DUDAAAA i love your fics so muchhh! 🩷🩷 i was wondering how theo would be like as a dad/navigating readers pregnancy
love you 🩷🩷🩷
this is such a sweet idea! i am not sure if i am happy with this lol but i wanted to write this before new years. i wrote a few headcanons covering the day reader showed theo the positive pregnancy test all the way to the day reader gave birth—i chose not to assign a gender to the baby so you can imagine it according to your own thoughts about him being a girl or boy dad. i must also add that this is set in a post-war scenario, so both theo and reader are financially stable and above 18. i hope you enjoy it! xx
theodore nott navigating through reader's pregnancy.
when you discovered the pregnancy, it hit theodore hard. he didn’t know how to react—he had never been good with children, shaped as he was by a harsh childhood. son of a father brutally incapable of feeling any kind of love and a mother who was taken away precociously, theodore was certain that being a good father was beyond his abilities. christian nott had raised him coldly and calculatingly, teaching discipline without warmth, so when you held out the pregnancy test, its thin lines unmistakably positive, the fear of becoming the very thing he despised devoured him like worms. still, he held you as you cried, whispering into your hair that he would do the impossible for the child that would begin to grow in your womb, whispering promises he was not sure if he could keep.
in the days that followed, theodore visited his mother’s grave at the old nott manor (long abandoned by a christian who would rot in azkaban and by a son who carried deplorable memories of the place, theodore still kept house-elves there to care for the estate and keep alive the place where his mother had spent her final years, though) again and again. at her grave, he confessed to her that he was apprehensive, that he truly didn’t know what path to follow now. that he was afraid of what was to come—afraid of becoming like his sperm donor. that he wanted her embrace, the kind that would reassure him that everything would be all right, that he would be alright and a much, much better father than the one he had. that he wished she were there to meet her grandson or granddaughter—but since she wasn’t, he would take on the responsibility of telling the child just how noble phoena nott had been while her eyes still shone with life. he would leave with the feeling that his mother had heard him, that she would guide him in this new chapter—even if from another spiritual plane, unreachable by theo’s calloused hands.
during the first two or three months, theo felt lost in a labyrinth. he woke up repeatedly in the dead of night from nightmares that left his heart pounding—visions of you dying as phoena had, of himself standing useless at the center of ruin. dreams of him becoming a wretched father. dreams of your child looking at him with hatred, just the way he did with christian. theodore wasn’t one to cry, but the tricks of his unconscious mind brought him to tears like a baby whose favorite toy had been taken away. his sobs woke you, and as gently as ever, you surrounded him with infinite care.
“you’re the man i chose to be the father of my child,” you assured him, holding a tear-soaked theo against your chest, your legs wrapped around his waist as he lay curled against you. “you’re the only person i would ever choose to have a family with. you’re not like your father, theo. and i am grateful, so grateful for you and for this life we’re beginning together.”
those words soothed the italian. only you had that power. and when you kissed him sweetly and wiped away the tears tracing paths of insecurity down his sharp cheeks, he managed to chase the bad thoughts away, falling asleep in your arms with the certainty that he wouldn’t have those visions again—he knew they didn't dare to follow him there.
as the months passed and as he allowed himself to be seen by you, something shifted. he bared himself entirely to you, and you received that opportunity speaking to him with patience, helping him recognize that he was your choice; slowly, theodore began to see fatherhood through different lenses. maybe he wouldn’t be so terrible, after all. maybe the tenderness he gave you could be widened, extended, made into something that could hold a child. perhaps he would not fail so greatly.
the turning point came when you reminded him of the beginning of your relationship—when he realized what he felt for you went far beyond the carnal, something frightening real compared to the shallow relationships from the past—and how this was somehow the same. how he had pushed you away out of fear of not being what you deserved, and how you stayed anyways. he came to understand that you were right: if not for your irritating and steadfast persistence, perhaps you wouldn’t be where you were now. your bond wouldn’t be so strong. you wouldn’t have faced a war and come out alive to tell the story. you wouldn’t have the living proof of your love growing in your womb. and so, after another visit to his mother’s grave, theodore decided he would give himself a chance—a chance to prove that he wasn’t what his father had molded him to be, but a man capable of being gentle, loving. a man who could be the father his child deserved.
the days moved slowly—at baby steps, ironically enough. at night, he would rest his head on your legs and talk to your belly, still flat and not showing. he read everything he could find: books on fatherhood, on psychology, how to deal with children, how to leave the past behind where it belonged. he thought of it as a sort of self-made parenting manual; perhaps he could publish it someday, if he succeeded in his mission. you always said he was a wonderful writer, after all.
“you’re going to be as beautiful as your mother,” he whispered against your round belly, planting soft kisses as his large hand caressed you while you slept. “i can’t wait to teach you italian and tell you about your grandmother. to protect you. to anchor you.” he murmured, his gray eyes closing. “i love you. so much.” another kiss to your stomach. “and your mother does too.”
he watched your belly grow with each passing day and accompanied you to every medical appointment. he asked the doctor countless questions: is the baby healthy? did you need any specific nutrients? is there even a test for that? when can we know the sex?
the doctor laughed gently. “you chose the father well,” she told you, earning a wide smile from you. theodore flushed. well. it seemed others saw what you had always known.
his love for the child blossomed like the most beautiful rose, and soon theodore found himself imagining a life-filled child running through the house. even the tantrums would be precious, should they inherit their father’s temperament. any doubt about his ability to love his kid faded away—because he was not his father. he'd honor the love he received from phoena. he'd honor you.
when the baby’s gender was finally revealed, theodore found himself in a trance. it was real. on the screen, unmistakable even in grayscale, was his child. the baby had his nose. his bone structure. no matter how hard he tried to hold it together, the revelation unleashed tears he didn’t even know he’d been holding. merda. it was overwhelming, terrifying and beautiful all at once—but he needed to stay strong. you cried too, lying on the exam table with your already-rounded belly covered in gel, and he tried to remain composed as he stroked your hair. it was so hard not to fall apart at the sight of that little bundle of love the two of you had created.
the bigger your belly grew, smaller were your responsibilities. theo did everything—from cooking (indulging your strangest pregnancy cravings, which he would never dare to try himself) to cleaning. if you dared to attempt any effort, he carried you back to the couch, lifting you through the house the same way he had on your wedding day. he even teased you, saying you were still beautiful, even with your lips perpetually pouting. to him, you were celestial—especially like this. also, he would sometimes hold your belly while you stood, smiling when he saw your sigh of relief as the weight was taken off your front.
he already considered you his queen—but now it was as though that love had tripled. he cared for you like never before: feeding you when you felt weak, making sure you got every nutrient needed for both your health and the baby’s. he massaged your aching feet, combed your hair when you felt lazy... he wanted you to feel as light as possible, even with a little bundle weighing on your body.
he called mattheo, blaise, draco, and lorenzo to help build the nursery. together, the men created the best sanctuary possible for the child to come—but theo insisted on assembling the furniture himself. his mother had once told him she’d had to hire people to do it when he was born, because christian hadn’t bothered. theo took quiet satisfaction in being the opposite.
on the night your water broke—at dawn, of course, because theo’s child would obviously inherit his talent for mischief—theodore panicked before the rational part of his brain kicked in and intervened. he drove you to the hospital, deciding apparition was too risky—and you were taken away immediately. c-section was decided upon; theo said he would feel calmer knowing you’d be in less pain.
when he entered the operating room, dressed in the proper clothes and cap of a sterile blue, he held your hand the entire time. he watched every procedure like a hawk, biting back the urge to offer some annoying commentary. he was terrified something would go wrong—that you’d be taken from him, that he’d be forced to choose between you.
but when the first sharp, piercing cry filled the room, he broke. a loud sob followed the infant’s wail—one of pure relief that everything had gone well and that you still slept peacefully under anesthesia. but more than anything, it was happiness. happiness surged through his tall body like electricity, lighting every bone. when he held the bloodied baby and felt the weight of three kilograms of life, he knew his baby was born healthy. a perfect replica of him, save for the unmistakable curve of your lips.
theo waited impatiently for you to wake while the baby was cleaned, and once he had him back in his arms, he refused to let go until you opened your beautiful eyes. my god, his kid was beautiful. perfect. and so deeply loved.
more tears fell when you woke and saw your kid for the first time—the result of your love. seeing theo’s features mirrored in the baby, and the way your husband’s gray eyes were swollen from crying, you knew, once again, that you had chosen right.
