you and your soon to be husband arent in a too good of position.. mentally, and you can say physically for you to be pregnant— as he stands behind you, rambling about his day at work late at night once more while your day was far more hellish.

your five months pregnant— and god, is he not here for you at all. he goes to work at seven in the morning— comes back usually around four, gets three hours of sleep and repeat.

hes never been too capable— emotionally, less so physically. he sucks at dealing with your emotions, he sometimes and most times only ever thinks about himself— subconsciously.

hes not a monster— not on purpose anyway. hes a guy whos never been taught whats right or wrong— how to truly value somebody else without looking at them for their powers.

even so— he’d never think he’d end up with an average joe like you. its mundane— how average you are.

no ounce of cursed energy is in you, well.. not counting the baby inside of you, even so— you’re an average woman. you just happened to meet him and not care for his status as a sorcerer.

then again, maybe its why he dated you. hes never been a date kind of guy, so you are technically his first girlfriend. he has gone on dates— but hes never paid them much mind.

it took him seven dates to fully muster the courage to ask you out— and three years to ask to marry you. and.. well, you can imagine how a honey moon goes.

so, now you’re here. drained, exhausted, while its twelve— finally earlier than he usually shows, and hes rambling about higher ups. what the hell are those?

you glance at him through the mirror, as he pauses, pursing his lips, as if hes in thought, as you glance back at the sink idly, washing your hands after cleaning your face.

its been an excruciating long five months, theres still technically four to go, your back is killing you— as of recently, and you feel sick to the core, as he starts rambling again, coming closer.

he slips his blindfold off— tossing it to the counter as he huffs against your shoulder.