Their life no longer resembled anything they had known before. It had blurred into sleepless nights and quiet chaos, the kind that comes from loving something small and fragile with your whole body and soul. Each day felt like a race they had never trained for, a constant balancing act between tenderness and survival.
The rituals that once grounded their home had slipped away, replaced by soft wails in the dark, bottles gone lukewarm on the counter, and conversations that trailed off as dawn crept in.
Everyone said newborns were magic, and they were not wrong. The magic simply came wrapped in exhaustion so deep it sank into the bones. They had prepared as much as anyone could. They had read the books, asked the questions, stocked charms and potions.
None of it touched the reality of how relentless it felt. Feeding every few hours became the axis their lives turned on. Rocking Lysander to sleep, only to begin again minutes later, demanded a patience neither of them had known they possessed. Even small things, making tea while it was still hot or washing their hair without interruption, began to feel like victories worth celebrating.
Luna carried it with her usual quiet grace, but even she could not escape the toll. Theo saw it in her eyes, the way her shoulders dipped just a little more each day. Her smile remained warm, but its spark had softened. Sometimes she sat in the nursery, rocking Lysander in the low light, and Theo could see the exhaustion in the careful way she moved, like her body was begging for rest even while her heart stayed steady.
And then there was Pansy.
Poor Longbottom. What had begun as a political arrangement had somehow turned into a genuine proposal. Theo still did not know when Neville had lost his fucking mind, but he had actually asked Pansy to marry him. Willingly. A tragedy.
Pansy had always been dramatic. That was a given. But wedding planning had unlocked something feral.
She became consumed by details, possessed by perfection. Every flower, ribbon, chair, and napkin had to align with whatever vision was currently spiraling through her head. If anything drifted even slightly off course, she unraveled like a cursed sweater.
"The flowers," she wailed one afternoon, bursting through their front door like a herald of doom. "The roses are too pink. I asked for blush. How is that hard to understand?"
It never stopped there. The napkins were the wrong texture. The invitation font was offensive. The calligrapher had a heavy hand and had therefore ruined the spiritual integrity of the word eternally. The menu changed so often the caterer eventually sent Theo a letter asking if the bride was mentally stable enough to commit to soup.
Nothing was safe. No detail too small to become a crisis. And somehow, despite all logic, Theo kept getting dragged into it.
Even Luna was reaching her limit. Sometimes she would look up from feeding the baby and meet Theo's eyes with a kind of silent desperation only sleep deprivation and endless color palette arguments could produce.
"If she asks me one more time whether silver or platinum represents eternal love," Luna murmured one evening, voice soft and deadly, "I will pretend to be contagious."
Theo laughed, though it barely touched his chest. Everything felt like too much. The baby cried constantly. Luna was exhausted to the marrow. His work piled up. And Pansy was planning a wedding like Merlin himself was descending to officiate.
Most nights, Theo stayed awake long after Luna and Lysander finally slept. He sat at the kitchen table under dim light, parchment spread everywhere, trying to finish reports while listening for the baby's next sound. No matter how much he crossed off his lists, he always felt behind. Thin. Worn. And somehow still expected to weigh in on linen samples or attend emergency cake tastings like it was his sworn duty.
He was surviving. Barely.
Some days he would enter the sitting room and find Luna sitting quietly with Lysander in her arms. Her face calm, her eyes soft, holding him like the rest of the world could burn and it would not matter. Even then, Theo could see the weight she carried. A tiredness deep in her shoulders that had not existed before.
He would sit beside her without speaking, rub a hand over his face, and let his gaze rest on the small bundle in her lap. There was comfort in that silence. In the way Luna leaned into him, their fingers brushing without comment. And still, he wondered how they had landed here, tangled in exhaustion and responsibility, holding it together while fraying quietly at the edges.
Pansy either did not notice or chose not to.
Her messages were constant. Her calls relentless. Every day brought a new bridal emergency. "Theo, darling," she would gasp through the Floo, "you must come to the bakery. There are two cakes and I cannot tell which one is fluffier. It is a disaster."
A disaster. Over cake.
He had always known Pansy's idea of disaster bore no resemblance to reality. Lately, even he was cracking under it. Each buzz of parchment or flare of the fireplace made his shoulders tense. He no longer reached for it instinctively. He braced himself.
He had considered turning everything off, taking one quiet day. It never worked. If ignored too long, Pansy would simply appear in person, armed with fabric swatches and existential dread. Once, she woke the baby.
Luna gently suggested boundaries. "She needs to understand," she said one night, curled beside him, "that we are raising a child. That takes everything."
She was right. She always was. But telling Pansy no felt like negotiating with a storm.
He tried anyway. He set limits. Delayed replies. Rescheduled. None of it stuck. Pansy slipped past every boundary with ease.
And so the days bled together. Loud. Messy. Long. Some mornings he could not remember if he had slept. He found himself staring at walls, wondering when he had last eaten something that was not toast. He woke in chairs he did not remember sitting in, cold tea beside him, half written lists in his lap.
The baby needed him. Luna needed him. And gods help him, Pansy needed him too.
He was doing his best.
But sometimes, in the middle of all the noise, he wished the world would stop spinning for just a moment. Long enough for him to remember who he had been before everything demanded him at once.
~~~~~~
The late afternoon light spilled into the sitting room in long, honeyed streaks, warming the pale floorboards and catching in the soft strands of Luna's hair as she sat by the fireplace, humming under her breath. It was barely a tune, more a rhythm than a song, something meant only for the small body resting against her chest.
Lysander lay tucked close, cheeks still pink from sleep, his tiny hands opening and closing like he was testing the world one movement at a time. His eyes, far too clear and thoughtful for someone so young, followed the slow drift of sunlight across the ceiling.
Luna smiled down at him, her fingers brushing the fine blond wisps beginning to grow at his crown. He was unusually quiet today, wide-eyed and observant, and the tenderness it stirred in her chest felt almost overwhelming.
Then she heard it. The crunch of gravel outside, tires slowing in a way that was familiar enough to make her smile before she even looked up.
She turned toward the window and pressed a soft kiss to Lysander's forehead. "Auntie Mimi is here," she whispered. "She's bringing books, opinions, and probably something that smells like peppermint."
The doorbell chimed, followed by quick footsteps in the hall.
"Miss Granger and her cat have arrived, Mistress Luna," the house-elf announced, sounding deeply invested in the importance of this information.
Moments later, Hermione stepped into the sitting room, cheeks flushed from the breeze, one arm hooked through bag straps and the other very much occupied by an indignant ginger cat. Crookshanks scanned the room with clear disapproval, then leapt from her arms and made his way straight to the hearth, where he curled into a loaf of warmth and judgment.
Hermione barely noticed. Her attention was already fixed on Luna and the baby.
"Luna," she said, crossing the room with a smile that cracked wide across her face. She kissed Luna's cheek, then looked down at Lysander, her expression softening instantly. "Look at him. He's changed so much already."
"He's growing like a Niffler who found a coin purse," Luna said lightly as she shifted Lysander and lifted one of his hands. He responded with a quiet gurgle, blinking up at the light. "Every day he's different. It's a little terrifying."
Hermione sank onto the couch beside her, eyes never leaving the baby. "May I?"
"Of course."
Luna passed him over with practiced care, the movement gentle and familiar. As soon as Lysander settled into Hermione's arms, he relaxed, his head fitting neatly into the crook of her elbow like it had always belonged there.
Hermione's breath caught. "Hello, you," she murmured. "Still stealing hearts."
Lysander blinked, then reached up and wrapped his fingers around hers with surprising strength.
"Oh," Hermione said softly, smiling despite herself. "You are perfect."
Luna watched them, something warm and steady blooming in her chest. Hermione had always carried that quiet, instinctive gentleness, even before she ever realized it herself. Seeing her like this made the room feel fuller somehow.
"He knows," Luna said quietly. "You've always had that touch."
Hermione rocked him gently. "He feels calmer. Like he knows he's safe."
"He's started sleeping longer stretches," Luna said, leaning back. "Which I am choosing to believe is a gift from the universe."
Hermione laughed. "You're glowing."
"That's sweat and exhaustion," Luna replied dryly. "But I'll take it."
Hermione's voice softened. "How are you, really?"
Luna paused, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. "Tired. Happy. Overwhelmed. Some days I float through it. Other days I count the minutes until Theo comes home so I can sit in the shower and cry. But then he smiles, or learns something new, and I think… alright. One more day. I can do one more."
Hermione reached over and squeezed her hand. "You're doing wonderfully."
As if summoned by approval, Crookshanks hopped onto the arm of the sofa and peered down at Lysander. After a long, critical inspection, he circled once and settled beside him, curling close like a sentry on duty.
Luna laughed softly. "Even Crookshanks approves."
Hermione smiled. "That might be the highest honor he's capable of."
The cat's amber eyes flicked shut, his body warm and solid beside the baby. Lysander shifted, sighed, and relaxed further, perfectly content between human arms and feline vigilance.
Then, with a gentleness that seemed almost deliberate, Crookshanks lifted one broad paw and rested it carefully on the baby's belly. His claws stayed sheathed, the touch cautious and precise, as if he understood exactly how fragile this small life was. A deep purr rolled from his chest, low and steady, filling the room with a sound that felt like comfort given shape.
Lysander answered with a soft coo, his fingers twitching before brushing against the cat's thick fur. Crookshanks did not move away. He blinked slowly, eyes heavy with something close to approval, and stayed exactly where he was. It was a quiet exchange, small and wordless, yet it carried weight. Familiar. Settled. As if an agreement had already been made.
Luna laughed softly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think Lysander's chosen his protector," she said, fond amusement threading her voice.
Hermione, watching with her chin propped on her hand, snorted. "He does that. Acts indifferent until he decides someone is his. Then it's over."
Crooks flicked his tail once, unbothered, then lifted his paw from Lysander and stretched with exaggerated slowness. He wandered toward the fire and curled into a perfect loaf beside the hearth, purring uninterrupted. His judgment had been delivered. The child was acceptable.
Luna watched him with a soft, contented smile. These were the moments she held onto. The quiet ones. The ones that reminded her why everything felt worth it, even on the hardest days.
Hermione adjusted Lysander in her arms, drawing him closer as his eyelids began to droop. "He's falling asleep," she murmured.
"He always does when he feels safe," Luna replied.
Something tight eased in Hermione's chest. She brushed a finger along the curve of Lysander's cheek, watching his mouth open in a slow, sleepy sigh. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Being here helps more than I expected."
Luna reached for her hand and squeezed. "You're part of us, Hermione. You always will be."
As the sky outside deepened into pink and lavender, Hermione passed Lysander back into Luna's arms. Luna took him without thought, fingers brushing his hair before she kissed the top of his head.
"I should go soon," Hermione said, reluctant despite herself. "But I'll be back."
"We'll be here," Luna replied.
As Hermione gathered her things, Crookshanks stretched and hopped up beside Luna, settling against her leg with a satisfied grunt. Hermione laughed softly and scratched behind his ears. "Looks like he's staying."
"He's welcome," Luna said, her hand moving through his fur.
There was one last hug, warm and lingering, before Hermione stepped out into the cooling evening. As she walked away, the ache she carried felt lighter. Not gone, but softened.
Inside, Luna settled back onto the sofa, Lysander breathing steadily against her shoulder, his small hand resting over her heart. Crookshanks purred beside her, the fire crackled, and the house held its breath in quiet peace.
She closed her eyes and let herself rest.
For this small stretch of time, everything felt safe.
~~~~~~
The sun rose slowly over Parkinson Manor, spilling soft gold across the gardens and setting the morning alight. Light filtered through the trees in gentle patterns, catching on dew and petals and the endless lengths of ribbon woven through the hedges.
Emerald and ivory fabric fluttered in the breeze, fairy lights still faintly glowing from the night before, as if the day itself was easing into celebration. The garden felt alive, humming with anticipation, shaped by weeks of careful planning and years of quiet, unexpected love.
Inside the manor, Pansy's suite was a controlled kind of chaos. Dresses rustled. Shoes were kicked aside and rediscovered. Laughter burst out at odd intervals, sharp and bright with nerves.
Pansy stood in the center of it all, her gown half fastened, her heart racing in a way no amount of composure could disguise. The dress was everything she had imagined, phthalo green silk flowing like liquid around her, the fabric catching the light with every small movement. She stared at her reflection, eyes wide, lips parted.
"I'm actually doing this," she muttered. "I am fully getting married. On purpose."
Luna, standing behind her with a comb in hand, smiled at their shared reflection. "You sound surprised."
"I am surprised," Pansy said quickly. "I did not expect to fall in love with a man who owns more plants than furniture. Or who looks at me like I personally invented the concept of sunlight."
Luna laughed softly as she began working through Pansy's hair, gentle and precise. "Neville has always looked at you like that."
"Yes, well, he should probably stop before I cry and ruin everything," Pansy replied, blinking rapidly. She paused, then sighed. "Do I look calm?"
"You look like someone who is about to marry the love of her life and is pretending she is not seconds away from either fainting or yelling at someone," Luna said serenely. "Which is very you."
Pansy huffed. "Rude. Accurate. But rude."
Luna leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Do you remember fifth year, when you swore you would never get married because weddings were a social performance designed to humiliate women?"
Pansy groaned. "Do not quote me to myself on my wedding day."
"And now look at you," Luna continued, utterly pleased. "You planned an entire event with color palettes and emotional symbolism."
"Do not reduce this to symbolism," Pansy warned. "These flowers represent commitment and growth."
"They also represent that you panic when you feel things," Luna said gently.
Pansy turned just enough to look at her, eyes sharp but soft underneath. "You are extremely lucky I love you."
"I know," Luna said easily. She adjusted a pin, then squeezed Pansy's shoulder. "You're doing wonderfully."
Pansy swallowed, her voice quieter now. "I am terrified."
"That makes sense," Luna replied. "You're stepping into something real."
After a beat, Pansy exhaled. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If I start spiraling during the vows, you will cough loudly or fake a magical disturbance."
"I will trip a gnome if necessary," Luna said solemnly.
Pansy laughed, sharp and relieved, then reached back to grab Luna's hand. "I don't say this enough, but I don't know how I would have survived any of this without you."
Luna squeezed back. "You never had to survive alone."
When the final touches were finished, the room fell into a softer hush. Pansy stood tall, radiant, nerves buzzing under her skin as she thought of Neville waiting just outside the garden. The moment felt enormous, almost unreal, yet grounded by the presence of the people who loved her most.
In another room, Neville paced like a man bracing for impact, tugging at his cuffs, muttering under his breath. Theo and Draco flanked him with varying degrees of amusement.
"You're going to be fine," Theo said, clapping him on the shoulder. "She already said yes. Everything after this is a bonus."
Draco nodded. "Just look at her. You won't remember anything else."
And then it was time.
Music rose through the garden. Guests turned. Pansy took her first step forward, heart thundering as she found Neville at the altar. The moment their eyes met, everything else blurred. The doubts fell away. The noise vanished. There was only him.
The vows were spoken with trembling honesty, words shaped by years of stubborn devotion and unexpected tenderness. When Neville kissed her, the world erupted into applause, laughter and tears mixing freely.
By evening, the garden glowed beneath a canopy of lights. Music drifted through warm air as Pansy and Neville danced, laughter spilling between them.
"We really did it," Neville whispered.
Pansy smiled, resting her forehead against his. "And I would do it all again."
Around them, friends filled the space with joy, the kind that lingered long after the night faded. Surrounded by love, by chosen family, Pansy felt something settle deep in her chest.
~~~~~~
The night outside still shimmered with the last traces of celebration. Garden lights had dimmed to a soft glow, and laughter lingered in the air like a memory that refused to fade.
Pansy and Neville's wedding had been beautiful in that wild, uncontained way that left joy clinging to your skin long after it ended. Luna carried it with her as they stepped back into their home, her chest warm, her thoughts light.
The door closed behind them, and the world fell quiet.
The hush felt gentle, almost reverent, broken only by the faint creak of the floor beneath their feet and the golden spill of lamplight down the hall. Luna twirled forward on bare feet, her silver dress catching the air as she moved, fabric drifting behind her like a soft echo. Her hair had come loose during the night, falling down her back in pale waves scented with roses and summer warmth.
Theo lingered by the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame. His jacket was gone, his tie loosened and hanging forgotten at his chest, his collar open. He looked undone in the most honest way, like someone who had seen something too beautiful to keep pretending at restraint. His gaze followed her with open awe, steady and unguarded.
She spun past him again, laughter slipping free and breathless, and something deep in his chest pulled tight. He reached out, caught her hand with ease, and drew her back into him. She fell against his chest with a soft laugh, one hand pressing flat over his heart, the other still clasped in his. Their bodies fit together without effort, as natural as breath.
He looked down at her, voice low and sure.
"Are you happy, my love?"
She met his gaze and didn't answer right away. She studied him, really studied him, as if committing the moment to memory. Then she smiled, bright and open, tilting her head slightly.
"Of course I am," she said quietly. "Completely."
His hand lifted to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering against her cheek. There was care in the touch, something almost reverent, like he was still half afraid that this life might slip through his fingers if he wasn't gentle enough.
"You know," he said softly, "we could do it too. A wedding. Something just for us. As big or as quiet as you want."
Her hand settled over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath his shirt. She looked up at him with a tenderness that felt endless.
"I already have everything I want," she said simply. "You always give me everything I ask for."
Something inside him gave way. His breath caught, his chest aching with that familiar, fragile wonder her love always stirred in him.
He didn't speak again. He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her, slow and deep, carrying all the feeling he never quite trusted words to hold. Her lips met his easily, her hands sliding into his hair like they belonged there.
When they parted, their foreheads rested together. They stayed like that, breathing each other in, wrapped in a silence that felt complete.
"You are my home," Luna whispered.
"I would give you the whole universe if you asked," he murmured, the truth of it sharp in his voice. "There is nothing I wouldn't give you."
"I know," she replied softly, tracing slow circles over his chest as if mapping stars only she could see.
They stood there, unmoving, letting the quiet stretch around them until it felt like a held breath. The night seemed to pause with them, time bowing politely out of the way.
Then Luna lifted her face just enough to search his. Her eyes were thoughtful, curious, unhurried.
"Theo," she asked gently, "why are you in love with me?"
The question hit him square in the chest.
He blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"What?" he croaked. "What do you mean why am I in love with you? Are you saying you are not in love with me? Luna, are you telling me I have misunderstood everything?"
His heart lurched into full panic. He released her like she had burned him and staggered back, one hand flying to his chest, the other clutching at his hair.
"Oh Merlin," he gasped. "Have I been delusional? Have I invented this entire reality? What if I am just convenient? What if I am warm tea and emotional stability? What if I am merely tolerated?"
He began pacing, words tumbling faster with every step.
"What if I am a temporary solution until someone more spiritually aligned appears? What if you have simply been too kind to tell me I am mistaken?"
He spun back to her, eyes wide and shining with unnecessary anguish.
"What if I am the sun," he declared, arms flung wide, "forever condemned to orbit you, hopelessly devoted, while you drift through the universe completely unmoved by my love?"
Luna watched him in complete calm. She simply stood there, bare feet quiet against the floor, eyes soft with fond amusement, waiting patiently for the storm to exhaust itself.
Theo groaned and staggered toward a chair, collapsing into it with theatrical despair. He buried his face in his hands.
"This is it," he muttered. "This is how it ends. I will die of heartbreak. People will mourn me. They will say I loved too deeply."
He flung an arm over his eyes.
"They will write poems," he continued. "Ballads. Tragic ones. Sung in taverns. You will hear them and weep."
Before he could spiral any further, Luna stepped forward. She gently took his wrist, lifted his arm from his face, and cupped his cheek. Her touch was cool and steady, grounding him instantly.
"Theo," she said softly, "I am in love with you."
The world stopped.
His breath hitched, then slowed. The frantic noise inside him fell silent all at once.
"You are?" he whispered, barely audible.
She smiled, warm and certain, that familiar expression that always felt like truth made visible.
"Of course I am," she said. "Why else would I ask?"
For a heartbeat, he stared at her. Then he let out the most dramatic sigh of relief she had ever heard and surged to his feet, pulling her into his arms and holding her like he never intended to let go.
"You cannot ask questions like that," he breathed, his voice both chastising and desperate. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I was seconds away from writing my own obituary. My sanity, my dignity… they were hanging by a thread."
She nuzzled closer, resting her cheek against his chest. "I didn't mean to scare you," she said softly. "I just wanted to hear what it sounded like. From you."
He pulled back slightly, cupping her face with both hands. His thumbs brushed along her cheekbones, and when he looked at her, it was with the kind of intensity that made it impossible to doubt him.
"I love you," he said, without hesitation. "More than anything. More than I've ever loved anyone, more than I thought I was capable of. You are everything to me."
Luna tilted her head just slightly, a curious glint in her eyes. "Even more than your hair gel?"
His jaw dropped in mock offense. "Luna," he gasped, scandalized. "That was below the belt."
Her laughter broke between them like sunlight, light and easy and entirely beautiful. Theo grinned despite himself, already helpless to her in every way that mattered. He leaned in and kissed her, slow and reverent, like he was pouring every ounce of love into the space between them.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, he felt completely undone.
She was his, and he was hers.
~~~~~~
Theo had planned every part of the evening with quiet, deliberate care. He wanted it to be right. Not flashy or overdone, just... thoughtful. Honest. The bedroom glowed with soft candlelight, warm and golden, shadows dancing gently across the walls.
He had spent almost an hour arranging them, lighting one after another until the whole space felt like it belonged to another world. Rose petals were scattered over the bed, a deep red against the clean white sheets.
The windows were open, sheer curtains stirring in the breeze. Somewhere outside, crickets chirped in the distance. The night was alive, but softly, as if even it knew this moment mattered.
When Luna stepped into the room, she stopped.
She didn't speak at first. Her eyes swept across the space, then landed on him. Her hand pressed to her chest, lips parted as her breath caught. "Theo," she said quietly. Her voice trembled a little. "This is... it's beautiful."
He couldn't help the way he smiled. Not a smirk or a grin, but that kind of smile that came from deep in his chest, the kind that only she ever pulled from him. He stepped toward her and took her hand, raising it slowly, kissing her knuckles like they were sacred.
"I wanted tonight to feel like something," he said. His voice came out softer than he expected. "For you. For us."
Her fingers curled around his. She looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that made sense. "It already does," she whispered.
She moved in closer. Their bodies touched, just barely, but it sent something sharp and electric running straight through him. He reached up, brushed her hair back, and cupped her cheek. Her skin was warm under his palm, familiar and soft and his. His thumb traced along her jaw as she tilted her face up to him.
He kissed her.
It was slow. Unrushed. Her lips parted beneath his, warm and yielding, and she let out a quiet breath as she sank into it. Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him in until there was nothing between them. And that was all it took. That small shift. That trust.
His fingers brushed the silk of her dress like it was something alive. He followed the patterns stitched into it, eyes fixed on the way the embroidery curved over her skin, then slid down to the laces at her back.
He didn't rush. Each tie came undone with slow care, like he was unwrapping something fragile. When the last one loosened, the dress slipped from her shoulders and sighed down her body, pooling around her ankles in a soft breath of silk.
Theo went still.
He took a breath, then another, but it didn't steady him. She was standing in front of him, bare and golden in the candlelight. Her body had changed. Her hips were a little wider now, her stomach a little softer, her breasts fuller from nursing. But to him she looked otherworldly. Holy.
His wife. The mother of his child. The love of his life.
"You are a dream," he said, voice rough, eyes drinking her in.
Luna smiled, slow and knowing. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one with a kind of calm that made his pulse race. The fabric slid off his shoulders and joined hers on the floor.
Her hands smoothed over his chest, palms trailing along every line, every scar. He was warm under her touch, muscles flexing as her nails scraped lightly over his skin. Her eyes lifted to meet his, dark with need.
He caught her wrists gently. He brought them to his lips and kissed the soft skin over her pulse, holding her there like he could memorize the rhythm of her heartbeat.
"I want to take my time tonight," he whispered against her skin. "I want to make you feel everything. I want to love every inch of you until you can't remember anything but my name."
She nodded once. Her breath stuttered. "Then show me," she said.
Theo leaned in and kissed her again, slow at first, his mouth moving over hers like a promise. But the longer their lips stayed connected, the more the tension curled through his spine.
His hands slid down her sides, fingers grazing her waist, her hips, then rising to cup her breasts. She gasped softly into his mouth when his thumbs brushed over her nipples, already sensitive and tight.
"Still so perfect," he murmured, head dipping to trail kisses down her neck. "God, I missed you."
Her fingers curled into his hair. She tipped her head back, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast now.
Theo guided her back until her knees touched the edge of the bed. He scooped her into his arms, lifting her with ease, and laid her gently down among the rose petals. They stuck to her skin, soft against the swell of her thighs, the curve of her stomach.
He stood over her for a moment, pulling the rest of his clothes off without breaking eye contact. His cock was already hard, heavy, flushed dark with how much he wanted her. She looked up at him like she couldn't breathe, her thighs pressing together, restless.
Her hand moved between her legs. She didn't ask. She didn't have to. Her fingers found her clit and started to rub slow, steady circles, her hips twitching with each pass. Her eyes stayed locked on him, pupils blown wide, lips wet and parted.
"That's it," he said, voice low and hungry. "Touch yourself for me, baby. Let me see you."
She moaned, fingers moving faster. Her free hand gripped the sheets as her back arched slightly. "Theo," she breathed, voice catching. "Please. I need you."
He crawled onto the bed, settling between her legs, pushing them open with firm hands. He kissed her knees, her thighs, the soft skin of her belly. Then lower.
His mouth met her center without hesitation.
She cried out as he licked into her, slow and deep. His tongue circled her clit, then flattened against it in long, wet strokes. He held her open, devouring her like he had all the time in the world, like this was what he'd been made to do. She was already soaked, her body more responsive than he remembered, trembling with every flick of his tongue.
He slid two fingers inside her and she gasped, her hips rolling up to meet him.
"Still so tight," he said, pulling back to kiss her inner thigh, then diving back in. "You're perfect. Every part of you."
She came quickly, hips jerking, thighs tensing around his head. Her body quaked with it, and she didn't try to hold back the sounds she made. It rolled through her in waves, her breath coming in short, choked-off moans.
Theo didn't stop. He kept licking, kept praising her, his fingers still working her slowly as she whimpered beneath him.
And then she gasped, sharp and breathless, her thighs spreading wider as her body bucked. A sudden rush of wetness spilled out of her, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything.
She looked panicked for half a second. "Oh my God," she whispered.
But Theo just growled low in his throat, gripping her hips and pulling her closer. "Do that again."
She blinked, dazed and wrecked. "I—Theo…"
He kissed her thigh, still holding her tight. "That was the hottest thing I've ever felt. Let it happen. Don't hold back."
She couldn't.
He moved up her body, kissing her deeply, and when he pushed inside her, slow and thick and stretching her open all over again, they both gasped like they were coming home.
Her nails scraped down his back as he started to move. His name fell from her lips again and again, and every time, he answered with a thrust so deep she saw stars.
He wasn't gentle. Not anymore.
He was worshiping her with everything he had, every part of him, every ragged breath. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that had nothing to do with timing and everything to do with knowing each other's souls.
Theo fucked her like he'd lost his mind.
Like he hadn't touched her in years.
Like he was trying to climb inside her and stay there forever.
Each thrust was deep and deliberate, pulling soft gasps from her throat that turned into cries when he angled his hips just right. Her body welcomed him like it had never forgotten. Tight and wet, fluttering around him with every movement, gripping him so sweetly it made his jaw clench.
He had one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her thigh as he pulled her leg higher around his waist.
Their bodies collided over and over, the sound of skin meeting skin lost beneath her moans and his desperate breathing. The bed creaked beneath them, rose petals crushed into the sheets, forgotten. Sweat slicked their skin, sticking them together, but neither of them cared. This wasn't about pretty. This wasn't about control.
It was about everything they had held in for too long finally breaking free.
"God, Luna," he groaned against her throat, lips brushing her pulse. "You feel so fucking good. I missed you. I missed this."
Her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. "Don't stop," she gasped. "Please, don't stop. I'm so close."
He moved faster, deeper, grinding into her like he was trying to carve himself into her body. Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth open as her orgasm built fast and wild inside her. He could feel it, the way her body tightened, how her thighs trembled, how her breathing shattered.
"Look at me," he said, his voice rough. "I want to see you fall apart."
She opened her eyes, met his gaze, and in the next moment, she came with a scream.
Her whole body seized around him, and then she broke wide open. She squirted again, harder this time, soaking his cock, the sheets, both of them slick and drenched in her release. Her legs shook, her head thrown back against the pillows, hair tangled, cheeks flushed. She looked like something divine. Like she was being undone by love itself.
Theo nearly lost it.
"Fuck, baby, yes," he groaned. "Just like that. You're perfect. You're fucking perfect."
She whimpered, still shaking as he kept moving inside her, slower now but still deep. She was oversensitive, overwhelmed, but she didn't want him to stop. She needed him to come. Needed to feel him lose control too.
"Come in me," she whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "I want to feel it. Please."
That wrecked him.
He thrust harder, burying himself deep with every stroke, and then everything snapped. He came with a hoarse cry, face buried in her neck, holding her so tightly he could barely breathe. His hips jerked as he spilled inside her, warm and hot and endless.
They stayed like that for a long time. Tangled and shaking, skin against skin, sweat and come and love smeared between them.
Neither of them said anything right away.
Theo rolled just enough to not crush her, but he kept himself buried inside, holding her close, kissing her temple like it would keep her soul inside her body.
Her fingers played with the hair at the base of his neck. Her breathing started to calm. Her heart was still racing, pressed to his chest.
She didn't ask him to pull out.
He didn't offer.
"I love you," she whispered eventually, voice raw and small and filled with everything she couldn't say earlier.
He pulled back just far enough to look at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her damp cheek.
"I love you more," he said.
The room had gone quiet.
The candles still flickered, the petals still clung to the sheets, some crushed beneath them, some stuck to her thigh, damp with sweat and come. The scent of roses lingered thick in the air, but softer now. Blurred around the edges. The world had blurred too.
Theo didn't move for a while. Neither did she.
His chest pressed against her back, one arm draped over her waist, the other tucked beneath her head like a pillow. His hand rested low on her belly, fingers splayed wide, like he still couldn't believe she'd carried life there. Like it made her holy. Maybe it did.
Luna blinked slowly, her eyes tracing the dancing light on the ceiling. Her body still ached in that delicious, stretched, used way. Her thighs were sticky. Her lips were kiss-swollen. Her heart felt too full.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly against the back of her neck. His voice was low and hoarse, worn thin from groaning her name into the sheets.
She nodded, smiling where he couldn't see it. "More than okay."
He nuzzled closer, kissed her shoulder, then the side of her neck. "You were perfect."
Her cheeks flushed again, and she laughed softly. "I squirted on you."
"I told you I loved it," he said, grinning. "I'd frame it if I could."
She turned over to face him, her legs tangling with his, her hand splayed over his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her palm, slow and grounding.
"I didn't know it could still feel like that," she whispered. "After everything. The hormones, the healing, the crying… I didn't think I'd feel desirable again."
Theo leaned in and kissed her gently. Not with hunger this time. With devotion.
"You've never stopped being sexy to me," he said. "Even in sweatpants. Even holding a bottle at three in the morning. Even when you're wiping spit-up off your shoulder."
She rolled her eyes, but the tears that welled up had nothing to do with laughter.
He saw them and pulled her closer. "You're beautiful, Luna. Not just because your body gave us our son. But because you're you. And I will worship you for the rest of my life."
Her throat tightened. She buried her face in his neck and let out a soft breath, clinging to him like she'd float away if she didn't.
They stayed like that a while longer.
Eventually, he got up and grabbed a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom, wiping her down gently, careful not to press too hard against her sore thighs. She watched him from the bed, her heart expanding with every slow, quiet movement. He cleaned himself off next, tossed the ruined sheet into the corner with a shrug.
They curled back up together under a fresh one, limbs wrapped tight, skin warm against skin.
Somewhere down the hall, the baby stirred, gave a half-hearted whimper, then drifted off again.
Theo smiled into her hair. "We've got, what, maybe another two hours of quiet?"
"Shut up and hold me," she murmured, already half-asleep.
He did.
And in that soft, still pocket of night, surrounded by crushed petals and candlelight and the faint sound of their son dreaming in the next room, they slept.
Wrapped in love. Spent and safe. Home.