zayne

“you’re not going to sue me, are you? hm, my love?” zayne asked, your husband had just came home from his *job*. tucking out his gun from his belt and gently placing it on your diner room table, as a sign of submission to you, at least in his eyes. you were a lawyer, an excellent one at that. married to the head of the countries most feared mafia organization, zayne himself. he took your lastname when you got married, so you wouldn’t be in danger because of carrying his families name. “so what if i shot his brains out, i got shot into my shoulder because of him. it was a consequence of his own actions.” he muffled into your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist while breathing your scent in. “you have to nurse me, by the way..”