The moment they apparated into the safe house, the weight of battle still clung to them, thick and suffocating, the scent of blood and burning magic woven into their clothes, into their skin, into the very air they breathed. Theo barely had a second to steady himself before Luna's body wavered in his grip, her strength finally giving out, the toll of the fight dragging her down. He tightened his hold on her instinctively, unwilling to let her fall, unwilling to let her slip away even for a second, but Hermione was already moving, her sharp, assessing gaze sweeping over the damage, the deep gashes across Luna's stomach still seeping crimson into the fabric of her robes, too much blood, too much.
Hermione's expression hardened, her fingers tightening around her wand as she made a split-second decision, her voice firm, unwavering, allowing no room for argument. "Get her on the table." Theo didn't hesitate, his grip still secure as he carried Luna across the room, as if she weighed nothing, as if letting go would somehow make everything worse. Hermione flicked her wand, the wooden surface clearing in an instant, every useless object vanishing as if they had never been there at all. He laid Luna down with a gentleness that was at odds with the storm raging inside him, his hands lingering at her sides for just a moment too long before Hermione stepped in, already casting diagnostic charms, already muttering incantations under her breath, already pulling every ounce of knowledge she had into the task of keeping Luna from slipping too far beyond reach.
Theo took a step back, his breath uneven, his chest still rising and falling in frantic bursts, the adrenaline still coursing through him like a second pulse. He couldn't look away, couldn't pull his gaze from the way Luna's body twitched, from the way her fingers curled against the surface of the table, from the way she exhaled sharply at the sting of magic knitting her wounds together. He wanted to touch her, wanted to ground himself in the warmth of her skin, wanted to prove to himself that she was here, that she was alive, that she hadn't been ripped away from him the way everything else in his life had been.
Blaise was suddenly there, his presence steady, firm, dragging Theo's attention away just enough to break the trance. "Come on, mate," he murmured, voice low, carefully measured. "Let Hermione work." Theo's jaw clenched, every muscle in his body still locked tight, his magic still crackling beneath the surface, still begging for an outlet, for something to fight, for something to destroy, because the battle hadn't ended in his head, not yet, not when the thing had nearly taken her. He was still on the edge of losing himself, still teetering too close to the abyss of what could have happened, of what still might happen if they didn't act fast enough.
Pansy stepped in next, her dark eyes sharp, taking in everything, the way Theo's fingers were still curled into fists, the way his breathing hadn't steadied, the way his entire body was trembling despite his best efforts to appear composed. She didn't hesitate, her fingers closing around his wrist, tight, dragging his attention to her instead of the blood-stained table where Luna lay. "Theo, sit down," she ordered, her voice cutting through the chaos, through the war still raging inside him. He didn't move. He couldn't move. Pansy's grip only tightened, her tone sharper now, more demanding, a thread of something desperate slipping through. "Sit the fuck down before you collapse, you absolute idiot."
The fight bled out of him all at once, his body giving in, his knees hitting the chair before he even realized he had moved. Blaise and Pansy exchanged a glance, silent communication passing between them, an understanding formed through years of knowing exactly how to handle Theo when he was on the edge of something self-destructive. Blaise handed him a damp cloth, and it was only then that Theo realized his hands were still stained red, still covered in Luna's blood. He stared at them for a moment, something dark and sharp twisting in his chest, something he couldn't name, something he didn't want to name. Pansy's voice softened, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist, grounding him, keeping him here. "She's going to be fine, Theo."
Neville and Draco were already moving in the background, their wands raised, their voices low, reinforcing the wards around the house, strengthening every barrier, sealing every entrance, making sure the thing that had followed Theo into that field wouldn't ever set foot inside these walls. The air thrummed with their magic, the wards snapping into place, a tangible shield pressing against the house, locking them in, locking everything else out.
The bitter taste of the calming potion still clung to Theo's tongue, thick and heavy, but it did little to settle the storm raging inside him. The warmth that should have spread through his veins, dulling the sharp edges of panic, barely registered beneath the weight pressing against his chest, beneath the crushing, suffocating fear that he couldn't shake, not when Luna was still on that table, still bleeding, still too pale, still too still. He sat there, his body rigid, his fingers twitching against his knees, his jaw locked so tightly it ached, watching as Hermione and Ginny worked with practiced urgency, their wands moving in precise, fluid motions, their incantations barely audible over the pulse pounding in his ears. The room smelled of blood and antiseptic potions, of burning sage and raw magic, the energy thick enough to make the air feel dense, unsteady, like the house itself was holding its breath.
Hermione's brow was furrowed in concentration, sweat beading along her temple as she pressed her hands over Luna's wound, whispering spells Theo didn't recognize, her magic pouring into Luna's body, stitching together what had been so violently torn apart. Ginny stood at her side, her own hands glowing faintly, working in tandem, their magic weaving together like threads of silk, reinforcing, repairing, willing Luna's body to heal faster than nature intended. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows along the walls, making everything feel distorted, stretched, like the world was shifting, like time had folded in on itself, trapping them in this moment, in this desperate, aching now.
Pansy was still beside him, her grip firm on his wrist, grounding him, keeping him from shattering completely, but even she was watching with thinly veiled anxiety, her gaze darting between Hermione and Ginny, her fingers tightening every time Luna's breath hitched, every time the glow of magic flickered unsteadily. Blaise hovered nearby, silent but watchful, his usual composed mask barely holding, tension radiating off of him in waves, as if the weight of the situation was pressing down on all of them. No one spoke. No one dared to break the fragile silence, because every second felt like it was balancing on the edge of something too sharp, too uncertain, too dangerous.
Theo could feel himself unraveling, every muscle in his body coiled tight, his breath uneven, shallow, his mind a battlefield of thoughts he couldn't quiet, memories he didn't want, whispers that weren't his own still lingering in the back of his skull. He had seen too much death. He had watched too many people bleed out in front of him, had stood helplessly by as the war took and took and took—but not her. Not Luna. He refused to let this be another loss carved into his ribs, another weight pressing against his lungs, another name to haunt him when the nights stretched too long.
And then—Luna exhaled, deep and steady, the tension in her body easing as Hermione muttered one final incantation, her hands glowing bright before the magic settled, sinking into Luna's skin, leaving only faint scars where there had once been gaping wounds. The shift in the room was immediate, a collective breath released all at once, the weight lifting just enough for Theo to finally move, to finally reach for her, his hand finding hers, his fingers threading through her still-cold ones, gripping them like a lifeline. Hermione swayed slightly, Ginny catching her before she could collapse, exhaustion pulling at both of them, but they had done it. Luna was stable.
She was safe.
~~~
The room was dark except for the faint glow of candlelight flickering against the walls, the air thick with the remnants of magic, of exhaustion, of something heavier, something neither of them could name. Theo held her tighter than ever, his arms wrapped around her with a desperation that should have faded now that she was safe, now that she was here, now that she was still breathing, but it hadn't. If anything, it had only grown stronger, a possessive, bone-deep need to anchor himself in the warmth of her, to feel her heart beating against his, to make sure she was real, solid, alive. His fingers curled into the fabric of her nightgown, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep her close, to remind himself that he hadn't lost her, that she hadn't been taken from him, that she was still his. The weight of the night pressed down on them both, lingering in the way his breath was still uneven, in the way her fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns against his ribs, grounding him, soothing him, silently telling him that she wasn't going anywhere.
Time moved differently here, in the quiet of their bed, where the horrors of the battlefield couldn't reach them, where the war outside felt like something distant, something unreal, something that couldn't touch them in this moment. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling, slow and steady, his body curved around hers as if shielding her from the world, as if shielding himself from the truth that had settled between them long before this night, long before the skinwalker, long before he had ever kissed her. The words had been weighing on him, thick on his tongue, heavy in his chest, demanding to be spoken, but now that they were here, now that he had her in his arms, now that he knew with absolute certainty that he couldn't lose her, he hesitated, because once he asked, once she answered, there would be no turning back.
His voice was lower than a whisper, rough with something unspoken, something dangerous, something that had been clawing at him for weeks, for months, maybe even longer. "Did you know this was going to happen?" His question hung between them, filling the space where fear used to be, where doubt used to linger, where something inevitable had always been waiting.
Luna didn't react right away, didn't flinch, didn't pull away, didn't do anything but hold him, her fingers still moving lazily against his skin, her breath still slow and steady, as if she had already known he was going to ask, as if she had already prepared for this moment. She didn't rush to fill the silence, didn't try to offer him meaningless reassurances, didn't pretend that this wasn't what it was. Instead, she smiled, just barely, the soft curve of her lips barely visible in the dim light, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she finally, finally answered. "Not all of it."
It should have been a relief. It should have been enough. But Theo knew better now. Knew her better now. He studied her, his gaze searching, tracing the delicate features of her face, committing every shadow, every highlight, every inch of her to memory, because he knew—he finally knew—that she had always been waiting for this, for him, for this moment. Understanding settled into his chest, cold and sharp, but not unwelcome. He had spent his entire life believing he was in control, that he knew what was coming, that he could predict every outcome, every consequence, every step before it happened. But she had known about him before he had even known about himself. And somehow, impossibly, he accepted it.
His voice was steadier this time, more certain, more resigned to the truth he had been fighting for too long. "But you knew about me."
Luna exhaled, a slow, measured breath that ghosted over his cheek, and then she leaned in, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to his temple, her lips warm against his skin, her touch reverent, like she was sealing something between them, something that had always been there, something that had always been inevitable. She didn't pull away, didn't break the moment, didn't leave room for doubt when she finally whispered, her voice as soft as a prayer, as certain as fate, "I always did."
And that was it.
The last thread of resistance snapped, the last barrier between them crumbling into nothing, because there was nothing left to fight. No more pretending, no more running, no more denying what had been written into the fabric of them long before either of them had ever spoken it aloud. He didn't know what it meant, didn't know where it would take them, didn't know if it would save him or damn him, but he did know one thing.
She was his.
And he was never letting her go.
Theo didn't loosen his hold on her. If anything, he pulled her closer, one arm curled around her waist, the other smoothing up the delicate curve of her spine, his fingers tracing the soft ridges of her shoulder blades as if he was memorizing her, as if letting go meant losing something more than just warmth. He could still feel the tremors of magic lingering on her skin, the remnants of whatever power she had wielded in the field, the same power that had brought him back, that had reminded him who he was, that had made him stay when everything inside him had been telling him to slip away. She had saved him, not just from the monster, but from himself, and there weren't enough words in any language to tell her what that meant.
He pressed his lips to her temple, slow, lingering, not just an act of affection but something deeper, something reverent, something that had been building for longer than he could admit. It wasn't just gratitude. It wasn't just relief. It was something else entirely, something dangerous, something terrifying, something that settled in the marrow of his bones and refused to be ignored any longer. He inhaled softly, breathing her in, grounding himself in the scent of her, the warmth of her, the way she fit against him so perfectly, as if this had always been inevitable. And maybe, just maybe, it had been.
His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything, of every glance, every touch, every moment between them that had led to this. "This was never just a mistake, was it? I mean Us."
He felt the way she stilled in his arms, the subtle pause in her breathing, the brief hesitation before she moved again, her fingers curling slightly against his chest, pressing into the fabric of his shirt, grounding herself just as much as she was grounding him. He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling, that same knowing, infuriating, utterly disarming smile that had driven him mad since the moment he met her. She had always known more than she let on, always seen things he couldn't, always held the answers just beyond his reach.
She shifted slightly, tilting her head just enough to rest her forehead against his, the ghost of her breath warming his skin, the space between them so small it felt nonexistent. Her voice was soft, almost teasing, but laced with something heavier, something more certain, something undeniable. "No."
That was it. No explanation, no justification, no hesitation. Just the truth, simple and inevitable, as if it had always been there, waiting for him to catch up.
And maybe he had always known it, too.
Something in his chest tightened, a slow, aching pull that he didn't fight anymore, because there was no point in pretending. No point in resisting. No point in anything other than this moment, than her, than the quiet, undeniable truth that this had never been a mistake. That whatever this was between them, it had always been coming, like a thread woven into his fate long before he had ever had a say in it.
He tilted his head, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers, his voice low, rough, but steady. "I need you to listen to me," he whispered, because this wasn't something he could rush, wasn't something he could let her deflect with one of her cryptic little smiles. He needed her to hear this. Needed her to understand that he wasn't saying this out of fear, or adrenaline, or relief that they were still alive. He was saying it because it was true. Because it had always been true.
Luna blinked up at him, silver-blue eyes searching his, calm and knowing, patient as always, as if she had been waiting for this moment for longer than even he had.
Theo exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. "I love you."
There. It was out. The words landed heavy, final, but not in a way that terrified him. It felt inevitable, like something that had been written into his very existence long before this moment. Like something she had always known.
Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching, her fingers twitching against his chest, as if she wasn't sure whether to hold onto him or pull away. But she didn't move. She didn't speak. She only looked at him, as if waiting for him to continue.
He swallowed hard, shaking his head, a bitter laugh escaping as he tightened his hold on her. "I don't mean—I don't mean in the way people say when they're afraid or when they don't know what else to do. I don't mean it because we've been through hell together. I don't mean it because you saved my life. I mean it because it's the only thing that makes sense anymore. I mean it because when I think about what my life looks like without you in it, I can't—" He broke off, his jaw clenching, his throat tightening. "I can't do it, Luna. I can't picture it. And I don't want to."
Her lips parted slightly, a breathless sound escaping her, her fingers finally moving, sliding up to cup his jaw, her touch soft, reverent, grounding.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second, letting himself sink into it, letting himself feel everything, before he opened them again, meeting her gaze with everything he had. "You told me you weren't going to leave me," he whispered, voice shaking now, no longer steady, no longer careful. "So don't. Stay with me. Always."
She inhaled sharply, something breaking across her face, something raw and real and too much to name. And then—then she smiled, and it wasn't cryptic, wasn't distant, wasn't unreadable. It was soft. Certain. Just like him.
And when she leaned in, brushing her lips against his, the world finally—finally—made sense.
Luna traced the sharp lines of his jaw with the tips of her fingers, a whisper of a touch, reverent, knowing. The air between them hummed, thick with something unspoken, something that had existed long before either of them had dared to name it. She had always been able to see things others could not, to hear the echoes of what had yet to be spoken, to feel the weight of truths before they had the courage to be formed into words. And she had known this—known it the way the stars knew their place in the sky, the way the tide always found its way back to shore.
Her lips parted, her breath warm against his skin, her voice quiet but certain, each word deliberate, each syllable carved into the space between them like an incantation, like something ancient, something that had been waiting to be spoken.
"Theo," she whispered, her fingers slipping into his hair, her eyes locking onto his, unwavering, infinite. "I love you."
It was not a confession. It was not a revelation. It was a promise, a declaration of something that had always been there, that had always belonged to them, even in the moments when he had tried to deny it, even in the nights when they had held each other in silence, even in the war, even in the fear, even in the shadows that had tried to consume them.
She smiled then, soft and knowing, as if she could feel the way his heartbeat had stuttered, the way his breath had caught, the way his entire being had stilled, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to unravel him the way she always had.
"You are written into me," she said, pressing her forehead against his, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding herself in him, in the weight of his existence, in the way he had become a part of her without ever asking permission. "Like a story I was always meant to know the ending of. Like something I have carried with me long before I ever met you."
Her eyes flickered to his lips, to the breathless space between them, to the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing tethering him to this world. And maybe she was.
"I love you in ways that do not make sense," she continued, voice softer now, more fragile, like the words were something precious, something sacred. "In ways that feel older than this life, older than us. In ways that do not bend to logic or reason, in ways that defy everything I've ever been told love is supposed to be."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, to drink him in, to let him see the truth in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she had never once wavered in the way she had stayed.
"You are not something I chose," she admitted, and she felt the way his body tensed, felt the way his breath hitched at the words. But she only smiled again, softer, truer. "You are something I was given. Something I would never return."
Theo let out a shuddering breath, something breaking across his face, something too big to name, too raw to contain, too beautiful to be anything but real. And when he kissed her, when he crushed his lips to hers, when he held her as if he could press their souls together, as if he could make them one, she knew—she had never needed to say the words at all.
~~~
The war had ended, or at least the world had declared it so, had tucked it into history books and political speeches and commemorative ceremonies, but for those who had clawed their way through the blood and fire, who had buried too many names and carried too many ghosts, the ending was not so clean, not so final, not so easily accepted, because the echoes of it lingered in every corner of their lives, stitched into their muscle memory, folded into their dreams, embedded beneath their skin in ways that no spell or salve could ever reach, and peace—whatever that word even meant anymore—was not some soft, immediate balm offered by a grateful world, but a jagged, unfamiliar thing that had to be rebuilt slowly, carefully, in silence and small comforts, in stolen glances and morning light, in the absence of fear and the presence of someone who had seen you at your worst and chosen to stay anyway, and for Theo, peace was her—it had always been her, even when he'd been too stubborn, too broken, too afraid to admit it.
There had never been a conversation about what came next, no need for promises or plans or declarations, no awkward questions or hesitant invitations, because the answer had already been written into the marrow of their bones, spoken in the language of every battle fought side by side, every night spent in the space between sleep and survival, every moment they had reached for each other when the world grew too dark to face alone—it was inevitable, absolute, as sure as gravity, as sure as breath, that when the dust settled and the smoke cleared, when the final curse had been cast and the last body buried, she would be with him, not because he asked, not because he begged, but because it was the only ending that ever made sense.
Nott Manor, with its ancient bones and heavy legacy, with its cold stone and its quieter shadows, had stood untouched for too long, left to mourn its own name, to wallow in the weight of the lineage it housed, a mausoleum more than a home, but the moment she crossed its threshold, the moment her steps echoed down its corridors and her fingers brushed over its worn banisters, the house seemed to inhale for the first time in years, to wake from its long slumber, the dust lifting like fog beneath her presence, the light shifting from dim and gray to something warmer, something gold, as if the walls themselves had been holding their breath, waiting for her to return—not because she had ever been here, but because she was what it had been missing.
She moved through the manor not as a guest or a stranger, but as something rooted and unshakable, as if she had always belonged here, as if every hallway and high-arched window had been carved with her in mind, and Theo watched her—not just with awe, not just with love, but with that deep, bone-deep ache that came from recognizing something you didn't know you had been waiting for, from finally seeing what it looked like when something broken became whole again, and when she turned toward him with that quiet, knowing look, the one that always made him feel seen and dismantled and loved all at once, the one that stripped him bare without ever needing a word, he felt something inside of him settle, something that had never found peace until her.
And when she murmured, soft and sly and yet utterly sincere, that she thought she might like it here, that offhand remark cloaked in her usual Luna strangeness, he heard what she really meant, felt the truth of it in his bones, in the way her magic felt woven into the very fabric of the place now, and without thinking, without letting himself hesitate, he crossed the distance between them and pulled her to him, grounding himself in the feel of her, anchoring himself in the warmth of her body against his, in the press of her forehead against his, in the quiet breath they shared, and he told her what he hadn't even said aloud to himself until that moment—that it was theirs now, not just his, not just the house or the name or the legacy, but everything, all of it, every piece, and when she smiled, when her lips brushed his, when she said it always had been, it didn't feel like a revelation, it felt like a truth he had known long before he could name it.
And that was when he knew—knew in the unshakable, irrevocable way that truths sometimes arrive after war and loss and the slow miracle of surviving—that this was home, not because of the stone or the bloodline or the name carved into the gate, but because of her, because of the way she made everything else fall into place, the way her presence quieted the ghosts, softened the sharp edges, reminded him that even the most haunted places could feel sacred again when they were shared with someone who understood your worst and still called you hers.
The past would keep its ghosts and the war could keep its scars, but this—this moment, this love, this life—this was the only thing that mattered now, because they had survived, and they had done it together, and for the first time in a lifetime built on blood and silence and exile, Theodore Nott was no longer wandering, no longer waiting, no longer alone—because Luna was here, and he was home.
~~~
Theo had made it abundantly, obnoxiously, gloriously clear to anyone within shouting distance—or, more accurately, a ten-mile radius—that their third anniversary was not simply a date on a calendar, not a routine milestone or a quiet nod to time passed, but a full-blown, unapologetic event of such grandiose spectacle that even the most ostentatious of ancient pureblood courtships would pale in comparison, because to him it wasn't just a celebration of three years—it was a declaration, a living, breathing testament to survival, to love forged in fire and tempered in loss, to the kind of devotion that didn't just happen but was chosen again and again, each day, in all its tenderness and rage and quiet resilience, and that deserved to be honored with fireworks and feasts and a thousand whispered I-love-yous carved into the bones of the day itself.
The house-elves had been set to work days in advance, each given meticulous instructions straight from Theo's restless, obsessive mind, ordered to prepare Luna's favorite dishes down to the precise thickness of her lemon tarts and the perfect steeping time of her chamomile tea, to flood the estate with fresh blooms in wild arrangements that looked effortless but were anything but, to transform the manor into a space that breathed like her, felt like her, that wrapped itself around her like a promise made flesh, and Theo had not slept properly in weeks, pouring himself into every detail with a feverish intensity that drove Pansy to snort behind her wineglass, prompted Draco to mutter under his breath about terminal romantic idiocy, and earned Blaise's not-so-subtle suggestion that perhaps a calming draught in his morning tea wouldn't go amiss—but Theo had ignored them all, single-minded in his pursuit of making this the kind of celebration that would echo in memory and magic for the rest of their lives.
And then, of course, there was the gift.
Because Theo Nott, by nature, by nurture, by the sheer, burning devotion he felt every time he looked at Luna across a crowded room or in the hush of dawnlight, was not the kind of man to do anything in half-measures, and when it came to her—the woman who had peeled him open when he was all sharp edges and broken pieces, who had walked into the wreckage of his life and built a sanctuary out of stubborn hope and soft hands—there was no such thing as "too much," only "not enough," and so he had spent months in careful, obsessive secrecy acquiring something he believed worthy of her, worthy of everything she had given him, something wild and rare and utterly magical.
A Thestral.
Not just any Thestral, either, but a sleek, elegant creature with leathery wings that stretched wide enough to eclipse the setting sun, with luminous silver eyes that gleamed with impossible intelligence, a creature born in shadow and shaped by myth, misunderstood and revered, a creature that had been difficult to tame, impossible to claim, except it hadn't needed taming—not really—because it had taken to Luna like gravity, like fate, like it had always been waiting for her, and Theo had ensured it was cared for with a kind of reverence usually reserved for priceless relics or ancient spells, arranging for it to roam the vast wilds of the manor's grounds, preparing the meadow down to the last detail so that when he led her outside—hand in hand, blindfolded, heart hammering—it would all be perfect.
Her laughter, light and soft and so achingly familiar, curled around him like a spell as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, whispering low and reverent against her skin, "No peeking yet, love," and she hummed, amusement dancing in her voice, her posture relaxed, unafraid, utterly trusting, as she teased, "Are you absolutely certain you're not leading me into some elaborate prank, Theodore?" and he had to swallow hard, fingers tightening around hers, because this mattered, because it had to be right, because this was her and she was everything, and so he moved behind her with slow, reverent care, his hands gentle as he untied the silk blindfold, letting it fall from her eyes like the unveiling of a masterpiece.
And when she saw it, when her gaze landed on the creature standing regal and still in the golden hush of evening, her breath caught in her throat, her lips parting soundlessly as she simply stood there for a long, aching heartbeat, one hand pressed over her chest like she needed to keep something inside from spilling out, her eyes wide and luminous and filled with a kind of wonder that made his heart fracture in the best possible way.
She stepped forward without a word, each movement slow, deliberate, reverent, her fingers reaching out to brush against the Thestral's dark, elegant frame, and the creature, so often feared, so often misunderstood, lowered its great head with something like grace, something like deference, pressing its muzzle into her waiting palm as if it had known her in another life, as if it had been waiting its whole existence for this one moment of connection.
Theo forgot to breathe.
And then she turned to him, eyes luminous with something too big to name, and whispered, incredulous and breathless, "You... you got me a Thestral?" and his throat closed, and he cleared it awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly fourteen again and nervous and raw, muttering, "Yeah, well... you're the only one I know who wouldn't be completely horrified by the idea, and you love them, and I thought..." his words trailing off as he met her gaze, softer now, vulnerable in the way only she ever saw, "I thought you deserved something as rare and extraordinary as you."
And for a moment she didn't speak, just looked at him like she could read every word written between his silences, and then she was in his arms, launching herself at him with the kind of unhesitating joy that only she possessed, kissing him with a fierceness that made the rest of the world fall away, kissing him like he was her home and her future and her favorite secret all at once.
It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best anniversary celebration the country had ever seen—or at the very least, that's what Theodore Nott would swear until the end of his days, which, if Luna had her way, would be a very, very long time.
The moment Theo stepped out of the shower, steam still rising in slow, languid curls around him like mist in a forgotten forest, heat clinging to his skin in dewy rivulets that traced the contours of muscle and bone, muscles relaxed from the scorching water and his mind somewhere between tired and content, he reached instinctively for the towel draped over the edge of the sink—but he never touched it, because the second his eyes lifted toward the bedroom and landed on the figure waiting for him, all thought dissolved, all breath left him in a sharp, stuttering exhale that felt like it came from the very center of him, because there she was—Luna, his Luna, not a vision, not a dream, but a living, breathing miracle wrapped in candlelight and desire, standing barefoot on the wooden floor, her body kissed by golden light, wrapped in something sheer and ethereal, something that clung to her in all the right places and revealed more than it concealed, and though he had seen her like this before, though he had memorized the way her body curved and moved and sighed against his, tonight was different, tonight the air was different, the gravity was different, because it wasn't just how she looked—it was how she was looking at him, not with mischief or tease, not with softness alone, but with something else, something luminous and raw and so intimate that it didn't just settle over him like warmth, it carved into him like scripture, burned into the marrow of his bones and made him forget what it meant to speak or move or breathe.
His towel slipped from his hands, forgotten the instant it left his fingers, pooling at his feet with a soft sound he didn't register, because his gaze was locked on hers, on the silver-blue of her eyes that seemed to shimmer with unshed truths, and the smile she offered him then was nothing short of a revelation—tilted, knowing, with the faintest trace of amusement flickering behind her lashes, but layered beneath it was something far deeper, something weightier, something sacred, and Theo felt it like a punch to the chest, like the breathless moment before magic takes hold, like he was standing on the cusp of a threshold he couldn't name but knew he was meant to cross.
He took a step forward—slow, reverent, like she might disappear if he moved too quickly—and it was only then that his eyes dropped to the small, perfectly wrapped box cradled in her hands, her fingers curved around it with such tenderness that it was immediately clear it was not just a gift, not just a token or a trinket, but something important, something delicate, something that might very well unmake him from the inside out.
"Love," she murmured, her voice a feather brushing against the quiet of the room, tremulous and warm and unbearably gentle, the kind of voice that could summon gods or shatter hearts, and the way she held the box out toward him—palms up, arms slightly extended, like an offering—made it feel like a ritual, like a moment suspended outside time, like the world had narrowed to this singular point where she stood in candlelight asking him to take something fragile from her hands, "Please, open this."
He swallowed hard, throat thick with emotion he hadn't had time to name, with adrenaline still humming through his veins from the heat of the shower and the heat of her gaze and the heat of something much more permanent, more terrifying, more soul-deep, and when he reached out—finally, slowly, carefully—his fingers brushed against hers, warm against warm, skin against skin, and that single touch sent a tremor down his spine, made his breath catch, made his chest ache with something too big to carry alone.
The box was small, deceptively light, wrapped in soft paper and tied with ribbon that felt like silk under his fingertips, and he opened it with the kind of care one used for relics or spellbooks or memories too fragile to survive a rough hand, his fingers sliding under the ribbon with deliberate slowness, his gaze flicking up to hers and finding her still watching, still holding her breath, her expression unreadable now, layered with so many things he didn't have the words for, and when he finally lifted the lid, when the paper fell away and his eyes landed on what lay inside—
Tiny baby shoes.
Soft. Pale. So small they barely seemed real.
And Theo stared, his mind a blur, his pulse a thunderstorm, the entire world cracking open at the edges around him.
His breath caught somewhere deep inside his chest, locked in a place between disbelief and awe, frozen in the heavy silence that had descended around them like a blanket soaked in magic and meaning, his lungs refusing to expand, his fingers trembling as they curled tighter around the delicate box resting in his hands, his knuckles white, his entire body taut with the weight of realization pressing down on him from all sides, because those tiny baby shoes—soft and pale and impossibly small—were not a dream, not a metaphor, not some strange, whimsical illusion conjured by the aching tenderness in Luna's gaze, no, they were real, they were here, and his mind, built for strategy and survival and the brutal precision of war, refused to bend around this new truth, refused to accept what it meant, refused to compute the staggering significance of this quiet, unassuming moment that was currently tilting his entire fucking world on its axis with the force of a star exploding, because this couldn't be real, not now, not here, not in their bedroom still glowing with candlelight and intimacy and the echo of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears like a war drum.
"Tell me it's real," he finally rasped, the words scraping their way out of his throat like a prayer, like a plea, his voice hollowed out by the sheer vulnerability it carried, as if speaking it too loudly might shatter the illusion, as if whispering was the only way to honor the fragile enormity of what stood between them now, and when his gaze lifted—dark, wide, shining with unshed emotion—it locked onto hers with such intensity, such raw, undiluted desperation, that it felt like something holy passed between them in that instant, a kind of reverent silence that stretched beyond words, where the only thing that mattered was the truth she held in her hands and the way she looked at him like he already knew it, like he'd known it in his bones all along.
Luna's lips parted slowly, her breath soft and steady and full of something that felt like starlight and certainty and the kind of quiet magic that made the world spin without anyone noticing, her expression impossibly tender, impossibly calm, impossibly sure, and as she stepped forward, her hands rose to cup his face, her touch featherlight but grounding, her fingers spreading across his cheeks with a gentleness that pulled him back into the moment, into her, into the gravity of what she was about to say, and when her voice finally broke through the thick, trembling quiet, it came like a balm, like a spell, like the most sacred incantation he'd ever heard in his life.
"We're going to have a baby."
The words were barely out of her mouth before something in him broke open, cracked wide with the force of everything he had kept buried for years—every hope, every fear, every impossible dream he had dared not whisper aloud—and then he moved, fast and instinctive and fierce, surging forward with the urgency of a man possessed, with the hunger of someone who had once believed he'd never get this, never deserve this, never survive long enough to earn it, and he reached for her, grabbed her, pulled her against him like he needed her body pressed against his own just to make the moment real, kissing her with a desperation so wild, so all-consuming, so devastatingly complete that it felt like drowning and being saved at the same time, his hands finding her face, framing it with a reverence that bordered on worship, his lips colliding with hers in a kiss that said everything he didn't yet know how to speak.
She laughed into his mouth, a breathless, radiant sound that vibrated against his lips and sank into his skin, her arms winding around his neck, her fingers diving into his damp hair, anchoring him, steadying him, grounding him in this new reality even as his weight pressed her gently back onto the bed, her body folding beneath his like she had always been meant to hold him there, to catch him in moments like this, and his entire body shook with the force of everything he felt, everything he couldn't say, everything he didn't even know how to name yet but knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to understand.
"A baby," he whispered against her mouth, the words breaking as they left him, falling apart on his tongue because he could barely believe them, could barely form them, could barely contain them, and he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in like oxygen, like magic, like home. "We're having a baby."
Luna smiled again, that impossibly soft, devastating smile that always managed to undo him, and her fingers, still tangled in his hair, trailed down to his spine, drawing slow, soothing lines along his skin, her gaze never leaving his as she tilted her head, her mouth brushing his temple, his cheek, the corner of his lips with kisses that felt like vows, like beginnings, like promises spoken without sound.
"Yes, love," she murmured, her voice the sound of moonlight pouring through a window, quiet and bright and impossible to ignore. "We are."
Theo exhaled sharply, burying his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, holding her so close he wasn't sure where she ended and he began. His entire world had shifted, his entire existence had changed, and yet, lying there with her, in their bed, in the home they had built together, with the knowledge that their family was growing—it had never felt more right.
Theo couldn't stop kissing her. He didn't want to stop. The moment the words left her lips, the moment the reality of what she had just told him settled into his bones, he had felt something snap inside him, something raw and overwhelming and all-consuming. He kissed her like she was the very air he needed to breathe, like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, like she had just given him the most precious gift he could ever receive—and she had.
His lips moved feverishly against hers, hungry but reverent, desperate but tender, as if he could pour every ounce of his emotion into her, as if he could thank her without ever needing words.
His hands found her waist, gripping her like she might disappear if he let go, his fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her lingerie, the warmth of her skin searing beneath his touch. He lifted her effortlessly, his strength unwavering, his hold secure, as if she was something sacred that needed to be held close, cherished, protected. She gasped softly against his mouth, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms looping around his neck, holding on to him as he carried her towards the bed.
He laid her down gently, as if she were made of something fragile, something precious. But there was an urgency in the way he moved, a feverish need to worship her, to touch her, to remind himself that this was real—that she was real, that they were real, that the life growing inside her was real. He hovered over her for a moment, his gaze dark and intense, his breath uneven, his hands braced on either side of her body as he drank her in. The candlelight flickered against her skin, illuminating the soft curves of her body, the delicate lace barely covering her, the way her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
"Gods, Luna," he murmured, his voice rough, his control hanging by a thread. "You have no idea what you do to me."
She smiled, slow and knowing, her fingers trailing over his jaw, down his neck, over the ridges of his collarbone. "I think I do," she whispered, her voice a breathy tease, her lips curling at the edges as she arched beneath him, pressing herself closer.
Theo let out a low, shaky exhale before he dipped his head, his mouth finding the delicate curve of her neck. He kissed her there, slow and languid, his lips warm against her skin, his breath hot as he traced a path down to her collarbone. He lingered, his tongue flicking out, his teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver. He pressed another kiss there, then another, then another, moving lower, mapping her with his lips, marking her with his devotion.
His hands moved as he kissed her, sliding over her sides, memorizing every inch of her, learning the way her body responded to him, learning the way she melted beneath his touch. His fingers skimmed beneath the lace of her lingerie, teasing, testing, his thumb brushing against the soft swell of her breast, his other hand splaying against her hip to keep her anchored to him.
Luna let out a quiet moan, her head tilting back, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him there, urging him closer. "Theo," she murmured, her voice trembling, her body already surrendering to him.
He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, at the way she was already unraveling for him, at the way she always let him have her, let him worship her, let him love her in ways he had never thought he was capable of. He kissed lower, dragging his lips across her collarbone, down the slope of her shoulder, across the delicate lace of her lingerie, his tongue flicking out to taste her, savoring the warmth of her skin, the way she trembled beneath him.
His lips moved with purpose, his hands growing more impatient, more desperate to touch her, to feel every inch of her, to remind her exactly how much she meant to him. Because tonight wasn't just about pleasure—it was about them. It was about the life they had built, the love they had created, the family they were about to become.
And Theo intended to show her exactly how much that meant to him.
Theo couldn't get enough of her. He didn't think he ever would. The revelation of their child, the sheer weight of what she had just given him, had set something loose inside him—something fierce, something protective, something impossibly tender. His hands moved over her body like he was learning her all over again, rediscovering the places that made her sigh, the spots that made her tremble, the way her body responded to him as if they were made for each other.
He kissed his way lower, pressing reverent lips to the gentle swell of her stomach, even though she wasn't showing yet. The thought that she would—that soon, her body would change to carry their child—made his throat tighten with emotion, made something deep and primal settle in his chest. He whispered something against her skin, something he wasn't even sure she could hear, something he wasn't even sure had words. Just a promise. Just devotion. Just everything he could possibly give her.
Luna's fingers curled in his hair, tugging gently, bringing him back up to her. Her eyes were soft, but knowing, her smile dreamy but filled with something deeper, something that told him she had never doubted this moment would come. He hovered over her, their breaths mingling, the heat between them thick and heavy, his hands smoothing over her thighs, teasing, tracing, memorizing.
"You're mine," he whispered, voice rough, voice certain, because there was no doubt anymore, no hesitation, no fear.
She nodded, her fingers brushing over his jaw, her thumb tracing the curve of his lower lip. "I always was," she murmured, and then she kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't hesitant. It was the kind of kiss that burned, the kind that made him dizzy, the kind that left him breathless. She pulled him down, closer, her body arching against his, and suddenly it wasn't enough—just kissing her wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed all of her.
His hands slipped under the lace of her lingerie, finding her warmth, her softness, the heat that made his pulse stutter. She gasped against his lips as he touched her, her back arching, her fingers clutching his shoulders. He was slow at first, teasing, dragging his fingers over her in lazy circles, drawing out her pleasure, watching as her lips parted, as her breath grew uneven, as her body responded to him in ways that made his blood run hot.
He didn't rush. He wanted to savor this, wanted to take his time, wanted to make her feel everything he couldn't say, every ounce of love, of devotion, of sheer need that consumed him. His lips found her neck again, his breath hot against her skin as he worked her open, his fingers curling inside her, coaxing, teasing, loving. She was already so wet, so ready, and it made his head spin, made him ache, made him desperate to be inside her.
Luna moaned, a sweet, breathy sound that sent a shiver down his spine. She clung to him, her legs parting further, her hips moving in slow, instinctive rolls that made his control fray at the edges. "Theo," she breathed, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise.
He groaned against her skin, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing in just the right way, drawing her closer, pushing her higher, until she was gasping, until she was trembling, until she was so close that he could feel it.
"Let go," he whispered, watching her, memorizing her, needing to see her fall apart for him.
And she did.
Her body tensed, her back arched, her lips parted in a silent cry as pleasure crashed over her. He watched, transfixed, his chest tight, his body burning with need, with love, with something so overwhelming that he thought it might consume him entirely.
He didn't wait. He couldn't.
He reached for her, pulling her up, guiding her into his lap, his hands firm on her hips, steadying her as she straddled him, as she settled against him, her body still shivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm.
She looked at him then, her eyes bright, her lips swollen, her expression so full of love that it made his breath catch.
"I love you," she whispered, the words like a spell, like a truth written into the stars, like something sacred.
Theo swallowed hard, his fingers digging into her skin, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew he was supposed to say it back, knew she deserved to hear it, but the words were too small for what he felt, too inadequate for the way she had undone him, for the way she had given him everything.
Instead, he cupped her face, tilting her chin up, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, "Show me."
And when she sank down onto him, taking him in inch by inch, slow and perfect, he knew—this was love. This was home. This was everything.
Theo's breath hitched, his entire body going taut as Luna sank down onto him, inch by inch, her warmth surrounding him, taking him in so slowly it was pure torture. His hands flexed on her hips, fingers pressing into her soft skin, trying to ground himself, trying to keep some semblance of control, but it was impossible. She felt too good, too perfect, too much like everything he had ever wanted, and it made his head spin, made his heart pound, made him want to hold onto her and never let go.
Luna sighed softly, her hands braced on his shoulders, her lashes fluttering as she adjusted to him, as she let out a small, breathy moan that sent fire straight to his core. He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against hers, trying to hold onto the last shreds of his sanity, trying not to thrust up into her, trying not to lose himself completely in the feeling of her wrapped so tightly around him.
"Luna," he breathed, voice wrecked, voice desperate, his hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer, pressing her against his chest. He needed her closer, needed to feel every inch of her against him, needed to memorize the way she felt, the way she moved, the way she sighed his name like it was the only thing she could remember.
She kissed him, slow and deep, her lips parting against his, her fingers tangling in his hair as she rolled her hips, testing, teasing, making him groan into her mouth. He had never felt anything like this—never been this consumed, this undone, this utterly wrecked by someone.
He loved her. He had always loved her.
His hands slid down to her thighs, gripping, guiding, helping her move, his body tensing with every slow roll of her hips, every little gasp that escaped her lips, every desperate, shuddering breath they shared. She was perfection, ethereal and beautiful, her skin glowing in the dim candlelight, her body moving against his like they were made for each other.
Luna moaned softly, her head falling back, her nails dragging down his chest, her rhythm growing more desperate, more erratic, more lost in pleasure. Theo groaned at the sight, his grip tightening, his hips snapping up to meet hers, unable to hold back anymore, unable to do anything but chase the feeling of her, of this, of them.
"You feel so good," he murmured, pressing his lips to her throat, kissing, sucking, marking, needing to claim her, needing to make sure she knew she was his. "So perfect, baby."
Luna whimpered, her arms wrapping around his neck, her body shuddering, her breath hitching with every movement, with every thrust, with every stroke of his hands over her skin. He could feel her getting closer, feel the way her body clenched around him, the way her breath turned ragged, the way her fingers tightened in his hair.
"Theo," she gasped, her voice breaking, her whole body trembling.
He held her tighter, thrusting up into her harder, faster, chasing that edge, chasing the moment when she would fall apart for him, when she would shatter in his arms.
"I've got you, love," he whispered against her lips, his voice rough, his hands roaming, caressing, worshipping. "Let go for me."
And she did.
Her body tensed, her back arching, her lips parting in a silent cry as pleasure crashed over her, as she shuddered and trembled and clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Theo groaned at the feeling, at the way she squeezed around him, at the way she moaned his name, at the way she came undone so beautifully, so perfectly, just for him.
Her body tensed, her back arching, her lips parting in a silent cry as pleasure crashed over her, as she shuddered and trembled and clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Theo groaned at the feeling, at the way she squeezed around him, at the way she moaned his name, at the way she came undone so beautifully, so perfectly, just for him. He could feel the way her entire body quivered against him, the way her nails dug into his skin, leaving marks he would wear like a brand, the way her breath hitched and broke as waves of pleasure rippled through her, leaving her gasping, undone, wrecked in the most exquisite way.
His hands slid up her back, fingers pressing into the delicate curve of her spine, holding her against him as she trembled, as the aftershocks of her release made her body jolt and twitch against his. He whispered something against her skin, something soft, something reverent, something that barely made sense to even himself, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the way she felt in his arms, the way she let him hold her, the way she softened against him, boneless and pliant, her breath still coming in unsteady gasps.
Luna's arms tightened around him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, her lips brushing over his pulse point, pressing kisses there like she was grounding herself, like she was memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat. Theo groaned at the feeling, at the way her lips moved over his skin, at the way her breath came out warm and heavy, at the way she pressed her body impossibly closer, as if she wanted to melt into him entirely.
He wasn't done with her yet.
Not even close.
His hands smoothed over the delicate curve of her waist, fingers teasing at her ribs, before slipping down to grasp at her hips again. He shifted, rolling them over so that she was beneath him, her hair a halo of silver and gold against the pillows, her skin flushed, glowing, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes still dazed, still heavy with pleasure. She was breathtaking, ethereal, something out of a dream, something he had never believed he could have but now couldn't imagine ever letting go of.
He kissed her then, slow and deep, his lips moving over hers with a lazy kind of hunger, savoring her, tasting her, refusing to rush. He wanted to take his time with her, wanted to make her feel every ounce of the devotion he had for her, wanted her to know, without a doubt, that this wasn't just desire, that this wasn't just physical. This was something more, something sacred, something he had never felt for anyone else.
Luna sighed into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, anchoring him to her. He groaned, his body still thrumming with the need to claim her, to make her his in every way, to lose himself in her completely. His lips trailed down her jaw, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the column of her throat, to the delicate dip at the base of her neck, to the swell of her collarbone.
He needed to feel her again, needed to make her fall apart for him one more time.
His hands smoothed over her trembling thighs, pressing them apart with a reverence that made her breath stutter, his fingers grazing over the delicate skin there, teasing, exploring, savoring. He could feel the aftershocks of her last release still rippling through her, the way her muscles clenched, the way her breath hitched, the way her body responded to him so effortlessly, so beautifully, so completely. She was already sensitive, already undone, already lost in him, but that only made him want more. He wanted to push her further, wanted to take her apart piece by piece and put her back together in his hands, wanted to make her feel everything he couldn't say, everything he felt so deeply, so devastatingly, that words would never be enough.
His lips traced a slow, torturous path down her stomach, his breath warm, his tongue flicking over her skin, leaving a trail of shivers in his wake. He kissed the curve of her hip, the inside of her thigh, his hands tightening their grip on her as she squirmed, as she arched into him, as she whimpered his name like a plea, like a prayer. His name had never sounded more beautiful.
He settled himself between her legs, drinking her in, his gaze heavy, dark, filled with something possessive, something worshipful. She was flushed, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her lips parted, her hair splayed wildly across the pillows. She looked like a goddess, like something untouchable, like something no man should ever be worthy of. And yet, here she was, beneath him, trembling for him, waiting for him, his.
A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he dipped his head, dragging his tongue over her, tasting her, savoring her. She gasped, her fingers flying to his hair, gripping tightly, holding him there as if she was afraid he would stop, as if she couldn't bear even a moment without him. He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, making her hips buck, making her thighs tremble. He wrapped his arms around them, keeping her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
He licked her again, slow and deliberate, tracing patterns with his tongue, testing what made her sigh, what made her moan, what made her shatter. He found it quickly, flicking his tongue just right, curling it, sucking gently, just enough to have her thighs clenching around his head, just enough to have her keening, just enough to have her entire body tightening in response.
"Theo," she whimpered, breathless, wrecked, lost in him.
He hummed against her, the vibration making her cry out, making her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling, tugging, begging. He gave her what she wanted, working her over, his tongue moving in slow, torturous circles before dipping lower, teasing her entrance, tasting her, his fingers following, sliding inside, filling her, stretching her, making her arch beneath him. She was perfect, warm and tight and soft and so incredibly wet for him, and fuck, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself inside her, to feel her wrapped around him completely.
But not yet.
Not until she was begging.
Not until she was completely, utterly undone.
His fingers moved inside her, curling, stroking, finding that spot that made her breath catch, that made her body jerk, that made her whimper his name like it was the only word she knew. He focused on it, teasing her, dragging her higher, watching as she came apart for him again, as she trembled, as she gasped, as her body tensed, as her release built and built and built.
He felt it before she said it—the way her walls clenched around his fingers, the way her thighs shook, the way her moans turned desperate, needy, pleading.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking, her hands gripping the sheets, her body arching into him.
That was all he needed.
He sucked harder, curling his fingers just right, and that was it—that was all it took for her to fall apart beneath him, for her to cry out, for her entire body to seize, for her pleasure to crash over her in violent, beautiful waves. He didn't stop, didn't let up, worked her through it, his tongue and fingers dragging every last drop of pleasure from her until she was trembling, until she was gasping, until she was completely, beautifully spent.
And still, he wasn't done.
He pressed soft, lingering kisses to her thighs, to her stomach, to the sensitive skin just above where he had ruined her, his hands smoothing over her trembling body, grounding her, holding her, letting her come down from the high he had given her.
Then he moved up, pressing his body against hers, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was slow, deep, consuming. She could taste herself on his tongue, could feel the heat of him against her, could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.
And when he finally pulled back, when he looked at her, when he brushed his nose against hers and whispered, "I need to be inside you," she didn't hesitate.
She nodded, breathless, eyes heavy-lidded, body still trembling, and whispered back, "Then take me."
He groaned, the sound low and guttural, his restraint hanging by a fraying thread as he settled between her thighs, his hands roaming over her body like he was memorizing every inch, every curve, every tremor of pleasure that rippled through her skin. His lips ghosted over hers, his breath ragged, uneven, his forehead pressing against hers as he nudged the tip of his cock against her entrance, teasing, torturing, letting her feel just how much he needed this—needed her.
She was still sensitive, still shivering from the last wave of pleasure he had pulled from her, but that only made her more eager, more desperate, her nails dragging down his back, leaving streaks of fire in their wake. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, encouraging him, begging him without words, her body arching into him, offering everything.
Theo cursed under his breath, his control slipping, his grip tightening on her hips as he pushed forward, the head of his cock stretching her, sinking into her inch by inch, slow, deliberate, torturous. His jaw clenched, his entire body shuddering at the sheer perfection of the way she enveloped him, warm and tight and made for him. He had to pause, had to fight for control, had to breathe through the overwhelming sensation of finally being inside her, of finally having her like this, of finally making her his in every way.
Luna let out a breathy moan, her hands gripping his arms, her lips parting, her eyes fluttering closed as she adjusted to the fullness of him, to the delicious stretch, to the way he filled her so completely, so perfectly. He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her temple, whispering against her skin, "You feel so fucking good, love. So perfect."
She whimpered, tilting her head, capturing his lips in a slow, languid kiss, their tongues sliding together, tasting, savoring, drawing out every sensation as he pushed deeper, burying himself inside her completely, claiming her in a way that was undeniable, in a way that neither of them would ever come back from.
His hips stilled, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath uneven, their bodies flush, their heartbeats frantic. And then she moved, rolling her hips ever so slightly, testing, urging, driving him mad. A sharp, broken groan tore from his throat as he pulled back just enough to thrust into her again, slow at first, deep, making her feel every inch of him.
She gasped, her back arching, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body reacting so beautifully, so perfectly, like she was made for this, made for him. He set a rhythm, deep and steady, savoring every sound that spilled from her lips, every clench of her walls, every shudder of pleasure that ran through her.
"Theo," she breathed, voice wrecked, desperate, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him into another kiss, messy and urgent, filled with everything they couldn't say. "Faster."
He growled, his grip on her hips tightening as he obeyed, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate, the tension coiling tighter between them, the pleasure climbing higher, unbearable, inescapable. His hands roamed, mapping her body, memorizing every reaction, every soft, needy sound she made.
"You're mine," he murmured against her lips, the words slipping out unfiltered, raw, his voice rough with emotion. "Say it. Tell me."
Luna moaned, her nails dragging down his back, her body clenching around him, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to his spine. "Yours," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Always."
Something snapped inside him. His pace turned brutal, relentless, driving her higher, chasing their release, their bodies moving in perfect sync, their breaths mingling, their hands gripping, their souls entwining.
Her moans turned into desperate cries, her body trembling, her pleasure building to an unbearable peak, her walls fluttering around him, pulling him in deeper, wrecking him completely. His thumb found her clit, rubbing in tight, precise circles, and that was it—she shattered, crying out his name, her body convulsing, her pleasure crashing over her like a tidal wave, drowning him in it.
Theo followed moments later, his release slamming into him with an intensity that nearly knocked the air from his lungs. He groaned, burying his face in her neck, his body shuddering as he spilled inside her, filling her, marking her, claiming her in every possible way.
They lay tangled together, panting, their bodies still trembling, their skin slick with sweat, their limbs entwined as if letting go was no longer an option.
Luna sighed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his back, her lips brushing against his temple, her voice soft, dreamy. "I love you, Theodore."
His breath hitched, his arms tightening around her, his heart hammering against his ribs. He kissed her, slow and deep, his chest aching with the sheer force of his emotions.
"I love you too," he whispered, voice thick, unsteady. "More than anything."
And as they lay there, wrapped up in each other, their bodies spent, their hearts full, Theo knew—this was it. This was forever.