​if He’s Not Like This I Don’t Want Him

tweaking out i love hot nerds

I love my solitude but I was meant to be a lover

my dearest schneider </3 love you 4ever

Getting laid in these

i’m literally just in my room bein sexy n insane

And I’ll hold your hands when I say this: my favorite trope has to be Theo Nott x russian girl. I believe the Italian bf and russian gf pairing is the hottest pairing possible.

I imagine them going to Moscow every winter break, to visit her family and spend the most fairytale-like winter there, walking the streets, buying her a new fur coat, dressing up for a night out in the Bolshoy Theatre, partying with her russian friends (and do believe me Russians know how to party), maybe inviting the whole slytherin gang too.

They’d then take a 3 day trip to St. Petersburg to see the art exhibition at the Hermitage museum (I just know they both are massive art enjoyers) and maybe do some sightseeing and walking along the streets of the old city center.

Now thinking of how they met…

Theo turned into a puddle the first time he saw her, some animalistic urge - to get this woman to be his - gnawing at him. He yearned, in fact. It didn’t help that she was straightforward, confident, HOT and so so feminine, it’s like she carried a bag of pheromones with her. Her Russian background, though, and her formidable father kept the guys at bay. Not Theodore though. My boy was cooked the day he heard her swear in russian.

As tough as she may have seemed, she couldn’t resist his Italian charm (can’t blame her). Some pining on both sides and one angry love confession after they became inseparable. And trust me when I say they matched each others freak perfectly.

me acting like I just didn't read the most filthy nasty hot smut fic of my life

I do believe Theodore Nott is all about making love. No matter how good he is in bed, the sex will never compare to being made love to by him. Be it during the summer holidays in Italy, the balcony doors of the little flat opened wide, the sounds of the hustling street coming from the outside, maybe, the street musicians playing some cliché italian songs to the passing tourists. The warm evening breeze carrying the smell of the nearby restaurant, air thick and humid. Your bodies tangled together in an unmade bed, white sheets and all. Theo’s slow, deep and sensual. Sharing breaths and kisses, whispering sweet nothings. Hair messy and dump, tanned skin to tanned skin, hands on each other. He’s not rushing, he’s savoring every second, making love to you for hours and hours, with eventual smoking breaks. Him, bending over the balcony railing, breathing the smoke out, watching the already starry sky. He’d turn around then after a couple of minutes to find you naked in the bed enjoying some peaches or nectarines. “Dio, non svegliarmi, there’s a nymph in my bed”. Then, I believe, you’d both giggle and go back to loving.

No game just pretty brown eyes and yappin