Félix & Marinette︲Intensity

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓮

✧･ﾟ│Picture is by me

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A week or so later, Félix remained working from home and usually dedicated most of his time to me. We continued to attend breakfast, lunch, and dinner together each day, because I became more enlightened upon hearing how his days went by compared to mine. I had begun sewing a few custom-made onesies for each of our children other than the plain white ones I had purchased for the sake of staying gender-neutral. Of course, I have no preference whether they are boys or girls, but I'm sure Félix will have trouble taking care of girls.

Because here I sat on the bed after eating supper, and had him undoing my braids with his fingers that were undeniably fierce, grunts of struggle escaping his throat, "..Fuck.. How shall I rid you of the tangles?"

I wince, holding the roots of my hair, "Can you be gentle?! Ow!"

"My- My apologies! Give me a moment..." His fingers run through once more, but now tenderly in regard to my whining. The warm breath could be felt upon my nape as he calmed himself down and soon finished, placing the hair ties in my open hand.

"Satisfied?"

I look down and bring my now wavy hair over the front of my shoulders, nodding slowly, "Yes... But.." I look up at him with a smirk, "I wonder how you'll handle it if we're having girls. You'll have to help me with their hair too."

Blood suffused along his cheeks underneath his golden skin, and he looked away, chuckling nervously, "Uh, of course. Of course..."

I snort and giggle at his reaction, and pull the thin drapes close that surround my side of the bed; yes, we recently recreated our bed and had four pillars placed into each of the corners, including an elegant white canopy with embroidered details situated above.

Slowly, I manage to get on his lap and rest my hands on his chest, leaning in for a kiss, but then freeze, feeling my entire belly press against him. And it reminded me of the lamentable memory I had tried so hard to omit from my life. I instantly shift my hands to my bump and look down, eyes wide in a sense of neurosis as they well up with tears. "My babies... They won't die, will they?... I feel like they'll die just like...!" My breathing becomes shallow and I sob, breaking down all over him.

His mouth presses against my forehead as he pulls me out of the ball I had curled myself up into, "They won't die, sweetheart.. There's no way.." He told me.

My lip quivers like it was the last day I'd see, "Y-You don't know how it feels to have your child slip out of you!! It's like a piece of you is g-gone f-forever! How will you ever understand?!" I scream in his chest, and still feel his hand that continues to rub my back, his comforting words being whispered into my ear. "Yes, I don't understand. But I'm well aware that the stillbirth of your first child left a scar in you, and I'm sorry I couldn't alleviate the trauma you were fated to face. I'm sorry, my dear.." He lays me down slowly and kisses every inch of my face, then turns and pulls the drapes open to replenish my previously-used glass with water from the jug, and helps me sit up carefully, tipping the glass to my mouth, "You mustn't think of the horror of losing our children.. Because we won't. I swear we won't.."

Once I gulped down the water and he set the glass aside, he leaned down to kiss my tummy, rubbing it, "They're vigorously growing in there, and they feel safe within their mother's womb..." A few kicks began in response to his actions and voice, and I crack a smile, nodding so as to let myself believe it. The desperation to give birth to our triplets successfully is all that I'll ever want in the end of my pregnancy term.

I sniffle, placing my hand on his head, "You're right.. I'm sorry.. for yelling... It just all rushed out at once.." I sigh, and stroke his hair with fondness.