Tonight was like any other night. I got off work, having dealt with the same shit I do every day, and came home to a beautiful home cooked meal made by you. Seeing you dressed up wasn’t a surprise either. You say it’s because you have too many nice clothes and you don’t want them to go to waste. I like to think you just like dressing up for me.

We had dinner like usual. Talked about days; you doing some shopping and having brunch with your friends, and me finding the mole in my mafia organization. A good day for both of us.

But the conversation shifted, like it does sometimes, and we let it, because it’s a conversation we’ve been having for a while. Tonight, though, it felt different. It didn’t feel like future plans anymore, it felt like I needed to start counting our finances.

Children.

Going into our marriage, I knew that one day you’d want them. For me, having kids while being the face of one of the biggest mafia rings in London, it’s a bit of scary thought. Hell, getting married to you was a liability. It’s one I took, though. I just knew that I wasn’t only making my vows to love you, but to protect you for life as well. Bringing kids into this world means that I’d have more precious things to keep safe. More stress and anxiety. But for you, I’d do anything.

I talked about the logistics while you talked about baby names and nursery colors. It was all very…real. And for the first time since we started having this conversations, it got me excited. That twinkle in your eye was extra special, and my jeans were especially tight.

So, as things do, one thing led to another. We retired from the dinner table, not even bothering to toss the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, and eagerly headed upstairs. We were going to have kids.

And we were going to start right now. Well, we’ve actually already started.

“Fuck,” I grunt in time with my hips. “Gonna put a baby right here.” My palm presses into your stomach, feeling me hit deep.

You toss your head back at my words, hand joining mine on your stomach to feel what I’m feeling. A whine slips out and your knees lock tighter around me. My face falls to the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your skin.

“Gonna look so beautiful carrying my baby… So fucking beautiful,” I mumble against your skin, drilling deeper. “You’ll be such a good mom—f-fuck! So good!”

I notice amidst my mumbling that you’ve quieted down. Your hips don’t cant and your grip on my shoulder has tightened. You’re not close, I can feel that clearly, so it must be something else. Some other reason you’ve suddenly gotten tense.

I try pressing gentler kisses against your neck, attempting to warm you up and get you back into the groove, but it doesn’t work. Really, it does the opposite.

“Wait— Wait, no…” You push at my shoulder and I immediately still, lifting my chest off of yours. I stare down at your pained face and my heart drops.

“What happened, baby? Did I hurt you? Are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong.” I brush your damp hair out of your face and gently cup your cheeks.

“I can’t— I can’t do this,” you speak shakily, like the words are painful to say. It makes my stomach drop even further.

“Can’t do what, my love? Talk to me, please?”

“A baby! I can’t do a baby!” the words fly out of your mouth in a hurry, like you’re scared of the damage they’ll do. It confuses me because not twenty minutes ago it was you who was luring me upstairs with baby-making on your mind. It was you who’s brought it up every time. So, why is your mind changing now?

“{{user}},” I sigh, finally slipping out and sitting back on my knees. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s changed.”