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Life had a cruel sense of humor. It could make you late for work even when you left early, throw your favorite shirt into a heat cycle it wouldn’t survive, and, in its grandest joke yet, make you carry a child for nine long months of nausea, cravings, and bone-deep fatigue, only for that child to come out looking exactly like your husband. Not a hint of you. Not even a token gesture. And of course, the world noticed. Distant relatives. Cashiers. Strangers on the street. “He’s the spitting image of his daddy,” they’d say, like it was some cosmic gift.
Because let’s be honest: Eldarion Munson was Eddie’s mirror. Those wild curls. The soft but mischievous tilt of his grin. Moonpie eyes. Eddie tried to argue, of course. “That’s your smile,” he’d insist. “Those dimples? Yours. No contest.” But all she could see was Eddie. Head to toe, inside and out.
It felt like just yesterday she’d stood in that shop’s fluorescent light, pregnancy test in hand, while Eddie cycled through the entire human emotional spectrum in under two minutes. Ecstasy. Terror. Reverence. And then joy again, deeper this time, and with both feet on the ground. From that moment on, he was all in. Gentle hands through every wave of sickness. Steady voice through every pang of doubt. The kind of man who rubbed aching feet, learned every brand of prenatal vitamin, and read aloud from baby books even when he didn’t understand half the terminology.
And when labor came, he held her hand until she nearly broke his fingers. Called her a goddess. Never once made her feel small or messy or anything but powerful. After, in the blur of sleepless nights and spit-up-stained shirts, he remained her anchor. Let every compliment about their son loop back to her. “She’s the reason he’s here. She did the hard part.” He’d say it every time.
The only thing he truly asked for was the name. No rock stars. No metal legends. No middle names that would make future teachers cringe. Just a soft plea one night, book in hand, voice trembling with nerves: Eldarion. From Tolkien. A child born of hope and impossible love. She couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to frankly. They shortened it to Darion for the everyday. Same initials as Eddie. EM. As well as a nod to old nicknames from their younger days: Evenstar and Strider. It fit too damn well.
And now, seven years later, that same kid was practically levitating in his seat at the movie theater, plastic sword slung across his lap, ears slightly crooked from the elf costume he’d insisted on wearing. His whole body buzzing with anticipation as the lights dimmed. She couldn’t tell who was more excited: Eddie or Darion. Probably Eddie. They’d gone full send. Capes, props, the works. Nothing done halfway in the Munson household. Nothing ever had been. The only thing missing…
“Hey, sweetheart?” Eddie said around a mouthful of popcorn, tilting toward her with that familiar look. The one that usually meant he’d forgotten something obvious. She was already reaching into her purse. Of course she brought them. Years with Eddie taught her to stay three steps ahead of his memory. He blinked down at the glasses in her hand like they were magic. Took them gently, slid them on, and leaned close enough for her to feel his breath warm against her jaw.
"You," he murmured, brushing a kiss just beneath her ear, voice warm with awe, "are the most amazing woman I know. Got some kind of sixth sense for me and our little man."
"I'm a seasoned veteran at this point," she replied with a quiet laugh, fingers slipping into his like it was second nature. Because it was. Years of knowing him had made her fluent in Eddie Munson. Every sigh, every grin, every moment he lost something only to find it again in her hands.
Eldarion had grown up wrapped in the kind of love people wrote off as excessive. The kind that made other parents raise their brows at PTA meetings or side-eye them during school pick-up. But neither she nor Eddie ever cared for appearances. Love, to them, wasn’t a quiet thing. It was made known. A kiss pressed to a temple. A hand held without reason. A gentle tug toward the safety of a familiar embrace. Their son never had to guess whether he was loved. It was spoken, shown, repeated in the small ways that mattered most.
She turned to Eddie then, drawn in by the weight of the moment more than the motion picture still waiting to start. His eyes – those soft, soulful browns Eldarion had inherited – looked just a little too big behind the black frames perched on his nose. The glasses were a recent addition. His vision wasn’t terrible. Not yet, anyway. But time had done what it always did, gently pulling things out of focus: road signs at night, fine print on record sleeves, her body in the half-light of early morning. Not that she minded. He only wore them when he needed to. Driving. Watching cartoons too early on Saturdays. Reading fantasy novels aloud while their son fell asleep. And sometimes, at her request, in bed… Because, admittedly, she found the look entirely too attractive to waste. Now, though, they sat squarely on his face as he grinned toward the glowing screen. A man on the verge of something transcendent.
Eddie Munson had waited for this moment since he was about the age of their son, when he’d first cracked open The Fellowship of the Ring in the library and discovered a world that gave his misfit heart a home. For decades, he’d imagined what it might look like if someone tried to put Middle-earth to film. Dreamed about seeing Rivendell made real, hearing the Shire’s music come to life. He’d even sketched art in the margins of his notebooks back in high school. And now here he was. Thirty-something, foam sword across his lap, child bouncing beside him, wife at his side. His breath caught as the New Line logo shimmered onto the screen, and he squeezed her hand. "This is it," he whispered, "It’s really happening."
She watched him more than the screen in those first few minutes. The way his expression flickered with boyish wonder. The way he glanced at Darion as if to say do you see it? He looked younger, somehow. Not in the way that denied time, but in the way that made it meaningful. He had lived long enough to get here. To sit between the two people he loved most in the world and watch the magic of his adolescence unfold in real-time.
Eldarion was transfixed. Eddie was near tears. And she was simply full.
Not just of love, but of a quiet kind of pride. For the life they had built. For the boy they made, who saw his father not just as a man, but as a kind of legend. For the man beside her. Still the same chaotic, tender-hearted soul who once claimed she was the Evenstar to his Strider, now staring in awe at a world he never thought he’d live to see in motion.
The film unspooled like a dream. Familiar lines spoken aloud for the first time, landscapes larger than life, music that felt pulled from Eddie’s bloodstream. He didn’t blink much. Barely breathed during the Council of Elrond. Whispered a reverent yes when Aragorn stepped out of the shadows and swore his loyalty to Frodo. Her eyes drifted, now and then, from the screen to the man beside her. His fingers were still loosely curled around hers, but he’d forgotten everything else. The world had narrowed to the size of the screen, and for Eddie, that was enough. This was his childhood on display, made real by actors and CGI and Peter Jackson’s impossible commitment to authenticity.
Darion had been just as wired in the beginning, legs bouncing through the shire and gasping at the riders, but as the runtime pushed into its second hour, his energy began to wane. Sugar crash, most likely. Or just the quiet weight of being seven, out past bedtime, in a dark theater.
She felt it before she saw it. A small shift in the seats, the faintest lean. Darion padded the distance between her and him, sidestepping Eddie’s legs as he crawled into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation, just instinct. His arms looped around her neck, his cheek resting soft against her chest.
Her breath caught.
He hadn’t done this in years. Not since kindergarten, maybe early first grade. Somewhere around the age kids decide they’re too big to be small anymore, when affection becomes something private, when independence is currency in the world of lunch tables and recess rules. He still hugged her, of course. Still held her hand when they crossed streets or when movies got too intense. But this was something else.
She folded her arms around him without a word, holding him gently, as if any sudden move might disturb him. His body was warm and boneless in that way only half-asleep children could manage, head tucked beneath her chin, curls tickling her collarbone. His breath slowed as the battle of Amon Hen lit up the screen.
For a few moments, she didn’t watch the film. She watched him. Felt the soft rise and fall of his chest, the heat of him, the quiet sigh he let out as he drifted in and out. A little older every day, a little taller every week. But right now, he was her baby. Just for a little while. She glanced sideways at Eddie, who noticed. His eyes softened, and he leaned in.
“You’re the whole damn world, you know that?” he whispered. “For both of us.” Eddie reached down and flipped the armrest up between their seats without looking. Then his arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her, and Darion, with him. All three of them folded into one soft shape in the dark, like they were trying to melt into each other. He kissed her temple once before brushing their son’s curls back from his forehead with the palm of his hand.
The movie played on, but the world narrowed to the warm weight of her son in her arms, the smell of Eddie’s cologne, and the gentle thumb that traced idle circles over her shoulder. The screen flickered gold and green and deep shadow, and her head rested lightly against Eddie’s collarbone. The soundtrack swelled. Flutes, strings, voices that sounded like wind and water as it all blurred together.
By the time the credits began to roll, Darion was fully asleep, mouth slightly open, a tiny smear of chocolate at the corner of his lip. She brushed it away with her thumb, and Eddie chuckled softly beside her. “I’ve got him,” he said, already shifting forward.
She hesitated. “Are you sure? He’s getting big–”
“Not too big.” Eddie gave her that crooked, sincere grin. The one that still made her stomach flip, even now.
He stood with a groan, more dramatic than necessary, and stretched his back like he was lifting a sack of bricks instead of the slight, sleepy body of their son. Then he leaned down and scooped Darion up with practiced ease, adjusting his foam sword so it didn’t get crushed between them. The boy stirred a little, murmuring something incoherent, but didn’t wake. His cheek pressed against Eddie’s shoulder, arms loosely dangling around his dad’s neck.
“Gotcha, little warrior,” Eddie whispered. They made their way out of the theater slowly, walking through the soft hush of other moviegoers murmuring about hobbits and elves, the smell of stale popcorn and carpet cleaner following them into the hallway. Outside, the night was cool and quiet. The parking lot lights flickered above them like stars. She walked beside Eddie, one hand resting lightly on Darion’s back where he slept against his father’s shoulder.
At that moment, everything felt far away. The chaos of the world, the passage of time, even the weight of growing older. All that existed was this: their boy asleep, the lingering music of Middle-earth still echoing in their minds, and Eddie, who looked at her like the magic hadn’t stopped when the credits rolled. As if it just changed shape from fictional into his real life fantasy.
The drive home passed quickly. Streetlights drifted past in golden arcs, casting their little car in shifting shadows. Darion slept soundly in the back seat, strapped in with his head tilted awkwardly to one side, foam sword tucked beside him like a beloved teddy bear. Eddie kept one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to find hers in the dark. She held it easily, thumb tracing lazy lines across the back of his knuckles as they drove in silence. There was no need to speak. The air was full enough with contentment.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, Darion hadn’t stirred. Eddie glanced in the rearview mirror, then at her, and smiled in that way that said, let me. He carried their son inside with that same theatrical groan, whispering a raspy, “Heavy as a cave troll,” as he kicked the front door closed with his sneakers. She followed behind, flicking on lights as they passed through the quiet hum of their home. The warmth of the evening clung to the rooms, that post-movie, post-magic stillness settling in.
Upstairs, Eddie moved like muscle memory. One knee on the floor as he pulled off little sneakers, placing them gently beside the bed. Darion mumbled something about hobbits and lembas bread, still not fully awake, and Eddie chuckled low under his breath.
“Make sure he brushes his teeth,” she whispered from the doorway, slipping into the closet and returning with the soft cotton pajamas with tiny stars on them. One of the last pairs that still fit him right. They worked quietly in tandem, wordless in the way only two people long used to shared routines could be. Eddie coaxed Darion’s arms into his pajama top, smoothing down wild curls as he went. Their son barely blinked, caught in that half-dream, half-awareness only children seemed to master.
“Alright, Pip,” Eddie whispered, tucking the blanket up to his chin. “You made it through the Mines of Moria. Sleep now, yeah?”
Darion gave the faintest nod, already gone again, face soft in the amber light of his bedside lamp. Eddie leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then stood. She did the same, pausing just a beat longer, letting her hand rest on his small chest, feeling it rise and fall. Then she turned off the light and pulled the door shut.
Their bedroom was quiet when they stepped in. Eddie peeled off his hoodie and dropped it onto the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. Even in the dimly lit room she could see the way the short bristles of hair were retaking the nape of his neck in a chaotic pattern. She moved slower, her heart still somewhere back in that theater seat, with the memory of arms still wrapped around the weight of a boy who hadn’t crawled into her lap like that in some time.
Eddie noticed. He always did. “You okay?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes unfocused for a moment. “I miss it.”
He crossed the space to her. “Miss what?”
She looked up at him, “Being able to hold him like that. Him wanting to be held like that. He used to do it all the time, remember? At the shop, before bed. Like clockwork.”
Eddie’s expression gentled, something thoughtful slipping in behind his eyes. “Yeah. He’d curl up in your lap and fall asleep before I could even finish the second page.”
She gave a soft laugh, then looked down at her hands. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until tonight. It just… goes fast.”
Eddie didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he crouched down in front of her, resting his arms across her knees, chin tilted so she’d look at him. “Well,” he said, voice low, careful, “we could always have another.” Her breath caught. His face was steady, unreadable except for the way he searched her eyes like he meant every word. Like he hadn’t said it as a joke, but a quiet truth he’d carried for a while. “We don’t have to,” he added after a beat. “Only if you wanted to. But… I wouldn’t mind it. The stories again. The sleepy snuggles. Watching you rock them to sleep, the way you always hum without realizing it.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Getting to be that kind of tired again, for something that is ours.”
She didn’t respond at first. Just reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair, still thick but softer now, streaked with one or two strands of silver over one ear that he swore wasn’t there. He leaned into her touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut.
“I thought maybe you were happy being out of the baby stage,” she said, her voice more curious than cautious. “I mean, Darion’s almost eight. Feels like we just got our evenings back.”
Eddie grinned, “I like our evenings. But I also liked falling asleep with a baby drooling on my chest watching Seinfeld trying my absolute hardest not to laugh too loud.”
She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “God, I forgot about the drool.”
“Character-building.”
“And the teething.”
“I’ve survived worse. High school comes to mind.”
She rolled her eyes and gently traced the stubble along his jawline, feeling the shape of his smile beneath her fingertips. “You really mean it?”
He opened his eyes again, all warmth. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t. I mean… look, we’ve been playing fast and loose with timing for a while. Condoms when we remember, prayers when we don’t. Basically a week mid-month of pretending to be responsible and being worse than we were in the back of my old GMC Gaucho.”
She huffed a laugh through her nose. “That is about the system at this point.”
“Exactly. We’re already halfway there.” He shifted slightly, growing a little more serious. “But I’m not saying that to pressure you. Just… if you’ve been thinking about it, I’m just floating the idea too.”
She was quiet. Her fingers kept moving along his jaw. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until tonight,” she admitted. “Him curled up in my lap like that. Now he’s all huffy and ‘Mom, I got it.’ And don’t me wrong, I’m proud of that. Of him growing up… but I don’t know. I just kept thinking about how fast it’s all going.”
Eddie nodded, not saying anything right away. Then, with a confident look in his eye, “Maybe we don’t have to be done.”
She searched his eyes for hesitation. Found none. “And you’d be okay,” she asked softly, “with the diapers again? The sleepless nights?”
He smiled, then leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “If it’s us? Hell yeah. I’d do it all again. In a heartbeat.”
A beat passed, then she exhaled, an accompanying smile tugging at her lips. “You know we’re not that old for another one. Most of our friends are just starting out.”
“Exactly. Thirty-five is hot young parent territory. We’ve got energy. We’re not quite at thrown-out-back territory. We’ve got swaddles in storage and a coffee maker that works.”
She let out a laugh, and Eddie grinned, triumphant. They stood together slowly, her hands sliding down to hold his. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles, lingering like he didn’t quite want to let go. “I mean,” she said, voice quiet as her gaze dropped to his mouth, “the glasses alone were likely going to get you laid tonight anyways.”
Eddie barked a laugh, head tipping back just slightly before he fixed those dark, glinting eyes on her again. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She stepped closer, fingers bunching lightly in the front of his shirt. “You looked good, Munson. Dangerously good. Like, ‘shouldn’t-be-trusted-alone-in-your-dorky-glasses’ good.”
His grin curled, entirely too self-assured. It was the kind that used to get him detention in high school and got her flushed in the back of his van. “Didn’t know that astigmatisms were your thing.”
“They aren’t. But you are.”
That made his expression falter, just slightly. That vulnerable kind of pride that came when she caught him off-guard with honesty. He leaned in, letting his nose nudge against hers, “You’ve got no idea how much I love you, do you?”
“I think I’ve got a decent guess.” She whispered it against his lips before finally closing the space between them. The kiss started soft. Familiar. The kind that said home, and always, and I still choose you even after two decades of loving you. But Eddie, ever the man of extremes, never could leave anything halfway. One hand slid around her waist, the other up to her jaw, tilting her deeper into it until her knees went a little weak. He tasted like buttered popcorn and something sweet she wanted more of. His mouth moved with a kind of hunger that didn’t come from novelty, but from knowing exactly how to make her gasp. Where to press, how to pull her flush against him like he wanted to crawl under her skin and stay there.
When they finally broke apart, it was only because she needed air. Her forehead dropped to his shoulder, breath shallow. “God, I forgot how good you are at that.”
He huffed a laugh, fingers trailing up under the hem of her shirt, palm resting against the bare skin at her lower back. “That’s concerning if your memory is getting that bad.”
She swatted at his chest. “Shut up.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Eddie laughed again, but there was something softer underneath it. He was still holding her like he didn’t want to let go. “Hey,” he murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear. “We doing this for real?” There was something in the way he said it. Not urgent, but certainly hopeful. Like a door being slightly parted, not kicked down. And behind it, that same mix of tenderness and longing he’d always carried for her. She kissed him again. Slow as she let it build. And when his hands found her hips and held tight, when he breathed her name like it was a secret only he got to say, she let herself want it. All of it. The possibility. The mess. The sleepless nights. The impossible tenderness. The prospect of it all.
The kiss deepened with a kind of stirring that only could be found in moments like this. His hands moved, slipping beneath her shirt. She arched into him instinctively, a soft sound caught in the back of her throat as his thumbs dragged slow lines along her waist. The fabric rose with each pass, until her shirt was bunched somewhere around her ribs and his mouth had found that familiar spot just below her jaw. The one that made her breath stutter and her fingers twist in the hem of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Eddie…” she whispered.
He hummed against her throat, lips brushing just beneath her ear. “I still got it.”
“Cocky bastard,” she breathed, but she was already pulling his shirt over his head.
He helped her, arms lifting without hesitation, his hair left wild and tousled in the aftermath. He didn’t care to fix it. She was already pulling her top over her head, movements instinctive, and then his hands were on her again. Broad and warm, sliding over the curve of her ribs. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, not like it was the first time, but like it was truer now than it had ever been. Because he knew, it had always been true, even when she didn’t believe it herself.
Motherhood had changed her body. That was just a fact. He’d known her form since they were reckless teenagers fumbling through desire in the walls of his trailer, in the back of his van, the woods behind school. Basically, anywhere they could steal a private moment and had a condom in his wallet. Those days bled into their first apartment in Boston, into late-night discoveries on secondhand furniture, into soft gasps behind the door of the record shop office. Her body had grown with her. Shifted. Matured. But after Eldarion… everything changed. She was softer now, fuller in places, marked in ways that only came from carrying life inside you. And Eddie, if he’d been obsessed before, hopelessly lovesick and unable to keep his hands to himself, now? After watching her become a mother? He was feral.
There wasn’t a single part of her he didn’t adore. Worship, even. And she knew it. Felt it in the way he touched her, the way his gaze lingered. Her smile was shy, “You’re biased.”
“Damn right I am,” he said, without hesitation. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
She shifted, her hands drifting across his chest, fingers trailing familiar lines like she was tracing a map only she could read. The years had rewritten Eddie Munson in quiet, beautiful ways. All at once, she was seeing him with the kind of clarity that comes only from loving someone for most of your life. Once, he’d been all sharp edges and frantic energy. Seventeen, with stringy hair that always smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke and cheap shampoo, a body still half-boy beneath layers of denim. She remembered the way his jeans always hung just a little too loose on his hips, how his gangly limbs felt when wrapped around her in the back of his van. Baby-faced, wild-eyed, too skinny for his own good.
But now he was thirty-five. A man in every sense of the word.
The hair was shorter now, mussed from her fingers, a little silver threading at his temples in ways that made her stomach flutter. The baby fat was long gone, replaced by muscle built over years of lifting gear, hauling crates of records, chasing their son around parks. He’d filled out, too. Broader in the shoulders, thicker through the middle in a way that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with years of shared meals and second helpings in domestic contentment.
God, he looked good like this. Her palms smoothed down his sides, over the soft give of his waist, and he tensed slightly. She always did that, touched the parts of him that were soft, scarred, slightly insecure, like she was claiming them. Loving them out loud. And then, her mouth followed. She pressed a kiss to the swell of his chest, just right of center, over the inked sunflower where her name curled in elegant script along the stem. It had been a teenage decision that was probably ill advised but she didn’t care. It was still her favorite. Still the one that made her chest ache when she looked at it too long, even as the ink bled with time and faded.
He sucked in a breath as her lips brushed the petals. “You still like that one?” he asked, voice rough.
“I love this one,” she murmured, kissing it again.
He made a noise in the back of his throat and dipped his head to watch her. The curve of her lips against his chest, the soft fire in her eyes as she looked up at him. “That why you always kiss it first?” he asked, teasing, brushing her hair back from her face.
“I’m just claiming the one that belongs to me,” she whispered against his skin.
Eddie’s smile turned slow and a little wicked, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at her. “Yeah?” he murmured, reaching up to cup her chest with both hands, thumbs brushing just beneath the swell like he already knew every inch of her. “Pretty sure these belong to me, so...”
She snorted, rolling her eyes, but didn’t move away. Not when his touch was so warm, so sure of her. His palms were calloused in places from years of guitar strings and manual work, but he was always gentle with her. He gave an appreciative squeeze, then let his thumbs circle again, slower this time, and his voice dropped just a little. “If we do this… if we have another one…” He trailed off, watching her reaction carefully. His gaze flicked to where his hands rested against her. “I won’t lie, I’m kind of looking forward to when these get big again.”
She let out a startled laugh, half-embarrassed “Eddie–”
“What?” he said, completely unrepentant. “It was a beautiful time. You were glowing. You looked adorable in my shirts with that bump. Your boobs were huge. I was living the dream.”
She smacked his arm lightly even as her grin spread, “You are such a perv.”
“And you married me anyway.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her sternum, then lower, trailing his mouth just along the edge of his own words. “I’m just saying. You were radiant. I loved it. All of it. Every stage. Every version of you.” His lips brushed lower, then rose again to meet her mouth, “And if you ever wanted to do it again,” he murmured, breath hot against hers, “I’d be right there. Holding your hair back when the nausea hits. Rubbing your feet. Talking to your belly like a lunatic. I’d be all in again.”
She kissed him before she could cry. Before the tenderness in his voice could split her wide open. “You were perfect last time,” she said against his mouth.
Eddie smiled into the kiss, and then with a groan that was more playful than anything, as he let his head fall to her shoulder. “Still,” he mumbled, voice muffled against her skin. “The boobs were insane.”
She laughed, full-throated now, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss that followed was hungrier, but no less careful. Hands moved. Her back hit the mattress in a tangle of limbs and laughter and breathless gasps, and Eddie followed, settling over her with the kind of ease that came from years of knowing her body like his own. He braced himself on his forearms, caging her in without ever pressing too much weight, but still grounding her in the reality of him: the warmth, the solidness, the quiet devotion in the way he looked down at her.
His gaze dragged slowly over her face like he was trying to memorize her all over again. The flush on her cheeks. The curve of her mouth. The way her eyes shone even in the dim light of their bedroom. “God,” he breathed, like it slipped out without permission. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
She touched his face like she always did. Fingertips brushing his jaw, the faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, the fullness of his top lip, with slight bits of his facial hair trailing over the edge. “So are you,” she said, voice low and steady.
Eddie huffed a soft laugh. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.” She slid one hand down to rest over his heart. “You have no idea what you look like to me, do you?”
He didn’t answer. Just kissed her, and when it broke, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I feel like a fuckin’ teenager when I’m with you,” he whispered. “Still.”
She smiled, one of those soft, private ones she only ever gave him. “You’re stronger now, than you were back then. And thicker in the middle.”
He groaned, half-dramatic. “Thanks, babe. I’ll be hitting the gym Monday."
“No,” she said, dragging her nails lightly down his back, making him shiver. “I mean it. You’re… grown. All filled out and solid. You look like a man now. My man.”
Eddie lowered his head to her neck, biting back a grin against her skin. “Keep talking like that and I won’t take it slow.”
She arched under him slightly, teasing, voice barely above a whisper. “Who said I wanted you to take it slow?”
His breath hitched. The temperature between them shifted. And then his mouth was back on hers. He kissed down her neck, over her collarbone, pausing just long enough to whisper, “Still can’t believe you’re mine,” before his mouth closed over the swell of her breast, making her breath catch in a way he knew damn well by now.
“You always say that,” she managed, tugging at the button of his pants, needing more skin.
“Yeah,” he murmured, helping her out of her jeans, “Because I still don’t believe it.” His voice was reverent, but his hands were anything but. A little clumsy in his urgency, shaking just enough to betray how wrecked she already had him. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and tugged them down with barely a warning, the move so fast and unceremonious it made her laugh.
God, he was trying.
That was the thing about them, post-parenthood: timing was everything. The days of slow-burn build-ups and lazy mornings tangled in sheets had been traded for windows of opportunity. Nap time. School hours. Locked doors and muffled laughter. They’d become experts at reading the room, not to mention each other, and moving with the kind of precision only forged in the chaos of raising a child.
Eddie had long since mastered the art of the strategic quickie. In the shower. Five minutes flat, both of them smiling like idiots and reaching for the shampoo. Before the school drop-off. Two alarms, one for waking up and one for reminding him to stop. He swore he could feel it in his bones. That internal switch that flipped on before the sun did. My body just wakes up thinking, I gotta be inside my wife before the day starts, he’d said once, shamelessly, and she hadn’t stopped laughing for ten minutes. Even now, caught up in something slower, something deeper, that instinct hadn’t left him. She could feel it in the way he moved. The want in him was wildfire.
“Jesus, Munson,” she teased, as he pressed her back into the mattress. “What’s the rush?”
He paused just long enough to look at her, breath unsteady but grin intact. “I’m trying to fit in as many rounds as possible before the sun comes up. You gonna stop me?”
She arched an eyebrow, hand threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “That depends. You planning to make it to sunrise?”
He grinned like a man who’d been handed a challenge. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, voice dark with promise, “I’ve got stamina and a deeply unhealthy want to see you carrying my spawn again.”
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, mouth already finding her collarbone again. “Might need snacks between rounds. And a Gatorade. But I’m in this for the long haul.”
She laughed, legs curling around his waist, heart thudding somewhere between hilarity and heat. “You're ridiculous.”
He nipped gently at the place just beneath her ear, then whispered, “Damn right I am, and you love it.” She did. God, she did. And with the way he moved then, all practiced hands and hunger, made her suddenly very, very glad the door was locked.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His lips descended with fire, capturing hers in a kiss that was no longer gentle teasing but full-throttle hunger. His hands roamed with a possessive urgency. Her body responded in kind, arching into him, every nerve ending alive and screaming. The way his fingers tangled in her hair, the low growl vibrating through his chest as he pressed closer. It was a language they’d spoken a thousand times, but it never lost its meaning.
She traced the lines of his jaw, felt the rough scrape of his short beard against her palm, still marveling at how much he’d changed. The gangly kid from Hawkins, wild hair and all, now a man who could set her soul on fire with a single touch. The strength in his arms, the solid weight of his body against hers, the way his short hair brushed her skin. It was intoxicating. His mouth left hers only to travel lower, nipping at her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast, where his teeth grazed softly before sucking gently, making her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. “God, you drive me crazy,” she breathed, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, eager to touch what had been teasing her all night.
Eddie groaned low in his throat, shifting so that the heat of him pressed fully against her. “You’re mine,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “Every damn inch.”
She smiled against his skin, heart pounding like a drum. “Mhm why don’t you remind me of what that all means Mr. Munson.”
His fingers curled around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His voice dropped to a low growl, raw and possessive. “It means only I get to touch you like this. Only I get to see you unravel, to watch every shiver and every gasp come from me.”
He pressed a fierce kiss to the hollow of her throat, teeth grazing the tender skin. “And… only I get to put another kid in you.” Her breath hitched, and she tilted her head back, offering herself to him completely. Eddie’s hands slid lower, fingers tracing the curves he knew by heart, “God do I miss that feeling…” She fell silent, eyes locked on his with a silent plea: hurry it along. Eddie chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her earlobe in a teasing nip. “If I didn’t know better…” His hand slid slowly down her body until it came to rest where she needed him most. His fingers danced lightly, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I recall how wet you’d get back then whenever I’d mention knocking you up…”
Eddie pulled back just enough to let his fingers trail teasingly across her cheek, eyes dark and smoldering in the soft glow spilling through the window. Even in the low light, she could see the slick sheen coating his skin. “Glad to know it still works like a fucking charm,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. Then, without ceremony, he shoved his index and middle finger in his mouth, not breaking eye contact until his eyes rolled back in his head.
“If I wasn’t on a mission to fulfill other, more important, obligations,” he murmured against her skin, breath hot, “I’d spend all damn night with my face buried between these thighs.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his voice rough and reverent. “But I’ve got other things that need my attention right now.”
Her breath caught, pulse thudding in her ears as she looked up at him. Eddie’s mouth curved into that familiar smirk, and he dragged his thumb slowly across her lower lip, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that always seemed to melt her. “I’ll come back to that. You got so much sweeter last time when you were carrying Eldarion. So just a heads-up, once it takes, I’m moving in between your thighs for the next nine months.”
“Eddie,” she hissed. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to him being crass. God knows he had a mouth on him, and an imagination to match. But hearing it out loud, especially when he was looking at her like that, still made her pulse trip.
“Don’t get all bashful on me, sweetheart.” His smirk deepened. “I like hearing you.”
“I really don’t want to wake up Dar–”
“We won’t.”
“How do you know?” she whispered, even as his fingers traced idle patterns at her hip.
Eddie leaned in close enough that she could feel his grin against her skin. “Because,” he breathed, “he sleeps like his old man. Out cold through everything.”
Her protest faltered when his nose brushed the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath scattering what was left of her composure. She wanted to stay annoyed, to remind him they’d promised each other quiet nights now, but Eddie had always been impossible to resist once he decided to test her resolve. “Eds…” she tried again, but it came out softer this time, a sigh tangled in his name.
He chuckled low, the sound rumbling against her chest. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
She rolled her eyes, even as her fingers found his curls and tugged gently. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm,” he hummed, lips ghosting over her collarbone. “You love me for it.”
And damn it, she did.
He pulled back just enough to admire his handiwork. A faint mark blooming at the curve of her neck. His thumb brushed over it once, almost reverently, before his eyes found hers through the soft wash of moonlight and streetlights spilling in from their bedroom window. For a second, his gaze softened. Everything this moment held – warmth, longing, the quiet promise of building something beautiful together – lingered there between them. Then his focus shifted, drifting past her head toward the window. She could practically feel the gears turning. “It’s snowing,” he said, nodding toward it.
“And?” she teased, fingers hooking playfully into the waistband of his boxers. Eddie didn’t answer. Instead, he scooped her up before she could protest. “Eddie!” she squealed, smacking his shoulder as he carried her toward the window.
“I just think,” he said, grin spreading wide, “we oughta take a look.”
He set her down in front of the frosted glass, his hands warm and steady at her waist. Outside, fat snowflakes drifted lazily from the night sky, catching the faint glow of the streetlight. The world beyond their little townhouse looked still, muffled, almost enchanted. She leaned back against him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her spine. “You dragged me out of bed for this?” she asked, though her voice had softened.
Eddie hummed, chin coming to rest on her shoulder. “What, you don’t think it’s romantic? Seems like a sign.”
She tilted her head slightly toward him. “A sign of what?”
He smiled against her skin. “That maybe we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be, doing exactly what we are meant to be doing...”
Her lips curved. “You’re getting sappy on me, Munson.”
“Yeah, well…” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below her ear, “don’t tell anyone. I got a reputation to keep.”
She felt him lean away, the accompanying faint rustle of fabric moving against the floor and then his warmth returned. His bare chest pressed to her back. His breath found her ear, rough and low enough to curl through her spine. “I want you just like this… right here… what do you say babygirl?” He punctuated his statement with a slight rut into her behind, at which point she could feel just how worked up the conversation had led him to be. Her lips parted before she could stop them, a small sound escaping as his fingers brushed along her waist, steady, knowing. “Eddie…” she whispered.
He only smiled against her skin, his breath warm where it met her neck. “I said, what I said,” he murmured.
For a moment, she forgot about the world outside. The falling snow, the quiet house, the promises they’d made to be good, to be quiet. There was only this: the heat of him, the gravity of that word still pulsing in the space between them. Eddie’s hand came up beside hers, the silver of his battered wedding band catching the pale glow from the window. The reflection trembled against the glass as he pressed his palm flat. The other hand found her waist, fingers curling with quiet intent. His breath touched her ear, a whisper meant only for her. “You feel that?” he murmured. Her eyes fluttered shut. He rolled his hips once into her, making it known.
She didn’t speak, just nodded, breath shallow, eyes finding his in the faint reflection of the glass. The snowlight caught the sharp edges of his grin, the dark glint of his gaze fixed on their blurred outline in the window. “Look so damn pretty like this, you know?” he murmured, voice rough with admiration and intent. “Anyone could look up off the street and see…”
His fingers traced a slow path up her side, the faintest touch, stopping just short of her chest. She could feel his hesitation there, a pause full of everything he wasn’t saying. The air between them seemed to hum, fragile and alive. Her lips parted, a soundless breath escaping as she whispered, “You like that don’t you.” Eddie’s smile deepened against her neck, a soft chuckle vibrating through her. “Sweetheart…” he said, his tone dropping into something low and sure. “Be a good girl and answer me…”
The words weren’t a demand, so much as a promise, one that made her spine straighten and her pulse stutter. He tilted his head until his lips brushed her temple. “Or do you think we should’ve stayed in bed?”
She turned her head just enough for their eyes to meet, her smile faint but certain. “You’re the one who said he wanted to go all night, so what’s the rush?”
That was all the permission he needed. His touch guided her gently. His foot nudging hers apart, his hands steady at her hips, as he pressed her closer to the cool glass. Her breath fogged the window. From this angle, she could see everything. The park below, the faint shimmer of Boston’s skyline, the soft tumble of snowflakes catching the streetlights before vanishing into the quiet streets.
It was a strange, suspended kind of moment. Intimate and vast all at once. The world outside moved on in silence while, here, time seemed to slow to the rhythm of her pulse and his breath at her shoulder. Eddie’s voice came low, right at her ear, the rough edge of it wrapping around her name. “Still with me?” She nodded, though the answer came out as more of a sigh than a sound. “Good,” he whispered. “Then don’t look away.”
And she didn’t. Her eyes stayed on their reflection. The blur of two bodies, the quiet pulse of city lights, the snowfall painting the night in silver. His movements were sure, practiced. Born from years of knowing exactly how they fit together, how to find her without a word. Every breath, every shift, felt inevitable, as though their bodies remembered before their minds did.
She felt his head resting against her entrance for only a moment before he pushed in. A rough sound escaped him, his palm flexing for a moment against the window beside her head. “Jesus…” he groaned.
His eyes caught hers in the reflection, dark and smoldering. “Feels so good,” he murmured, voice gravely as he thrust in harshly, bottoming out. The movement was urgent, sure, and she gasped, lips parting, but no sound escaped.
Eddie leaned closer, his lips brushing the curve of her ear. “You feel that? The way I’m stretching you out…” She shivered under him, unable to respond, and he chuckled softly, almost tenderly, a low sound that vibrated through her. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice dropping. “Just like that… stay with me.”
She felt his fingers glide up the side of her neck, pausing at the nape before weaving gently through her hair. There was a softness there, a deliberate contrast to the fire of his presence elsewhere, a touch that made her pulse skip. “Always been so pretty,” he hummed, voice low and fond, a slight tug in his fingers making it clear he meant her hair.
Then his eyes caught hers in the reflection, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The gentleness shifted as he tightened his fist just enough to pull her head back, a reminder of the quiet power he held, and the sharp thrill it sent through her. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice husky as she let out a squeak, “still letting me do this.”
Her breath hitched, and she leaned into him without thinking, letting herself melt against the weight of his presence. He tugged once more, this time harsher as his hips moved faster. “You like it when I pull your hair,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Like when I get… like this.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement that left no room for denial. She nodded, careful of the tight grip he still held, every fiber of her alert to him, to the way he seemed to take up the whole space behind her. His smirk softened, “Damn, mama… you always make it too easy for me,” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that made her pulse flutter.
She shivered under his gaze, the tension coiling in her chest. “Eddie…” she breathed, half warning, half surrender.
“Shh,” he murmured, leaning closer, lips brushing her temple, his hand still resting possessively against the curve of her waist. “Don’t think. Don’t move. Just let me get you there.”
Eddie moved his hand from her waist, down until he could reach her center. She initially expected him to just rub those tight, delicate circles on her until she was a whimpering mess. But something about the raw energy of it all, made him bypass that all together, as he pinched her clit between his forefinger and thumb harshly.
Then all she saw was white. He didn’t stop moving until she slumped lightly against the glass, her breath coming in shallow gasps. His other hand, the one that had been entwined in her hair, flexed once, a quiet punctuation, before releasing her to catch her weight. “I gotchu,” he murmured, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to her shoulder as he eased them back from the window.
She leaned into him, eyes closing for a moment, letting herself just be. “Eddie…” she whispered, a mix of awe and surrender threading through the word.
He tilted his head, letting his forehead rest against hers, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. “Evenstar,” he murmured, a boyish smile tugging at his lips.
“Strider,” she hummed contentedly, leaning a little closer as he settled against the edge of their bed, the warmth of him grounding her.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice low but teasing.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, a soft chuckle escaping her. “Just gearing up for round two…”
“Ah, I see,” he said, brushing her hair back gently, letting his fingers linger. “Want to fill me in on your plan for that?”
She tapped a finger to her lips, feigning thought. “I was thinking…” she whispered, letting her gaze roam over him, letting the pause stretch just long enough to make him curious. “…maybe we revisit what worked last time.”
“Yeah?” he asked, one eyebrow arching, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“I mean,” she continued, leaning in slightly, “we can’t be 100% sure, but I definitely think that night…”
“You mean…” His voice was low, “You. Ass up. Face down,”
“Don’t sound so thrilled,” she said with mock authority, a playful grin spreading across her face.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. “Oh, is that so, babygirl?” he murmured, leaning closer, thumb brushing along her jaw. “You think you can boss me around like that? Because I think our track record proves otherwise… Remember that first time–”
And God, how could she forget? Those ridiculous handcuffs in his bedroom, originally a joke from his Hellfire Club days, had turned out to be far more useful than either of them had anticipated. That night had been the first time she’d seen him come completely alive.
Beforehand, after that first nervous, tender time in his room and the cautious months that followed, Eddie had treated every touch like a fragile thing. Like she was something to be protected. It was sweet. Heart-melting, even. But then, slowly, something changed. It hadn’t been all at once. Just small shifts. The first time his hand circled her wrist instead of lacing their fingers together. The way he’d held it above her head and paused, checking, until he realized her breath had only hitched from want. After that, things evolved.
There was that night in his van, parked by the lake on a Friday, the air thick with pot smoke and summer heat. He’d dared to take her ponytail, guiding it gently away from her neck so he could press his mouth there instead. The faint scrape of his rings against her hair had pulled a sound from her throat she hadn’t even known she could make and it changed everything.
Then came the evening in her bedroom, her mom out of town, a record spinning low and slow on the turntable. She’d laughed, carefree, moving to the beat until she ended up straddling his lap, his hands trembling against her hips as she swayed. When she finally settled there for good, his jeans tangled around his ankles, the world had gone quiet except for the creak of the desk chair and the sound of her breath. He remembered the sight of her in the mirror. His hands gripping her thighs, her head thrown back, and the moment his fingers slid instinctively from her shoulders to her throat. Her eyes had found his in the reflection, wide and unafraid.
That moment had stayed with him for years. The exact second he’d realized how much trust she’d placed in him. He never forgot that. Time passed, and life shifted. There were years when softness was what she needed. Quiet words murmured into pillows, slow mornings spent wrapped in sheets, laughter breaking between kisses. Other times, she wanted something rougher, grounding, a reminder of the fire that had always burned between them. No matter the shape it took, he was always there, steady and sure, the same hands that once trembled now confident in the language of her body.
Because they’d built something on more than passion. They talked, explored, learned. He knew what made her shiver, what made her laugh, what didn’t sit right. He’d always made it clear: she was the one in charge of her own pleasure. That was their rule. Their rhythm. Their way.
Now, years later, as she laid out on her side on their comforter, the memories flickered through her mind like an old film reel. Gritty, dirty, sweet, raunchy, beautiful, and wholly alive. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he murmured.
She smiled, tilting her head back to look at him. “Well why don’t you give me something else to think about…”
“Not a chance,” he smirked, tugging her by the hips until she was pressed against him, “I like you all cock drunk and without a single thought in this pretty head.”
The position she’d mentioned earlier – the one she’d learned, refined, and claimed as theirs over the years – must’ve still been running through his mind, because he was moving her again. Guiding her with that familiar mix of confidence and care. His hands were sure, patient, coaxing her onto her knees until she softened beneath him. His palm found the spot between her shoulder blades, pressing over the ink etched into her skin years ago. His touch lingered there, tracing its edges as though reacquainting himself with the memory it held, before guiding her gently down toward the mattress.
Her gaze shifted to the mirror on the back of their bedroom door. A “practical” addition, they’d said. Limited floorspace, nowhere else to put it. They both knew better. It was a quiet homage, a callback to that first time he’d really come alive in his own skin with her, when he’d watched her in the mirror like she was something holy. That same look was there now, older but just as intense, the devotion tempered with years of knowing rather than guessing.
She met his eyes in the reflection, everything else fell away. The house, the years, their kid asleep down the hallway, the stretch marks and anxiety that life brought. Just them, exactly as they’d always been. Eddie’s thumb brushed the side of her neck, tracing the line of her pulse. “You still don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, voice low, threaded with awe rather than hunger.
She smiled faintly, breath catching as she arched her back up into his frame. “Pretty sure I do.”
He leaned forward until his lips ghosted her ear, “Not even close.”
Eddie slammed into her without much warning. Her back continuing to curve from the shock of it all. His eyes caught hers for the briefest moment in the mirror across the room, the reflection flickering with something unspoken. His brows drew together as he glanced toward the nightstand, still moving with that quiet, deliberate rhythm.
She felt his hands slide to her waist, firm and sure, guiding her closer toward the pillows without breaking their connection. In the mirror, she caught the small, almost domestic gesture. His fingers reaching out, finding the glasses he’d tossed aside earlier, the same ones that always ended up askew on the nightstand by morning. He slipped them back on, the motion so casual it made her laugh under her breath. When his gaze returned to hers through the glass, the faintest smirk tugged at his mouth.
“There,” he murmured, his voice rough and warm, “now I can actually see my gorgeous wife.”
His hand traced a slow path down her side, fingertips catching on the curve of her hip. She shivered but didn’t look away, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Still don’t know why they do something for you,” he said, a crooked grin breaking through. “I look like a fucking dork.”
She laughed softly, breathless. “That’s kind of the point.”
He huffed a low chuckle, leaning down to press his mouth to the back of her shoulder. “You have a thing for dorks?”
“Eddie, I married one. Do I need to remind you what we did tonight?”
He smiled against her skin, “Guess that makes you the coolest girl alive.”
Her reply caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Guess it does.”
The tenderness of the moment lingered as she turned her face from the reflection to catch a glimpse of him up close over her shoulder. Then his expression shifted behind those black frames. “I’m going to–” he started but she didn’t let him finish. Pressing her cheek back into the comforter as she pressed herself up enough that it gave him a lovely visual no matter the angle.
She heard the throaty whispered fuck before his hands returned to being rough. Hoisting her hips up, resuming that pace that got so rudely interrupted by his declining vision. But man, did Eddie make that momentary reprieve worth it. Bruising pace. Fifthly words from that creative mind to match:
“That’s it baby girl… take it… look so pretty like this… I want to fill this hole over and over again… not going to let any of it slip out… just going to keep you plugged with my hand until I’m ready to fuck it all back inside… and when you are finally tapped out and you can’t handle anymore, we are going to lay here all night, with me between your legs until it takes…”
Eddie’s hand pushed her face further into the pillow, obstructing her view of the way he was pounding in and out of her at a relentless pace. But she didn’t need to see it to know what was going on. He rarely got this far gone, to the point he was absolutely babbling pure unadulterated filth.
“Just want to walk around with everyone knowing what I did to you again…” he grunted. She could feel his thighs shaking from where they were pressed against her. His hold loosened ever so slightly as she got another glimpse at him. Head thrown back, face flushed, chest heaving as he continued to thrust.
“Eddie–” she squeaked and he slapped a hand down over her bare asscheek without warning.
“Beg me for it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Beg me to fill you up,” he hissed.
“Ed–” she started only for him to smack her again, this time on the other cheek.
“Don’t test my patience,” he said, leaning his chest down across her back until his mouth was closer to her ear. “You want it princess? Want me to fill you up? Make you all round again with another one of my kids?”
“Yes,” she huffed into the comforter. Eddie’s fingers wrapped around her hair once more, pulling her back as he murmured something rough about louder. “Yes!” she repeated so he could hear her.
Eddie’s rhythm picked up, his breath turning rougher as he spoke between low, teasing laughs. “You know, even my looks took over,” he said, voice breaking with amusement that didn’t match the rough trusting of his hips. “You didn’t stand a chance with the last one. He came out looking just like me. Probably will happen this time too.”
She would’ve laughed if he hadn’t tugged her hair, teeth settling over her neck before he continued by saying, “Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured. “I love it. Walking around with a kid who’s basically my twin. Everyone takes one look and just knows he’s mine. Which makes everyone know you are mine.”
Her body flooded with warmth at the notion. If she hadn’t been so distracted by that glorious stretching around his cock she would’ve had time to unpack it. But with the feeling of him sliding in and out, talking like that, it was hard to think. “Come on. Be a good girl. Come for me again so I can fill you up,” he said, fingers relaxing in her hair as they wound around against her chest. Palm flexing against her right breast.
She felt the sharp press of his wrist bone sticking into sternum for a moment but didn’t have long to dwell on it as his other hand snaked around to toy with her clit once more. “Oh Eddie…” she whinned.
“That’s it baby, keep squeezing me like that,” he groaned, “Jesus you have a death grip on me like that,” he dropped a wet open mouth kiss to her shoulder as he kept going.
It was all overwhelming. His words. The weight behind them. The feeling of being filled and having every nerve ending set on fire. But what finally undid her was the glance in the mirror when she lifted her head just enough to catch sight of brown eyes staring at the ravenous picture of their bodies wound together.
She came harshly, eyes screwing shut as she collapsed to the bed. Eddie only pulled her hips tight to his own, keeping them elevated with her back curved before he started praising her with incoherent phrases about milking him dry and about doing such a good job. She didn’t come down from the high until she felt his lips tracing lazy kisses along her back, each one gentler than the last. His fingertips followed, brushing sweat from her skin in slow, absentminded strokes. “Still with me?” he whispered against her shoulder, his voice tender now, all the earlier bravado gone. He shifted a little, leaning more of his weight into her, reluctant to move away.
“Mhm,” she managed, eyes still closed, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.
He chuckled quietly, the sound low and fond. “You sound fucked out, sweetheart.”
“Wonder why,” she mumbled into the bed.
“Hey,” he murmured, lips grazing her temple, “Worth it, right?”
She laughed softly, too tired to answer with words, just reaching back to thread her fingers through his hair. For a while, neither of them spoke. The house had gone quiet again, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of their son’s nightlight projector spinning stars across his bedroom wall down the hall.
Eddie finally sighed, the warmth of it brushing her shoulder. “You know, I’m not sure we’re supposed to still feel like this after all these years.”
She smiled faintly, turning her head toward him. “Guess we never got the memo.”
He grinned, lazy and proud. “Figures.”
She dragged her face from the blanket, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Did you mean it about going all night?”
“Oh, that was a load of shit, and we both know it,” he laughed, slipping off his glasses and tossing them atop the covers a few feet away. “Unless you really got it in you–”
“Hell no,” she cut him off, laughing as he shifted his full weight against her from behind.
“Alright,” he murmured, tilting her face gently to brush a strand of hair from her eyes. “Let me get you, and this bed, cleaned up.”
“But what about–” she began, then stopped, unsure how to phrase the desire she had, even though they had always been candid with each other.
“If it was going to happen, babe, lying here in a mess won’t do it. Either it’s already done its thing, or it hasn’t. And if that’s the case, I just get to keep trying,” he said with a crooked grin. He finally pulled away, giving her space as she rolled onto her side to stare up at him. “But fuck if I don’t love that sight…” he added, eyes drinking her in, the corners crinkling with affection and mischief as he saw the mess leak out of her.
“I just washed the damn duvet,” she groaned.
“And I’ll wash it again in the morning,” he hummed, slipping his hands under her legs and lifting her effortlessly. She let out a little laugh, half-exasperated, half-melting at the familiar weight of him holding her. He carried her into the bathroom, setting her down with the same tenderness he always did. He gave her space to clean up and brush her teeth. The soft rustle of fabric was a sign that he was tidying the bed behind her. She could hear him humming a low, lazy tune as he worked.
As much as she wanted to stay awake, fulfilling the reckless promises of earlier, of hands on one another, laughter and whispers echoing late into the night, parenthood had a way of demanding its due. Especially after dragging their kid to a three-hour fantasy movie after a long day at work. By the time she emerged, face washed and teeth brushed, Eddie was already waiting by the bed. He took her hand with a soft smile, eyes warm, and helped her slip under the covers.
She smiled, watching him disappear into the bathroom. The sound of running water followed a few moments later, then the familiar sounds of him brushing his teeth. She lay back against the pillows, listening to him, feeling the quiet intimacy of the house settling around them. A few minutes later, he returned and slipped under the covers without fanfare. “Come closer,” he murmured, voice low. Before she could protest, he tugged her gently into his frame, curling around her so that she rested against his chest. His arm draped over her, pulling her snug.
“Better?” he asked, lips brushing the top of her head.
“Much better,” she murmured, nuzzling into him. The warmth of his body, steady and familiar, felt like home.
He let out a long, contented sigh, one hand tracing lazy circles along her side. “You know…” he murmured, voice low and warm, “even if tonight doesn’t work out… or if it takes a while… or hell, even if it never works for another…” He paused, brushing a kiss across her temple. “…I’m already so damn happy. With you. With our little family. With this life we’ve built. I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.”
She lifted her head slightly to look at him, eyes soft. “Eddie…”
He pressed his forehead to hers, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “I mean it. We’ve got everything I could ever want right here. And… I do hope it works out. I’d love to have another kid in the house. But if it takes time, or if it’s not meant to be… I’m already lucky enough just having you here with me.”
She let a smile spread across her face, nuzzling back into him. “I feel the same way,” she murmured. “Being with you… it’s more than enough. Everything else is just icing.”
“Exactly,” he said, tightening his hold around her. “I just… I can’t help hoping we get another one someday. But no matter what, I’m happy. So happy.”
She sighed, letting herself melt into him, her hand resting over his heart. “Me too,” she whispered. “Completely happy.”
“And Darion is pretty fucking awesome,” Eddie said with a grin. “Sure, he’d probably be a rock’n older brother, but he’d also be fine on his own.”
She laughed into his chest, shaking her head. “God, I swear… There are moments with him that feel like a time machine. I blink, and I’m back in Forest Hills with you. Then I blink again, and nope. That’s our boy. One we made together. But man… he looks and acts so much like you, Eds.”
“He’s perfect,” Eddie murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She smiled, eyes soft. “I remember that first night back from the hospital. I don’t think I’d ever been more in love with you.”
“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, curiosity tugging at his voice as he reached for her left hand, sliding her wedding band off before removing his own and setting them gently on the nightstand.
“You got up to check on him in the cradle,” she said, voice quiet. “I was so exhausted. Couldn’t get him to latch, and I must’ve dosed off. But then I woke up when I heard your voice. You were just singing Lennon to him.”
Eddie’s expression softened, eyes darkening with memory. “Well,” he said slowly, “how could I not? That song always sounded distant to me before. But looking at him. Those little brown eyes catching the streetlights, realizing that, despite all odds, all the shit I never got from Al… I’d made it. I was holding my own little world in my hands. Never seen anything so beautiful.”
She pressed a hand to his chest, right over the sunflower on his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm. “You always made it feel like magic,” she whispered.
He wrapped his arm tighter around her, drawing her flush against him. “It still is,” he said, voice low, full of conviction. “Even if we have to try for a while, even if it takes longer than we hope, even if it never works for another. I’m so incredibly happy. With you. With Darion. With this life we’ve built. But damn it, I hope it works out. I want another little one running around here someday.”
She tilted her head, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “I want that too,” she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head, letting his fingers drift lazily through her hair. “Yeah,” he murmured. She smiled, closing her eyes, letting the warmth of him and the quiet of the night wrap around her. Eddie’s steady heartbeat, the gentle weight of him holding her close, and the unspoken promise of everything to come lulled her toward sleep. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Just the two of them, perfectly tangled together, utterly content in their world, with their beautiful boy sleeping down the hall.