubborn, and never lets anyone see past his tough, arrogant bad-boy mask. Except for the sweet girl who always carries band-aids in her bag.

✶ pairing ✶ : Niccolò Govender × Reader

word count: 1,5k

✶ warnings ✶ : explicit sexual content 𖡡 fingering 𖡡 slight public sex 𖡡 sweet nicknames 𖡡 mention of violence

The cafeteria was loud, as usual.

You sat in the far corner where no one could bother you—or at least, that’s what you thought. While everyone else was laughing and yelling at each other, you just sat quietly, seeking comfort in your book. Though you sometimes ate with your friends there, today you were completely alone.

Your eyes slowly wandered through the noisy crowd, searching for a familiar face. Niccolo.

simp-for-love

Five more minutes

Theodore Nott x Reader

Theo Nott shows up to the library after a terrible day. Instead of talking about it, he buries himself in your arms and refuses to let go, turning your quiet study session into a soft, clingy moment of comfort.

Warnings: established relationship with a tired clingy boyfriend

Word count: ~1,4k

A/N: hi, hello. Yep, I'm trying to write again after a long break. This one was inspired by @nottendo post (no smut tho, sorry, babe). Love u ♡

The library had grown quiet around you.

Not silent, exactly. Hogwarts never truly went silent. There was always the soft scratch of quills, the distant shuffle of pages, the low crackle of torches along the stone walls. Somewhere behind a shelf, someone whispered too loudly and was immediately hushed.

But your corner had settled into something peaceful. A pile of books sat open in front of you, notes scattered across the table, ink pot dangerously close to the edge. You had been trying to focus for the better part of an hour, rereading the same paragraph on defensive charms until the words started to blur together.

prythiansprincess

DEAR BELLA | chapter one.

"this could be the end of everything, so why don't we go somewhere only we know?"

word count: 3,447.

summary: third year is upon theodore nott and time has not been kind to him. reeling from the loss of his mum, he finds comfort in a kind stranger—a hufflepuff, of all things, but theo learns that sometimes the unexpected is exactly what he needs.

author’s note: hey hi hello welcome to yet another theo series. this one is very near and dear to my heart so please be kind as we journey along. as always, please let me know what you think ♡

♫ somewhere only we know - rhianne. nav. more theo.

obsessedwithceleste

Divination for Dummies

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw! reader

Based on this request 🫶🏽

Summary: When the tarot cards tell you you’re going to fall in love, sometimes it’s best to just listen to them

word count: 6k

Divination was stupid. Theo knew it. Enzo knew it. But unfortunately for the two of them, Daphne Greengrass did not. She was quite the believer in fact—spending hours charting stars to gauge compatibility, gazing into her crystal ball, and practicing her palm reading. A load of bollocks and a complete waste of time in Theo's opinion, but, he wasn't a monster and so he humored his friend, content in blocking out Professor Trelawney's incessant babbling for an hour at the start of his mornings.

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