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Best Friends Brother pt. 2 | C.W. ââźâË
feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader
SUMMARY: Months have passed since you met (ie shagged and definitely didn't fall in love with) Charlie Weasley. And when Molly invites you to the Burrow for Christmas, your best friends Fred and George assure you that Charlie will not be in attendance. Spoiler alert: They are wrong.
CW: MDNI 18+, lots of christmas fluff and smut, Charlie being a shameless flirt, pining, brat tamer and primal!charlie if you squint, dirty talk, p in v, oral (f receiving), this is so tooth-rotting I cannot
AN: Charlie might be my favorite weasley to write for. and the implications of brat taming and primal play have my mind reeeeeeling
part one | masterlist
âSo what are you doing for Christmas, deary?â Mrs. Weasley asked, stirring a sugar lump into her tea. You were squeezed beside Fred into a booth at tea shop in Diagon Alley, having run into your best friends and their mother while Christmas shopping. Molly insisted you join them for a rejuvenating cuppa, and you weren't one to refuse an earl grey.
âOh, nothing really. Probably watch some corny films and get take away,â you replied, nibbling on the edge of a croissant.
âWhat?!â She gasped, so loud the neighboring tables turned to see what the fuss what about.
Fred and George pulled an identical grimace.
âUnacceptable!â She cried, dropping her spoon with a clatter. âWhy on earth didn't you tell me she was spending Christmas alone?!â She whacked George on the arm and kicked Fred in the shin under the table.
âWe didn't know!â They whined in unison, rubbing their injuries.
âOh, Mrs. Weasley, it really isn't a big dealââ
âNot a big deal! Dear, it's Christmas!â She reached across the table and took your hands, squeezing hard and holding your eye. âYou will spend it with us at the Burrow, alright?â
Your heart stopped, your tongue going thick. âOh, I-uhââ
âCharlie will be in Romania,â Fred hissed to you from the corner of his mouth. âJust say yes, or sheâll skin us.â
Charlie. Best friends brother, dragon wrangler, and the best lay you'd ever had in your life. It had been three months since your tryst in the storage room, and the hours of effortless conversation that came after, and you'd thought of him every day since.
You'd exchanged a few letters over the months, pleasantries and some light flirting on Charlie's part. He'd even sent you a few shed scales from your favorite dragon species, the Welsh Green, but beyond that, nothing had transpired.
He lived on Romania, after all. And his work was his life. You just had a bit of fun together, a few hours of fantasy, nothing more. But no matter how many times you repeated that like mantra, you still found yourself unable to move on.
âI hope you know, love, I will not accept 'no' as an answer,â Molly said, pining you with a stern glare.
âWell, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Iâm very grateful for the invitation, and I'd love to spend the holidays with your family,â you said, offering as genuine a smile you could muster despite your trepidation, and Molly beamed at you, already running through her plans for you all.
Fred slung an arm around your shoulders, jostling you with his excitement. âYes! You're gonna love it.â
You were grateful, and you were eager to have a real Christmas with a family you adored, but it still feltâŠodd. You'd be spending the holidays with Charlie's family, but not Charlie.
You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed butâŠeither way you were spending Christmas at the Weasleyâs.
The Burrow and it's residents welcomed you with open arms. The sprawling home was decorated floor to rafter in homemade garland and candles, with decorated trees in every room, branches heavy with ornaments and paper chains.
Harry, Hermione, and Fleur were also staying over the holidays, and Ginny was beside herself with excitement that you were joining as well, pulling you in for a crushing hug that squeezed the last of bits of anxiety from your heart. Percy and Bill helped with your things, and the twins were quick to get a drink in your hand while everyone chatted excitedly over one another.
It was warm and merry, and you couldn't believe you almost missed this because of a stupid, little crush.
After about an hour of conversation, you noticed Ginny start to fidget under Harryâs arm, glancing at the location clock by the stairs every few minutes. The hand with Charlie's name remained firmly at âworkâ, while the rest piled into âhomeâ.
You exhaled, fighting the nerves reknitting themselves in your stomach.
âOi, twitchy,â Fred bumped your shoulder, drawing your attention back to the conversation. âWhat's on your mindââ
The floo station suddenly flared to life, verdant green light blasting through the room as the flames roared. Everyone yelped and scurried back, well, besides Ginny, and when the flames died the next instant, you realized why.
Charlie Weasley stood at the center of the fireplace, a bag over his shoulder and a smug smile on his face.
Your stomach turned inside out.
Merlin, how had he gotten even more handsome? His hair was a slightly longer, his beard thicker to ward off the biting, Romanian cold. He wore a heavy coat and cargo pants, leather boots still packed with melting snow.
âCharles!â Molly shrieked, throwing herself at her second oldest son and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.
âCharlie!â Everyone cried, rushing to greet him while you tiptoed the opposite way, meaning to escape into the hall so you could collect yourself.
âAh, ah,â George said, catching your wrist, grinning. âYou don't want to do that,â he teased.
âAnd why not?â You huffed.
âBetter to play it cool,â he winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.
He was right, though. You would only survive this if you played it cool. Pretended everything was normal, that you hadn't been pining for this man for weeks on end, that the thought of spending Christmas with Charlie didn't make your heart flutter with excitement.
âBut the clock!â Arthur laughed, finally wrangling Molly away so he could hug his son.
âAsked Ginevra to enchant it,â Charlie said, hugging his father with one arm and bundling his little sister into his opposite side, dropping a kiss on top of her head. âSeems she did well.â
âIt is not to be tampered with!â Molly crowed, wiping tears from her cheeks.
âAlright, alright. I'll fix it,â Charlie chuckled, withdrawing his wand from his belt and muttering a reversal spell. The clock hand whirred around the face, confused, before it finally settled on âhomeâ with everyone else.
Charlie made his way around the room, hugging everyone and chatting until finally, he reached George, who you were attempting to hide behind.
Charlie pulled him into a bear hug, clapping him on the back. âShe knows I can see her, right?â He murmured to George, just loud enough to be sure you also heard him.
Your cheeks warmed, your stomach falling through the floor.
George scoffed. âStop checkinâ out my girlfriend, mate.â
Charlie grinned, shoving George to the side, perhaps a little harder than necessary. âDream on, Georgie,â he chuckled, eyes shining with amusement. He finally turned to you, his expression softening. âHappy Christmas, y/n,â he said, approaching slowly, the heavy plod of his boots matching the jump of your heart.
âHappy Christmas, Charlie,â you replied, playing coy and reaching up to brush some snow from his wide shoulder. âHow's my Welsh Green?â you asked.
Charlie smirked, his eyes sweeping over your face, down your neck, before flicking back to your eyes. âShe nearly took my head off this morning when I tried to give her breakfast.â
âMy kind of girl.â You felt your skin prickle under his attention, but you held your composure.
âMine too,â he purred, lowering his voice. Heat curled low in your stomach, remembering the way his voice pitched and deepened while youâgood god, you were losing your mind.
âTime for supper!â Molly called over the dull roar of conversation, and you slipped away from Charlie to follow the twins into the dining room, desperate for a breath that wasnât sweetened by his cologne.
Dinner went by in a blur of food and activity, Charlie sat by Arthur at the head while you were sequestered to the other side with the twins. After eating, Charlie slipped away to shower, and you joined everyone else back in the living room for board games and music.
You were wrapped up in a game of Scrabble with Hermoine and Ginny when Charlie re-emerged, his hair damp and slicked back, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a black t-shirt. Your mouth dried, your pussy fluttering at the mental image of him in the shower moments before.
His eyes found you across the room, his tongue darting out to wet his lips while they swept over you, taking in the House crewneck and pj shorts youâd changed into. You turned back the game to hide your face, swallowing the lump in your throat.
A moment passed, then Charlie turned to join Bill, Percy, and Arthur in the study, casting you another glance over his shoulder before disappearing.
A few more hours rolled by, and one by one, everyone went to bed besides the older men in the study. Molly set you up on the couch, apologizing profusely for the lack of space, but you waved her off, happy to curl up by the fire and read the book Percy lent you.
You settled in with a blanket over your lap, a book in one hand, cup of tea in the other. Soon though, exhaustion began to tug at you, and your eyes started to flutter closed, the warmth of the room and the chaos of the day taking its toll as you slipped into unconsciousness.
Distantly, you felt someone take the book from your hand, the empty tea cup from your lap, and you swam back to wakefulness, lifting your head.
âJust me, love,â a voice said, soft and male, and you immediately recognized it as Charlieâs.
You blinked open your eyes, finding him sticking a playing card in your book to hold your page. âOh, what are you doinâ?â you mumbled, rubbing a knuckle in your eye.
âAre you sleeping down here?â he asked, crouching in front of you, brow lightly creased. He smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon, and you had to remind your sleep-addled mind that you could not just melt into his arms like softened candle wax.
You nodded. âGuest beds are full. But itâs okay, mâcomfy.â You snuggled back down on to the couch, pulling the blanket up to your chin.
âI donât think so. Câmon, you can take my bed.â
You shook your head, grumbling an unintelligible protest into the pillow as sleep crept back in on you.
Suddenly, you were moving, the couch falling away.
âIâm not letting you sleep on the sodding couch,â Charlie grumbled, curling you into his chest. You gave half a thought to try and free yourself, to put up some sort of fight, but his heartbeat was right against your ear, reverberating in the barrel of his chest, and you just couldnât bring yourself to move away.
He carried you up a few flights of stairs and down a hallway, nudging open a bedroom door with his foot, careful to walk you through without bumping against anything. He set you down on his bed and tucked you under the thick duvet. The smell of him wrapped around you, clean and warm and Charlie, and you moaned in contentment, too tired to stop yourself.
Every one of your cells had missed him.
He pressed a light-as-air kiss to your temple before pulling away. You reached out to catch his hand, surprising him.
âWhere are you gonna sleep?â You asked, voice muffled by his pillow.
âIâll find somewhere,â he murmured, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. âUsed to sleeping in strange places.â
You must have pulled some kind of face, your filter nonexistent in your sleepy state, because he leaned back down to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
âBetter stop with that pout, sweetheart. Youâve got me strung out on the gallows,â he warned, a teasing lilt to his voice.
âMânot doing anything,â you teased back, peeking open your eyes to look at him.
âIâm trying to behave this time,â he chuckled, crossing his heart. âYou deserve to be properly courted.â
A yawn stole the snarky quip from your tongue. âIf you insist,â you sigh, eyes fluttering closed again.
âI do. Now, get some sleep,â he whispered, but you were already gone.
The following morning, you trudged down the stairs at an egregious hour, the incessant, jovial chatter of the Weasley's impossible to sleep through.
You found them all in the kitchen, steam from the kettle floating through the air, chased by the scent of cinnamon and syrup.
âThere she is! The dead walks the earth! Now go bloody change!â Arthur shouted, shoving a rumpled but bright-eyed looking Charlie out from the crowd around the kitchen island.
âHuh?â You looked between the twins and Arthur, but Charlie slung an arm over your shoulder, tugging you into his side.
âI've been summoned to the Ministry for an update on a particularly nasty Horntail,â he said, then leaned in a little closer. âAnd Happy Christmas Eve, darling,â he whispered.
âHappy Christmas Eveâsorry, what does that have to do with me?â You asked, your brain catching up to the situation.
âThe sap refused to risk waking you up to change into his suit,â George supplied. "So they're running late."
âWhy would youââ
âIgnore them, you can sleep as long as you like,â he murmured to you.
âCharlie!â You hissed. âYou should have woken me up!â
âOver my dead body, love.â
âCharles! Now!â Molly shouted, rattling the rafters.
âFine, fine.â He reluctantly pulled away from you and bound up the stairs.
âGood morning,â Fred said, beaming at your scowl.
âMorning people, are we?â You asked, accepting a cup of coffee from George.
âNo,â Ron argued, his head pillowed by his arms on the table.
Fifteen minutes later, the clop of heavy boots coming down the stairs drew everyone's attention away from their breakfast.
Charlie came around the bend, dressed in a simple, espresso colored suit with a black wool coat, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was pushed back, brushed and tidy, and silver jewelry shined from his pierced ears and ringed hands.
You nearly choked on your eggs, and Fred clapped a hand on your back.
Everyone wolf whistled and jeered, not used to seeing their rakish brother dressed to the nines. Charlie waved them off with a soft smile, leaning over you to grab a cinnamon roll. His freshly applied cologne wafted over you, spicy and warm, and all other thoughts vacated your head.
Arthur grabbed him by the arm. âYes, yes. You're very handsome, you are my son after all. Let's go.â
âWish us luck!â Charlie called, allowing an impatient Arthur to drag him towards the floo station. In a burst of green, they were gone.
âAre all mornings this chaotic?â You asked no one in particular.
âYes,â they all replied in a unison, and you grinned.
You could get used to a little chaos.
The day passed in a whirlwind of preparation, with you spending most of it with Molly in the kitchen or decorating with the twins.
Once that was finished, you'd gotten ready in Charlie's room, dressing in a white sweater dress and black stockings, your hair loose and makeup light.
You couldn't help but wonder what Charlie would think of it as you evaluated yourself in the mirror. You felt his absence like an ache in your side, and found your gaze wandering back to the floo station all day.
About an hour before dinner, green flames finally erupted in the fireplace. Everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed over, eager to hear about how it went at the Ministry.
You'd gathered from the twins that the fate of the Horntail hung in the balance after it destroyed a flock of sheep in Western Scotland. Charlie, along with several other Dragonologists, had been fighting for itâs life for months.
The flames extinguished, revealing Arthur and Charlie. Arthur was beaming, an arm around his son, while Charlie looked exhausted.
âOh, thank goodness. Just in time!â Molly cried, throwing her arms around her husband.
âHow'd it go?â Everyone asked at once, following Charlie as he stalked into the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch.
Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut against the racket.
âOur son was incredible, Molly. You should have seen him. Every question, he beat away like a bludger. It was masterful,â Arthur gushed, still grinning.
You watched Charlie warily. He certainly wasn't acting like it had gone well.
Bill, seeming as concerned as you, poured a glass of whiskey and passed it to his younger brother. Charlie swallowed the amber drink in one go, not even bothering to open his eyes.
âSo, is the Horntail safe?â Ginny asked, sitting tentatively beside her brother on the couch.
âFor now,â Charlie muttered, finally picking his head up and opening his eyes. âThey want to reevaluate in six months.â
âBut that's good, isn't it?â Harry asked.
Charlie nodded. âI suppose.â
You could feel the hurt and anger radiating off of him despite his efforts at composure. The resolution clearly wasn't good enough for him, and you understood why.
You resisted the urge to sit by him, to fuss over him like his family was doing. It seemed to only drive him deeper into himself. He didn't need to hear that it was a good thing, a victory, because it wasn't. It shouldn't be a debate in the first place.
Christmas Eve dinner passed with the expected chaos, and Charlie seemed to cheer a bit after a good meal, a few laughs, and another whiskey. But you could still detect a heaviness around his shoulders. You felt it as keenly as if it was your own burden.
After dinner, everyone moved back into the living room, but you followed Charlie into the now abandoned kitchen, the wreckage of the meal evident on every surface.
You leaned against the entry way, watching as he fiddled with random things, looking for a way to distract himself. âHey,â you murmured, drawing his attention from the mugs he was straightening.
He gave you a tired smile. âHi, love. How was your day?â He asked, moving towards you. He'd ditched his blazer and dress shirt before dinner, leaving him in his dark trousers and a white t-shirt, his muscles straining against the fabric.
âIt was good. Made some cookies, strung some lights. We missed you, though.â
He braced a hand on the wall beside your head, leaning closer. âWe?â He asked, raising a brow.
Merlin, his bicep was the size of your head.
You shrugged, swallowing the lump in your throat. âMe, mostly.â
The corner of his mouth lifted, freckles crinkling around his eyes. âI missed you too. Would have much rather been here to help out. I make a mean gingerbread.â
âI bet you do," you replied sincerely, watching the way his shoulders start to ease down. âIâm sorry about the Horntail,â you said, a little quieter. âBut I'm glad you bought it a little more time.â
Charlie sighed, picking at a flake of paint on the wall. âI am too. Just wish I didn't have to do it at all. He doesn't deserve to be executed just for feeding himself.â
âI know. But I'm glad he has you to speak for him.â
Charlie searched your face, his eyes melting with blatant affection. Your heart tripped over itself, drumming hard under your skin.
He glanced up and you followed his gaze, finding a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above your heads. You hadn't noticed it before, but you supposed that was the beauty of mistletoe: it was always where you least expected it.
His eyes flicked back down to you, molten chocolate, and your thoughts turned to static. He reached up to cup your face, far more timid than you've come to expect from him, and tilted your head up towards his.
âCan't believe I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet,â he said, his other hand sliding around your waist to draw you closer. âA Christmas wish come true.â
You smiled, feeling like marshmallow over an open flame. âA Christmas wish?â You prodded, batting your lashes at him as heat spilled through you.
âToo cheesy?â He asked, bumping his nose against yours, your faces so close you could almost feel his smirk.
âThe perfect amount,â you murmured, your lips grazing his.
Charlie closed the final millimeter, pressing your bodies together in a slow, sipping kiss. Every neuron in your body lit up, reaching towards him as you curled your fingers into his shirt, deepening the kiss. His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth and you parted for him, letting him delve further and taste you.
He loosed a low groan, his grip tightening as he backed you against the wall. He licked into your mouth, stoking the fire simmering under your skin.
âHey, y/nâmerlin, in the middle of the kitchen? Really?â
You and Charlie sprang apart, finding Fred with a hand clapped over his eyes, a cheeky grin on his face.
âSo sorry for interrupting. Though, lucky it was me and not mum,â he teased, dropping his hand. But his smile quickly fell too when Charlie advanced on him, swinging an arm out in an attempt to grab him. Fred ducked to the left and bolted back into the living room, leaving Charlie laughing and shaking his head.
âWell, that's fantastic,â you huffed, pressing a hand to your sternum to quell your pounding heart.
âI can't say they'll be all that surprised.â Charlie cupped your face again, drawing you up for a quick peck. âI haven't shut up about you since we met.â
You're soul lifted out of your body. âYouâr-really?â
He smiled, pulling you in for a hug, his big arms wrapped around your head and shoulders. âReally, love. You've got me wrapped around your little finger,â he said, his voice muffled by your hair.
âI thought I was going mad, IâŠI couldn't stop thinking about you,â you admitted, exhaling in relief. You hugged him around the waist, sliding your hands under his shirt just to feel his skin against yours.
You felt him stiffen at your admission, before the tension dissolved from his muscles completely. âMaybe we're both a little mad, then,â he chuckled.
âWe should get back to the party before they start to miss us,â you said after a few moments of quiet, though all you wanted to do was drag him up to his room and show him just how mad you were for him. But you were a guest, and you needed a moment to get your thoughts in order.
It seemed Charlie had made up his mind about what he wanted, but you hadn't even begun to let yourself consider something real with Charlie Weasley. It seemed like too lofty a hope, an impossibility.
Your heart screamed âyesâ but your mind demanded a rationalization, a plan. Whatever you felt for him was intense, but you would hate to rush into something and ruin what you knew could be amazing.
Well, rush into something any more than your already had.
You realized he was studying you like your thoughts were written across your skin. âBaby, look at me,â he said, turning your face back up to his. âI know we started off on anâŠunorthodox foot. But that wasn't just a hook up and you and I both know it.â He leaned his forehead against yours. âThereâs something more between us.â
âI feel it too,â you admitted. âBut I've neverâŠâ you trailed off, unable to articulate the tumbling thoughts in your mind.
âMe neither, to be honest. I feel like I've been struck by lightning,â he said, breathless, a slight nervous tremble in his voice.
You nodded, reassured that he was feeling the same, vaguely crazed way you were.
âTrust yourself, y/n,â he said, releasing you from the hug and offering you his hand. âOverthinking is the thief of joy.â
âGet out of my brain,â you huffed in mock annoyance, smiling as you twined your fingers with his.
The rest of the evening passed in a rose colored blur, with cookies and games and storytelling. Charlie never strayed far from your side, though you kept any physical affection to a minimum. But based on the knowing looks from Arthur and Molly, and the teasing smirks and jabs from his siblings, they were definitely on to you two.
After the clock struck midnight, Molly demanded everyone go off to bed so Father Christmas would have no interruptions. You were all plenty old enough to know there was no such thing, but it still made you feel a giddy thrill of excitement. That glimmer of Christmas magic you never grow out of.
Charlie offered you his hand at the base of the stairs, a mischievous sort of smile on his face, and you accepted with a raised eyebrow. He led you up the stairs and opened the door to his room with a flourish.
You nearly toppled over when you walked in. It was completely transformed from this morning. Gone were the normal decorations and his dark duvet, replaced instead with a winter forest wonderland.
His bedspread was a deep forest green, with white throw pillows and silver trim, and a stuffed reindeer waited patiently for you on the pillow, floppy and velveteen. In the corner stood a flocked tree, decorated with pine cones and strung cranberries, and little animal ornaments carved from wood. The fire roared merrily in the fireplace, the mantle above it strewn with wild garland and rosemary. Two stockings hung above the flame, each of your names embroidered on them in silver and gold.
You whirled around to look at Charlie, who was smiling down at you, a slight flush to his freckled cheeks.
âWhen the hell did you have time to do this?â You asked, breathless and overwhelmed. No one has ever done something so special for you before.
âWhile you were wrapped up in Wizards Chess with Ron.â He snaked his arms around you, dropping a kiss to your furrowed brow.
âCharlie, this isââ emotion clogged your throat. âT-this is the m-most amazing thingââ
âOh, baby,â he cooed, shushing you with a peck to your lips. âSpoiling you on Christmas feels like the least I can do to show you how much you mean to me. How badly I want this.â
âThis?â You ask, sliding your hands up his broad chest. You expected to feel butterflies, but instead a warm blanket of peace settled over you, an understanding that this is exactly how it was meant to go. That here, with him, in the earliest hours of Christmas morning, was exactly where you belonged.
âUs,â he murmured, glancing at the stockings over the mantle, then back down to you, his dark eyes practically glowing with affection. âIf that's what you want too.â
âEven with me here in London?â You asked, fiddling with his collar to hide the shaking in your fingers.
âWe'll figure it out. You can come visit me as often as you like. And I can come back here a few times a month.â He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek, moving down your neck like he just couldn't hold himself back anymore. âI have a cabin.â Kiss. âIn the forest.â Kiss. âWith a big fireplace.â Kiss. âAnd a soaking tub.â Kiss. âAnd I can cook.â Kiss. âAnd have a giant bedââ
âCharlie!â You giggled, tugging on his hair so he lifted his head and you could kiss him properly, melting under the eagerness of his mouth, the joy in his kiss.
He scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He crossed the room without breaking the kiss, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with you straddling him. The heat of your bodies pressed together was enough to have your pussy tingling, your breath labored.
âI wanna go where you go,â you breathed, breaking the kiss to appease your burning lungs. âI want to be with you.â
He responded with another fervid kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, and you let yourself get swept away in the riptide that was Charlie Weasley. Wild, impulsive, but so sincere, so lion-hearted and good. You weren't sure you'd ever get enough of him.
He seemed just as desperate for you, tugging his shirt over his head and letting your hands finally wander the full expanse of his body without barriers. You pushed him back onto the bed so you could really take him in, his big hands resting heavily on your thighs. He was broad and sturdy, his chest and arms corded with hard earned muscle, the tanned skin littered with freckles and silvery scars.
You nearly started drooling.
In a fluid motion, you tugged your sweater dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your Christmas underwear set and black stockings. The set was black mesh, decorated with mistletoe and holly berries. You had bought in Hogsmeade on the off chance Charlie made an appearance, and it was worth the steep price to see his soul ascend as he took you in.
âMerlinâs fuckingââ he didn't even finish the sentence, instead pulling you down onto his chest for another scalding kiss, his calloused hands wandering up your thighs and over your hips, smoothing over the curve of your rib cage and around the plane of your back. His tongue slid into your mouth, twining with yours. You could taste the whiskey he'd been drinking, tinged with cigar smoke and gingerbread, and you moaned at the decadence of him.
One of his hands slid around to cup the nape of your neck, the other bracketing across your lower back to press your hips flush to his. You ground down onto him, unable to ignore the thrumming between your legs any longer. You both groaned at the new friction, his hips lifting to press more firmly against you.
âJust so you know,â he gruffed as you kissed down his neck, licking a long stripe over his Adamâs apple, feeling his stubble under your tongue. âI put a silencing charm on the room.â
âVery presumptuous of you,â you teased, sucking at his pulse just hard enough to leave a faint bruise, but nothing too obvious.
His hips rolled against yours, coaxing a breathy moan from your lips. âPart of my training includes being prepared for any situation,â he countered, his voice strained with desire as you rocked against him.
âUh-huh. And what else were you trained to do?â You asked, freezing in place to watch him squirm.
A wicked smirk crossed his face and suddenly you were moving, flipped beneath his body faster than you could blink. âHow to tame brats,â he growled against your ear, and a shiver rolled down your spine.
He shifted down your body, kissing and licking along the swell of your breasts before unlatching your bra and tossing in across the room. He took both your tits in his hands, nuzzling the soft flesh before laving his tongue across both nipples, making you lift off the bed with a gasp of pleasure.
âIt's not fair that you get to walk around with these all the time. Too fucking perfect,â he said, his voice muffled by your skin.
You almost said that they were his. That the only thing that wasn't fair was how quickly he'd stolen your heart. But you bit your tongue, moaning under his ministrations instead.
He sucked a pearled nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it before grazing his teeth against it, his fingers pinching and rolling the other until your eyes crossed, desire pooling between your legs.
âCan take my time with you now,â he hummed, pulling back to pepper kisses across your chest. âTake care of my girl properly.â
My girl. Your head spun, your heart swelling with elation. You never thought this would happen for you, the perpetually single girl who never found someone you genuinely connected with. But Charlie was like a comet tearing through your life, turning every one of your assumptions about love upside down.
He drew you back from your thoughts with a bite under your left breast. âCome back to me, baby. No more overthinking.â
âItâs good thoughts this time,â you said, running your fingers through his ginger hair and scratching along his scalp as he soothed the mark with his tongue.
He looked up at you, a pleased smirk on his face. âThinking about that soaking tub, huh?â
You pulled his hair, giggling at his antics while he moved further down your body. âAmong other thingsâshit, Charlie,â you whined when his tongue dragged over the soaked gusset of your panties, scalding hot and firm.
He pulled them to the side, gliding his tongue through your slick folds and wrapping his lips around your clit, lashing it with the tip of his tongue. Pleasure coursed through you, your eyes rolling back in your skull as you cried out.
He hummed against you, moving back down to lap at your entrance with long, messy strokes. He was practically grinding his face against you, savoring you like you were the finest meal he'd ever had. He was so enraptured in pleasuring you that he was moaning right along with you, making your clit vibrate and walls flutter.
âSaints, I missed you,â he said, giving your clit and open mouthed kiss before sucking the sensitive bud between his teeth.
You couldn't even begin to formulate words, completely lost in his feasting, your body fizzing with delight and pleasure. It felt like you were high, your muscles languid, bones rubbery.
âNot thinking anymore, are we?â He teased, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thigh.
You whimpered and shook your head, raising your hips to chase after his mouth.
âGood girl.â he purred, rewarding you by latching back onto your clit, his middle finger easing inside your greedy channel.
You cried out, clenching around his finger as he pushed you closer to the edge, your listless haze making way for bright, desperate pleasure. You bucked your hips against his mouth, his tongue flattening against your clit as his inserted a second finger, stretching you. The sounds were damn near sinful, lewd and sloppy as he worked your pussy into submission, molding you like a sculptor with wet clay.
âFuck, Charlie. Mâgonna come,â you whined, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in that perfect spot.
He curled his fingers inside of you and your vision whited out, your orgasm ripping through you, body and soul. You screamed, spine arching off the bed as wave after wave of burning ecstasy rolled through you, his tongue and fingers not letting up for a second as you convulsed.
âThat's it, honey. Just like that, let it all go,â he cooed, kitten-licking your clit as you started to come down, his fingers continuing to gently massage your spasming walls. âTry to relax, love. I know it's a lot, but just relax fâme. You're doing so well.â
You sank back into the mattress, breathing labored as he soothed your quivering pussy with gentle touches. âCharlie,â you moaned, your body finally settling and cycling from overstimulation to rebuilding pleasure. âFeels sâgood.â
He nuzzled your clit, kissing over your slit, the top of your mound, your inner thighs. âI live to serve,â he said, withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean. âAnd if I have to live my life in service to this perfect little cunt, so be it.â As if to punctuate his point, he laved his tongue through you again and you keened, nearly jumping away at the intensity.
You shook you head, tugging him up by the hair. âNeed you to fuck me, Charlie. Please?â
He grinned, kissing his way back up your body until he caught your lips once more, the taste of you mixing with him in a way that pleased some possessive part of your brain. You deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth for more.
He pressed his body against yours, the weight of him warm and comforting as you savored one another. You trailed your hands over his back, feeling some of the ridges and scars stretched across the ropes of muscle. He guided one of your legs up over his hip, angling your bodies together like a puzzle piece.
You basked in the simmering kiss for a moment longer before need began to claw at your insides, your hips pressing up against his once more.
âCharlie, please,â you sighed into his mouth, dragging your nails down his back. âDon't make me beg.â
âBut you sound so sweet, all breathy and desperate,â he cooed, pecking your lips a final time before moving off the bed. He slid your panties down your legs, tossing them aside with your other clothes, then removed his trousers and boxers, that gorgeous, rosy cock slapping up against his stomach.
He climbed back onto the bed and spread your thighs, kneading the flesh at your hip while he ran the rigid head of his cock through your drooling pussy.
âMy sweet girl wants to get fucked, hm?â he said, his voice rough as he used his cock to massage your puffy clit. âLet me hear you ask one more time, honey. Sounds so pretty.â
âPlease fuck me, baby. Please,â you whimpered, fisting the sheets on either side of you.
He notched his cock at your entrance, hissing through his teeth as your pussy opened effortlessly for him. âThat's it, lovey. Fuck, your little pussy is so tight fâme,â he groaned as your walls clenched around him, coaxing him deeper. You could tell he was fighting the urge to bottom out in one thrust, the muscles in his arms and shoulders taught and trembling, chest heaving and jaw a little slack.
You reached for him, the feeling so intense you needed an anchor. He leaned forward, knowing what you craved, and let you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck.
He rubbed soothing circles on your thigh, his other hand sliding around your back to hold you against him. âToo much, baby?â He asked, pausing his slow penetration.
âToo good,â you whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders.
He nodded, loosing a breath as you clenched around him. âFeel like your squeezing my heart,â he groaned, and you could feel it racing just beneath his skin, frantic as yours.
âKeep going, Charlie. Please,â you begged, tilting your pelvis so he sank a little deeper.
He eased you back onto the bed, still holding you close. âGood girl, takinâ me so well. Just relax, honey. Just feel me,â he soothed as he pushed the rest of the way in, his cockhead nudging your cervix and stretching your walls just enough. Not sensing any discomfort from you, he started rolling his hips back and forth in fluid strokes, kissing your skin wherever he could reach.
Pleasure spread through your body like ink through water, coloring every sensation, every thought. You loosened your grip on him, opening yourself up to his unhurried affection as he fucked you slowly, letting you adjust to the onslaught of sensation.
âYou're so pretty like this, so fucking perfect.â He mouthed at your throat, your head tilting back with a cry as he increased his pace, ecstasy dancing along your skin. âAll mine to love on, yeah? You all mine, baby?â
You bobbed your head, already cockdrunk and blissed out, your body submitting completely to him. âYes, fuck, yes. All yours,â you whimpered, that knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten.
âFuck yes, my good girl.â He leaned down and caught your lips in a searing kiss, a growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked you harder, driving his cock in and out of your sopping cunt with powerful strokes. âAnd I'm yours, baby. All fucking yours.â He murmured against your mouth and you grinned, feeling your heart give a discordant thump of elation.
He leaned back to fuck you deeper, one hand tangling with both of yours and pining your arms over your head, the other sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit. You stretched out for him, arching your breasts up to his hungry gaze as he railed you, merciless and claiming.
âSaints, you look so fucking sexy. Gonna come for me, love? Mark this cock as yours?â
You let out a scream as a second orgasm was wrenched from your body, the tension unraveling all at once in a torrent of bliss. You clamped hard around him, feeling his cock swell, then buck as his own release crashed over him, your name coming out like roar.
You clung to one another, his hips still rolling into yours as your walls milked him dry, wringing every drop of pleasure from one another until you crashed back to earth as one.
After catching your breath for a moment, he lifted off of you, hands skimming over your face, your body. âMerlin, Iâm sorry, baby. I really didn't mean to be that rough, are you okay? Did I hurtââ
You silenced him with a kiss, pulling his body back down onto yours. âWas perfect,â you mumbled against his lips and he smiled.
âYou were perfect,â he corrected, pecking kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. âCanât get enough of you.â
You giggled, squirming as his hands tickled along your sensitive skin.
âCan I take you for a real date tomorrow? I don't know if anything will be open, but I refuse to go another day withoutââ
âCharlie,â you shushed, cupping his bearded cheek. âYou can take me to the kitchen and call it a first date. I don't care about some made-up fucking rules. I just want to be with you.â
He grinned, giving you a quick, toothy kiss. âThen how about I clean you up, make some mulled wine with this expensive shit I brought back from Romania, and we cuddle by the fire? Call that our first date, and next year we can celebrate our one year anniversary on Christmas.â
You pushed against his chest, laughing at his dramatics, but secretly hoping that would be the case. âIt better be a hell of mulled wine then,â you teased.
âOh, it will be. Romanians don't fuck around when it comes to their booze. Now, open those gorgeous legs for me.â
âCharles Septimus Weasley! Get up!â Ginny shouted through the door, banging her fist on the wood. âYou cannot sleep in on Christmas!â
âSeptimus?â You groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
Charlie had his head buried in your neck, heavy limbs thrown over your body. He was warm as a furnace, and the still crackling fire didn't help matters.
âSod off!â he barked back, nuzzling closer and tightening his hold around you. You glanced at the clock, and after your prolonged first date, you'd only gotten a few scant hours of sleep.
âFine! Then I'll throw whatever's in this fancy little box in the fire!â
Charlie was up in a flash, tugging on pants and wrenching open the door, but Ginny was already gone.
He sighed, grabbed something from the hall, then swung the door shut. He looked ready to dive back into bed, but you were already up, pulling on a pair of his boxers.
He froze in place, a feral sort of glint in his eye, forgetting entirely about the package in his hands. When you went to grab it, he lifted it high above his head, well out of your reach.
âCharlie!â You pouted, trying in vain to pull his arm down. He still hadn't taken his eyes off of your body. âYou really want me to make a bad impression on your parents for our first Christmas?â You snapped, fighting the smile rising on your face.
âJust do a little spin for me,â he said, twirling a finger around.
âCharlie!â
âFine, fine. Here,â he chuckled, handing you a pair of pajamas with your name embroidered on them. They were red and green, with white stripes and gold thread, the material thick and warm.
You loved them already.
The two of you quickly got dressed and hurried downstairs, finding everyone else already piled into the living room, also dressed in matching pj's.
âAh, the lovebirds finally make their appearance!â Bill teased from the big arm chair, Fleur cuddled into his side.
Charlie flipped him off, ignoring the squawk of disapproval form his mother.
âCome, come!â Molly grabbed you and plunked you down on the last free space on the couch, and George passed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
George leaned in and muttered, âIt's no mulled wine, butââ
Charlie whacked the back of his head. âQuiet, you,â he warned.
âCharles, if I have to speak to you again!â Molly shouted.
âAlright, alright! Let's get this show on the road,â Arthur said, shooing his son away so they could distribute the clumsily wrapped boxes under the tree.
Charlie plopped onto the floor between your knees, his hands coming up to absently massage your right foot. Your whole body tingled at the contact, your heart still tight with joy.
Could this really be your life?
Arthur passed out gifts, and you ended up with a pile of three at your feet. A flat, rectangular box, a heavy, square box, and one small enough to fit in your hand, wrapped in green and gold ribbon.
They went around one by one, opening gifts. Charlie received a new pair of steel-toed boots, enchanted to prevent the Romanian cold from creeping in, and an expensive looking bottle of gin, courtesy of his big brother.
After him, it was finally your turn. Your heart thudded from the attention, and you started unwrapping the larger present with trembling fingers. You tore off the paper and opened the white box underneath it, finding a knitted sweater with your initial on the front. Your throat pinched shut, tears burning behind your eyes as you traced your fingers over it.
âYou're part of the family now, love,â Molly said, smiling warmly at you as you wiped away a tear with the back of your hand.
âThank you,â you sniffled, laughing at yourself, and Charlie gave your ankle a reassuring squeeze, pressing a kiss to your knee.
The next present was from Fred and George, a stack of books you'd been eyeballing the last time the three of you went to Flourish and Blotts, and you pulled them in for a group hug.
Finally, it came down to the last present. The tension pulled taut as a bowstring when Charlie turned towards you, propped up on one knee, presenting the small box.
âI know how this looks,â he murmured, glancing down at himself. âBut I promise I'm not that insane.â
You giggled nervously, taking the present from his hand and trying to ignore that his entire family was watching you. You tried to focus on Charlie, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the lock of copper hair hanging over his brow, and blocked the others out.
Carefully, you undid the ribbon and tore off the paper, revealing a black, dragon-leather box. Charlie gave you an encouraging nod, noticing the way you hesitated, and you cracked open the lid.
Inside was a golden necklace with a Welsh Green dragon scale pendant sitting on a velvet cushion. It was the most stunning shade of emerald you'd ever seen, reflecting beautifully in the candlelight, shifting blue, then pearlescent, and back to green. It was breathtaking, and you fought back the tears gathering on your lower lashes so you could continue to gaze at it.
âCharlie, this isââ emotion stole your words, and all you could do was throw your arms around him and bury your face into his shoulder.
âI hope you love it, darling. Had it made just for you,â he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. âHere, let me put it on you.â
You nodded, sitting up and trying to wipe your tears before his family could see what a mess you were, but when you looked around, you saw half of them crying too.
Molly blew you a kiss, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, and you nearly lost it again.
Charlie gently took the box from your hands and walked around behind the couch. His cool fingers grazed the sides of your throat and the weight of the pendant settled against your clavicle. A moment later, your heard the clasp click, and felt the warm brush of his lips on the back on your neck.
You fondled the pendant with your fingers, the metal already warming against your heated skin, the scale heavy and smooth. Charlie came back around to the front, eyes lighting up at the sight of your smile.
âMerry Christmas, my love,â he hummed, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
You grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. âMerry Christmas, Charlie.â
Thank you so much for reading!! (and if you have anything you'd like to read for Charlie, my asks are open!)
© aureateink 2026. do not copy, post, or claim my writing as your own.
Best Friends Brother âč . + °
feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader
summary: You are Fred & Georgeâs best friend, and meet their mysterious older brother, Charlie, at a product launch at Weasleyâs Wizard Wheezes.
cw: MDNI 18+ smut with basically zero plot. charlie has an absolutely filthy mouth. no war (or light war? idk, everyone is alive)
an: this was supposed to be a casual hook up when I initially planned it, but the dick was so good they fell in love ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
part two | masterlist
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Weasleyâs Wizard Wheezes had a line around the building, hopeful witches and wizards desperate to get a glimpse of the Weasley twinâs newest product. You strolled past them in your mini dress and tights, more than a little chuffed by their jealous glares.
The doors were locked, blocked off with enchanted rope, but when Fred spotted you through the window, he ran to unlock the doors.
âY/n! Iâm so glad you could make it. Georgie, looks whoâs here!â Fred slung an arm over your shoulders and ushered you into the store. It was the cleanest youâd ever seen it, with streamers and lights strung everywhere, and a long table loaded with food and drink.
âY/n!â George shouted, popping up from behind the register. Both of them were dressed in freshly pressed brown suits, looking exceptionally dapper. He came aroud the counter and pulled you into a hug. âThanks for coming out.â
âWouldnât miss it,â you grinned up at them, pride filling your chest. Youâd been close with the twins for years, a friendship that started in school and only grew in adulthood, since you worked a few doors down at Honeydukes.
âCome, you have to meet our family!â They ushered you upstairs, where a dozen or so people waited, several faces were familiar, some were not.
âYou remember Harry, Ron, and Ginny,â George said, and you greeted them all with a wave.
âAnd our parents, Molly and Arthur,â Fred continued.
âOh, y/n! How lovely to see you!â Molly cooed, pulling you into a rib-cracking hug. âMy, what a beautiful young lady youâve grown into.â She pinched you cheek, and heat scorched your face.
âAnd this is our older brotherâs Percy, Charlie, and Bill. And Billâs wife, Fleur.â
You turned to the trio of men hovering by the bookcases, and nearly tripped over your heels. Percy, you remembered from school, Fleur as well, and Bill was too busy gazing down at her blonde head to glance your way. But Charlie. He stared straight through you, his dark eyes swallowing you whole.
âPleasure,â Charlie said, his voice honeyed and deep. He was shorter that Percy beside him, but muscular enough that the maroon blazer he wore seemed a little stretched at the shoulders. His white button down shirt beneath it was tailored perfectly to fit across his wide chest and taper at his defined waist. Freckles kissed his cheeks and forehead, his skin a shade tanner than his siblings, though he shared their ginger hair, mid-length and wavy.
âHello,â you managed, giving him a small smile. But before you could engage further, George whisked you away.
âItâs tiiiime!â Fred shouted, waving his wand, and the doors burst open.
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As the event raged on, you found yourself drawn to Charlieâs orbit, watching as he mingled with guests and chatted with his family. He seemed to draw a lot of attention, what with his rugged good looks and the fact that he was a dragon trainer. It seemed everyone wanted a sliver of Charlie Weasleyâs attention.
So you admired him from a far, and tried to help Fred and George as best you could.
You chatted with customers, explaining the new product the best you could, but you kept feeling the tug of someoneâs attention at the nape of your neck, distracting you. When the customer finally moved on, you glanced towards the direction of the feeling, and caught Charlie watching you over the rim of his fire whiskey, ignoring the gentleman attempting to talk to him entirely.
The air froze in your lungs, you heart tripping over itself. His gaze was scorching, and if looks could burnâŠyou were certain your clothes would be rendered to ash.
Desire pooled in your lower belly, heating your blood to an uncomfortable degree. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears, you missed George approach.
âHey, y/n, enjoying yourself?â He asked, offering you a glass of champagne with a candy snitch floating in it.
You accepted with a smile. âI am, thank you. You guys have done an incredible job.â
George beamed, clinking your glasses together before loping off to sell to another customer.
âSo, how long have you known my brothers?â A low voice murmured in your ear, and you whirled around, nearly spilling champagne all over Charlieâs front. He caught your elbow with a steady hand, his grip firm but gentle. âEasy, love,â he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
âOh, uh, f-five years? I think,â you stuttered, looking anywhere but his smoldering eyes.
âThen how have we never met? Iâd certainly remember you.â
You shrugged a shoulder, taking what you hoped was a casual sip of wine. âSeems you havenât been paying much attention,â you teased, finally meeting his eyes.
His smirk grew into a soft smile. âWhat a grave error on my part.â
âAre you in town for the event, orâŠ?â You could feel heat climbing up your neck, but you willed yourself to keep a level head. You knew how to flirt, had done so with plenty of blokes in your time, but none as handsome and disarming as Charlie.
âI thought so, but evidently the Gods had other ideas.â
You knees nearly buckled. âLike?â You coyly tilted your head, allowing your eyes to trail across his broad shoulders, down his chest. Was this guy seriously flirting with you? You knew you werenât unattractive, but Charlie wasâŠphew.
âLikeâŠâ He flushed a little, betraying his suave demeanor, and your heart slipped a little further into his hands. âMeeting the most beautiful woman Iâve ever seen.â
âEver?â You teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth.
âIn this life and probably the next.â He took a sip of his whiskey, letting his eyes wander over you the same way yours did him. And based on the way they darkened, his pupils widening just a fraction, he liked what he saw as much as you did.
âDoes that line always work for you?â
âWell, considering Iâve never tried it, why donât you tell me?â
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Charlie slammed the door shut behind you before crowding you against it, his lips colliding with yours. He tasted like whiskey and pumpkin, with a tinge of cigarette smoke that went straight to your head, and you eagerly tangled your tongue with his, pushing his blazer off his shoulders.
âColloportus,â he murmured against your mouth, and you heard the lock schick into place. He shrugged his blazer off, tossing it somewhere in the dark storage closet, and his hands were on you again, one sliding into your hair, the other on your lower back, drawing you closer.
âCharlie?â You gasped as his lips traveled down your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his short beard a rough contrast to the suppleness of his kiss.
âYeah, honey?â he panted, lifting his head to meet your eyes.
âI donât usuallyâŠâ you trailed off, nerves suddenly closing your throat.
His hand slid from your hair to cup your cheek, his callouses rough against your heated skin. âMe neither,â he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. âWe can do whatever you want, love. Iâll take you to the nicest restaurant in London, or on Dragon-back to the Swiss Alps, or on a cruise ship to the Americasââ
You cut him off with a kiss, throwing your arms around his neck. âAnd if I want you to fuck me?â you said between pecks, tugging at the roots of his hair.
He smiled and scooped you up by the meat of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist so your skirt pushed up over your hips. âThen Iâll fuck you as often as yaâ like.â He turned and dropped you onto some kind of work bench, sending the papers and junk flying with a sweep of his arm.
âThe twinâs are going to be pissed,â you giggled, leaning back onto the wood so he could continue his previous assault on your neck.
âFuck âem,â he muttered, nipping at your collarbones. His hands gripped your thighs with dizzying strength, the same hands that handled massive, fire-breathing beasts, and spread you open for his hungry gaze. âSeven fucking hells,â he breathed, running his hands down your inner thighs. âYouâre perfect.â
In a swift motion, he ripped your tights at the seam, the sound sending a pulse of arousal to your already dripping pussy, a sharp gasp forcing itâs way from your throat. His fingers glided over your wet panties, so delicate compared to the force heâd used heartbeat before.
Your hips lifted slightly, chasing his gentle touch. You couldnât remember the last time youâd been this desperate for someone to touch you, your entire body tuned to his every breath, every twitch of his muscles. He looked so fucking good leaning over you, his previously tidy shirt rumpled, his hair in copper waves around his face, his lips a little red from your fevered kisses.
With his ring finger, her drew your panties to the side, his middle fingers gliding through your slit and circling your clit twice. âAlready so wet for me, honey. What did I do to deserve such a warm welcome?â he purred, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.
Your brain couldnât formulate a response, his touch mind-numbing. Pleasure radiated form his fingers, syrupy and languid, with none of the frenetic energy from before. A moan slipped past your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as he coaxed your pussy to bloom for him.
âAnd such pretty sounds.â He rolled up his shirt sleeve with his free hand, exposing the muscles and veins along his thick forearm. Slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside of you, large enough to stretch you slightly.
âFuck, Charlie,â you whined, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could watch him play with you.
âI suppose I shouldnât stretch this out too long, someone might come looking for us,â he mused. âBut I could spend a fucking eternity spoiling this greedy little pussy.â He slipped another finger into you channel, pumping them a few times just to feel your cunt suck him back in. âWould you like that, love?â He tilted your chin up with his free hand, an unspoken request for an answer.
âY-yes, Charlie. Please,â you panted, stretching up to steal a quick peck. He deepened the kiss, shifting his weight to press you back down onto the desk as his tongue flirted with yours. His hand picked up the pace, fucking you steadily as he devoured your mouth, teeth skating along your swollen flesh before sucking lightly on your tongue.
You donât know what God blessed him with such a skilled tongue, but you needed to make an offering in thanks stat.
But since you couldnât do thatâŠ
âCharlie?â You asked, reaching around to touch his wrist between your legs.
He immediately stopped, withdrawing his hand completely. âWhatâs wrong?â He searched your face for signs of discomfort, his brows drawn together.
You pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek before sliding off the desk. He watched you, confused and concerned, then you lowered yourself to your knees and his jaw went slack.
âHoney, you donât have toââ
âPlease, Charlie?â You batted your lashes up at him, tugging lightly on his belt.
âMerlinâs fuckingâI canât say no to you when you look at me like that, sweetheart.â
âThen donât,â you teased, undoing his belt and zipper. You could see the outline of his cock against his black boxers, thick and throbbing as you glided your fingers over it.
He sucked in a breath, gripping the edge of the table with one of his hands. Encouraged, you dragged the flat of your tongue over the fabric, feeling the heat of him, the wetness collecting by the swollen head.
âI must have died in the dragon pit and gone to heaven. My god, woman,â he rasped, running his fingers through his hair to keep it from blocking the sight.
You giggled, licking a few more stripes before reaching up to free him. His cock sprung out, veiny and flushed pink. And, to your absolute shock and delight, even his cock was freckled.
âYou have the prettiest cock Iâve ever seen,â you praised, and his cheeks flushed pink. You laved your tongue along the thickest vein, earning a throaty groan. You sucked the head into your mouth, lapping up the precum pearling from his slit.
Charlieâs head fell back, one of his hands sliding into your hair. He didnât add any pressure, just held you as you started to suck him, moving a little further down each time. You wrapped your hand around the base, there was no way youâd fit the entire thing in your mouth, and started pumping him, matching the motions with your mouth. His skin was like velvet, soft and smooth, and you loved feeling him pulse against your tongue with every dip of your head.
âYou are too damn good at that. So fucking pretty swallowing my cock.â His thumb stroked your cheek while he gazed down at you, stars in his eyes. âYou like sucking me off, honey?â
You nodded as best you could, flicking your tongue at the groove just beneath the head. His hips lurched forward, a grunt escaping through his teeth.
âFuck, sorry, love. Iâm trying to stay still for yaâ, but feels so fucking good.â
You reached up and guided his hand into your hair, then used it to push your head down, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.
He smirked, his hand fisting in your hair. âWhatever you say, gorgeous.â He started moving your head along his shaft, rocking his hips in time with the movements. He went easy at first, but as drool began to track down your chin, your eyes rolling back in bliss, he picked up the pace. But he only fucked your mouth for a few, punishing strokes before lifting you off of him. He slammed his mouth to yours, a harsh, hungry kiss that had you seeing stars.
You whined in protest, but he shushed you by lifting you into the air and setting you on the table once more.
âIf you thought I wasnât going to fuck you, youâre mad,â he gruffed, dragging the hot head of his cock through your pussy lips. âThat is, if you still want me to?â
âYes, fuck, now, Charlie. Please.â You spread your legs a little wider for him,
âAnything for you, love.â He leaned down and kissed you again, sliding his cock into your depths at the same time. The feeling of being filled by him bordered on divine, silken and hot. He was stretching you just enough to leave you with that delicious ache between your legs. You moaned into each otherâs mouths, the sounds caught up by his tongue parting your lips and caressing yours.
He drew his hips back, agonizingly slow, letting you feel every inch of one another, before he slammed back in, knocking the air from your lungs. It seemed he was at the end of his control, his grip on your hips bruising as he fucked you hard, jostling the desk beneath you and making the shelves along the walls rock.
âFuck, Charlie. Feels so good,â you cried, trying and failing to keep yourself quiet as he railed you, every thrust like a lightning strike of pleasure through your body.
âYeah? You take my cock so well, baby. Wet little pussy squeezing the life outtaâ me,â he groaned, his hair tickling your face. âSo good fâme, honey. Like you were made for me.â
Your muscles tightened, veering closer and closer to your peak, his praise sending little pulses of bliss your clit.
âYou like being praised, baby? Hearing how perfect you are for me? Fuck, I can feel how much you like that, squeezing me so hard.â His hand slipped between you, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing tight circles over you puffy clit. âCome for me, y/n. I know you can. I want to feel you fall apart around me. Thatâs a good girlââ
Your cry drowned out his praise as your peak crashed over you, visceral and exquisite. The world vanished, blown apart by the burst of starlight in your chest as you came for him. Pulses of pleasure made your body shake and buck, your eyes squeezing shut as he fucked you through it.
âThatâs it, honey. Such a good fucking girl. Merlin, youâre gonna make me come.â He rested on his forearms, braced on either side of your head, hitting an entirely new angle as you came back into your body.
âCharlie,â you whimpered, clinging to him. âIâve got yaâ, love. Donât worry. Just a little longerâfuck.â A strangled groan broke from his throat and you felt his cock swell, then kick against your walls, the first hot stream of release painting your insides.
He rested his head on your shoulder as he muscles trembled, his hips pressed flush to yours. You wrapped you arms around his shoulders, still weak from that soul-shaking orgasm. His lips passed over your shoulder, your clavicle, up your neck, before finally ghosting of your lips, soft and breathless.
You remained like that for longer than you probably should have, enraptured with one another. You'd been complete strangers a few hours ago, but this wasn't a hook up akin to a one night stand. This was the reunification of two beings, the re-raveling of a soul tie.
âY/n,â he murmured, kissing your forehead, your temple. âY/n, y/n, y/nâŠâ He held you like he'd die if he let go.
âCharlie,â you exhaled, nuzzling behind his ear.
âCan I take you to Romania with me?â He whispered, a joke, you presumed, but there was no humor in his voice.
âI've never seen a dragon beforeââ
The door knob jiggled, and someone pressed against it, the wood groaning.
âShit.â Charlie jumped backwards, scrambling to right your dress and smooth your hair.
âHey, Freddie! This doors locked for some reason.â
âCharlie, your dick,â you snickered while he wiped away a smudge of your lipstick.
âFuck, right.â
âAlohamorââ
âCOLLOPORTUS,â Charlie barked out, snatching his wand from his boot.
âCharlie?â George called, knocking on the door.
Charlie tucked you behind him and undid the spell, peeking the door open. âIf you say another word, you're dragon food,â he growled, and you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.
âYou got a girl in there, mate?â George asked, and you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face.
âGeorge,â Charlie warned.
âFine, fine. You've got ten minutes before I actually need to get in there.â George knocked once more then strode away, his footsteps disappearing down the hall.
Charlie sagged against the door, exhaling. âI'm sorry, love,â he said, turning to you.
You pecked his cheek. âDon't be sorry, that was the best lay of my life.â You tried to reassure him, despite the curdling sadness in your chest.
A shy smile broke through his serious expression. âYeah?â
You nodded. âI can only imagine how good it would be when we had all the time in the world,â you murmured against his ear, a shiver rolling down his spine. It was better to leave it like this, flirty, casual, than with whateverâŠthat was.
âI mean, weâve got ten minutesâŠâ
You patted his chest and slipped out of the door, finding George waiting at the end of the hall, arms crossed.
His jaw dropped. âY/n!â
Charlie ran out behind you. âI swear to God, Georgeââ
âAre all Weasley's this dramatic?â You closed George's mouth with a finger under his chin.
âWhere didâwhen didâhow?â George stuttered, looking back and forth between the two of you.
Charlie smirked, shrugging back on his blazer. âI'll explain when you're older,â Charlie teased. âWould you like a drink, y/n?â
âI'd love one.â You threaded your arm through his, and together returned to the party.
+ ° . àčă»Â° âč . + ° . àčă»Â° âč . + ° . àčă»Â° âč . +
Thanks for reading!
© aureateink 2026. do not copy, post, or claim my writing as your own.
parker ellis who stands between your legs as you sit on the counter in the break room. her arms are wrapped snugly around you, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder to help ease some of the tension from your overwhelming shift.
"you're okay, baby. we're almost done."
as she rubs soothing circles into your lower back.
MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW
dating the 141 means break-ins hardly phase you.
i imagine the live camera feed goes off one night while youre lying in bed. new sheets still hugging you warm after the dryer. the boys are off doing their personal night routines, heavy guard dogs lay at your feet.
with the chime of your phone, a notification alerts you of outside movement. you consider it to be a waving branch or passing car, yet check it nonetheless. something about inner intuition.
youre glad you did.
watching silently as someones shadow skirts along the darker parts of around your house. passing the kitchen windows with a ducked head, then round the back.
"fuck," you bite your lip. sighing quietly as you toss your phone. "johnathan!" four heads from the bathroom peek around the doorframe slow, eyes open with the use of a full name. johnny fights a grin, ready to watch his captain get chewed out by their lady.
"..ye' love?"
"theres some weird guy wandering 'round the house outside," you inform dryly. plucking your phone back up and leaving it there. you reach for your wine glass on the bedside table, sipping as their hearts fall to their ass.
sure, anxiety stirs low in your gut. nipping at your reason and concious. but youre also keen of what your boys have lived through, the dirtest negotiations and most horrific actions.
alway do they come back home into your arms.
you could blame it on pure lack of sleep, but its nicer to pin it on the assumption youre probably the safest person in town. you were even willing to bet in the city.
so you continue with scrolling through ao3.
paying a half mind as military tense rounds over their bodies. simon whistles for the dogs and grabs his pistol. grunting and rolling his bare shoulders in atonished anger at somones sheer audacity. i mean for fuck sakes the mans tired. ïżŒ
johnnys sneaking grin falls, replaced by a flat face as hes quick to grab a flashlight and gun. moving out the door on simons heels. big dogs herding around them.
"stay 'ere yeah love? dont open the fuckin' door," johns voice is a low growl. grabbing a hunters knife ( anniversary gift from you, his names carved in the wood ) and moving to the window. room lights flipped off when johnny left. scanning the open grass with an annoyed brow twitch. "kyle, wi' me."
kyle nods, glancing back three times to make sure youre content. careful to lock the bedroom door and leave a weapon with you, which he drills in not to touch less you hear the burglar. with a final glance, hes gone with the rest of them.
your ears perk for movement outside. glass shatters and a door kicks open. youre pretty sure you hear the guy shriek â most definitely simons doing, weird fucker was waiting in the dark â a brisk struggle before the house falls silent, words they dont want you hearing are exchanged then hes thrown out onto the grass.
hes quick to jump up and scurry off, wet pants uncomfortable and now stinking.
you sigh with annoyance, replacing windows was the biggest bitch. but whatever, sukuna is realizing his love for Y/N.
me staying up late to read fanfictions when I know Iâm supposed to be asleep
Me after the slightest inconvenience in life:
SFW
Small lil blurb till tomorrow
Summary- Ogilvie being a dick
Parker Ellis X F!Reader
âWhat happened?â she asked softly, setting her phone down and moving closer to you on the couch.
You shrugged. âNothing.â
Parker gave you a look that clearly said try again.
After a moment, you sighed. âOgilvie made a comment earlier. About how I look. It was probably a joke, butâŠâ
âBut it hurt,â Parker finished for you.
You nodded.
Without hesitation, Parker reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers. âHey. Look at me.â
When you finally did, her expression was nothing but gentle.
âOne personâs opinion doesnât get to decide your worth.â She squeezed your hand. âYouâre beautiful. Not because I have to say that, but because itâs true. Youâre kind, funny, stubborn when you think youâre right, and you make every room brighter when you walk into it.â
A small smile tugged at your lips.
âThere it is,â Parker said, smiling back. âAnd for the record? Ogilvie can keep his comments to himself. Iâm much more interested in what you think about yourself.â
Then she leaned over and rested her forehead against yours.
âAnd until you remember how amazing you are, Iâll remind you as many times as it takes.â
husband!jack abbot x pregnant!reader â running into your ex at the grocery store snippet.
"Mommy! Daddy said to come save you."
Nia rushes in like a glittery, pink bullet and crashes right into your thigh. You let out a quiet 'oof' but no harm done as you chuckle and run a hand through her hair. "Is that so?" You muse as you carefully bend down to lift her into your arms.
Steve watches you with a look you refuse to acknowledge. Before he can say a word, Jack saunters in with his hands full of ice cream options. You slide back into your usual countenance, a habit formed after raising Nia and the chaos that comes with the ED. "Absolutely not, we can't take all of that!"
"Daddy saidâ"
You gently smooch your daughter's forehead to interrupt. "Nope. Only one flavor, Nini." Your little one takes on a frown that eerily looks like Jack's before your husband clears his throat and offers his hand to Steve. It feels like a cold hand is gripping your spine when the reality of the situation settles in for the second time.
"I'm Jack Abbot. You know my wife?"
The question is posed casually, his smile easygoing and lax but you hear the subtle weight in that last word. Jack isn't as a jealous man as Robby but there's a wild possessive streak that's been heightened ever since you took his last name.
"Jack, this is Steve. We went to high school together," you interrupt quickly. "Steve, this is my husband."
"And I'm Niniâ!" Nia's quick to jump in, never one to be left behind as she gives Steve a toothy grin. "Momma's been eating funny foods because ni-crawly is hungry."
Steve smiles and plays along although confusion taints his features. "Oh yeah? Who's ni-crawly�"
Jack steps in and the slight tension dissipates as he sets a hand on your growing belly before picking Nia up into his arms. "Nightcrawler. Little inside joke at the emergency department."
"Emergency departmentâ" Steve's eyes widen and you see the conclusion he comes to.
"No, it's not that," you chuckle. "Jack's an attending at PTMC, he calls his night shift the nightcrawlers."
"Cuz they're the wildest weirdos, hoo-ah!" Nia cuts in again, imitating her father with a proud smile. You and Jack laugh fondly.
No thoughts just soap with erectile dysfunction and reader who has a...unique fix for it...
Truly, it was for your own amusement when the problem first came up. Johnny bowed over you, half undressed and sweaty, desperately jerking his soft cock and muttering "fuckâ give me a minute, achâ I can, I just needâ"
"Oh my god, seriously, johnny?" You snort, a bit flustered at the whole situation and still in that teasing mindset from earlier. "Aren't you in your twenties? What the hell?"
The comment makes soap blush down to his chest, and he lets out an embarrassed whine, changing tempo desperately. "C'mon, don't say thatâ I canâ i can do itâ"
"Yeah? It sure looks like you can't." You raise a brow, slipping a hand down to rub yourself because fuck this is hot, "all that talk and you've got a useless dick? Huh, johnny?"
"No! No, c'monâ" soap jolts, the arm holding himself up giving way, face falling to hide in the crook of your neck while he keens high and humiliated.
All you hear are cute gasps until soap finally pulls away, whole face and shoulders a glowing pink, but grinning proudly. You glance down to see his cock, hard and full and just a bit red from his abuse.
Oh god he's big.
Soap laughs at your wide eyed expression, strong arms forcing your thighs apart and lining his tip up to your lubed hole.
"Uhmâ c'mon now, soap, be gentleâ" you stammer, reality settling in as he notches into you, oh fuck.
He just laughs, hooks your legs over his shoulders and revels in the keen you let out at the stress. "What was that? I thought you wanted a proper fuck?"
Oh you are so screwed.
Inspired by my papa @silverlullabies hehe
line-up [alpha!141 x omega!reader]
summary: pack 141 shows their interest in you.
pairing: alpha!141 x omega!reader
warnings: +18 (mdni), omegaverse, mild sexual themes, heavy misogyny, low self-esteem, forced exchange of personal items (underwear).
part 1: the gift exchange
youâve heard that theyâre picky.
somehow that doesnât surprise you. thereâs not many people who are allowed in their pack. even less people step on their territory and not without good reason.
it makes sense why theyâd choose this specific prison establishment.
itâs a whole process. every omegaâs package was sent to a pack for The Selection. from there, they would choose which omegas should be placed in a room to come and meet them for the first time. after that, only one (or a few) get to go home with them.
you sent in your package weeks ago. you were required to send a few things in that box. someone cut a few pieces of your hair to place in ziplock bags. scent packets too (these were very important); you had to rub square pieces of wet cotton on your scent glands and put those in ziplock bags too. a few items of clothing, both washed and unwashed, each also placed in itâs own ziplock bag so the smells donât mix. usually, itâs a shirt, a hoodie, something with your sweat. and finally, one vial of your blood for genetic testing and to see if thereâs any conditions they need to be aware of.
itâs all very clinical. hardly any feeling put into it. you just go through the motions of following instructions given to you like the good little omega you are.
however, this pack, 141, a week after you sent in your package, put in a request for one pair of your underwear.
then. you were... surprised, to say the least. when you sent your initial package in, you thought that wouldâve been the end of it. packs and lone alphas usually overlooked you and didnât pay you no mind. you assumed it would be the same again this time.
âno.â said Laswell.
you halted in your tracks when you attempted to get a pair of panties from your hamper. Kate Laswell is a cold individual. she stands tall with a stern face and speaks with a temperament that douses you in ice cold water.
her tone, though not unkind, makes you think she doesn't like you very much. more like sheâs running an errand thatâs wasting her time. sheâs not too low on patience, but itâs not enough for her to be overly nice to you.
Kate is no omega, that much youâre sure of but itâs hard to discern if sheâs beta or alpha. she gives no sign that she might be beta as she gives off no scent that speaks to her designation. and while she seems non-aggressive to the naked eye, you can tell that she could easily put down an arrogant alpha if she needs to.
icy blue eyes drop to just below your stomach. âthe one youâre wearing right now.â
what. the. fuck.
the mere notion of it is so crude. your cheeks burn hotly as you stare at her with wide eyes. she bears no emotion on her face. like what sheâd just asked you was completely normal. like it was just standard procedure.
it wasnât. this was new. unprecedented, even. for you, anyway.
âoâoh. umâŠâ you nervously glance at the two guards behind her. âisâ is that allowed?â
the one who came with her, Alex, a beta with nods. like Kate, pale, blond haired and blue eyed. except, unlike her, he has a friendly face.
âit is.â he softly confirms. âweâre sorry that itâs such a sudden request. the pack just wants to be sure.â
itâs not the suddenness of the request thatâs so jarring. itâs how wildly inappropriate odd it is.
and they want to be sure? of what exactly?
you donât know what your panties have that the rest of your package doesnât. itâs all scent, all biology. clinical. right down to the bone. you canât think of a single good reason why the package you had sent wasnât enough for them.
you stood there, mouth agape as you try to think of something to say. to resist. to counter. but you know nothing you say has no weight. you donât have a choice in this. it hardly matters how degrading the request is. you must follow through with it, even if you expect no follow up on how the alphas have responded.
either you give them what they want or suffer the consequences.
the other guard, the one hired by the establishment, growls when you take too long to decide. his brow twitches, face twisted into a scowl as he snaps his teeth at you. âcome on, Ms. Laswell doesnât have all day. do as youâre told, omegaââ
you flinch at his raised voice. his burning scent invades your nose faster than you can try to prepare yourself for it.
Jason has always been like that. an alpha who cracks his whip at any disobedience. he especially seems to have it out for you. you have no idea why and youâve done your best to stay out of his way.
Kate, however, doesnât tolerate his anger. because she immediately shot backâ
âquiet.â a veiled threat. sheâs not even as loud as he was. she turns to face him, blocking you from his view. âdo not talk to her like that.â
alpha, your mind screams.
her annoyance freezes the air over. itâs the only sort of emotion youâve seen from her up until this point. and itâs the only thing that gives her away.
sheâs an alpha.
itâs all she needs to make Jasonâs spine straighten in a split second. every ounce of bravado vapourized into thin air faster than you can blink. he hangs his head in shame and looks away. âyâyes, maâam. my apologies.â
youâre stand very still, watching the exchange in awe. you think this might be the first time anyone has ever truly put him in his place. nonetheless, you obeyed when she turns back to you, if only you donât end up on the receiving end of her ire.
when Laswell looks at you once more, youâre quick to avoid her eyes as you reach under your skirt and took off your underwear, a simple piece of soft cotton, cheeks burning with heat because youâre all too aware of the wet spot on it. you wonder how many more omegas were also made to hand over their panties like that.
she holds out an open ziplock bag and lets you put them inside then seals it shut. Alex then steps forward. he holds out a box. itâs the standard semi-clear package. your eyes widen when you get a glimpse of whatâs inside.
ziplock bags. you count four big bags. thereâs more in there but you canât see how many from where youâre standing.
âtake these.â he gives you the box. your arms sag a bit at the unexpected weight of it. itâs heavier than you thought. âthey wanted you to have them before The Selection.â
âthank you.â you squeak, unable to think of anything else to say.
Kate leaves without another word and Alex bids you goodbye with a warm smile before he follows.
Jason glares at you. all of that sheepishness is sadly short-lived and once theyâre well out of earshot, he points a finger in your face. âdonât think youâre special just because youâre whoring yourself out.â
you flinch. he scoffs at the hurt look on your face.
must he remind you? that you shouldnât get your hopes up? that you know this ritual wonât go anywhere? itâll end the same as all the others that came before.
âand donât get your hopes up. theyâre not gonna pick you.â he hooks a thumb in his belt, leaning on the door frame.
realistically, you shouldnât let his words get to you. heâs mean to everyone who isnât his group of friends. heâs mean to every unmated omega he crosses paths with.
âyouâre tooâŠâ he looks you up and down, eyes damn near glowing with disapproval at what he sees. âordinary.â
the word strikes true. tears sting your eyes.
âthey probably asked ten other omegas to give them their panties to sniff.â he backs away from your door and chuckles. âdonât be too disappointed when youâre not called to The Selection.â
he slams the door and locks it behind him. leaving you standing in a sea of sorrow. you take in the silence of your small enclosure and take a deep breath, your head tipping back to look at the ceiling as you try to will back the tears.
an arrogant ass he may be but at least heâs truthful. thatâs your only consolation. your only reminder that not every omega gets to leave this place. not everyone gets a happy ending.
when you sit down on your small bed and place the box right next to you, you sigh before opening the clasps. immediately, a potent mix of scents permeates all around you.
your body reacts to it faster than your mind can process.
itâs a gut-punch. pure molten heat poured straight down your throat and flowed all the way further down to your cunt. you hadnât expected the intensity of it, the sheer want to be filled to the brim.
the sudden pulse coming to life between your legs had you whimpering and panting as if youâd just ran a mile. clenching your thighs didnât do much to help ease the ache. not with your panties clinging to the slick suddenly dripping from your pussy.
you had to put the box away and retreat into your bathroom to calm down. gripping the cold sink and breathing uncontaminated air more so to stop yourself from reaching under your skirt than anything else, but eventually, you had to return to your room.
the box was half opened when you returned. you pull up the lid and peered inside. like you thought, the four massive ziplock bags. each with a hoodie and a shirt inside. all of them were labeled with names.
Johnny was scribbled messily on the front of the one you picked first. his heady scent was faintly earthy with a touch of what you assume is motor oil and gasoline. not bad. he must like cars then. his hands must be rough from all the work he puts in them.
GHOST was written in big block letters and with a small skull face at the bottom right. his clothes were huge. he must be a really big guy. bigger than Johnny even. he smells like gunpowder and sweat, and strangely enough, that doesnât make your nose wrinkle as it does with every other alpha youâve come across.
then thereâs John. neatly written, but you could tell he doesnât really care too much about how his letters are formed on paper. you recognize the scent of cigars anywhere with how often the alphas in your facility take part in smoking them every week in their lounge room. your lips purse in contemplation but ultimately decide itâs not that bad. with time, if they decide to take you with them, you might get used to it. Â
lastly, Kyleâs name was written in cursive and circled in one big heart. that alone makes forces a giddy smile on your face. you can already tell that he showers more often than the other three. thereâs hints of shower gel and cologne alongside the smell of Johnâs colognes. you like him already.
you liked all of them. you donât even know which one to start with.
thatâs not all, though. thereâs snacks too. chocolate bars, bags of chips and three bottles of different flavoured sweet tea. but every muscle in your body stopped when you saw something else. neatly packaged in between all those gifts was a bundle of beautiful red roses.
theyâre... this isâŠ
thereâs a note between the petals, which youâre scared to even touch. your shaky hands pluck it out and open it to see what was written inside.
Itâs a little early but Happy Valentineâs Day to our favourite omega. Looking forward to seeing you at The Selection <3
no. it canât be. surely not. theyâre not doing what you think theyâre doing.
you look back to the roses. the gifts. the food. a box filled with clothes from four alphas who express an interest in taking you into their pack. this.
itâs clear, cut and dry what this is.
itâs a courting gift.
panic rises up your throat. it feels more like bile and you think it best to stay in the bathroom, preferably near the toilet in case your stomach decides it doesnât want to hold its content anymore. you end up standing there, staring at the toilet bowl for approximately four and a half minutes and spend another two taking deep breaths while pacing around the bathroom because your omega is too charged to let you think clearly.
and your clear, rational thoughts tell you to be serious for a second.
usually, one or two omegas are chosen for one individual or one pack. pick too many and you run the risk of creating conflicts because you didnât allow everybody to get used to each other first before letting the pack settle into a sense of normalcy.
since there are four alphas, itâs likely that each one might want to have their own.
which leads you to believe that there are three more omegas who probably got sent the same package and with the same note. thereâs four alphas. surely, theyâre not going to be satisfied with just one of you.
one omega wonât be enough to contend with four ruts on differing occasions or worse, four ruts at once if one decides to trigger the other. itâs just not possible if they truly are serious about you.
besides, there has to be some mistake. it canât be you they want.
it just canât.
courting gifts usually arenât exchanged until after the selection process is complete and the pack is certain that theyâre keeping you.
this is definitely not something that should be happening right now.
Jason might be right about one thing. they probably did ask a bunch of other omegas for the same thing too. alphas are perverts like that. youâre not special. they probably want to add to their collection of sorts.
and yet, regardless of that fact...
your eyes drift to the hoodie you left on the edge of your bed. its scent calls to you. fervent and sweet, youâre drawn to it. the cold air in your room makes it difficult not to crave any sort of warmth thatâs been given so freely.
regardless, of all this logic telling you that you shouldnât have high hopes for anything, for even daring to think that youâll ever leave this place.
regardless, you bury your nose in the hoodie and sharply inhale Kyleâs lovely scent and roll around your bed, purring and sighing deeply. he smells like kindness. like the first ray of light after a brutal winter. he smells like everything youâve ever dreamed of in an alpha who would be willing to take care of you.
whatever the case may be with these gifts, you hope they meant what they said in the note. you yearn to be their favourite, you want them to look forward to finding you.
(and you hope they arenât disappointed once they do).
four alphas expressing an interest in you is far more than you couldâve hoped for. it will break you when the unfortunate outcome finally rears its head and you donât get to follow them to their home.
you hope that youâll still get to keep one of their hoodies once The Selection passes.
in my defense, i was ovulating when this n00dled in my head.
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[main masterlist]
[part 2]
family planning (t.n.)
Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader
Word Count: 11.6k
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: this is NOT a pregnancy fic you guys i promise also i didn't want to split this into two parts but tumblr deemed it too long so um two parts ig
credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 2
Theodore Nott had read enough books to know that the day his entire life changed was supposed to feel different.
The air would be heavier. The world sharper. Somethingâanythingâwould be off. A subtle wrongness, a warning. Foreshadowing of the wrench about to be thrown into his carefully ordered life.
He had felt it once before, when his mother died and left a hollow space behind that never quite filled.
But that was the thing.
Nothing felt wrong about today.
Had everything gone as it usually did, it would have been completely mundaneâmonotonous, even. Theodore woke up, ate breakfast, slipped outside for a smoke. Double Potions. Another smoke. Transfiguration. Lunch. Arithmancy.
And now he was stuck in Charms.
Professor Flitwick had been lecturing about advanced spell interactionsâsomething about like and unlike spells, wand movements and intentâwhen the first spell fizzled.
Then another.
Then three more went wildly off course, sparks ricocheting off desks and dissolving into the air like fireflies gone wrong.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, unimpressed.
âFocus,â Flitwick snapped, wand raised, âClearly someone here hasââ
The room cracked.
Not shattered. Not exploded.
Crackedâlike reality itself had split open for half a second.
There was a blinding flash of gold light, a rush of displaced air, and thenâ
Silence.
Sitting in the middle of the classroom floor was a little girl.
She couldnât have been more than three or four years old. Dark curls fell into her face, dressed in pajamas, and her small hands were clenched into fists as she looked around, eyes wide and terrified.
For exactly two seconds, she was quiet.
Then her lip trembled.
ââPapĂ ?â
Her voice broke.
And then she started crying.
Not soft sniffles. Full-on, panicked sobsâthe kind that came from being suddenly, completely lost.
âVoglio il mio papĂ !â She cried, scrambling to her feet, âVoglio andare a casa!â (I want my daddy! I want to go home!)
The classroom froze.
ââŠDid she just Apparate?â Someone whispered.
Another voice, baffled, âSheâs a child.â
A Ravenclaw girl cautiously stepped forward, âHey, itâs okayââ
The girl recoiled instantly, backing away as if burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
âNo! No, no, no!â She sobbed, shaking her head violently, âNon ti conosco! Voglio il mio papĂ ! Voglio papĂ !â (I don't know you! I want my daddy! I want daddy!)
She spun in a slow, desperate circle, looking at all of them with pure, unfiltered fear.
âPapĂ ! Dove sei?!â (Dad! Where are you?!)
Theo stared at her from his seat.
He wasnât heartlessâof course he wasnât. There was something about the way she wailed, the sheer terror in her voice, that made his chest tighten painfully. And yet, he stayed where he was.
âIs sheâspeaking Italian?â Someone murmured.
A ripple of voices followed.
âYeah.â âDefinitely Italian.â âI donât speak Italian.â âDoes anyone speak Italian?â
Someone turned.
Then another.
Then, inevitably, every gaze slid to Theo.
Blaise nudged his arm, âOi, Nott. You speak Italian, donât you?â
He didnât bother answering. Everyone already knewâthanks to the absolute slew of Italian curses heâd hurled at Weasley during the last Quidditch match.
âGreat,â Blaise said immediately, âDo something.â
Theoâs eyes flicked back to the girl.
She had dropped to her knees now, small hands pressed to her face as she cried, her breathing beginning to hitch dangerously. A Hufflepuff girl hovered nearby, concern written all over her face, but every step closer only made the child cry harder.
âVoglio il mio papà ⊠per favoreâŠâ She sobbed between gasps. (I want my daddy⊠pleaseâŠ)
Something twisted uncomfortably in Theoâs chest.
âIâm not exactly a baby person.â He muttered.
âNott,â the Ravenclaw girl hissed, âSheâs a toddler. Sheâs about to have a panic attack, and she canât understand a word weâre saying.â
The girl let out a sharp, breathless sob, her chest stuttering as she triedâand failedâto calm herself.
âPapĂ âŠâ She whimpered.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled.
âCazzo.â (fuck)
He pushed his chair back and stood.
The entire classroom fell silent as he took a step toward her.
Theo approached slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture despite himself.
âEhi,â He said gently, crouching a few feet away from her. His voice was low, careful, âVa tutto bene. Respira, sĂŹ? Piano, piano.â (Itâs okay. Breathe, yeah? Slowly, slowly.)
The girl barely registered him.
She was still crying hard, hiccupping sobs shaking her tiny frame as she shook her head over and over, âNo, no, no⊠voglio papà ⊠voglio papĂ adessoâŠâ (No, no, no⊠I want daddy⊠I want daddy now)
âIo so,â Theo murmured, trying to keep his tone steady, âMa sei al sicuro. Nessuno ti farĂ male. Guarda me, piccola.â (I know, but you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, little one.)
He reached out slightlyâthen stopped, unsure.
âCome ti chiami?â He asked softly. (What's your name?)
She sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve, eyes squeezed shut as if refusing to look at the world around her. âVoglio papĂ ,â She repeated stubbornly, voice breaking again, âHo pauraâŠâ (I want dad, I'm scared)
Theo swallowed.
âPapĂ non Ăš lontano,â He said, choosing his words carefully, âVa bene? Respira con me.â (Dadâs not far away, Okay? Breathe with me.)
That was when she opened her eyes.
Really looked at him.
Her crying hitched mid-sob.
For half a second, her face went utterly stillâeyes widening, breath catching like sheâd forgotten how to breathe.
Thenâ
âPapĂ !â
She surged forward.
Theo barely had time to react before a small body collided with his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck with desperate force. She buried her face into his robes, clutching him like he might disappear if she let go.
âPapĂ , papĂ , papĂ ,â She cried, the word tumbling out between sobs, âTi ho trovato⊠non andare via⊠per favoreâŠâ (I found you⊠don't go away⊠pleaseâŠ)
Theo froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do as the child clung to him, shaking with leftover fear. Her tears soaked straight through his uniform as she pressed closer, like she was trying to crawl into him.
The room was dead silent.
Theoâs eyes flicked up.
Every single person was staring.
Flitwick looked like he might faint. The Ravenclaw girlâs mouth hung open. Blaise had gone eerily still, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly in his hairline.
Theo slowly mouthed, Get this child off me.
No one moved.
The girl sniffed loudly and tightened her grip, small hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. âPapĂ .â She whimpered again, quieter now, exhausted.
Theo looked down at herâat the way she fit far too easily against him, at how natural it felt for her to be thereâand felt his brain short-circuit.
âIââ He cleared his throat, voice coming out rough, âIo⊠ehâŠâ
She tilted her head just enough for him to feel the movement, her grip loosening slightly as the tension finally drained from her small body. Her breathing stuttered once more, then evened out, warm against his chest.
Theo looked down just in time to see her eyelids flutter.
Once.
Twice.
And then she was gone.
Fast asleep.
Her forehead rested against his collarbone, tiny fingers still curled tightly in his robes like she was afraid to let go even in sleep. A quiet, shaky sigh left her, the last echo of fear finally spent.
Theo swallowed hard.
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, but it did nothing to calm the chaos of the little girl in Theo Nottâs arms. Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape hovered nearby, wands and parchment at the ready, while a few house-elves scurried nervously at the edges of the room.
Theo wasnât sure how heâd ended up hereâone hand on her back, the other awkwardly supporting her legsâand frankly, he didnât care. All he wanted was to set her down in a cot and get the hell out of there.
âShe appears⊠well, as far as magical diagnostics go." Pomfrey said uncertainly, trailing off.
Flitwick rubbed at the crease between his brows and sighed, âIâm not even sure what spells were cast. Perhaps someone transfigured an object into a child⊠though it seems highly unlikely. I did a head count, but maybe a student from another class managed to get de-aged? It will take me some time to get to the bottom of this.â
âDuring which,â McGonagall added crisply, âWe need to figure out where exactly she is going to reside.â
All eyes turned to Theo, still awkwardly seated on the bed. The green tie in her grubby hands was clutched tightly, her shirt streaked with snot from her tears. He stared at the ceiling, silently praying to whatever deity listened that this problem would disappear.
âAll right,â Flitwick muttered, âWe need⊠more concrete information. Perhaps a simple veritas test to confirm basic biological markersâŠâ
He waved his wand carefully over a tiny strand of her hair, muttering under his breath. The result came up empty. Flitwick let out a frustrated sigh, before his gaze fell on the way her small body curled naturally against Theo. Her fear of strangers was⊠painfully clear.
He waved his wand again, more deliberately this time.
âIt would seem, Mr. Nott,â He began cautiously, âthat you are biologically related to her.â
Theo blinked in shock, his grip faltering. The little girl nearly toppled in his arms.
âExcuse me?â He managed, voice tight, heart racing, utterly refusing to acknowledge what Flitwick had just said.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses nervously, âIâI understand this is⊠unusual. But the magical markers are clear. There is no doubt: you are biologically related to her.â
Theoâs eyes narrowed, âNo. I⊠that⊠thatâs impossible.â
McGonagall stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm, âMr. Nott, we must consider all possibilities. Clearly, she has appeared here through some magical anomaly."
Snape, leaning against the wall with an unimpressed frown, muttered, âMagical anomaly is one way to put it. Unprecedented, more like.â
Flitwick cleared his throat, âWe may need to consider the⊠temporal aspect. Combined with the accelerated spellwork and residual transfiguration energy from earlier⊠it is conceivable that she has been displaced here from another point in time.â
Theo blinked, ââŠYouâre saying⊠sheâs from the future?â
âYes,â McGonagall said carefully, though her eyes softened as she looked at the child curled against him, âAnd until we can stabilize whatever magical interference brought her here, we will need to come up with a plan to care for her."
Theo exhaled slowly, a sound somewhere between frustration and disbelief, "Alright then, take her."
Flitwick hesitated, frowning. The professors exchanged glances.
Theoâs heart thumped in a way that was decidedly unhelpful. The child pressed closer, nuzzling her face into his chest, hiccupping softly.
"Perhaps, it would be best for the child to stay with her faâ"
âIâm not her father,â He said firmly, ââŠAnd she is not my responsibility.â
âIf you truly refuse,â McGonagall said quietly, âthen the staff will care for her until we can determine a safe way to return her to her own time.â
McGonagall nodded once and gestured toward Madam Pomfrey, âVery well.â
Pomfrey stepped forward gently, arms outstretched, âCome now, dear. Letâs get you settledââ
The moment she felt herself being pulled away from the warm chest sheâd been clinging to, the effect was immediate.
The little girl stiffened in Theoâs arms, eyes flying open as she registered that the hands lifting her did not belong to him. Her face crumpled, breath hitching once before she broke into loud, panicked sobs.
âNoâno, no!â She cried, voice high and shaking, âPapĂ ! PapĂ , portami!â (Dad! Dad, carry me!)
She twisted against him, burying her face into his chest as if trying to disappear. Tiny arms wrapped around his neck with desperate strength, her small body trembling violently.
Theo froze.
Pomfrey halted mid-step. Flitwick winced. Even Snape straightened slightly, eyes narrowing.
âPapĂ , per favore,â She sobbed, words tumbling over one another, âHo paura⊠non voglio⊠non voglioâŠâ (Daddy, please. I'm scared⊠I don't want⊠I don't wantâŠ)
Theoâs jaw tightened. He stared straight ahead, pulse pounding, every instinct screaming at him to hand her over and walk away. But her grip only tightened, her cries growing sharp and breathless.
She was shaking.
âAlright,â Theo snapped suddenly, sharper than he meant to, âStopâjustâdonâtââ
Everyone froze.
Theo swallowed and glanced down at her. Her face was blotchy and red, lashes clumped with tears, chest hitching unevenly as she struggled to breathe. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, like she was bracing for him to vanish.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
ââŠVa bene,â He muttered, the Italian rough but instinctive, âVa bene. Basta piangere.â (All right. No more crying.)
Her sobs stutteredânot stopping, but slowing.
Awkwardly, he adjusted his hold, one arm settling more securely around her back while the other patted her shoulder onceâtoo stiff, too careful. He cleared his throat.
âShh.â He said quietly, glancing around like heâd been caught doing something illegal, rocking her back and forth like a rusty robot that hadnât been oiled in years.
She sniffed hard, still clutching him, but the panic ebbed enough for her breathing to even out. Her head tucked beneath his chin, warm and damp against his collar.
McGonagall studied the child for a long moment, then Theo. Her expression softenedâjust a fraction.
âIt seems,â She said evenly, âthat she has made her preference quite clear.â
Flitwick nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously, âYes⊠yes, Iâm afraid forcing the issue would only distress her further.â
Theo exhaled sharply through his nose, ââŠUnbelievable.â
The girl whimpered once more, fingers tightening in his shirt as if reminding him she was still there.
Theo stiffened, then sighed.
ââŠFine,â He said quietly, âOkay. She canâshe can stay. For now. Until you figure this out.â
The walk back to the Slytherin dorms was⊠an experience.
Theo kept his pace measured, one arm secured firmly around the sleeping weight against his chest. Sheâd fallen back asleep somewhere between the hospital wing and the dungeon corridor, her curls tickling his jaw every time she shifted, breath warm against his collarbone.
He ignored the stares.
The whispers.
The way a passing Hufflepuff nearly walked into a wall trying to figure out why Theodore Nott was carrying a child through the corridors like this was a perfectly normal occurrence.
The Slytherin common room fell silent the moment he stepped inside.
Lorenzo blinked once. Then twice.
ââŠIs this some sort of social experiment?â
Mattheoâs grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted, âPapa's home.â
Theo shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. âSay another word,â he warned quietly, âand Iâll hex you.â
Blaise tilted his head, eyes flicking between Theo and the small, curled form in his arms. âCongratulations,â He said lightly, âWhen were you planning on telling us youâd been leading a double life?â
Theo didnât dignify that with a response. He adjusted his grip slightly when the girl shifted, instinctively tightening his hold, and turned toward the stairs.
Behind him came a chorus of barely-suppressed laughter and stage-whispered âNight, daddy!â that followed him all the way up.
He noticed the change in his dorm the second he stepped inside.
Not because it was loud.
But because it was wrong.
Sitting neatly on his bed were things that had absolutely not been there that morning.
Tiny clothes, folded with precise magical care. Soft socks. A small blanket charmed with a low, steady warmth. Even a stuffed creatureâsome sort of dragon, judging by the hornsârested near the pillow, its stitched eyes cheerfully oblivious.
Theo just stood there.
Staring.
This was real. This was happening.
He looked down at the small, sleeping child in his arms, her face slack with sleep, lashes dark against her cheeks. A living, breathing human being. And somehowâsomehowâhe was now responsible for her.
His stomach twisted.
This hardly seemed responsible.
Did the staff really just let him walk out with an entire child and no follow-up instructions? No pamphlet? No checklist? How was he meant to keep one of these things alive? What if she woke up hungry? Or scared? OrâMerlin forbidâstarted crying? Again.
Theo swallowed hard, dread creeping in like a cold chill down his spine.
He crossed the room slowly and carefully, as if any wrong step might shatter the fragile reality holding this together, and lowered her onto the bed. She stirred faintly but didnât wake, curling instinctively toward the lingering warmth of his body.
He hesitated.
Then, with movements stiff and unsure, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in the way he vaguely remembered adults doing when he was smallâfirm but gentle, like it mattered.
He stepped back.
She looked⊠peaceful.
Completely unaware that she had just detonated his entire existence.
Theo dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the door.
He needed a cigarette. Immediately.
Just as his fingers brushed the handle, a small sound stopped him.
âPapĂ âŠâ
It was barely audibleâa sleepy mumble, her brow knitting faintly as one small hand twitched against the sheets.
Theo froze.
ââŠPapĂ .â She murmured again, softer this time, like she was reaching for him even in her dreams.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, resigned breath.
âMerda.â He muttered.
If he left and she woke upâ
He glanced at the chair beside the bed.
Then back at her.
ââŠUnbelievable.â He whispered.
Theo pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaning back with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving her face. He flinched every time she so much as twitched, every uneven breath sending his pulse spiking.
Just for tonight.
Thatâs what he told himself as exhaustion settled heavy in his bones.
Just until she woke up.
Theo woke to pins and needles.
A sharp, unpleasant numbness shot up his legs, like theyâd ceased to exist sometime during the night and were only now remembering their purpose. He sucked in a quiet breath and shiftedâimmediately regretted it.
There was weight on him.
Warm. Solid.
Theo froze.
Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
She was asleep in his lap.
At some point during the nightâat some point he did not remember authorizingâthe little girl had migrated from the bed, curled herself into the space between his arms and legs, and settled there like she belonged. Her head rested against his bicep, curls splayed messily over his chest, one small hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Theo stared.
His mind helpfully offered no explanation.
He vaguely recalled her stirring sometime in the early hours. A soft whimper. A half-formed PapĂ breathed into the dark. He must have reached outâmust have pulled her close without fully waking, murmuring something useless and soothing under his breath.
Apparently, his subconscious had decided this was his life now.
He didnât move.
Couldnât, reallyâhis legs were numb to the point of concern, and any shift risked waking her. Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fluttering faintly as she slept, utterly unbothered by the fact that she was using him as a mattress.
Theo let his head fall back against the chair with a silent groan.
âThis is a disaster.â He whispered.
She stirred at the sound, nose scrunching slightly, fingers tightening in his sleeve as if anchoring herself. Theo went completely still, heart hammering like heâd been caught committing a crime.
He tensed, eyes snapping down just as she stirred properly, lifting her head and blinking blearily up at him.
For a long second, they just looked at each other.
Then her face brightened.
âBuongiorno,â She said, voice thick with sleep. A pause, ââŠPapĂ .â (Good morning.)
After getting her dressed for the day using the clothes the professors had provided, Theo could only thank Salazar that whoeverâor whateverâhad sent her back in time had at least had the decency to send an older child.
Because Merlin help him, she was competent.
She managed socks on her own. Shoes, tooâwrong feet at first, but she fixed it herself with a sharp little huff of frustration. He didnât even have to supervise. He just stood there, half-awake, watching in stunned silence.
The only time he stepped in was when the shirt became her enemy.
She wrestled with it valiantly, tugging it halfway over her head before getting stuck, arms flailing wildly as she wobbled on the mattress like a headless chicken. For one terrifying second, Theo was certain she was going to pitch forward and crack her skull open on the floor.
Just as he reached her, hands already out, she stamped one socked foot and protested indignantly.
âPapĂ ! Sono una bambina grandeâfaccio da sola!â (Dad! I'm a big girl, I can do it on my own!)
He waitedâhands hovering uselessly in the airâuntil she finally relented with an irritated sigh and allowed him to tug the shirt the rest of the way down. She immediately smoothed it herself afterward, chin lifted proudly.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be a long day.
By the time they stumbled downstairs, the Slytherin dorm was already awake and in motion. Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise were halfway through getting ready, bags slung over shoulders as they headed out for breakfast.
Theo was still in his pajamas.
He didnât care.
The professors had given him permission to skip class until further noticeâsomething he had accepted with a detached nod, too tired to even question how serious this apparently was.
He was already mentally charting a course to the kitchens. Quiet. Private. No gawking students. No questions.
He turned toward the common roomâ
And she bolted.
ââOi, waitâ!â
Too late.
She launched herself down the stairs at an alarming speed, feet barely touching the steps. Theoâs heart stopped dead in his chest.
âSlow down!â He snapped, already moving after her, âYouâre going toââ
She did not fall.
Instead, she hit the common room floor at a full sprint and beelined straight for Mattheo, slamming into his pant leg with the force and commitment of a homing missile.
Mattheo yelped, stumbling half a step, âWhat theââ
âZio Mattheo!â She chirped joyfully, arms wrapping around his leg like sheâd just found a long-lost treasure.
The room went dead silent.
Draco stared.
Lorenzo choked.
Blaise pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking.
Mattheo looked down slowly. Very slowly.
ââŠLittle girl,â He said carefully, âhow do you know my name?â
Theo stopped behind her and closed his eyes.
âShe canât speak any English, you idiot.â
Mattheo glanced up at him, affronted, âI see recognition in those beady eyesââ
He looked back down at her just in time to see her grin widen, all teeth and delight.
âBuongiorno!â She announced brightly.
Mattheo snorted despite himself.
Then she lifted her arms toward him, wobbling slightly on her feet, âPortami! Portami, zio Mattheo!â
Mattheo blinked. Once.
Then he looked up at Theo, eyebrow raised.
Theo sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, the tips of his ears burning.
âSheâs asking her uncle to carry her.â
Mattheoâs grin turned downright smug as he crouched and scooped her up like she weighed nothingâslung against his arm with all the care of someone carrying a sack of potatoes. She giggled, utterly delighted, legs kicking happily.
Theo moved instantly.
âOiâif you drop her, I swear to Merlinâ!â
Mattheo adjusted his grip lazily, unfazed, âRelax. Iâve got her.â
Blaise smirked, âWow. Someoneâs being all fatherly for a bloke who isnât a baby person.â
Draco leaned against the stair rail, grinning, âYeah, daddy. Love this look on you."
ââŠI hate all of you,â Theo muttered darkly.
The girl twisted in Mattheoâs arms, peering over his shoulder. âPapĂ !â she called brightly. âVoglio fare colazione con zio Mattheo!â (Daddy! I want to have breakfast with Uncle Mattheo!)
Theo opened his mouth on instinct.
âNon puoi chieââ (You can't ask)
He stopped.
Because she wasnât crying.
She wasnât reaching for him.
She wasnât clinging to his sleeve like the world might end if he stepped two feet away.
She was perfectly content. Happy, even. Nestled comfortably in someone elseâs arms.
Theoâs brain stalled.
Thenâclick.
The realization hit him like divine intervention.
An hour.
A whole, uninterrupted hour without tiny hands grabbing his clothes. Without panicked crying. Without being someoneâs emotional anchor.
The synapses in his brain fired one by one like fireworks. Sweet, blessed relief bloomed so fast he was pretty sure he could feel tearsâpossibly droolâgathering.
He lifted his gaze slowly and locked eyes with Mattheo.
âYou,â He said calmly, decisively, âare on babysitting duty.â
âWhat?â Mattheo barked, âOiâwaitâ!â
Theo was already turning away.
âFeed her,â He called over his shoulder, âDonât drop her."
Out of the common room. Down the corridor. Gone like a wanted man escaping Azkaban.
âHEY!â Mattheo shouted after him, âThatâs not how this works!â
The girl waved cheerfully from his arms, âCiao, papĂ !â
Mattheo looked down at her.
Then back at the hallway Theo had vanished down.
"Well, I hope you enjoy being an orphan. Take it from me it's better than having a shit dad." He said absently, carrying her toward the door.
Theo didnât even remember reaching the usual alcove.
He only knew his hands were shaking by the time he lit the cigarette, breath dragging deep and slow as the smoke filled his lungs. The burn grounded him. Anchored him. For five blessed minutes, he was just Theo againâno professors, no timelines, no small human being calling him papĂ .
He shouldnât feel guilty for this. Dammit.
It wasnât like he was some kind of deadbeat. He wasnât even her actual father. Her actual father existed a decade in the future and hadâpresumablyâactively chosen to have this suctioning little tentacle of a child.
He exhaled, staring at the stone wall.
And yet.
She adored him. Wanted him. Chose him over everyone else without hesitation. Which meantâsomewhere in the futureâhe must be doing something right.
Sometime in the future⊠Iâm a good father.
The thought unsettled him more than the panic ever had.
He had never imagined children in his life. Never thought himself capable of itânot after losing his mother so young. How would future him handle this? How would he guide her, discipline her, protect her from the quiet, unrelenting cruelties of the world?
How would he keep her safe?
Theo exhaled again, watching the smoke curl upward and vanish.
Merlin, he needed that.
When he finally returned to the common room, the laughter hit him first.
She was being levitated up and downâup and downâby Mattheo, shrieking with unrestrained delight. Chocolate smeared her cheeks, and it was painfully obvious Mattheo had absolutely no sense when it came to not jostling a child who had just eaten her body weight in breakfast.
Theo stepped closer.
Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
âPapĂ !â
Something eased in his chest.
At least future me doesnât screw this up, he thought faintly.
Mattheo gently lowered her into Theoâs arms.
And immediatelyâ
ââachoo!â
She blinked. Sniffed.
Then again.
âAchâahâchoo!â
Theo froze.
Her nose scrunched as she rubbed at it clumsily, eyes beginning to water, cheeks flushing, âPapĂ âŠ?â
Theoâs heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Was she sick? Had he missed something? Sheâd been fine an hour agoâ
Mattheoâs gaze flicked from her red nose to Theoâs ash-stained fingers. He sighed, already reaching for her and lifting her back into his arms.
ââŠGo shower,â He said calmly, âIâll skip first class.â
Theo blinked, âIâI didnât knowââ
âI know,â Mattheo cut in easily, âItâs all good. Go.â
Theo swallowed.
ââŠRight.â He muttered.
He hesitated only a moment before turning toward the stairs. As he passed, she reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
âPapĂ ?â She asked softly.
Theo stopped.
âIâll be right back,â he said quietlyâthen corrected himself, Italian rough but sincere, âTornerĂČ subito. Promesso.â (I'll be right back. Promise)
Her shoulders relaxed instantly.
Mattheo watched him go, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When Theo returnedâhair damp, robes changed, skin scrubbed raw of smoke and ashâthe little girl didnât sneeze once.
Instead, she wriggled free of Mattheoâs arms and launched herself at him with a delighted squeak, wrapping her arms around his neck like sheâd been waiting.
Theo caught her automatically.
She settled against him, warm and content.
And for the first time, the weight that settled in his chest had nothing to do with panic.
It felt a lot like guilt.
And something dangerously close to resolve.
Theo was collapsed across his bed, utterly defeated. The day had been⊠long. He hadnât even gone to class, but that was before the small human currently treating him like a jungle gym had decided it was time for her daily inspection.
He didnât even have the energy to move her. She clambered over him, tugging at his robes and sniffing at his hair, and he let herâsomehow, it was easier than trying to resist. Five minutes of relative respite came only when she discovered something else interesting: the top of his dresser, the ceiling, the corner of the bedpost.
Every so often, one of her âunclesâ captured her attentionâBlaise, Draco, and Enzoâeach appearing just long enough to be ignored by the child, much to Theoâs surprise. Somehow she recognized them, somehow she liked them, and somehow they had managed to reconcile the fact that she adored Mattheo more than all of them combined faster than Theo had reconciled her existence at all. He watched them all patiently endure, his mind boggling at how quickly theyâd adjusted.
Currently, she had his hair in a death grip, determined to tug out every last strand with her clammy little hands. Theo winced as she yanked again, a protest lodged somewhere deep in his chest. She scrambled backward across his chestâkicking him squarely in the face in the processâthen crawled toward the edge of the bed and started opening the drawer of his bedside table.
âOi. Cosa fai?â He asked, tone half-scolding, half-exasperated. (What are you doing)
âVoglio un elastico per capelli! Mamma sempre ne tiene qui.â She declared, fumbling through the drawer. (I want a hair tie! Mom always keeps some here.)
Theo froze.
Mom? She has a mom?
The thought hit him like a bucket of ice water. All this time, he had assumedâstupidlyâthat she had appeared out of thin air, some magical anomaly he had to manage. Now the idea that she had a mother⊠a real, actual human mother⊠knocked the air out of his lungs. He felt absurdly unprepared.
She pulled something plastic-sounding from the drawer and held it up.
âPapà ⊠cosâĂš questo?â (Papa... what is this?)
Theoâs heart skipped. He blinked, eyes widening. And then the aneurysm in his brain fully bloomed: a condom wrapper. In his daughterâs hand.
âOi! Restituiscilo!â He shouted, leaping upright just in time for her to bolt, giggling, around the room. (Give that back!)
âGet that out of her hand!â He yelled again, spinning to intercept her, but it was too late. She dashed past Blaise, who was already doubled over laughing, and then past Draco, who had his hands pressed over his mouth to keep from cackling. Even Lorenzo had tears in his eyes from the absurdity.
âLittle girl,â Lorenzo called, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably as he wiped tears from his face, âwait a secondâwhat is her actual name?â
Theo froze mid-chase, mind scrambling.
âYou⊠you donât know her name?â
The little girl shrieked with laughter from the foot of the bed, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, while Theo felt like the universe was quietly reminding him that, yes he was an utter fool.
The little girl zig-zagged across the room, still clutching the condom wrapper like it was some kind of treasure. Theo lunged, arms flailing, but she ducked under his reach and squealed with pure delight.
âPapĂ ! Prendimi!â She shouted, her voice ringing with mischief. (Papa! Catch me)
âMerlinâs beard, why am I even doing this?!â Theo groaned, diving forward again, only to collide gently with Blaise, who had fallen onto the floor laughing.
âOi! Watch it, Nott!â Blaise gasped between giggles, brushing off his robes, âMaybe if you had been as enthusiastic about birth control as your little girl there, you wouldn't be having this problem."
Theo didnât even glance at them. His focus was entirely on the girl, who had somehow vaulted onto the armrest of the sofa and was teetering dangerously.
âOi! Scendi di lĂŹ, immediatamente!â He barked. (Hey! Get down from there, right now!)
âPapĂ !â She chirped again, holding the wrapper above her head like a flag, âGuarda! Guarda!â (Papa! Look! Look!)
Before he could reach her, Mattheo appeared like a hero in the last second, levitating gently above the floor with his wand, and swooped in. âI got her!â He said triumphantly.
He glanced down at the pile of humans scattered around the roomâBlaise doubled over, Draco snickering, Enzo leaning helplessly against the wallâand grinned, âYou really gave them a run for their money, huh, Bianca?â
Theo froze mid-lunge.
âYou⊠you know her name?â He asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, utterly flabbergasted, âYou didnât?â
Raising children, Theo decided, was an absurd amount of work.
He handed Bianca over to Madam Pomfrey the second she woke up.
He had triedâreally triedâto delay it, holding out hope that the professors would have some sort of solution by now. But it had been three days. Three days of dungeon air, sleep-mussed curls, and the unmistakable stickiness that came with being a toddler. She desperately needed a shower.
And while Theo was getting increasingly comfortable handling herâsome might even say paternalâhe was still very much not prepared to be the one responsible for that particular task.
Pomfrey had taken one look at the state of Biancaâs curls, the faint smudges on her cheeks, and Theoâs exhausted expression and immediately agreed.
Theo sighed in relief, already imagining a shower of his own. Or maybe collapsing onto a bed and stealing an extra hour of sleep. He didnât understand why he was so tiredâhe was sleeping the same amount he always did.
Still. He felt wrecked.
He promised heâd come back.
Repeated it, even.
Swore onâwell. Something. He wasnât sure what, but it sounded convincing enough.
It didnât help.
She cried anyway.
Clutched his robes with tiny hands, face crumpling as she begged him not to leave, words tumbling out too fast and too panicked for him to catch more than PapĂ and non andare. Theo pried her fingers loose with a wince, murmuring reassurances the entire timeâbut he couldnât will himself to walk away while she was screaming like that.
Especially now that he knew the difference between her cries.
So, one of the girlsâ bathrooms had been cleared out for the morning.
Pomfrey, Bianca, and Theo occupied it alone, the echoes far too loud for his liking. He stood just outside the stall while Pomfrey bathed her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture stiffâlike a chastened criminal awaiting judgment.
The child sang.
Loudly.
Badly.
And every time Theo stopped respondingâ
âPapĂ ?â
âher voice wobbled, threatening to tip into tears.
âSono qui,â He called back immediately, instinctive, âBrava.â (I'm here. Good job)
She giggled and continued singing something that sounded vaguely like a nursery rhyme and vaguely like a direct threat to musical theory.
Theo leaned his head back against the tiled wall and exhaled.
My God, was she clingy.
Then again⊠he supposed he couldnât fault her for it.
If Flitwick was rightâif she truly had come from the futureâthen sheâd been ripped away from her home. Likely somewhere warm and familiar in Italy. Dropped into damp, grey Scotland. Surrounded by strangers. Spoken to in a language she didnât understand.
Clinging to the only constant she recognized.
Him.
The thought settled heavy in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Theo swallowed, fingers twitching as the familiar urge for a cigarette crept inâpersistent, comforting.
He resisted.
Inside the stall, the singing faltered.
âPapĂ !â She called, sharper now.
âIâm here,â Theo answered immediately, softer this time, âSono qui. Non vado da nessuna parte.â (I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.)
The singing resumedâquieter. Sleepier.
Theo closed his eyes.
Unbelievable.
Bianca emerged from the bath wrapped in a towel with a warming charm woven into the fabric, her pajamas peeking out beneath it. Her curls were still damp, springing in every direction, cheeks flushed pink and clean, eyes already heavy with sleep. Madam Pomfrey handed her over with a satisfied nod and a stern warning about drafts, and Theo took her automatically, settling her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was now only dimly aware of how absurd this entire situation was.
They stepped out into the corridor together, the stone cool and quiet at this hourâ
âand promptly ran straight into you.
You froze.
Youâd heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. Whispers carried between classes, exaggerated retellings murmured in the Slytherin common room. Nott has a kid. From the future. Ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. There were more reasonable theories floating aroundâsome magical accident that accidentally teleported a child here from outside Hogwarts walls. Others were more creative, claiming Theo had a secret child hidden away in Italy and the time-travel nonsense was just a cover story.
You firmly belonged to the former camp.
Thisâwhatever this wasâhad to be some sort of misunderstanding.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize for bumping into himâ
âMama!â
The word rang out, bright and clear, echoing far too loudly down the stone corridor.
Bianca lit up like sheâd been waiting for this moment all day. She wriggled out of Theoâs already-loose hold with surprising strength, arms stretching toward you, the towel slipping dangerously as she leaned forward.
âMama! Mama!â She chirped, utterly delighted, fingers grasping at empty air, âSei tornata! Mi sei mancato!â (Youâre back! I missed you!)
You stared at her.
Then at Theoâwho looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You stared at her.
Then at Theoâwho looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You forced a smile, gentle and careful, lowering yourself slightly so you werenât towering over her.
âIâm not your mama, little one.â You said softly.
You spared Theo a glance, silently pleading for him to say somethingâanythingâbut he looked like a statue carved from pure shock, arms still locked around Bianca as though letting go might shatter reality itself.
Bianca frowned.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied you, head tilting to one side in confusion. Then she turned in Theoâs arms, small hand gripping the front of his robes like an anchor.
You spared Theo a glance.
He hadnât moved.
Not an inch.
He looked like a statue carved in shock, Bianca still tucked securely in his arms, as though letting go might shatter something irreparable.
Biancaâs smile faltered.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied your face, head tilting in quiet confusion. Then she turned slowly toward Theo, curls brushing his collar.
âPapĂ ?â She asked, uncertain now.
Theo swallowed.
She pressed her cheek against his chest and spoke again, voice small but earnestâ
âPapà ⊠ora che la mamma Ăš tornata, possiamo andare a casa? Ho sonno.â (Papa⊠now that mama is back, can we go home? I'm sleepy)
âThere is absolutely no way Iâm her mother.â
Your voice echoed far louder than you intended in the hospital wing, ricocheting off white curtains and cold stone with humiliating clarity.
Madam Pomfrey paused mid-sentence.
Flitwick blinked.
McGonagallâs lips thinnedâjust slightly.
Theo, seated stiffly on the edge of the bed with a sleeping Bianca curled against his chest, did not move. He looked like someone who had accepted his fate three hours ago and was now simply watching the universe pile on for sport.
It was hard to believe heâd been standing in this exact position less than a week ago, being told the very same thing.
Honestly, he wasnât even sure the news had fully settled yet. He hadnât had time to properly panicânot just about Bianca having a mother, but about who that mother apparently was. A girl heâd never given a second glance to. Someone who, in some unfathomable future, he had fallen in love with. Married. Chosen to have a family with.
Theo Nott. Married. A father by choice.
The thought felt so foreign he thought he might throw up.
âFor one,â You continued, gesturing vaguely at yourself like the evidence should be self-explanatory, âI would remember giving birth. I am quite certain of that.â
Pomfrey cleared her throat delicately.
âAnd second,â You added, beginning to pace, panic sharpening every word, âthere are processes involved in creating children. Processes which I have never doneââ You pointed sharply at Theo, ââwith him.â
Theo didnât react. Didnât even flinch. He just adjusted his grip slightly when Bianca shifted, instinctively tucking her closer as she sighed in her sleep.
Flitwick glanced down at his parchment, ââŠThe magical diagnostics are, Iâm afraid, quite clear.â
You stopped short. âSo youâre actually telling me,â You said slowly, incredulously, âthat this child is from the future? A future where I have a baby with Nott of all people?â
McGonagall folded her hands calmly, âMiss (Y/N)ââ
âYouâre joking, right?â You cut in, letting out a hollow laugh, âI mean, everyone here can see that there isnât even a modicum of possibility that the two of us would dateâlet alone get married, let alone have a child.â
Theoâs jaw tightened.
He wanted to argueâwanted to back you up, to scoff and insist this was ridiculous, that there had to be some enormous mistake, some elaborate cosmic joke with particularly poor timing. A week ago, he would have done exactly that.
But heâd been standing in this same position barely days earlier.
He knew now that arguing would get him nowhere.
Soon enough, Bianca would wake up. She always did. And when she did, she would cryâsharp, panicked, desperate cries that cut straight through stone and reason alike. She would call for you the same way she had called for him, voice cracking, hands reaching for something familiar in a world that made no sense.
And if you were even remotely a decent person, you wouldnât be able to ignore it.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and inescapable.
But Bianca only shifted in his arms, letting out a small, congested sniff as she rubbed at her itchy nose against his robes. Theo adjusted his hold without thinking, brushing his thumb gently along her back until her body went slack again, weight settling against him.
Theodore Nott was not a single father.
Absolutely not.
He wasnât even a father if one wanted to argue technicalitiesâand frankly, he did. Loudly. Frequently. If he wasnât considered a father, then you certainly couldnât be considered a mother. It was only fair. Balanced. Logical.
And yet.
If he was being forced to look after a suction cup turned human childâday in and day outâthen he didnât see why you got to take the easy way out and keep avoiding her. Avoiding them.
It felt less like co-parenting and more like he was chasing you down for childcare payments.
So he handed Bianca off to Mattheoâwho was, once again, skipping class and therefore had no grounds to complainâand went looking for you.
He caught you just as Potions let out, students flooding into the corridor in clusters of laughter and complaints. Theo slipped through them with singular purpose and grabbed your elbow just outside the classroom doors.
You startled, turning sharply, âNott? What do you need?â
âDonât pretend like you donât know what this is about,â He hissed, releasing you only to cross his arms over his chest, âGo see your child.â
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, âSheâs not my kid.â
âSheâs as much yours as she is mine,â Theo shot back, frustration flaring hot in his chest, âand itâs not fair that Iâm the one looking after her all day.â
âWe canât even speak the same language.â
âSheâs three,â He snapped, âAll you need to do is watch her while she plays with toys or draws orâMerlinâsomething.â
âShe doesnât even want to come with me.â
The words hit harder than he expected.
âMaybe she would,â Theo said, quieter but still sharp, âif you spent more time with her.â
The conversation had officially crossed into absurd territory. Theo felt like every dramatic woman in those ridiculous telenovelas his mother used to watchâhands flying, emotions everywhere, dignity nowhere to be found.
You scoffed, âOh, come off it, Nott. Donât you find it strange that she can only speak Italian? Nothing else? Not even my first language?â
Theo frowned, but you werenât finished.
âShe never comes to me first,â You continued, voice tightening, âNever asks me for help when sheâs eating. Never reaches for me when she wants something. Youâre always her first choice. Have you noticed that?â
His mouth openedâclosed again.
âAnd,â You went on, softer now, more brittle, âyou know she never lets me carry her? Not even once. And believe me, Iâve tried. She squirms out of my arms every time.â
The anger heâd carried with him faltered.
He could see it thenâthe hurt etched into your expression, raw and unguarded. Theo shifted, frowning, âSheâs just⊠not used toââ
âI donât think thatâs it.â You interrupted quietly.
You hesitated. Took a breath.
âWhat if,â You said, voice barely above a whisper now, âwhat if in the future⊠Iâm not there?â
Theoâs chest went cold.
âNo,â Theo said quickly, the word cutting through the silence like he could sever the thought itself, âNo. Thatâsâthere are other explanations.â
You looked at him, eyes searching his face.
âLike what?â You asked.
He exhaled sharply, already reaching, âMaybe we justâsplit up. In the future. People do that. All the time.â
Your mouth twisted, humorless, âRight. So either Iâm dead, or Iâm a deadbeat.â
âThatâs not what I said.â
âThatâs exactly what you said,â You shot back, âBecause if Iâm alive and well and present, Theo, then why doesnât she know my language? Why doesnât she come to me? Why doesnât she trust me?â
His jaw clenched, âYou donât know that she doesnâtââ
âShe doesnât,â You said quietly, firmly, âAnd you know it.â
He felt like he couldn't breathe. His hand twitched at his side.
Theo shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, âYouâre making assumptions."
"I don't want to confuse her," You snapped, "What if I spend time with her now and she goes back to a future where she's confused that future me doesn't? Don't you think it's better for her to not be left with any painful memories?"
"Fuck this." He said harshly.
You stared at him, stunned, âTheodoââ
He turned away before you could finish.
He needed a fucking cigarette.
Theo didnât look at you when you spoke.
âI thought I might find you here.â You sighed, stepping into the Astronomy Tower. The night air was sharp, the stars cruelly clear.
He only glanced at you once before turning back to the edge, exhaling smoke into the dark. The orange tip of his cigarette flared, then dimmed.
He hadnât gone back before bedtime like heâd promised Bianca.
The thought twisted in his chestâbut he shoved it down. Mattheo would handle it. He told himself Mattheo wouldâve worn her out enough that sheâd gone down on her own. That sheâd fallen asleep surrounded by noise and laughter and familiar faces. That she wouldnât notice.
But he couldnât go back now. Not like this. Not smelling like smoke and guilt and the kind of fear that hollowed you out from the inside.
You shifted, eyes flicking to the small graveyard of cigarette stubs at his feet, and visibly bit back a comment.
âYou canât seriously be that upset at the thought of me dying, are you, Nott?â You said lightly, like it was a joke you didnât quite believe in, âAfter all, we arenât anything to each other.â
Theoâs fingers stilled.
Truthfully, he wasnât.
Not in the way you meant.
It wasnât you he was grieving.
It was the future he thought he was building.
He had thoughtâMerlin help himâthat he was doing something right.
Thought that maybeâmaybeâthis was him breaking the cycle. Overcoming his own childhood, his own grief, his own scars. The way she clung to him, trusted him, sought him outâheâd taken that as proof. Proof that he was doing something right. That he was raising her in a house full of warmth. Of love.
A home that wasnât cold. A father who didnât disappear into silence. A childhood that didnât feel like walking on broken glass.
He had thought he was undoing the damage his own father had carved into him.
Breaking the curse.
And now it felt like he was watching history fold back in on itself.
Bianca would lose her mother. Just like he had.
Sheâd be left in a cold home, one that hollowed out instead of held you together. Sheâd grow into something sharp and distant and unfeelingâjust like him. Just like his father.
Would he turn into him?
Would he still be able to love Bianca if every time he looked at her, all he saw was you? Would he sit across from her in silence at meals, watching her struggle to eat in the tension, only to hear her throwing up laterâalone on the bathroom floor, crying for a mother who wasnât there?
Would he say the same vile things? Lock her in the same closet?
Would his handsâ
Theoâs breath hitched.
Heâd never imagined hitting a child. Never.
But perhaps his father hadnât imagined it either. Not at first.
Perhaps he was driven to it.
He took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it away, crushing the ember beneath his heel before reaching for another with trembling fingers.
He never got the chance to light it.
Your hand closed around his wrist.
Firm. Steady.
He stilled.
Slowly, his focus shiftedâreally shiftedâto you.
For the first time since Bianca had seen you, since the world had tilted on its axis, he truly looked at your face.
And there it was.
Your eyes.
Or ratherâ
Biancaâs.
His throat closed, eyes flickering over your face as he began to compare the two of you when your nose began to twitch, the smell of the smoke finally getting to you.
"Achoo!"
Theo couldn't help but let out a dry breath of laughter.
âYou should spend time with her,â He said finally, voice roughâscraped raw by smoke and something dangerously close to tears, âI wanted nothing more than to remember my mother when she died.â
The words hung between you, fragile and devastating.
Theo swallowed.
âShe deserves that,â He added quietly, âAnd so do you.â
Morning came quietly in the Slytherin dorms. The others had already left the dorm to get breakfast and begin classes.
Theo had been awake long before itâagain. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the small lump buried beneath his blankets. Bianca had twisted herself sideways sometime in the night, curls exploding in every direction, one chubby foot sticking out from under the covers like a silent rebellion.
âBianca,â He murmured gently, nudging the lump, âĂ mattina.â (It's morning.)
She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine and promptly rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow tighter.
âNo,â She mumbled sleepily, âHo sonnoâŠâ (I'm sleepy)
Theo blinked, staring at the blanket-wrapped lump that was technically his responsibility. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleepâjust fifteen more minutes, surely that wouldnât hurt.
But experience had already taught him better.
If she slept in, sheâd be feral by noon. No nap. No quiet. No sleep later. Which meant another night of pacing the dorm with a squirming toddler while his own body begged for rest.
He sighed. The deep, tired, fatherly kindâthe one he was rapidly perfecting.
Just as he leaned forward to try again, there was a knock at the door.
Theo froze.
His mind leapt immediately to the all possibilities.
Professor McGonagall, stern and efficient, here to inform him theyâd finally found a way to send Bianca back to her own time.
Or worseâhere to say they couldnât.
Another knock followed. Softer. Hesitant.
Theo stood slowly, smoothing a hand through his already-mussed hair, heart doing something distinctly unhelpful in his chest. When he opened the door, he wasnât entirely sure what heâd been expecting.
But it was you.
You stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you like you might bolt at any second. You werenât in your uniformâdressed casually insteadâand floating just behind you was a small enchanted tray, stacked with breakfast.
Theoâs brows lifted despite himself.
âOh,â He said. Guarded. Careful. ââŠMorning.â
You hesitated, then offered a small, tentative smile.
âI brought breakfast.â
Behind him, there was sudden movement.
Biancaâs head popped up from the blankets, curls crushed on one side of her face, eyes still hazy with sleep.
She stared at you for half a second before her entire expression lit up.
âMama!â
Theo barely had time to react before she scrambled upright, tangling herself in the covers.
âBuongiorno?â You said, tilting your head as you stepped inside, âIâuh. Iâm hoping I'm pronouncing that right.â
Theo stepped aside as you entered, watching carefully as Bianca scooted closer, clutching her blanket around her shoulders like a cape. You set the tray down on the bedside table and sat beside her without hesitation.
Breakfast became a quiet, shared thing.
Bianca sat between the two of you on the bed, half-awake but cooperative, munching on cut fruit and toast while you worked patiently through the knots in her hair. She winced once, then relaxed when your touch stayed gentle.
âI used to have curls like this too.â You said softly, lifting a section of her hair.
Theo glanced over, wondering why you were saying this. Perhaps you were just getting sick of being out of the loop while Theo constantly reminded Bianca not to chew with her mouth open, âReally?â
You hummed, âYeah. Until I spent one entire summer swimming. Completely ruined them.â
"Oh." He muttered.
âAnd then,â You continued, amused, âI discovered Sleekeazyâs Hair Potion and never really went back.â
You began sectioning her hair, fingers moving more confidently now, twisting it into neat little ponies.
Theo slid the tray closer to you, âYou sure you donât want some?â
You shook your head lightly, âI already ate.â
Bianca paused mid-bite, brows knitting together. She looked up at you, then spoke quietly.
âMamma⊠stai male di nuovo?â (Are you sick again?)
Theo stiffened slightly, ââŠCosa intendi?â (What do you mean?)
Bianca shrugged, matter-of-fact in the way only children could be, âA volte la mamma sta male e non riesce a mangiare.â (Sometimes mommy gets sick and canât eat.)
Theo looked at you slowly, something uneasy settling in his chest.
You tilted your head, confused, "Am I missing something?"
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet.
Theo had never realized just how quiet it could get when everyone was actually in class. On the rare occasions he skipped, he was usually surrounded by his noisy gaggle of friendsâlaughter, insults, the scrape of chairs. Now, with most of the students gone, the space felt cavernous, almost reverent.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting lazy rectangles of gold across the stone floor. The lake beyond the glass shimmered faintly, shadows drifting slowly along the walls.
Theo sat at one of the long tables, a textbook open in front of him. Beside him, Bianca occupied her own chair, perched atop a cushion to give her some height. Even then, she barely reached the tabletopâher upper body completely propped up on her elbows as she strained forward, tongue poking out in concentration.
A piece of parchment lay in front of her, covered in colorful scribbles, and a box of crayons sat nearbyâformerly one of Theoâs cigarette packs, now successfully transfigured.
You sat on his other side.
Your space had slowly expanded until it spilled over into hisâparchment and quills scattered between you, a textbook here, a notebook there. You leaned in to show him a particularly complicated potion formula, pointing at your notes with the tip of your wand.
âSo yesterday, we covered the difference between tinctures and infusions,â You explained, flipping through your notebook until you found the relevant lecture, âI wrote the key points hereâsee? You mostly just need to memorize the ratios.â
Theo scanned your notes, brow furrowing as he compared them to the questions listed beneath. He tapped one section with his finger.
âWhat about this one?â He asked, âIt doesnât match the ratio.â
You leaned closer to see what he was pointing at, scooting nearer without thinking, âOhâokay, this oneâs an exception. Itâs considered an infusion because of the brewing process, not the base ingredients.â
You were just about to continue when Bianca suddenly sat upright, eyes wide, like sheâd uncovered a great secret.
âPapĂ ! Mamma! Guarda!â She chirped, spinning the parchment toward you with pride.
You leaned in immediately, your expression softening.
It was a drawingâvery clearly the three of you. Stick figures, yes, but unmistakable. One tall with dark hair. One beside him with longer hair. And a much smaller one in the middle, curls drawn in chaotic loops. Behind you stood a crooked little house, flowers floating inexplicably in midair, and a tiny sun tucked into the corner of the page.
You laughed quietly, âThis is adorable.â
Bianca smiled, satisfied, but said nothingâalready basking in the praise.
You turned to Theo, âWhatâs wow in Italian?â
He shifted his gaze from the drawing to you, and it was only then you realized just how close youâd gottenâpractically halfway into his seat. At this distance, you could see every individual lash, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
You froze.
Theo leaned in, lowering his head toward your ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and lazy, far too close.
âWow." He said simply.
You pulled back just enough to glare at him, âYouâre unbearable.â
A corner of his mouth lifted, âYou asked.â
Theo hadnât planned on going to the Hufflepuff house party.
Not really.
But youâd insistedâgentle, firm in that way that made it hard to argue without sounding like an idiot.
âGo,â Youâd said, already kneeling to help Bianca with her pajamas, âYou havenât been out in days. You deserve a night that doesnât involve a sticky toddler."
Bianca had protested briefly, arms looping around his neck like a vise, but youâd distracted her with some Jaffa cakes. That seemed to do it.
So he went.
There was music. Laughter. Too many people packed into a common room that smelled faintly of firewhisky and bad decisions. Mattheo handed him a drink almost immediately.
Theo stared at it.
Then thought of Biancaâovertired, unfamiliar bed, the very real possibility that sheâd decide midnight was an appropriate time to throw a tantrum and demand to be taken back to Theo's dorm only to be greeted by his drunk self.
He handed it back.
âNo?â Mattheo blinked.
âNo.â Theo said flatly.
He stayed long enough to prove heâd tried. Not to himself but to you. Who he knew would give him a teasing scold when he'd come back early, tail tucked between his legs.
And thenâquietly, without much fanfareâhe left.
The Slytherin dorms were dim when he returned, the corridors hushed and cool. He moved carefully, like any loud noise might break something fragile.
When he opened his door, the first thing he noticed was the lamp.
Low. Warm. Soft golden light spilling across the room.
The second thingâ
You were there, curled on your side beneath his blankets, Bianca tucked against your chest like she belonged there. One of your arms was draped protectively around her small body, fingers curled instinctively at her back. Biancaâs face was pressed into your collarbone, curls splayed wildly across the pillow.
Fast asleep.
Theo stopped just inside the doorway.
Something tight in his chest loosened. Something else replaced itâheavier, warmer, far more dangerous.
Youâd kicked off your shoes, throwing off your jacket as well in favour of casting a warming charm over the two of you right as you had fallen asleep. Biancaâs tiny hand was fisted in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring herself.
Theo approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He studied your face.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, brushing your lips. In your sleep, your brow pinched faintly, nose scrunching in the exact same way Biancaâs did.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle before he could stop himself.
Carefullyâso carefullyâhe reached out and brushed the strand of hair away from your face with two fingers.
You stirred.
Not fully awakeâjust enough to shift closer to Bianca, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. Your hand tightened reflexively around her back.
Theo froze.
Bianca was going to lose this one day.
She was going to lose thisâthe warmth, the safety, the arms of her mother.
He was going to lose this someday.
He didn't want to lose you.
He wanted you for the rest of his life.
The thought hit hard and fast, knocking the breath out of his chest.
He swallowed, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of Biancaâs back. On the way your fingers curved protectively at her spine even in sleep, like your body knew the job before your mind ever caught up.
Then you shifted again.
This time more sharply.
Your eyes blinked open, unfocused and glassy with sleep, lashes fluttering as you took in the dim room. For half a second, you looked confusedâthen awareness snapped in all at once.
You stiffened.
âOhâMerlinââ You whispered hoarsely, lifting your head an inch before immediately freezing again when Bianca huffed and burrowed closer.
You blinked.
You slowly sank back down, mortified.
Theo watched as realization dawned on your face.
Then, horrified, you wiped at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
âIââ You croaked, then cleared your throat quietly, âI wasnât⊠I wasnât actually asleep.â
Theo raised a brow.
You winced, âOkay. Thatâs a lie. I was trying not to fall asleep.â
He stayed silent, letting you dig.
âI was pretending,â You continued in a rushed whisper, cheeks warming, âI thought if I stayed really still sheâd think it was bedtime and settle down andâwellâapparently I fell asleep first.â
Theo huffed out a soft breath that mightâve been a laugh.
You shot him a look, âDonât.â
âI didnât say anything.â
You sighed, rubbing your face with one hand, careful not to jostle Bianca, âThis is so embarrassing.â
Theo didnât respond right away.
Instead, he stood, crossed the room quietly, and took the blanket draped over the chair. His movements were carefulâdeliberateâas he unfolded it and drew it up over you and Bianca, tucking it in around her small shoulders before letting it settle across your waist.
âYou can sleep here tonight,â He said finally, voice low. Then, after a beat, softer, âIf you want.â
You blinked up at him, the last of sleep still clinging to you.
âHere?â You asked, whispering like the room might object.
He shrugged one shoulder, âSheâs already settled. No point moving her.â
You hesitated.
Then nodded, âOkay.â
Theoâs jaw loosened, just a little.
A few days later, Theo was running on fumes.
The bone-deep exhaustion that settled behind his eyes and refused to leave. The kind that made time blur and thoughts lag half a second behind reality. Between the staggered schedules, half-missed classes, and nights that never quite counted as sleep, he felt like he was permanently five minutes behind himself.
You werenât doing much better.
The professors still hadnât found a way to send Bianca back, which meant the two of you had fallen into a strange, grinding rhythm: one of you attending class while the other watched her, trading off half-written notesâif by some miracle you hadnât fallen asleep mid-lecture. You were grateful the professors were granting you at least that much grace.
The rest of the time was spent cramming together right before bedtime while Bianca threw a tantrum of truly mythological proportions.
It turned out sheâd woken up once to find the two of you studying together and had somehow come to the conclusion that whenever she went to sleep, you and Theo threw secret parties without her.
So nowâdespite being exhaustedâshe refused to sleep.
You hadnât known children could get overtired before.
Apparently, it was a thing.
A loud, shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard thing.
Bianca was a small whirlwind. All limbs and laughter and boundless, feral energy that refused to burn out indoors.
So when you suggested a picnic by the Black Lake, Theo thought youâd finally lost your mind.
âYou want to let her run free,â He said flatly, ânear a giant squid.â
âShe just needs to run,â You insisted, rubbing your temples, âLikeâreally run. Until her lungs give out.â
Theo stared at you, hollow-eyed.
ââŠYouâre a genius.â
So there you were.
The grass near the lake was warm beneath the afternoon sun, the water dark and glassy, the mountains reflected on its surface like a painting. A blanket was spread out behind you with food youâd asked the house-elves to makeâand while it looked incredible, you were deeply offended by the lack of sweets.
Apparently the elves had decided Bianca didnât need sugar.
Who cared about Bianca?
You wanted a chocolate lava cake, damn it.
Bianca, meanwhile, had already abandoned the blanket entirely.
She shrieked with laughter as Theo lifted her into the air, spinning once before tossing her just high enough to make her squealâthen catching her easily.
âAncora!â She demanded, breathless. (Again.)
Theo obliged.
He laughedâreally laughed. Not the tired, guarded version youâd grown used to, but something lighter, freer. He threw her again, caught her, bounced her once on his hip before setting her down just long enough for her to sprint off in a wild, crooked circle.
You watched from the blanket.
At first, it was just fondness. Relief. Gratitude that she was finally burning off that impossible energy. You couldnât deny itâthe sound of a child laughing so freely tugged a smile from you before you could stop it.
Then your gaze shifted.
Theo crouched when she spoke, his attention completely zeroed in on her. When she stumbled, he steadied her without thinking. When she reached for him, he went instantlyâlifting her with an ease that felt instinctive, like muscle memory heâd never known he had.
And something in your chest shifted.
Warm.
Tight.
Soft in a way you hadnât expected.
He stole your breath.
You stared at him.
At the boy youâd never really noticed. The boy youâd fully expected to graduate without so much as a conversation between you. Someone who, before all of this, wouldâve been nothing more than a footnoteâif thatâin the story of your life.
Not your ending.
And yet the realization hit you so suddenly you almost laughed.
Somewhereâsomewhenâyears from now, a version of you would love him enough to choose to have a child with this man.
And now?
You got it.
You got the vision your future self must have seen when she decided to lock him down.
You supposed it made sense that youâd never seen Theo like this before. He was just a boyâhow could you possibly know whether a teenage boy would grow into someone steady? Someone safe. Someone capable of love that endured, of support that didnât waver.
A man you could build a life with.
But watching him nowâwatching him lift Bianca again as she squealed, watching the way his hand stayed firm at her backâyour stomach flipped.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your ovaries, traitors that they were, staged a full rebellion.
And for the first time, the future didnât feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.
You stood abruptly and joined them, brushing grass from your skirt. âAlright,â You said, âMy turn.â
You bent to lift Biancaâ
âNo!â She protested instantly.
She wriggled out of your arms with shocking strength for someone so small and darted straight back to Theo, wrapping herself around his leg like an anchor.
Your smile slipped. Just for a heartbeat.
âOhâokay,â You said quickly, forcing it back into place, âThatâs fine. Totally fine.â
You took a step back, suddenly unsure of where to put your hands, your weight, yourself. The breeze off the Black Lake felt colder now. You stared out at the water instead of them, swallowing the strange tightness in your chest.
Theo noticed.
He frowned, glancing between you and Bianca, then crouched so he was level with her. Gently, carefully, he loosened her grip just enough to look at her face.
âPerchĂ© non vuoi che mamma ti prenda?â He asked softly. (Why donât you want mamma to pick you up?)
The word mamma hit you even before you processed it.
You turned away a little more, heart stuttering. You didnât understand the rest of what he said, not really. You suddenly felt like you were standing on the edge of something sacred and private, like youâd wandered into a family photograph you didnât belong in.
Biancaâs face scrunched up, serious in that way only children could be when they believed they were being very reasonable.
âMamma Ăš troppo malata per portarmi, papĂ ,â She said firmly, âLo sai.â (Mamma's too sick to take me, papa. You know that.)
Theo froze.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
Theoâs eyes flicked to you slowly.
You tilted your head, not knowing how spines began to claw up his hands and feet, making him feel cold, "What's wrong?"
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family planning pt. 2 (t.n.)
Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader
Word Count: 6.2k
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: This is the second part and since you waited so patiently i included 3 bonus scenes teehee posting it early for my babies
Special mention to @for-the-love-of-puppies and @luffysprincess who predicted this turnout lol our brains are in sync
Credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 1
Bianca was a blur of movement by the Great Lake.
She darted along the grassy bank, boots thudding softly against the earth as she zig-zagged around rocks and half-buried roots, stopping every few seconds to crouch down and inspect something with intense focus before bolting off again. A stick became a wand, a pebble became treasure, and the reeds at the waterâs edge were clearly hiding something very important.
You watched her with a fond smile, arms folded loosely as you leaned back against the cool stone.
âShe has too much energy.â You said, though there was no real complaint in your voiceâonly wonder.
Theo huffed a quiet laugh beside you, eyes never leaving her, âSheâs a firecracker.â
Bianca shrieked with laughter as she nearly tripped over her own feet, caught herself at the last second, and then stood very stillâcarefully regaining her balance before continuing on her way.
Theo tilted his head slightly, watching her, âShe takes after you.â
You laughed, startled, âAre you crazy?â
He glanced at you, amused, âWhat?â
You nodded toward Bianca. âLook at her. Sheâs observant. Thoughtful. She watches everything. Sheâs lively, yeahâbut she hardly ever leaps without looking first.â You smiled softly, âThatâs all you.â
Theo went quiet at that, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth.
He watched Bianca sprint past a patch of wildflowers, slow just enough to avoid stepping on them, then take off again.
ââŠMaybe.â He conceded.
A moment later, he added, half-thoughtful, half-teasing, âSheâd be a good Chaser.â
You snorted, âOf course youâd say that.â
âDid you see that turn?â He said, nodding toward her as she swerved sharply to avoid the waterâs edge, âShe'll be a star quidditch player.â
You hummed, considering it. âI donât know,â You said slowly, âI kind of see her as a Magizoologist.â
Theo glanced at you, âYeah?â
âSheâs gentle,â You said, âCurious. She doesnât just want to lookâshe wants to understand.â You smiled as Bianca crouched again, whispering something to a very unimpressed-looking duck, âI think sheâd love creatures.â
Theoâs expression softened.
âWhatever she chooses,â He said quietly, âsheâll be brilliant.â
The words lingered between you.
The lake rippled softly. The breeze carried the scent of water and grass. Biancaâs laughter echoed across the shore, bright and unburdened.
And thenâslowly, inevitablyâthe conversation faded.
Neither of you spoke.
Because the truth settled in like a weight neither of you wanted to name.
There were futures you were imagining that you wouldnât get to see. First matches. First discoveries. First failures. First triumphs.
Theo swallowed.
You hugged your arms closer to yourself, eyes fixed on Bianca as if memorizing the way the sunlight caught in her curls.
For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
And for a moment, that made it hurt so much more.
Bedtime was always a gamble.
There were nights when Bianca conked out long before she was meant to, curled boneless and warm in Theoâs arms, and you and him would exchange a silent look before jointly deciding it wasnât worth the risk. No pajamas. No teeth brushed. Not if it meant waking her. Youâd just lay her down as she was and hope she didn't wake up.
Some nights, she went down like a dreamâpadding excitedly toward bed because she was looking forward to the story that Theo read to her. When it was your turn, Bianca would read to you instead, you'd study the pictures with exaggerated seriousness, and make enthusiastic oohs and ahhs at all the right moments while Bianca beamed in pride at her reading skills.
And then there were the nights she refused.
It would almost be easier if she werenât tiredâat least then you could burn the energy off. A walk around the castle usually did the trick. More often than not, sheâd be asleep in Theoâs arms before you even turned back toward the common room, her cheek pressed into his shoulder, breathing slow and even.
But the worst nights were when she was exhausted and still couldnât sleep.
Overtired, overstimulated, and furious about it.
The crying cut through you in a way nothing else didâsharp and relentless, scraping along your nerves until you felt hollowed out. Theo held on as long as he could. When it became too much, heâd quietly excuse himself.
"Ten minutes." He promised, "I'll be back."
But when fifteen passed and he still hadnât returned, you didnât go looking for him. You knew where he wasâthe common room, breathing, grounding himself. You let him have those extra minutes.
You held Bianca instead, her small body tense in your arms, her face damp with tears. You hugged her close and rocked back and forth, humming softly at first, then singingâa lullaby from a film you used to love as a child.
Gradually, the sobs quieted.
Her breathing evened out.
And when you were absolutely certain she was goneâtruly asleepâyou tucked her into bed, smoothing the blankets, lingering just long enough to make sure she didnât stir.
Only then did you leave.
You closed the door quietly behind you and let out a long breath.
âSheâs finally down.â You murmured, collapsing onto the couch beside Theo like your bones had simply decided they were finished.
He looked up from the parchment spread across the coffee table. His hair was mussed, sleeves rolled up, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
âIâm sorry I didnât come back up.â He said quietly.
Your head tipped against his shoulder without thinking. âItâs okay, Theo,â You replied softly, âYou deserved the break after the fight to get her into pajamas.â
He exhaledâa deep, exhausted sighâand let his head fall forward for a moment. The common room was dim, fire crackling low, everything wrapped in that hazy, end-of-day quiet where the world felt temporarily paused.
After a beat, Theo straightened slightly, shaking his head like he could physically shake himself awake. âOkay,â He said, gesturing to the parchment with his chin, âDo you want to start writing the Charms essay?â
You nodded, eyes already heavy. âIn a second,â You murmured, âJust⊠give me a second.â
Your eyes fluttered shut.
The fire crackled. The room softened. The parchment remained untouched.
And sometime in the night, Theoâs head tipped gently against yours, his breathing evening out as sleep finally claimed him tooâthe two of you tangled together on the couch like you belonged there.
Morning crept into the Slytherin common room slowly.
Pale light filtered in through the tall windows, casting faint shapes across the stone floor and catching on the dying embers in the fireplace. The room was quiet in that in-between wayâtoo early for students rushing to class, too late for true solitude.
Sometime during the night, the distance between you and Theo had disappeared entirely.
Your head was tucked beneath his chin now, his arm slung looselyâbut securelyâaround your waist. One of your legs had somehow ended up tangled with his, your body curved into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His cheek rested against the crown of your head, breath warm and steady, fingers curled faintly into the fabric of your sleeve.
You looked⊠settled.
Theo hadnât slept that deeply in weeks.
The first voices shattered the quiet.
âOiâwhat the hell?â
Blaise stopped short just inside the common room, halfway through a yawn. Mattheo, behind him, followed his line of sightâand froze. Then a slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face.
âMama y papĂ .â He said cheerfully.
Theo stirred at the sound, brows knitting together. You shifted too, burrowing closer on instinct, your face scrunching in your sleep in that exact way Bianca did when she didnât want to wake up yet.
Theoâs eyes fluttered open.
It took him a moment to piece things together. The couch. The dying fire. The weight against his chest.
You.
His arm tightened before he could stop himself.
Draco let out a low whistle. âMerlin,â He drawled, âYou leave one kid with him for a week and suddenly heâs playing house.â
Theoâs eyes snapped fully open, âShut up.â
Lorenzo folded his arms, unimpressed but unmistakably entertained, âAre we interrupting something?â
You shifted again, mumbling something soft and unintelligible into Theoâs chest. Your hand slid up, fingers curling into the front of his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Theo held his breath.
For a moment, he stared up at the ceilingâat the stone arches, at the faint greenish lightâfully aware of his friends staring like the two of you were a particularly scandalous exhibit in a zoo.
And still, despite himself, his eyelids felt heavy again.
âBianca?â He murmured, voice barely there.
âStill fast asleep.â Mattheo supplied easily.
Theo didnât even fight it.
His eyes slid shut again, arm tightening just a fraction more around you as his head tipped back against the couch.
Out cold.
There was a beat of silence.
Thenâ
âOh my God,â Blaise whispered, âHeâs actually asleep."
Lorenzo stared, "My old man used to do the same too. Fell asleep through a whole movie once."
The Slytherin common room was almost unnervingly quiet at that hour.
The fire burned low in the hearth, casting slow-moving shadows across the stone walls, green flames reflecting in the tall windows like something alive beneath the lake outside. Most of the lamps had been extinguished, leaving only a soft pool of light near the couches where you and Theo satâbooks spread open, parchment littered with notes, ink smudges marking the evidence of three solid feet of Transfiguration essays each.
You were officially on a break.
You shivered, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders just as Theo stood, rolling his neck once before moving toward the small table where heâd set up the kettle. You watched him quietly as he brewed teaâprecise, unhurried, like the ritual itself grounded him.
When he returned and placed a cup in front of you, you couldnât help the smile that curved your lips.
The teabag was still steeping.
You took a careful sip. It was perfect. Strong, but not bitter. Exactly how you liked it.
A soft chuckle slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Theo glanced up, âWhat?â
You shook your head, lifting the cup slightly, âNothing. Justâthank you.â
He nodded once, but his mouth twitched like he knew there was more to it.
Then, almost without thinking, you said, âYou know⊠before meeting her, I didnât think Iâd ever even look twice at you.â
Theoâs quill froze mid-scratch.
Slowly, he turned to face you, one brow lifting. âWow,â He drawled, âI feel incredibly flattered.â
You winced, âNoâwait. That came out wrong.â
He studied you now, the teasing edge fading, curiosity sharpening his expression.
âI just mean,â You continued, fingers worrying the hem of your sleeve, âbefore Bianca, I honestly thought weâd graduate and pass by each other without ever really being in each otherâs lives.â You hesitated, âBut nowâŠâ
âNow what?â He asked quietly.
You gestured vaguely between the two of youâthe firelight, the late hour, the way his knee brushed yours and neither of you moved away.
âYou know exactly how I like my tea,â You said softly, âAnd I know how you like yours. Iâm allergic to smoke, and you stopped smoking before this even becameâŠâ Your voice trailed off as you ducked your head, unsure how to name what sat between you, âWhatever this is.â
âWhatever this is,â You finished, almost to yourself, âItâs funny, isnât it? How sometimes things just⊠happen. Completely out of order.â
Theo leaned back slightly, watching you like you were something fragile and dangerous all at once.
âShe changed things.â He said.
âYes,â You whispered, âShe certainly did.â
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.
âI never thought about it before.â He admitted finally, voice low.
âAbout what?â
âAny of this,â He said, âA family. A future. I didnât think I was capable of it, to be honest.â His jaw tightened. âThought I was too screwed up to deserve one.â
Your chest ached.
âAnd now?â You asked softly.
âNow,â He said, barely above a breath, âI want it more than anything in the world.â His eyes met yours, âBianca. And you.â
Your heart stuttered painfully.
âI donât know when it happened,â He went on, âOr how. I just know that somewhere along the way, I stopped yearning for my pastâand started anticipating the future instead.â
The fire popped, sharp in the stillness.
You looked at himâreally looked. The shadows beneath his eyes. The tension he carried like armor. The boy who had let himself love without realizing how deeply it would cut.
âI think,â You said, voice trembling just slightly, âI feel the same way, Theo.â You swallowed, âI want a future with you.â
You reached for him before fear could catch up, your fingers brushing his wrist. He went utterly still at the contact, breath hitching like youâd struck something vital.
You hesitated, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you lifted your gaze to hisâand then your hands began to tremble when you saw it. The want in his eyes. Bare. Unguarded.
Theo leaned in slowly, deliberatelyâgiving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
His forehead rested against yours first, warm and steady, grounding you both.
âTi amo.â He whispered.
You didnât need to understand Italian to know what he was saying.
The kiss started softly, tentativeâhis lips brushing yours like a question he was afraid to ask too loudly. When you responded, just as gently, his breath shuddered, relief and emotion tangling together.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, slower. Like he was learning you. Like he was afraid that if he rushed, the moment might fracture.
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if anchoring himself. You melted into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, the firelight warming your skin as the world narrowed to thisâthis quiet, impossible thing that had found you both.
When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, foreheads still touching.
You really did love him.
Theo had been in a mood.
It settled over him the moment the owl arrivedâthick parchment, precise handwriting, the professorsâ seal pressed into the wax like a finality. Youâd read it together at the kitchen table in the common room, Bianca swinging her legs beneath the chair, humming to herself as she colored, blissfully unaware.
We believe we have found a way to reverse the spell. Preliminary tests indicate a high probability of success. We are confident we can return the child to her proper time.
Ever since then, something in Theo had gone quiet.
Not angry. Not cruel. Just⊠withdrawn. As if heâd folded inward, brick by careful brick, building walls he refused to name. He spoke less. Smiled less. When Bianca reached for him, he held her a little tighter, a little longerâlike he was memorizing the weight of her, the way she fit against his chest.
You told yourself you understood.
Of course he was going to miss her. You were going to miss her too. Somewhere between shared breakfasts and bedtime stories, scraped knees and tangled curls, Bianca had taken root in your heart. The thought of watching her vanishâof returning to your normal lives and pretending these weeks hadnât rewritten youâmade your throat ache in a way you didnât know how to soothe.
That night, Bianca went to bed easily.
Too easily.
She pressed a sticky kiss to your cheek, murmured something sleepy in Italian, and curled beneath her blankets without protest. No fuss. No tears. Just acceptance.
It felt like a bad omen.
Theo waited until the door clicked shut behind you before he spoke.
âWhat if we donât send her back?â
You turned slowly, the words not quite registering, âWhat?â
âWhat if we keep her here,â He said, voice low and urgent, like if he spoke too loudly the idea might shatter, âWhat if we justâdonât go through with it. We have time with her. Real time. Why should we give that up?â
Your stomach dropped.
âTheo,â You said carefully, âWhat are you talking about?â
âWeâre her parents,â He said, like it was obvious. Like it had always been obvious, âAnd if we send her back, weâre sending her to a life where she doesnât have a mother. At least this wayââ His voice cracked, just slightly, ââat least this way she has both of us.â
âTheoââ
âI know it hasnât been perfect,â He rushed on, stepping closer, words tumbling over each other, âBut weâre learning. We can do this. We already are. You see herâsheâs happy here. Sheâs safe.â His eyes searched yours desperately, âShe doesnât have to lose you.â
Your chest burned.
âI know we could do this,â You whispered, âI know that. But Bianca isnât our child. Not really. No matter how badly we want her to be.â
His jaw tightened, muscles jumping beneath the skin.
âYou donât know what itâs like,â He said sharply, âTo grow up without a mother. To wake up every day knowing thereâs a hole in your life youâll never fill.â His voice dropped, rough and raw, âIf she stays here, she doesnât have to lose you. Whatever it isâwhatever happens to youâwe can catch it early. We can fix it.â
Your vision blurred.
âIf Bianca stays here,â You said, voice breaking, âthe you in the future loses his daughter forever. Heâs already lost his wife, Theo. Donât make him lose his baby girl too.â
Something in him snapped.
âScrew him.â He said hoarsely.
He reached for you suddenly, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like he could stop the tears if he tried hard enough. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
âI have everything Iâve ever wanted right here,â He whispered, âRight now.â
Your sob escaped before you could stop it, fingers clutching at his sleeves like an anchor.
âTheo,â You breathed, âyou know as well as I do⊠she isnât meant to be here.â
He sucked in a breathâand this time, he couldnât hold it back.
The sob tore out of his chest, raw and broken, his grip tightening like he was afraid youâd disappear if he let go.
âDonât make me give you up, (Y/N),â He choked, voice collapsing on your name, âPlease. I canâtâ I canât lose you too.â
His forehead stayed pressed to yours as his shoulders shook, grief and fear and want spilling out all at once. He wasnât just pleading for Bianca.
He was pleading for you. For the life heâd tasted and already couldnât bear to lose.
And you held him there, crying quietly into his collar, knowing that loveâno matter how realâwas not enough to change fate.
The second Theo entered the hospital wing, every instinct in his body screamed the same reckless, impossible thing.
Grab you. Grab Bianca. Apparate.
Disappear so completely that no one would ever find you again.
His mother had family in Italyâold blood, old names, people who still believed hospitality was sacred. They would open their doors. They would help you. They would protect you.
How hard could it be, really, to end up on their doorstep with a frightened child and a woman he loved?
Too easy.
Too selfish.
You didnât even look at him when the thought flickered across his face. You simply squeezed Biancaâs hand and guided her forward, gentle but firm. You knew if you looked back at him, you would be all to convinced to leave together.
Theo swallowed hard, the bitterness rising sharp and ugly in his throat.
All he wantedâall he had ever wantedâwas for the three of you to be happy. Together. Why was that such an impossible thing to ask for? Why did it feel like the universe kept dangling it just close enough for him to taste before ripping it away?
He knew the truth, even if it tore him apart.
Bianca belonged with his older self. The man who chose to have her. The man who could protect her. The man who could stay.
But she was his daughter tooâdamn it. Flesh of his flesh. Blood of his blood. And the thought of letting her go felt like carving something vital out of his chest.
You knelt in front of Bianca, pulling her into a tight embrace. You kissed her forehead, whispered words she couldnât possibly understand, and said as little as you could. Her fingers were small and warm in yours, but they grew slick with sweat as she glanced around at the unfamiliar adults. She tightened her grip, grounding herself the only way she knew how, holding onto you like she could anchor the moment in place.
Theo watched, throat burning.
Then he knelt too.
Heâd done it a thousand timesâtying her shoes, wiping tears from her cheeks, crouching to her level when he needed her attentionâbut this time his knees hit the stone floor harder than usual. Pain flared and vanished, eclipsed by something far worse. His hands trembled as they came up to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing over her skin slowly, reverentlyâlike he was trying to memorize the exact warmth of her.
âHey.â He said softly.
His voice cracked immediately.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and tried again, âBambina.â (Little one)
Her eyes lifted to his.
Just like yoursâwide, glassy, endlessly deep. Like looking into a pool of pearlescent ink that reflected too much truth.
âTi vedrĂČ presto, amore.â He said gently, brushing a curl back from her face. (Iâll see you soon, love.)
âLe cose saranno un poâ diverseâŠâ His breath hitched, âMa devi avere pazienza, va bene? AndrĂ tutto bene.â (Things will be a little different⊠but you need to be patient, okay? Everything will be fine.)
Bianca studied him with grave seriousness, like she was weighing his words carefully.
Thenâsuddenlyâher face lit up.
âOh!â She said brightly, âCome quella volta.â (Oh! Like that time.)
Theo blinked, âCome quando?â (Like when?)
âCome quando sei andato via con la mamma.â She explained easily. (Like when you went away with Mama.)
His chest tightened, âQuando?â (When?)
âQuando siete andati in ospedale.â She continued, rocking on her feet. (When you went to the hospital.)
"E poi sei tornato a casa felice." (And then you came home with happiness.)
Theoâs breath caught violently.
The room tilted.
"Felice?" He asked quietly, feeling like hell. (Happy?)
The word felt wrong in his mouth.
A cold, sickening thought slithered into his mind.
Was he happy when you passed?
His chest tightened, panic blooming sharp and fast, bile rising in his throat. His hands trembled where they rested, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Thenâ
Bianca tilted her head, frowning slightlyâconfused by his confusion.
âQuando sei tornato con il mio fratellino, Felice.â She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. (When you came back with my little brother, Felice.)
The world went very, very still.
Blood rushed through Theoâs head so fast he swayed, knees locking as though a feather could knock him over.
âTuo⊠fratello?â He repeated hoarsely. (Your⊠brother?)
She nodded, curls bouncing. âSĂŹ.â (Yes.)
âĂ piccolo,â She added solemnly, âPiange tanto.â (Heâs little. He cries a lot.)
The hospital.
You being sick.
Too sick to carry her. Too sick to eat breakfast.
The reason Bianca hadnât seemed sad. The reason sheâd been so independent.
Not because you were going to die.
But because you were making room for someone new.
Felice.
Happiness.
Everything slid into place with sickening, breathtaking clarity.
âOh." Theo breathed.
Bianca reached up, cupping his cheek with her small, warm hand.
âNon piangere, papĂ ,â She whispered. (Donât cry, Papa.)
He hadnât even realized he was crying until that moment.
Salazarâthis was mortifying. Breaking down like this. In front of professors. In front of you. In front of a three-year-old.
And yetâhe couldnât stop.
Tears spilled freely now, hot and unrestrained.
Because now he knew.
He would be happy. He would love you. And you would love him back.
You would build a life together. Two children. Maybe more. A family so warm and whole that Bianca would speak of it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His children would never have to imagine a future without their mother.
He would never have to watch them grow up with that hollow ache heâd carried his entire life.
He would never have to watch you get sick, watch you leave this world, leaving him alone to raise your daughter, the last remaining memory of you.
Theo pulled Bianca into his chest, holding her like he could imprint the feeling into his bonesâher weight, her warmth, the steady beat of her heart.
âTi amo.â He choked, âTi amo tantissimo.â (I love you so, so much.)
Her arms wrapped around his neckâfierce and small.
You stared at the pair of them, heart aching, mind reeling. You felt for Theoâdeeplyâbut shock quickly overtook sympathy.
Because between the two of them, you had absolutely not expected him to be the one crying.
ââŠWait,â You said slowly. âWhatâs going on?â
Bianca turned her head as best she could while still buried against Theoâs chest.
âPapa says he loves me, mamma,â She announced cheerfully, âYouâre too slow these days.â
Both of you froze.
ââŠYou speak English?â You and Theo said in unison.
bonus:
The room was finally quiet.
Bianca was goneâsent back to a future that suddenly felt more real than the presentâand Theoâs bedroom felt too large without her small presence filling it. The curtains were half-drawn, moonlight spilling across the sheets in pale silver bands. You lay on your side facing Theo, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arm resting loosely around your waist.
Theo was on the cusp of sleep, just as he had been for the past hour, but your incessant thinking refused to let him go.
âBut if Bianca hadnât come back,â You murmured, staring up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, âwe wouldâve just⊠gone on with our lives.â
He hummed softly, half-asleep but listening, his thumb tracing absentminded shapes into your side.
âAnd we wouldnât have fallen in love,â You continued, the words tumbling out faster now, like if you didnât say them youâd drown in them, âAnd if we didnât fall in love, she wouldnât exist. Which means she wouldnât be able to come back and make us fall in love in the first place.â
You turned your face into his chest, your voice muffled, âSo at the center of the loopâat the very beginningâthere had to be a version of us that fell in love and had Bianca without any intervention at all.â
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not empty.
Then Theo sighed, fond and exhausted and deeply amused in that way that meant he loved you too much to be irritated.
â(Y/N), my love⊠amore mio,â He said gently. He had taken to repeating everything in Italian after English so it would help you learn faster. You felt his chest rise as he spoke again, slower and deliberate. âMy future bride⊠la mia futura sposa. It is four in the morning.â
You groaned softly. âI know,â You sighed, âI just⊠I miss her.â
His arm tightened around you, grounding and warm, âMe too.â
For a moment, that was all there wasâbreathing, moonlight, and the quiet certainty that somewhere, somehow, the two of you were happy and whole.
Then Theo shifted.
You felt it before you saw it: the subtle slide of his hand, warm fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt like he thought you wouldnât notice.
âSay the word, dolcezza,â He murmured, his voice dipping into something unmistakably dangerous, âand Iâll bring her back to us.â
You slapped his hand away without even looking.
âIt is four in the morning.â You said flatly.
He chuckled, low and unapologetic, eyes still closed like this was all part of his master plan, âItaliano, per favore.â
You hesitated, âUm⊠sono...sono le⊠una, due, tre, quattro⊠quattro del mattino?â (Um...it's....one, two three, four....four in the morning?)
âPerfetta,â He said smugly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, âYour accent is getting better.â
bonus bonus teehee:
The front door closed with a quiet, final click behind you.
For a moment, you just stood there.
The house felt different somehowâtoo still, like it had been holding its breath. Sunlight spilled through the front windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The sofa. The stairs. The framed photos waiting to be filled with memories that hadnât happened yet.
Home.
You looked down at the bundle in your arms, your baby boy wrapped in impossibly soft blankets, his face pink and sleepy and perfect. Tears blurred your vision before you even realized they were coming.
Theo stepped in behind you, arms fullâhospital bags slung over his shoulders, a car seat awkwardly balanced against his hip. He froze when he saw your face.
âHey.â He murmured gently.
You turned, blinking hard, then leaned into him anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lipsâslow, grounding, full of everything you didnât have words for. Then you kissed Feliceâs tiny forehead, breathing him in like youâd been afraid he might disappear.
âBentornato a casa, piccolo,â You whispered, voice shaking, âThis is where youâre going to grow up.â (Welcome home, baby boy)
Theo swallowed, eyes shining. He reached out, brushing one finger over Feliceâs cheek like he couldnât quite believe he was real.
And thenâ
âMAMMA!â
Footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Bianca came flying into the hallway, curls bouncing wildly, socks half-slipping off her feet. Mattheo, her godfather, was right behind her, laughing and reaching out uselessly like he could actually stop her.
âBiancaâpiano, piano!â He called, âSlow downâ!â
Theo reacted instantly.
He dropped the bags without a second thought and scooped Bianca up mid-run, lifting her clean off the ground just before she could crash straight into you. She shrieked with laughter as he spun her once, relief spilling out of him in a dozen breathless kisses pressed to her cheeks, her temple, her nose.
You watched them with a soft, aching smile.
Your heart lurched at the sight of your baby girl in his armsâhair wild, eyes bright, whole and glowing with excitement. You had missed her more than youâd allowed yourself to admit during the last few days. Every quiet moment in the hospital had carried the echo of her laughter, the absence of her small weight climbing into your lap.
You had been waiting eagerly to acquaint your children.
Theo had insisted it was better this way. Better for your recovery, better that you didnât have to juggle between children so soon. Heâd been gentle but unmovable about it, the same way heâd been your entire pregnancyâthis one and Biancaâs.
At the first sign of discomfort, heâd been apparating you straight to the hospital wing or summoning your healer for a home visit without hesitation. Youâd teased him once that your obstetrician must be thoroughly sick of him by now.
But judging by the way Theo paidâpromptly, generously, without ever blinkingâand by the fine silk scarf and expensive purse heâd gifted the healer who brought both of his children into the world, you suspected annoyance was the last thing they felt.
If anything, they were probably fond of him.
âHeyâheyâhey,â He murmured into her hair, âCareful, amore mio. PapĂ âs got you.â
Theo finally stopped spinning, still holding Bianca securely against his chest. He pressed one last kiss into her curls and rested his forehead briefly against hers, eyes closed like he was grounding himself.
And you realized, with a sudden, overwhelming tendernessâ
And despite the 36 hours of grueling labor, you realized that, for this man, you would do it all again in a heartbeat.
Theo shifted Bianca onto one hip, still holding her tight as if she might vanish if he let go. Her laughter softened into a happy hum as she curled into him, arms looped around his neck.
Then her eyes finally landed on you.
On the bundle in your arms.
âMamma?â She whispered, voice suddenly small.
You felt your throat close instantly.
âVieni qui, amore,â You murmured, smiling through the sting behind your eyes, âPiano, va bene?â (Come here, love. Easy, okay?)
Theo crouched, keeping Bianca safely lifted as he guided her closer, one protective hand braced at her back. Mattheo lingered a few steps behind, unusually quiet, waiting for the family to have their moment.
Bianca leaned forward, peering into the soft folds of the blanket.
The baby stirred, tiny fingers flexing, lips puckering in a half-sleepy frown.
Her gasp was barely a sound.
âĂ⊠piccolo,â She breathed, "He's smaller than me."
Theo huffed out a soft laugh, eyes glassy.
You tilted Felice just enough so she could see his face properly. His eyes fluttered open for a brief secondâdark, unfocused, brand new.
Biancaâs hand twitched like she wanted to reach out, then froze mid-air.
âPosso?â She asked, glancing up at you for permission. (Can I?)
âYes,â You whispered, âGently.â
Felice shifted again, a soft sound leaving him, and Biancaâs eyes went impossibly wide.
"He spoke to me." She gasped.
Theo pressed his lips together hard, eyes shining as he bent to kiss the side of Biancaâs head, then yours. His free hand came up to cradle you, thumb stroking slow, careful circles like he was afraid the moment might shatter.
âThis,â he said quietly, voice thick, âis Felice, your little brother.â
Bianca straightened immediately.
âFelice,â She repeated, testing the name. Then she smiled, bright and sure, âCiao, Felice. Io sono Bianca.â
The baby slept on, oblivious.
Mattheo cleared his throat, rubbing at his eyes like something had gotten in them, "Merlin, enough to make a grown man cry."
And standing there in the doorway of your home, with laughter in the air and your children between you, you knewâ
This was it.
This was the life Bianca had promised.
Happy.
bonus bonus BONUS scene for my patient babies:
The one thing about living in Italy was that you missed the company.
Not the weather, not the foodâcertainly not the wineâbut them. The loud, sharp-edged comfort of people who knew you before the life youâd built now. The friends who felt less like friends and more like family, forged in dungeons and late nights and shared survival.
The friends youâd left behind at Hogwarts.
You thanked every higher power you could think of that Mattheo had moved here a few years after Bianca was born. It softened the ache. Made the distance feel survivable.
And nowânow that it was Biancaâs sixth birthday, the first child in the entire group to hit that milestoneâthe rest of them had descended to Italy like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Thank goodness Slytherins were rich.
Draco and Blaise were already deep in conversation near the terrace doors, voices low and animated, catching up like no time had passed at all. Lorenzo and Mattheo, meanwhile, had somehow been trickedâlured, reallyâinto assembling Biancaâs princess castle in the middle of the sitting room.
That would teach them to bring gifts that required instructions.
Bianca hovered nearby like a general overseeing her troops, crown slightly askew, offering entirely unhelpful instructions. Felice, on the other hand, had claimed the discarded wrapping paper as his own, even though his uncles had been kind enough to bring presents for him as well.
Instead, he toddled around the sitting room, triumphantly dragging the empty box the princess castle had come in behind him, until Theo scooped him up at the last secondâsaving him from the scattered screws as Mattheo struggled to put the thing together.
Theo hovered near you like a shadow, as he always did these days. One hand rested habituallyâpossessivelyâagainst the small of your back, grounding, warm. The other balanced Felice on his hip, your sonâs face still slightly sticky with cake frosting as he played absently with the little tie youâd put him in today.
Then the front doors flew open.
âMISS ME, YOU MISERABLE BASTARDS?â
Pansy Parkinsonâs voice sliced clean through the manor.
Theo barely had time to turn before she was already thereâflinging her coat into Dracoâs arms without looking, heels clicking furiously across the marble floor. Her eyes found you instantly.
Her face lit up.
âOh my Godââ She started, already smilingâ
Then she stopped.
Her gaze dropped.
Paused.
Lifted.
Dropped again.
You barely had time to blink beforeâ
SMACK.
Theo yelped, jerking back, hand flying to his arm, âWhat the hellâ?!â
Pansy rounded on him like a woman possessed, âCan you PLEASE stop climbing on top of this poor woman?â
You laughed helplessly, one hand instinctively moving to your stomach.
Theo stared at her, scandalized, âExcuse youââ
âSalazarâs balls,â Pansy cut in, eyes wild, âHow many children are you planning on having? Fancy your own Quidditch team, do you?!â
âHow many children we decide to have is none of youââ
âAnd she is not an oven to keep popping out your buns,â Pansy said sweetly, patting his shoulder like she was doing him a favor, âControl yourself.â
Theo spluttered, âItâs not like I could carry them myself, now could I?!â
âYouâre a wizard,â She snapped back, âI think you could figure it out!â
You triedâtriedâto regain control, âPansyââ
She turned on a dime, expression melting instantly as she crossed the space between you and pulled you into a careful hug.
âOh, come here,â She murmured, âLook at you. Absolutely glowing.â
You laughed against her shoulder.
âI get it,â She added thoughtfully, pulling back to look at you again, âIf I were Theo, Iâd be filling you up with kids too.â
Theo opened his mouth.
SMACK.
âDo not.â Pansy warned.
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Inspired by [this] post by @soapcloth
Imagine asking your friend soap to do you a favor when you finally decide to go out drinking and meet some people, right?
"Please, johnny? Just, if anyone is weird I need you to come pretend to be my boyfriend and pick me up." You pace your apartment, picking out clothes while soap groans teasingly.
"Aye. I'll handle it, yeah? Just enjoy yourself and stay off the news."
That's the end of it. You have a backup incase anything happens, you've never known johnny to be the guy to leave you hanging.
It's not until you actually need said lifeline that you begin to curse him. Some guy you thought just wanted to hear about your latest hobby wouldn't take the hint after you shoved his hand off your thigh, so you played up all the disgust you could muster and said "I have a boyfriend, dude. He'll be here soon."
You send the text to soap, praying to god he's quick because the creep is now going on about keeping secrets andâ
"Hi, lovie, who's this?" A voice you don't recognize interrupts, and you look up to see a giant, terrifying beast of a man. He's six foot fuck-off and as wide as a damn doorframe.
"Uhmâ" you try, stuttering over your words. What the hell do you say that won't end poorly?
"Who the hell is this, then?" The stranger asks, glaring at the creep who's suddenly gone pale. He stumbles in his hast to vacate the seat next to you, muttering something about freaks in masks.
You think, for a moment, that the gods may pity you and the stranger will leave. To your horror, he takes the now empty seat and grunts "you okay? Didn't drink anything?"
"Who the hell are you?" You send another text to soap, because what the fuck where is he??
"Simon. Johnny sent me." The stranger rolls up his mask, takes a sip of your drink then grimaces and pours the rest of it on the floor "good thing you didn't drink it."
....what the hell.
"The one time I go out," you groan, rest your face in your hands, "and I think some guy wants to talk about bugsâ andâ instead this happens."
The man perks up, pulls his weird skull-painted mask back down, and says eagerly "what kind of bugs?"
By the end of the night, you and Simon are swapping bug photos and forgetting about any worries from earlier.
When the fic describes the fat schlong you're about to take
Fat Reader crying because theyre insecure about their weight, and when Simon, the man Reader's been pining on for months confesses to them, they think its a cheap joke, and degrade themselves, saying "You can't even pick me up!"
Simon somehow gets Reader's number (Reader did NOT give it) and sends a video of Simon hip thrusting double Reader's weight with sweet groans, the outline of his bulge straining, clearly imagining Reader was on top of him.
Who knew all it took was one look at Simon Riley covered in blood to make you fail miserably at your job.
Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost stand behind your pilotâs chair, chests heaving from the effort of throwing themselves through the plane doors, fresh off the op youâre supposed to be flying them out of.
But you just sit there, jaw stupidly slack as you take in Simonâs already dark clothes, absolutely drenched in the proof of what a powerful predator he is. Deep red dots splatter his mask, too, and streak down his forearm, his fingers curled lazily around the handle of a knife.Â
Then he turns sharply, like heâs just noticed that the plane isnât moving. Â
âThe fuck are we waiting for?â Simon snaps.
Soap looks from him to you, then lifts both hands in mock surrender. âDonât look at me. Seems the pretty pilotâs got a thing for blood.â
Simonâs head whips towards you.Â
Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your hand flies to the throttle. But then his eyes catch yours and he chuckles darkly.
â 'S that right?âÂ
The rich brown of his eyes grow molten beneath the smudges of red across his mask as he takes in your expression, and for one incredibly embarrassing moment, you almost forget how to actually fly this fucking thing.Â
Without breaking eye contact, Simon steps forward and crouches down to your level.Â
Your breath catches as his gloved hand closes over yours, gently pulling back the acceleration lever. The plane lurches forward hard enough to send the boys tumbling into a pile of grunts and curses.Â
Your stomach dips and you snap back into gear instinctively, flipping the switch on the dash to pull the wheels up, hands flying to the control stick as you build in altitude.Â
âDonât worry, Bird,â Simon says gruffly. He raises that knife into view and drags one finger down the bloody blade. ââS not mine.â
Fucking hell.Â

