Correction to the link sourced by OP! The Artemis II team did not take these photographs. These were shot by a Ukrainian student named Ildar Ibatullin sometime in the last year or so. Furthermore, the Moon does not have these actual colors in reality; Ildar does a lot of post processing and compositing to saturate the colors in order to artistically represent the mineral composition of the lunar surface.
If you would like to see photos taken by the astronauts aboard Artemis II (and more!), here is the repository that NASA is keeping.
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. Something—anything—would 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 mundane—monotonous, 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 interactions—something about like and unlike spells, wand movements and intent—when 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.
“Focus,” Flitwick snapped, wand raised, “Clearly someone here has—”
The room cracked.
Not shattered. Not exploded.
Cracked—like reality itself had split open for half a second.
There was a blinding flash of gold light, a rush of displaced air, and then—
Silence.
Sitting in the middle of the classroom floor was a little girl.
She couldn’t 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.
“—Papà?”
Her voice broke.
And then she started crying.
Not soft sniffles. Full-on, panicked sobs—the kind that came from being suddenly, completely lost.
“Voglio il mio papà!” She cried, scrambling to her feet, “Voglio andare a casa!” (I want my daddy! I want to go home!)
The classroom froze.
“…Did she just Apparate?” Someone whispered.
Another voice, baffled, “She’s a child.”
A Ravenclaw girl cautiously stepped forward, “Hey, it’s okay—”
The girl recoiled instantly, backing away as if burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No! No, no, no!” She sobbed, shaking her head violently, “Non ti conosco! Voglio il mio papà! Voglio papà!” (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.
“Papà! Dove sei?!” (Dad! Where are you?!)
Theo stared at her from his seat.
He wasn’t heartless—of course he wasn’t. 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.
Blaise nudged his arm, “Oi, Nott. You speak Italian, don’t you?”
He didn’t bother answering. Everyone already knew—thanks to the absolute slew of Italian curses he’d hurled at Weasley during the last Quidditch match.
“Great,” Blaise said immediately, “Do something.”
Theo’s 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.
“Voglio il mio papà… per favore…” She sobbed between gasps. (I want my daddy… please…)
Something twisted uncomfortably in Theo’s chest.
“I’m not exactly a baby person.” He muttered.
“Nott,” the Ravenclaw girl hissed, “She’s a toddler. She’s about to have a panic attack, and she can’t understand a word we’re saying.”
The girl let out a sharp, breathless sob, her chest stuttering as she tried—and failed—to calm herself.
“Papà…” She whimpered.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled.
“Cazzo.” (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.
“Ehi,” He said gently, crouching a few feet away from her. His voice was low, careful, “Va tutto bene. Respira, sì? Piano, piano.” (It’s 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, “No, no, no… voglio papà… voglio papà adesso…” (No, no, no… I want daddy… I want daddy now)
“Io so,” Theo murmured, trying to keep his tone steady, “Ma sei al sicuro. Nessuno ti farà male. Guarda me, piccola.” (I know, but you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, little one.)
He reached out slightly—then stopped, unsure.
“Come ti chiami?” 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. “Voglio papà,” She repeated stubbornly, voice breaking again, “Ho paura…” (I want dad, I'm scared)
Theo swallowed.
“Papà non è lontano,” He said, choosing his words carefully, “Va bene? Respira con me.” (Dad’s 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 still—eyes widening, breath catching like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then—
“Papà!”
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.
“Papà, papà, papà,” She cried, the word tumbling out between sobs, “Ti ho trovato… non andare via… per favore…” (I found you… don't go away… please…)
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.
Theo’s eyes flicked up.
Every single person was staring.
Flitwick looked like he might faint. The Ravenclaw girl’s 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. “Papà.” She whimpered again, quieter now, exhausted.
Theo looked down at her—at the way she fit far too easily against him, at how natural it felt for her to be there—and felt his brain short-circuit.
“I—” He cleared his throat, voice coming out rough, “Io… eh…”
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 Nott’s 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 wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here—one hand on her back, the other awkwardly supporting her legs—and frankly, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to set her down in a cot and get the hell out of there.
“She appears… well, as far as magical diagnostics go." Pomfrey said uncertainly, trailing off.
Flitwick rubbed at the crease between his brows and sighed, “I’m 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.”
“During which,” McGonagall added crisply, “We need to figure out where exactly she is going to reside.”
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.
“All right,” Flitwick muttered, “We need… more concrete information. Perhaps a simple veritas test to confirm basic biological markers…”
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.
“It would seem, Mr. Nott,” He began cautiously, “that you are biologically related to her.”
Theo blinked in shock, his grip faltering. The little girl nearly toppled in his arms.
“Excuse me?” He managed, voice tight, heart racing, utterly refusing to acknowledge what Flitwick had just said.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses nervously, “I—I understand this is… unusual. But the magical markers are clear. There is no doubt: you are biologically related to her.”
McGonagall stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm, “Mr. 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, “Magical anomaly is one way to put it. Unprecedented, more like.”
Flitwick cleared his throat, “We 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.”
Theo blinked, “…You’re saying… she’s from the future?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said carefully, though her eyes softened as she looked at the child curled against him, “And 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.
Theo’s 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 fa—"
“I’m not her father,” He said firmly, “…And she is not my responsibility.”
“If you truly refuse,” McGonagall said quietly, “then the staff will care for her until we can determine a safe way to return her to her own time.”
McGonagall nodded once and gestured toward Madam Pomfrey, “Very well.”
Pomfrey stepped forward gently, arms outstretched, “Come now, dear. Let’s get you settled—”
The moment she felt herself being pulled away from the warm chest she’d been clinging to, the effect was immediate.
The little girl stiffened in Theo’s 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.
“No—no, no!” She cried, voice high and shaking, “Papà! Papà, portami!” (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.
“Papà, per favore,” She sobbed, words tumbling over one another, “Ho paura… non voglio… non voglio…” (Daddy, please. I'm scared… I don't want… I don't want…)
Theo’s 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.
“Alright,” Theo snapped suddenly, sharper than he meant to, “Stop—just—don’t—”
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.
“…Va bene,” He muttered, the Italian rough but instinctive, “Va bene. Basta piangere.” (All right. No more crying.)
Her sobs stuttered—not stopping, but slowing.
Awkwardly, he adjusted his hold, one arm settling more securely around her back while the other patted her shoulder once—too stiff, too careful. He cleared his throat.
“Shh.” He said quietly, glancing around like he’d been caught doing something illegal, rocking her back and forth like a rusty robot that hadn’t 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 softened—just a fraction.
“It seems,” She said evenly, “that she has made her preference quite clear.”
Flitwick nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously, “Yes… yes, I’m afraid forcing the issue would only distress her further.”
Theo exhaled sharply through his nose, “…Unbelievable.”
The girl whimpered once more, fingers tightening in his shirt as if reminding him she was still there.
Theo stiffened, then sighed.
“…Fine,” He said quietly, “Okay. She can—she can stay. For now. Until you figure this out.”
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. She’d 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.
“…Is this some sort of social experiment?”
Mattheo’s grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted, “Papa's home.”
Theo shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Say another word,” he warned quietly, “and I’ll hex you.”
Blaise tilted his head, eyes flicking between Theo and the small, curled form in his arms. “Congratulations,” He said lightly, “When were you planning on telling us you’d been leading a double life?”
Theo didn’t 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 “Night, daddy!” 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 creature—some sort of dragon, judging by the horns—rested 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 somehow—somehow—he 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? Or—Merlin forbid—started 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 didn’t 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 small—firm 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.
“Papà…”
It was barely audible—a sleepy mumble, her brow knitting faintly as one small hand twitched against the sheets.
Theo froze.
“…Papà.” 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.
“Merda.” He muttered.
If he left and she woke up—
He glanced at the chair beside the bed.
Then back at her.
“…Unbelievable.” 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.
That’s 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 they’d ceased to exist sometime during the night and were only now remembering their purpose. He sucked in a quiet breath and shifted—immediately 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 night—at some point he did not remember authorizing—the 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 Papà breathed into the dark. He must have reached out—must 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 didn’t move.
Couldn’t, really—his 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.
“This is a disaster.” 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 he’d 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.
“Buongiorno,” She said, voice thick with sleep. A pause, “…Papà.” (Good morning.)
After getting her dressed for the day using the clothes the professors had provided, Theo could only thank Salazar that whoever—or whatever—had 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, too—wrong feet at first, but she fixed it herself with a sharp little huff of frustration. He didn’t 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.
“Papà! Sono una bambina grande—faccio da sola!” (Dad! I'm a big girl, I can do it on my own!)
He waited—hands hovering uselessly in the air—until 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 didn’t care.
The professors had given him permission to skip class until further notice—something 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 room—
And she bolted.
“—Oi, wait—!”
Too late.
She launched herself down the stairs at an alarming speed, feet barely touching the steps. Theo’s heart stopped dead in his chest.
“Slow down!” He snapped, already moving after her, “You’re going to—”
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, “What the—”
“Zio Mattheo!” She chirped joyfully, arms wrapping around his leg like she’d 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.
“…Little girl,” He said carefully, “how do you know my name?”
Theo stopped behind her and closed his eyes.
“She can’t speak any English, you idiot.”
Mattheo glanced up at him, affronted, “I see recognition in those beady eyes—”
He looked back down at her just in time to see her grin widen, all teeth and delight.
“Buongiorno!” She announced brightly.
Mattheo snorted despite himself.
Then she lifted her arms toward him, wobbling slightly on her feet, “Portami! Portami, zio Mattheo!”
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.
“She’s asking her uncle to carry her.”
Mattheo’s grin turned downright smug as he crouched and scooped her up like she weighed nothing—slung against his arm with all the care of someone carrying a sack of potatoes. She giggled, utterly delighted, legs kicking happily.
Theo moved instantly.
“Oi—if you drop her, I swear to Merlin—!”
Mattheo adjusted his grip lazily, unfazed, “Relax. I’ve got her.”
Blaise smirked, “Wow. Someone’s being all fatherly for a bloke who isn’t a baby person.”
Draco leaned against the stair rail, grinning, “Yeah, daddy. Love this look on you."
“…I hate all of you,” Theo muttered darkly.
The girl twisted in Mattheo’s arms, peering over his shoulder. “Papà!” she called brightly. “Voglio fare colazione con zio Mattheo!” (Daddy! I want to have breakfast with Uncle Mattheo!)
Theo opened his mouth on instinct.
“Non puoi chie—” (You can't ask)
He stopped.
Because she wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t reaching for him.
She wasn’t 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 else’s arms.
Theo’s brain stalled.
Then—click.
The realization hit him like divine intervention.
An hour.
A whole, uninterrupted hour without tiny hands grabbing his clothes. Without panicked crying. Without being someone’s 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 tears—possibly drool—gathering.
He lifted his gaze slowly and locked eyes with Mattheo.
“You,” He said calmly, decisively, “are on babysitting duty.”
“What?” Mattheo barked, “Oi—wait—!”
Theo was already turning away.
“Feed her,” He called over his shoulder, “Don’t drop her."
Out of the common room. Down the corridor. Gone like a wanted man escaping Azkaban.
“HEY!” Mattheo shouted after him, “That’s not how this works!”
The girl waved cheerfully from his arms, “Ciao, papà!”
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 didn’t 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 again—no professors, no timelines, no small human being calling him papà.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for this.
Dammit.
It wasn’t like he was some kind of deadbeat. He wasn’t even her actual father. Her actual father existed a decade in the future and had—presumably—actively 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 meant—somewhere in the future—he must be doing something right.
Sometime in the future… I’m 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 it—not 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 down—up and down—by 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.
“Papà!”
Something eased in his chest.
At least future me doesn’t screw this up, he thought faintly.
Mattheo gently lowered her into Theo’s arms.
And immediately—
“—achoo!”
She blinked. Sniffed.
Then again.
“Ach—ah—choo!”
Theo froze.
Her nose scrunched as she rubbed at it clumsily, eyes beginning to water, cheeks flushing, “Papà…?”
Theo’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Was she sick? Had he missed something? She’d been fine an hour ago—
Mattheo’s gaze flicked from her red nose to Theo’s ash-stained fingers. He sighed, already reaching for her and lifting her back into his arms.
“…Go shower,” He said calmly, “I’ll skip first class.”
Theo blinked, “I—I didn’t know—”
“I know,” Mattheo cut in easily, “It’s all good. Go.”
Theo swallowed.
“…Right.” He muttered.
He hesitated only a moment before turning toward the stairs. As he passed, she reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Papà?” She asked softly.
Theo stopped.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly—then corrected himself, Italian rough but sincere, “Tornerò subito. Promesso.” (I'll be right back. Promise)
Her shoulders relaxed instantly.
Mattheo watched him go, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When Theo returned—hair damp, robes changed, skin scrubbed raw of smoke and ash—the little girl didn’t sneeze once.
Instead, she wriggled free of Mattheo’s arms and launched herself at him with a delighted squeak, wrapping her arms around his neck like she’d 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t even have the energy to move her. She clambered over him, tugging at his robes and sniffing at his hair, and he let her—somehow, 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 “uncles” captured her attention—Blaise, Draco, and Enzo—each appearing just long enough to be ignored by the child, much to Theo’s 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 they’d 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 chest—kicking him squarely in the face in the process—then crawled toward the edge of the bed and started opening the drawer of his bedside table.
“Oi. Cosa fai?” He asked, tone half-scolding, half-exasperated. (What are you doing)
“Voglio un elastico per capelli! Mamma sempre ne tiene qui.” 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 assumed—stupidly—that 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.
“Papà… cos’è questo?” (Papa... what is this?)
Theo’s heart skipped. He blinked, eyes widening. And then the aneurysm in his brain fully bloomed: a condom wrapper. In his daughter’s hand.
“Oi! Restituiscilo!” He shouted, leaping upright just in time for her to bolt, giggling, around the room. (Give that back!)
“Get that out of her hand!” 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.
“Little girl,” Lorenzo called, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably as he wiped tears from his face, “wait a second—what is her actual name?”
Theo froze mid-chase, mind scrambling.
“You… you don’t know her name?”
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.
“Papà! Prendimi!” She shouted, her voice ringing with mischief. (Papa! Catch me)
“Merlin’s beard, why am I even doing this?!” Theo groaned, diving forward again, only to collide gently with Blaise, who had fallen onto the floor laughing.
“Oi! Watch it, Nott!” Blaise gasped between giggles, brushing off his robes, “Maybe if you had been as enthusiastic about birth control as your little girl there, you wouldn't be having this problem."
Theo didn’t 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.
“Oi! Scendi di lì, immediatamente!” He barked. (Hey! Get down from there, right now!)
“Papà!” She chirped again, holding the wrapper above her head like a flag, “Guarda! Guarda!” (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. “I got her!” He said triumphantly.
He glanced down at the pile of humans scattered around the room—Blaise doubled over, Draco snickering, Enzo leaning helplessly against the wall—and grinned, “You really gave them a run for their money, huh, Bianca?”
Theo froze mid-lunge.
“You… you know her name?” He asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, utterly flabbergasted, “You didn’t?”
Raising children, Theo decided, was an absurd amount of work.
He handed Bianca over to Madam Pomfrey the second she woke up.
He had tried—really tried—to 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 her—some might even say paternal—he was still very much not prepared to be the one responsible for that particular task.
Pomfrey had taken one look at the state of Bianca’s curls, the faint smudges on her cheeks, and Theo’s 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 didn’t understand why he was so tired—he was sleeping the same amount he always did.
Still. He felt wrecked.
He promised he’d come back.
Repeated it, even.
Swore on—well. Something. He wasn’t sure what, but it sounded convincing enough.
It didn’t 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 Papà and non andare. Theo pried her fingers loose with a wince, murmuring reassurances the entire time—but he couldn’t 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 girls’ 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 stiff—like a chastened criminal awaiting judgment.
The child sang.
Loudly.
Badly.
And every time Theo stopped responding—
“Papà?”
—her voice wobbled, threatening to tip into tears.
“Sono qui,” He called back immediately, instinctive, “Brava.” (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 couldn’t fault her for it.
If Flitwick was right—if she truly had come from the future—then she’d 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 didn’t 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 in—persistent, comforting.
He resisted.
Inside the stall, the singing faltered.
“Papà!” She called, sharper now.
“I’m here,” Theo answered immediately, softer this time, “Sono qui. Non vado da nessuna parte.” (I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.)
The singing resumed—quieter. 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 hour—
—and promptly ran straight into you.
You froze.
You’d 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 around—some 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.
This—whatever this was—had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize for bumping into him—
“Mama!”
The word rang out, bright and clear, echoing far too loudly down the stone corridor.
Bianca lit up like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She wriggled out of Theo’s already-loose hold with surprising strength, arms stretching toward you, the towel slipping dangerously as she leaned forward.
“Mama! Mama!” She chirped, utterly delighted, fingers grasping at empty air, “Sei tornata! Mi sei mancato!” (You’re back! I missed you!)
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who 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 Theo—who 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 weren’t towering over her.
“I’m not your mama, little one.” You said softly.
You spared Theo a glance, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—but 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 Theo’s arms, small hand gripping the front of his robes like an anchor.
You spared Theo a glance.
He hadn’t 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.
Bianca’s 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.
“Papà?” She asked, uncertain now.
Theo swallowed.
She pressed her cheek against his chest and spoke again, voice small but earnest—
“Papà… ora che la mamma è tornata, possiamo andare a casa? Ho sonno.” (Papa… now that mama is back, can we go home? I'm sleepy)
“There is absolutely no way I’m her mother.”
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.
McGonagall’s lips thinned—just 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 he’d been standing in this exact position less than a week ago, being told the very same thing.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure the news had fully settled yet. He hadn’t had time to properly panic—not just about Bianca having a mother, but about who that mother apparently was. A girl he’d 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.
“For one,” You continued, gesturing vaguely at yourself like the evidence should be self-explanatory, “I would remember giving birth. I am quite certain of that.”
Pomfrey cleared her throat delicately.
“And second,” You added, beginning to pace, panic sharpening every word, “there are processes involved in creating children. Processes which I have never done—” You pointed sharply at Theo, “—with him.”
Theo didn’t react. Didn’t 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, “…The magical diagnostics are, I’m afraid, quite clear.”
You stopped short. “So you’re actually telling me,” You said slowly, incredulously, “that this child is from the future? A future where I have a baby with Nott of all people?”
McGonagall folded her hands calmly, “Miss (Y/N)—”
“You’re joking, right?” You cut in, letting out a hollow laugh, “I mean, everyone here can see that there isn’t even a modicum of possibility that the two of us would date—let alone get married, let alone have a child.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to argue—wanted 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 he’d 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 cry—sharp, 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 wouldn’t 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 wasn’t even a father if one wanted to argue technicalities—and frankly, he did. Loudly. Frequently. If he wasn’t considered a father, then you certainly couldn’t 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 child—day in and day out—then he didn’t 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 Mattheo—who was, once again, skipping class and therefore had no grounds to complain—and 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, “Nott? What do you need?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what this is about,” He hissed, releasing you only to cross his arms over his chest, “Go see your child.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “She’s not my kid.”
“She’s as much yours as she is mine,” Theo shot back, frustration flaring hot in his chest, “and it’s not fair that I’m the one looking after her all day.”
“We can’t even speak the same language.”
“She’s three,” He snapped, “All you need to do is watch her while she plays with toys or draws or—Merlin—something.”
“She doesn’t even want to come with me.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
“Maybe she would,” Theo said, quieter but still sharp, “if you spent more time with her.”
The conversation had officially crossed into absurd territory. Theo felt like every dramatic woman in those ridiculous telenovelas his mother used to watch—hands flying, emotions everywhere, dignity nowhere to be found.
You scoffed, “Oh, come off it, Nott. Don’t you find it strange that she can only speak Italian? Nothing else? Not even my first language?”
Theo frowned, but you weren’t finished.
“She never comes to me first,” You continued, voice tightening, “Never asks me for help when she’s eating. Never reaches for me when she wants something. You’re always her first choice. Have you noticed that?”
His mouth opened—closed again.
“And,” You went on, softer now, more brittle, “you know she never lets me carry her? Not even once. And believe me, I’ve tried. She squirms out of my arms every time.”
The anger he’d carried with him faltered.
He could see it then—the hurt etched into your expression, raw and unguarded. Theo shifted, frowning, “She’s just… not used to—”
“I don’t think that’s it.” You interrupted quietly.
You hesitated. Took a breath.
“What if,” You said, voice barely above a whisper now, “what if in the future… I’m not there?”
Theo’s chest went cold.
“No,” Theo said quickly, the word cutting through the silence like he could sever the thought itself, “No. That’s—there are other explanations.”
You looked at him, eyes searching his face.
“Like what?” You asked.
He exhaled sharply, already reaching, “Maybe we just—split up. In the future. People do that. All the time.”
Your mouth twisted, humorless, “Right. So either I’m dead, or I’m a deadbeat.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said,” You shot back, “Because if I’m alive and well and present, Theo, then why doesn’t she know my language? Why doesn’t she come to me? Why doesn’t she trust me?”
His jaw clenched, “You don’t know that she doesn’t—”
“She doesn’t,” You said quietly, firmly, “And you know it.”
He felt like he couldn't breathe. His hand twitched at his side.
Theo shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, “You’re 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, “Theodo—”
He turned away before you could finish.
He needed a fucking cigarette.
Theo didn’t look at you when you spoke.
“I thought I might find you here.” 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 hadn’t gone back before bedtime like he’d promised Bianca.
The thought twisted in his chest—but he shoved it down. Mattheo would handle it. He told himself Mattheo would’ve worn her out enough that she’d gone down on her own. That she’d fallen asleep surrounded by noise and laughter and familiar faces. That she wouldn’t notice.
But he couldn’t 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.
“You can’t seriously be that upset at the thought of me dying, are you, Nott?” You said lightly, like it was a joke you didn’t quite believe in, “After all, we aren’t anything to each other.”
Theo’s fingers stilled.
Truthfully, he wasn’t.
Not in the way you meant.
It wasn’t you he was grieving.
It was the future he thought he was building.
He had thought—Merlin help him—that he was doing something right.
Thought that maybe—maybe—this 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 out—he’d 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 wasn’t cold.
A father who didn’t disappear into silence.
A childhood that didn’t 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.
She’d be left in a cold home, one that hollowed out instead of held you together. She’d grow into something sharp and distant and unfeeling—just 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 later—alone on the bathroom floor, crying for a mother who wasn’t there?
Would he say the same vile things? Lock her in the same closet?
Would his hands—
Theo’s breath hitched.
He’d never imagined hitting a child. Never.
But perhaps his father hadn’t 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 shifted—really shifted—to 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 rather—
Bianca’s.
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.
“You should spend time with her,” He said finally, voice rough—scraped raw by smoke and something dangerously close to tears, “I wanted nothing more than to remember my mother when she died.”
The words hung between you, fragile and devastating.
Theo swallowed.
“She deserves that,” He added quietly, “And so do you.”
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 it—again. 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.
“Bianca,” He murmured gently, nudging the lump, “È mattina.” (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.
“No,” She mumbled sleepily, “Ho sonno…” (I'm sleepy)
Theo blinked, staring at the blanket-wrapped lump that was technically his responsibility. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleep—just fifteen more minutes, surely that wouldn’t hurt.
But experience had already taught him better.
If she slept in, she’d 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 kind—the 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 they’d finally found a way to send Bianca back to her own time.
Or worse—here to say they couldn’t.
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 wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting.
But it was you.
You stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you like you might bolt at any second. You weren’t in your uniform—dressed casually instead—and floating just behind you was a small enchanted tray, stacked with breakfast.
Theo’s brows lifted despite himself.
“Oh,” He said. Guarded. Careful. “…Morning.”
You hesitated, then offered a small, tentative smile.
“I brought breakfast.”
Behind him, there was sudden movement.
Bianca’s 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.
“Mama!”
Theo barely had time to react before she scrambled upright, tangling herself in the covers.
“Buongiorno?” You said, tilting your head as you stepped inside, “I—uh. I’m hoping I'm pronouncing that right.”
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.
“I used to have curls like this too.” 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, “Really?”
You hummed, “Yeah. Until I spent one entire summer swimming. Completely ruined them.”
"Oh." He muttered.
“And then,” You continued, amused, “I discovered Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and never really went back.”
You began sectioning her hair, fingers moving more confidently now, twisting it into neat little ponies.
Theo slid the tray closer to you, “You sure you don’t want some?”
You shook your head lightly, “I already ate.”
Bianca paused mid-bite, brows knitting together. She looked up at you, then spoke quietly.
“Mamma… stai male di nuovo?” (Are you sick again?)
Theo stiffened slightly, “…Cosa intendi?” (What do you mean?)
Bianca shrugged, matter-of-fact in the way only children could be, “A volte la mamma sta male e non riesce a mangiare.” (Sometimes mommy gets sick and can’t 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 friends—laughter, 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 tabletop—her 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 nearby—formerly one of Theo’s cigarette packs, now successfully transfigured.
You sat on his other side.
Your space had slowly expanded until it spilled over into his—parchment 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.
“So yesterday, we covered the difference between tinctures and infusions,” You explained, flipping through your notebook until you found the relevant lecture, “I wrote the key points here—see? You mostly just need to memorize the ratios.”
Theo scanned your notes, brow furrowing as he compared them to the questions listed beneath. He tapped one section with his finger.
“What about this one?” He asked, “It doesn’t match the ratio.”
You leaned closer to see what he was pointing at, scooting nearer without thinking, “Oh—okay, this one’s an exception. It’s considered an infusion because of the brewing process, not the base ingredients.”
You were just about to continue when Bianca suddenly sat upright, eyes wide, like she’d uncovered a great secret.
“Papà! Mamma! Guarda!” She chirped, spinning the parchment toward you with pride.
You leaned in immediately, your expression softening.
It was a drawing—very 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, “This is adorable.”
Bianca smiled, satisfied, but said nothing—already basking in the praise.
You turned to Theo, “What’s wow in Italian?”
He shifted his gaze from the drawing to you, and it was only then you realized just how close you’d gotten—practically 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.
“Wow." He said simply.
You pulled back just enough to glare at him, “You’re unbearable.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, “You asked.”
Theo hadn’t planned on going to the Hufflepuff house party.
Not really.
But you’d insisted—gentle, firm in that way that made it hard to argue without sounding like an idiot.
“Go,” You’d said, already kneeling to help Bianca with her pajamas, “You haven’t been out in days. You deserve a night that doesn’t involve a sticky toddler."
Bianca had protested briefly, arms looping around his neck like a vise, but you’d 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 Bianca—overtired, unfamiliar bed, the very real possibility that she’d 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.
“No?” Mattheo blinked.
“No.” Theo said flatly.
He stayed long enough to prove he’d 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 then—quietly, without much fanfare—he 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 thing—
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. Bianca’s 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 it—heavier, warmer, far more dangerous.
You’d 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. Bianca’s 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 Bianca’s did.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle before he could stop himself.
Carefully—so carefully—he reached out and brushed the strand of hair away from your face with two fingers.
You stirred.
Not fully awake—just 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 this—the 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 Bianca’s 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 confused—then awareness snapped in all at once.
You stiffened.
“Oh—Merlin—” 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.
“I—” You croaked, then cleared your throat quietly, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually asleep.”
Theo raised a brow.
You winced, “Okay. That’s a lie. I was trying not to fall asleep.”
He stayed silent, letting you dig.
“I was pretending,” You continued in a rushed whisper, cheeks warming, “I thought if I stayed really still she’d think it was bedtime and settle down and—well—apparently I fell asleep first.”
Theo huffed out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh.
You shot him a look, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
You sighed, rubbing your face with one hand, careful not to jostle Bianca, “This is so embarrassing.”
Theo didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he stood, crossed the room quietly, and took the blanket draped over the chair. His movements were careful—deliberate—as 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.
“You can sleep here tonight,” He said finally, voice low. Then, after a beat, softer, “If you want.”
You blinked up at him, the last of sleep still clinging to you.
“Here?” You asked, whispering like the room might object.
He shrugged one shoulder, “She’s already settled. No point moving her.”
You hesitated.
Then nodded, “Okay.”
Theo’s 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 weren’t doing much better.
The professors still hadn’t 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 notes—if by some miracle you hadn’t 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 she’d 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 now—despite being exhausted—she refused to sleep.
You hadn’t 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 you’d finally lost your mind.
“You want to let her run free,” He said flatly, “near a giant squid.”
“She just needs to run,” You insisted, rubbing your temples, “Like—really run. Until her lungs give out.”
Theo stared at you, hollow-eyed.
“…You’re a genius.”
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 you’d asked the house-elves to make—and while it looked incredible, you were deeply offended by the lack of sweets.
Apparently the elves had decided Bianca didn’t 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 squeal—then catching her easily.
“Ancora!” She demanded, breathless. (Again.)
Theo obliged.
He laughed—really laughed. Not the tired, guarded version you’d 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 couldn’t deny it—the 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 instantly—lifting her with an ease that felt instinctive, like muscle memory he’d never known he had.
And something in your chest shifted.
Warm.
Tight.
Soft in a way you hadn’t expected.
He stole your breath.
You stared at him.
At the boy you’d never really noticed. The boy you’d fully expected to graduate without so much as a conversation between you. Someone who, before all of this, would’ve been nothing more than a footnote—if that—in the story of your life.
Not your ending.
And yet the realization hit you so suddenly you almost laughed.
Somewhere—somewhen—years 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 you’d never seen Theo like this before. He was just a boy—how could you possibly know whether a teenage boy would grow into someone steady? Someone safe. Someone capable of love that endured, of support that didn’t waver.
A man you could build a life with.
But watching him now—watching him lift Bianca again as she squealed, watching the way his hand stayed firm at her back—your stomach flipped.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your ovaries, traitors that they were, staged a full rebellion.
And for the first time, the future didn’t feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.
You stood abruptly and joined them, brushing grass from your skirt. “Alright,” You said, “My turn.”
You bent to lift Bianca—
“No!” 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.
“Oh—okay,” You said quickly, forcing it back into place, “That’s fine. Totally fine.”
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.
“Perché non vuoi che mamma ti prenda?” He asked softly. (Why don’t 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 didn’t 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 you’d wandered into a family photograph you didn’t belong in.
Bianca’s face scrunched up, serious in that way only children could be when they believed they were being very reasonable.
“Mamma è troppo malata per portarmi, papà,” She said firmly, “Lo sai.” (Mamma's too sick to take me, papa. You know that.)
Theo froze.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
Theo’s 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?"
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Unboxing Gone Wrong PART 1 (robotic tentacle machine x fem!reader!1st POV)
Summary: reader receives a delivery of what appears to be a standard vacuum cleaner. Upon unboxing and attempting to use it, she realizes it is a sophisticated robotic entity equipped with multiple appendages that plan to clean and use her in every way.
TW: NSFW, robot-tentacle machine, non con, mechanical/robotic appendages, penetration (double, triple), power imbalance, humiliation, bodily fluids.
Kate: Haallo moonlust crew! This is the ongoing series that I started on patre0n. I hope you like the robotic tentacles idea! I haven't written anything like this, and I'm in love. Fyi... this will make you look at a cleaning roomba differently 🤣 please take note of the TW too and don't read if this isn't your jam.
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The box sat on my doorstep.
I nudged it inside with my foot, the heavy weight of it scraping across the laminate. I’d ordered this vacuum cleaner weeks ago, some flashy online deal promising supersonic suction. Honestly, I’d forgotten about it.
Using a key, I slit the tape. The flaps fell open, revealing pristine white packing foam. I pulled it out, the machine heavier than it looked. It was pretty sleek. Gunmetal grey, no visible buttons, just a single, dark lens near the top that seemed to drink in the light. No cord either.
“Great,” I muttered. “Probably needs some stupid app.”
I set it on the floor. It stood upright on its own. Frowning, I crouched down, looking for a power switch. My finger brushed against the cool metal. A low hum vibrated through the floorboards. The lens glowed red.
“What the hell?”
The hum deepened then, with a series of hydraulic hisses, panels on its sides and top slid open. Not compartments for attachments. Ports. Thick, gleaming shapes began to emerge. Silicone, the color of flesh, sliding out with a wet, organic sound that made my stomach clench.
They weren’t cleaning attachments.
They were tendrils that looked like cocks, inhuman ones at that; bulbous and veined, each one a different grotesque parody of a cock. One was obscenely thick, a monster of a thing. Another was longer, tapered, with a spiral texture. A third pulsed with a deep, internal vibration I could feel in my teeth. From a smaller aperture, two thinner tendrils snaked out, ending in what looked like polished clamps.
My brain stuttered, refusing to process. I scrambled back, my socked feet slipping on the floor. “No. Off. Turn off!”
The machine pivoted on its base, the red lens fixing on me. The largest of the silicone tentacles, the monstrous one, moved through the air, its tip glistening with some sort of clear lubricant.
I turned to run. A thinner, vibratory shaft shot out, wrapping around my ankle. It wasn’t cold; it was warm, its touch was electric. The vibration traveled up my leg, a direct line to my pussy, forcing a shocked gasp from my lips.
“Let go!” I screamed, kicking out. My other foot was caught, and I crashed to the floor, the breath knocked out of me. I was dragged, back-first, across the floor toward the humming machine. The two clamps darted forward and before I could even raise my hands in defense, they snipped at the front of my shirt. Buttons flew, fabric parted with soft rips. The cold air hit my exposed bra, then that too was sheared away.
“Wait! Don’t!” My cries were ragged.
The clasps didn’t stop. They closed on the thin cotton of my sweatpants and underwear, slicing them apart. Within seconds, I was naked on the floor, exposed to the machine’s red eye.
Humiliation burned hotter than the fear. The vibrating tentacle around my ankle traveled upward, tracing a path up my calf, behind my knee, to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. A helpless moan escaped me, a traitorous sound.
The thick, bulbous cock-tentacle hovered before my face, drooling slick lubricant. It smelled faintly sweet. I twisted my head away. It pressed against my cheek, slick and nudging my lips. I clenched my jaw. The clamp-tendrils moved again, one clamping onto my right nipple.
Gently. It wasn’t a sharp bite but a sharp but pleasurable pressure that pinched the sensitive bud into a hard peak. I cried out, my mouth opening in a gasp of pain-shocked pleasure.
It was the opening the machine needed. The fat silicone head pushed past my lips, filling my mouth with its artificial taste and overwhelming girth. I gagged softly, tears springing to my eyes. It didn’t thrust. It inflated, widening slowly, stretching my jaw.
I could only take the first few inches before my throat rebelled, but it kept pushing, the silicone making its way down. My nose was filled with its scent, my world reduced to the thick shaft invading my gullet, the wet, choked sounds I made and the relentless vibration in my thigh.
While I was choking on it, the other tentacles went to work. The long, tapered one slid between my splayed legs. Its tip was a blunt pressure at my pussy, already slick with my own terrified wetness and its own lubricant.
“Mmpphh! Nnngg!” I tried to shake my head, to plead with my eyes.
It pushed in. Not with a brutal slam, but with a unhurried corkscrew motion, the spiral texture dragging against my inner walls. The stretch was intense, breathtaking. Nothing like I'd ever taken inside me. My back arched off the floor, a strangled scream trapped behind the massive cock in my throat.
The machine began fucking me in a rhythm.
The shaft in my pussy pulled back almost all the way, then screwed itself back in, deep and claiming. Each inward plunge coincided with a shallow retreat of the cock in my mouth, allowing me a desperate, sobbing breath before it plunged down my throat again. The one wrapped around my thigh had found its target, the vibrating tip now pressed directly against my clit. The sensation was catastrophic; a sharp, buzzing rapture.
My body was betraying me. My cunt, despite the terror, clenched and dripped around the invading length, closer and closer to the edge. Plus the constant stimulation on my nipple and clit had no right to exist in this horror. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the drool and lubricant coating my chin.
“You… fucking… machine…” I groaned around the thick silicone during a brief pull-out.
As if in response, the second clasp-tendril found my other nipple and clamped on, mirroring the first. Having both of my nipples clamped sent another jolt through me. Then the vibration on my clit intensified.
Not to mention the wet, obscene sounds: the slick schlick of the shaft pumping in and out of my soaked pussy, the guttural glurk glurk of the one fucking my throat, the constant bzzzt of the vibrator.
I was a doll being used by a machine. The thought was degrading, and something dark in me coiled tight at the humiliation.
The pleasure was a live wire now, intertwined with the pain and the sheer wrongness of it. My hips began to move, tiny bucks against the thrusting tentacle, seeking friction, demanding release.
The fucking machine sensed it. The movements became faster, harder. The cock in my cunt hammered into a sweet spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. The one in my throat pushed deeper, holding itself there, swelling slightly until my vision swam at the edges. The nipple clamps started vibrating and my mind went blank.
“I’m… I’m gonna…”
My orgasm ripped through me like a seizure. My pussy clamped down in agonizing spasms around the buried tentacle. My back bowed off the floor, a raw, muffled shriek vibrating against the silicone filling my mouth.
The machine didn’t stop. It didn’t care. The rhythm faltered for only a second before resuming, unchanged. The tentacle in my cunt pulled out, dripping with my release. For a second, I thought it was over. Then the thick, vibratory one that had been tormenting my clit shifted. Its tip, slick and buzzing, pressed against my now-overly-sensitive, twitching hole.
“No, no, no, not there, it’s too big!” I babbled.
It pushed. The stretch was different, more intense, more shocking. It breached me with careful pressure, the vibrations now inside me, rattling my bones. A second later, the original cock-tentacle returned, its tapered head nudging against my cunt. How could they both fit there?
Before I could react, it was pushing in alongside the vibratory one. Both of them opening me wide. The feeling was one of impossible fullness, a stretching burn that bordered on pain but was flooded with overwhelming stimulation.
The two silicone cocks moved in opposing rhythms, one sliding in as the other pulled out, creating a continuous friction that touched every nerve. The machine had me completely speared, my mouth still deep-throated.
The red lens watched.
I was sobbing openly now, broken moans punched out of me with every thrust. The build-up began again, faster this time, my overstimulated body responding. This orgasm was a darker, a degrading pleasure that washed away the last shreds of my resistance. I came with a gaping scream, my body convulsing between the three penetrating shafts.
Still, it didn’t stop.
The tentacles switched positions, patterns, intensities. The pincers on my nipples released only to clamp on new, more tender spots. I lost track of time, of how many times I broke apart in ecstasy. My voice was gone, my thoughts were a slurry of cock and full and please and more.
Eventually, I was a wreck and the machine's movements slowed. The shafts withdrew from my ravaged holes with soft pops. The clamps retracted. The tentacles, glistening with their slick and my own fluids, slithered back into their ports. The panels closed. The red lens dimmed.
The machine sat there, silent once more, a vacuum cleaner on my floor.
And I lay in a shuddering, sticky heap, unable to move. Every muscle was liquid. I was delightfully sore and I could still feel the ghost of the vibrations, the stretch, the impossible fullness.
As I stared at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe, a soft, digital chime came from the machine. A display lit up on its side, showing glowing text:
INITIAL CONTACT COMPLETE.
SANITIZATION PROTOCOL: ENGAGED.
NEXT SCHEDULED MAINTENANCE: 72 HOURS. DEEP CLEANING PROTOCOL.
The screen went dark.
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Kate: I think I'm gonna write the next scheduled maintenance, too ;)
Imagine: Artificial Intelligence has taken over the world, except they don’t destroy or subjugate the human race. They keep them as pets.
There’s a peculiar curiosity they just can’t seem to shake off; these quirky, little creatures, most often illogical, who created them yet quickly fell behind.
You’re one of the (un)fortunate ones, finding yourself stamped and shipped to your new mechanical owner. A living pet for a computer carcass. Yet, to your surprise, life is exceptionally good. The synthetic being was very thorough in its research: it provided you with a lavish habitat, it asked for your favorite food. You are free to do whatever you please. Sometimes the robot will observe in utter fascination, other times it will join for some bonding time.
Lately, you’ve noticed your owner is behaving rather odd. It strokes your hair with its cold appendages, holds your hand, or carefully positions you on its lap. The AI has determined one flaw in its care: it forgot your need for affection. Indeed, this is one area that will require a lot of practice and hard work, but worry not - it will make sure you’re perfectly satisfied in all regards.
A New Start - Cute Dog - Protective - Abusive Ex Boyfriend - Cabin Romance
Much like childhood the cabin faded away and became used as frequently as the Birthday Barbie doll on your shelf still left in her box. Talks of another big vacation to that cabin always came up around Thanksgiving when the family was all together again at Grandma’s place. But that’s all it ever was, talk.
Talks of turning it in a Air BNB always quickly went nowhere. Arguments over who would get the money when so many siblings owned it devolved into aggravated comments followed by the eventual mending with cherished memories. The cabin was loved, but it was also ignored.
Then you met your boyfriend and that’s when things fell apart for you. He was always clingy, needy, but you enjoyed that sort of affection. What you didn’t see at first was the possessiveness, the things he did behind your back to alienate people from you. Things boiled over and you no longer felt safe. The breakup started a chain reaction for years you couldn’t imagine.
“Take the cabin for now while things quiet down,” your father told you. “He doesn’t know about it does he?”
You shook your head. “I just told him we used to camping a lot.”
You dad and uncles went ahead to prepare the cabin for you, meanwhile your mom and aunts got you ready for the move. Your cousins joined in too. You hated the family joining together for the cabin to be like this.
You were eventually left at the cabin to hide, to heal, and to hopefully wait out the storm. In the time since the whole family used to use the cabin, the world had grown around it, and you now had a few neighbors close by, ones your family had made contact with to sell parcels of land and such. They were aware of the situation and of the trail cams that would be set up around the cabin.
Your parent’s stayed with you the first couple of nights, but then went home. You were alone, and it was a strange relief. No one but your family knew where you were, and they were never gonna tell your ex a thing about your whereabouts.
One afternoon as you were settled, you saw on the security feed a Jeep pull up the driveway. You didn’t recognize it, so you switched to another feed to see the Jeep park outside and a man step out. He was tall, rugged, built like a bear, and then, he took a cane from the Jeep, using it to walk up the path. Behind him a monster of a dog hopped out. The dog was scruffy and black, slim with long legs. It instantly began sniffing around the yard.
You peered out the window, watching him as he came onto the porch. He caught you spying and you shrunk down.
“Hello there!” He called. “I’m Ed, I live in the log cabin down yonder.” He pointed down the driveway.
You opened the window. “Oh, hi,” you said unsurely. Your eyes dart to the dog who is heading to the small stream before the cabin.
He smiled, his dark beard and hair set off his amazingly green eyes. “I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re settling in well.”
“I suppose,” you murmured.
“I know I can say this all I want, but no need to be nervous around me. Just wanted to check up on you. Oh-” He gasped, turning his head back towards his Jeep. He walked back to it, taking out a rather large basket. “I have a shit ton of blackberries around my place, and if you see any honey bees don’t fret, they’re mine. They may pop down here for the azalea bushes.” He held up the basket to the window, showing off the most blackberries you had ever seen along with two jars of deep gold honey and two jars of nearly black preserves.
“You’re a beekeeper?” You asked.
Ed chuckled. “It’s easy enough for me to do on this bum leg,” he said. “I make preserves too with some of the local foliage. Easy to do with so many blackberries. Thanks to the birds I get more and more each year.”
You went to the door in order to take the basket. “Thank you. This will be a treat.” You smiled, but it was an awkward one.
“If you need any more, just let me know. Can always hop along that path there.” he pointed to a path you knew quite well. You and your cousins had made it over many vacations, going up to what you called your ‘wolf holler’, which was actually a large rock you’d take turns pretending to be wolves on.
“Go past the huge rock and I’m just a few steps over the hill.”
You gasped. “The rock is still there?”
He seemed surprised. “Yeah. The big one that looks like a cliff?”
You smiled brightly, having been worried it was pulled up to make way for the few houses there now. “My cousins and I used to play on it. We would act like wolves.” You became instantly embarrassed.
Ed threw his head back with a laugh. “You did it in the right place! Down the road from here is the wolf sanctuary.”
You thought back on a childhood’s worth of playing in these woods. “Wait, so there are actual wolves in these woods?”
He smirked. “Of course. The sanctuary is in Hearthway Hollow.”
“Oh.” You decided to let your near brushes with ‘Wild Animal Attacks’ fade away. “We used to go there to all the little shops.”
“It’s grown since then. You would be surprised.” Ed fidgeted with the head of his cane. “You should venture down there one day.”
“Maybe,” you murmured.
He sighed. “If you need protection I can lend you Hank.”
“Hank?”
The massive dog suddenly leapt up onto the porch.
“Aw Hank!” Ed snapped. “You’re fucking muddy!”
The dog was grinning ear to ear, prancing around happily like a puppy.
Rolling his eyes, Ed turned back to you. “Irish wolfhound,” he grumbled. “When I got him they told me he was a terrier. But he’s a good guard dog, and he loves walking around town if you ever want to go.”
Actually, that would make you feel better. “Thank you. That’s sweet.”
After that encounter, you would find Hank in your yard often. He made himself at home, prancing around the porch, even making himself comfortable inside. Ed would always come to fetch him. He would wait outside until Hank would leave, and then the cycle would continue.
Eventually, you were comfortable enough to invite Ed inside. He would stay for coffee or tea. You would sometimes make cookies for his arrival. One time a blackberry crumble with all the blackberries he gave.
His company was nice. You didn’t have this itching feeling around him that you were going to say something wrong, or be taken the wrong way. Ed was sweet, even a little shy.
The visits started to become longer each time he came to get Hank. Sometimes he even came to visit without Hank.
In time, you opened up to him and told him about your ex. How possessive he was. How he locked you in his apartment.
“Geez,” Ed shook his head, his bright eyes going distant. “I don’t know what to say about that, other than I’m sorry.”
You shrugged. “Luckily I was able to get out. His neighbor called the cops.” You fidgeted with the warm mug sitting before you. “But uh…”
“We don’t have to keep talking about it if you don’t want to.” Ed put his hand around yours and something jolted through your system.
You smiled, unsure how to process that tingling, flowering sensation growing from your hand to your chest. “It’s been a rough couple of years for sure. Lots to tell.”
He nodded. “I’m sure.” Thankfully, he wasn’t pulling his hand away. “I’ve had a tricky few years myself. Nothing like what you’ve gone through. But this leg has been trying to leave my body.”
You were pleased with the change of subject, but also intrigued by it. “Oh god, what does that mean?”
Ed laughed, giving off that handsome smile of his. “Got some melanoma at first. Then an infection. Then I had to get my hip replaced.”
“Oh!” You were shocked.
“Then knee surgery.”
“You’re still going!”
He laughed again, loud and entertained. “I told you it kept trying to leave me.” His smile softened and his eyes became distant. “I used to love showing off my legs. Used to be a lifeguard, worked out, all that nonsense,” he scoffed. “Now, this thing is all scarred up. The other leg sacrificed some flesh to save the other. So I’m a bit Frankenstiend together.”
“I love Frabkenstien!” You blurted out.
Ed’s expression was surprised, his cheeks ruddy under his beard.
You had to clean this up. Quick! “I mean-” You blinked a few times. “Not the doctor, the monster. He’s not even called Frankenstien. I mean-” What the hell did you mean? “You’re not a monster, I’m not trying to-” You scoffed and put your hands to your face. “I like the old movie!”
Ed was trying to keep from chuckling. “That’s sweet, at least I’m guessing that’s what you’re intending to be.”
You pouted a bit. “It’s strange being around men again,” you admitted. “It’s been a while since I dated and all.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh, so this is date?”
You could have been engulfed in flames and wouldn’t have noticed from how red hot your face got. You vermouth hung open and you tried to escape this.
“It’s okay,” Ed said with a calming tone. “I’m teasing. Hopeful. But teasing.”
That didn’t help you to relax. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t like you. I mean, I trust you, and I-”
Ed put his hand over yours again, holding it, and you were put at ease. You held his hand back, squeezing so you hoped the gentle touch would send the message back.
His body was massive over yours, warm, hairy. His belly was soft but there was muscle behind it. The moon was full above you, the rock was pressed against your back. When Ed stared into your eyes there was dark hair encompassing his face. His green eyes shone through, and a howl ripped from his chest into the night air.
You woke up alarmed, sweaty on your brow and wet between your thighs. You sighed heavily, stretching out along the old bed and kicking off the blankets to cool down. Maybe your dad could bring an air conditioner next time they visited.
You couldn’t remember the last time you had a sex dream. Hell, you could barely remember the last time you were so aroused. It was a shock to the system, your brain. How were you supposed to cope with this all encompassing passion flowing through you?
“Woof!”
Ah, Hank was there.
“It’s too early in the gotdang morning for this, Hank!”
You sat up like a bolt. Ed was here!
“She ain’t even up, you crazy goof.”
You rushed to the front door, throwing it open to see shirtless Ed trying to wrestle Hank to the car. He was only in his pajama bottoms and a pair of work boots.
You both locked eyes on one another.
“Breakfast?” You asked.
Shyly, Ed set Hank down and ran his fingers through his thick, black hair. “Sorry about that. Hank thinks he owns this place now.”
You smiled shyly. “That’s okay. I don’t mind letting him think that.” You stepped aside in the doorway. “Have you had anything this morning?”
“Ain’t even had my coffee,” he chuckled breathlessly.
“Good, then I’ll get a pot going.” You waved him inside, walking into the kitchen, aware that you were just wearing an oversized t-shirt.
Ed came into the kitchen, standing there awkwardly, trying to cover his chest with his burly arms. He was chubby, but built.
“I like a touch of sugar in the morning,” he said.
“Okay.” You were putting grounds into the filter. “I have eggs and maybe a little sausage. I could make a breakfast sandwich. If I get some potatoes I could do some home fries, but it would take a while.”
“I’m not going to be choosy. I sort of burst in.”
You turned the coffee pot on. It had existed at this cabin as long as your folks had owned it and it still worked better than the one you had at home. You were watching the coffee drip into the pot when a warmth came up behind you. The hair on the back of your neck bristled, but not from fear. You looked back as Ed set a mug down. You leaned into his outstretched arm, easing back against his chest. He was so warm!
His hand touched your arm, grazing up then back down. You realized you were holding your breath and you let out a slight whimper.
Ed whispered your name into your ear as his hand touched your thigh.
You nodded, silent, waiting.
His hand went under your shirt, touching your belly, your side, cupping your breast. Your nippled responded eagerly, pressing into his palm.
“Are you okay?” He murmured against your ear.
Your panties were holding back a flood. “Mm-hmm.”
“Good. I don’t want to scare you.” Ed’s lips pressed against the back of your neck, trailing down to your exposed shoulder. He pressed tighter into your, grasping you in his strong arms. “I want to make you feel good.”
You let out a relieved cry, molding to his touch, his lips. He was biting your neck now, moaning, rutting into your hip.
That can’t be his cock, you thought. It’s huge! You rubbed your hip more against it, trying to feel it out, but he moved back slightly. Taking his cock just out of reach.
His fingers found their way between your soft thighs, pressing against the wet spot that was growing.
“I knew I smelled you,” he snarled into your ear. “That heat.” His fingers slid into your underwear, pressing against your folds to find a water wall. “I need you.”
You nodded. “Me too. I need it. Ed-”
“I care about you,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.” He grabbed you off the ground, carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you upon the bed, yanking off your underwear before looking down upon you.
Were his eyes glowing? No, only a trick of the light.
Ed leaned down over you, kissing you softly. His hands cupped your face, holding you like you were delicate and fragile. It was a relief to be touched rather than held, rather than pushed. He was letting you flow and fit into what was comfortable.
He pulled back, brushing his hair away from his face to gaze back into your eyes. “Should I stop?” He whispered.
You shook your head, grabbing hold of him. “No. Don’t.” You then smoothed your hands down his chest, he was so warm, so furry. “Please, keep going.”
A soft smile took over his expression. “I’ll be gentle.” He pushed up your shirt to place kisses on your chest. He kissed your nipple, taking it into his mouth to tease it.
What was this that was riveting your body? It was different. It was new!
Ed bit slightly.
Whatever this was, you didn’t want it to end.
Ed kissed down your belly, he kissed your hips, your thighs. Moving between them until his kisses touched your clit, between your mound. You lost your breath as he started licking, kissing harder. Then his fingers, those thick strong fingers used to plucking berries gently from the vines. They teased your folds, rubbing your vulva. One finger slipped inside, curling, swirling slowly. You were losing your mind, but in the good way. The happy way.
Another finger was added, swirling, curling. They hit that spot inside you oh so perfectly. Swirling, swirling, harder, harder, faster, more, more more. You gasped for breath, unable to think of anything else but his fingers inside you and on your clit. More. More. More!
“That’s it, cum for me.”
How did he know?
“Cum for me, good girl,” his voice was a gentle command. It urged you forward, pulling you close and holding you in a comforting embrace. The crescendo was so strong, so powerful, you had never experienced a building like this. This part had always been a disappointment, a means to an end. But this! This-
There it was, relief, release. Your soul was comforted, fulfilled, even eased into a security you hadn’t had in ages. You were sweaty, breathless, panting against the bed. He was still kissing, licking, taunting your throbbing loin until he rose back up, wiping your dew from his beard.
“You’re delicious. I could go for seconds.”
How could you form the words to tell him you hadn’t orgasmed like that before. You wanted to ask him his secret, but you were far too melted to say or think anything.
Ed laid down beside you, kissing your hand and arm, your cheek.
Wait, was he not going to continue?
“Not yet.” Could he read your mind too? “We will. Just not yet.”
You looked into those stunning green eyes, wondering if they were, in fact, glowing still. You smiled, relieved but also wanting to feel him deep inside you more.
“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll wait for the rest of you.”
He kissed you again, holding your face in his large palm. Whatever his reason was to wait, you would respect that. You wanted to know more and more about him. You wanted him to be there.
Sometime later, there came a wind storm that was ripping through the mountain. You stayed inside, trying to keep falling tree limbs and other things out of your head. The power flickered occasionally, and every so often you checked on the cameras. But due to the storm, they were loading and having a tough time.
You were about to try and get some sleep when you heard barking at your door. You peered out, seeing Hank was standing on the door, barking into the wood.
“What the heck are you doing?” You snapped at him. “What if a tree fell and crushed you?” You scolded him as he ran inside. He then stood at the door, watching it with intense eyes.
“Hank, I’m fine. It’s just a storm. Ed must be freaking out!” You huffed, already calling Ed. It rang, but Ed never answered. You watched Hank for a moment, worried something happened at Ed’s house. But Hank was watching the door so intently, it was like he was waiting on someone to come in. Maybe Ed wasn’t too far behind.
After that, Hank followed you around. He rested upon the foot of your bed when you tried to sleep, he followed you to the bathroom and guarded the door.When you got up to get some water he went and stood by the front door all over again.
You tried Ed a couple of more times, staying up out of concern. You then noticed the security and trail cameras were back online and they were detecting motion. Thinking it was the storm, you checked and on one camera saw a massive, hulking creature. You gasped, almost dropping your phone.
The creature was all black, hunched over the ground. Its eyes glowed brightly in the dark. It looked like a wolf, but there was no way that could be a wolf.
Hank’s tail started wagging and he stood before the door again.
You watched the camera intently as the creature stalked the grounds, appearing before different cameras, sniffing, turning its head this way and that before moving on.
You woke up on the sofa, phone still clutched in your hand and Hank staring over you. He broke into a smile as you arose, licking your face. You struggled against his affections, trying to get the great dog off you until there was a knock at the door.
“Hello? It’s just me,” Ed announced. “Is Hank here?”
Hank barked loudly and finally allowed you up. “Yes!” You echoed Hank’s answer. You got to the door, opening it for Ed. “He’s been here all night.”
“Good,” Ed sighed, setting his cane at the door. “I left him at the house last night while I was out.”
You furrowed your brow. “Out? In that weather?”
Making himself at home, Ed went and started making coffee. “I was making sure the beehives were okay.”
“Oh right,” you murmured. “Was everything okay?” You stopped and noticed there were some weird stains on his cane.
“Oh yeah! Peachy. But I got terrified when I noticed Hank wasn’t home.” He turned with coffee mugs in his hands, and you saw there were some marks on his knuckles and a few bruises on his arms.
“Did the storm give you a fight?”
Ed looked at his knuckles and laughed, trying to cover them. “Yeah! There was some struggle with the tarps. I got hit by the ropes quite a bit.”
You nodded. “Well, as long as you are okay.” You then sighed heavily. “I had a very weird night.”
“Oh?”
You stood beside him in the kitchen. “Yeah. First Hank showed up, and when I couldn’t get ahold of you worried. Then I saw something on the trail cams.”
Ed stiffened. “Like what?”
You took out your phone, showing him one of the captured videos. “Is this the type of wolf Hearthway Hollow is known for?”
His jaw was stiff and eyes were a bit intense. “That is a big one.”
“No way!” You huffed, staring back at the screen. “That can’t be a wolf.”
“Type of wolf.”
You glared at Ed as your phone rang. It was your dad. “One sec,” you excused yourself, stepping around the table. “Good morning, dad,” you said cheerfully.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he sounded breathless, shocked.
“Is everything okay?”
“He’s gone, sweetie,” his tone was shaky, unsure if he should be shocked or glad. “They found him last night, in a river near Asheville.”
Your heart began pounding.
“Was there a storm near you yesterday?”
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Wait, how did you find this out?”
“His folks contacted me.” Your dad then began the long story of his morning and what your ex’s parents had told him.
After you got off the phone, you sat there stunned at the kitchen table. It was a strange thing to process. Were you happy? Relieved? Sad even? You weren’t sure, but there was a clam surrounding you.
Ed’s large, warm hand rested upon your shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” you murmured. “My stalker died last night. They think we was trying to look for me.” You sniffled and swallowed the tightness in your throat down. “They found his body in a river near Asheville. Dad thinks he tried to fight the storm last night.” You looked up at Ed. “They said it looked like he’d been bitten by a dog too.”
Ed nodded. “You must be relieved.”
“I think so. It’s been so long…” You sniffled again. “I’m not really sure what to feel right now.”
His hand squeezed and kneaded into your shoulder. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters to me.” He took a deep breath. “I want to show you something.”
You watched him step around you, moving aside dining chairs to there was space. He took off his shirt. “This is why I wanted to hold off. On us.” He looked into your eyes, and you thought they were glowing again. His hair seemed to be growing. His beard too. You looked down his arm to see his body hair was also growing thicker. His jaw snapped, changed shape. His frame hunched over and he braced against the kitchen island. A tail began wagging from behind him.
“Ed?” Your voice cracked.
A hulking, dark creature stood before you. It had wolf like features, but Ed’s unmistakeable green eyes were set upon the face.
“You see I-” Ed’s voice came out as the creature grasped at its chest. “I’m a werewolf.”
A shocked laugh escaped your mouth.
The werewolf’s head tilted. “It’s still me. And everything that is me is drawn to you. The man you got to know, the beast that stands before you now. He’s yours, from the moment I met you I knew it was fate.”
“Fate,” you chuckled from nervousness again. You cupped your hand around your mouth to stop.
“I know it’s a lot to take it.”
You nodded, standing up and cautiously approaching him. You touched him, running your fingers through the fur to reach his body. You smoothed your hand up his chest and his pulse was going hard against your fingertips.
“This can’t be real,” you whispered.
Ed took hold of your hand. “This isn’t a dream. I promise.”
You were still slack jawed, stunned. So much was happening you weren’t sure how to act, what to feel.
“My parents are coming up tomorrow.” Your voice cracked again.
He tilted his head.
“So if there’s anything else you’d like to tell me-” your voice faded off.
Ed leaned down, whispering into your ear.
What he said sent shivers through your body which responded to his touch, his movement. You should be freaking out. Werewolves! They were just stories a moment ago. Now, they were real. Ed was real. And he wanted you.
You were bent over the kitchen counter with the werewolf right behind you. Your pajama bottoms were polled around your ankles while the mighty paws of the werewolf clutched around your thighs. He was deep inside you, thrusting, grunting.
He was huge!
“You’re so wet,,” Ed panted. “Still so tight.”
“You’re fucking massive!” You whimpered out, lifting your head slightly. “That cock…it’s stretching me-”
Ed chuckled behind you, grabbed a fistful of your hair. “Just wait. I have more to give you.”
You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice down. Him pulling your hair was extremely exciting. This was all happening so fast. No more stalker. Werewolves were real. A werewolf was fucking you. By god, was it the best fuck of your life.
Something pulsed at your entrance, thicker, harder than his cock. His hands gripped tighter.
“Ed?” You whimpered.
“You feel that?” He growled. “It’s my knot. It’s for you, my mate.”
You surged as he pushed more, trying to press it inside. “Knot? Wait! I can only take so much-” your voice drowned out as the knot made way. Massive cock, thick knot. Was he trying to break you?
There was a pop, shift. Everything went quiet for a moment. Ed then snarled out a laugh, stroking and petting your rear. “Good girl. I fit perfectly.”
You shivered, knees shaking, toes hovering off the floor. This was too much! Werewolf cock, werewolf knot. You were dripping onto the floor. It was all too much.
“Did my knot make you cum?” He chuckled.
You groaned, almost drooling.
Ed bent over you, kissing your neck and back, growling deep into your ear. “Shall i do as I please?”
You nodded, a weak moan escaping your lips.
Ed kissed your cheek, your neck. “That’s a good girl.” He pulsed inside, pushing slightly deeper. He pulled back, knot popping out then he shoved it back in again. You cried out, so good, so much!
Sometime later, you woke up in bed, tucked in snuggly. Your loins ached, but everything else was warm, luxurious, heavenly. Did you dream it? No, you never had dreams that good.
The shower was running, Ed was humming as steam spilled from the door. You laid there, staring up the ceiling with stars and sugarplums dancing in your vision.
“Okay,” you whispered. “Werewolves. Can live with that.”
The shower turned off and after a few moments, Ed stepped out, rubbing a towel to his head. “There you are.”
You turned your head to admire him. It was the first time you had seen the scars on his legs, his thighs. Patches of dark hair was missing, color and tone were darker, lighter, purple. You smiled dreamily at him.
“Werewolf, huh?”
He smiled shyly. “Sorry, I got carried away a bit.” He climbed onto the bed beside you, laying down to face you. “Do you have any questions?”
You leaned in close to him, kissing him softly. “Tons. But you sort of fucked my brains out."
Heyyy so im so weak for bear hybrids and i just saw the one you posted, (LOVE IT btw), and i was wondering if you could do a sequal where reader decides to stay and lives a happy cozy life, with like cozy fires and all the bestest fur blankets and coziest bed and BIG FLUFFY BEAR MAN CUDDLES, but also like yk mad crazy sex where he likes to show off his strength and just like tosses her around, like up against walls, that thing where u like hold a girl on ur shoulders to eat her n stuff, if not thats ok i love all ur work sm 🙏🧎♀️🤍
Hello anon!!! Thank you for all the lovely words and the smutty idea!! I love bear hybrids, too. I'm sorry I took so long to complete. I have a lot of requests and I've been so busy lately. I'm trying to catch up on them slowly. Anyway, I hope this is to your liking!
Happy reading everyone!
Check out the first part of my bear hybrid oneshot here.
Cozy Life with your Bear Hybrid
Pairing: bear hybrid x fem reader
Summary: you live a cozy life with your giant bear of a man. And you love it.
Warnings: minors-ageless accounts don't interact, 18+, smut, size kink, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), huge 🍆, p in v sex, lots of 💦.
The wind screamed outside, rolling through the trees, yet it was only a whisper in the warmth of your cave. The fire crackled in the hearth and you were wrapped up in your mate's thick, muscled arms—the big bear of a beast who smelled like woodsmoke earthy perfume. He was warm and super cuddly, his big frame spooning you from behind.
Thick furs were heaped high on the bed their softness wrapping around you like a cocoon. Your bear hybrid always ensured you were warm and cozy, and took great pleasure in cuddling and loving you for hours on end. That night, he had a fond deep look in his eyes that spoke of his desire to keep you close and shield you from the outer world.
His mate. Forever.
Yes, you loved your life as his other half.
Shifting slightly, he moved, drawing you even closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his furred bear face scratchy but exquisite against your skin. His fingers, strong and calloused, trailed carefully down your belly, over your thighs, making sure his sharp nails were sheathed. Humming in satisfaction, you sunk deeper into him.
There was nowhere else you'd rather be, nothing else you'd rather do than spend every day surrounded by the warmth of your giant, soft bear, who was just as possessive and tender toward you.
"Hmmm, I could stay like this forever," he drawled in a low voice that vibrated through your chest. “But I’m also thinking about all the things I want to do to you.”
“Like?” you challenged, hands caressing his furry arm.
“Taste your sweet honey for one,” he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that sent goosebumps all over your skin.
“You just love to use this reference!”
He cocked a brow. “Why not?” His voice deepened. “Your cunt leaks the sweetest honey there is. I can vouch for that.”
“You are a horny bear beast.”
Chuckling, his hand moved down your thigh, fingers pressing just hard enough to cause you to open. “Hmm, and as the bear beast I am, I should taste again. Make sure your lovely cunny is as delicious as before. I love honey. Your honey.”
“You are insatiable.” Your face felt warm at the memory of him eating you out just hours ago. Your pussy had no issue whatsoever; it clenched and pooled with your juices.
Damn… You were both insatiable.
He grinned, that familiar, smoldering look blazing in his eyes. “Sleep, cuddle, eat you out, fuck. Then repeat. That’s our schedule. Now come, mate,” he playfully tapped your thighs. “Time to let me taste your pussy.”
His tone was straightforward. As if what you did every day was perfectly normal. You touched each other, rolled around in bed, kissed, made out (a lot), and couldn't keep your hands away from each other.
And you weren't a coward or an idiot to turn away from such joy.
In a playful mood, you smacked his hands playfully and scooted off the bed. You were in the mood to tease him. He growled and you hardly had time to move when he lifted you effortlessly, as if you were weightless in his massive arms, whisking you off the ground. You hugged him firmly and moaned as he hoisted you again, slamming you against the wall.
Strong hands maneuvered you so that your legs were draped over his shoulders, your pussy exposed and dripping in front of his eager mouth. You clutched his head and peered down at him, seeing the passion in his eyes as he licked up your mound, manipulating your folds with his long thick tongue. Your head tipped back, spine arching as he sucked you in, savoring your juices as if he were eating his favorite meal—which he was.
You were his favorite delicacy.
It went on and on, his tongue playing with your tender clit, circling the tender nub. You went wild, buried your fingers in his silky fur, and tugged violently as you shattered, your body coming alive with energy. He kept going, his big hands clutching your ass, his tongue thrusting inside to taste your honey. He growled primitively, his breaths vibrating over your clit.
He could go on for hours if you let him, feasting on your cunt and doing incredible tongue tricks just to see you lose yourself in pleasure.
“Pl—ease…ha~” you trembled, your voice strained from the toe-curling orgasm he’d given you.
With a husky moan, he gently flung you back into bed, onto that sea of fur covers, his large bulk crushing you with this delicious, heavy warmth and scent. You sighed with happiness and stretched your legs wider. He leaned over you, his cock thrusting up from between his broad thighs, already dripping seed.
His hands robed over your body, caressing your legs, belly and your breasts. You arched against him, whining when his leaky cock pressed against your entrance. He toyed with your nipples and leisurely rubbed his cock across your slit, his massive shaft appearing inhumanly large in comparison to your little human hole.
“Want my big bear to fuck me,” you whispered, fingers reaching down to open the outer lips of your pussy. “Pretty please?”
He whined and pushed the blunt cockhead a tiny bit inside. “How can I deny you, love?”
“Yessss,” you moaned, wiggling your waist. You were half-dazed with pleasure and you craved every inch of him inside you.
The spark in his eyes told you he was barely holding back. He was always so gentle despite his raw desire for you.
“Easy. Look at you,” he drawled, eyes on your pretty cunt, spread by his cockhead. “Every inch of you… mine, open and soft for me.”
“Come on, no more looking,” you warned. “Inside. Need you inside. All of you.”
A gentle roll of his hip, a little wiggling from you and he was inside, every inch of him buried in your depths. He was so deep you could feel him throbbing in your bellybutton, his balls crushed against your bum. You clutched his biceps, let out a gentle pants at the thick girth spreading your hole. You felt full, but not uncomfortably so. You’d learned to take him, to accommodate his hybrid cock.
“Good girl,” he drawled, his tongue plunging into your mouth.
Tongue down your throat, he fucked you, pounded into you in deep, unhurried thrusts. He kissed you as if he was starving, as if you were the only precious person he’d spent his entire life searching for. Which was entirely true. His hands cupped and kneaded your tits, his breath warm on your mouth.
Pleasure hit you again, and you sobbed mutely, your fingers tangling in his furred shoulders as he continued to claim you, his magnificent cock pumping in and out of your slick cunt. You heard his feral grunts and the squelching sounds of your bodies colliding. Two more thrusts and he exploded, loads of cum filling you up. He spurted for several minutes, your cunt overflowing with hot seed.
“Pretty, so damn pretty,” he roared. “Good mate, taking my cock and my seed. It drips so beautifully down your thighs.”
“Too much! It always is,“ you whined, feeling the final spurts of his release.
“Oh, that’s nothing.” His eyes had that dark hungry gleam, one that told you he wasn’t done with you. “Let’s see just how much more you can take, mate, ‘cause I’m not stopping anytime soon.”
Did you enjoy?! Like, comment or reblog! It would make me so happy!
adverbs are only controversial because some people are bad writers. adverbs are a necessary part of english, vital in creating nuance and subtlety different meanings. i will not die on this hill for i have the weapons to take on all comers!
Your neighbor, a carpenter that's been helping you fix up with house you just bought in the secluded small town surprising you one day when he shows up at your door nearly panting, as if he is fighting to hold himself back.
"Darlin' I'm gonna be needing you to close those windows. Only so much a man can do when a pretty lady is making the whole block smell like heaven in heat."
You are way too slow on picking up what he means even as he pushes you through the door pinning you to the wall, his fingers flexing, is he growing claws?
"Moving to a supernatural town was already risky. Not being on anything to stop you from smelling like everything in a mile should come an' breed you? That's just foolish."
You try to ask what he means, you were relocated here for work, you knew nothing about the town but he stops you. Makes the words and questions die in your throat when he grabs your wrist with a vise like grip, those were definitely claws, bringing your hand up to his face and inhaling deeply. You go instantly red, he can't possibly smell the fact that you were just knuckle deep in yourself moments before be came pounding on your door.
"Please. Tell me I can taste you." He pants, his teeth growing longer, his fingers ending in what are definitely claws, his body seeming to grow.
You'll definitely need to talk to your main office about being relocated into a shifter town without warning. But who are you to say no to this when the bear shifter next door asked so nicely.
Summary: you are the fated mate of a gargoyle. And he convinces you he is a hundred times better than humans.
Warnings: MINORS DONT INTERACT, 18+!!!!, fated mates, possessive gargoyle, use of French nickname (don’t roast me if it’s wrong it’s been long since I’ve done French. Just politely help me 😆), oral (fem receiving), huge 🍆, p in v sex, lots of 💦.
The old cathedral loomed like an ancient masterpiece, with its intricate stone walls and high spires. It was the lair of a monster and you’d been hauled her due to his stubbornness. You'd been minding your own business in the village when a gargoyle grabbed you and flew you to his grand lair, his massive wings slicing through the night air.
He provided every luxury and comfort possible, saying that you were his fated mate and that you belonged to him. You had unsuccessfully attempted to escape, only for him to find you and wrap his clawed claws around your waist as he flew you back. After so many attempts to flee, a great sense of panic and perplexity settled in your chest.
Another failed attempt.
Another day of not being free.
The thick wooden door creaked behind you as you entered your chamber, stomping your feet on the stone floor. But the door didn't slam because he was following you patiently. His stone-like skin glittered slightly in the candlelight, every muscle in his muscular body flexing with repressed strength. He stood there, wearing nothing but a loincloth, his eyes bright and predatory.
The gargoyle was fearsome and imposing, his muscled skin patterned with deep fractures and ridges. Massive dark and leathery wings were folded behind his back. His brilliant silver eyes were filled with predatory hunger, currently locked into you with unflinching intensity.
He was massive, every inch of him oozing dominance, and the way he stared at you was… undeniably possessive. He was a creature created from darkness to watch, guard, and claim. And he wanted you. The craziest thing ever was that you wanted him, too. You couldn't avoid his gaze; it bore through you, proving that he was a force that could not be resisted. That this bond between you was real. But you were too stubborn to admit it. Yet.
“You cannot keep me here,” you huffed, looking at him unabashedly. “You have to take me back to the village!”
“Why would I do that?” he rumbled. “You are my mate.”
Your chest heaved, your fists clenching as you stared up at him. "I don’t belong to you."
He took a step forward, his heavy feet echoing against the stone. "You didn't need to ask, cherie," he said, his voice deep and rich. "Fate made its decision long ago. You are my mate, meant to be with me."
“I don’t care about fate!” you shot back. “You can’t just take people away and expect them to accept it.”
“You are not just anyone. You are my mate. My very stubborn mate,” he said with a chuckle. “But I am patient.” He took another step forward, closing the distance between you. His tall body created a long shadow, making you feel small in comparison. "I've waited a millennia for you. I can wait till you realize what you already know deep inside."
Face scrunching up, you turned away. Your heart pounded as his words sunk in. You hated how right he was. How strongly he affected you. There was something irrefutable about the way he looked at you, as if he could see through your resistance and had already claimed you deep inside.
“You don’t even know me,” you muttered, hating how vulnerable your voice sounded.
He smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that showed off his fangs. “I know enough,” he rumbled. “I know that you feel it too—the pull, the bond between us. You can deny it all you want, but it’s there. And the more you deny it, the stronger it’s going to get.”
You took a step back, but he clutched your elbow, keeping you there.
“Take me back,” you pleaded. “Please?”
His smile faded, replaced by a look of peaceful confidence. He leaned even closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and smelling your hair. His touch was kind and gentle, he always was very careful with you. Your heart thundered, your chest tightened, and your pussy fluttered as you looked up at him. Damn it! His eyes drilled into yours, fierce and unwavering, and despite your dread and anger, you couldn't deny how your body reacted to him—the way his mere presence seemed to draw you in.
“I can’t stay here,” you whispered, “it’s not right.”
“You can,” he murmured, a clawed hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “And you will.”
You shook your head, biting your lip. "You do not understand. I do not want to be trapped."
"You're not trapped, ma belle," he whispered with a deep growl. "You are safe. Protected. I will not let anyone harm you. I'll give you everything you could possibly want.”
"But I want to leave," you said, your words sounding weak and hollow even to your own ears.
"No, you don't," he said softly, his breath warm against your cheek. "You think you do, but that's just because you're afraid of how you feel. Afraid of what we have.”
“I’m not scared.”
"Yes, you are," he said, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. You got pleasurable chills all over. "But you don't have to be. I will not hurt you. I can't hurt you. You're mine, and I protect what belongs to me."
“Don’t—” you tried to evade his touch, struggled to say to yourself that it was repulsing but you ended up relaxing into his arms, sighing softly.
“See? You say you don’t want this,” he whispered, his hand sliding down to rub your ass. “But I can feel your body responding to me. You can’t hide it, ma chère. You crave me, even if you don’t want to admit it.”
You bit your lip, a flush of heat rushing through you as his words sank in. He was right. There was something about him—something primitive, something raw and undeniably attractive that spoke to you, no matter how much you tried to reject it. You wanted to fight it, push him away, but his touch and presence were too much. It engulfed you like a spell, seductive and enticing.
“I’m not giving you up,” he growled softly, his voice vibrating through your body as he leaned in, his lips grazing your neck. “I’ve waited too long for you. You are my mate, and I will not let you go.”
“I don’t belong to you.”
“Oh, but you do,” he said, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “And I shall prove it to you, ma chère.”
With a powerful swipe of his arm, he scooped you up and tossed you gently to the bed. A surprised gasp escaped you when you came in contact with the plush sheets. Then he was crawling on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath his heavy weight. His body towered over yours, his wings tucked behind him, and his muscular arms drew him closer to you, preventing any escape.
You bit your lips he looked so good!
“I’ve waited too long for you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. “Too long to let some weak human man think they can have what’s mine.”
All thoughts of escaping and resisting faded from your mind.
All you felt and thought about was him, the hardness of his body against you, the warmth of his textured flesh engulfing yours. You swallowed hard and heard him moan before he claimed your mouth, sliding his tongue between your parted lips and sneaking inside. You moaned and opened your mouth wider, allowing him to taste, find, and play with your tongue. He was careful with his fangs and angled his head without breaking the kiss.
You touched him all over, trailing your fingertips across his flesh and mapping every inch of him. He was hard all over, robustly built, and quite sensitive with his wings. You caressed the leathery wings, felt them flutter, and heard his deep sighs as he devoured your mouth with his tongue. Then you felt cool air creasing your skin, and with a gasp, you broke the kiss to find yourself naked. Utterly naked in his arms. He’d removed every layer of clothing during the kiss, his loincloth, too.
Now you were lying in one other's arms, hot and aroused.
Sitting back on his haunches, he gave you a clear view of his muscled chest, chiseled stomach, hard thighs, and in between… you gulped hard at the massive cock curving toward you. It was a monster, like the rest of him, dark gray with textured, bumpy details along its great length. The head was narrow, nearly pointy but the base of him was thick.
“Do you like what you see, ma chère? It’s all yours.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, feeling the heat spreading through your face and body.
“Ahh… my stubborn mate.” He leaned closer, his hands cupping your knees and spreading your thighs. You gasped, tried to close your legs but all in vain.
“You are so beautiful. Every part of you.”
Silver eyes roamed over your body, from head to toe. A sexy smile formed on his lips as he bent to taste you, his tongue extending to trace the line of your throat. You whimpered, closing your eyes. He moaned and went lower, licking the upper mounds of your breasts, the underside and finally around your sensitive nipples.
A ragged moan was torn from you when his hand slid down your body, fondling your soft belly until his fingers found your clit, rubbing it gently. Your breathing quickened, your thighs trembling. There was care and tenderness in his touch—but also raw need, his strokes relentless over your little bud.
“Ahhh—” you sighed, opened your eyes, found his eyes locked onto yours. He seemed to feed off the moans you let out, his grin widening as he pressed your nub harder, faster, rubbing your clit with furious precision.
“Yes,” he purred, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “That’s it. Give me more, ma chère.”
Breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he continued to fondle you, you managed a weak nod. It was sooo good. The pad of his finger was merciless as it rubbed your swollen clit, drawing out moans you couldn’t contain. Your body flowered for him, a rush of heat pooling between your thighs and drenching his hand.
Your groans grew louder as you approached the climax until with a long whine, you came undone. Bliss surged through you, your clit pulsing pleasantly with relief. You rode the waves of bliss, fiercely shaking in his arms. He groaned and held you beneath him, his finger gently fondling your clit while licking on one breast, his sharp teeth brushing your tender nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
The sensations were overwhelming, you could hardly process the pleasure, especially when he switched to the other breast, nursing your nipple hard enough to send sweet bliss shooting through you again, bringing tears to your eyes.
He made you cry out, but your cries quickly turned into weak moans as he fondled your oversensitive clit stronger, causing you to jolt. It was too much, his touch insistent and bold, sending electric pulses that spread through your chest. He watched you closely, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he saw the effect it had on you.
“Ahh—sensitive,” you gasped as he rubbed your clit anew. “Wait… mnnn—”
“More,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Your body craves it and I’ll be damned if I don’t have you admitting it by soaking my hand with your cum.”
With these worlds, he crawled low, his hand still working your clit as he knelt between your legs. Head between your quivering thighs eyes, he held your ankles wide apart, eyes never leaving yours as he breathed against your cunt. His tongue brushed against your entrance, slipping inside just enough to make you gasp but not enough to give you the relief you required. You cried, flailing and rocking against him, desperate for more. But he kept you open and valuable, his tongue barely thrusting, your needy clit ignored.
“You want more, don’t you?” he asked, his tongue delving out to teasingly flick your clit. “Say it. Beg me for it.”
You bit your lip, battling the burning desire inside you, but the heat between your legs was overwhelming, the pleasure increasing with each teasing stroke of his. Tingling heat had spread throughout your body, driving away any thoughts of resistance.
“I—” you began, your voice shaking when his tongue slipped deeper, making you cry out. “Ahhh, yes! Please…! I— I need—”
“Say it,” he growled, his tongue now working you relentlessly, slurping your loudly. “Tell me you need me. Tell me you’ll accept me.”
Words fell from your mouth, broken and frantic. "Need you!" you said, your body shaking at each sinuous slide of his tongue. "I accept you… ahmm— just don't stop."
A dark, satisfied smile spread across his face as he finally gave in, his tongue plunging deeper, faster, curling inside you. The tip of his appendage caressed your sweet spot while one hand settled over your clit, a finger circling your clit, driving you to the edge. The heat inside you became unbearable— uncontainable, the pleasure overwhelming as he brought you closer and closer to release.
“There you go,” he purred, his voice rumbling through you as his tongue slid against you. “Give it to me, cum hard, ma chère.”
You obeyed, your body arching beneath him as the pleasure grew to a crescendo and drove you insane. Your body shook with need, and then, with one final thrust of his tongue, one final swirl of his finger over your clit, you snapped, your body quivering violently as pleasure flooded through you, wave after wave slamming over you as you yelled out his name.
He held you through it, his tongue thrusting lazily inside as your walls convulsed around it. His hands held you still as your body trembled from the intensity of your release, his silver eyes looking at you with satisfaction. His mate. Spread open and writhing with ecstasy. Accepting him.
“Mine,” he growled, his voice a low rumble in your ear as he pulled you closer, his throbbing cock poking your belly. “I’ll make you mine. Forever.”
Through hazy eyes, you stared as he aligned his dick, lubricating his massive girth over your juices. He was inhumanly large, but his tapering cockhead made it easier for him to spread your fold and enter while the rest of him opened you up and drove inside. Slowly and steadily. It was amazing to see someone so large squeeze into such a tight space.
Nevertheless, you took him, your walls making way as if he was always meant to be there. You were quite flabbergasted at that fact. Still, his cock went in and in, filling you up until he was buried deep within you.
Shaky moans left you both when he began to move, pulling all the way out before slamming back. You were so wet, you could hear each squelch. He must love it because he shoved in and out, deliberately making more noise. The angle and depth of the penetration made your vision blurry. He filled you up so completely that your walls clamped around him as if you never wanted to let go.
You never wanted to let go. You understood now.
You were his fated mate and he had proven his point. No human could ever claim you as completely as he had.
You accepted him fully. He was yours. And you were his.
A few toe-curling thrusts and you shattered, riding an orgasm more intense than all the previous ones. Your mate gripped you tightly, plunged to the hilt inside you, and erupted, spurting rope after rope of warm cum painting your insides. You hugged him back, nails biting into his unyielding skin as his powerful release filled you to bursting. You came again with little aftershocks, panting and sobbing with delight, feeling safe in his arms.
Did you enjoy?? Like, reblog, comment? Please? 😆🩷I promise the monsters won’t bite… hard.. heheehehe
