Don't Kill My Husband!

I'm the sweet little bottom in one of those old-school stories where a scummy bottom chases after his cruel top husband, only to regret it too late.

Every day, my scummy top husband tortures me in body and heart. I eat with my tears, never get enough to eat or wear, and feel like a little cabbage.

My husband is 189 centimeters tall, handsome and aloof, the young master of the Jiang family. He never has a kind word for me.

He's always been high above everyone else, cold and arrogant, a king who walks through the night. And he's my top.

He tortures me in body and heart. Sometimes, in a rare show of mercy, he sneers at me, pats my head, and deigns to give me a kiss.

He says he's just playing around. He says he just thinks men are fun. He says, "I'm paying to keep you, so don't get any ideas. You're just a plaything."

Know your place, you lowlife.

Every day, I sniffle and obediently let him bully and toy with me, begging him to love me, until one day my husband doesn't come home all night, and a man suddenly appears in front of me.

The man looks exactly like my husband, but a little more mature. He's taller, more charismatic, more mature, more muscular, and kinder and more handsome than my husband.

The man looks exhausted. When he sees me, he nearly bursts into tears. He embraces me, trembling, and says he will never let me go again.

He holds me tight, rubbing his face against mine with yearning, almost obsessive devotion. He says he's my future husband, and that he tortured me in body and heart until I died. He says he regrets it bitterly, is consumed by pain, and wants to tear himself to pieces every day, teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown.

By a twist of fate, he transmigrated back and saw me again. Heaven has given him another chance, and he vows to cherish it.

Then my husband comes home.

Seeing me in the arms of a strange man, my husband flies into a rage. But before he can say anything, my future husband punches him.

Blow after blow, blood flies everywhere.

Even while beating my husband, the man finds time to smile at me, soothing and gentle. He says he'll make me some delicious dessert in a bit. First, he'll kill this piece of trash and tear him limb from limb.

My husband gets even angrier. "You're cheating with me right in front of my face, and why are you talking so intimately to my pet?! I'm the one who pays for him!"

He gets a few more hard punches for that.

I stand there, stunned, watching them wrestle. The man is like a demon from hell. The face that was just so tender and careful with me turns icy and arrogant, his eyes dark, his handsome face spattered with blood.

Yet his gaze is so cold and murderous, filled with churning madness and hatred. The moment he looks up at me, it's wrapped in a twisted tenderness, turning into invasive possessiveness and love.

He beats my husband until he's a bloody mess, howling in pain...

Wait, don't beat my husband! You're going to kill him!

I panic and step between them. "Don't beat my husband! You're going to kill him!"

The man says my husband is a worthless scumbag, and if he kills him now, we can live happily ever after, with him treating me well for the rest of our lives.

My husband says, "You homewrecker, you got plastic surgery to look like me, and now you're after my pet! And you, you slut, where did you find this gigolo..."

He doesn't finish before another punch lands.

My husband's handsome face is a wreck. I cry as I apply medicine to his wounds. No matter what the man says, I refuse to leave.

My husband says he loves me like crazy, that I'm a shameless, clingy thing, his property, and that the old gigolo should get lost.

The man murmurs that this is his punishment. After a moment of despair, he puts on a gentle, steady smile, hiding the twisted emotions roiling in his eyes, and asks me to touch his face.

He guides my hand over his finely sculpted features.

He says, "I look just like your husband. I am your husband."

He says, "I'm only a few years older than him. I know how to treat you better."

He says

Before he can finish, my husband loses it and punches him. The two start brawling again.

Blood flies everywhere. The fight is fierce.

I stand to the side. This time, I don't dare try to stop them, no matter what.

For some reason, the man ends up living with us. The two of them still fight every day, and my future husband keeps thinking about how to dismember my husband.

I beg him not to.

He looks at me for a while, smiling with painful resignation. "I know how much you love him."

...I don't actually love him that much.

I haven't dared tell them I'm a gold digger.

Money's hard to earn and life is hard. These two idiots fight every day, and they're putting my life and property in serious danger.

I, the gold digger, can't keep pretending to be gay.

A tiger in sheep's clothing: a delicate, melodramatic husband who looks handsome and gentle but is actually a sarcastic, scheming white lotus, with a young top

The present-day timeline features a brash, sharp-tongued brat: an arrogant, cold, vicious, mad-dog bottom

The future timeline features an older bottom who seems mature, steady, sexy, and gentle, but is actually a twisted, gloomy, unhinged old man

A story about messed-up people. Both leads are virgins. Beautiful, strong characters. A handsome top and a muscular bottom.

Theme: dd