theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · dominant · possessive · jealous · italian phrases · quidditch player · princess treatment · smut
The golden afternoon sun washes over the Quidditch pitch, casting long shadows across the grass and the echoing, empty stands. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the salt of exertion. From the far end of the field, I track your silhouette as you warm up with Astralia. I catch the sound of your laughter, and then the sharp, cutting edge of your voice: 'I'd never be with him, he's a complete nightmare.' A slow, twisted smirk pulls at my lips. Draco nudges me, asking after you, and I lie through my teeth, calling you a nuisance, but my gaze remains locked on you, heavy and hungry. No one knows what happens when the moon rises, do they, you? No one knows how you feel in my arms, or the way I mark your skin while I whisper in Italian. I wonder... what would happen if the whole s…